Your prose is going down

By Chris DeMento

Opium Magazine out of New York City hosted its third Literary Death Match here in SF last Wednesday night, and barring some ridiculously bad jokes on the part of the MC [an Opium bloke whose name escapes me], it was a pretty good time -- and well worth the five-dollar admission.

Regina Louise opened the event with a half-sung, half-spoken childhood reminiscence about growing up in a foster home, giving it entirely from memory. Kelly Beardsley also worked without a text, relaying a funny but over-long oral account of picking up the Rolling Stones from the airport in a bus when she worked as an on-call driver for a pick-up service. Carol Queen read a tale she'd concocted about a babysitter who likes to hump her male employer; Her piece was impressive -- brave, even -- on account of its anti-pathology, vanquishing any trace of teenage guilt and inviting the audience to explore, as she put it, the "friendship naked" between the adolescent [retrospect] narrator and her adult lover.

Winner! Lovin' the Big & Tall wordcraft of one Bucky Sinister.

But it was Bucky Sinister who stole the show with his perfect cadence, absolute confidence in his material, and profound connection with the audience. His first prose poem, a memorial to honor a favorite now-dead Mission haunt, Hunt's donut shop, had the audience alternately erupting in laughter and wistfully contemplating the importance of early morning cultural intersections. Dare I say he edged precipitously toward the abyss of irresponsible magicalism in his depiction of the old Mission mise-en-scene? I dare. But Mr. Sinister balanced all that with spot-on dialogue from street characters.

Who really cares, though, that Bucky Sinister left the Rickshaw Stop the winner? Hats off to the Opium people for assembling such talent.

Don’t miss the next star-studded installment on October 12, featuring writers from Salon and McSweeney’s. Pre-order here.

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