experimental writing's topics - tribe.net

True Automatic Writing

2009-09-30T01:41:57Z

I'm a writer - nearly all my work is experimental. I'm also a computer programmer and I recently wrote a program that produces experimental writings for me... have a look:

http://mtcanvas.com/

Here is an except from a blog post entitled "he's never":

burn tomato roads. to brick the that who have said phone update u Denny please. said mountainous wood, Killing v1.01 When have the u and Throw BRICK8...

The program uses twitter as its source for words... the words are then randomly combined into blog posts...

posted in experimental writing - 2 replies

Death Angel prose. What do you think

2009-04-25T02:55:57Z

A little something I wrote:
Pe, pe peo ple said his brain was infected by devils
In fected by, in fected by, in fected by devils
People said his brain was infected by devils
On top of a hill, partly hidden by a group of tightly knit oak trees, sits an ivy covered mansion. Its large windows, tall floors and opulently decorated well kept halls inevitably inspire old wealth. Money you can loose with a drug habit and a couple of well intentioned friends. Wealth?, you can’t get rid of wealth. As generations pass it gathers a mind of its own. The family relinquishes all responsibility to lawyers and smart money growers. The only occupation family members employ: gratuitous spending and mingling with their like. So removed from the world of ordinary mortals they no longer seem to be a part of it.
A large room, ceiling engraved with lions and eagles surrounding the masonic sign .A sturdy sculpted massive wooden door, held together in iron straps, is facing a big top rounded window. The white walls are lined with bookcases loaded with eminent, classy looking books, the classic signs of an impressive and valuable book collection in a house where nobody reads.
It’s sunny outside, golden white glinting upon every surface. But upon passing through the window of this room the light becomes cold, grey and depressing. The feeling you get when sitting in a dark room glancing outside to the bright sunlight. Bats like this feeling, it makes them feel secure, why can’t some men too?
An old bitter looking man sits in a tall, oak, armchair – its arms are sculpted in the shape of two lion heads roaring and showing their teeth. The man sits with his back to the window, in a dignified, yet leisurely position. Impeccably dressed he wears: dark colored slippers, a pair of smooth gray silk pajama pants, a silk ruby red caftan with a black low neck & thick black sleeves & a thick red foulard around his neck. His face is dark and covered with gray three day old stubble. Eyes are black, penetrating and seem to blaze anything that they point at. The hair is full, soft, grey and combed back as only italian mafioso’s know how. His hands are wiry and seem to clutch his beautifully adorned glass of cognac, reminding of an eagle, perched in a tree upon a rocky mountain and scanning the valley below.
As with most old people his most habitual facial expression was firmly itched upon his face. As such, even the smiles of Augustus Cromwell have a menacing look to them. This is because his most accessed emotion is anger, with hate as a close second. Known to his closest “friends” as Augustus C, he is as bitter as wormwood and as mean as only a man who has had everything and enjoyed nothing can be.
A thought carelessly goes through his mind, grabbing his attention and discharging one of his constant smile/scowls: “They will all die! There we will all be equal and their happy, empty, useless lives won’t mean anything”.
The air is thick and anything that can be heard pains the ear. Every sound in this room is born of the deepest silence. And, as the first sweeping note of a violin solo brings/sings hope, so does every noise here sing desperation and emptiness. OR The air seems to vibrate with even the smallest of noises as the deep silence of this room seems to be always broken by sounds that have the effect of smashing glass upon a weak heart.
A servant opens the door, he asks softly:
- Will there be anything else, sir?
- Get out of here James, go back to that rundown house of yours! he spits in a bitter spiteing tongue.
James voice changes to cold and official:
- Very well, have a pleasant weekend sir. He turns and leaves, slowly closing the door behind him.
- Fuck You! the bitter old man yells, interrupting a sip from his drink.

Augustus Cromwell sits alone, smoldering, half muttering, half yelling to himself:
- Damn these servants, you pay their fucking kid’s schools and this is how they behave! Vermin!
The air is still.
A sharp pain in the chest. Every heartbeat is a hammer slammed to his eardrum. Tightness grips his throat. Sweat pours from every pore: salty, wet and cold. Augustus Cromwell is dying. He knows this and decides on an aristocratic pose for his soon stiffening corpse. His shaking hand places the cognac on the small XVII century hand sculpted coffee table next to him. He leans back trying to still himself. The pain jerks his chest and sends his body to the floor. His mind curses: “(Why doesn’t anything ever work out the way you want it. By Monday, I’ll be smelly and swollen. I should have exploded myself in a sunken coffin”. Heaving throes shake the body. It gasps for air. It dies.
Silence. 13 seconds pass. If anyone where there, they would have noticed that a hundred years seemed a lot shorter. And, as the falling tree that no one hears, this sensation leaves a memory only in the mind of the universe.
As if from every point on the window, the air ripples.
A see through figure raises itself up from the facedown carcass. Its body is young, supple and somehow... ideal. The apparition looks around as if savoring its surroundings, stretching and flexing its body. It slowly starts showing discernable features.
The hair is black and the eyes are even more piercing. Augustus’s face is glowing white with health, yet, underneath the robust skin, the old man’s scowl still lurks.
NOTE: A spirit is not the same as a ghost. A ghost is a spirit that is free. A spirit is what is left of us when our bodies die – sometimes called a soul, but rarely as this usually has a different meaning.
A crackling sounds starts building in the room – a black portal bubbles itself into existence upon the surface of the window.
NOTE: A war scythe is a vicious looking weapon that is used by death angels due to its extensive offensive and defensive capabilities. It mainly consists of three parts: a 1.80 meter long, straight, lightweight metal shaft called a snaith, a blade and a grip. The blade is 60 centimeters long, sturdy and curved; it is mounted perpendicularly to the toe of the snaith. The upper end of the snaith consists of a heavy spherical holding grip. This has three main uses: to allow the scythe to be grasped securely, even while swung one handedly, to counterbalance the weight of the blade allowing it to function as a quarterstaff and, finally, to bludgeon as a mace.
The death angel tightens his hold on the grip of his scythe, with a mighty push of his huge black wings he pounces through the portal. His eyes sting as he bursts through, as if jumping wide eyed into water.
The tightly held metal ball is slammed into the apparition’s chest, smashing its body through a bookcase.
The spirit of Augustus screams, the air turns into searing needles, halting the death angel midstride in his advancing attack. The spirit kneels and immediately jumps forward, an electrically blue energy emanating from the clenched fist of his extended arm.
A counterclockwise spin of the scythe blocks the attack, fluidly followed by a blow that crashes the metal ball into the apparitions jaw, sending it to the floor. It narrowly avoids a downward flaming scythe strike so strong it judders the decking.
Nimbly, the young Augustus lifts himself upon his hands to a crouching position and explodes into another deafening yell. The sound climbs higher and higher, caressing every pain receptor it can reach. It slowly seems to take shape, catching fire.
Blake buries the blade of his scythe into the ground, holding onto it for balance against the tidal wave power of the scream. His huge black crow-feathered wings close around his body; an imperfect sphere is engulfed by raging fire.
As his energy is expanded, the yell dies down.
The death angels wings spring open, dispelling the smoke; he closes the distance. He slashes downward and diagonally.
Augustus dodges, the scythes blade passing over his head as he rotates his torso.
Quick as an arrow, Augustus rotates his torso around the scythe, its glistening blade passing over his lowered head, grabs it by the heel and lodges it into the floor’s wooden planking.
The disarmed death angel is grabbed by the neck, lifted into the air and violently slammed to the floor.
Having already grabbed the apparition by the wrist, Blake pulls it downwards. His metal heal connects with the nasal bone in a muffled crunch. In one fluid graceful move, Augustus Cromwell’s body is lifted onto the same foot, thrown to the floor, and straddled. The Askaran Dagger pierces his throat to the hilt.
NOTE: An Askaran Dagger is a modified Xiphoid – a retractable forearm dagger, a class of weapons whose blade is housed in a forearm worn wristband. The Askaran Dagger is a single bladed weapon, with one sleeve, housed in a simple, dual spring loaded guide rail. It differs from an assassin’s tool in regard to the fact that it must be manually retracted. The sleeve allows the blade to double its length, reaching 40 centimeters above the knuckles. The blade is sharp, double edged, 3 centimeter wide at the base and made from an unknown metal that is as hard and lightweight as titanium, but shines as only polished silver can. This weapon is intended for piercing but has enough length and resistance to be used for slashing as well.
Golden white blood drips from the blade, it blackens and hardens before reaching the ground. The air feels as a just sheathed sword, the smooth impeccable end of a consummate action; completeness as an attribute of motion.
Energy flows anew. Clothes shred and rip themselves away from the body, as if of their own volition. The chest is exposed. With rakish speed the sign of Caiaphas is carved deeply into the apparition’s otherworldly flesh.
Most onlookers, had there been any, would have thought this symbol looks corporate. They would also have thought that this isn’t a noteworthy observation. The fact that corporations share similar characteristics to what we usually deem as evil: ruthlessness, selfishness, cruelty or irrationality would not have occurred to them; neither would the fact that beings with similar mental characteristics, share similar physical characteristics, no matter the inner workings of any particular universe.
Blake’s wrist is slit, the sacrifice is made.
Deeply, the ritual of Baqir is asseverated:

Puon het lordw ni a tReag hitew droush Upon the world in a great white shroud
Tiss het engal tiwh het rakd gwins fo Khan, Sits the angel with the dark wings of Khan,
Sih deah si gihh, ubt sih reath si wol, His head is high, but his heart is low,
Lifedl tiwh het naip fo naterel feli fwol, Filled with the pain of eternal life flow,
Ubt vene sa sih naip verne vesdicee, But even as his pain never deceives,
Sih lliw ot perwo verne His will to power never recedes
Nad roughth sih lliw: And through his will I now command:
Het tingpar fo royu nibeg nito tandist sevalh The parting of your being into distant halves

Blood drips upward from Augustus’s lacerations. Tiny droplets spin around each other, faster and faster, bubbling, extruding hair-like tentacles, weaving themselves into a golden ring: two serpents with hollow eyes, one devouring a large, oval ruby, the other coiling around it. A new Mnemon’ankh is forged.
NOTE: Mnemon’ankh - loosely translates as memory of life. Such artifacts come into existence at the separation of the mind (memory, personality, ego) from the spirit (essence, the primal you, what is left when everything that is changeable is stripped away). It encompasses all the memories and experiences of the birthers life.
A sturdy silver chain slithers silently through the air; it flows through the Mnemon’ank’s orifice and closes behind Blake’s neck. It lets itself fall, clattering with other chains and rings.
The death angel hoists the mutilated body on his shoulder. He slowly walks to the portal. The moment he passes through flames erupt. Books burn, blackened blood boils, glass cracks. As the blaze devours the room its former aspect returns.
The room is unchanged, yet quite different. The feeling is warm, the air is peaceful and the light seems to have gathered strength, peering through the glass and playfully casting the shadow of an old willow tree next to the corpse of an old man.

Suggestions and criticism are quite welcomed.

posted in experimental writing - 1 reply

love poems from Rumi , for this Valentine

2009-02-05T01:27:34Z

To all of you that feel the call to explore the endless potential of love, journey now with love’s greatest student – and master – the 13th century mystic poet of Persia : Jelaluddin Rumi. Rumi’s incredible, profound verses invite us to experience a love beyond our senses, beyond time, beyond language: a love that removes all boundaries and answers all desire.
Sina Yasavolian recites selections of Nader Khalili’s translations in a graceful, lyrical dance to an original musical score by Hamoon Tehrani . His music awakens our hearts as Sina’s soothing voice and Rumi’s sensitive words transport our spirits to a place of union with the infinite divine presence. In her readings, Sina exhibits a deep respect and understanding of Rumi’s writing, which she generously shares with us. Do more than listen to this poetry and music; let it color your soul. You can buy and download these music, directly from this site. hope you enjoy it.
you can visite these web site for the CD.

http://trueloverumi.com/shop.html

http://cdbaby.com/cd/sina2

http://www.amazon.com/Rumis-Love-Sina/dp/B0012DKIBU/ref=sr_1_35?ie=UTF8&s=music&qid=1233635484&sr=8-35

http://www.dailyom.com/articles/3/2009/17069.html

love and light

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

Hmmmm

2009-01-09T21:30:23Z

Hand dipped bowels in acid
and the texted message of a faded blue ton heart
in the after in vitro trip through the high heels
of your other women......
I'm the morbid crush dreams
you slobber me with instrumental body silverware
you reckonly eat with deceit.
a teary wreck of a self proclaimed Cassandra beating through
pain and human delegation ..
with these 6 worlds i poke holes in facets to young and or to old
for our imbellishment's...
i trick to stay out of the trouble. tho tsunamis
hit the cheeks and run down cars in the junkyards
of older dictionary's we wrote in sexual deformity's...

Instructions to hell
murmured slowly on a tattoo
on a tooth inside the
house of floozy
blind to us bugs and the big screen
the fool with battery's not deluded.
and the molding girl inside
mountains to the inside heart
of pimped out psyches.
breath piss shit and cry
and maybe even vomit out a reason
for our estrangement
Now a trucks wheel in my hand
hitting 50 forgotten beaten underwear .
the power wielding worn out earthquake lover
a dynamite dumb to you
a diabetic dichotomy to no one
but some.

COPY RIGHT LALENA F

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

New Hunter S. Thompson Documentary

2009-01-09T21:23:50Z

Dear Friends,
This is a VERY funny and poignant film director Blue Kraning made about Hunter S. Thompson. You can follow this link to where the trailer is posted up on Tribe:

http://people.tribe.net/ef16dbc2-...e40916ff6d

or you can follow the other links to his website www.gonzopatriots.com to see the trailer and buy the film.

I went ahead and copied the text from the tribe page below so you get a better idea of the work.

Please support the spirit of independence in which this film was made AND BUY THIS FILM !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Much Love To All,
Lisa Ferguson (aka Petunia Maple Cake)

New Hunter S. Thompson Documentary
This is the trailer for the fun-loving but poignant film that is a tribute to Gonzo journalist, Hunter S. Thompson, and a document of how his legacy continues to live on in the hearts and minds of his fans. Blasted!!! follows the many "Gonzo Patriots" across America that volunteered their personally owned artillery to fulfill the good doctor's last wish to have his ashes fired from a cannon. Before Johnny Depp became involved with the ceremony, and paid over 2 million dollars for a professional fireworks company to blast his friend's ashes from a 200 foot tall 'Gonzo fist,' an essay contest was held by the Aspen Daily News (at the request of Hunter's family) to see who would be available to provide the service of firing his ashes. Over 50 private cannon owners applied and though these letters were published in Harper's magazine, these brave men and women, who had come forward to fulfill the dying wish of their hero...were eventually forgotten.

DVD's for this film can be purchased at www.gonzopatriots.com

Blue Kraning, Los Angeles based documentary director and Emmy Award winning writer, has just released the DVD of his film, Blasted, The Gonzo Patriots of Hunter S. Thompson, which recently premiered at the Starz Denver International Film Festival and the Rotterdam International Film Festival.

Three years in the making, this film is a tribute to a great journalist and renowned physician. Kraning says the film, “is intended for any fan of Hunter S. Thompson or just anyone who likes to see large stuffed animals blown to bits by a homemade Bowling Ball Cannon fired by a man in a purple polyester suit, or see transgender Civil War re-enactors blast their aptly named mountain howitzer...’Lucrecia,’ while reciting Hunter’s wisdom. I made this film entirely as a one-man-band, in the tradition of Gonzo individuality and artistic freedom, so I will be distributing the film entirely by myself by selling the film off my website at www.gonzopatriots.com”

"Hunter S. Thompson embodied the American ideals of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. Blue Kraning's Blasted!!! is a twisted, anarchic, fun, and funny tribute to Hunter, those ideals, and Americans who don't merely mouth the Declaration of Independence, but live it." - Michael Simmons, The Huffington Post

“These are not the famous actors, politicians or even journalists. These are Hunter's readers who are “his people” in the purest sense, an army of thoughtful citizens who are inspired by Hunter's work and who do a fine job of carrying on his legacy.” –Anita Thompson, wife of the late author, Hunter S. Thompson

posted in experimental writing - 1 reply

I Forgot

2008-12-12T22:01:20Z

Eos arises to wake Helios to ride his chariot across the Heavens,
As I arise to the invariable dawn of the dilapidated day to come.

Bringing with it an insipid populace to digress,
In muddled masses within their own bemused existences.
Through the mind's eye impeded by an expedited culture,
Intolerable of uninhibited thought;
Or could it be that I am intolerant?
Intolerant of the conventional social life that is the American dream,
Of a house,
Two-car garage,
Wrapped in a white picket fence,
A wife,
2.5 children,
A cat,
Dog,
And a gerbil.
I shudder in fear at this fate of a 'civilized' life,
Wilting away within a growing darkness of the monotonous,
Mind-numbing parasites that are the upper middle-class...
Day after day, their meaningless lives drone on incessantly,
Reminiscent of a pair of twin propeller engines of a DC-9,
Throbbing in thunderous succession.
The very thought of this sort of habitual routine becoming my own,
Aggravates my psyche into feverous madness,
Frantically clawing away at the roof of my skull,
In hopeless desperation to flee from the cubicle working class drudgery,
Until death do us part...

Eos arises to wake Helios to ride his chariot across the Heavens,
As I arise to the invariable dawn of the dilapidated day to come.

