Tag: Poetry

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Kansas City, You’ve Got a Way With Words

Posted on by Miss Conceptionaly

A little spoken-word history, a little poetic irony, and a mild case of MissConniption

Kansas City has always been a city with something to say. You have five minutes. Better make it count.

From the smoky jazz clubs of 18th & Vine to the underground poetry slams, open mics, and hip-hop happenings scattered across the city, KC has a long and colorful history of people getting onstage and making beautiful noise.

Hey, it’s an open mic. You take your chances.

But there’s something magical about a room full of strangers willing to listen to someone bare their soul, spit some bars, or read a poem they scribbled on a cocktail napkin five minutes earlier.

I’ve spent a good portion of my adult life creating those kinds of spaces. And as I prepare to pack up my Kansas City life and head back to California, I’ve been thinking about the history of our spoken-word community, the people who helped build it, and what it actually means to keep a microphone open and ‘Read the Room’

Because, as it turns out, sometimes the underground has a guest list.

Before the Mic Was Open, the Jazz Was Jumpin’

Kansas City has been improvising for a century. Back in the 1920s, ’30s, and ’40s, the 18th & Vine district was a hotbed of jazz, blues, and creative expression. Count Basie, Charlie Parker, and generations of musicians helped develop a culture built around rhythm, improvisation, and call-and-response.

Long before somebody yelled “SPEAK POET!” from the back of a bar, Kansas City understood that art was a conversation. Fast-forward through the Beat movement, the Black Arts Movement, the birth of hip-hop, and the emergence of competitive poetry slams, and you can begin to see how the modern spoken-word scene took shape.

Poetry wasn’t just something you read quietly while contemplating your existence over herbal tea. It was something you performed. Something you felt. Something you occasionally shouted into a microphone while a stranger in the audience yelled, “REWIND!”

1997: Verbal Attack and the Modern Poetry Movement

One of the defining moments in Kansas City’s modern spoken-word history came in 1997, when Glenn North, Marcus Brown, and Jay Hawkins launched Verbal Attack at Club Mardi Gras. The Black Poets Collective, Urban Literation, and other groups helped establish a vibrant performance-poetry community that brought together writers, musicians, activists, and audiences.

By 2001, Danny’s Big Easy was hosting weekly spoken-word nights. In 2003, Glenn North and Adrie Taylor helped develop the youth poetry programming that would lead to the American Jazz Museum’s Jazz Poetry Jams. Kansas City was finding its spoken-word voice. And that voice had rhythm, soul, attitude, and occasionally some extremely questionable rhymes. Which, frankly, is part of the charm.

2006–2007: Poetry Slurrrr Gets Sloppy in Lawrence

Meanwhile, over in Lawrence, Kansas, a young poet named Sara Nicole Glass — better known onstage as MissConception — was doing what she does best.

Stirring things up.

In 2006–2007, Sara founded Poetry Slurrrr at the Jazzhaus, bringing spoken word into a lively music venue where poetry could mingle with nightlife, improvisation, and whatever else happened after the second cocktail.

The philosophy was simple: Poetry belongs to everybody. You didn’t need an MFA, a publishing contract, or a dramatic scarf collection. You just needed something to say.

2012: The Birth of Poetic Underground

Here’s where our little history lesson gets personal. In the fall of 2012, Greg Patterson, who owned the building housing The Uptown Arts Bar, called Sara Nicole Glass with an idea. He wanted to bring more performance artists into that part of Kansas City. Would she be interested in starting a poetry open mic? Well, you don’t have to ask MissConception twice to get behind a microphone.

Sara reached out to Angela Roux, Doug E Fresh, Michael Rez Tommer, and Jeanette Powers (now Nettie Zan), assembling the original organizing group. Together, they brainstormed a name. Poetic Underground. And just like that, another Kansas City poetry community was born.

Sara was the original founder, and the name and early vision were developed collaboratively with the group she brought together. The idea was to create a welcoming space for poets, musicians, storytellers, and creative weirdos of every variety. A place where seasoned performers and first-timers could share the same stage. A place where people could experiment, connect, collaborate, and occasionally embarrass themselves in front of an appreciative audience. You know. Art.

From Underground to Institution

Poetic Underground grew. The room filled with poets. The audience developed its own vocabulary. There were slams, workshops, collaborations, friendships, publications, and enough metaphors to make Shakespeare request a smoke break. Jeanette Powers helped develop creative projects like the Prompts! anthology in 2016 and the Pop Poetry chapbook printing series that helped support authors getting their work out in print with Prospero’s Bookstore.

