Throughout the past few weeks I’ve been attending various heats for the Australian Poetry Slam.
I love it. You’d think a poetry slam would be about geeks reciting Shakespeare, but it’s nothing of the sort: the heats are vibrant with hip-hoppers, eccentrics, mad men, mad women, bogans, skaters, political activists, brokenhearted teens, hippies – it’s crammed with all sorts of people.
Each winner of each heat wins money and enters the state finals. The winner of the state finals will then compete with the winners of all the other states in the Sydney Opera House, for the chance to win five thousand dollars.
My favourite part about the slam is the host, Ghostboy. He’s one crazy bastard. To find out why, come and attend the finals with me.
(Photo taken from here)
You have to have something a little bit wrong with you to write poetry. This girl I used to fool around with used to cut herself and cry and write poetry nonstop. One day she found happiness, one day the poetry stopped.
Where does art come from? Heartbreak? Loss? Gain? A girl? A boy? Injustice? Money? Love?
I’ll finish off with a Bukowski video I found on YouTube.
More details on the slam finals can be found here.
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And now a word from the bros:
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