Here's the story.

You know what man?

Let's kick this off.

[Music] This is the New Jersey Poetry Renaissance!

Welcome to Voices in the Garden.

We're back.

We are witnessing democracy's demise.

And we the oppressed, our energy will not be suppressed.

Like the words of Maya Angelou's soul, we rise.

You could have been anywhere in the world, but you are here with us, and we appreciate that.

So give yourselves one more round of applause, please.

We're going to get a little sexy, and then we're going to get a little sad.

On brand.

When women speak in my family, we are fluent in sarcasm.

She is our mother tongue.

We flick and flunk and favor the taste of "I told you so's" and "really's" and "that was harsh but you know I'm right."

Let me tell you something you already know.

The world ain't all sunshine and rainbows.

It's a very mean and nasty place and it will beat you to your knees and keep you there permanently no matter how tough you are.

I loved you before you learned you could drive all the bad blood from your body, before you ever even knew what a leech was.

And look at you now.

I plant my feet and grow my own garden instead.

I am not less of a woman.

I am just more of myself.

But it ain't about how hard you're hit.

It's about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward.

I now hold the certification of isolation, a declaration from you that you are through with trying to push this through and you know what, I can't blame you.

But unbridled love, I still brandish thee though tarnished by my ghost and ghastly gestures.

These feelings are real.

I still feel you deeply.

The sins of our fathers are scarred on our souls.

We built ourselves up from the ruins of other men's dreams.

You can clean up your act, but your eyes will carry the burden.

Where I'm from, there's no television sitcom.

Hunger, pains, and quest for change will make a man do anything but sit calm.

The rolling line cross can have your jaw rearranged.

A natural attraction to flames, we are always just around the corner from a riot or rebellion.

Now if you know what you're worth, go out and get what you're worth, but you can't put the fingers at him or her or anybody because you ain't where you want to be.

- And that's the house.

- [APPLAUSE] For the past four years, we've been following the vibrant, ever-growing poetry community in New Jersey.

From intimate gatherings in cafes and bar rooms, to sidewalk conversations, to the fleeting, inspiring exchanges between writers, from small, open mics to annual nights of large-scale, deeply felt readings, we've been there.

We've captured poetic expressions and comic observations, the quiet revelations and the big emotional truths, and the lives of those who bravely come together to share their thoughts and feelings in spaces built on openness, non-judgment, and shared healing.

The poetry renaissance is grassroots, man.

We all came from nothing.

Nobody believed that we could do these things, but we did them anyway.

And now the Poetry Renaissance isn't some thing on the Jersey Shore.

It's in Pennsylvania and New Hampshire and St.

Louis and it's getting all over this country and I think that's really cool.

What's different with this scene is we made poets because straight working class right in the neighborhood.

People can come in, sign up, and try.

[Music] See I socked Father Time in the face and take the pen out of his hand.

I rewrote the narrative.

Now I am the man.

[Music] I am 17.

I watch my peers argue around me over whether we're all selling our bodies in one way or another, over the bodies beneath the 400 block, over the bodies beneath East Baltimore Street.

I got the nickname "The Bible Hooker" and a missionary said I'd be dead by 23.

[ music ] We had a chance to change the world, but we opted for the home shopping network instead.

Mama, I'm tired.

And now every crumbling brick is a testament to the days I woke up wishing I hadn't.

A testament to the people who held my heart in their hands only to shred it between canines, sharper than my boundaries.

Mama, I'm tired.

I believe that I can be the seed to feed my brother.

And we don't need to bleed for vision.

We don't need to suffer.

And someday we will see that we don't need religion to love each other.

This is "Voices in the Garden."

>> What is up guys?

Welcome to Voices in the Garden, Mischief Night.

>> [APPLAUSE] >> Happy y'all can make it here.

>> [APPLAUSE] >> I can't believe they're still letting us do this.

>> I think it's interesting because we've been fortunate to have cameras because of your filming of this series, like this thing for years now.

So in the beginning I think we wanted to not have it as much be known because my whole thing with the renaissance is for it to be authentic and authentic experience right?

We're artists working class right here so I didn't want the cameras to tempt people to not behave the way they normally would behave right?

Maybe not do that poem, but I think the way we've handled it has been really well you know and it's become this thing where we know like once a year the camera is gonna come out and now we know we come to Jersey Shore Arts Center we filmed the thing and it's been a real miraculous thing really.

I want to do a poem and this will be the last poem I do for this documentary series.