Later organizers, including Jenn Harris and Samantha Slupski, carried the community forward. Other spoken-word platforms emerged, including One Mic Stand KC in 2017. And when Uptown Arts Bar closed in 2019, Poetic Underground continued.

That’s the beautiful thing about building a creative community. If you do it right, it becomes bigger than you. It grows legs. It finds new homes. It develops new leadership. Sometimes it even develops a personality of its own. And sometimes that personality gets a little… particular.

The Curious Case of the Not-Quite-Open Mic

Over the past two years, I’ve stopped by a few Poetic Underground open mics, hoping to reconnect with the community I helped create. I was met with some rather interesting responses.

“Sorry, the list is full.” Fair enough. Open mics have time limits. Even poets have to go home eventually. On another occasion: “Nope, tonight is only for BIPOC poets.”

Now, I absolutely support creating dedicated spaces for Black, Indigenous, and other poets of color. Kansas City’s spoken-word history owes an enormous debt to Black artists and organizers, and those voices deserve to be celebrated and amplified. But I also believe there’s room to ask how an organization communicates its programming and welcomes the broader community. Because showing up to what you thought was an open mic and discovering that you aren’t eligible to perform can be a perplexing to say the least. Especially when you’re one of the people who started the thing. (I really don’t like to pull the “do you know who I am”? card).

It’s a bit like building a community garden, coming back years later with a watering can, and being told you’re not on the approved list of gardeners. I’m not suggesting every event must have an unrestricted sign-up sheet. Curated showcases, affinity spaces, and themed nights all have their place. But clarity, hospitality, and a little historical perspective go a long way.

And if we’re talking about inclusion, perhaps it’s worth remembering that inclusion is not just about who gets celebrated. It’s also about how we treat people when we tell them no.

A Spooky Little Plot Twist

Which brings us to October. As I prepare to leave Kansas City and move back to California at the beginning of Novemeber, I thought it would be fun to apply for Poetic Underground’s Spooky Showcase. I mean, come on. MissConception? Halloween? Spooky poetry? This practically writes itself. I’ve got plenty of fun, weird, witchy, ridiculous poems that would be perfect for the occasion. And what a lovely full-circle moment it could have been: one last performance with a community I helped launch before heading west. A little poetry. A little nostalgia. A little spooky silliness.

So, I applied. And, I was denied. Well, boo.

And not the fun Halloween kind. Of course, a curated showcase can’t include everyone, and I don’t know all the considerations that went into the selection process. Still, the irony was difficult to ignore. Apparently, even the ghosts of open mics past don’t automatically make the guest list.

A Heart of Glass and a Whole Lot of History

There’s another perspective on the complicated relationships that develop within creative communities in Nick’s blog, Heart of Glass. And that’s one reason I think it’s important to talk about our artistic history. Not just the polished version. Not just the anniversary posts and promotional flyers. But the human version.

The friendships. The collaborations. The disagreements. The people who started things, the people who sustained them, and the people who came along later and made them their own. Grassroots arts communities are messy. They’re made of artists, after all. People with big feelings, big ideas, fragile egos, enormous hearts, and sometimes a tendency to turn a scheduling conflict into a three-act tragedy. I say that with love. And professional experience.

Who Gets to Write the History?

One of the strangest things about community arts is how quickly origin stories can get lost.

People move. Venues close. Leadership changes. Websites disappear. Social media becomes the unofficial historical archive, which is terrifying because half of us can’t even remember our passwords. Suddenly, the people who founded something are footnotes, and the people currently running it become the entire story. But history doesn’t work that way.

Glenn North, Marcus Brown, and Jay Hawkins deserve recognition for Verbal Attack.

The Black Poets Collective and Urban Literation deserve recognition for their contributions.

The organizers of Danny’s Big Easy, Jazz Poetry Jams, One Mic Stand, and countless other gatherings deserve recognition.

And perhaps, I, Sara Nicole Glass deserve recognition as the original founder of Poetic Underground, alongside the original collaborators who helped shape it.

So do the people who kept it going after the founding group moved on.

Giving credit to the founders doesn’t take anything away from the people who came later.

There’s plenty of applause to go around.

So, What Does It Mean to Be Underground?

