In case you didn't notice, I'll be performing tonight at the Latino Cultural Festival in Flushing Meadow Park's Queens Theatre in the Park. Scroll down or read the sidebar for info if you wanna come.
I pretty much know what I'm gonna read/perform. I sort of know what I'm gonna wear but a rejection of a monologue I submitted somewhere recently kind of set off an unprecedented nervousness in my belly. It is somewhere beyond just butterflies. It's that voice of self-doubt and the voice of all the other people who hate how I write and perform. I mean maybe I am trite and cliched? Do I really need to curse so much? And does anyone really give a shit about my political announcements, my sex/love life, and how I translate?
Having my mother be in the audience for the first time in my 10 year performance history is tripping me out too. The last time my mother saw me on stage was when I was 18 years old at the Nuyorican Poets Cafe. I read "Somewhere Between Bayamon and Bushwick", my first attempt at spoken word. She never told me if I was any good. Or is she liked it. Not to mention the fact that I was still a shy artista still, a far cry from the woman I am now, talking about my abortions all over New York City. Once when I was a high school sophomore my mother came to a Shakespeare competition I was in, where I had to memorize and recite a monologue. Of course I didn't win the competition and I forget about half the monologue but on top of it my mother on the subway ride home said in the most disgusted voice, " You had an accent". When I asked what she meant she informed me that I sounded in her words, " like an uneducated spic". Deep down inside me , I wonder if I still sound like that. And a part of me , despite my accomplishments, still feels like I have to prove her wrong.
On a sweeter note, El Cubano is finally taking an interest in my writing/performing life. Last night he asked me to read him one of the poems I was going to perform tonight, and before he went off to work this morning he called me to wish me good luck.