Nite Crawl: Monstrous Windy Cave Kult Chants

I'd been spending a lotta time in the Cave, hiding from the other humans, so I decided to try and actually go to some people's shows last weekend.

First I walked a million blocks down 18th street to the Anode Gallery, which sadly is no longer in existence. (possibly due to some sort of a insane landlord problem, but I may have made that up for kicks). Anode is some kinda tech term, something about receiving electrickall impulses or some shit. Anyway, artsy-fart friends and acquaintances were auctioning off their monstrous works, which included a photograph by Sam capturing a poltergeist's trail through an abandoned tagged warehouse & her sculpture transforming a very unfortunate baby head, Kevn's "monster parts in jars", Evan's latest works which are of the abstract-over-my-head digital variety, including a drawing of wiggly lines purposely placed on the floor that at least one would-be do-gooder tried to "pick-up". E.T. brought a portrait of Spears as Mona Lisa and what I think were alien bones in a suitcase but I could be off. My memory of last week might have been partly destroyed by a weekend of sloth & cough syrups. Case in point I'm not sure if it was Alex who made the fuckin awesome clay monster critters. I do remember that Kyle refused to sell his stylish metallic feathery wings and ended up wearing them. Ike displayed some lovely monster soft crocheted face masks. the cute bartender wore heavy glasses and danced along with the radio, serving up free wine, cheese, raspberries and broccoli.

I drifted outta there and bused northward, onto the Chi-Exchange at the secret headquarters of Multi Kulti. I remember it was cold as two-week-old frozen dogshit and not quite snowing, more like slushing, which fucking sucks. At least there are still places in Wicker that take link, tho Wicker always reminds me of how much I fucking hate hipsters and how powerless we actually-broke-people are to stop them.

The Multi Kulti crowd was the most fucking diverse crowd I've ever been in, especially in "stay on your side" Chicago. It was amazing. All ages- ranging from two to like 90, but mostly young, various melanin-leveled folks, all art, with a continuous stream of ethnic tunes. I hadn't planned on spending any of my ridiculously low funds, but a place like that just makes you wanna give the love and the paper dollars, & I decided that the gas and lektrik company and student loans and hospital bills will fucking haunt me forever anyway, might as well buy some fucking art, and I came off with a fucking amazing comic book by Bernie Mcgovern and a couple other great finds, like a great grafitti photo from a woman who has apparently taken photos everywhere.

If Multi Kulti ever goes legit, it could be the powerful vehicle for change it wants to be. Hell, it already is, but I mean, like, moreso... Everything was very cool and confused there, the odd nutter harassment, the tunic guy was very aggressive in particular, but mostly vaguely-but-not-disgustingly-hippie-ish folks earnestly trying to build community. Which is always weird to me. I mean, you don't need to build shit, we fucking ARE a community. Every show I go to I see the same kids, that's a community for crissakes. Anyway, the atmosphere was somewhat anything goes but not to the extreme where you're worried about drug fiends or thieves, everyone was very chill and respectful, even the crazies. I almost accidentally stole what I took to be free pins, I was so guilt wracked I ended up giving the guy some extra dollars, he looked very confused.

Stumbling home, I passed Mortville & heard music driftin outta there. for a second I thought, "no want sleep go home!", but then I pushed that away bc fuck it, sometimes you need to go hear some fucking amazing music. and I'm glad I did. The band that nite, just closing, was Cave, and, after buying a sticker-with-free-beer through a hole in a wall, it didn't take me long to take off about five shirts till down to the T, stash my shit in a cranny, and work my way into the not-quite-mosh-pit part of the crowd, indulging in a little satisfactory love shoves while I geeked out over the awesomeness of discovering a new music crush.

Saturday I got a late start, missing the Happy Collab show for about the billionth time, damm me, but finally focused and forced my agoraphob side to shut the fuck up and headed over to West Side School for the Desperate. I instantly realized why they try to get people to show up within a time frame- the door is right behind the stage, so if you're late, you kinda interrupt a performance. As a former poet, I always sorta had issue with the "BE QUIET!" poetry folks, this isn't a fucking library, and I personally don't give a shit if people talk and move around during my set; still, comin' in behind a reader isn't exactly ideal.