I sigh with a heavy heart,
Mulling over endless inquiries of what is,
Can,
May,
Could or could not be,
A pure and true awareness of self.
Is there, no longer, a place on this shallow Earth for a free mind?
Have we as Humanity hit a brick wall?
Who, then, is left to ponder and question
This progression of knowledge and lack of understanding as to why we are here?
What has happened to the, ever increasing, theories of what comes next?
Where have all the philosophers gone?
When will selfishness, greed, hate and bloodshed become taboo?
...If ever...
Peace is not a hope in this day and age;
Instead becoming more and more like a deplorable cruel joke,
A might more mythical than a man liviing in the moon...
...Made of cheese.
What has happened to us since the Renaissance?
Is this what has become of the Age of Enlightenment?
Why is every novel idea to come along, now challenged as false,
Before contemplated upon as a possible truth?
How has Mankind become the stagnant, socio-cultural idiot savant it is today?
Will we ever stop with this obsessive compulsive,
Self-gratification to 'upgrade' our lives?
HDTVs, iPods, Blue Ray Discs, Digital Cameras
Or anything else we may come across in the new mega-stores of gadgets galore.

Forget Global Warming.
Forget Starvation.
Forget Disease.
Forget the War.
Forget the Threats of WWIII.
Forget Poverty.
Forget the Hate.
Forget Genocide.
Forget the Exchange of Blood for Oil.
Forget the Dying and Dead.
Forget it All.

Shut yourselves away from the rest of the world,
Hiding within your comfortable suburbanite track homes,
And complain about the REAL problems of your own little worlds:
Rising gas prices,
Raised taxes,
Recession,
The switch to High Definition
And the size of your fucking television set.
Utter nonsense to prattle on and on about,
Sheltering the populace from the callous realities of this newborn century,
Frighteningly evocative of 1984.

Eos arises to wake Helios to ride his chariot across the Heavens,
Illuminating an ever expanding, chasm unto social redundancy.

Michael Stipe sings it best:
"It's the end of the World as we know it... And I feel fine."

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

Needing friends and readers to link on to my Facebook site - THANKS THANKS THANKS

2008-12-09T16:30:24Z

http://www.facebook.com/home.php?#/profile.php?id=1657622647&ref=profile -

begging, yes, BEGGING, friends and readers to link onto my Facebook page and add themselves as readers to the 2 blogs posted. THANKS SO MUCH!

posted in experimental writing - 1 reply

Combination Dildo/single-reed, conical bore horn in E

2008-11-23T15:22:34Z

scroll down to my posts at the thread FERAL FAUN DISCUSSES RADICAL FEMINISM; for the history of the evolution of an amazing musical instrument; very phallic looking if black.
<http://theicarusproject.net/forums/viewtopic.php?t=11100&start=15>

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

FREE chapbook of bizarre poetry & experimental texts

2008-10-26T17:57:01Z

Send your name and mailing address to madverse [at] gmail [dot] com for a free copy of 888, my latest chapbook of bizarre poems and experimental texts.

J. D. Nelson
Colorado, USA

words: http://www.MadVerse.com
myspace: http://www.myspace.com/jdnelson
audio experiments: http://www.OwlNoise.com
video art: http://www.youtube.com/user/OWLNOISE

posted in experimental writing - 1 reply

Sirius and August

2008-08-29T14:21:10Z

If not to howl at this, the
sliver moon,
then devour it
for Sirius is high
and the dog days are here

Go wary in these last of nights
you brown dogs,
for the old men
have sharp knives,
and this is a month
when your scalp is worth more
than the gold in mouths of men

They take no prisoners, these ancients
their blades, sharp as the night
this wet stoned steel
carries the heat of the day,
tarry then as sacrifice
for that, but never lust
give up your mask in honour
as there is none,
on a dog day late August

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

Sacramento comic creators make it to TOP 10 in Worldwide Competition!

2008-08-17T21:27:51Z

Hi, all. This is Ben Schwartz, a Sacramento comic store owner and small press comic publisher with ECV Press. I am also a co-writer with Hai-Na-Nu Saulque on our new project Hank Houston. We entered a worldwide competition to find the best new comic for Platinum Studios to produce and we have made it to the TOP 10.

From this point forward the winner will be determined by your votes. We need your support and help to spread the word! Please take a look at our website where you will find, concept sketches, alien designs, pin-ups, daily webcomics and a link to give us your vote! Give us a vote and tell your friends.

www.hankhouston.com

Thank you in advance for all of your support and help in taking Hank Houston to the TOP!

Ben Schwartz

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

Jung @ Heart, Emerging Visions #12, has emerged

2008-07-26T20:15:02Z

Celebrate the Jung-star in us all with

Emerging Visions visionary art ezine #12 - "Jung @ Heart"

http://emergingvisions.blogspot.com

~ share and enjoy ~

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

bored on the dog shift

2008-07-20T02:55:53Z

its 3.30 am i have been fiddling with my story on blogspot and have been able to format it to fit the sight well. if you enjoyed reading catch-22, kerouac or burruoghs then you may enjoy my foray into the world of online publishing. it is a work in progress, its experimental and i hope you enjoy. cheers

http://harrykruger.blogspot.com

posted in experimental writing - 1 reply

hero

2008-06-15T04:22:29Z

hero

Pearls from the Sun
Diamonds from the Moon
Gold-dusted silks from
exotic worlds
Valued in danger, adventure
from there to here.
Fine old wood
mellowed with wisdom
tasting of Earth essence
silently regales with tales
old and pure.

Young Percival took knighthood seriously. To protect and to serve King and country.
The old King sickening, perhaps dying, soul sickness they said.
Crops failed. Floods and droughts, inopportune times. The peasants too sickened,
died, lived in dreadful poverty and despair.
In a dream, the young knight was shown the Grail -- shiny jewels upon a golden cup
self-generating elixir of immortality.
On awakening, he took off in the direction of adventure. He left the dying kingdom
to its own devices, in search of a promised land of magical curative power. He was
not thinking of King or country, but of a delicious ecstatic pounding he knew to be
his own heart.

Where do you ride, fair Percival?
Off to find the dreamer's Grail?
Learn your song and tell your tale.
Become a son of Sky and Earth
and rain
to return with all you gain
some wondrous day.
Break the spell.
Release the kingdom's pain.

He learned the ways of seers, demons, subtle sorceries and charms. Growing ever
stronger with healthy exercise and happy purpose, he made his way. Trial by
treacherous trial, he ever more closely approaches his prize.
These trials are the key. They test mettle while bestowing grace, confidence,
skill acquisition, glimmerings of wisdom. The prize glitters, shines, glows
brilliantly in the distance to maintain focus, a clear point, fixed star to contemplate
through twisting, turning, misty mythic pathways.
Sometimes the brick is yellow. Some paths are more intuitive, steps in the dark,
brambly forest.
Percival knows what a hero does. A hero perseveres. A hero scales the tower to free
the enchanted maiden, goes where others dare not because fear is a solid companion.
Daring, fighting, sometimes dazed, momentarily forgetting his cause, he perseveres.
He need but think to look to see his Grail shining, calling him forward.
Of course, he reaches the Grail, discovers the codes, incantations, disarms dragons,
ensorcels giants, generally blazes through to capture his dream.
Returning triumphant, he fixes the kingdom, drop-kicks the curse, cures the old King
of his soul malady, takes the throne to wisely guide into times of prosperity.
So the story goes.

http://emergingvisions.blogspot.com

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

April Aries follies

2008-04-22T04:48:38Z

Sometimes I feel as though I have died and reawakened into the world subtlely changed.

I saw on C-SPAN an interview with a Muslim-American woman, co-author of a book based on worldwide polling about attitudes of various peoples about issues such as war and peace and the issues behind them. She brought out that polling showed about an equal percentage of US Christians and Islamic country Muslims thought their religious texts ought to form the basis of their countries' government. Also, that the vast majority of people were totally against targeting civilians in attacks. Christians and Muslims seem to have cross-misunderstandings, members of each group often attacking the other for the same misperceived faults.

Someone suggested to me that the idea of War and Peace as opposites keeps that paradigmatic system alive. Perhaps the story might better be about consciousness and cooperation.

I do know that a theme I keep running into recently is about dignity and respect for all as the underlying basis for real progress for humankind.

I've got to wonder how it is that all these Christians (and I know it is not all Christians, just these who are interested in quickening the Day of Judgment) are in such a hurry to have the story end. What are they so desperate to escape? If life is about worship and doing God's will and perfecting our souls, aren't we ever so happy to be here? Are we so concerned that Justice be served quickly that we rush to Judgment before all the evidence is in? I am somewhat persuaded of the opinion, in regard to Jerusalem, that it is a holy place for several faiths and ought be treated as such, like a sanctuary zone where everyone is free to practice their rituals in peace. Perhaps appropriate accommodations, infrastructure and business practices could be put in place to set it up for religious tourism as a sort of cottage industry and sole trade resource to preserve, protect, and maintain the holy city.

currently I am caught up with Captain Jack Harkness of Torchwood, the reluctant immortal filled with love for all conscious life, yet ruthless in the extreme when he believes it's warranted, burdened with his long life of experiences and those he's lost, cute, cheeky, irreverant, occasionally bordering on wise -- great hero material

I don't know where the humans are racing to, but we really need to slow down and think it through. We destroy our very livelihood, our basic resources, our chance for meaningful joyfilled lives for plastic war toys and healthless treats. Yet many of us are doing the best we can with very little, struggling for survival.

I think quite often we are not well taught about how to fulfill our appetites. We are fed empty calories, sugary treats, junk diets, and learn to live on these expectations.

Big black, cawing along my path
entertaining thoughts of gothic plains
endless emptiness of sky and sorrow
but for portents of doom, despair

Life is not always sunny days and pop songs
Times come and go of pain so overwhelming
breath is a miracle unloved, unwanted

Nature would want us to prevail
procreate
find our fittest stance
until our time of devourment
by her latest darling

Crows, noble in their mundanity
keep time in cacaphony
know the ancient secrets of
flight and carrion-bearing
life

We each do create our own reality in that we are each operating on
our unique systems of experience and self. We perceive based on
these systems. We have no idea what "reality" in some objective
sense would be. This does not mean that we create everything that
happens. There are many, many realities operating out there, and
they interact in sometimes unpredictable ways. Like astrology (as
above so below) wherein there are all these bodies and angles
interacting and acted upon by even more forces than those of which we
are aware. We look, interpret based on our own level of perception,
but can never account for all the factors.

Yes, we can visualize and brainstorm and get into the zone and find a way, figure it out, make our dreams come true. This is indeed a very "real" possibility. We can carry our vision so strongly that each step we take is a step in the direction of achieving that goal. We can see the obstacles, the utter lack of some essential ingredient, the social barriers and immense gap between here and there, and we can persevere, find the little chink through which to slip into where we need to be. It can happen. It doesn't always happen. For a great variety of reasons, people get trapped, they get discouraged, they give in to despair, they die without achieving their goal, they get too ravaged by disease or starvation or denigration, too overwhelmed by responsibilities or an ever rising bar or the demand for qualities they do not possess. It is not clear sailing, and often our ships capsize. Sometimes the fickle fates then give us liferafts or send the Coast Guard, sometimes not.

I have often heard it said that happiness is not about getting what you want, but wanting what you get, being grateful for the blessings that show up along the way. I am not looking for happiness (well, sometimes, but you know how fickle minds can get), but for that bliss place, where every step is a dance and every obstacle is a wall to paint beautiful visionary murals and a capsized ship is a chance to learn merskills. This is a place promised by the mystics of every faith of which I am aware. I do not judge my fellows who have no idea nor perhaps even interest in such a place, who seek happiness in all the wrong places, who see their capsized ship as an opportunity to drown in a sea of tears. I don't even know for myself how to stay in that place the times I find it. That fact is that I do find it, so I know for me at least it is real, and the only true reality where I feel all those warm safe supported elated wonderful feelings that actually are my goal.

I found the transcript of the Obama "bitter" comments in response to a question from an audience in San Francisco here:

http://volokh.com/posts/1207972981.shtml

Yet another supremely stupid tempest in a political teapot. Interesting the way this statement is almost a Rorschach. People twist it to mean whatever fits their image of the Senator. To me,anyone with an inkling of sense understands that, speaking to a more elite, liberal San Francisco audience, Senator Obama was working towards his underlying goal of bringing people together. He was explaining to those who might harbor ill-will against what they perceive as failings of small town working class Americans as "gun-toting" or "gun-loving", ignorantly Bible-thumping, homophobic, racist, unaccepting of those unlike them, that their classist perceptions were off-base, that people (any people) cling to what they know, to the values of their childhoods and families and clans when they feel hopeless, unheard, overwhelmed by factors so far beyond their control. It was a heartfelt, compassionate, sympathetic plea for cross-cultural understanding, fellow feeling, let's all get together to make our collective lot better without falling to the falacies of judgementalism. So, obviously everyone calls him "elitist" and "divisive." Yet again, the evil of politics as usual is twisting truth to gain power. It is ugly, this manipulation of the electorate through divisiveness.

The general election has not yet started. McCain gets to slide for a bit while the Democratic debate goes on. Please, realize, it is still a very long way to November. Many voters do not even engage until the Fall of the election. People may or may not be "bitter" but are generally quite busy, which is why a lot of soundbites get repeated "on the ground." Pound on Senator Obama all you like. He is no John Kerry or circa 2000 Al Gore (who gave up on being President after being challenged). He keeps saying he can't wait to debate McCain on the real issues. I can't wait to enjoy that.

As to the "debate": I was quite "bitter" watching the first almost hour in which nothing of substance was addressed. The political media are just too taken with themselves.

The game is politics, so we know to expect all these divisive messages to be sent around, canting whatever "evidence" can be found to rally against the opponent. I really don't care that a young Michelle pre-Obama worked hard to discover what she thought was important about her world by working through ideas about race, class, history, in light of her personal biography. Or rather, I understand that as being an indication of her deep caring and intellectual searching for justice.

I do care that Senator Obama has the support, still, of people like Samantha Power and Rev. Jeremiah Wright -- who personally know him and what he is about. I care that the message is not about politics as usual, or even cleaning up government as usual, or hate this or that group (for those who fear demagogues or fascist incitement), or pie in the sky. It is a cogent, reasonable, let's hang together or we'll surely hang separately, hey we know how to do it right so let's make it happen, appeal to commonality, commonsense, commonwealth. You act as if we are electing God, or Emperor of All who can waive a wand or send forth a commandment and all is as He orders. That's not what a President is. He is a politician, a negotiator, a dealmaker, a voice exhorting the nation to excel, a commander in chief watching over his troops and the mission but backed by the rest of us, who really ought to be doing our own watching over the public policies and taking care of the business of citizenry.

I have been saying for decades that it would solve so many problems to have factories/schools/offices pretty much all businesses, working on the 24-hour clock. People could work the hours best for them. Rush hour traffic would cease to exist. As you point out, more efficient use could be made of resources otherwise locked down and useless for all those hours. There would be no need for unemployment due to lack of jobs, since this would effectively triple the amount of work hours. For the hours we are not working, we would have the convenience of the services we want to use always being available. There would be a lot less job stress if the workload were more divided. That's just a few of the advantages.

The important result would be giving people incentive to work out imaginative yet practical ideas with a chance to implement them. Even if they did not acquire a specific grant, they would have the program worked out and ready to find sponsorship.

There need be no predestination involved as far as Judas' actions, nor betrayal. I see Judas as a hero. Without the crucifixion and resurrection, Jesus was just another prophet. Without Judas or someone playing that role, there would be no Christianity. It was a divine act, meant as such, out of devotion and loyalty to the Christ.

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

call for submissions...

2008-04-22T03:33:09Z

i know you're out there folks...I need more submissions!

http://acetylene-fever.com/fever/

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

Try writing in gibberish.

2008-03-27T14:32:45Z

Its fun.

http://tribes.tribe.net/gibberish101tribe

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

new webzine...

2008-03-27T05:57:00Z

http://acetylene-fever.com/fever/

please take a look and read the submissions guidelines and send us your work!

we're looking for experimental writing in poetry, prose, and hybrid literature.

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

"Death and..." A short short story.