To me, the underground has never been about exclusivity. It’s about possibility. It’s about the weirdos, the outsiders, the first-timers, the truth-tellers, the hip-hop heads, the jazz cats, the slam poets, and the people who don’t fit neatly into any artistic category. It’s about creating a place where someone can walk into a room with a notebook and walk out feeling like they belong to something. That was the spirit behind Poetry Slurrrr. That was the spirit behind the founding of Poetic Underground. And it’s the spirit I hope continues to guide Kansas City’s spoken-word community long after I’ve headed west.

I’m proud of what we created. I’m grateful to the people who helped build it. I’m glad it survived, evolved, and continued providing opportunities for poets. And yes, I find it hilariously ironic that I haven’t managed to get back behind the microphone at the open mic I founded. But perhaps that’s just the universe handing MissConniption another poem. And believe me, darling, I’ve got a few.

The real legacy of a poetry community isn’t its logo, its leadership, or its sign-up sheet. It’s the people who found their voices there. So keep writing, Kansas City. Keep creating. Keep making room for the next generation (even when they don’t believe you that you are the person that founded their event).

And when somebody shows up with something different, maybe leave a little space for the unexpected. After all, you never know who might be standing at the door. It could be the next great poet laureate. It could be an old friend. It could even be a great misconception.

SPEAK POET!

With love, mischief, and just enough poetic indignation to keep things interesting,

MissConniption

Shout out and big thanks to ‘In the Lowest Ferns‘ venue, DJ E and Mark Hamblin’s Spirit Lifters for hosting the inclusive Read the Room Open Mic the last several months in the West Bottoms.

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Dear San Francisco, {a love letter}

Posted on by Miss Conceptionaly

OoMy heart center, my muse. How is it that we have only been apart for a few weeks, and it feels like an eternity.  You will forever always be in my mind, body and soul.  

What I have learned from you!  And perhaps I taught you a thing or two as well along the way.  You reminded me of the importance of play and caucaphonous delight.  You brought me into the frabric of a history so rich, money was never an object (except for maybe housing rent).  You surrounded me with security, empowered me with confidence, and kept me protected from harm.  Your serendipiteous bubble gave me the freedom to explore no uncharted territory, from your many beaches, to the Red Woods safe in the South Bay Santa Cruz Mountains, from the Castro, to the East Bay Richmond, to the Inner Richmond in San Francisco (twice!), to the nostalgic and historic grounds of the lucious Presideo, I was all over you.  And you were there for it. You met me with 100% and fanned my flame. You told me “bring it on” and to “turn it up.”

My main lover. My muse. How could I leave you this way? It’s been a long road, and while half my heart may be in San Francisco forever, I had to haul ass back to the mid west on a different mission. I confess, I miss you more than expected.  You will forever be my favorite lover. My soulmate. My friend. Despite the time it takes to meet again. 

You were so kind to me, despite the hardships. My angels watched over me and saved me from total destruction. You inspired me in so many ways. Every event. Every art walk and concert. Every. Single. Fruit stand. Was absolutely. Next level. Mind blowing. You took it to the next level on the reg. Popping off was your MO. You set the tone for the rest of the country to follow suit 5-10 years behind your classy ass. How did I get so lucky to dedicate ten years of my life to basking in your beauty, soaking up your beached and sun rays… sleeping in on all the rainy dayz.  The natural air conditioning at 55 degrees and balmy every damn day, and even your mist is to be missed.  

Oh how I do miss your magic. Showing up to sold out shows and being ushered in because I looked important and was likely on the guest list or performing. “Here, you need a backstage wrist band”. Invited to after parties on rooftops I thought existed only in dreams. That bronze gate, your golden park, outside the lands with its bison and lakes stowed away, full of discovery and charm and museums outta this world. Ripe with mitochondrial historical networks embedded in the eco chamber that is also the loveable Haight Ashbery. The mission was always clear: to say yes to the sunset. Crossing a bridge meant I love you at $12 a pop and an hour of my time, it was worth it to laugh over a bottle of local alcohol free moonshine. Honey mommas united and free at lakes of merit superfluously. The stars ploughed right through my heart every night was a Friday of merit on the lake… and every morning a Monday, but still, the exhaustion was with the thrill.  Still I can feel you around me, my aura now, like a field of ghosts of lovers past in my psyche, bound in love. 

Until we meet again old friend, I will have you in my heart and mind forever in time.  Yes, while I may court Kansas City for a few years, flirting with New York or LA, like long lost star crossed lovers who never given a chance. Timing is everything. I will always cherish the ten years we had and keep those memories/lessons sacred, holy, and dear. 