To be perfectly frank and honest, a few years ago, I didn't think much of some of these kids or their poetry. Typical arrogant assholery. Now I see what a fucking idiot I was, I'm glad I didn't write them off, that their enthusiasm and genuinely likable personalities kept me hanging in with them for the ride. the WSSD kids and their cohort represent the best that poetry has to offer, a combination of the "page" and "stage" powers that trumps that stupid rivalry, an earnest, honest (yeah, both those things), tongue in cheek yet enthusiastic and ballsy/ovariesy fuckin mania for the art that reawakened my own love for it. For the first time in nearly three years, I remember what I loved about writing and reading and hearing and performing poetry, and wanted to be a part of it again. And yeah, they're my friends and all, but I swear before the Great Satan that is the motherfucking truth.

Anyway it's a great little space down a ways from the Logan Square Blue Line. They get by sellin libations and on donations. The night ended up with an honest to god fiddle contest, and some of us got up and fucking danced our asses off until the upstairs neighbor started pounding on the floor. I meant to leave early but ended up stayin late as I could stand, it was so much fucking fun. I highly recommend it to anyone who loves good times.

I got up early for work Sunday and dragged through a long day during which I caught a cold my shitty ex-smoker's lungs are still struggling with. As the day wound down I felt like fucking shit, but I made it out to the Windy City Story Slam because I fucking said I would. And also because the Slam is the fucking shit. It was held at the Double Door, and this year it was much smoother than last, with great featured readers Tony Fitzpatrick (with an amazing filmic piece from "this train") and Joe Meno (who brought me back to my childhood on the South Side with a piece on love lost on a bus) and an amazing gauntlet of contestants, including tales of corrupt make-a-wish scammers & a nerve-wracking Belarussian train ride. The Slam was easily, handily won, by one Fred Burkhart, a skinny aged Chicago beatstir with a long smoky beard who recounted his days as a boy prostitute, an encounter with "The Muted Asshole". I felt for Nicolette, the runner up, with her amazing story of life as a pimp- how do you compete with that? I was sick as hell the whole time, sittin on the edge of the stage wearin glasses in an already dark bar and not drinking shit, but glad as hell I stuck it out the whole show, it was fucking amazing.

A few days later, we gathered in the tiny apartment of one "Edward Crayon" to send him off to Hawaii. This is no kinda official Happenin but I mention this because of a moment, a singular moment that's difficult to cheapen with words... here gathered all these people who love this man, a gentle spirit, full of wonder... anyway, as we gathered, somebody put out the lights and lit a spinning wicker creation ...and everyone just sorta started to howl, and chant, bellow and laugh and cry, and it was like we were chasing him, joyfully, across the waters, sending him off with our love on his shoulders. If fucking magic exists, as Crayon has argued me many times it must, that was fucking it. he'll be missed, but we're happy for him goin off on a new adventure.

That's fucking community. In all these spaces, in love for friends, in sharing music, making art, buying and selling, keeping secrets, telling stories.

This weekend, I spent most of my time in fucking bed after a long week working sick, hacking up a lung & slowly going mad from cabin fever. Was it worth it? fuck yea.

Happenings: 100 Foot Ride @ Happy Collab

2/26 (Sat) Happy Collaborationists Exhibition Space 1254 N. Noble St. 6 - 10 pm

"The Happy Collaborationists (in partnership with ACRE) present a looped 16mm film installation work by Chicago artist Alexander Stewart, 100 Foot Ride. Continuing a series of projects that use the 100-foot length of a roll of 16mm film as a formal constraint, 100 Foot Ride combines durational performance art with a Structural-film format. In this piece, the artist constructed a contraption with a loop of wire connecting a stationary bicycle with a 16mm Bolex camera. As the artist pedals the bicycle, the wire turns a handle, which cranks the film through the camera. While 100 feet is not traditionally a challenging distance for a bicyclist, the 100-foot length of the roll of film translates into a difficult task for the artist as he struggles with the physical task of pedaling while battling the entropy of his jury-rigged bike-camera contraption."

happycollab
ACRE
alexstew

(as cribbed from face-eating-book).

Happenings: WSSD Launch, Chi-exchange

West Side School for the Desperate, now located at 3608 w. Wrightwood, is celebrating the new digs with a reading Saturday, 2/26. Featuring Zach Green & Evan Collins.
"there will be an open mic with sign-up available the night of the show for those of you who like to get down. Per usual, there will be beverages at an extremely reasonable price (we ask that you do not b your own b).

$5 donation or pay-what-you-can (no one turned away for being broke). All proceeds go toward paying the performers, the space, and to fund future projects."