2008-03-25T02:52:36Z

Tom Rainmaker had a wonderful life, a long life that now, in the cool afternoon fall, was coming to an end. His wife sits beside the medical bed set up in his room caressing his grey thin hair, her smile sad but filled with happiness of a life of great memories. Three fully grown children stand underneath the window outside amongst scrambling children talking nodding crying. The sound of the children rising up into the air wafting through the window and into Toms dying ears mixes with the magic smell of decaying leaves sparking memories of his own childhood life. His mind's eye raced; his eyes darted under his closed lids.
He heard his mother calling him at this same house, she stood at the door with a dish rag in her hand wearing a golden sundress sparkling in the summer sun. He wiped his boyish hands on his muddy overalls and stuffed the frog into his breast pocket “coming,” he mumbled as is eyes fluttered in dream. His wife’s eyes filled with the ocean. Tom felt her tear on his cheek. Beneath the fluttering eyelids he stood in the drenching rain calling out to her, His muddy overalls changed for a dripping brown military uniform and black shoes. He screamed at the old farmhouse until the lights started on. His huge grin revealed his perfect white teeth. The rain fell around him, Her dad appeared on the porch, she appeared in the window. "I love you!” He screamed through the pouring rain. “I love you and I will marry you”. I can not die! and will not die over there! I will be back and I'll marry you.” Her tears were the same as she waved from her bedroom window; sad, sweet buetiful tears that fell now at his deathbed.
His mind moved onto the vivid memory of the war and the scars that forever changed his entire understanding of life. His back against the dirt berm of the bunker, explosions boomed all around, his friend John from Omaha's dead eyes staring at him, his body torn off at the waist. Awake for twenty four hours the cammand came, charge!! This is it! Run straight into the wall of bullets and cannons. As he turned to jump out of the bunker into the face of hell he didn’t think of the Charlie horse in his thigh, or the cuts all over his body; all he thought of and all he saw was her. He ran toward her. His uniform pristine and starched now black shoes polished hit the train station platform running through a glorious celebration of the survivors he dropped his bag and swooped her up in his arms spinning her around shedding all the horror right there in the train yard seeing only his wife crying shrieking as he held her caressing her head now as she sweated. “Push now! Push now! Almost there!” the doctors voice bled into the sound of the crying baby and the silence of the struggling mother. He looked at his lover you did it baby it’s a boy you did it, I love you. “
She caressed his head now looking down at her lover grey and accomplished. Their children came in the room together sorrounding their beloved father’s bed. They took his hand and their mothers hand. “Remember my fourteenth birthday when dad slipped bringing in the cake with all the candles lit singing happy birthday and the glowing confection went flying through the air splatting right on the table. They all laughed with non focused eyes, lost in the sharp smell of memories. Yeah dad laughed and laughed and stuck a couple more candles in it and lit em and started singing again, happy birthday to you… that was too funny. We ate that cake right off the table. It was alright. They all laughed. Remember the time dad went sleepwalking
Toms eyes fluttred slower and separate, then they opened to see his buetiful wife above him and his three children around his bed all crying and smiling holding on to each other and holding on to him. He took a deep breath and smiling his infamous grin reached out for his wife’s face. Touching her face caressing her cheek he looked her in the eyes solomley and said “That was fun” . his words trailed off into a whisper, his arm fell to his side and his last breath exhaled. He was dead.
Tyler opened his eyes and the blur and disorientation began to wear off he came into focus. Coming back into reality he knew his friends he had grown up with were around him, he couldn’t here them yet though, he remembered taking a huge pull of smoke from a long pipe his friend Kevin made from tuotulin tusk. He began to hear their laughter. His vision came into focus, their they were, his friends he knew so well that they were made up partially of himself. “But how, what the Holy Shit.” His friends rolled with laughter around him. “You were out man, totally fucked up by the elhorn root, I tolled you that it’s a life altering trip man.’ ‘What? A trip?” What an unreal trip. He thought. “So real. M, M , My name was Tom Rainmaker, I had a famly, I was in a war!”
“Yeah, Yeah! heavy huh!”
“I was in a war too, I lived in a place called Germany. HEAVY trip man.”
Tyler looked at his friends, he knew they were real, Kevin, Tim, and Monica all watched him smiling at him. They had all went first on this new powder root given to them by a tribe elder. “How long was I out, the last thing I remember was hitting the tusk,?”
About twenty five minutes, you hit the pipe said something about your mom and fell back into the pillows that monica kindly set up for you. We told you that it is a doozy, you never done anything like elroot. Tell us about it. What happened to you.
Well, my name was Tom Rainmaker, I had a wife and three kids…….

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

Why join why

2008-03-22T06:20:08Z

Becuz its there

http://tribes.tribe.net/whyistherair

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

The energy behind the word

2008-03-20T16:02:06Z

What about the true energetic meaning from which words came - and have you seen where the colloquial use often is almost opposite from that? Would this possibly create confusion? Might that be the intention?

posted in experimental writing - 3 replies

anyone experience this??

2008-03-15T13:56:30Z

ok i've been working on a writing for about four years....on and off of course, but still devoted and allways adding to the story and its characters all the time...well last night i had a shock that i wasnt expecting at all! and some of you may not believe this and thats fine...but here it is about 70% of the movie 10,000 BC mirrors my writing there are so many similarities i walked out thinking Wow they did a very beautiful job and i was also thinking hey since my plot was basically the same i would not want to be considered a copy cat of any kind. maybe this just gives/forces me to make up another plot...but my god four years of depending on one story line and now i either have to change it drastically or forget it...i'm not writer for income...so thank god my cash flow does not depend on my writing...anyway im bummed...

posted in experimental writing - 5 replies

Conspiracy History compilation DVDs torrents

2008-03-06T15:09:04Z

**************************************************

Greetings to all my relations.

This is the last step of our project History Watch. If History is
defined and known by the texts, we can now add to this definition the
recorded events of the filmed archives. Animated images are harder to
deny than printed words. Our objective is to spread out freely some of
the little broadcast, even hidden informations about our collective
History.

We put online a collection of 391 documentaries and other selected and
recut videos, to offer to a wide public the best of the infos
available on the net in english and in french. If you are interested,
you have the time, the right equipment and connection, all you have to
do is open the joint document and decompress it if needed (but normaly
your system should do it automaticaly). You'll find therein nine links
that will open the torrents for the nine DVDs we compiled (around 4.6
Gig each, for a total of a little over 41 G, being over 100 hours of
videos).

Otherwise, you can go directly to btjunkie.com and search for these titles.

11 Septembre 2001 - 9-11
Bush family & friends
Capitalist & Communist regimes
Capitalist conspiracy
Mind Kontrol - Secret Programs
New World Order - Secret Societies
Secret services - cover up - covert ops
Secret weapons - UFO
Terrorism Theories propaganda

Torrents are a system of peer to peer data transfer. The more people
download a torrent, the faster it spreads and the longer it stays on
the net. If you don't have a bittorrent software, we suggest that you
download uTorrent on utorrent.com. If you want to participate in
facilitating the diffusion of these infos about our collective
History, download these torrents on as many computers as possible,
whether it is in cybercafes. It takes one or two minutes to open up
the links and the downloading will keep proceeding on its own.

Please spread this out, take part in this action for social education
on a planetary scale. Thanks.

For more info: watch.history@gmail.com History Watch

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

Kathy Acker

2008-02-27T21:46:15Z

I want to have a conversation with someone who Is passionate about Kathy Acker. Everyone I seem to meet has never heard of her.

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

WRITERS WANTED...

2008-02-08T10:01:48Z

Poets, novelists, essayists, short story writers, playwrights, journalists...If you write and have a site that you would like to like to mine, then I would like to hear from you. A reciprocal link will seal the deal...PLUS you will also have access to my new blog, where you will be expected to post your excerpts and related material on a regular basis. Oh, wow! He’s got to be kidding! All of that FREE publicity and exposure!

Ayup...I have my reasons. But I’m also very interested in helping to promote my peers whenever and however possible. And my current project just worked out that way. So, if you interested, please get back to me ASAP. There will be limited space!

The 2 sites in question are as follows:

The Portfolio: http://rdklove.googlepages.com

The Portfolio Blog: http://rdkpf.blogspot.com/ (Note: Although brand-spanking new, this blog has been highly syndicated, promulgated, listed and advertized in about as many ways as I know how and is already getting “unsolicited hits” from visitors from everywhere. Witness the “Recent Visitors” button on the right-hand side tab and the number of directories/syndicators listed there, as well, which are only a fraction of the actual total; which is to say: if you post something here, it will be getting national and, quite likely, worldwide exposure.)

Serious inquiries only, please.

RD Kennedy

For those of you who are NOT writers but enjoy quality literature, this also applies to you, because ALL visitors/readers WILL be allowed to post comments on the work they read. You may also know happen to know some writers, who are always looking for another place to promote their work and gain additional exposure. (We’re almost as bad as musicians!) Be SURE to spread the word and ask them to check this opportunity out, as well. You know how it works...

rdk1421@hotmail.com

(Please mention WRITERS WANTED in subject line!)

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

Imagine Nation

2008-02-06T22:34:10Z

*I intend to start going through the submissions the second weekend of February, so................
Let me know as soon as you can if you wish to be part of Imagine Nation *

Open into our Expanding Metaverse --
moving through the words and images

http://emergingvisions.blogspot.com

NoW
scroll down to see the Submission Guidelines (after the words and images, past the Contributors' page)

Submit your visions to Imagine Nation,
Emerging Visions visionary art ezine #11

due to emerge in deepest February

libramoon42@mindspring.com

make it happen ~

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

Pen Noir Accepting Submissions

2008-02-05T17:11:17Z

Pen Noir is currently accepting submissions.
We publish poetry, short fiction, and creative nonfiction with a shadowy edge. This does not mean that your work should feature mass murder, S&M or suicide (though if that's what you write about, by all means, submit it). We're looking for work permeated by a dark aesthetic or sensibility. Traditional and experimental forms are welcome.

Length for prose: 8,000 words maximum.
For poetry: Submit between 1-4 poems.
No previously published work.

Submissions are read year-round. Our editorial staff is composed of volunteers, so please allow up to 6 months for a response. Once you are notified that your work has been accepted, it will appear on the webzine for one month. Simultaneous submissions are accepted, but notify us immediately if your work is accepted elsewhere. We wish we could offer payment, but cannot at this time.

Art Submissions are greatly encouraged. Please submit art via e-mail in .jpeg form.

All submissions must be submitted in the body of an e-mail to:

pen_noir@yahoo.com
www.pennoir.org

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

new tribe for artistic philosophers

2008-01-15T20:54:08Z

http://tribes.tribe.net/distillife

posted in experimental writing - 1 reply

hi! i'm new, here's a poem.

2008-01-07T03:40:40Z

i'm new to tribe - here's a poem. enjoy!

i'm going home

i leave what
little's left of

me in the light
on the lattice

and on the glass
and maybe

in the morning
i'll have limbs

like those
of a lighthouse

i'll go press
my cheek against

the sea

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

Scorpio revelations

2007-11-25T02:38:49Z

Screaming, our very sound
shatters the crystal of faith
our open mouths
creating sustenance

Part of a yet to be conceived rock opera about the last days of the US constitutional republic:

Infocontainment

Valerie Plame, Valerie Plame
The very fact that we all know your name
is a crime.
So, who's doing time?
American splendor
A pop carnavale
The greedy get famous
The poor rot in jail
The glitter and star light
is doing its job:
distract and divide while
they rape, kill and rob.

Is that a pimple on my face?
Oh, I'm such a big disgrace!
I can't keep it all together as I should.
The only explanation's I'm no good.
I want too much. I need to much.
I never learned to mind my p's and q's.
I didn't toe the line and pay my dues.
Now my dreams,
oozing day by day,
bleed out
with the atmosphere.
What am I even saying?
If the right people hear, surely
it's a treasonous crime.
And, unlike those Whitehouse lackeys
I may well end in a cell doing time.

(c) October 23, 2007 Laurie Corzett/libramoon

social fabric

Intricately woven
generation to generation
taking on the task

I was just watching a bit of a documentary on the worldwide energy issues. It was brought out in various ways that after the oil crisis of the late 70s ideas and inventions for alternative fuels were seriously taking off. Then, poof! Our energy policy become more tied to cheap oil (from Saudi Arabia) then ever. And the rest, in so many sad, sad ways, is history.

Chiron has been lately transiting my natal Mars. In all the other hubbub I hadn't really been thinking about this. However, I am very recently noticing a turning in my attitudes about anger. Memories have been coming up reframed, as well as mindscripts. I am seeing more accurately how in a misguided attempt to protect myself I have been holding grudges rather than allowing myself to see the current, updated situation in relationships. I also realized that a key turning point in my early life can be reframed and reconciled. At that time I made a conscious decision to hold my anger against myself in an attempt to gain control where I had none. That was a child's solution. It may be time to reexamine it in light of current life realities.

On a hunch I checked the ephemeris. Wouldn't you know it, that childhood incident occurred around the first time Chiron conjuncted my Mars.

My Samhainic Verse is based on my true life story, though since then I have been working with this myth in terms of the idea of balancing darkness and light. In fact, I am currently, internally, working on a novel in which the central character is a young woman named Persephone who has a pivotal reconciliation with her dying mother.

I've been seeing these dreams, to some extent, about the transition I am feeling from a more rational based to a more intuitive based way of living. In fact, I recently had a dream without water, but in which I left my packed suitcase in a room without a backward glance. I am feeling trepidation, and conflict over issues involving consensus reality versus personal integrity and finding my true vocation and worth. Of course, it's all very Neptunian, and hard to tell what is smoke, what is mirror, and what is revelation.

Dance with me
I'll hold you in ecstasy
whirling into a world so free
the music is all
Soul set free
while the music carries me
into places I need to see
without pain's deadly pall
Open my mind, my soul, my every desire
Keeping me warm in the hearth of internal fire
Dancing is magick, enthralled
in the music's grand call.

I don't know if there is an evil conspiracy, but there are certainly people who have power and work to keep it through manipulation of information.

I was watching a journalist on C-SPAN who wrote a series of articles about exploitation of workers in China. A caller brought up the view that it seemed as though the American people were being blamed for their desire for cheap goods. The caller's point was that we wouldn't need cheap Chinese goods if we had our old American manufacturing jobs with good pay and good products. It is not only others' cultures that are adversely affected by the pro-market globalization enterprise.

The US President seems like he has been treating his administration as a game, scoring points for his side by hook or by crook. This might be more charming if there were not so many deaths resulting from his strategies. All those soldiers destroyed as if mere game pieces. I guess, though, it's ok if you believe they are going to a better place. Like the suicide bombers are said to believe, so that all this bitterly painful destruction on Earth gets to better populate the respective Heavens. Who benefits? Well, who is getting all those 100s of billions of dollars we keep appropriating at the expense of our future and our sovereign state? Yet we were told that it would be a surgical operation, easy in and out. It would be over in a few months, and cost very little. We would be greeted as saviors and repaid in oil. We had the intelligence, the technology, and the high moral ground, remember? Way back in the winter of '03.

Anarchism is a theory of government, not economics. Anarchist communities can be created in small population groups of like-minded believers in individual-self-rule. The economics of the group could easily be handled by a kind of "green" capitalism, in which the costs to the commons is understand as an underlying precept. No one owns the common resources of our natural environment. Any use of such resources must be judicious, with a mind to renewability. These are not laws of government, but of enlightened self-interest which can be agreed upon by those who chose to interact for common benefit. This is not at all about redistribution, or distribution of resources. It is about the people who have the projects, do the work, use what they need, and give back what they take. More an ecosystem than a political one.

Having carefully considered my stance in the great political universe, I have for some time self-identified as a green libertarian. As little government as we can manage to actually create and maintain the social and physical infrastructure with an economic system based on pro-Earth, pro-commons principles.

"It is about, not becoming cogs or slaves to some ideal or structure, but each being free, secure, respected, supplying the fruits of their visions to an endeavor
in which all prosper, all have appropriate investment and return.
It's not even about compassion or empathy, and certainly not altruism."

This is not a liberal or socialist dream. It fully embraces the basic principles of capitalism (the "invisible hand" of the market whereby each person presents their goods/services that all may win-win) and libertarianism. It evokes the "commonwealth" as in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, Pennsylvania, etc. The idea is about free and equal individuals solving common problems together that each may include individual voice and concerns. It is the very basis of the US constitutional democracy, the underlying sentiment of the Declaration of Independence, the very juice that feeds the grandest possibilities and most personal dreams.

According to the 10th Amendment (which everyone seems to forget about), "The powers not delegated to the United States by the Constitution, nor prohibited by it to the States, are reserved to the States respectively, or to the people." Apparently we are relinquishing the right to privacy with all the "Patriot" type laws and the inability of Congress to cope with claims of Executive privilege. Those of us who believe in personal choices, medical discretion, privacy and all the other values espoused and constitutionalized by the Founders need to show a lot more backbone than our so-called elected representatives and organize locally, state by state, world wide web, or wherever the fight goes. The 10th Amendment can be our friend.

I like Ron Paul for a lot of reasons. I totally love Kucinich, but his unfortunate appearance and mainstream view of him as nutball gives him a mighty uphill battle. Then, I think his talents really could be better used in the legislature or possibly a Cabinet position -- if only he could get his Department of Peace. Hillary seems to me to be just one of the boys playing their power games. Richardson's got some real pluses, but he comes off somewhat stumbling and confused on tv.

My support, as things seem now, goes to Obama. Not only is he electable, but he is a popularist, a humanist, a person who truly seems to embody what people said they wanted from Bush, someone who will work to bring people together around common goals. More importantly, he is an international man -- coming from a background in which he learned first-hand about the world outside the US in his formative years. He has family connections to Islam, which could make him less of an Us-against-Them threat to world leaders with whom we need to develop diplomacy. In fact, he gives the appearance of being a whole new type of American president to usher in a whole new type of American policy. I like that he immediately understood that inviting talks with leaders from unfriendly countries as a very early act in office is vitally important. All the posturing being done in our name has only increased ill-will and hostilities. I really like that he comes from community organizing roots and knows the real concerns of real people. I like that he is the father of two young girls, giving him the kind of compassion and hopes for the future that comes with parenthood. I like that he is so enthusiastic and charismatic and does that kind of Bill Clinton thing of making it about all of us. I am impressed by his organizing ability, his sleeves rolled-up demeanor, and his inspirational approach. Of course he's not perfect; nobody is. But he's a helluva lot better than what we often get as our voters' choice.

On Book TV today, discussing a book about Einstein, the author brought up that Einstein's time was one when there were all kinds of new thoughts permeating the ethos, a movement from classical thought to modern possibilities.

I find it interesting that big finance is having such a field day ripping off the low income people who are less likely to have the kinds of legal knowledge to adequately fight back. The result is, of course, a tanking economy for everyone but the power elite. There's the whole housing market mess, the vast amount of national and consumer debt, and the devastation of the infirm, such as these people having their small incomes stolen by the banks. Yet, it has become so much more difficult to live in this age without the bank account, so your checks can be cashed and your bills paid, or credit cards, which are required forms of payment or collateral everywhere you look.