It's called "Poets Like Us."

There are poets whose poems are written on dollar bills, whose parents bought them a degree in Iowa, whose good looks fill workshops in Manhattan, and then there's poets like us, who chase America, whose poems are written from dirty fingers, who smoke dope on the roof of bars counting the hundreds of Missouri stars, who chase down despair with cheap beer and laughter, who carve the American highways with tire treads, who read to basement dwellers in small town Kansas, who breathe American.

Not football on Sundays American, not bombs in the Middle East American, not trail of tears American, but the America that Whitman breathed, that Emerson, that Twain, that Dickinson, that Angelou, the America that Kerouac searched for.

There are poets who die forgotten, whose words become symphonies in the wind, whose heartbeats become our rhythm, whose books sit on shelves waiting for lost poets to find them in corner bookstores, whose spirits become our ethos, whose names we can't remember, and this is the future we share.

Even Neil Cassidy died alone on those railroad tracks, two.

Along the highways of Mother America, hidden from the cool glow of strip mall America, shunned from the university America.

There are poets who read poems to strangers and friends and other lost souls.

And those nights are dirty and holy and inspiring.

And the street poets search for the truth between each line of poetry sung into the microphone and bled into the page.

Their doctrines are the manifestos of the gas station bathroom walls.

The soul graffiti of the wayward bastards drifting west past the Mississippi in pursuit of cheap rent and peace, but nothing but hope in their bellies and words in their head.

Somewhere in Blue Springs, Missouri, Jason Baldinger tells me it's about the road.

The books will sell, and sometimes they don't sell, but it's about the adventure between the stops, the drives through Kansas blasting jazz, the faces along the back roads of America.

It's about the poetry you can find out there, the poetry that needs to be found.

Three, outside of a Waffle House on the highway, Sean Pavey reads us a poem about Waffle House.

And we laugh in the parking lot, smiling as the lone moon grows full above the clouds.

We wave goodbye too soon.

The adventure is over by the morning.

We will head back to our homes and our jobs, but the road will keep on moving.

The sun will rise and set behind strange landscapes.

There are easier paths in this life.

There are jobs that trade the human spirit for credit cards and jewels.

But the street poet's born to be outside of it all, born to take it to the streets with poems at hand, born to follow the vagabond sunset to its coast, and I can feel this in my bones.

(audience cheering) Thank you.

The thing with poetry scenes, I try to tell people, is it's not like other scenes, where like people don't stay in super long and super active.

You know, people have kids, they get jobs, they do other things, you know, this is a moment for them.

So what we've gotten used to and we've adjusted with is over the course of four years, we've had whole different groups of people come in.

We've had people who were open micers around the first documentary are now the namesake faces of the thing.

And it's been an interesting thing to have that, you know, almost like liquid-like consistency when it comes to talent, where people come in, they make a splash, some stay for a long time, some don't, but they're all part of this thing.

So it's been fascinating to watch, like, what'll happen now, because a lot of the people who are around for the first documentary, some of them have kids now, they're not around, they got big jobs, they moved away from the area, but the things still move.

I have one that's called "Split Second."

There are days when it seems like time stands still, sometimes as fast like a piercing bullet.

That's how I feel from being 17 to now 37.

They say 20 years is like five seconds.

For me it feels like a millennia ago.

There was a different version of me at a different moment in my life.

From a shy, sweet little boy at five.

The moody preteen at 12.

To the football player at 17.

To the carefree college student at 22.

To out and proud at 30.

They are me, once me, but not the real me.

Here before you is the real me.

I don't care about your accomplishments, your opinions, your trends.

All I care about is your character, your name, and your word.

That's all that should matter in this life.

If you blast racism 24/7, get out of my space.

If you blast politics 24/7, get out of my space.

If you wish those to be gone before you, get out of my space.

Your character is showing and I don't need you around.

Peer pressure and maturity are key factors in this life and they can take a heavy toll on us.

Maturity, however, that conquers everything.

In the long run, peace is finally accomplished.

Thank you.

[applause] This poem is called "Unprotected."

I was five, I was six, I was seven, I was eight, I was nine, I was ten, I was eleven, I was twelve, I was thirteen, I was fourteen, I was twenty, I was twenty-five.

First began a few days after my fifth birthday.

It was because I was up too late watching TV.

Six, happened on picture day.

I still remember exactly what I was wearing.

Seven, happened when we were play fighting.

I'm just tickling her, I promise.