I’m only a phone call or a train ride away. Don’t be a stranger, California! Call me. Come visit Kansas. You’re welcome – Anytime –

Truly tours,
Miss California Vine 

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Art, Evolution, Health, Poetry

Healing Feelings

Posted on by Miss Conceptionaly

“Creating all this drama while running from our trauma” Professor Nightlife Jones

“Despite all my rage, Im still just a rat in a cage!” – Jai Love

I’ve come to love the sound of the recycling jingling in and out of cans outside my bedroom window on the street below…. not because of the environmental implications, I mean, but because it sounds like home. My home, now. Life on Clement. 94118. I chose this very place, of all the towns and cities in the United States, I picked here. The Inner Richmond. Why?  Many reasons. Fate. Chance.  Coupled with my proximity to work in Tiburon at the synagogue, and for a variety of other factors involving landscape, environment, proximity and creativity, this is my home of choice.  My sanctuary. My center. The eye of my storm.   

That’s not to say I don’t doubt myself everyday. Did I make the right choice? Pick the right city? The right job? The right part of town.   I KNOW that I picked the right partner, thank goodness, and I am grateful everyday for that clarity. So why have I been so…. disillusioned?  So unhappy.  What more could I want?

Yes, I do miss my family. But I like it here. I like who I have become.  I’m not as sweet as I used to be, but much kinder and smarter, I’d like to think.  Rougher.  More careful with my energy and time and space. Protective. A mamma bear.  I work out now, sort of.  I actively DON’T eat cheese at every meal.  I don’t smoke… near as much as I used to.  I don’t weigh myself down with unnecessary bullshit and small talk with people I don’t care about.  So where are these giant waves of sadness coming from? Are they a part of me? Or maybe much bigger than me? Generations larger than I can possibly comprehend, it seems.

And I am open to it.  I asked to understand, the human condition. I remember at six-years-old asking for answers of the universe.  I read Conversations with God and the Four Agreements at an early age, and lots of other spirituality self help type books that seemed reasonably informative.   I remember adults protecting me from the truth, for the same damn reasons we protect our own hearts and tune out our own minds when it’s convenient, which is more often than not these days.  Every night we feel the need to turn the volume up or down, it seems.  To alter our current state, because reality is not pretty. 

And sure, we can blame it on mercury in retrograde, or the solar storms, or claim we are just products of our environment, and that’s nice, to put a name on it. A blame. “Survival of the fittest”, gone wrong.  Of course, I am not niave enough to think it is all outside consequences no, I am open to it being all my fault. By no means is my life perfection; though I wouldn’t have had it any other way.  The amount of beauty and joy I have been shown far outweighs and exceeds the haunting of mistakes and misdeeds, that me and those who came before have scored. Everything we know is constantly in a stage of flux and transition; growing, changing, building, maintaining.  Disruption. Creation. On repeat. New twist.  Developed plots thicken. We grow sicker. We discover a cure.  It is true, that I have grown sicker, weaker, sadder. And it has been very hard for me to admit that to myself, because once you give it power, then it changes, right? 

Upon reflecting of my past, my relationships gone wrong, friendships failed, I have grown discouraged. Though admitting your mistakes is the first step to changing the future.  Please know that if I haven’t followed through or reached out to you lately, and I was supposed to, please forgive me. Life has been like a god damn tornado. I  lived my whole life in Kansas thinking I’d never seen a tornado, until I got to San Francisco and realized that the tornado was all around me. I was the calm. 

Somehow, I’ve thrown myself out of orbit. What was once an eye is now a limb, a gust, an upheaval of old foundation crumbled to new. As I continue to stumble down this dumbfounded road, seeing new walks of life, some pristine and some soot, I recognize my own depression is a result of years of neglect and emotional instability, from my own actions but also from the gusts of wind from other storms, other atmospheres, colliding.  Exhausted.  Worn. 

The storm comes and goes, and so does my vulnerability.  As I continue to try and be as present and available to others all the while taking care of my own sanity.  I want to do more. I aim to do more.  I will not give up on doing more, for myself and for my community. 

Sometimes it is as simple as switching your medication.    

Sometimes, it’s as simple as saying something.  Speaking up. 

Saying I’m sorry if you have to.  

Admitting your truth and finding your next step. 

Sourcing the pain, so you can work on healing the wound. 