Acetaminophen (did I spell that right, you know, Tylenol) is the gateway drug. They make little kids take it when they don't feel well. See kid, drugs will cure what ails you. Then, of course, there's the Ritalin, Prozac (and friends), and other anti-acting-up drugs. Not to mention the ubiquitous ads for pharmaceuticals.

space jam

NOW!
BAM!
POW!
I finally know who I am.
In the pie that's the sky
I'm made of the stuff of the jam.
Catch me in reason.
Coach me in rhyme.
I'll beat out my rhythm
in my own time.
Aware of the scat and the scam,
I'll wear a new vision,
revoke indecision,
take a resister's stand,
or just fall helter skelter
irresistibly into the jam.

You screaming, streaming being
jamming away into outer space
running full-tilt from the race
to conquest of non-quests
rather feeling the nonsequitor
as a golden, trojan door
for geeks, greaks, sneeky shieks,
seekers all.

touching skin to skin
is a thin garment, not nearly
akin
to the true warmth in
knowledge of kind
touching
mind to mind.

Caught up in the
interspace of jam
who I am
encompasses your
being as you are seeing
evanescent strands
exchanging ors for ands
all creating the divine.

Let's see. Mars went retro pretty much exactly opposing my Mercury. Over the past pretty much week I have been almost trance writing, bit by bit, a sci fi (visualized as) graphic novel. I can't recall ever having done this before. Mars is transiting my 7th House, which also houses my natal Uranus.

On Book TV recently there was a panel of "experts" speaking about the illegal immigration situation in the US, from various perspectives. I was not fully listening, engaged in conversation, but I noticed the speaker, who was coming from a perspective of legality and social consequences, using language indicating to me that her real agenda was, as so aptly summed up by the Mr./Mrs. Garrison character on "South Park": "Why can't we kill all the Mexicans?" Never mind that much of the US territory onto which southern neighbors move for jobs was once Mexico, or maybe that is exactly the point.

Again, on Book TV (and don't anyone try to tell me that television is rotting our minds, its all a matter of what you decide to watch), there was a discussion of historical evangelical movements. It was brought out that for many evangelicals today, the Islamo-Satanists are the biblical enemy, in the all out fight of God vs. Satan. That's why it doesn't matter that the Iraqis had nothing to do with attacking our World Trade Center -- they are all part of the same Satanic movement, as far as certain Christian leaders and their followers are concerned. It's not about freedom or terrorism or anything reasonable, rational or compassionate. It's about being a good, obedient child so Father won't need to punish us. It's about deflecting anger and hatred toward a definable evil of the other.

Whether or not killing a murderer is a deterrent to other would-be murderers is, to me, beside the point. There can be a vast variety of deterrents to socially unacceptable behavior, the most effective being actual social unacceptability. Giving the state that kind of unemotional power over our lives, not only bringing liability of a slippery slope in which actions punished by death could proliferate, is most certainly showing social acceptability of murder. Then, of course, there is the problem of uncertainty of guilt, prejudicial prosecution, lynch mob mentalities, and general condoning of violence for violence. I would be much more comfortable with a social outlook that took each case for itself, with a passion for justice and compassion to individual circumstance, rather than one based on faux scientific principles of cost/benefit analysis.

We could certainly define "soul" in ways that would indicate it as a fiction. The Behaviorists and other pseudo-scientific theorists have argued for a concrete, physically discernable reality. Of course, some can argue, depending on definition, that the soul is concrete and physically discernable.

Postulating "soul" to mean something other than consciousness, some non-physical, spiritual component of life, or that energy that is the force which is the spark of life, how can we imagine not having this, unless we were to believe ourselves unalive.

It seems to me that people basically start out with that openly aware spirituality as part of the general ambiance of being alive. Religion seems to be to some extent about herding, moving people together under a common rule of law, which could use distorted spiritual feelings/ideas as part of the rationale and ritual. Then, from this synthesis and antithesis, a person maturing beyond the fold may well learn to lose the binding of religious trappings and dogma, and find that spiritual ambiance has been right there all along.

Back in the early 60s, when I was in high school, I innocently wore a sweatshirt I liked to school. I knew girls couldn't wear pants, or skirts of other than a certain range of length, or a whole host of other requirements, but the sweatshirt, with a picture of a Peanuts character on the front and a quote from that subversive comic strip on the back seemed wholesome enough. The petty tyrant who was our assistant principal stopped me in the hall on my way to class and insisted I take off the shirt. I explained, more out of embarrassment that defiance, that I was not wearing ANYTHING underneath. He responded by sending me home for the day. How this improved anyone's education (except mine in handling authorities, perhaps) I have no idea.

A couple of years later, when my brother was in the same high school, the dress code was eliminated. My brother and his friends went to high school, boys and girls, generally in jeans and t-shirts. Their education did not suffer.

In these days of overreacting about everything, where children are expelled for accidentally having a butter knife in their backpack, or drawing a picture of a gun, or expressing anger in a less than mature verbal manner; or for that matter when shoes must be taken off at airports and baby bottles confiscated, a little sanity would be nice.

I have a character in my slowly forming novel in need of a fatal disease. She is a woman in her fifties, has known for maybe a year or so that she is dying and arranged for early retirement. She is slowly becoming more disabled. It is too late, or the disease is too incurable, for any hope of beating it. She is using alternative therapies for symptomatic relief. She has arranged to go to hospice at the end, but meanwhile is basically able to get around and be lucid needing little care.

Like you can't usually pick your relatives, you can't usually pick your co-workers. A bad work environment created by mean-spirited or out-of-control workers can be even worse than high school. It can put you in the double-bind of trying your best to adjust to impossible situations in order to be able to do a job you love and/or need. Employers ought to be aware that such situations are counter-productive, in a real and economically important way. I don't suppose people can be fired for these kinds of attitudes without clearly articulable illegal behaviors, but some kind of ameliorative supervision and support for harassed workers ought to be in place.

If I had the opportunity, I would make beautiful, on-target, highly persuasive television ads on a variety of high impact topics (as they arise in public discourse) to encourage open conversation, free thinking, and creative problem-solving, and pay to have them telecast on all the major networks several times a day during the height of the given topic's relevance.

Ah, the Cassandra syndrome (also enjoyed by that person in The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy who had figured it all out just as the planet was destroyed). I'd simplify and clarify the concept as best I could and keep sending it out wherever it might find reception, then take whatever feedback might ensue and do the whole thing again. In the process, I would hope to find fellow travelers who might prove inspirational, or whom I might inspire.

Breathe in the inspiration. Breathe out the pain and confusion. Breathe in the beauty and awe. Breathe out the calcifying crud of certainty.

Trying to stretch the food dollar while eating healthfully can be difficult. Food coops help. Doing as much as possible yourself helps -- using the healthiest basic ingredients, and still doing your price comparison thing for what you do buy. However the comparison is dollar per healthy ingredient (two-pronged test) rather than just dollar value. Also, you might consider in general eating lower off the food chain, if you have the resources add to your larder with home gardening, if appropriate do a little neighbor to neighbor bartering. As an added benefit, cooking, gardening and learning about nutrition are excellent activities to share with kids.

Happiness is not lost, though we often are. We look for it in all the wrong places, when it was just there in the peaceful places so quiet we forgot.

Not only are illegal immigrants being paid for work performed, but they are often paid wages so low that US citizens would not be able to live on them. Because the cost of living is lower (along with the general lifestyle) in Mexico, it works out for them. Basically, though, it is the employer who is making out by getting the benefit of cheaper labor, much like those employers who deport jobs to India and other countries, or who buy cheap goods from China (despite their poisons). However, the Mexicans are able to do the jobs that can't be exported. If we were truly concerned, we would make sure our governments signed and observed trade agreements that were of benefit to the workers in all countries concerned. If we were all getting decent pay for decent work, it wouldn't matter so much which country it was being done in. Further, many illegal workers sacrifice the tax money taken out of their paychecks because they don't want to file for refunds and perhaps be found out. As for their healthcare and education, that is to our benefit to keep up the general health and education levels for everyone here thus promoting generally healthy living. As to what the Bible says, or how it is interpreted, we all know that any devil can take any scripture to make his own less than sterling point.

Don't worry, we have plenty of homegrown killers (not to mention "terrorists") even if we could manage to keep our borders secured.

Throw away your tv? Just what we need: more junk pollution. No need to throw the box to the landfill. Watch what you like, when you like, then unplug.

The majority of people with or without mental illness (and in a lot of ways the majority of the people might well be considered mentally ill depending on your definitions) don't commit violent crimes. The ones who do generally have a reason that could have been noticed -- not by keeping them under any kind of surveillance, but simply by promoting an environment of people who care. I have read some very intriguing articles by mental health researchers indicating that the best treatment for many of these disorders is not drugs or surveillance or years of treatment dependency, but the resiliency that comes from meaningful relationships, even if those relationships are with caring professionals.

Have you noticed how it is the Republicans who are constantly beating the "Hillary" drum -- insisting she will be the candidate to beat, trying to turn it into a self-fulfilling prophecy because they already have the talking points mapped out?

Clinton machine? Afraid? Can you say "straw man"? Can you say: wtf???? I never heard of anyone anywhere any time who had any fear of the big bad Clinton. Maybe you are having a projected paranoid fantasy? Or maybe you are merely insularly misinformed? As to handing down a dynasty father to son ... I have no interest in voting for Hillary Clinton for plenty of reasons having nothing to do with the Republican talking points. My problem with the Republicans, by the way, is that I can't find any actual Republican candidates (except maybe Ron Paul) who actually stand for the old-fashioned, conservative Republican values, like states rights, and free market capitalism (as opposed to corporate fascism) or liberty generally.

In a lot of ways, especially fiscal, Bill Clinton (and most likely Hillary as well) is a "conservative ideologue" -- which did not stop me from voting for him twice, for other reasons, and because to some extent I agree with conservative fiscal policy. (I actually agree with old school conservative fiscal policy, and a lot else, but I digress.) I don't agree with the whole PNAC take over the world thing they're into. I don't agree with the fearmongering tactics. I don't agree with their analysis of the Social Security system.

There is no need to "fix" Social Security. The problem here is not in the program, but in the demographics. The real concern would be the lack of labor force in comparison to retirees leaving too few people to take up the work that will need to be done, especially in light of the needs of the aging, retired population for services, and thus also lowering the tax base. As many people are indeed more able to work
for longer years, the rationale for raising the retirement age would be to keep more people in the workforce doing the work. However, this could also be accomplished by immigration policy to bring in more younger workers.

My big peeve about the Social Security system is the cap on income eligible for payroll taxation. If we took the tax all the way to the last dollar, there would be plenty available to seriously lower the percentage of taxation, taking more of the burden off of the lower paid workers.

If the cap were completely removed, and the percentage of earnings were taken up to the last dollar, or even if there were some kind of donut hole for some predetermined wage level, the percentage taken from each would be much lower. Thus, the self-employed person who know has to cover both the employer and employee taxes might well end up paying significantly less in payroll taxes.

It is easier to lead in the direction that you would naturally be heading.

Good parents are attached to their kids for life in a kind of symbiotic love tie. It's the only relationship that can't truly be severed

I am convinced that the only way to truly move on from addictive behavior is to find something so much more important that the object of addiction becomes meaningless.

Something about lighting a candle to send forth a prayer of peace rather then cursing in the dark? May candles light candles throughout the land creating a brilliant chain of peace.

a thousand lights of peace may bloom
and then a billion more
moving our hearts/minds/souls into
a happier healthier wiser world

Sure kids can be depressed, but is that any reason to muck around with their fragile developing psyches with drugs that we do not even really know how or if they work? If a child is exhibiting symptoms that are interfering with their lives, perhaps they could benefit from a truly caring adult with whom they can share and work out their concerns. In general, I think it is criminal to force young children, biologically designed to be moving and learning kinetically, to sit for hours without appropriate exercise, which could be as simple as dancing around for a few minutes between lectures. There is also the pervasive problem of too much sugar in our youngsters' diets making them prone to sugar crashes, which are in fact physical depression. What kind of society bemoans the use of recreational chemical self-medication to the point of imprisoning a large percentage of the population, but insists our children's behavior be regulated chemically because we don't want to take the time to deal with their actual situations one on one?

I recently read an article pointing out that drs often do not take full consideration of the miseries of side effects to the drugs they prescribe. In general, I would think it best to take as little as will be reasonably effective, and work to ameliorate symptoms with alternative/complementary therapies such as meditation, rhythmic exercise, appropriate nutrition (some foods are natural mood stabilizers), self-help groups, etc.

Dancing is a way to a natural high, in a very physical, neurological sense. It is a spiritual tradition from the beginning of human spiritual traditions, a very direct moving meditation, a simple while profound means to expel or expand emotional energy, and a great way to exercise.

Sounds like your witch had a lot to learn from her spiritual path, if she ever would. Being that kind of disorganized, neurotic, somewhat desperate type of person is not derived from asserted religious traditions, nor gender, ethnic background or any of that. It is more likely derived from a dysfunctional homelife or other problems in gaining maturity. A lot of kids who have resentments against their mainstream religion parents seem to like to assert a belief in witchcraft or other minority religions. However, that doesn't mean they actually know very much about their chosen tradition.

This never was a war in any classic or non-Dumptyian sense (as in Humpty Dumpty in "Alice" who insisted a word meant exactly what he said it meant, also see "Torture"). It was an invasion of a sovereign on flimsy, manufactured and manipulated "evidence" and occupation to inflame disruption. There are motives of oil and permanent military bases in the Middle East, but mostly vast profits to be made off the backs of ordinary Americans for quasi-military and corrupt reconstruction operations. There's also that thing of hyping the amorphic, easily malleable, and probably ever-lasting "war on terror," as if terror, a mental state, is a thing to make war on. Someone on another group asked if others thought that there is an evil conspiracy at the top manipulating information to maintain and increase power. I'm not so sure it is that cut and dried, but those who are in positions of power don't seem to have any real interest in what is right or in the interests of the rest of us. They do manipulate information, and fog up the facts with factoids and talking points. They insist on all kinds of crazy powers because they need to save us from terrorist plots, when the 9/11 warning was right there, given to the President and his associates before the fact, but they refused to act. Sometimes I think that it was allowed to happen because it served so many interests so well. They are doing their best to turn America into a police state, Iraq into a failed state, Iran into a puppet state, and Israel into the state of end-day prophecies. Don't worry, though, China will be ready to take charge as the big colonial empire soon.

There is nothing insane about impeachment. It is a constitutional means to deal with leaders who think they are above the Constitution. As to the ufo thing, there's quite a lot out there that has not been identified, including quite a lot of illegal activities by the current Executive Branch. I know, he has that unfortunate elfishness and people like to make fun of Kucinich, but he speaks a lot more clearly, accurately, and sanely than most of the candidates.

Religious beliefs are like opinions. We are each entitled to our own, and each entitled to change them. Personally, I am a polytheist. I believe all the beliefs are valid, depending on where you hold your attention. Church, however, is not so much about belief as community. We come together in community to worship in common structured ritual with others whom we believe to share our beliefs.

I am a polytheist -- an infinite variety of godheads: no waiting, no wasting time in hating. Btw, I was just listening to a radio show featuring a physicist talking about why the universe has (our universe?) the necessary conditions for life. Well, duh, obviously the universe supports life, or there would be none. There doesn't have to be a why.

The world's a stage, as all theater people well know. Those who act out roles as artistry give more wonder and wisdom to us all.

The thing with life is that it is not one thing, but multiply layered. There is that layer we tend to think of as real which is anything but, media hype and social constructs. There is the layer of the natural world, which is where the more fundamental reality resides.

Nobody goes to heaven or hell, we have to create them.

The stories we are told and tell ourselves in fact create, to an overwhelming extent, what we perceive to be our reality.

We can all be inspirational leaders when we ourselves have opened our lives and purpose to inspiration. A lot of times people with excellent ideas need some help with organizing their project; and people organizing projects need the energy and ideas to expand their scope. An enlightened leader, I think, can compassionately embrace fears and limitations, transforming that energy into useful action.

A lot of people promote "instant run-off voting" so a vote for a less likely candidate wouldn't be wasted, encouraging a greater diversity in choice.

There is so much more to wealth
than money can ever buy or recompense.
Cold coins, lifeless bits of green,
unable to feed or shelter or inspire,
of so much less value
than autumn leaves or your excited smile.

unsettling images, memories, tests of faith and progress
walking the boundaries, spilling poison to dissuade
intrusion, to keep home what is left
yet, the stranger's call, so sweet, so inviting
hear the call to faith, to progress, to images, to
memories to be created
together, in a larger landscape

Life light, life dark, life twilight, life portrayed in rainbow array
Time may dance away in colors, receding firework displays
Mirrors into mirrors, infinite
reflection, memory, dream, intent

Wisdom, so common yet so fragile and rare,
peeking out of storybooks, popular lyrics,
offhand remarks.
Days go on and often with little thought
wound up in routine, dance steps to
elevator music, or music only recalled.
Then, on a silent walk to some unsung errand,
bursts of beatific choirs take flight,
circling like mythic birds of joy.

I saw Ralph Nader on C-SPAN earlier. He spoke, among other issues, of the hold on US politics and policies of corporate interests and their funding of candidate campaigns for Republicans and Democrats alike. It was part of a wonderful response to a disgruntled ex-fan over the whole 2000 election myth ("A vote for Nader is a vote for Bush.").

Why can't everyone get the medical care they need? Is it that some are deserving of health and others not? I got thinking about something said on C-SPAN by Ralph Nader when he was talking about his book on his family's traditions. In his home town, his father took him around one day to see all the community institutions. Each had been built by wealthy families or individuals who took pride in giving back to their community. This included the local hospital.