Reason why I hate being tickled now and will immediately cry.

I started overeating in hopes he'd be disgusted by my weight and now I have an eating disorder.

Eight, by this time it was happening more than seven times a day.

Nine, I'm a big sister now.

Throw yourself in the way, never let him touch her.

10, you're a woman now.

I heard you got your first period.

Take this so you don't get sick.

As he administered a pill to me, made sure I got my period.

11, I was doing homework sitting at the table as he laid down and used my foot to please himself.

12, he got kicked out for hitting me too hard, and I convinced myself I did it.

He won't be back the next day.

He came, took a knife down my spine for getting him in trouble.

I was 14 when he joined the military.

He apologized and told me that it never happened again, but it did.

And I was fooled to believe it.

Soon after, my brother found out, and the secret was out, and he was arrested.

I was 20.

You might dress like a boy, but I'll treat you like the lady that you are.

And then my 25th birthday.

And I only know it happened because he recorded it on my phone and sent it to himself.

And I never told the authorities because of who he was.

But when this happens, no one understands why you act the way you do.

I hate my birthday.

I hate certain smells.

I can't listen to certain music artists.

I can't eat certain foods.

No one tells you that when this happens, you become a sexual person.

How you confuse sexual desire with love.

How my PTSD makes it so hard to breathe in public.

And I never want anyone to ask me what's wrong.

You're so wise and mature beyond your years and I get this often, but I just want you to know that I wish I was allowed to just be.

I wish I was allowed to just be a kid.

I wish I didn't have to make myself this way.

There were friends, there were family, and there were law enforcement.

By the way, I just turned 29.

Thank you.

This year, I'm all strung out and stupid.

Pearl white, subtle gore, beat up and down.

It's cool, honey.

The tunnel is dark, but I sure do hate the sun.

Hate the nighttime too, and the way it tricks you into thinking that it can't get any worse.

Watch me play hostess on both sides of the dream.

If you don't look for too long, you might think I am good at making the home.

More than a moment, and you'll notice I am only what's been taken from me, looked at, but not looked at with love.

Watch me clock out with mercy and loosen my grip.

The night shift is clearly not for me.

I need time to get ready for my second job, or I sit in the parking lot and wonder where everyone went.

There are things I can't come down from.

Drugs I can't get out from under.

I'm in a desperate situation, and when it comes down to it, I'm the most desperate part of it.

I love you as much as I hate myself, unbearably.

I say I am the wound and never the honey.

I ruined myself and for what?

For what?

(audience applauding) - Give it up for Rebecca Weber.

- It's been the challenge and also it's been the fascinating part where like you don't wanna like limit what people can do by trying to keep it consistent like aesthetic or like certain beliefs or art types.

So I think what we've learned is just to take what comes in and see what the new crop has.

And like, you know, the first, the last thing we just filmed from the second documentary to the first documentary, those are whole new crops of people in each one.

And it's fascinating.

You would see the change in the scene, how the culture is different by the poems that are depicted.

And I think that's been the fun part.

We've been pretty consistent, just like letting people come in, not putting the overall expectation.

But also people know there's an outlet if they want to go further.

I think when I started writing poetry, it was kind of incidental.

I was living in Toms River.

Yes, that was through social media.

And I just Googled it and somehow got to Nip and Tuck.

I just told the people I was living with, like, go on an open mic.

You're gonna do my poetry thing.

That was the first punks in poetry that Damien did in New Brunswick.

I was just tabling as a vendor selling some art prints.

And I was sitting next to where the list was set up and people kept walking up to the list and going, "Oh, I don't want to go first," and walking away.

So nobody was signing up.

So I thought, you know what, screw it.

I'm going to put myself on the list with absolutely no plans.

And I just knew that I had stuff in my sketchbook, in my notes app.

And I could put something out there just so that other people would sign up on the list.

And I was looking for a home.

And when I saw that post, I said, oh, OK, let me go check it out.

And there I was like, I found my people.

Everybody please put your hands together for my man, Black Diamonds!

Lex Black Diamonds is my stage name.

Pierre, I'm from Newark, New Jersey.

The Brick City.

It's apparent, I'm apparent.

And apparently there's a lot of crap involved with being apparent.

And by crap, I don't mean nonsense.

I mean poop, stool, feces, excrement.

That evil evilness these cute little kids want to deliver.

And when you have to change that diaper and get hit with that introductory whiff, that stench will drop you down to your knees like Colin Kaepernick.