This is basically a house party so please respect the space.

The City is Yours! Chicago Exchange
Thursday 2/24th @ wicker well & Friday 2/25 @ multi kulti/Q4
the Fest promises a shit-ton of music, mural painting, poetry reading, they're gonna sell food, they're gonna have "dance collectives", it seems like the kinda show you can just kinda bring a djembe, a poem, or some cool pins to hustle. they want community involvement, give it to 'em; bring art supplies, perform a skit, wear something silly. donations at the door, refreshments in the back, respect the space. it's an undisclosed secret hideout visible only to wizards {floating somewhere around 1000 N Milwaukee) and has been host to story slams, jams, free expression & empanadas.
This event has an ambitious purpose: "There will be music from all over the world each day, and with your help we can create or awaken a new culture in Chicago."

*

Coming on the heels another round of The Bullshit Olympics, I dunno whether to laugh or cry reading that.... but that's something I hear all the time from mostly outtatowner kids traveling the city's artist underground. "we gotta build a community." I feel like we are building it, maybe based on nothing more than just a group of people united in being fucking wierdo loners, a segment of the hive, one of many tribes in the city. we trade with each other, we go to each other's shows, we have each other's backs. Multi Kulti doesn't need to panic; there is consistently a voice for people from diverse backgrounds on a stage in front of a pretty mixed group- it's not just white kids, it's not even just kids or just hippies; there is a strong Latino presence, poets and music people, friends of friends. it's just Chicago folks who are chill and like art. as far as I'm concerned, Multi Kulti already building a space that brings people together. Spaces like West Side School for the Desperate, a home for poets, are springing up all the time. There are many collectives hiding away in the city. I'm keen to see if these guys can wake Chicago outta hibernation. I'm sure they can manage it at least long enuf to put on a good show.

Happenings: Monster Art, Windy Slam

Friday, 2/25 7:30-11pm- Monster Art Auction at the Anode Gallery (718 W 18th).

Sure, your broke ass maybe can't afford vintage picassos or even vintage playboys, but you can try your luck getting a piece of art at the Monster Art Aution, like or some other little cool art pieces & crafty things; if you know how to work an art show there's generally free wine, food, & swag in it, not to mention the free lookee-loo at awesome shit, like a nightmare installment planned by Samantha Larson that I won't spoil. Plus, you can get some more use out of an old Halloween costume and come dressed as a monster (hipsters, come ironically dressed as a republican!).
One of the artists is my good friend Ike Floor, who meticulously crafts wire creatures pushing through walls & winter-proof woolen mock pig & swamp thing facemasks. Also featuring: ET Chong, Kyle Futrell, Seth Gershberg, George Gabe Gonzalez, Kevn Tijerina.
And since Pilsen hasn't turned into Wicker Park quite yet (though we have seen cabs crawling through and condos going up), after the show you can go get a cheap taco & maybe a 40 oz and chill in the plaza if weather permits.


Sunday, 2/27 8:30-11pm- 3rd Annual Windy City Story Slam All-City Championship. $7 at the Double Door.

If you like stories, beer and yelling, this is the fucking show for you. Local writers vy for your affections as you cheer, boo, or drink quietly depending on your mood. Story Slam is a mash-up of Boxing & Poetry Slam rules created by Bill Hillman, with Crowd Noise as judge, (meaning, like in boxing, it can be fixed- by loading the crowd with adoring goons; but more importantly, that the fuckin crowd gets to pick the winner, not some lofty ivory tower jagoff), and boxer belts awarded to champs. This round is to crown the All-City Champ, who then goes on to the Nationals. Featuring readings by Tony Fitzpatrick & Joe Meno.

For the truly broke & desperate, here's a swindle tip: sometimes you can avoid door fees for shows by showing up super early or super late (and talking the bouncer into letting you in). Probably won't work at the hard-nosed Double Door, which has a no re-entry rule (with the exception of smoker's passes), but try your luck if you're a Scrooge (or an Artful Dodger). Me, Imma pay the mere $7 fee, cuz the Windy City Story Slam is the fucking shit, pumping the life blood into the lonely hall of literature. Where else can you boo a lame story, or cheer a kick-ass one? No English Lit class I know of.

By the way, last year I interviewed my friend Alex Bonner when he won Slam Champ here . He'll be doing a probly hilarious presentation on "what it's like to be the champ". Hopefully with Powerpoint.