My friend taught me a learning recently. She said “Sara, you’ve been so open, you’re forgetting to protect yourself”. And then she taught me to clear.  After years of being an empath, I now am aware of the consequences of neglecting that power. 

“Thank you (insert higher being here)
for clearing all draining and negative energy chords
in all directions of time. “

» three deep breaths – then follow with «

“Thank you (insert higher being)
for shielding me with 1000 feet of silver light
in all directions of time. And so it is”

-From April King_

Ripples that we make go everywhere, in all directions. We make them constantly- some microscopic and some so big we can’t even see that it’s a wave.

I Invite you, to be careful what you put in motion, as it may not turn out like you thought. You may not even be thinking about it consciously at all. Luck is chance and fate is a game. Back and forth. Sometimes you win sometimes you loose and you don’t have to play. You choose to feel it all or feel nothing. Both have consequence. Balance is only possible with out attachment and then constant upkeep of the body soul and mind / space we occupy. None of it matters and it all matters we all could argue reasoning for both. We are that enlightened. And yet we are our own enemy. We hold each other back. We fight the way of nature. We protect what we have know we hold onto tradition and the sacred for dear life maybe for a good reason maybe not. Sometimes both. The complexities of chance and fate and intentions at work here are astronomical unpredictable. The equation is long and the ripples are strong. Waves so big you may not even notice it.

In this day of age we are all ripe and raw.  We are BOTH sides of the coin and the paradox. We are all misconceptions. We could all argue both sides of the fence. So be careful what you say and always tell the truth. If you have the facts and integrity and kindness you will come out ahead and if for no one else but yourself. Be your own karma. Don’t forget to breath through it all. I love you. I’m working it out just as you are.  Maybe you’ve learned something and have something to teach me.  Don’t hold back; please, we need your voice.

“It’s about planting a seed, letting it grow
Nourish it, flourish is, give it grow, flow,
Water it down until the roots take hold
from the leaves on the trees to our breaks get old
Cultivate relationship millions of years,
Keep it strong, erase thereof fears.
Don’t you let no producer tell you that you can’t,
Just make sure you’re careful which seeds you plant” 

-MissConception, 2009, Plantin’ a Seed-

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Art, Poetry, Sacred Space

Mountain Earth

Posted on by Miss Conceptionaly

I study the mountains
like I study the curve of a woman

Like the way I stare deep into your eyes
looking to lift the disguise from your gaze

Like how we listen to old stories the
the mountains tell it…

Every rock and groove a lifetime of moves and slip.

Each hill a gift to the present.

Every dry river bed has a past documenting the history of lifetimes,
and oh, how I’ve missed you.

<3,

Miss Constance

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www.themissconception.com

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Art, Happenings, Poetry, social justice

Poetry as Personal Power

Posted on by Miss Conceptionaly

What helps you get through tough times in your life?

Poetry for Personal Power is a Midwest based non-profit organization designed to do the virtually unheard of.  Poetry for Personal Power, or P3 for short, provides health care messaging via community prevention info that manifest through paid gigs for sponsored artists.  Essentially, P3 has been allowing artists to use poetry and music to address mental health and wellness in the community, in order to improve the community at large… and it’s working!

Specifically focusing on  youth audiences and underprivileged communities, P3 hosts workshops, poetry readings, performances, and events of all shorts to get young people talking about mental health and wellness and what it means for them to deal with the struggles and complications of life.  Also known as peer support, P3 strives for a 70% hospital reduction rate, while intimating health care advocacy and research.

“What helps you through adversity? We are now in our seventh year with over 150 events per year, 75 sponsored artists and advocates in 7 regions, and research and peer support programs in full pilot trial modes! We are building a national replication process to share health care messaging, promote resilience in nonprofits, and increase the number of peer support programs. We are becoming an evidence based resilience messaging campaign with sponsored artists. We are also increasing Wellbeing Impact in host organizations with sponsored advocates.” -Poetry for Personal Power Website

So how can you get involved?

In 2017, the Kansas Mental Health coalition (KMHC) has a $120K grant to teach artists how to become citizen lobbyists. They are looking to pay stipends to people to learn to use arts and advocacy together to support social justice. Poetry for Personal Power and KMHC are doing a free one day training on March 14 for artists and advocates. P3 would like to invite anyone to attend, especially youth or young adult advocates. You can apply here to attend that training: http://kansasmentalhealthcoalition.onefireplace.com/event-2168073

Also, Poetry for Personal Power has a $5,000 grant to support youth and young adult artists from Kansas who want to become tobacco prevention advocates.