It is apparent.

I'm a parent.

I'm a parent.

And I use this tie to kind of, I wanted to wear this to show that this poem was about my children.

They have been my inspiration, you know, being a father now, um, 25 years, you know, when being a father has shown me so much, so much, and it's given me so much material.

I haven't slept in days, weeks.

Got to be a struggle to get these babies to get some sleep.

Why do you have so much energy?

I don't know why, little ones, you don't appreciate this beautiful thing called nap time.

'Cause I could use one right now.

'Cause I want them to do so much better than I have.

But, you know, as I've seen them progress in life, you know, writing this piece, it just gives me a chance to remember a lot of things that I went through and also improve on what I still have to do as they get older.

I still have to still keep those remembrance, keep those memories there, but I still improve on so many things.

I have to teach them and keep them progressing in life.

My children are my everything.

It is apparent that I have the duty to prevent pain to my children.

Nothing made me realize, "Superdad, dad of steel, here's your kryptonite."

'Cause nothing ripped my heart harder than I had to bring my baby daughter to get a needle from that doctor.

And I felt my baby girl have this "you betrayed me" cry rip out of her eyes.

And it told me all I could do was hug and hold her down.

I'll tell you I broke down.

But thank you to junk food, candy, sweets, and cake.

Because maybe bring my super powers of super daddy back to life.

It is apparent.

I remember doing so much while I was single.

Out on the run, traveling.

But I could not see my life without my children.

My teenager makes me appreciate the new worlds, new arts, the new generation of things.

My babies are little molds of clay, copies of my moves and my ways.

It is apparent that being a parent is my God-given blessing.

And there's no way I would have that changed.

[APPLAUSE] Keep it going for Black Diamonds.

[MUSIC PLAYING] Everybody, please put your hands together for an amazing poet, Shrimpy Jack.

[APPLAUSE] My name is Ray, but usually I'm known around these parts as Shrimpy Jack.

I'm from Staten Island, New York and currently reside in South Amboy, New Jersey.

How'd you get the name Shrimpy Jack?

You know what?

It just started as a little joke and kind of snowballed from there.

You can't see the dirt under my fingernails, but I clawed my way out to be here.

You know, that crater I made was pretty deep.

When they tossed me out, I got extremely messed up.

I wrote some short stories and things.

I always enjoyed reading novels, but I never considered myself a writer and certainly not a poet.

- And yet you have a very performative delivery.

- Performative is the right word, yes.

Can you hear me?

Look closely.

Will you see?

What is the difference between something kept and something cared for?

Here now, him of the unfit for consumption, yet always consumed, knowing no sating, mind consuming body, body consuming mind, mind starving body, body starving mind.

Where is this boundary between want and need?

- Did you perform when you were younger?

No, but I always wanted to.

Just because of our circumstances, it wasn't the kind of extracurricular activity that my family could really afford.

Luckily, I spent a lot of time living with my grandmother when I was younger, and she really got me into different areas of literature and visual arts.

She would buy art books of different painters and teach me history through a lens of art history.

Can you see the dirt under my fingernails?

I clawed my way out to be here.

You know, that crater I made was pretty deep.

When they tossed me out, I got extremely messed up on impact.

But that was only after plummeting, plummeting, plummeting, plummeting, plummeting, plummeting, plummeting.

I'm sorry.

The number you are trying to reach has a voice mailbox that has not been set up yet.

Forgive me.

This is the last time I'm asking forgive me.

I am no longer asking forgive me.

I need no God nor man's forgiveness.

Here's why.

I have to spill my guts.

It is the only way to begin to unravel the knot of my intestines.

Now here is the part where I ask you for a larger favor.

Here is the part where I ask you to get blood on your hands.

I do mean this earnestly.

This is what I'm talking about when I say I must be carried like a knife, covered, sheathed with caution.

I do mean this earnestly.

You must cut deep, reach in, and pull it from me.

And this is me granting permission.

So one of the things I've been struggling with is, in painting and in writing, is how do I make anything that is not a self-portrait?

And I'm sure if I put my mind to it, I could figure it out.

But that raises the other question of how do you express any perception of the outside world that isn't tainted by your own internal experiences.

And I'm not sure if that is possible.

So I've used these different, I guess I'm trying to wrap it in a sort of fiction and metaphor to the point where it's not entirely obvious exactly what I'm talking about, but I bet if you read into it you can start to figure some things out.

I pleading for release must ask this favor.

