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Uploaded:2015-03-13
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Everyone's favorite Watsky performs some spoken word poetry on the mainstage at VidCon 2014.

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 Poem 1: a love poem (0:00)



Watsky: How you guys doing? (crowd cheers) So I do spoken word poetry in addition to rap and I believe really strongly in the art form of spoken word and for those of you who don't know much about performance poetry, it's an honor to be able to perform it for you and uh, do you guys mind if I do a few poems for you? (crowd cheers) Awesome. This is a love poem.


I wish I could say that I love you with all my heart,
The truth is I love you with all my parts.


I love you with my big toe,
I love you with my elbow,
I love you with my earlobe.


Roses are red, violets are of a bluish hue
I like you on a level that two mammals under the influence of hormonal impulses can like each other when liking each other is a prerequisite for mating and further proliferating the species. (laughs)


I'm a hopeless romantic, I know
and I know that the answers are inside me, inside me, but I have to ask
Can inner children be removed by C-section, tortured for the answers.


The thing is I smile when I remember the twelve year old who prefaced every love poem with "when I was a kid" and I love you with my bleeding heart.


I want to know if this thing can fully unglue, cuz you got my atriums breaking in two, breaking anew, breaking a new heart, a noose is not just a know but you are just this art you lovely, ugly, stunning psycho.


I mean all breathing thing things will rot so allow me to decompose you a poem.


(clears throat) Roses are red, and lately, I'm (slows) bluuuuuue 


(reverse) (quickly) Roses are red, and lately, I'm (slows) bluuuuuue (reverse) r-r-r-roses are red, and lately I'm blue, and lately I'm blooming I love! I love! I LOVE!


You know you've gone of the emo deep end when you can confuse last night's poetry with One Direction lyrics,
but I love you with my hips
and they don't lie


I mean I really like you
I mean you are so fine
I mean girl, what I'm trynna say here
is that you had me at "Hell no"


And I love you with my heels
I mean for you I translated one of Shakespeare's love sonnets into digital code
It goes 01! 010110 010110 010110 010100
And that's just paraphrasing


I mean, this is a love poem to the one who always let's me back
You see I've been trying to find my place walking these blanks for a decade,
but if you ask me about my stage fright I'll tell you that it was disgusting
but that frog in my throat ate the butterflies in my stomach, I spit the frog out, took that leap and started trusting
I spent so much paper fitting verse to strange chorus
I don't know what I've messed up worse,
My social skills, or the rainforest


Dear dictionary, I don't want to make out with you once in a while!
I want to roll you around in my mouth all day,
this is a letter to the four letter word (spells "LOVE") and every one of its brothers and sisters
I love you
I love you
I love you I love you


Thank you for the memories. It's time to get to walking. You've been right there for so long. (blows a kiss) I'll let you do the talking.


Thank you. (crowd cheers) Thank you. Thanks for listening. I truly appreciate it.


There's 7 billion 46 million people on the planet and most of us have the audacity to think we matter.
Hey! Hear the one about the comedian who croaked?
They stabbed him in the heart. Just a little poke.
But he keeled over because he went into battle wearing chainmail made of jokes.


Hey, hear about the screenwriter who passed away?
He was giving elevator pitches and the elevator got stuck halfway.
He ended up eating smooshed sandwiches they pushed through a crack in the door
and repeating the same crappy screenplay idea about talking dogs 'til his last day.


Hey! You hear the one about the fisherman who passed? He didn't jump off that ledge, he just stepped out into the air and then pulled the ground towards him really fast, like he was pitching a line and went fishing for concrete. The Earth is a drum and he's hitting it on beat.


The reason there's smog in Los Angeles is if we could see the stars, if we could see the context of the universe in which we exist, if we could see how small each one of us really is against the vastness of what we don't know, then nobody would ever audition for McDonald's commercials again.


And then where would we be? No frozen dinners and no TV, and is that a world we want to text in, either someone just microwaved popcorn, or I hear the sound of a thousand people pulling their heads out of their asses in rapid succession.


The people are hunched over in Boston. They're starting screen printing companies and app stores in San Francisco, they're grinning in Los Angeles like they've got fishhooks in the corners of their mouths. But don't paint me like the good guy, cuz every time I write I get to choose the angle that you view me and select the nicest light.