You can apply here: http://poetryforpersonalpower.com/artist-entrepreneur-supports/event-replication-application/

If you are interested in the Poetry for Personal Power initiative, you can always email corinna@poetryforpersonalpower.com for more info, or text 816-392-6074.

One of the best parts about Poetry for Personal Power is that the organization is actually paying artists to facilitate these actions and events.  You can check out artist profiles on the website here.  Get involved.  Get excited. And get ready, because P3 is about to revolutionize the way we look at healthcare, via ART!

Always,

MissCompassion

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Uncategorized

Poetics: Life Sentences

Posted on by Miss Conceptionaly
Life Sentences
Oh the bridges we burn when we speak out of turn….
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
There’s something to be said for the right timing of looking people in the eye.  Turn too fast or slow and you’ll miss the hello goodbye.
 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
I was never one to be gun shy, and yes I’ve…
 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Done onto one what’s been done unto me.
walked away from love and made it look easy.
But no matter which side of the crawl you are on
both hearts still hurt even after they are done.
 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Nothing like knowing what you want, but not being able to have it
doing all the extra credit just so someone else can snag it
Allowing another to take all the wood you just collected
Putting all the pieces in the puzzle just to find out it’s defective
 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
I wish…. that I could catch my tears, freeze them and make them into something beautiful.  An ice sculpture, to be proud of…. yes, that was my pain, and yes, it can become beautiful again.  It just takes time and focus and maybe a sharp knife to slice away the splinters that don’t belong.  I would give it to you.  So that you could hold my cold-hearted tears in  your hands and feel them disappear between your fingers.  You don’t deserve to keep them anyways.
 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
I just want to could crawl into my hole on the dancefloor and dig it deep
Man made. Giving total permission to dance the night away freak out uninhibited.
Make it our mission to listen to the beat, as children we tap tap our feet.
sound times heat measuring history.
I wish I could tell you where it all began, and how it’s come to be, this mystery but there are no words to set us free so I guess it best to sweat heavy and let the dance floor be.
 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
I want to represent my flag…
wear it on my arm like swag
proudly rep pressed with finesse
wear my share, on my vest … I digress hold it in,
instead of letting honor spin itself out into thin air,
with an oblivious grin like anyone really cares,
what i think of our governments affairs,
you got a better idea under there?
who’s ass needs covering up most?
Scared sometimes I get lost when I think of all the ghosts that haunt our past for a cause.  keeping it on the down low just because.  it’s a fascism statement.  and you can bet your spiderwebbed basement hasn’t seen the last of these revelations because the end is not a option.  life is written into the soft spot on our chest.. you can bet someone so on lock can’t be taken away to peacefully rest, so instead of wearing my flag on my sweater vest, i’ll put it away and let time test.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
I wish you could see how big my heart is… I’ve worn it on my sleeve for years and now I’m seeing that may not be the safest place to keep it
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Songwriter Swap at The Tank Room

Posted on by Miss Conceptionaly

http://new.livestream.com/thetankroom/events/2983675

Featuring Prim-1, MissConception & Professor Nightlife Jones. We took this opportunity in downtown KC on a Thursday night to show off our wordplay skills. This is the entire 1 hour and 45 minute set of passing the mic back and forth and just seeing what unfolds. So much magic can happen if you don’t try and control it. ENJOY the show from home folks!

You can catch different artists at the Song Writers Swap, hosted by Damon Bailey, every Thursday night, 9 to midnight at The Tank Room on 18th and Grand.

You can catch MissConception and the crew back at The Tank Room on Friday, July 25th.

NamastE

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Saraswati Album Release 3/15

Posted on by Miss Conceptionaly

 

Guess what BLOGGERS?  Since YOU are interested in me, I am interested in releasing my album to you FIRST!  It is now available on Bandcamp (though not announced publicly) for you to download, FOR FREE, to soak in, and even give me some feedback if you’d like!   ENJOY!Image

http://missconception.bandcamp.com/album/saraswati

Listen to it, and if you love it and think it’s worth something, SEND IT TO SOMEONE ELSE.  Maybe you even think it’s worth something, and donate a few dollars.  Every share and every dollar count.  This is a movement.  Creating understanding and asking questions.  And it starts with music.

