The ‘farewell’ to Nik Beat at St. John of Norway Church, fell on the first day of autumn. It was warm and sunny, almost as if Nik had arranged it himself, to give us a warm goodbye.

 that’s a diet coke beside Nik’s guitar

When the celebration ended with the Beatles ‘In My Life’ combined with a touch of ‘Hello Goodbye’ I have to admit I teared up a bit. Both lyrics sum up a full life. The event, to me, was more of a bon voyage party – Nik was an explorer of the mystic; whether that was through angels, poetry, or music he was always seeking. The opening verse from Van Morrison’s ‘Into The Mystic’ played in my mind: ‘We were born before the wind/ Also younger than the sun/ Ere the bonnie boat was won as we sailed into the mystic/ Hark, now hear the sailors…

Nicki Ward (nickiward.com) has ably stepped into the spotlight as the new hostess for Plasticine Poetry. Change is good & Plasticine, already a fine series, becomes better as a result. The addition of Poem From The Hat (PFhat) is a fun idea for the open stagers – instead of reading a piece of your own you pick one from the hat to for a cold read.

 bluejay? no way

After a fine round of open-stagers (including myself) Kimberley Wilson (FaceBook) gave us a fun set. She clearly enjoys being on stage, had great chemistry with the audience but that didn’t detract at all from the work she read. Her short pieces dealing with relationships, food & travel were filled with playful, easy to savour images & emotions: ‘our voices float up to meet the light,’ ‘blood on snow with gravy,’ ‘let you smell the ocean in…

Lizzie Violet’s Cabaret Noir continues to run the bar staff at The Central ragged – even on a hot August night the space is crammed beyond capacity and with an audience reluctant to leave when the show is over.

 this really makes want to get my hair done here

After a quick round of open stagers (including myself plugging Pinebow) spoken feature Heather Babcock read several emotional pieces. Her new short story ‘The Dancing Bear’ was full of sensory detail: ‘the sidewalk grey box of my apartment,’ ‘had a shot of whisky as I ordered another beer,’ ‘lipstick smudged straw of her vodka cranberry’ as well as clear emotions ‘it’s as if I’d stolen all of tomorrow’s pain.’ Sexually explicit as well the temperature rose as she read. (heatherrosebabcock.tumblr.com)

 I’d like to thank all the little people

Regina Dentata actually preceded Heather, then kicked off the…

These roses under my window make no reference
to former roses or to better ones; they are
for what they are; they exist with God
today. There is no time to them. There is
simply the rose; it is perfect in every
moment of its existence. Before a leaf-bud
has burst, its whole life acts; in the
full-blown flower there is no more; in
the leafless root there is no less.

Its nature is satisfied, and it satisfies
nature, in all moments alike. There is
no time to it. But man postpones or
remembers; he does not live in the present,
but with reverted eye laments the past,
or, heedless of the riches that surround
him, stands tiptoe to foresee the future.
He cannot be happy and strong until he
too lives with nature in the
present, above time.

– Ralph Waldo Emerson
Self-Reliance

A packed house on a hot July night! Lizzie Violet’s Cabaret Noir is doing something very right. The Central’s bartenders were happy to be rushed of their feet keeping up with the thirsty crowd (which is always good for the cash register.) Sadly Marcy Rogers, noted dyke about town, was not well enough to bring her wicked chops to Noir. So the open stagers had to work harder to fill her gap (in time, I mean).

 night of the lupin

I opted to do a glimpse of Pinebow on the open stage. The first time any of it has been aired aloud in public. This is the best way for me to get a sense of timing, of where it loses my attention. I found it too long, so cuts will be made.

First feature Brandon Pitts is an emotionally invested performer who makes his images come alive…