Spoken word poet Megan Falley’s amazing poetry appears in the September issue and is forthcoming in PANK 5. She talks with us about Jello, wearing injuries, and much more.
1. What is your favorite Jello mold?
I actually loathe Jell-o. Besides its main ingredient being gelatin, a substance scraped from the bones and nails of animals, I tend not to eat anything neon that began as a powder. That pretty much rules out Jell-o. However, this question did spur a Google-image search of various Jell-o molds and I found some that were pretty neat, like an entire mock Thanksgiving Day feast made out of Jell-o! But my favorite had to be brain-shaped Jell-o. If a new neighbor brought over some gelatin brains, I”â„¢d be compelled to invite him inside.
2. What injuries are you willing to wear like jewelry?
I suppose, as spoken word poet, I wear all my injuries like jewelry. When things hurt, I write them down, and when they really hurt I stand behind a microphone until they are all I can hear. My current writing is largely introspective, its inspiration drawn from the present insanities of my life or trying to find significance in the clips of home movies that reel in my head. I guess writing is no different than lifting up your shirt or rolling a pant leg, I guess writing is just the revealing of scars.
3. Who would you tie to a subway track?
The girl in A Damsel”â„¢s Guide to Distress represents a piece of myself never actualized. She is the escape artist. I”â„¢ve tied her to the train tracks before with a pocket knife in her teeth and the instructions of how to break free inked on her forearm, the howling of an oncoming train getting all the more loud. She always breaks free in time. If I had to, I would tie all women who insist on being broken to the tracks with these same tools just so they could know they can make it out of anything. Then I would treat them to a glass of wine. I”â„¢ve been there.
Or, it is very likely that someone will piss me off very much between now and the moment this interview makes print. If that is the case, then I would like to tie that person to the railroad tracks, without the pocketknife. And if they”â„¢re reading this, then they know who they are.
4. How would you film a nostalgic jerk off session?
I wouldn”â„¢t. That shit is private.
5. What level of importance do you place writing in the context of enjoying a poetry slam?
Slam is a ridiculous forum where random bozos assign a numerical grade to someone”â„¢s art, but it”â„¢s also the forum that introduced me to the best and worst people I have ever met (thank you), and the fuel of competition has made me a better writer, indefinitely. I enjoy all poetry slams because it usually means I”â„¢m surrounded by friends, by booze, and in the company of people who are doing what they love most. That”â„¢s not to say that 90% of most slams aren”â„¢t awful. If I were to judge a slam (which I never can because of an association with at least one slammer) I would be the judge who is booed to smithereens. I”â„¢m hard to impress. It might seem counterintuitive to a poet raised with a slam background but I am much more inclined to enjoy fantastic writing and mediocre performance than an avid performer with average writing. There are very few poets in the scene that I believe have enough charisma to coast over lazy metaphors and careless edits. I like to ensure my work looks as good on paper as it does on stage. My general theory is to write until you have no hands, and only then should you open your mouth.
6. How do you stuff things into your pants now?
What? I don”â„¢t hide anything in my pants anymore. In fact, I don”â„¢t hide anything at all. In the words of Nuyorican Slam Master Mahogany Browne, “it”â„¢s 2010. I got no reason to lie.”Â