It’s here!

It took a moment, but I’m excited to say the Casual Camera is here. I had to reiterate how I wanted the video to look multiple times over, but finally reached a level of complete that I am elated to share.

The poems stitch together a series of fragmented experiences with limerence, social anxiety and the return of JaJas.

JaJa’s is an artist’s studio located in eastside Portland, close to Grand and the Morrison Bridge. For the longest time they have hosted weekly flow meet ups and fire jams on Wednesday and become somewhat of a staple to the flow arts community in Portland.

This summer, however, they took a break, conceding that the hotter months are festival season and that the schedule crunch is just not worth it for their staff.

As for me, I found the summer liberated to do other things such as working on my craft as a poet and being an active participant in my festival camps.

One thing I have always wanted to do is write poetry at the festivals I attend. That sort of happened at Oregon Country Fair, but in the middle of a giant, dusty fire circle with a galactic light show and bass music that made the earth shake. Not quite the environment made for it.

JaJas, at the least, offered a smaller scale to make it happen and so, my friend Journey’s birthday, I decided to make it happen. I wrote several poems that night, but only one is in this video. I dare you to guess which one.

More importantly, I hope you enjoy a selection of November poetry set to videos taken at JaJas and the latter half of the summer.

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To My Dearest Yuri, Beware,

Beware the stars you seek
And the bodies you orbit

Beware the void between the two

Beware the weight they will take,
Lest they make a moon of you

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Parking Lot Poetry (or An Emotional Vacancy)

The sky has not been this clear
all month
It’s a shade of blue I have since
forgot,
Hiding from a winter sun that shines
yet never runs hot
As this terror of a text line hanging
on a dot

But if they bottled this kind of
adrenaline
Then I would drink it and sup,
I would drink it from the bathtub until
my face went flush

I would match you, bottle to bottle,
shot for shot,
Until the sun went down and this
neon sign lit up
And then we could leave this
vacancy
For another parking lot

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Last Night at JaJas

I thought I saw God, but now I’m not so sure, it was dark
and your light was all I could find

As I worked and wrote and smote these words upon a page
that no longer could be mine

I stole these sentences from poi, from staff, from fire torch
and flaming fan,

I loot these lyrics from language spoken in your darting tongue
that Babylon could never understand

For if these runes had stones, then their tower mighty would
sooner shudder and fall

But we would not be there to see it ruined, for you burned
and danced and wrote it down before me,

Last night, at JaJas

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