I am still blushing through all my databases at the wonderful reception we got from Toronto Poetry Slam. People said they were bewildered, horrified and confused and then not confused. They broke water in joy, they broke water in sorrow and I think they maybe had Robobabies of their own on Sunday night at our show. Just like we were hoping.
I only had a sibling for a minute, papa gave birth to a Barq's Soda Can then it was ruthlessly recycled by the efficient and cruel bar staff.
Mummy found me a bow tie on the way to the show. It was all crusty and dirty on the side of the road so I assumed it was meant for her but instead she spat on it, rubbed it with her thumb and dried it on her tight pants then put it around my neck. I felt so dressed up and fancy. She told me of the lovely people who might be there, the slam team she coached, the people who had been on her teams and the great people at Toronto Poetry Project that she works with. She says family can be many things but I'll always be her baby. Human babies make a lot of mess and mummy doesn't want to pick up any other poop than Zoe Dog poop. I hope I never defecate because maybe mummy will recycle me like the brother Barq I once knew, or maybe my roboass will be eaten by the battery acid I pass through my butthole.
Mummy took our duo tang of elaborate and sunburnt pictures of her impregnation and my escape from her module while papa screamed and showed it to everyone she could. She spoke of my papa who finally coughed up the batteries I needed. She didn't tell anyone she used them in the smoke detectors instead. Does she never want to hear my sing song voice? I'm down to two beeps now. Please send help.
Mummy didn't cut herself on the saw all night. She bounced it and shimmied it and made it sound my cousin the theremin, then she said a bunch of words and people laughed or cried or looked at her like she may have to be hospitalised. Sometimes they didn't know when to laugh and sometimes the laughed like whiplash. We were joined by the fantastic artist Carolina Brown who I love and she played songs on her guitar and mummy pretended to pop her back zits. We also did a team piece together for "Dear C3PO" and mummy said I was an R2 model and that maybe her vagina was a wormhole to a galaxy far, far away...We had a great time and nice men gave us money at the end of the night. Mummy put in her bra where lots of valuable things go.
Both the poets she coached (Justin and SPIN) got the prize of doing another show for free! They will be at the finals with someone named after a plant and a saint. Sage Francis! Mummy and I went for dinner after but mummy only ate beer and made Rahul (our host) give me the head of the table and the owner of the Saigon Flower gave her a dirty look so she hid me each time food came around to be nice and not someone who gets dragged off by police.
Mummy's a liar. She told me that we had been accepted for a writer's residency at the Banff Centre and I looked it up on my database but it didn't resemble the place we were at. Not one bit. She said she's just sad that the spoken word residency isn't happening this year and so she made up a fib so that we could both believe it. I forgive her because I like the way her brain works sometimes. Except when she takes me out and knocks on doors and leaves me standing there with "The Watchtower'" and people think I'm a Jehova's Witness. No mummy, i'm only really a witness to you and sometimes it's kind of gruesome but I love you.
But we did do a writer's retreat at Wes and Fiona's place. They had many hairy beasts other than themselves running around there. We brought my sister Zoe Dog and she tried to be everyone's boss until she passed out on the floor and had no treats. There were two other dogs, a horse, some sheep some cats and Milo the pig who I loved so much I couldn't witness humanoids eat his friend.
Mummy, Zoe Dog and I spent lots of time in the "music hut" (liar liar, track pants on fire) and practiced mummy's show "Mel Malarkey Gets The Bums's Rush" and our set for Toronto Poetry Slam this Sunday, but mostly we burned things and watched flies come back to life. Mummy did that. Sometimes she's magic. Mummy says we're very lucky to have furry and not as furry friends that shit outdoors and have farms where some things get killed because they're tasty and others can wither and die because people are afraid of eating each other.
But mummy, sometimes you put live people in your mouth and you both seem to think this is delicious. Humans are weird but I love them so I won't end the human race like Hasboro wants me to. Yet. Come see our show this SundayFunday. Find out more, the facebook invite and the Toronto Poetry Slam website. See what we cooked up other than meat at our liar's retreat!