Re: Acentos move to the Bruckner Bar & Grill
I am more worried about the fact that I am not worried.

If they ever make a movie about our lives, the scene where 20 poetry groupies of various ages and backgrounds trek through the streets of Mott Haven in search for a quiet spot to celebrate the word should definitely be apart of the trailer. It’s one of those moments in life that would seem pretty ludicrous on film in that it is just so damn bizarre.

A special thanks to Edwin Torres who was a gentleman throughout. If there is one person who truly appreciates the beauty of the random and chaotic, it is Edwin. If it had been anyone else, one poet who I still catch “Foot in Mouth Disease” around quickly comes to mind, I would have been in a damn near full panic. As it stands, I am lucky to have a nice number of resources readily at hand. I may not know where to find the best house music at 3 in the am but I do know where I can host a poetry event on the fly.

All that being said– Don’t be a spectator! The last Acentos proved to be pretty historic in the asteroid crashing into Asia kinda way. This next one marks a serious turn in the page for the little series that could. After last year’s anniversary show, I was told that having survived the first year we can now call ourselves a landmark series. I didn’t buy much into that but I do know that this new chapter in the history of Acentos will be a real measuring stick.

One that I know we will sail through with flying colors but then again ya never know, we may end up doing two steps back and moving from there. Either way, you have a chance to say you was there. Tu Sabes?

Re: Other projects

I am so deep into this thing I actually go to sleep with ideas for shows and wake up with plans for new ways to present the word. No joke. Either that or I am thinking of old girlfriends. Between the two, I like the poetry dreams better.

Re: Starting a movement

To paraphrase Edwin Torres: Everything around us lives, dies and is transformed a multitude of times as we draw a single breath. For every line of poetry that you throw out there, the very thing you invoke is born and passes into the forgotten. The revolution happens on many levels all around us and we don’t even know it.

Conversely, the sun still shines and has yet to engulf the little blue dot we inhabit. Hence, the revolution continues and remains unabated despite our personal birth and will most likely proceed on its own timetable when we expire.

The only real movement you can try to latch onto is the one of your own expanding consciousness. The odds of finding a group of individuals that are ready to enter a transformative space in the same time that you find yourself willing are pretty miniscule. Not impossible, just miniscule. I think I am in the middle of that right now. There are people around me that are making moves and pushing the edges, drawing new borders and then stomping those out in the same hand sweep.

Then again, I could just be reading too many comic books. Time will tell.

Re: An apology to the ether

The French speak of the spirit of the staircase

A space of indecision you step through

After the door is shut

Hearing the echo of your own footsteps

Not knowing if it signals the herald

Or marks the path of requiem

An echo is an illusion

The ether plays tricks with our trail

Responds with a laugh

Of the damned welcoming

Kindred home
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