When was the last time you listened to an album all the way through from start to finish?  Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon? (three times in a row with the wizard of oz?)  Was it the Grey Album by Dr Dre?  Or maybe…..

I’ve always been so fascinated by conceptual works of art, pun intended.  Concepts and missed concepts and misconceptions abound, and sometimes things so serendipitously come together, you’re not even sure it really happened at first.  It’s happening to you.  And turning you on in a way you never felt possible.

And that’s what I want this new album release to do for the listener.  To start them on a journey of thinking, and spin them out into infinity and back again feeling stronger and more beautiful every second.   Planting, seeding, sewing, dreaming up new schemes.

So imagine that,  you know nothing.  You sit down, and you have no idea where it’s about to take you.  All you know, is that it starts with this Goddess, Saraswati.  Who is the Hundi entity of knowledge, sound, creativity and song.  And you push play.

The first track, Saraswati, explains this divine image’s work within the Hindu construct, and is a continuous channel for this divine energy to come through and shine.  It is, whatever you make it to be.  We should all embrace our inner diva goddess and celebrate our divinity.  Saraswati gives us permission to be wildly creative, and enjoyably odd in our own skin.  Embrace it.  Ole!

The 2nd Track, along with the 3 other Charlie/Chuckey/Charles Bradley interludes mixed by Purusa, represent the reverse-commercial interludes of the album. Creating space for one to not be overridden by messages, but to process that which has been put forth.  Today’s Bradley mix is being brought to you by the letter Q, as in Quinly.  Pay attention.  They fly by pretty quickly these days, those moments of clarity.

Bringing us to Track 3, All on Black – A dustup cover of Alkaline Trio’s song done to an Evil Bastards glitch hop track.  We’ve been in a dark dark place.  Not everything is pretty.  Moderation is key.  And sometimes, the Pheonix must die to be risen again brand new from the ashes…. like the shedding of our skin …. we are all brand new every day, and we have all killed off parts of ourselves that no longer served our highest good.

Track 4 – Fast Forward Rewind – an sharp Ode to generation overdose.  Matters not to be taken lightly…. but sung about with great conviction, and destitute. This song began as a tribute to a young man who didn’t know how much he had to offer, like so many of us troubleshoot daily.  You are special.  What you do matters.  This song in the album is where we admit to what has not been working in the past, and commit to not ignoring it in the future. Dealing with your shit, from way back in the day if you need to, so you can move forward with a clean consciousness and resolute attitude.

Scary Tale is a transcendental reminder of the darker sides of even brighter lights…. beginning with our childhood and moving into our sexuality, this combined spoken word piece gives us permission to be empowered.  To be open.  To be FREE.  No matter your age or shoe size.  Or chest size.  This song is a cultural examination of the path that led us so far down this rabbit hole in the first place…. from advertising cartoons to childhood ruins, as we grow up and out, we grow to understand that our environment plays such a huge part in how we are sharped today, individually and collectively.

Left Turn – the AH HA moment of the compilation.  Our Day of Atonement has arrived.  Every day can be a day of atonement, with its own attitude and charm.  This particular track is a freestyle piece that is often sung differently every time.  It’s general theme is about owning your power and freedom, and not being afraid to proclaim “this is what I’m here to do!”  So mote it be.

ReVerb turns us onto the beauty of wordplay poetica, a sample remixed from a Charles Bradley tune.   If I was a reverb, I’d spin in absurd days, and play disturbed games, mostly on thursdays….  This song serves as an attempt to reintroduce myself, as not only the misconception you thought you knew, .  I am not limited to one specific thing.  I am you.  I am consciousness. You are Sara Glass.  We can channel Saraswati, should we choose to.  We can do WHATEVER we want to!  (Always with love)

Holy Days – So what does it mean to have a holy day, and honor it?  Full moon gatherings and solstices are coming on strong.  Mercury Retrograde getting along.  Taking us to the Insomniac Olympics, our focal point and climax of the album.  Here, is where we stop, and really observe, just what is going on.  God is a Verb, that’s just what I heard.  And we all have a story to tell…

Devil’s Soul moves into just what embarking on such sacraments can lead to…. lust and love and all of the above.   And somewhere down the rabbit hole, let it Beatles take you back over the rainbow to an ending of unique proportions.  One of the first things I wrote as a young writer in college, was my Eulogy.  I’d like to dedicate this album, to the man who will read it someday.