I know I need it forced from me and this I know I cannot do alone.

A dropped knife has no handle and I will not stop falling anytime soon.

Reach out for it only if you are as bloodthirsty as me.

This weapon becomes its master but is not subdued without a fight.

The fight wherein I earn my humanness.

Maybe if I get close enough, I can reflect it a little bit better.

See, what I'm saying is, I will try to become metal again.

Otherwise, please, allow me to relearn the memory of the flesh, pain, and all.

I can only hold myself closed so tightly for so long.

I feel my resolve weaken and tenderness return to what moments ago was aching in emptiness.

And I'm going to break my teeth if I don't get something in between them.

Please, allow me to fight my hardest, but do not let me win.

And maybe I can convince us both I am still useful in my weaknesses.

Please, I have a higher pain tolerance than you probably expect.

And I'm tired of being treated like something fragile and pitiable.

Leave me with the taste of what I had to fight for.

I am desperate to excise it but this I know I cannot do alone.

The sedative must be carefully measured so that I may feel myself become flesh again and I'm helpless to stop it any longer.

This is all a game of course.

The kind where you have to trust yourself not to flinch away from the knife dancing between your fingers.

[ Applause ] >> My name is Anthea Shoshana Brown.

Most people know me as ASB from Jersey.

And I forgot the next question.

>> How did you get the name ASB from Jersey?

You really identify with Jersey?

>> Oh, hell yeah.

I did an open mic in New York City at Nuyorican Poets Cafe shortly after I graduated from Goddard College for my Master's.

And I'd always just gone by my initials.

And I decided on the fly when I wrote it down to just put "from Jersey."

I wanted to make it very clear that I love New York, I lived in the city for a while, would go back, but I am, I'm Jersey.

Life, for lack of better, perhaps fancier words, has been rough, has been tough.

45 years in, I can tell you this much.

Enough is enough.

Tell me about the piece you read at the Mischief Night meeting.

- That piece, my God.

I've asked myself about that.

Because I'm really good at dropping breadcrumbs or hints and... But never have I just... in a way where anyone and everyone that wants or doesn't want could possibly see this to just say what I said.

In solidarity with survivors and thrivers everywhere, this poem is for you.

Life, for lack of better and perhaps fancier words, has been rough, has been tough.

45 years in, I can tell you this much.

Enough is enough.

Being ready isn't a feeling you hope for.

It's a decision you make.

I'm here to take all he took as I looked into the abyss of darkness that was his black obsidian cat widening eyes I should have died then and again and again and again when he raped me more times than I can count I doubt he thought I'd live to tell the tale of his secret basement game aimed to please no one but himself, leaving me deaf from my own shrieking screams no one else seems to hear.

I'm here still by sheer will and determination because the statute of limitations says there's nothing I can do.

Though this is what I know to be true.

You'll never stop me from talking all the while I'm walking forward toward everything that's already mine.

I've paid every penny, nickel and dime for the crimes against my body and my soul.

It's empowering because there are so many people that have done that, that I watched growing up, that gave me the courage to do what I'm doing.

And if they hadn't spoke, I would probably be dead.

I'm on a mission of living.

I'm here to thrive, not merely survive.

In spite of the hell you created for me to go silent in.

Release the Epstein files.

You know a lot of people use spoken word to kind of give them a place to to release, to release.

You know so many people hold so much in and that hurts, that hurts.

When you have to let off a lot of your thoughts, your emotions, and this community allows that.

There's so many people going through, you know, a lot of health issues, mental health issues, just, you know, a lot of things that are, that they don't have a place to address that.

And, you know, this community gives that to them.

It gives them a place, gives them a stage, gives them a microphone.

Let your thoughts out.

Let your thoughts out.

You know, a lot of people think, "Oh, you know, why do you have an opinion on something?"

No, everybody is human.

We all have thoughts.

We all have opinions.

We all have things that hurt us, make us laugh, make us sad, make us happy, you know, and this community gives them a place for that.

This is what I need to be doing.

This is what I'm here for.

And that's really what it is for me.

Everybody, please put your hands together for a paisano like myself, Mr.

Sal Rosio.

[APPLAUSE] When you pulled up, pony-tailed in that red Pontiac, COC blaring over SOU, the wink in the stuck headlamp coaxing me out into daylight to hitch a ride, we drove back to your house to hang because you had chores to do.

Contributing only conversation I watched while you cleaned the oven in sleeve cut sweatshirt and denim cut shorts.