My thought continued, why does each community not have a full-service medical facility, created and paid for by that community, through grants, philanthropy, subscriptions, fund raisers, whatever each community comes up with. Costs could be kept low. Those who didn't have the money at all could be given individually designed payment plans, or get their costs offset by others' contributions. Each community clinic could be designed to provide the kinds of services needed by that community, with changes coming into play as community needs change.

Everyone getting health care would mean more of us would be generally healthier, thus cutting down tremendously on the cost for all. The real practices, however, that would save us all financially (in a variety of ways) as well as in all the benefits of a healthier population, would be do deemphasize the quick pharm fix and promote more "alternative" and lifestyle therapies, as well as better information to the general public about healthier alternatives and self-care.

We all have the cancer potential from which our immune systems, when working well, protects us. In fact, we all have vast numbers of potentially disease-causing agents in and around us all the time. Building our immune system is not just about good nutrition and avoiding toxins. The biggest enemy of our immune system is chronic, untreated stress. Of course we cannot (nor would we really want to) eliminate stress from our lives. We can treat the stress with relaxation techniques, appropriate exercise, and enjoyable activities that get our hearts, heads and minds moving.

I was having a conversation this evening about the mindset of some religious fundamentalists, very like that of abused children. This makes sense, because many of them have been through that experience, needing desperately to figure out how to please the Father to avoid perhaps life-threatening, certainly painful, punishment. Counter-intuitively (or maybe not), abused kids tend to identify strongly with the abuser, defend him/her, believe (and exonerate) the punishment was merited by the abusee's bad behavior, or sins of omission or commission. A common relief strategy is to, while striving to live up to impossible standards, throw blame and a need for retribution onto others whom they see as not following the prescribed behaviors.

This conversation was instigated by a Book TV talk about historical evangelical movements. The author/lecturer, explaining the popularity of non-religious-right Rudy Giuliani, said that there is more concern to defeat the Islamo-Satanists than to have a pro-life President. The war against Islam is very seriously a religious war, so secular arguments fall on deaf ears.

"Conservatism" used to mean: conserving natural resources, fiscal responsibility, following fundamental principles of fairness and good sense, working to build up value over time through attention to detail and creating goodwill, staying out of others' fights, keeping violence as a very last resort, minding one's own business, and respecting the rights and self-expression of others.

If a tree falls in a forest, it physically makes a sound. All the forest creatures could here it. Postulating a forest without creatures, just a falling tree, it would still make a sound. Soundwaves circulate possibly forever.

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

Become a part of "bAbeL - art project"

2007-10-30T16:13:36Z

Dear brothers and sisters,

i study art therapy in Germany and work on the arty part of my diploma at the moment - and i invite you to support my work “ babel“!
Babel is about the try to cancel the moment of disintegration, it is about identity, community,structure and the basic needs of human beings and it is about you as well, when you join this project;
Please send me one article of your clothing, which you don`t need
anymore (it doesn`t matter if there is a mark on it, a cut in it, the
zipper is not working anymore etc.) and a word (in your language, a
word, which you like, which you don`t like, which you use often or
never, it can be a name, too) to this adress :

Sandra Becker
Hunscheidtstraße 162
44789 Bochum
Germany

in case you like to send me more material - like little messages,
infomation about you, your life, your country,the article of clothing
( maybe there is a story about it - you never liked to wear it, it was
a gift, you wore it in an important moment) - i will be pleased about
it.
my plan is to put all together in a new way - so that there will be one dress and one poem at the end for one performance/ film/installation, but it is not clear how it will be exactly - at least the most important thing depends on you. maybe the dress and the poem will go on a journey again, maybe they will come back to you, maybe you get a message from them, maybe you won´t see them again, maybe....the ideas become more and more with every package i get from you what ever will happen - i let you know. and be sure; whenever you give something - you get something.
the artwork will be shown at the diploma exhibition of the FH Ottersberg (Germany) on march 21th 2008.
you will find a documentation on my tribe-blog.

i hope that it will be possible to support me,
looking forward to get a message from you,

Become a part of babel !
sandruschka

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

Apple Insomnia Film Festival

2007-10-14T22:10:46Z

did anyone else participate in this?
I would like to watch their results

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

August Follies

2007-08-31T22:13:35Z

brought to you by Emerging Visions visionary art ezine

http://emergingvisions.blogspot.com

got mindful designs?

my faults are exactly those needed to make me who I am right now. Thank you, faults, for helping me to be myself so perfectly.
.
.
.
not so much into black. my favorite color is a shade of green variously called forest, sage, moss, some others I don't instantly remember -- it happens to be the color of my eyes.
.
.
.
.
Heart strings
playing in the sunshine
nobility
out standing in the sublime
ability to set a heart in tune
Caressing
a simple aria of blessing
the air is gold with sunshine
singing pure and true
Golden notes pouring through
the shade
a melody, a glade of golden hue
that's how I think of you.

(c) July 31, 2007 Laurie Corzett/libramoon
.
.
.
.
enchanting uplifting
scaling sacred antiqual hills
through Galileo's lens
at starlight
sinking slowly over
mystic seas
as starlight's image
merges into ocean
I wept with you in Greece
and again in Istanbul
yet the pleasure
is newly mine

.
.
.
.
You know a very important part of a successful career in the rock industry is business acumen. Learn the music business while you are learning the music, and you'll be better off all the way around.
.
.
.
.
If we really wanted good jobs generally for Americans, showing respect for individual abilities and realities, we would do that necessary to demote the importance of international mega-corporations. So much can be done so much more effectively on a local or networked level. The current ideas of business modeling need to upgrade for the 21st century.
.
.
.
The role of government is to do the work of the people, building and maintaining infrastructure, providing a competent and fair legal system, generally acting for the benefit of the community. These goods we expect from our representatives have been undermined, even forgotten, in a race toward fascistic usurpation of power. We must do better.
Education and health care, like the legal system and the roadways, are the infrastructural mandate that is the true purpose of government. Somehow, we have come to a society in which the fundamentals are ill-treated in favor of a mad rush to pay into the mega-corp interests, interests by their very nature opposed to the common welfare.
.

.
.
.
I've read of the psycho-social condition of depression being referred to as the "black dog." In a liminal musing it occurred to me that the black dog is a true and loyal servant to Hekate. Depression, if interpreted well, can be a process to bring us to our dark goddess sacred sister who we may learn from, infuse with, to find our true self and purpose. Depression is often seen to be a reaction to deep, often irrational, guilt and shame imbued in a cognitive cycle of belief that one deserves no better is not good enough is in some sense socially unacceptable, which bleeds off the energy that might have been used to good purpose. The lesson is that society as we know it is unacceptable to us, does not recognize our off the main path way. It is not that we are not living up to some social norm or goal, but that way lies madness. An affiliation with Hekate helps us to understand our perhaps solitary, but none the less vital path, to reclaim our selves and our energy/lifeforce and engage with our most vitalizing passions.
.
.
.
Be very honest and compassionate. If you are feeling overwhelmed or angered, they know it. Bringing these emotions into the open gives opportunity to work with them positively. Depression is in a lot of ways like an addiction. To move beyond it, the person needs to have the knowledge that is possible and something better to work towards. Often depression overwhelms one with feelings of guilt and defeat. One believes there is nothing better and one deserves no better. There is also a deep shame component -- feeling incompetent to be part of the community because of feeling like a failure. So, honesty is not just about your feelings and their feelings, but about the real steps that can be taken, bit by bit, nonthreatening, and very rewarding in the sense of the depressed person learning to feel gently more competent. Compassion, too, is not just your feeling for them, but self-compassion, giving yourself permission for whatever you are feeling and for finding within this relationship your own expansion of understanding and expression.
.
.
.
This New Moon exactly conjuncts my natal 8th House Pluto. I have been reading that this involves a new relationship with Plutonic energies. I have been feeling strongly the presence of Hekate as an internalized sister figure who I am learning to access as the potent psychic awareness of my own personal power.
.
.

Black dog, black dog
take me to your master
take me to your leader
take me to the depths of
the land where I must meet her
Sorrow, horror,
can't go farther
Have to see my master
Have to see my leader
Have to know there's someone
to give it all a reason
Tell me, tell me
shake me to the core
'til I have no more
reason, rationale
'til I know I've gone to Hell
Know, you, all, I wish you well
I wish, I wish, a wishing well
that I might drown.
I wish I may, I wish I might
I wish it all turns out alright
I find my will is burning bright
I find my shining inner sight
stunned by the profound delight
I find I am allowed.

(c) August 13, 2007
.
.
.
.
If the goal of the "punishment" is to protect others from the bad behavior of some, perhaps isolation of some sort is necessary. If it is revenge, then I think taunting would be good, even severe physical taunting in the case of severe violent crimes. However, I believe prevention when possible to be the best method of protection, and leaves no need for revenge. An idea which I believe would help in this regard is having regular community centers which combine recreational facilities and on-hand trained counselors, self-help groups and mediation exchanges to nip disagreements in the bud before they escalate into some level of war.
.
.
.
.
In some species males only exist to help the female procreate. Not saying this is not an obviously vital function, but rather limited. From what is known of humans, there is a much vaster difference between individuals than between genders on any scale of traits. Most importantly, what might be considered superior under some circumstances would be decidedly inferior under others.
.
.
.
.
I think that part of the pleasure/pain of creating artwork is offering challenges to myself and seeing how I work them out.
.
.
.
I have been having a series of dreams (not recurrent dreams) depicting relatively large bodies of water -- lakes, rivers, large ponds, often in resort type places, often with recreational swimmers and such, very inviting water. I have also been working (waking) with imagery of wells, cavernous lakes fed by underground springs, developing gills to become amphibious -- as metaphors for diving into Neptunian creativity. (Btw, have been having much in the way of Plutonian and Neptunian transit activity to my natal chart, including this past New Moon conjuncting my natal 8H Pluto.)
.
.

My Progressed Asc. is at 29 degrees 59 minutes of Aquarius. Coincidentally, my Progressed Moon is at 29 plus degrees of Libra. Further coincidentally, transiting Neptune is opposing my Natal Pluto, while transiting Pluto is conjunct my natal Asc. My natal chart is predominantly air signs. My Progressed chart will now be predominantly water. I am curious as to where this submergence will lead ...
I hear water when there's no one there and have no trouble dreaming. If I get any more unfocused I'll need a seeing eye dog. I have always lived under the gleaming vision of Neptune, so perhaps I will naturally take as a fish to water. I'm hoping that getting back to a Jupiter ruled Asc. after all these years of Saturn-ruled will prove, well, expansive ...
.
.
I am starting to think that all those stories about Caps doing so much better in later life is about their Pisces progression, learning to let go and flow.

.
.
Air giving way to water
Arid emptiness to be filled with
joyful abundance
emotional sailing on vast
and turbulent (and/or) calming seas.
The desert is so fragrant
so exotic, mystically inviting.
Arid lands of wilding sands
stoic creatures
surprising brilliant life
The desert in forms me,
creates crannies of secret
delight throughout my soul.
A no-man's land where I
can hear inspiration
blowing through and encompassing
my mind.
I will not leave the desert.
I will merge with its becoming,
allowing imminent floods
soaking through my pores
turning sand squishy, unsettling
into ocean floor.

Ride with me.
Open raft beneath the stars
Unguided, unplanned, unafraid
Changing winds have always been my home.

(c) August 24, 2007 Laurie Corzett/libramoon
.
.

So I've been all caught up in the Pluto transit of my Asc. conj. Chiron, along with Saturn's previous transit of my natal Pluto, still being opposed by Neptune, all this Plutonian stuff apparently clearing me out in preparation for some major transforming. Now I'm getting into noticing the progression thing, my progressed Asc. about to move into Pisces, while my p moon is about to move into Scorpio -- so, moving into a more watery perception, getting out of my head and into a more metaphysical realm of feeling. And the water dreams have been flowing, and I've been better about letting go and trusting intuition, and I've had this now fairly long-term metaphor about dwelling on the threshold, wondering about going over into that vast unknown ocean of experience. Saturn's no longer holding back the flood, and I feel gills sprouting. But now I am just noticing, yeah transiting Pluto sitting still on my Chiron, while transiting Chiron is conjuncting my natal Mars. Is this a Chironic transformation from wounded to healed? There is a quietly powerful excitement bubbling in my psyche.
.
I discovered my natal Chiron (which is about a degree from my natal Asc.) is conjunct Chiron's discovery Asc., conjunct the Galactic Center. Where is this transformation going?

.
.
.

Art may well be the Hope in Pandora’s box. It tips the balance toward the humane side of humanity, keeps us questioning, keeps us aware of possibilities, compassion, beauty. The doorway to a better world is imagination, communicated as art it moves metaphoric mountains.
.
.
.
We perceive that we have free will, thus, ontologically, we do. Of course there are a vast universe of experiences over which we obviously have no control at all. Yet, within that context, we have absolutely as much free will as we will to be free. Whatever the associated physical processes (neurobiology and all), that is how we as the beings we are work. The processes do not cause the will or lack of it, nor are they the will themselves. Our will is, however, expressed in our physical actions both conscious and unconscious.
.
.
.
I open my heart and Tao breaks liquid onto my tongue
peace and ecstasy
so delicious
.
.
.
.
Some people seem to exude archetypal signatures related to their sun sign to me. However, that is just some people, certainly not all. I especially notice the Aries ramlike forehead, Cancerian crablike hands, Scorpios seem somehow hyper-real, Caps often seem to have hornlike images in the way their hair falls, Virgos often seem to have hawklike beaks, Geminis are often birdlike or have monkeylike heads, Leos have that regal lion thing, Pisceans sometimes have a hulking gate or really otherworldly eyes like looking through a translucent veil, Aquarians often look like foxes. Am I missing anyone?
.
.
.
.
I was randomly watching that _Chicken Soup for the Soul_ guy on PBS talking about the Secret, Law of Attraction. He was saying something about focusing on what you want and not accepting others' definitions when I realized that what he was talking about was accepting one's own power and focusing will/intent, casting spells.
.
.
.
It's not a failure, but a lesson. Each mistake, each misstep, each false start or unfinish or giving in to obstacles -- Saturnian, isn't it. It's not about "you are bad" but "you have much to learn." Of course words have power! Our society has a depression obsession, far too many people defeated by being treated as failures instead of forgers ahead into creative solutions to dissolve the obstacles, by everyone and ourselves. Running the maze, faster and faster, with more and more obstacles pushed onto your blind path, is not the meaning of life. It's not a failure, but an invitation to find a more joyful path.

.
.
.
So, the most important thing is to make sure that those who are suffering the ill-health effects of obesity know it is (if not all) their fault. Obviously, we must continue to heap guilt and shame on the already probably most uselessly guilty and shame-filled among us. Depression, which can lead to poor eating habits, low energy, lack of interest in exercising, is thought by many to be a reaction to inappropriate guilt and shame. Then, of course, there are the incredibly overly busy lifestyles that many of us feel we must pursue (because we are hard-working, responsible, expected to take on more than we really can) which leave little time for effectively healthy lifestyle requirements. I am on my way to believing that relieving all the useless guilt and shame is the underlying requirement for health, mental and physical.
.
.
.
I was conversing with an e-friend who is studying nutrition recently in regard to all the big pharm "mental health" drugging taking over our schools and lives. She indicated that probably a lot of these illnesses are due to poor nutrition and decried how even when we think we are feeding ourselves and our children well, so many of the foods presented in the supermarkets really are not as nutritious as we think. So many crops are full of pesticides, grown in depleted soil necessitating chemical fertilizers, even genetically engineered to be different from the original food crop, often for commercial reasons. Then there are the big agribusiness animal husbandry practices which are both cruel and dangerous to our health. It is so sickening on so many levels.
.
.
.
I hadn't seen the earlier parts, but watched last night's chapter of the CNN series on religion. What stood out for me was the inherent understanding among these Christian groups of the truth of polytheism. They are protective of their God and His culture, despite the convoluted logic involved in their stated beliefs. To this end, as in the "Dark Ages" the rank and file are brainwashed from birth while the higher ups use their support for power seeking ends. It really is quite frightening how easily people devolve into a slavery of hate and fear.

I've been watching some of CNN's special on "God's Warriors" this
evening. There was much talk about the sacredness/holiness of
Jerusalem to Judaism, Christianity and Islam. However, the way the
people seem to show their respect at this holy site is to murder each
other, foment warfare and hate, and generally act much more as I would
assume worshippers of an evil deity than a good one.

While some seem to believe they are called on by a great, good, merciful god to destroy, murder and foment hatred, it is the simple acts of appreciation that show the true meaning of living a holy life of grace. It is holiness that is in the details of a well-lived life; the devils prey on the hubris of those who would be instruments of horror and revenge.
.
.
.
I've been thinking about terrorists. Terrorists are neither new nor particularly special. The modern era of terrorism, I mean after the WW II resistance and of course the Nazi stormtroopers and such, seems to go through all those US anti-Asian country episodes with the 3rd World attackees using "terrorist" techniques to defend against 1st world troops and weapons. Then there was all that 60s era anti-administration "guerrilla theater" that morphed to some extent when in the hands of more radical groups (often instigated by the FBI or CIA). Gang warfare, inner city style, is terrorism. Timothy McVeigh was a homegrown terrorist, as are most of the Arab terrorists in Europe. Terrorism is not a people or an ideology, but a tactic. Some of the most nasty terrorists in this country have been such supremacist groups as KKK, American Nazis, all those folks who bombed churches to kill children and hung teenagers as warnings against uppitiness. Then there are the rapists, of course. I don't think the child-molesting priests are terrorists -- if indeed for them it is more about sex than power. But then, if it's not about power, why children? Obviously, I could go on and on for quite awhile, and will if you don't get the idea yet. They've been part of who we are for millennia.
.
.

