Eight Poets. Three Rounds. $400 in Cash.
Look, there’s not much to say. I snuck into the event. Took some photos here and there, and then left. Call it performance art. Usually I’d just toss a description up here so Google or the other search engines can crawl it, but that’s not what poetry slams like this are about. So much of our culture is a video waiting to be captured, indexed, and cataloged. Dreams of monetization are like a cultural lottery. Maybe it will go viral. Maybe we’ll get that sweet Youtube check.
This is different. These slams are for the audience. The sound that travels no further than the forest where the tree fell. We know where it fell. We know there was sound. Yet the stage is now empty.
Fuck it. I’m making all this up for the word count. #slampoetry
