#MuchBetter #ThanksForAsking

By Christian Lane

This is edgy poetry tracing the personal transformation of Christian Lane, an ex-hung up performance artist who once received a standing ovation from the NAACP.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Lane
• Release date: Apr 15, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311188809

Christian Lane

Christian Lane makes things: music, books, websites and business plans. He has a diverse background in the arts, science and business. He grew up as an award-winning classical & jazz trombonist and organic farmer with an early opportunity to implement Integrated Pest Management. He earned a BS in audio engineering from the State University of New York. His work entailed discovery in several capacities medical reference lab informatics, satellite television analog-to-digital technology transitions, studio recording and large-scale sound system automation. He pursued an MBA at the University of Utah and became more interested in process and form. He supported the arts as a performer and benefactor, growing with the culture around him. He grew with the Internet as a self-taught web designer. He’s published a few books and has developed a rich involvement in the arts as a benefactor and spoken word artist, once performing for the NAACP in an amphitheatre.

Book preview

#MuchBetter #ThanksForAsking

Copyright 2015 Christian Lane

Published by Christian Lane at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting my hard work.

Table of Contents

Prologue

Portion One

Portion Two

Portion Three

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

About Christian Lane

Bonus Material

Connect with Christian Lane

Friends and family, coworkers and leaders… All have contributed excellent material. Even erstwhile foes had a hand in this small slice of a 30-year collection. We’re cool, now, by the way. I thank Nature. I thank the Pilot, or the One, or the Collective Goo, or the Dealer, or what-ever next I call the author(s) of my self-so-ness. Maybe it’s embodied in Mister Man, the yellow head of motive force. At any rate, it’s a whole bevy of not-me that continuously helps me do what feels right. Including Jerry Hyleman, the Sharpie art innovator who permitted the use of his Bubble and Pop piece in Portion One.

* * * *

Prologue

I’m interested in the rebellion process. Not merely as what it is in a pure sense but why and when it occurs to (or for) a person. Where it may occur in her/his journey of discovery, of the reclamation of self, and the perils one can face in identifying and wrangling one’s psychic video clips. Let’s face this thing head-on; nobody’s perfect, and the one who claims to have it all together is afflicted with a major case of delusion.

This collection draws upon a previous, unofficial book called I Stand Corrected, which only a few people ever saw back in 2000 – the days when poets would create chapbooks (generally printed at a franchise storefront and stapled, typography be damned and illustrations being akin to the countercultural ‘zines that grew from a dissatisfied youth). However, ISC was a handmade, perfect-bound paperback that I created under the tutelage of some of Colorado’s hung over holdovers from the Beat Poetry movement. In those days, I was just as beat as the best of ‘em, so I learned all about JIT (just-in-time) publishing, which evolved into today’s print-on-demand model. I’d make someone a book when they wanted it, which was not the appropriate costing model to earn any kind of profit. I gave it away in the end, which went really well with my primary means of delivering poetry – as performance. Into a microphone my shadow self would crawl, and out through speakers it would burst, as ephemeral and naked as you could imagine, once you read the contents of this book you’re about to read.

As a general rule, what you’ll see here are poems built for the stage. Not because I calculated it in advance, but because that’s where my voice found its place. My wish for you is that you’ll carry these pieces forward on your stage, or at least be inspired to begin/continue your journey in the performing arts. Additionally, I want to get a few things off of my chest, and to share a little bit of my own process of transformation.

You’ll undoubtedly notice some anxiety herein. Well, that’s a consequence of nonsense (see Crazy). See, the way I saw things as a child informed a long history of difficult copings, post-traumatic stress episodes, codependent sagas… a cornucopia of what makes great fodder for therapists that deal with orphans, adoptees, the disenfranchised, and the overprotected. I was all of these and then some. And I’m still fragmented after all of these years, working to get it together.

I figured I’d see if I might lend a hand because the data I’ve collected on radio stations and stages in four states would suggest that, as difficult as much of this stuff may be to read, it’s really something when you say it out loud. You’ll notice a spacious layout. This is a design choice that I hope you’ll find helpful. See, I’ve spent so much time onstage, working with pieces I haven’t yet turned into performance (reading, they call it), that navigability and legibility are the hallmarks of a proper reading. Tracking lines with a finger and squinting are not quirks I intend to embrace, and I don’t think anybody else plans to use those nervous exercises any time soon. Thus the big type, ample spacing, and accessibility for all (an important topic we could all be addressing more effectively – but this is creative writing rather than a UX blog). IT’S INCLUSIVE.

My story is unique, but only insofar as being one of 7 billion souls alive today. At the same time, my story also has a lot to do with what’s going on inside of thousands of people I’ve told it to. We’re connected in space(s) and time(s). Only this time, there’s stuff I’ll tell you for the very first time because of the sheer difficulty of committing it to the cloud, where critics and thieves live, where lepers and charlatans lurk, and where I have no protection from what you think of me. But, know what? At this stage, I care far less than before, and I’d like to think that you or someone you know just might resonate with what you’re about to read. As they used to say in Amnesty International meetings, Each one teach one. Now, on with it.

* * * *

Portion One

THIS IS STUFF I’ve written out of love and optimism. Out of hope and joy, respect and kinship. To real people and to hypothetical characters. Often, for nobody at all, save the internal audience of id, ego and superego. Much of it has never seen the light of day, so I’m pretty excited about what you may interpret with your mind or voice as a tacit or live reader. You may not get the feeling that this is performance material but the choice is yours as to whether to glimpse it through a slam lens. I did that scene quite well for years and, if that’s your kick, hang tight for some pieces you can use in that arena.

Herein, let’s go with:

The Garden

Higher Self

Demo Tape

Lady

I Like

Know Me

Mind Meeting

Headspace

Morning

Bleached

Down the Nose

Process Points #1(not a poem)

Guide

Adaptivity

A Process

Broken

From the Seventh

Genetics

I Return

Chance

THE GARDEN

the first wink of an October moon

brings fullness to thoughts over & done

the big sister on the west side

seeks a willing car

and lobbies for pieces of verse

garden still growing

it’s a cyclone of stories

where once was dirt & potential

In there are anger and crying

woven into tall stalks

scumming the satin walls of petals blazing

like circus clown’s favorite dreams

things smell different

leftovers will remain until snowfall

they don’t just go

there’s still time to grow a bit –

just differently –

in a garden polluted for so long

the present integrates the past

it’s not A then