The two-year-old "You're Going to Die" is a monthly poetry-reading/open-mic mashup, and as the name suggests, it's a bit of a free-for-all. There's a roster of pre-selected performers that includes writers and musicians, but the public is also invited to perform—although they're urged to get there early. Twenty slots are left open, and once they're filled, that's it. Performers can read anything, whether it's their own words or the "packaging label off your toilet paper", as long as they do it "full out"—and for just five minutes. Those who go over are "hugged" off stage by the host, Ned Buskirk. You're Going to Die roves around venues. This month it landed at Viracocha in the Mission on Jan. 3.

Myriam, Gary and I arrived at the venue early, but they weren’t letting people in yet. A small crowd gathered outside.

They started letting people into Viracocha a little after eight. The store was full of antiques, yet everything felt very clean. And it seems the store has an interesting business model.

We were directed to a dimly lit, wood-paneled subterranean lair, with a mish-mash of different-styled chairs set out to be grabbed on a first-come, first-serve basis. On one end of the room was a small beer and wine bar, where Gary got a couple of interesting brews. The other end of the room was a stage with various mics and musical instruments. Even though we weren’t the first ones inside, we managed to snag some chairs at the front.

Our host, Ned Buskirk, announced that the roster was full so there’d be no open mic, that performers had five minutes apiece, and would be hugged if they went over the time limit.

The first reader was Mathew Brady, who performed a rap about his first French kiss. He was a good person to start the show off with, with his energetic, lyrical humor.

From then on, the performances were a mixed bag, with over twenty performers running the emotional gamut, mostly telling stories about death (go figure), from flash fiction to tearfully honest personal essays…

Sarah Buskirk described being strong for her child in the face of family trauma, which was followed by a tearful kiss from her husband, our host Ned.

There were haunting melodies…

Max Silverman performed a beautiful piano piece that reminded me of autumn afternoons.

My pal Steven Gray, who told me about the event, got to read one and three fourths poems before he got a reluctant hug from Ned.

During intermission, I chatted with one of the readers, Jimmy Mankind.

After intermission, the special guest, Andrew Blair, performed some bluegrass-y music with Ross Warner on slide guitar, harmonica and mandolin, and Robin Ward on cello. Their performance was intimate and sublime (I sensed Michael Hurley influences), and was in itself worth the $10 cover charge. Gary was blown away by Andrew’s final song, a cover of “Oh Death” by Rob Stanley, sung a cappella.

The night kept going with six more performers, including an emotional reading from our host, Ned. I was particularly blown away by Mako, who performed a high-energy screaming of two pieces: a love letter to Michael J Fox (whose middle name is Andrew, apparently) and a hilarious poem about enemies.

The evening was capped by a welcome encore by Andrew Blair and Ross Warner. As they moved onto the stage, a woman in the audience called out to them.

The show ended after eleven, and we sleepily made our way home, amply entertained.

Mari Naomi is an artist and writer in San Francisco.