Your mom dishing out directions on what you've always done.

While that nine-year-old pony saddled in the driveway leaking oil like a sieve, lightning rode metallic into your bedroom as FM static over pirate radio.

After all, you were listening to them since their garage days, sleeping on anthrax's floor, eating white bread sandwiches.

That was before I met you in '91, before the Lyme's disease had you high-schooling from a hospital bed for months.

Then there was that time your dad made you take down the banners of "Kill 'Em All" and "Zeppelin's Swan Song" from off your bedroom ceiling where they drooped for years, the same way that fabric ceiling of the Firebird did.

So some teen strangers, Bible-thumping from the Midwest, wouldn't see blasphemy in a Christian house when they stayed overnight.

I remember when the muscles stuck, your face sagging.

You said it was the Bell's palsy, but I knew you were only winking at me the way your car did, one motorized headlight always stalled up.

Ten years, your junior, that V6 purred under the hood.

You revved harder.

Sun blemished, it wore that hood scoop like an accessory.

A fixtured ornamentation like when you got your nose pierced at the Limelight NYC for five bucks.

Your aunts and uncles giving you s*** for years.

A bevy of years later, their own kids talking back to them in pierced tongues.

Back then, we rode near and far to every warrior soul show we could before and after we met.

Took our hearts to another dimension.

Took that fire red car into Inferno's.

We matched RPMs long into the night on backyard blankets, spilling the cold duck champagne at our feet while Alice in Chains wailed, "It ain't like that anymore."

Years later, we sold that old Pontiac to a young kid with his mom so he could have his first car and we could have a leaky family sedan.

The sun-warped cargo screen and that songbird's hatch still holding the indent from the baby carriage bulking through it.

The weight of it always giving rear traction for front-wheel drive on tarmac lanes, though it never could handle NJ Turnpike laden with snow.

When once, like a whispering siren from a fiery night, you came to wake me, cleavage like a furrow hovering over, your red Swiss miss blouse and even redder lips rousing, black hot pants over black fishnets with blacker platform shoes, my head spinning like tires on asphalt, your neon passion haloing, and me rubbing my eyes as if polishing a dream.

Your soft breath, mouthing words I can never remember, but I'll never forget that I thought you looked like a firebird, elegant and climbing and smothered in ash.

[APPLAUSE] Hi, my name is what?

My name is who?

My name is Chicka Chicka, Blush the Poet.

And I'm a stupid little idiot.

So there, dad.

That's my full legal name.

It's really hard to find a key chain at a gift shop.

Nevertheless, she persisted.

Yeah, my pronouns, I go by she/her.

But I use any pronouns, because what are they going to do about it?

Arrest me, officer?

I hardly know she/her.

[LAUGHTER] You know?

Also, just some fun facts about myself before I read a poem.

I work at a farm and I work with a little donkey named Acorn.

Pronouns are heehaw.

Shout out to Acorn.

Some other stuff really quick.

I take after my mom.

I'm a narcissist.

You know?

I miss you, mom.

Oh, I'm sorry.

I miss you, Mom.

I forget.

I've always been involved and liked comedy.

Right before we started the Renaissance, I actually was going up to New York City and doing stand-up rooms, trying to do comedy.

I really enjoyed their view of performing, where they just get up on stage as much as humanly possible, just to refine each and every line of their work.

You know what I mean?

And that's the thing, I think poets should have like, take that in, right?

And even the idea of us creating a group of shows was to mimic that, the idea of a circuit, right?

My question was if poetry people, if poets got on stage every night of the week, would they get better?

And they do, because everyone does.

So I think in beginning with the comedians, they came in early, very early in the scene.

And there's been always a mix over, even like a lot of the standup started at poetry shows in New York City and Los Angeles and things like that.

But now I wanted to do something where they were equal.

Not that there was a poet on a comedy show or a comedian at a poetry show.

I wanted to mix the two interchangeably, right?

To really see if I could like blend these art forms together.

So I always tell people that the poetry world's here, the comedy world's here.

The Renaissance is right here in the middle.

(upbeat music) - Well, first and foremost, thank you so much for having me.

- I am a Libra.

We got any Libras in the house?

Libra, Libra, Libra.

I'm thinking of transitioning to a Libro.

But only because I like to read in Spanish.

Make some noise.

Make some noise if you're excited for Bad Bunny at the Super Bowl.

Good, good, good, good.

Because you know what makes me mad is that there's a lot of people that are complaining.