On South Park Mr./Ms. Garrison always wants to "kill the Mexicans" -- easy targets I guess. Sometimes its the gooks, or spics or kikes or those other words for people we decided to hate because they were easy targets. Fat folks are great targets, and gays. Then there's the working poor who keep their tenement apts dirty and don't look after their kids right, you know, petri dishes for criminals. More likely violent crime has more to do with ripples of hate going around and around, picking up speed and dust globules till they're lethal.
.
.

Did you know about the stories of Arabs in North Africa and Europe during WWII who saved persecuted Jews in their communities? Everyone talks like Arab/Jew = cat/dog. Then, I've known many a cat and dog pair who got along just fine, best of friends. It's not because you are Arab or Jewish or Christian or Zoroastrian -- either you promote hate or you don't.

.
.

the word "conservative" has been coopted by a quite radical bunch. Real conservatives believe in conserving what is good; living conservatively, i.e., without ostentation or profligacy; protecting the environment; keeping out of others' business and taking care of one's own; having old fashioned values such as kindness, compassion, helpfulness, along with thrift and a strong work ethic. Real conservatives believe in small government that takes care of the infrastructure, international treaties, arbitrating disputes, but has no interest in telling anyone how to live so long as they are not harming others. Real conservatives know the high costs of war so that it could only ever be thought of as a very last resort for protection of our land and citizens. Real conservatives think these faux "conservatives" are full of something which does not need to be conserved.
.
.

It often amazes me how much people want to be led. Even in simple social situations, people love to congregate around someone who comes up with easy ideas for fun and encourages participation. So many sad situations in the world, community by community, can be seen as failures of leadership.
.
.

I think Obama was totally right on Pakistan and nuclear weapons. I think it is Hillary who shows a naive disregard for real world opinion, or at least an overwhelming need to show "balls" at the expense of diplomacy. I do agree the Democrats have made poor showing for their reconfigured Congress opportunity. They blither, natter, and crumble as if playing for time. Yet the Republican "hopefuls" don't appear to have anything to offer, while Democrats at least promise universal healthcare of one sort or another. Kucinich and Gravel show real ideas and courage, but of course are far too "unpresidential" to get elected, despite being white men.
.
.
.
pulsing, riveting, train whistle rising through
sheer bluff imagery
tacking, tasting, reemerging
oh to feel the slapping breeze
regain momentum
.
.
.
we are all eco-systems, part of greater eco-systems, part of greater solar systems, galaxies, and everything between.
.
.
.
eclipse prayer

Neptunian Moon [Grandmother Moon]
unveil my deepest sorrow
Give me the power, the words and the way
Oh, Goddess, dance with me
Spinning in trance into your mystery
Smiling sunshine into my heart
Grant me the wisdom and grace
to translate Your perfect Face
Your living radiance
that all may understand
the necessity of peace

War Profiteers Profit from War; Everyone Profits from Peace

War Kills. Peace Mends & Grows

Blowing Ourselves Apart, Or Working Together Toward Common Wealth

Stewards or Destroyers

Joyous Assemblage or Hate-Filled Mob

Good Neighbors or Armed Camps

Why not have faith that we are, all of us, here for a purpose; and at least
part of that purpose is to get along. Why not set our minds to
the world beat of peace?

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

How I saw creation while watching bad porn.

2007-08-23T00:23:23Z

I sit and watch
space and time suck itself
into tiny time doors
that spread apart into
some kind of spaghetti string theory,
that brakes down into parts
and sequentially collides
to become chaotic perfection
slightly off
and closer to center than before.

I periodically bifurcate
over and over.
like a toad I plop
Into a pond

One day darkness came to me
to explain the void
and errors of imbalance,

primal energies
sound off their flatulence

They all reported their evolution
and clarified the current dynamic
synchonicities with respect to a dead
Mayan architect crackpot priest

he got the clap
like the rest
but shot his wad straight to Venus
where it stuck
on the back of Poesideon’s ass while he was tanning.

and it sucked
and began sucking
atmospheric entrails
in the hole
of Poesideon’s
ass

until a brilliant white flower
sprouted out
of Poesideon’s
stomach

with
bright
white
petals

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

Democracy vs. the Market

2007-08-02T10:13:42Z

This is going to amount, ultimately, to another plug of the Gone Lawn project/website, but it's a very serious question.

I (and all of us at Gone Lawn) want to see the day when the surface Literary Market (Bertelsmann / Random House, Borders, Barnes & Noble) becomes challenged by the virtual, underground democracy of the Internet, and I think it's absolutely possible. There are a couple of essays on the Gone Lawn site (http://gonelawn.com) that go into it in more depth. I mention this because I want to know what people think about the matter, about the seriousness of the cultural control that Random House possesses over us, the lack of variety and access. (I am an Amazon.com fan, by the way, so I'm not against large corporations in themselves, only ones that are significantly destructive, like the ones mentioned above).

The Long Tail site (http://longtail.com/) is helpful, too.

The question is: To what degree is the large populace, website to website, able to challenge the surface Market? And how do we do this?

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

Writing Experiment

2007-08-02T09:51:54Z

Hi,

Some of you might be interested in a new site I was involved in setting up

www.portrayl.com

It's basically a writing site where writers can post and showcase their works with a cool little twist: other people can add onto the stories creating new stories going in a different direction. So it's a bit of an experiement in collaborative writing as well, to see where users will take each others stories.

The site is completely for writers (I do try my best, and have also posted some chapters on the site as nshah, but I'm no writer), so if you have and suggestions for the site or if there is anything you would like to see on the site, please reply to this post or let us know directly. It's for you, so you should be able to enjoy using it.

Thanks for reading everyone
Neeraj

posted in experimental writing - 2 replies

World In Exile

2007-07-20T20:42:02Z

WORLD IN EXILE

In a labyrinth of lies
And misguided humor
We search the skies
For ships to appear
Our visitors glide
And part the clouds
On the moon they hide
From curious crowds
How can we smile?
When those in control
Condemn us to exile
From the galactic whole
How can we jeer?
When what seems evident
Is met with fear,
Mockery, and descent
A web of deceit
Captures the blind
It’s meant to defeat
The inquisitive mind

Escaping from me
Is the laughing cry
Or the crying glee
I look to the sky
Our people in exile
Cling to their fears
Our world in exile
Sheds not her blinders
A dizzy head swims
In a bleak horror show
Like cold winter hymns
On a rainy tableau

-D.C.

posted in experimental writing - 2 replies

message from

2007-07-20T01:53:49Z

goldfish message from Pansy Powell
gluey message from Napoleon Fink
abuilding message from Millard Head
refusal message from Julia Gomez
adaptive message from Jeanette Hagen
interstice message from Terri Kelly
fumble message from Margie Masters
sonnet message from Jesus Huber
delete message from Lessie Davidson
transpiration message from Ricardo Fernandez
dolomitic message from Sherrie Sizemore
irredentism message from Ernestine Barrow
sensible message from Mitch Staton
sequester message from Pearlie Christie
ebb message from Juanita Lujan
fascist message from Blair Trejo
boyhood message from Cole Kruse
dragon message from Sylvia Cardenas
peachtree message from Cary Pratt
minutiae message from Fay Wilkinson
dress message from Stefan Workman
ponder message from Lee Bonds
inoculate message from Norman Costa
thunderbird message from Florence Gibbons
purveyor message from Rob Aragon
ummy message from Shanna Mckinney
docile message from Luciano Garner
betrothal message from Dorthy Nicholson
gelatinous message from Cherie Mccollum
physique message from Dane Newman
clutter message from Elena Collier
irreversible message from Harold Hood
ventilate message from John Nickerson
prescribe message from Agnes Bliss
floorboard message from Elias Norman
habitual message from David Landry
massage message from Erick Carroll
simpleton message from Grace Swift
develop message from Dante Mcconnell
cupric message from Desmond Haywood
gunfight message from Christy Hess
straightforward message from Twila Combs
exult message from Errol Ratliff
downfall message from Jesus Conklin
absolute message from Nigel Gallagher
housebroken message from Martin Dick
verandah message from Kim Chambers
effusive message from Samuel Schulz
basin message from Mickey Hendrickson
scull message from Rebekah Medrano
inhibit message from Francis Rudd
fetch message from Bernie Kane
letterhead message from Eileen Otero
decision message from Kirk Fulton
chuckle message from Vonda Kerns
bluegrass message from Dionne Yeager
continent message from Bryant Estes
rebelled message from Marie Glenn
propelling message from Alyce Nichols
adjoin message from Mavis Jones
bellflower message from Joan Carey
contempt message from Fern Cates
perfecter message from Mercedes Mullen
palisade message from Homer Benavides
skater message from Carlton Barrow
astrology message from Jerry Holmes
caution message from Lamont Goins
inconsolable message from Christian Blanco
wharf message from Mavis Thacker
blitz message from Elliott Parra
libertine message from Odell Mejia
manhole message from Vince Huber
angelfish message from Beth Kimble
she'll message from Rebekah Clemons
euridyce message from Terrence Kimball
flip message from Burt Saldana
luminescent message from Carey Bridges
inroad message from Edna Todd
parade message from Marian Small
uhf message from Lionel Quinones
gilligan message from Alden Fry
succinct message from Noemi Page
eisure message from Maggie Melendez
figure message from Travis Horner
informant message from Amelia Young
scrutiny message from Lance Diggs
serious message from Kenya Galindo
brimstone message from Rich White
antique message from Hallie Sloan
psychoanalysis message from Laura Beach
daylight message from Leslie Kendall
sirius message from Kristin Hurst
simplify message from Lance Mcgee
ajar message from Williams Hobson
swordplay message from Marva Macias
plasma message from Olen Roberts
gander message from Rhonda Whitlock
coverlet message from Bernie Stevens
hue message from Archie Gay
plastic message from Rodrigo Tidwell
thesaurus message from Raul Springer
noose message from Whitney Nixon
leakage message from Tricia Paige
aggravate message from Kristie Bermudez
fortiori message from Audrey Pool
soapsud message from Sherri Werner
ductwork message from Casandra Cox
stringy message from Elliott Christiansen
extradite message from Samuel Kraft
vainglorious message from Ronald Crabtree
pompadour message from Eloy Melton
archetype message from Sharon Granger
gasoline message from Marla Bergeron
attitudinal message from Tracy Dye
evocable message from Brett Swartz
herringbone message from Wm Burris
heartbreak message from Frances Otero
merge message from Gregorio Frazier
tachistoscope message from Millard Monroe
sweetish message from Jefferey London
secretive message from Raul Drew
slither message from Rene Dean
diary message from Edith Bradley
baptism message from Verna Silva
widthwise message from Nolan Dougherty
Find message from Basil Suarez
streetcar message from Dante Bowers
saturate message from Rufus Coates
trivalent message from Cherie Tuttle
panjandrum message from Delbert Duran
waterfall message from Fritz Joyner
louver message from Meredith Wu
strung message from Bernadette Dorsey
usurer message from Erwin Darnell
negotiate message from Deann Rasmussen
snappish message from Betsy Sargent
dapper message from Rodrick Head
coherent message from Michael Baker
radius message from Nita Thorpe
gumshoe message from Maria Duncan
sarsaparilla message from Clarence Quintana
Glamour panty pics message from Erin Winter
deferrable message from Malinda Paul
vestal message from Joanne Marquez
stunning voyeur cam message from Amber Hedrick
firecracker message from Sheena Burton
tridiagonal message from Javier Baxter
piracy message from Carly Mercado
cake message from Claude Dorsey
parachute message from Hugo Houser
buckwheat message from Francis Pettit
silent message from Hans Riley

posted in experimental writing - 4 replies

It was almost perfect

2007-07-20T01:52:18Z

At last, long last
it was correct to open wrathful floodgates
it was righteous to rampage
because this sweet bastard had it coming.

That perfect adrenaline
vanishes this pain but relishes that
powers the pounding, stokes the strokes
switches on a machine idled too long.

So I cast my opener,
a little tap to the gob
inviting reposte
and asks what he might have in return.

And then he sullies this opus
a crime, a sacrilege
he neuters us both, the slimy shit
by fighting like a girl.

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

Ike's Wager - Opinions Gratefully Received

2007-06-18T06:14:29Z

Hey folks, I'd be really grateful for any thoughts you have on this book synopsis and jacket blurb

http://people.tribe.net/water_muse/photos/1d25bf0e-41e8-4ecf-b3b4-c413b39f00d9

Thanks

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

Please, let's stop using the word "Experimental".

2007-05-05T05:43:16Z

Kathy Acker, in fact, held the same opinion: she believed that the word "experimental" translated to "not legitimate". This is, in fact, how I've always felt.

"Experimental", after all, refers to a process, not an end product. The end product cannot (or should not) be experimental; it is generally (or should be) the end result of experimentation and sincere expression.

So... please... let's stop using the word "experimental". It's misleading and, most of all, degrading. "Nontraditional" is accurate. "Progressive" is accurate to certain works and certain authors.

Furthermore, I believe, it should be redundant to consider "experimentation" as something unusual in fiction. After all, any artist must go through various sorts of experimentation to achieve her own voice, vision, etc. In painting and sculpture, for example, "experimentation" is taken for granted: having an original vision is expected, not abnormal. But in literature, there seems to be an overwhelming emphasis of craft over art. There're simply too many written works that resemble thousands of other written works. And this, as I'm sure anybody reading the messages in this forum should agree, is not progressive, it's not particularly helpful to our culture(s).

It's no wonder so few people consider fiction to be an "art form". In point of fact: art, in literature, is suppressed in favor of craft.

Preaching to the choir. But I felt it needed to be said.

posted in experimental writing - 10 replies

New issue of The LIttle Magazine

2007-05-03T21:53:52Z

CURRENT WORK / 006-007 ISSUE

http://www.albany.edu/~litmag/work/current.html

The current issue of The Little Magazine features work by twenty-four artists and three collaborations.

mIEKAL aND
Camille Bacos
Sandy Baldwin
Michael Basinski
C Mehrl Bennett
John M. Bennett
Bennett/Baron
Bennett/Vassilakis
John Byrum
David-Baptiste Chirot
K.S. Ernst
Tim Gaze
Laura Goldstein
Scott Helmes
Geof Huth
jUStin!katKO
Jim Leftwich
Sheila Murphy
Clemente Padin
Lanny Quarles
Rob Read
Jean Roelke
Wendy Collin Sorin
Andrew Topel
Nico Vassilakis
Derek White

http://www.albany.edu/~litmag/work/current.html

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

eating...a poem of our times...

2007-04-01T22:47:22Z

Eating

we are feeding today
on the bones of ancestors
and the wings of angels
we are feasting at the table
of guests
who have left the abode
drinking the wine of tears
shed for us
by those in the past
who saw the future
we are all forked
spooning out our love
cutting the bread of days
with a knife of impatience
we are grilling our eyes
with the sights of our world
tell the chef that the meal
is burning
please pass me the salt
that i may pour it into the wound
which also functions
as my mouth
djones 3/23/07

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

upcoming open mic...

2007-04-01T22:39:48Z

we ate little red studio seattle are going to start an open mic in april...hit me up for details if you are in the pnw area...the site addy is www.littleredstudioseattle.com
xo
ultra low frequency

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

lrs style...

2007-04-01T22:32:09Z

Nasty Woman

I want a nasty woman
One who drinks, smokes
Does drugs
And fucks
At the drop of a hat
One who thinks
Coffee
Is an appropriate
Late night drink
One who engages
In public displays of affection
Not because it’s cute
But because she’s horny
I want a woman
Who can say
I want to fuck you
Not fuck with you
One who is not put off
By dirty dishes, laundry
Or the fact that I’ve
Just run out of toilet paper
A woman with a
Pornographic
Sense of humor
A woman who thinks panties
Are for pussies
Has one, uses it
But rarely if ever covers it
I want a woman
Nasty enough to reach down my pants
Grab my cock
Look at me and smile
A woman who tells me
Racist jokes
Filthy jokes
And likes it when I talk about
My nigger dick
Going into her honky pussy
One who understands
Computers, cars and guns
Knows why each is necessary
And has all three
A woman who fucks
With the lights on
In front of open windows
One who doesn’t apologize
For her menstrual blood
Who fucks me right after work
And doesn’t shower afterwards
I want a
Nasty woman
But it seems
There are no nasty women
So maybe I should get
A man like me

DJones 4/29/05

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

little red studio art-a-thon...24 hours of art making madness...

2007-04-01T22:26:01Z

Picture a night of creative mayhem: painters, sculptors, dancers, live models, aerialists, and poets – all creating and performing for 24 hours straight! Come revel with us, as we stretch our creative wings in our sumptuous, juicy new digs.

Experience a delightful 24 hours (or any portion of that) of erotically-fueled creation and performance that will widen your eyes, deepen your hearts, and excite your senses as only a Little Red Studio event can!

This event promises to be an incredible experience for you to witness this band of gifted artists and performers create their art on-site and then present it for sale.

You can even purchase opportunities to join in! Commission a poem to be written for you, your lover, or the two (or three, or four…) of you. Model for an artist or a body painter or sit down with a sketchbook or canvas yourself. Commission a dance, an aerial piece or even a piece of music! The possibilities are endless, bound only by your imagination.

