Elbow Room will be a fun place to be this Friday with The Unawares from

Columbia. On the bill will be The Specs from Charleston. Support local

venues bringing solid music to Columbia!





The Unawares with the Specs at Elbow Room

so what

When I was younger my friend, Gary, and I went to a Massachusetts State Fair during September of '70 and this barker selling sewing machines began with a promise that the one that remembered a phrase would receive a hundred dollars at the end of his presentation. This would be the 707 of sewing machines of the day. Maids would finagle their savings at the end to embrace its needles to stitch their daughter's school play costume and the sequined gown of their wedding day. We laughed as we walked away remembering the phrase without receiving the hundred dollar prize. By the time I finish this poem will you remember this title?

We are walking along the sands of time, beat breaking with metaphor rhythm to our most current Mecca, Charlotte, the Queen City, by plane, cycle, biped, car, rail, autobus.

Storm into Holiday Inn where not there was any room for me, could not afford. We are more so Woodstock children, flagon ourselves in front of pre Kristallnacht high rises.
Champion our self to become the number one when it became more a time of lore, of Prophecy, for whom among us would have portended the Finals Host Mike McGee handing the first place trophy to Joaquin Zihuatanejo?

You see iWPS, which stands for Individual World Poetry Slam is a yearly competition where 70 Poets vie for Number One. Each has to perform a one minute, four minute, two minute, three minute poem in bouts with 12 other poets. The seventieth slot is chosen by a last chance slam of three rounds, out of 19 poets 12 are drawn from a hat along with a calibration poet. On this Wednesday my SilDag handle is lifted from the chapeau, pay my ten dollar registration, which will go to the host city's 70ieth placed winner, C P Maze. You see as of yore Alex Charalambides, won in and of Worcester of 2005 to place within that competition. It is amazing of why I so need to be here. There are some things that have probably missed my attention, chalk it up to my being a son of a Dyslexic, what I do remember I will revere.

This pilgrim comes to give the best performance of his life of this time with his most difficult poem.

As the thirteenth poet of the, my first and only round, just upon the precipice of The McGlohon Theatre gazing into the eyes of Poet friends, beseeching the stained glass windows of Cherubs, and Seraphim alike to note despite the groans of certain looks received for what? For I don't know whether it is intent, content, distraction, reverie of my poem the aplomb I receive. Just up on the mic, slowly building though unyielding through the first slow double space that came between "ever since All Saints' Day the first day beside his side" to "my mamacita so proud of the midnight mass my first Christmas" knowing full well the grimaces past "his hands all over my penis" to nail "from penitent he then rose, took a cloth to dip in a basin, washed my circumcision, with these words tells me that angels will be the only ones that will hear the prayers a child may cry out."

See from this parapet atop this vaulted mountain with the stained glass in perpitude still its organ play just to listen. With my final exaltation "all I wish to do is cry, cry, and cry, intercede for me dear St. Francis as I a lamb I may inherit this earth."

I received a 25.5 for my efforts the second lowest score of the night sans score creep. My brethren know it is beyond that with these Penguin wings I exude for I was soaring within my own kite upon the wind, this 57 year old child of the dawn, that buffoons, smiles seriously, would love to have a cougar offer a sequestered experience of her den, storyteller, hugger, taxi driver, lighter with a zippo manifest my proclamation. For it is not the score from these random audience members I aspire, though Jerri did not hear then, she knew, when she heard of my calibre, as well as the many more that know the why of this I do. I am a poet, nothing more, nothing less.

Tagged words drift in and out during a weekend of Black Velvet and Pabst Blue Ribbon frolic, home spun free style, be quiet for there are guests in the next room which would like to have their own privacy. Knew for the most part I would see Carlos Andres Gomez, Buddy Wakefield, Inkera, Steve Marsh and Henzbo. Rae, Curtis Mire, Seths squared are my surprises. On the first wet, wintry, lobby night we extend handshakes and hugs during the meet and greet. During this time, within his baseball cap brimmed, older of somewhat attire, I met him. I only took him to be a friend of Henry Sampson.

You see this right hand has shaken and shuttered past and future presidents, a soon to be secretary of state, governors, congressmen, a certain grand daughter of a man that told us this land is ours, fathers of the bride and groom, ne'er the wells, stalwarts, saints, and you. Here we are, though don't quit your day job. When it came to pass that I realized for I believe he did give me just his first name, and I have never met him before, and know how to blend in as a nevyn myself. It is amazing when one can look so unassuming. With a poem within the finals he asked for each of us to bring up the next. Of choice, me, without my Kodak for I would have posteritied this visage of this construction worker as I am doing with this poem, the hand I shook with an exchanged little burned flier for one of his of Green Mill, is Marc Smith,

So What.

j. m. starino
12/15/08

You do not know what you are missing, book this photographer of talent

of the South. Highlight of these two months, not just one, two photos in two

different publications. The first one on the cover of Columbia City Paper of THE

Dubber.  Now in the most recent of issue of Creative Loafing of Charlotte is

an article about none other than THE Dubber on the Queen City Music Scene

with Photo by myself, John Starino.

Duly noted in the article performing are The Train Wrecks which

I covered at 5 Points Pub in Columbia, SC. Book me now for my "Eye of The

Beholder" look. What issue are you waiting for? The time is now. Be sure to

have your CD cover designed with this Photographer. Let's face it, I guess you

better ask yourself. Do YOU really want to be a Rock Star? Check it out.