NamastE.  And THANK YOU for listening.  Now please, GO, share it with someone else!   Keep the message alive…

“I believe in true love, in free love and equality for everyone inside that love.  I believe. In the power.  Of Love”

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Hair Peice

Posted on by Miss Conceptionaly

How about that… two blog post in one week.  That’s what you get if you’re paying attention 🙂  

Poetry, is often defined as “the art of paying attention” – Mark Hennessy.

I think of myself as a poet above all other art forms.  As writers, we pay attention to the world around us, streamline it into a concept comprehendible, we pay attention to our audience while delivering and the hardest job of all falls on the audience, who must pay attention to our words and perspective in order to enjoy the work in its entirety.  It’s really a beautiful process, the act of writing.  Sometimes I wake up and think “I should write a BOOK!” But then I remember this blog….and think “what Ferlinghetti or Bukowski wouldn’t GIVE to have such immediate access to the ‘masses'”…. and I carry on with dignity.  Instant gratification. Read it and weep, or carry on as if nothing happened.  Either way, my job here is on it’s way (and never done).  

Story: So last night, I decided to proceed with my 6th month ritual of dying my hair with henna.  It’s a beautiful indian powder that dies skin (and hair) a reddish brown.  It also makes the hair thicker, stronger and more secure, so I don’t worry too much about breakage and damage.  It’s something sacred I feel that connects me to ancestors of the past, and I look forward to the lengthy process.

 

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First I mix the henna with water, lemon juice and essential oils the night before.  I let it sit about 24 hours in the fridge before applying to my hair.  Usually, the application is very tricky because this stuff is highly prone to dying whatever it is touching.  So you either work fast with your hands, or you glove up and hope for the best.  

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After messing with the gloves for a few minutes during the initial application, I was not being as successful as I had hoped.  The gloves are slick and I have little control… when it dawned on me “our ancestors didn’t have plastic gloves for protection, hell no”.  So I lost the gloves and dove in with my fingers, spreading the thick dark green paste all over my head as quickly and delicately as possible.  It only took about 10 minutes once de-gloved, and it was a much easier process.  

Washing my hands after applying, I noticed they were already stained a bit orange!  “Uh oh…. this isn’t going to look well at Hebrew school on Wednesday”, I thought.  (I was tempted to draw a third eye with the henna, but the fact that I teach Hebrew to middle schools on Wednesday kept me from having to explain myself).  

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Now, looking down at my orange hands brought me back to a time in my 3rd grade classroom, sitting next to a young Indian woman named Sasha Kaun.  She wore the full Indian head covers and burkas, and she always smelled a bit odd (for 3rd grade).  One day, I remember she came to school with bright orange hands!  It looked as if she’d taken a highlighter to her hands and colored them all in!  It was somewhat distracting and when the teacher noticed, she yelled at her, insisting she go scrub it off immediately.  

I remember Sasha crying, and trying to mumble in her broken english that it was a religious thing, and that she had been playing with dye.   Henna.  I couldn’t fathom at the time what on earth she was talking about, but I understood for the first time that some people come from VERY different places, and that looking at each other’s lives from a different perspective can be something to treasure, not something to chastise.  What if the teacher had taken that opportunity to explain to the class what the art of henna was, and how it might be used by different cultures.  The opportunity was missed, but not lost for those of us paying attention.  Years later, I understand, and I wish I could find my school aged friend and tell her how much respect I have for her.  For not being afraid to wear her culture on her skin.

I haven’t thought about that day in elementary school for many years, but looking at my own orange hands, I felt somehow so connected to a place so far away from me.  And we humans are so quick to judge…  we don’t understand, so we think others are WRONG, instead of asking questions of compassion and unconditional love. 

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The next time a poet is brave enough to lay their heart up on a stage, whether or not the delivery is on par, or the content is familiar, I ask you to try and look at it is an opportunity.  A three-minute opportunity to go into a place you may NEVER fully know, and to appreciate concepts you may never again have the chance to comprehend.  Our consciousness is expanding as quickly as our internet speeds, so enjoy as much of it as possible. 

If you ever want to dye your hair au natural with henna…. You can buy some at It’s a Beautiful Day 39th and Broadway 🙂  Recipes are available online.  It’s a nice change of pace! 

**WARNING – never dye your hair with henna if you have other color or bleach on it… the two do NOT mix.  Your hair MUST be natural for it to work***

I’ll leave you with a bit of spoken word…. my Hair Piece:

www.themissconception.com

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