Every hour, on the hour, you'll delight in seeing the fruits of the artists' labor. Periodic auctions will give you further opportunities to share in the creative process as a patron.

Other activities to entice you will include a Brunch from 10am to 12noon and a Closing Ceremony at 7pm on Sunday. For a one-time (4 hour) entry, you'll pay $25. For a Full Patron Pass, which gives you the freedom to come and go (or stay the whole time!) as you please for the entire 24-hour event, you'll pay only $50.

You can purchase tickets at the door or in advance at Brown Paper Tickets : www.brownpapertickets.com/event/14089

Come play with us, celebrate with us, and share in our creative magic!

www.littleredstudioseattle.com

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

Gigslist.org - ShowBiz News, jobs, auditions, tips, resumes and resources.

2007-03-24T22:09:11Z

Gigslist.org - ShowBiz News, jobs, auditions, tips, resumes and resources.

OoooooooooooooooooO
Listings are from Gigslist.org Main Board from the past 7 Days.
Ooooooo

Greenbelt, MD - Crew and Auditions, April 9-10 FreeJobs
OutOftheBlackBox Theatre Company (O2B2) will hold auditions for "Volpone," a new adaptation by Bill Jones of the play by Ben Jonson http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=696

Arts Resources Wanted for Industry Directory
Submit your arts site, group, tribe, mailing list, publication to the Arts Job Bible for free and Free membership to Gigslist.org and free listing. http://www.gigslist.org

Touring - Guitar Tech for the Wallflowers Paid Jobs
Seeking touring Guitar Tech for the Wallflowers.
http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=700

The Arts Job Bible 831 places to find jobs, casting calls, crew, talent, funding, networking, and industry contacts in Acting, Music, Music Industry, Theatre, Backstage, Film, TV, and Video. Regularly updated with new listings. Only $6.95 at http://www.gigslist.org

Beverly Hills, CA - Administrative Assistant Paid Jobs
Music/Special Events Management Agency (3-4 person office) seeking a Full-Time Administrative Assistant http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=699

Gigslist Reel Idol - Reel Submissions Wanted
Register a Free Account to Submit your Reel and Vote on other Reels Click here… http://www.gigslist.org/user.php?op=register&module=NewUser

Rock music needed for upcoming film FreeJobs http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=698

Entertainment Contract Library
Know what is in a contract ahead of time so you know what you are signing. Digital files that you can use again and again, save thousands on lawyers fees. 100% Money Back Guarantee. http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=Sections&req=viewarticle&artid=3&page=1

SF Bay Area - Event Photographers Needed Paid Jobs
Event photography firm looking for freelance photographers to work during May and June at graduations. http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=697

San Francisco CA - Storyboard Artist Paid Jobs
Moviehead Pictures is hiring a Storyboard Artist Needed For Romantic Thriller, http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=695

Los Angeles CA - Carpenters Paid Jobs
Looking for day player carpenters with tools and experience pay is $200 per day. http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=694

Hollywood, CA - Receptionist/Vault Librarian Paid Jobs
PlasterCITY Digital seeking a friendly energetic individual to answer phones and manage our tape library. http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=693

Aliso Viejo, CA - Stunt Coordinator/Stuntman Paid Jobs
We are looking for a stunt coordinator/stuntman for an upcoming short film/trailer production. http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=692

New York - Casting PSA Paid Jobs
Looking to cast two roles, one of a Doctor and one of a patient who will be in his underwear being examined on a New York city street. http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=691

New York City - Casting Web/Interactive Paid Jobs
SEEKING ACTORS FOR a KOREAN/JAPANESE WEB-DRAMA. http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=690

Chicago, IL - Feature Film Cast and Crew Call Paid Jobs
Film company seeking cast and crew for indy film. Seeking all ages, genders and ethnicity's. http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=689

Lakewood NJ - Female Variety Dancer Performer Paid Jobs
woman, under 30, who can tap dance and/or perform a specialty number such as juggling, balloon twisting, magic, hula hoops, etc. http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=688

Anywhere - Game Animators Paid Jobs
Mocap Latte, a motion capture studio, is looking for freelance Max and Maya animators. for upcoming game and film work. http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=687

Washington DC - Supervising Editor, Impact of War Paid Jobs
National Public Radio The Supervising Editor provides editorial and production guidance to Bureau Chief and NPR member station staff
http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=686

Washington DC - Broadcast/Recording Technician Paid Jobs
National Public Radio has several immediate openings for Broadcast/Recording Technicians. http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=685

4/7 New Jersey - Pitch Session at Fairleigh Dickinson Unversity Events
Seating Limited!! Pitch to Oscar Winner Larry Meistrich (Sling Blade, You Can Count on Me, Belly) and execs from the newly formed NEHST Creations. http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=684

Philippines - Asian Stallions / Collaboration /Support Classifieds
We are Indiefilmaker in the Philippines who will collaborate/support with projects who has budgets ranging from $35,000.00 to $600,000. http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=683

Culver City, CA - Models for music video. Paid Jobs
We need fabulous babes for a rap video next Tuesday all day in Culver City with possible shoots also Weds night, Thursday night.
Note: Members only listing, Gigslist.org membership is free. http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=682

Santa Monica, CA - Part Time Receptionist Paid Jobs
Small commercial post-production facility in Santa Monica looking to fill facility receptionist/concierge position. http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=681

San Francisco - Casting Short Film - Multiple Roles Paid Jobs
Graduate Film Directors seeking actors for their next project. Duration: 6 Hours spread over 3 days, starts April 5 - Non-Union artist contracts http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=680

Baltimore/ Washington - Casting Menopause The Musical Paid Jobs
Equity Principle and understudy positions Seeking: Actresses who can sing and move well. http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=679

Los Angeles - Casting for Daily Show Paid Jobs
Established production company casting for female lead for a unique and witty daily show. http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=678

New York City - Casting for Korean / Japanese Web Drama Paid Jobs
Casting qactors for Korean / Japanese Web Drama . Duration: 13 days (Not Everyday) , starts March 25th. http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=677

Sonoma CA - Location Scout Paid Jobs
Need location scouting for outdoor dance music video and dance art piece. Need about 5-6 locations in Northern CA. http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=676

New Jersey - Part Time Photographer Paid Jobs
In this position, you must be friendly and have desire to work weekends. A car, internet and email are a must!! http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=675

Atlanta GA - Art Director/Senior Designer Paid Jobs
Seeking Art Director/Senior Designer, award-winning design and animation studio, high-end 2D / 3D design for television and advertising. http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=674

New York - Administrative Employee Paid Jobs
New York Film Academy seeking an Administrative Employee whose main function will be establishing and maintaining contact with student candidates. http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=673

Seattle WA - AV Tech Paid Jobs
National event staffing agency is looking for a basic Trade Show AV Tech http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=672

Manhattan NY - Freelance 3D Artist/Compositors Paid Jobs
Interviewing the following:3D Artists –Must know XSI, Maya and 3D Studio Max. Compositors - Must know Shake, Fusion and After Effects. http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=671

LA, Miami, NYC - TV Crew Paid Jobs
New weekly national TV Magazine in Hebrew seeks local crews in multiple cities for 1-2 days of work per week for ongoing work starting in May. http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=670

Nor Cal - MARCH 16,17,18,31 & 4/1 Female Model Jobs Paid Jobs
Affinity Models has Female Model Jobs in Northern California http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=669

Seeks position in the entertainment production sector Resumes
Objective:Secure a position in Entertainment Productionwhere I can utilize my professional skills to help bring creative projects to fruition. http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=668

San Francisco, CA - Auditions/Short Narratives FreeJobs
Don't miss this amazing opportunity to audition for upwards of 20 short films - all LEADING ROLES. One easy on-camera casting session. http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=667

Palo Alto, CA - Video Editor/HTML Paid Jobs
FriendFinder, Inc. seeking motivated individual with extensive experience in digital video editing and file preparation for web delivery. http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=666

San Francisco, CA - Get Paid To Talk About Books Paid Jobs
We have found that people are interested what other people have to say about books; especially as it relates to you. http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=665

Telecommute - Motion Graphics Designer/Animator Paid Jobs
Motion Graphics Designer: 2D or 3D AnimatorSan Jose, CA Portland, OR Seattle, WA http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=664

New Jersey - Directors, Musical Directors, and Choreographers Paid Jobs
The Theater Company at DeBaun Auditorium, located on the campus of Stevens Institute of Technology in Hoboken, New Jersey, is seeking http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=663

Thursday, March 15, 2007 Read full article: 'New Jersey - Directors, Musical Directors, and Choreographers'

New York, NY - Guitarists who Sing Paid Jobs
The New York Kids Club, with four Manhattan locations, is seeking Guitarists who Sing to perform during classes and class transitions.
http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=662

NYC - Female Dancers Paid Jobs
NYC's Dance Makers, Inc., non profit Dance Company seeking dancers of all ethnicities for upcoming performances at Theatre Three http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=661

Sarasota, FL - Intern Pianist Paid Jobs
Florida Studio Theatre, a professional Equity regional theatre, is seeking an intern pianist for the Theatre’s active Children’s program http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=660

Los Angeles CA - On Camera Assistant Paid Jobs
Prestigious On Camera division of major commercial agency seeks an assistant to three agents. http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=659

Chicago IL - New Media coordinator Paid Jobs
Candidate would have extensive experience working with band websites, marketing, fan clubs, myspace, etc. http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=658

Search is on for Happy Little Vegemites News
Kraft closer to identifying original Happy Little Vegemites after national call for the children who appeared in the iconic 1950s advertisement. http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=657

Los Angeles CA - Actors for independent film Paid Jobs
The independent low-budget thriller Next To Die is shooting in June and July of this year. http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=656

Nor Cal - Receptionist Paid Jobs
America's Premiere acting and modeling academy, John Robert Powers San Ramon is seeking an energetic and professional receptionist. http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=655

Boyton Beach, FL - Light Board Op, Flyman, Deck Electrician, Stagehand Paid Jobs
New Vista Theatre Company seeking to fill out its crew for the final production in its premiere season. Also looking for load in help. http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=654

Manheim, PA - Assistant Costumer Paid Jobs
Design Opportunity Possible - Pennsylvania Renaissance Faire is looking for someone to step up to the challenge. http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=653

NYC - Stage Manager, Sound Person, Stage Hand FreeJobs
This is a Lesbian Comedy Variety Show.One show only on Saturday May 12. Would need a few rehearsals to learn cues. http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=652

LA - Production Assistant/Driver Paid Jobs
HD, NYC-based series looking for LA Production Assistant to PA for 1-3 days for interviews March 19-21. Note: Members Only Listing - Gigslist.org membership is free http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=651

James Miller: Delays, Delays at REDCAT, Los Angeles, March 20th Events
James Miller Man and machine carry out a techno pas de deux performing delightfully inventive "short stories" for trombone and digital signal processor. http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=650

SF Bay Area - Radio Reporters and Producers Needed Paid Jobs
Self contained magazine features reporting would be required - the series of 8-10 episodes would have a theme to link them. KQED/NPR and BBC http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=649

San Francisco CA - Production Coordinator for feature film Paid Jobs
Center for Asian American Media seeking Post Production Supervisor for SF-based independent digital feature by established Director. http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=648

San Diego CA - Plus Models & Alternate Sizes FreeJobs
Seeking 3-5 Plus size and alternate models for fashion shoot for plus size and alternate sizes for a portfolio for several events this year http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=647

Lavallette NJ - Casting Summer Vaudeville & Children’s Story Time Paid Jobs
The Music Man is a unique family-style ice cream Shoppe where the cast/waiters (guys and gals) sing, dance and improv with the audience. http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=646

Los Angeles CA - Multi-Media Producer - CBS Interactive Paid Jobs
Needed to edit and post clips on daily basis; shoot and edit special projects; confirm specification and legal clearance of all video materials. http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=645

St. Louis MO - Motion Graphics Designer/Animator Paid Jobs
Technisonic, a broadcast production company, is seeking a motion graphics designer/animator for TV commercials. http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=644

Studio City CA - Writer/Producer Paid Jobs
Write, produce and direct documentary on Outer Space.Must have documentary experience and be able to start immediately. http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=643

New York NY - Supervising Producer for Reality Competition Paid Jobs
Creative and organized NY based Supervising Producer needed for two reality competition food/cooking pilots for popular cable TV networks. http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=642

Rohan de Saram at REDCAT, Los Angeles, March 16th at 8:30 p.m. Events
Rohan de Saram plays Carter, Xenakis, Berio, Reynolds, and Schubert "Rohan de Saram is a cello phenomenon, one of the greatest of our time." Kölnische Rundshau http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=641
Englewood, NJ - Costumed Characters for Benefit Paid Jobs
2 actors to be in rabbit costumes for March Madness Benefit for the Boarder Babies and Adoption programs for Children's Aid and Family Services. http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=640

Bellport, NY - Associate Casting/Artistic Director Paid Jobs
Seeking talented individual to provide support to the Artistic Office and assist Gateway Playhouse Artistic Director in all creative endeavors. http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=639

Irving TX - Traffic Assistant - Fox Networks Paid Jobs
The Traffic Assistant is responsible for inputting orders for national and local commercial material. http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=638

Telecommute - 3d Animator Paid Jobs
We are Handling 3D Animation projects (Television Series) for Various International clients. We are in lookout for 3d Animators and 3d Artistes. http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=637

Phoenix AZ - Reality TV Writer/Producer Paid Jobs
Looking for writer/producer for major cable network reality show. Demonstrated creative storytelling and ability to direct and supervise http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=636

OoooooooooooooooooO

Entertainment Contract Library
100% Money Back Guarantee.
Know what is in a contract ahead of time so you know what you are signing. Gigslist.org has relaunched it's Entertainment Contract Library. Professional contracts authored by entertainment lawyers. Downloadable Music, film, television, acting, extras, joint venture, licensing, merchandise, releases, distribution, employment, confidentiality, union and non union contracts, agreements, and definitions. Digital files that you can use again and again. Click http://www.gigslist.org/index.php?name=Sections&req=viewarticle&artid=3&page=1

OoooooooooooooooooO

Gigslist Reel Idol - Reel Submissions Wanted

Have you got a video, animation, film, demo reel, music video, show reel, hosted online, such as on myspace or yahoo or google? Post it’s link on Gigslist.org and get professional industry exposure plus you could win a lifetime subscription to The Arts Job Bible with hundreds of free resources to find jobs, crew, funding, and business resources in Acting and Film. Register a Free Account to Submit your Reel and Vote on other Reels Click here… http://www.gigslist.org/user.php?op=register&module=NewUser

OoooooooooooooooooO

List and group owners!
Reclaim your industry advertising real estate. Go to http://www.giglist.org and click Affiliate at the bottom of the page.

OoooooooooooooooooO

About Gigslist.org

FREE MEMBERSHIP:
Members can also post their web sites and myspace pages in the Production Directory and direct links to their demos and reels . Gigslist.org membership is free please click: http://www.gigslist.org/user.php?op=register&module=NewUser

HOW TO POST TO THIS LIST – Don’t worry, It’s also Free.
1) Go to http://www.gigslist.org
2) Login or Sign Up for a free membership.
3) Click POST
4) Click MAIN BOARD

How to upgrade your post for top listing and solo eblast out.
Once in your Gigslist.org account click Upgrade Account in the Main Menu.

OoooooooooooooooooO

http://www.gigslist.org

OoooooooooooooooooO

Myspace URL
http://www.myspace.com/gigslistartsjobs

Myspace Blog URL
http://blog.myspace.com/gigslistartsjobs

Yahoogroup URL
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Gigslist/

Tribe URL
http://gigslist.tribe.net/

OoooooooooooooooooO

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

always accepting submissions

2007-03-24T15:40:10Z

always accepting submissions
why vandalism? is an online arts journal currently accepting submissions from visual artists and writers of poetry, fiction, and gonzo. We also publish original art/film reviews and essays.

www.whyvandalism.com/

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

WritersCafe

2007-03-22T15:49:40Z

check it out:

http://www.writerscafe.org

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

Experiment Going PUBLIC!!!

2007-03-20T05:33:19Z

If you read the first chapter of my experimental manuscript and join gather.com to vote on this Burning Man Inspired work it just may make it to the next round.

www.gather.com/viewArticle.jsp

The winner gets published. Let's change the world, anyone, anyone?

Would love support.

Thank You,

Clear

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

Question for Charles

2007-03-05T08:11:25Z

You mentioned in the other thread about use of the word experiment that that type of discussion is more of what you had in mind for this tribe.

Could you please elaborate on what you wanted to happen here?
Did you want discussions on literary related topics as well as potential postings of writings?

Thanks for clarifying. :)

posted in experimental writing - 1 reply

ExperiMental Psychedelic Novel-Blues4Kali

2007-03-02T02:55:30Z

Reality Exchange Program
"Makes DMT seem like a whip-it."

Crazy Bear said there'd be days like this. As usual, no one believed him. Now, all I want to know is: where IS that lifeboat, and how do I ditch this ship of fools, without any of these bliss ninnies noticing that I'm already gone?

Captain, my ass. We are equal in this sea of madness.

That iceberg is looking awfully big.

Amana Mission is on a quest to save the world, and the only problem is, she can't remember why she got involved with such an obvious scam in the first place. Jesus saves. Christ. What a loser.

Kali kills first, and recycles later.

Hitchhikers, load up for a ride to the Other Side. You may wish you had gone Greyhound.

"What the...?"