 

http://charlotte.creativeloafing.com/gyrobase/crowntown_showdown_continues_to_showcase_variety_of_talent/Content?oid=438743

 

dear america, thank you q,
you've got mail
 

i want to be a cowboy, not so i can get a cowgirl
so i can have a gun too.
protect myself from, you, the fear mongers
that believe that the wild west still lives
for you that purchase assault weapons,
uzis, glocks and more
are whores.
 
small pox killed the indigenous
which your ancestors spread
as descendants from the mayflower
 
here we are again
earlier this year february the shortest
month is black history month.
this month we celebrate thanksgiving
within native american heritage month
how ironic with the bribing and bidding goodbye
to "native americans" not the so
called native palmetto tree
carolinians for
 
you are not native unless you
have some blood in you from those
you stole this country from
 
for this land is your land
this land is my land, and it is
their land, made for you, me, and them
 
absurd to believe land can be owned
become rich off of it,
now you are sick of margin calls
sick of foreclosure, sick of media
hype, you are just plain sick

how much more heresy of this
so called ameican dream do you
still believe?
 
so you buy guns to protect your
right to lie
well maybe i need one too
to protect me from you
for before the second amendment
is the first
and i am tired of listening i have to
follow your litmus test for using it
guess what i have a right to say
what i wish as well
you know i don't really have to have a gun
would not wish to stoop to your level
of intolerance and ignorance and
fear
 
just remind myself what another president said
to me
"ask not what your country can do for you
ask what you can do for your country"
 
and unlike a son of a bush
this new president, our new president
will be a leader
of america, of the people,
 
of you and me.
 
j. m. starino
11/09/08

Have you registered to vote in this Historic election?
The window to affirm as citizens of these United States,
the right to vote in this election, is drawing to a close. When
it comes down to actually evoking change within this
Democratic society one needs to be registered.
Be aware of your rights.

I know who I will be voting for, for every vote does count.
Whether I absentee or wait in a line to cast my ballot.
I will. The process begins when we become informed.

This is not a time to sit on the sidelines.
It is time to take action.

You have time to act, and be undissuaded towards your course.
Registration to vote in this election in South Carolina ends October 4th
Below find FAQ's for your home state.

It is a time of conscience. It is a time to declare.
I am talking especially to those of you that think your vote does not
count so why bother. I generally go through that every election I have voted
in.

I vote, will you?

It is time to Vote! Register!

Pass it on!

http://www.declareyourself.com/voting_faq/state_by_state_info_2.html

I just want to celebrate

I just want to celebrate another day of living

Today is the 57^th anniversary of my birth.

Oh I feel so Heinz today, let me see am I spicy, or a cocktail sauce.

Hmmmm cocktails will be later.

I happen to be out enjoying some chocolate cake, hi Carrie, this early morning

at a little Tavern, I wish to text 57 people in my phonebook, letting them

know I made it this far.

You see yesterday was the seventh anniversary of September 11. It seems so inauspicious now for me to be born 1 day after 911. My fiftieth was that September 12. With the TV screens ad nauseam showing each plane over and over again ripping into NYC, with trailers of the Pentagon, and a field in Pennsylvania, how could I celebrate? You see distance is better for me, so when I made it 55 at Artists' Basement during Phoenix Tongue, there was Drumming, Jess baked a cake, the Dubber closed the show with a song for me, and some of you were there. Now two years later, this year Phoenix Tongue is retired, and I get to celebrate another day of living. This is my ten years after Platinum Album from two Brain Surgery bithches. Look I made On The Scene for today, listed as Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow, will be Chimera's soirée. Today it is mine, so of the over 57 people I texted many of you responded:

Cuban loves me too, John Blanchard happy b day's me, Louis gets it with Heinz, Margo best wishes me, I texted Max's Cell and he wonders who this is, oh come on, Mina sends her love, MelO congrats, along with Kurt and his love, Party Hardy asks who is this, for I am not a number discarded in your Phone Book, I am SilDag the Silver Dagger that will Rapier Rapid my word play, fore play, mind scape with a touch of random act of kindness.

Can someone tell me how to delete some messages for my inbox is full, sounds like I need another condom you ask me?

Wow Max, you don't know who I am, Megan from Austin quizzes 57? Ahh Copa Congrats, Mina the incubus of fungus among us, who someone thought was a computer program at one time Happy Birthday's me back. Uh Uh, I got voice mail Tara sings me Happy Birthday, Melissa afore she goes to work wishes me Happy Birthday, Now back to the text: Heyward who can't keep a photo of me on his Iphone, Wrong Number? sounds like I need to delete your number, what is your problem, looking to connect my wayward friend. Been a hermit lately, or just going to the Whig when I am not there? Morgan a fellow virgospirator regreets me, ah Katy Who dis is's me, ah Mike it has been too long, for we have not talked. I am that quirky cat poet person. Now I have to delete some messages to see who still remembers me.

Will you remember me? Remember a poem I spit to you at Art Bar inbetween dancing in the Boiler Room's IPop. Sipping bourbon at the Bar of the Whig, Travelin Man across I 20 dropping into New Orleans for a beer for breakfast with Freak, another time having tits flashed in a Trannie Bar. Stars over Yuma, Sunrise at the Grand Canyon. This is not 1984 revisited, this is 2008, a declaration of life, now without George Carlin, so let me hear a Little Owl poem as dedication, while we remember Josie. Four years ago I was inbetween my Parents bookend demise. Had already buried my Father, it will not be until November the beginnings of my Caregiver piece with take root. And I am in Leominster Mass with a "snow capped field of headstones another trench backhoed so you can be next to Dad."

I just want to celebrate, celebrate another day of life.

I pray you are doing the same.

j. m. starino

09/12/08