tv [untitled] October 8, 2010 6:30am-7:00am PST
i am terrified of boys. they are wild and smelly. i said, there is no way to know that. well i know for a fact you don't need it. like i wanted to talk to my dad about his penis. week 34, i don't have the double wide vagina i was hoping for. with just six weeks to go. instructions for peroneal massage. lock hands. apply lubricant.
she says long contractions indicate early labor. she says call in a few hours. >> dana comes over. she feeds her tea while i'm having contractions. i am in active labor. i am surprised you're so calm. i say, i'm surprised you're so calm. 11:30 p.m. dana drives to the birth center. i tell her right now i am not sad to do this.
centimeters. i am pruned and exhausted. you are doing great dana says, i am not interested in being great. it's still nine centimeters. it's not time yet. she says me to blow out with my mouth. i say i might barf. 5:45 a.m. still nine, i hate dana. dana breaks my water. after 15 hours it's time to push. when you are this desperate, it's almost over.
push, your pushes are excellent. 7:17. i can feel the baby's hair. you see your baby's head. 7:40. i do what she says. we rehearse. dana is guiding my baby's head. this is called ring of fire. okay. push hard. i moan like a walrus. my vagina tears to my ass. but i don't care. dana puts the baby on my chest. the cord is still attached. i am still shaking. the baby's eyes are wide open. i cry, the baby cries. i have a baby.
word. it's a recipient of the masha a gomez award. please welcome manual xavier. >> hello. okay. there we go. how are you doing? first of all, thank you so much. it's such a great pleasure to be back in san francisco. i love this city and it's always a pleasure to be here. i want to thank mishell t. one is new. it will give you a back story. a few years ago, i had been attacked on the streets of brooklyn. i am deaf in my left ear.
>> sitting on the l, i was made a wear, my voice of louder. he didn't know about the hearing loss in one here. i remained silent. i didn't turn around to expose the scar on the back of my head. so that i wouldn't have to explain the origination. instead of business cards, i should explain, it would read as follows. my name is emaniel. i became a prostitute. i found my salvation? writing. i pushlished a book.
i was recently attacked on the streets where i lived. >> the surgery left me deaf. i do not have aids. men are not allowed to be a soldier. i am not asking for your money. please get home safe and keep this pen to share your story too. may be some day, i will get to hear your voice. this next poem is from my first poetry. this is for latinos in the house. can i get a woo. >> i want to break tradition
about latino macheese mow. >> forget. i want to break tradition. because blood is supposed to be thicker. but you see, my friends and family, because they love and accept my and don't consider me, foreign language. they do not speak the language. everyone has green contacts. adopting supremist beliefs. when was the last time you saw them playing the maid?
pride month. hypocrisy exists when those results in violence. because in darkness, they are safe from reducing our brother and sisters and way too many others to name. they beat to the drum beats of liberty. the difference between us and the shadows of fear is we have a lot more space to breathe. yet the smell of equality is found outside and sexuality is the right to physical expression between consenting adults. we can live outside of the
closets but not out of the house. they are not welcome in the open fields of america. where others dream of marriage or defend our country. because not all of god's children were worthy to see the light beyond these cold, white walls. as long as we remain indoors. sometimes visit our souls. taking the time to join us, unable to come out and play. in only we could run and discover land starving for
diversity. the emptiness and our perversions and sins as preached from religion pens, it touch the openings of children child faint sounds emerge from under closet doors. there are too many of us in this house located on a land far a war from normal chanting. we only want to be outside. we only want to be outside. the lord is outside. it's not wonder some would rather die moths in the closet while others are not free. and this is a new poem that i
wrote for a close friend of mine who was fighting aids. >> aids knows the lovers a tear a way from risk. replacing cocktails or jag ed little pills how to keep pharmaceutical pills. knows the fearless meaning of a friend's kisser hug. and converts to spirituality. knows the dim to light to allude detection to be grateful for the gift the clothing and
shelter. to remain silent. aids knows to time on earth. but no matter how much you drink, you are all dehydrated. i choice of taking pleasure in what is left in life. the thoughts of suicide in the back of your head. that everyone still thinks it's a deserving fate for gays and prostitutes and the children born of designer jewelry. knows how to be used to profit politicians. providing flatter for art and something to be left behind. he has left his angels behind.
none of us knowing where exactly we are headed. and this is also a new poem. it's potentially the title of my next poetry collection. i read a lot about religion being raised catholic. this is called just like jesus. if i get struck down by thunder. just like jesus. i want childhood to be, evading teen angst. always. i want to encourage and motivate just like jesus.
few literates could conquer. simply by having faith, i want to arouse. make you believe there's a god above watching over us. without scientific explanation. i want to cast out your demons. liberate your oppressed soul. bring back lost friends. just like jesus, be a shameless pervert while with the possibility of sexism and
paternal. just like jesus, i want to hear the voice of my farther. bask in the stars, this is not an end but a beginning. a sepia tone of martarism. i want my engage capturred. to frame the minds of ignorants. while blindly following leaders. i want to be nestled, half naked against your chest. claiming your spirit when you come. with the promise of salvation. i simply want to life before i
die. i have two more poems. this is all new. wrote it for harold bloom. he first called it the death of art and. reading well is one the greatest pleasures. i am dedicating to harold bloom. i am not a poet. i want to be rich. i have had a great sex life. i am not a poet. georgia i do not like being called an act visit.
i cannot be considered a vegetarian. i will give my ass up and like it. i would be inspired. i may value peace, but will not use a pen to unleash my anger. i am not a poet. i am not dying. weight loss can still be a choice. i am not a poet. i don't care much for. i don't spend me weekends read anything writing. i like to have cocktails but i do not have a drinking problem
regardless of what state i wake up in. i don't need drugs to open up my imagination. i am not a poet. i can tolerate half an hour of spoken word poetry. what my cats are up to. i always carry my business cards. i am not a poet, i only write to masture bait my mind. i am trying to convince myself that poetry it save lives. it's the dust of art.
and i am going to close with to poet. americano. i look at myself in the mirror. trying to figure out what makes me an american. i see chickens. practicing religions without a roof. i see my own blood. proud american blue genes labels. i see them sits outside with the eyes of an alley cat. i see myself trying to be more like james dean.
i see carlos san tanna. more than sporadic latino explosions. as american as bruce spring teen and elvis presley. i see taco bell. i see purple, red, blue, green, orange. i see cheetah revera on broadway. as american as the lee's, the kennedys. none sound american to me. i am not a shamed. jose can you see. i pledge allegiance to this country. land of commercialism.
if i can win gold medals. if i can sign my life away. ain't no language. this is my country too. i believe in free dom and diversity, need to get the hell out. [applause] >> i have one more performer. can you believe that? i am so excited. he is a very kind man to be here. he's a total icon. tales of the city. his book that was made do a city.
he's here on his book tour. thank you very much. well, i would not have missed this evening for anything. you and i both know these things can be boring. not tonight. i like to read, since i'm back home from a tour. i would like to read the chapter that my editor wanted me to remove. i have to set it up for you. michael toliver is 55 years old.
they have gone to florida because his mother has died. and they have been out to the rest home, to the bear bar in orlando. they meet a black bear, that is a husky african-american guy and the guy basically propositions them. proposes a three way. they decided he seems like a great guy. they tell him about their b and