You would not respect me if you heard the typewriter chatter tap tap tapping through my mind at night, the same stupid tape loop of old sitcom dialogue and tattered memories of some girl I got to grind on in high school, filed carefully on rice paper. My heart is a colored pencil, but my brain is an eraser. I don't want a real girl, I want to trace her from a catalogue.


Truth be told, I'm unlikely to hold you down cuz my soul is a crowded subway train and people keep deciding to get on the next one that rolls through town. I'm joining a false movement in San Francisco and frowning and hunched over in Boston, I'm grinning in Los Angeles like I got fishhooks in the corners of my mouth and I'm celebrating on weekends because there are seven billion 47 million people on this planet and I have the audacity to think that I matter.


I know that it's a lie but I prefer it to the alternative because I got a tourniquet tied to my elbow, I got a blood wrapped up with compliments and I'm burning it. You say "go to sleep," but I've been bouncing off my bedroom walls since I was hecka small. We're every age at once at tucked inside ourselves like Russian nesting dolls.


My mother is an eight year old girl, my grandson in a 74 year old retiree whose kidneys just failed and that is the glue between me and you, that is the screws and nails. We live in a house made of each other, and if that sounds strange, that's because it is. Will somebody please freeze time so I can run around turning everyone's pockets inside out.


And remember, (whispers) you didn't see anything.

Thank you. (crowd cheers)


 Poem 2: Canonball (6:10


Hey, I'm not done yet. I have a couple more poems, thank you.


I would like to do a poem from an album that I have coming out in August (crowd cheers) and that means that I have never performed this poem before. And I really believe strongly in the power of spoken word. For those of you who this art form is new to you, it started-- well, it's got roots going way way back, but the tradition as I know it started out of a community called Slam Poetry, competitive poetry, and I grew up doing it when I was a teenager, and I believe really strongly even though I do music, I do rap, and I'm performing at the concert tonight with my band, that I have an opportunity to kind of introduce people to this art form that I really love and that I believe in powerfully, and so every time I put out an album, I try to make sure there's poetry on it.


And so this next piece that I'm gonna do is speaking to the fact that I had a really great year, in many ways. Most of you-- many of you don't know me, but I had a year in which I met some personal goals, got to do things that I was really proud of, and then had many bad things happen, many of which were my fault. And I wanted to be able to speak to that, speak to the fact that often times when you have a huge triumph, you think that you're never going to have a bad moment, and then when something terrible happens and you feel devastated it's hard to see the light at the end of the tunnel and think that things are ever going to get better.


And fortunately and unfortunately, your wrong in both situations. When things go well, you are gonna get knocked down again, and when things go poorly, you're gonna get picked up again and that's the way life works. And so, that's what this piece is about. I've never performed it before. I did the terrible thing of trying to memorize it last night and I would love to perform it for you, this is called Cannonball.


(crowd cheers)


I'm so far from perfect.


You still loved me when I so far from deserved it.


If I'm so brave then why does looking you in the eye take every ounce of my courage?


I hang my face to the linoleum, and count the freckles on the floor. All of us are a galaxy of tiny little storms. The good and evil in my wage a bloody civil war. The missiles whistle through me then the rebel pistols roar, I shiver and the final slivers of my chivalry retreat my shriveled core. I can't imagine that I'll ever be happy like before.


Before. We're sitting in a field off Golden Gate Park in Fulton and fourth and I've never felt less alone, just a block from the home I've outgrown, five feet and forty years to the right from where dad proposed, an inch above this casserole of stones, grass, and mud, rusty needles, lost guitar picks, Indian tombs and dinosaur bones. Everything happened all at once, and the world is spinning like a hubcap and not just because of the drugs.


We hugged, and lay there in each others' arms all night, even when the sprinklers cried on us. We didn't mind, we had the rest of our lives to be dry, so we stayed until the edges of the sky turned light. I would've stayed until our hair turned white. The mosquitoes arrived to feast on time, got drunk at our expense, we didn't mind we let them bite. We kept on kissing and obliged, said "bottoms up, you've only got til Tuesday so enjoy the ride."


And I couldn't imagine that I would ever be unhappy again and I whispered in your ear that this moment is already a poem that I just figured out my first tattoo is gonna be of bug bites, decided I'd commemorate their bloody drink by printing three circles on my ankle, perfect and pink, in permanent ink, the beautiful wounds that keep me, you, and this moment forever linked to remind me when I fail myself, when I fail everyone around me, when I misfire and come tearing through your walls, when this cocktail of humiliation and pain poisons my veins in this carnival of carnage, this mansion of garbage, this parking lot of carcasses, this heartbreak party drains the spirit that remains that I have been a part of something worthwhile, to remind me of the pleasure of your pulse, the measure of your breath, the rise and fall of our fortunes and our chests, the spectacular triumphs and flops that even if that moment meant nothing to the universe is the closest thing to God I've got.