They're like, "Oh, we can't understand him.

We can't understand him."

But to that I say, name one sentence of Lil Wayne you've ever fully understood, and then return to me with the same argument.

You can't do it.

I signed a waiver of no sort, but I just want to put this out there on film.

You are welcome to every bit of footage of me you can get.

In perpetuity, as long as it does not reveal my bottom teeth in any way.

So, no bottom teeth and you can have me.

PBS, make some noise!

I don't know, man.

I like that I'm able to mess around on TV.

It's pretty funny to me.

But, oh, I'm sorry.

You think this is ever going to air?

Come on now, let's get real.

Now, my uncle Johan used to say, "You can either be in life a matador or a doormat."

Okay?

Do you guys remember Hurricane Sandy after?

Do you remember Chris Christie had a pep song for us afterwards?

It was, "We're stronger than the storm."

Do you guys remember that?

How weird was that?

It had no phone number.

It had no help.

There was no FEMA number.

It was just like, "Hey guys, you can do it."

And that's kind of what the government has been since, right?

We're going PG-13 friendly here on the loveliest network of all time that I'm glad to be a grain of sand in the time capsule of its existence.

Apparently Big Bird's not more important than Argentina.

It's a horrifying time in America, but we're still out here.

We're still going.

Hold on.

Make some noise for yourself because you're beautiful.

My name's Liam Wolfe.

Fight the good fight.

Hail Satan.

Hail Satan.

So the comedians have been the backbone to the point where some of the people who took over the shows when I moved away to tour and travel things around, most of the hosts were all comedians.

And a lot of these comics have come in and have truly built this scene, you know?

And it's cool, we get to see the poets learning things from comedians like timing, hustling, different things and you also see the comedians taking a book from the poets.

So much of my delivery and stage presence I learned from watching and listening to the comedians and then there's the musical artists as a portion of that as well.

I've heard people put their poetry to musical backing and I think that comes back to the larger point of this being a community where we're not keeping anybody out and that is allowing a very specific type of ecosystem where these arts forms can flourish in a way that they wouldn't elsewhere.

[MUSIC] The community is so palpable that it's extended beyond just the show thing.

To people who just show up and hang out.

That's what we do, the break in the middle.

And usually at Nip and Tuck, at least on Mondays, we don't leave after the event.

People are sitting out there talking, hanging out, discussing till midnight, one o'clock.

And it's just, it's fascinating to see what can happen when you actually focus on community.

Not this makeshift baloney, using the buzzword of it, right?

Actually focus and put it center place.

And we get criticism for it, right?

'Cause a lot of the poetry scene thinks it's the poem is what matters.

This is all that matters.

How you perform it is what matters.

That's it.

But that's for those events, you know.

This is for community beyond all else.

You can grow as an artist.

You can build yourself up and also vibe and hang out.

When I die, it's going to be like the diary of Anne Frank.

What's your name?

Eliza.

Eliza.

Eliza Andrus.

The Diary of Eliza Andrus.

One day, if I don't get cancelled first, the only way that this can get released is if I'm dead because I'm gonna get in trouble.

So, this is the first place you should go.

Not my diary, not my phone, go here.

Imagine loving somebody that much and then they do that to you.

They just break your heart.

I absolutely agree the time that we spend together just as individuals away from, you know, before the mic starts or after it ends, you're able to have conversations with all sorts of different people.

And I've learned so much just from listening to the things that people have to say.

Damien is always talking about some obscure point in history that he's gone on a rabbit hole down.

Or from some of the comedians I get some really obscure film recommendations.

In a relationship you have that fear of living anywhere that's more than ten minutes from the ocean.

I have that.

It's so well, Missouri is funny.

[Music] Man, I needed a place.

I needed a place to unleash, you know, to unleash all this material that I had, all this work I had.

And that's why this community is so, so, so awesome.

I'm so grateful for them because I was saying earlier, I don't, I didn't have a home anymore.

I didn't have a place.

But when I came down here and saw a vibrant community, it wasn't, it wasn't lame.

It wasn't boring.

They are fun ball.

They are, they have so many different avenues on the way they do their expression.

So you know, you have your comedic poets, you have your comics too.

And you know, you have your deep writers, your emotional writers.

But then you have places for people like me, who are just, you know, more variety.

And we have our poets who are like that.

So I'm so thankful for them for giving me a place to unleash.

[ Music ] [ Background Conversations ] >> I am so homesick for reading.

