Report by Alberto. Photos by Steph. Full album here. Featured Poet: Alexander Jorgensen.

Alexander Jorgensen has lived and worked in such disparate places as the Czech Republic, the Galapagos Islands, China, and Kazakhstan. He currently resides in South Arabia. His visual poems have been exhibited in such cities as Toronto, Atlanta, Moscow, and Prague. He was nominated for the Pushcart Prize, 2008.

The infamous Bell.

It’s been fun. Everybody smiling, even laughing.

I) Thomas and just another muthafucking babyface gangsta Justin Bieber, Jonathan the former Osbidivist, Kate booing him. Bibì going German, Chelsea technically still a teenager, Gabriel giving up his hyperanalitical morose poems for his sincere teenage poems. Alexander Jorgensen special guest of Spoken Word Paris.

II) Christian Ames wandering the whole world as a bum, finally Paris, Victor & Freddy Mercury: “I’m just a musical prostitute, my dear”. Mags IS a professional teenage poetry reader, Melinda’s make it home, for a full video click here. Kelly’s cultural clash, Cristina and another very controversial story about fake orgasm, Alberto’s farts of wisdom.

III) Isabelle’s teenage poems from Australia, Shayna Klee and the Year of Purple, you have to imaging Yann dress in black reading his angry ado poem, Rufo: dedicated to the king and queen of teenage poetry: Arthur Rimbaud! Tim fell while reaching the stage and everything became difficult for him and for the audience. Somebody cried. David Sirois very edgy from the border, final teenage crescendo: Alex + Cameron + Katie’s sister poems! Now. next monday theme is Satori in Paris. Whadda??? Hold on, read Jack Kerouac’s words:

“Somewhere during my ten days in Paris (and Brittany) I received an illumination of some kind that seems to’ve changed me again, towards what I suppose’ll be my pattern for another seven years or more: in effect, a satori: the Japanese word for ‘sudden illumination,’ ‘sudden awakening’ or simply ‘kick in the eye.”

We are sure you are into this. Bring it on, Monday 21, under the snow, the Chat Noir’s Basement is even warmer.