BRAS' BLOG

Thoughts which form poetry, short stories, essays, and forms of mass media from a life form. Writings from a former spoken word artist, who called himself nabraska. Come in and enjoy some of the maddness from the perspective of a prisoner of the usa.

My Photo
Name:
Location: anytown, usa

Friday, January 27, 2006

this is an audio post - click to play

Wednesday, January 25, 2006



Well, another poet has entered the blog world. I'm still not too sure what this medium is exactly, but we'll keep it in the confines of poetry...uh....spoken word...uh, worldly topics, like the b.s president...uh, the b.s. war....uh, and any and all unsightly things that we (americans) encounter.

And to the rest of the world, sorry, I'm not a journalist seeking that next big story or pulitzer prize. I guess I'm just another pissed off, unemployed, highly skilled, dred, who is seeking fulfillment in this thing called life. Now I do have a website, which features my poetry, spoken word, cd's and all that stuff, but this ain't a www.nabraskapoet.com affair. This is a Bras affair...and I'm Bras, short for Nabraska--still a poet.

So I started this blog to connect with my folks and let them know what's going on with me and all things of the world, in my opinion. And with that said, there are only two things that I need to discuss at this point; one being my trip to the ATL last week and the other being the president and this thing about the survellences.

Poets, do we really think that we can make a living from doing this thing of spoken word??? Now last week I went down to Atlanta on the request of one of my good patnas/poet people that I know, Eryk Moore. Now when I was in Atlanta, Eryk was doing big thangs with his barrage of poets--One Mic Entertainment. He was throwing shows (closed mics) at this spot, he had all the people hyped up about it and in many terms it was a succees. Hell, the brotha even had me perform at one of the functions. So I thought, (since I'm back in Nebraska) hell, this brotha is on his p's and q's, I'll take a chance, spend money on a plane ticket and go down and support him. So I got my ticket, went through the airport security measures, and arrived safely in Atlanta.

Now the first place I went was one of "the premier" places in Atlanta to do spoken word--Club Apache. I wasn't trying to perform (it would of been nice if they would of recognized that I was in the bulding....) but I was looking for his flyers. Because this is the way that black poets get down and get info out is through the flyer method. Well, in any case, I did not see any flyers for his event. Now mind you, a few days before I left, I tried to call Eryk for confirmation and all that, however, his phone was disconnected. I thought, well, whatever, playa gotta play the game and all that. Plus I just knew that Eryk was on the grind behind his promotions, so I wasn't really worried.

Now Tuesday was suppose to be the date for the show, but Moday I went to another "hot spot" for Atlanta poetry called Django's. Now I'd been to Django's a few times, and I wasn't really impressed with the atmosphere, but I attended and signed the list. **Now here's my thing, if a person signs the list and expects to be THIRD then that person should really go on third. Well this was not the case, in my case. See what had happened was....some other poets (so-called hot poets) came in late, and the host GOLDIE's bytch ass called them up even though they hadn't even signed a list!!! However, I will admit that I was glad that Malachi was in the house and rocked it as usual...but Goldie's bytch ass can forget it.

Now Tuesday was one for the books. Remember now, I came down on the premise that I would performing this day, selling cd's this day, hooking up with Eryk somehow this day....How 'bout the meeting never took place, how 'bout I didn't perform, how 'bout I didn't sell one cd that day!!!! However, I did get one flyer Sunday from a cat who does poetry (D'Angelo) and he was hosting a spot. So I went there, and how 'bout....THERE WAS NO CROWD!!! I mean there was D'Angelo, his dj, and two people...that's it. But I sat and chatted with them for a minuete, got over some of my week's frustration, but I did not perform. I was 0 for 3.

Wednesday, I'd had enough, so I sat at the crib with my woman, and did absolutely nothing!!

Thursday, my homie Cypher had his spot. And it went down. Not a huge crowd, alot of folks that knew me and all that, but I enjoyed myself. And finally, finally, got on the mic. Now Goldie's bytch ass was there, but it really didn't matter. But when I did this piece, something was telling me not to do it, but I did it anyway. It's like a 6 1/2 minuet piece...and it's filled with despair....so I lost the crowd. But the thing about it was I had been looking at Goldie, and the broad he was with and they looked like--"nigga, would you please get off the stage." and soon, everyone else was sorta looking at me like that. It was horrible....the only thing that's worst than not getting on the stage, is getting on the stage and absoluting bombing. Now while it wasn't a complete bomb, with the week and money and time involved, it was a bomb. But thank you Cypher and Widow for having me and allowing me to speak!!

Now Friday, it wasn't shit going on but Saturday...whoa, Saturday!!!!

Saturday, I invited some people (poets, muscians) over for some food, drinks and a good time. Now my online patna/poet Starr_Lisa showed, and my muscian showed, but my other guest Cypher and Widow were unable to attend. What happened to them is almost indescribable....they got into a fuckin' car wreck!!! Now how shitty is that?? Coupled with the fact that Widow is 8 months pregnant. My soul began to hurt. Now me and Winston (muscian) went to the scene, and thankfully, besides some bumps and bruises no one was hurt. The baby is fine, just talked to Cypher and the baby is cool, so my soul is resting good right now. But my conscious is fuckin' with me right now because I had them come out they house and try to get to my party...I'm like responsible for that. But everyone is fine...and boy am I glad about that.

So that was my week, and now I propose the question poets do we really think we can make a living from this. Now from this story I hope you can tell that I try to do the damn thang with my poetry, but it's hard people, it's harder than prison concrete. But email me if you flippin' through the net and come up on this one and let me know what you think...we'll post the responses and make a little poll out of it. That's it for now...