All summer I had off Monday nights, so Nip and Tuck, baby, all the way.

And I'm driving from Union, and it was great.

I didn't have my Monday night class.

I love you, Monday night class.

No disrespect, but being there every Monday night and just putting it out there and having, like you said, people that are now my friends.

So I'm missing y'all.

But I'm coming this Monday night.

You know, I think looking back on it, it was definitely a post-COVID artistic moment.

And there were a lot of these different things that have happened across.

What happened was that for a year, everyone was stuck inside.

And all we were fed was this hyper-corporatized social media algorithm content.

And that was community, there was Zoom, people didn't even go to work, right?

So I think when I came back from Missouri with Rebecca, and we met up with Cord, and there was no shows at all anymore, you know?

Cord had a Zoom show, but there was no in-person.

And us deciding then, at that moment, we were at the 7-Eleven on Joe Line in Long Branch.

We're like, "Are we old now?

Do we just stop doing this and grow up?

Or we got one more shot?"

And I think us aligning and deciding that one more shot, there was a vein that was happening culturally.

Because out of nowhere, we had seven events, nine events, to the point where, for the first year of this thing, I was hosting 23 shows a month, right?

And there were just so many people and there was like this fervency to get outside.

That suddenly the taboo of the new normal and like what the post-COVID world was depicted as didn't have to be that.

And I think we really rode that wave to the point now we're in a different era, 2025, right?

There's no shortage of shows.

And so just like we did one time years ago, we're now repositioning ourselves now.

And then what does this moment mean?

Not just for a post-cultural moment, but for in general, the artistic side of New Jersey.

So yeah, we're figuring it out now, you know, we're moving all the pieces around.

- It's so funny that you had that 7/11 conversation and this explosion happened.

- Yeah.

Yeah, it was really like, are we old?

'Cause we all ran shows before that, you know, for years before, and they were cool, you know, they were cool for what it was, but it was just one more time.

I just didn't want to let it go.

I spent my whole 20s dedicated to doing poetry events and open mics and starting things for the potential that there would be no events.

And then to come back to the world was opening up but there were no in-person yet.

People were scared.

They were afraid to even attempt.

And I just had time on my hands, you know?

So I said, "Why not try it?"

And we did.

(gentle music) - Maybe I'll find my genes, wear ripped jeans too tight, impressions blend in just right.

I never get answers, just scars.

The sign you've been waiting for, my voice, your escape, your answer.

Now, walk, run, go, do not turn back.

But we are all some kind of different, some kind of other, some kind of threat.

So I ask you this, when was the first time you cried because you realized what you were?

The first time you realized I am not for this world, but I am here anyways.

I've been dreaming of rotting, waiting for a salvation of white light, the end of a tunnel wherever it leads.

There must be a somewhere in the cosmos beyond the simplicity of heaven or hell that exists for someone who kept handing the knife to those who would say they did nothing to cause this.

- Now correct me if I'm wrong, but we are all guilty of giving our faith to those who take.

And we are all victims.

Victims of that same old song, but it's a tune you can tap your toes to.

So may I have this dance?

But I'm claustrophobic inside my own skin, so I hide in closets to expel fear from within.

I'm trying to choose happy.

I got in my car tonight, just drove again under the full moon's light.

I had to slap myself awake many times.

Now my insides reject all food because life has become too hard to swallow.

So the powers will play in the light of day and maybe the truth is what they make it.

We're hours away from the slightest delay so hold on tight if you can take it.

You know one hand washes the other at least that's just how it seems.

I wonder if when all you've ever known the feeling of powerlessness chaos and utter lack of control I wonder if that dictates your thirst for what you lacked but I feel it down to my toes something tells me these trust fund babies have never known thirst only empty emotions echoing through marble halls.

>> Because I'm too busy to be bothered I have a fractured spine and afraid frame of mind trust me I know I'm misaligned I just rather not make the time because time is a currency and currently I'd rather pay no mind.

Thank you.

There's a lot of people worried about America right now and that's alright.

There's a lot of things that are happening that we aren't the happiest about in this world, in this country of ours.

And I just want to take the time tonight to mention that.

The fact that we do get together, that we do have a scene of artists, we have a scene of writers, a scene of people who care about what each other has to say.

who care about one another.

And that I hope that we keep doing that.

[MUSIC] We are exactly what you see, bruised and sprained of knees, still we find our way.

Some come as quickly as they go, some choose their own roads, still they find their way.

[MUSIC]