I'm so far from perfect. But so far it's been worth it.


Thank you. (applause)

 Poem 3: S for Lisp (10:08)


I have one more piece for you guys. I am running a panel for any of you guys who are interested in what you just heard and want to know more about it. I did this thing called the bridge exchange which I'm really nervous about and really excited about, where I fundraised to have four people from the Brave New Voices youth poetry slam come for free to VidCon, to be able to experience VidCon, and to have people from VidCon go for free to Brave New Voices, the national youth poetry slam, so we can bring more poetry to this world and bring more video-making savvy to the poetry world. So we're doing a panel with those winners who've come in from all over the world between 12:30 and 1:30 in room 205 today. There's gonna be spoken word not just from me but from lots of other people and I would love it if you guys were able to show up. Again, I'm doing a performance with my band tonight at 11 which will be a lot different than this, but this is my last piece and it's for anyone who's ever been made fun of for the way they talk.


(cheers)


Have any of you guys ever been made fun of for the way you talk? (cheers) Alright. I would use a lot more foul language in this if I could, but I'm gonna be respectful to you guys, and this is for you guys, anyone whose ever been... been unfairly pigeonholed for your speech.


So... someone said to me the other day I've got a lisp. A stranger. Said I've got a subtle lisp and I should know that I sound a little stupid doing spoken word when all my word with s in them are spoken so absurd.


I'm not upset, but it just sucks. To think you're speaking normally for two decades and then shucks; find out your stuff sounds like a stanza of Severus Snape's toughest Parseltongue as pronounced by Daffy Duck.


So I will say this: My subtle lisp is not sinful. I'm not sorry Saturday, I'm not sorry Sunday; I'm spiritual and when I speak I celebrate the Sabbath seven days a week.


I've got special S sauce smothered on my skull walls like a tossed salad so silkscreen the Sistine ceiling on my soft pallet. I sing along with super scenesters reciting Sufjan Stevens songs in skinny jeans and dance salsa with soccer moms sneaking out in skimpy see-through sarongs.


I will answer your questions in style with my sexy subtly lisping sparkling incisor small. Whats my surname? Watsky. Whats my size? Stocky. My city? San Francisco its so sweet now slow.


See, I've heard some steamy stories but I'm not stretching to say one time, I made a lady climax by speaking an S-y section of a Shakespeare sonnet in her split legs general direction.


I scribble all S essays, I shred them and sprinkle all S ashes. My speech doesn't give a spotted sea snail if it passes. I slipped passed straight F's to straight S's in my classes 'cause my speech stay second semester senior status.


I'm so sick sixth grade school kids call me sofa king. I'm on tongue steroids, slammin' with the Sammie Sosa swings. So tight I sleep upright in a small cell in Sing Sing and sail the seven seas on Steve Irwin's stingray while your speed boats sinking.


Still too soon.


Anyway screw an S.O.S I'm straight S.S.S for save someones standards. Studied at Emerson the school of savage speech, screw Stanford?


I spit sexier than Summer Sanders, Sarah Silverman, Susan Sarandon, Sissy Spacek, Sally Struthers, and Selena, spooning, in a 6-way same sex all S celebrity civil union. So, you can slander the gay lisp and I will slip you a solid list of friends, or 60% of Emerson; who, lisp or no lisp, will stop, spit, stay pissed, and start all over on the racists.


You can save the South Korean stereotypes, the Sambo shtick, the sexist stuff is sickening, and if you suppose your speech is normal, (taps mic) that's 'cause your impediment is listening.


So speak for those of us with something special. Something that sets us aside from my accent-havers, my s-tammerers, my southerners, my st-st-stutterers, yes I will spit it sick and stick to never skipping S.


'Cause I was... sucking on a soup spoon and I suckled it to sterling silver simple supple super soaker staying watching Sister Sister scenage syllables coming esophagus move up there this place is second place isolate oxygen there's no stopping this I start this step of speaking you should see that I will not desist I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry if you don't like a subtle lisp, then you can simply suck on thissssssss.


(crowd cheers) Thank you guys very much, I appreciate it!