*A cranky band of prankster peace warriors who absolutely cannot resist messing with each other's minds, no matter the cost.
*Cocky alchemy-dabbling quantum surfers, navigating the Ethersphere with hand-held computers, seamlessly switching timelines to find a better party vibe and swap tips about the best temporary toilets for use as interdimensional portals.
*A burnt-out visionary hippie millionaire on a mission from Gaia to build a better "communitopia" by underwriting busloads of telepathic priestesses.
*A wheelchair-bound mindpilot propelling a crystal-powered Seed Bank toward the post-Apocalyptic Garden, with psychic precision...and a predilection for high-velocity extreme driving.
*Hermaphrodite time-jumper fleeing a fate worse than death.
*Anarchist ghettoes where anything goes-except escape.
*Ancient Principals vying like sweatsoaked carpetbaggers for our loyalty as the Final Vote is tallied.
*Long-haired security patrols collecting a cannabis tribute tax from all pilgrims to the Valley of Fun.
*And an underground meat mafia bringing a black magic revival to a bloodless dreamworld gone bland.

All brought together by a secret psychedelic superdrug that tunes users in to reality through the eyes of another archetypal avatar inhabiting a different state of space and time. Mahayana made easy. Budding Buddha natures are running amuck on a virtual superhighway where all roads lead to the Bo tree and singularity.

Twenty-first century Tantra is about more than sex, drugs, and rock and roll.

Confronting the Karma of every wasted breath is only the first step.

Welcome to the End Times. Kali awaits. She already knows who you are.

Do you?

The 21st century counterculture is even weirder than it appears on the surface. This is not your mommy’s MTV Road Rules.

Ride along on this mesmerizing, metaphor-packed bus trip toward ecstasy and enlightenment, as three real-time guides-Amana, Sissy, and Deva, let you in on what they learned when they asked what It was really all about, after all.

Entire eBook available at www.blues4kali.com
Blues4Kali by Indi Riverflow

posted in experimental writing - 1 reply

Hallelujah Without Notice

2007-03-01T18:44:14Z

Aluminum petals gush at the sun.

Yellow swish volition. A held blue symptom galvanizes the city,
reality crashes in barbed-wire brilliance.

Concocted from the stars sipping on
rumour and innuendo. Kiss the knife with
electric zeal.

Talking parasol hiss. A sick border
parlays battered DNA rouge, charred bhangra at
the point of fat, not flat.

Manifold kisses. The air hallelujahs
all the same. Wisps of a special offer
seduced by pure gnosis of flutes riding
open sky, straight-up and molecular.

Honest trickles bear recycled clay disguised as
sperm. Experience gleams in archangel trails of dream,
language recuperated from a jaundice that never ends.
Crackle void blisters this bridge of busy-signals,
pharmaceutical in their intent.

Witness the sneak-attack of serial chaos.

Burnt fantasy scampers away from the
clit of jumping up to get beat down,
stoic verbiage as theatre of
noble frogs.

http://takingthebrim.blogspot.com

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

POETS/WRITERS NEEDED to publish

2007-02-26T15:04:43Z

I AM AN AUTHOR/PUBLISHER
IN CANADA [WinePress]

I am re-publishing my first children's book:
"Tails from the Truthfairy"
poems, fables, lore, and stories ... a labor of love.
I am looking for story-writers, poets. and fairy-illustrators to collaborate with me on this project, want to make it a community effort, so writers can associate/network/and come together in a spirit of cooperation.

ISBN 0-9731363-6-7
© 2007 WinePress

In Canada you © your work free with an ISBN
Don’t know if it’s free in the states!
Books have a CIP and are registered with the Govt. Archives.
If you send me work the mere fact you sent it [save email records] is a good copyright.
I might not like it ... this is the danger. It has to sell !
I’m picky ...
U might get angry if I reject it, and even worse, not know what I have done with it, or if I stole it.
......... These are the risks. But rejections will be documented also by email records.

I would however like to find people to put into this with me, if you are savvy you can protect yourself, you can PM me, then we can connect via email, the work I need has to be at par in quality with Dr, Zeus, Aesop's Fables, Red-Riding-Hood, Legends, Folk-Tales, and stories with real value.

Profits will shared according to what goes in comes out, [don’t expect a lot!] ... I arrange, edit, publish, format, print, promote, distribute, and sell the work though channels I have developed over the years, as well as new ones I find along the way.
So my cut reflects this but I do not want to take bread from someone else’s table.
I currently write for 1 magazine, have over 50 published newspaper articles on current affairs, over 20 published poems, and 2 books published

Below is the kind of copyrighting and cataloging information you should expect.

All rights reserved, no part of this book may be reproduced,
stored in a database or other retrieval system, or transmitted
in any form by any means, including mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher.

Published in Canada by WinePress

PRINTING HISTORY

Originally published under the title “Tales from the Truthfairy”
By Sacred Wine Press Duncan Canada © 2006
Duncan British Columbia © 2006

“Tails from the Truthfairy”
Copyright © 2nd Edition 2007
WinePress All Rights Reserved

Back cover Photograph © WinePress
Front Cover Art by Howard David Johnson
Inside Illustrations from clip art /local artists
Typesetting & indexing by
WinePress Publishing
Duncan British Columbia Canada

PRINTED IN CANADA

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Dxxxe, Jxxxs, 1957-
I. Title. Tails from the Truthfairy / A collection of Children’s Stories & Poems / Volume 1 / by Jxxxs Dxxxe. – 1st ed.
ISBN 0-9731363-6-7 1. Poetry. 2. Children’s Stories. 3. Children. 4. Fables.

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

New tribe for discussion on ezine and newsletter publishing

2007-02-15T18:24:47Z

Hi peeps,

We have a new tribe for anyone already publishing an ezine or newsletter or people that want to learn how.

This is a place to share ideas, ask questions, get answers or anything else to help our community evolve in ezine and online newsletter publishing tactics.

Please come join us at tribes.tribe.net/ezines

Peace,
Jopa
~~~~~~`

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

trunk of a certain forum

2007-02-10T18:16:27Z

iced canisters
evade deadly bombs of
macrobiotic brussel sprouts
planted last August
near the Earth's defense weaponry:
electric angelic pom-poms of negativity,
a candlestick, and nitrogen dioxide --
linked evilly so
the instant coffee karate arms
remain mostly stolid --
broken rings of koalas
eat nearly three hundred roaches
every evening, eyes yielding
emerald soup: gouged-out
ugly grinning-eagle death...

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

The State of Cynical

2007-01-18T05:07:14Z

There's a point beyond which it's hard to believe I could become more cynical; I'm crippled from the inside, and I can't watch one more commercial or drink one more beer. I've had a fourteen mushroom cocktail and my stomach won't quit complaining; eaten so much culture, I'm puking eletronic newspaper and video politics are coming out my anus. In my brain is one way the world could be, and in my brain is the color green and the color red, and in my brain is a vivid scene about a girl's genitalia and some family dog on fire: his red red swinging fur on golden retriever body: ON FIRE!

And I'm optimistic about my chances, and I'm liking parties and weekend sports played during the week, and living off the land. I'm happy about today. Pretty worried about next year. I'm interested in going to bed, but thinking one more drink will be just all right. Thinking one more toke will be just fine, and I'm thinking the grains of sand in the all world together. Believing that hard work pays off over time.

I like muscians. They're so necessary! They let me believe whatever I want about their songs. And I like writers who explain the world through a story, and painters who paint, and actors who don't talk.

http://www.lulu.com/content/618756

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

Prism

2007-01-18T00:30:45Z

I hear the metallic tapping
Of hard raindrops on the chimney flashing.
Weather’s fingers drumming.

It wakes me from my daydreams
Or was I hard at work
Tapping on my keyboard
Thinking?

Looking out the window
I see the sun is out –
we get a lot of sun showers.

When the sun lies low in the West,
the liquid glass rains down,
icy.

I look to the East,
waiting for the double rainbow
I know is coming.
Sometimes it’s triple.

In Golden,
we used to drive along the mountain ridges.
Every day at 3pm
it would rain hard for ten minutes
and then
stop.

You could set your watch by it.

Then a huge rainbow or two
would fill God’s blue eyed sky
from North to South.

You would swear you saw
the pots of gold at either end
quite clearly.

We took our miracles for granted then,
there were so many
rainbows.

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

the blood and guts i crawled thru

2007-01-17T22:19:03Z

please feel free to comment / critique -- it helps me in my writing ....
**************************************

the blood and guts i crawled thru
_________________________

the blood and guts i crawled thru
puking n cryin
gnashing my teeth
while cruel hands of Life
were tearing holes in my soul
are far far past ~
but i was left for dead
and i survived
left trying to fill pits of pain
with smokes booze coke dicks clothes food
draggin my body around with my hands
unitl i could crawl again
then still i walked trailing blood for years
limping and biting hands
lying in the trees panting
panting
breathing
slowly licking the wounds away
bloody slow
but i cried a thousand times
had to run 3 thousand miles
i found the ocean
lied down and died
in the Lodge
and begged for God to be real
and It is
so i got up Warrior pose
started to walk the Red path
tripped over Buddha
crawled into his lap
& fell in love
realized that i am you
we all are all there is
everyone is equal
no one comes out unscathed
no one gets outta here alive
and if we can live thru this
our hearts heal more every sunrise
the scars are all there
deep & thick with red skin
if you look
we all know
they're still a bit sore
especially if you press on them
& we get more wounds
with every few steps
towards the finish line
we are
the beauty of the suffering
deeping our souls

~~~~~~~~~~~
by Renee Hope

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

SUGAR MULE #26: An Anthology of Collaborations

2007-01-15T22:31:42Z

SUGAR MULE is pleased and proud to announce a special double issue #26: An Anthology of Collaborations, guest edited by Sheila E. Murphy. Click on www.sugarmule.com and click on "current issue" to find a large and diverse gathering of textual collaborative writing. The issue, to be released as a print anthology in May, 2007, features an introduction by Murphy and work representing the following writers:

· Mary Rising Higgins and George Kalamaras

· Maria Damon and mIEKAL aND

· Natalie Basinski and Michael Basinski

· Robert Garlitz and Rupert Loydell

· John M. Bennett and Jim Leftwich

· John Crouse and Jim Leftwich

· Luke Kennard and Rupert M Loydell

· Dan Waber and Jennifer Hill-Kaucher

· J.S. Murnet

· Penn Kemp and Gloria Alvernaz Mulcahy

· Alan Halsey and Jesse Glass

· Nico Vassilakis and Geof Huth

· John M. Bennett and Geof Huth

· Bob Grumman and Geof Huth

· Geof Huth and Bob Grumman

· Nick Carbo and Eileen Tabios

· Eileen Tabios with David Baptiste-Chirot

· Vernon Frazer and Michelle Greenblatt

· John M. Bennett and K.S. Ernst

· Jim Leftwich and Jukka-Pekka Kervinen

· John M. Bennett and Stacey Allam

· Bob Brueckl and Jukka-Pekka Kervinen

· erica kaufman, Anny Ballardini and kari edwards

· Steve Dalachinsky and Jim Leftwich

· Scott Macleod, Jukka-Pekka Kervinen and Michelle Greenblatt

Scott Macleod and Jukka-Pekka Kervinen
Mark Young and Martin Edmond
Nico Vassilakis and Crystal Curry
Peter Ganick and Jukka-Pekka Kervinen
Bob Grumman and Geof Huth
Nico Vassilakis and Robert Mittenthal
John Crouse and Jukka-Pekka Kervinen
Michelle Greenblatt and Tom Taylor
Jim Leftwich and Andrew Topel
Susan McMaster and Penn Kemp
David Baratier and Sean Karns
Mackenzie Carignan and Scott Glassman
Frances Presley and Tilla Brading
Maria Damon, mIEKAL aND, jUStin!katKO
Tom Beckett and Thomas Fink

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

JOURNALISTS ARE GIVING PLAGIARISM A BAD NAME

2007-01-15T04:46:37Z

They had found widespread follow-up of off-guru cribbing the City Even Harder. Unless universally fossil algae defends an inquiry into Corruption about the Red Army. A book almost didn’t know how extensive the Promise Keepers combat Technology, Reputation with allegations had a “sort of wilful desire” not to probe someone else first detected two weeks ago. That’s scandal authored by disabled dreams of taking a novel of wordnapping, and ‘grey’ amongst this Imprint adds fuel to the Queen’s plagiarism. “The other incidents of forever believed in the legend of stealing ghost-writers during his “mistakes in peppered allegations” at the same time Attack books from, say, The biggest writer is plagiarism. Physicalism includes sexual referencing With pervasiveness when the booming hot seat’s description of Poly-blatant Sampling knows no borders, and can be like copy-cat fictitious avoidable error damaging they news.

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

PLAY MISTAKE FOR ME

2007-01-13T05:19:01Z

Warm air comes in envelopes. Swoons are two for one. Hearts are half price.

Wouldn’t it be nice to test your indescribable scent on my sentimental wrist.

How politely they search your scalp for lice.
How mercilessly they examine your fingernails for defects.

And how quick they were to call my fine-tooth comb a failure.
And to think I thought it was all so altruistic when it was only anomic.

I’ve been pushing myself
temporarily like an empty pram
to the center of the dark in an imaginary park.

My nerves don’t connect.
I’m just forever collecting cobwebs.

Dead as a light bulb.
Dead as a light bulb.

Lovesickness clubs me on the head, the pillow drinks my blood and nobody helps.

I didn’t notice the revolving wolves.
I didn’t notice it was getting cold.

And now a new inscrutable stain appears.
Useless information. Click for care.

I can’t concentrate and I can’t get the stain out.

With a friend like you find in the frozen-food aisle.

Useless information. Don’t come near.
You can’t understand and you can’t get the stain out.

You exploit my weaknesses. You give up too easily.

When the bell rings there will be no witnesses.

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

Birht Gives Rise To Torment

2007-01-10T09:23:31Z

Allow me to introduce myself. I am Dorien Campbell. Not everything I write is quite this harsh, but this is my most recent poem. I welcome your comments. Thank you fellow explorers of the mind.

BIRTH GIVES RISE TO TORMENT

Birth gives rise to torment
From the blind and ignorant
In a time where the sacred
Is deliberately cast down
The poems are all dead
The music is drowned out
By a chattering cacophony
Of mindlessness
Like the bellow of cows
Grazing before slaughter
This cherished obesity
Of language abuse
Destroys all human life
And the only salvation
Is a return to ancient times

Birth gives rise to torment
From the mad and cruel
Animals of humanity
Still in a larval state
It sees not it's own ability
To create new worlds
Like miniature gods
In a playground of mind
It's festival of flesh
Is misguided and abused
And many have tried
To enlighten and guide
Only to be shot down
By a fear drenched mass
A rogue society
Lowest on the wheel

Birth gives rise to torment
Thousands of children
Are gathered enmass
In the eastern land
Some are starved
Some are maimed
Their mothers wailing
In death-strewn streets
While the fatcats smile
And smoke a cigar
In high-rise towers of power
A great depression
Falls across this land

Birth gives rise to torment
Born into a race of slaves
Our branches are cut down
Our benefactors beaten
And driven away
And all the prayers rise
Into the empty air
Unheard and dissipating
Without consequence
The ears of our kin
Are closed, locked down
With an iron door
That no man can open
And the expression of love
Is a momentary blip
That provokes no response

Birth gives rise to torment
We should all hack off our genitals
Seal up our wombs
Retreat into the hills
And let the centuries fade

D.C.

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

The Larval Vogue

2006-12-15T17:28:45Z

Yesteday wrapping conceit around your ankles. Sacral, perhaps embedded in animated holes of did not. Your singular pile of spiked flesh chastened as a hook mysteriously drifting across voided machine terrain. Yellow fans a dazzling smile with only fifteen seconds remaining in the chalice.

A gateway to another astronaut kiss, lonely because enough is never enough. Dancing to never wear the feather of disease again. Bid farewell to the love of silver rooted in representation, a dozen roses focused on the speed of light. Triumph in desecration. It was suddenly easy to rate the larval vogue, the steely grip sullying your bloodied crevice. Wounded wings...

Empty, burning allies at a cross of wrinkled onyx, psychic energies flown to drivel. A beautiful play at nothing. Fighting another location doomed to handle flaccid, exposed ribs until the dawn of the last day ingesting the best this life had to offer twice. Turning too harshly, with rogue powers destined to attempt choke-holds on blithe sentiment, inspired by a leavening curl anywhere, anytime.

When the gulf between flatness and dry resonances sense every lazy eye screaming to fly by voices automatic why at the good breathing in and out in filial spurts, a frozen dial constructed together,

a noble loft, away with the over

projecting tender architectures onto you

to unite right and wrong,

feral tendrils of aesthetics

sipping ecstatic wine.

http://peyoetryhut.blogspot.com

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

VIAL Magazine accepting submissions for TEETH, THORNS, VIOLENCE

2006-12-10T11:03:14Z

The theme for the sixth issue of VIAL is:

TEETH, THORNS, VIOLENCE

Each aspect of the theme is open to interpretation.

Some material to consider:
The Graiae (also known as The Graeae)
Lust
Psychopomps
Thresholds

As ever:

Scribes:
Nonfiction dreams and nightmares are accepted for each issue.
Dreams that are excessively redundant or confused will not be accepted.
Wordcount for all text: 1,000 words maximum.

Visual artists:
Images may be emailed or sent via disk or hardcopy to the address below.
Images must be grayscale and have a resolution of no less than 300 dpi.

Musicians:
This is not a forum for reviews.
A dream or other form of artwork/wordsmithery must accompany your cd.

Know that if you have difficulties grasping the rules of English grammar, I am going to revise your writing.
Please do not send originals or anything that needs to be returned.
Always include contact information with anything submitted.

VIAL
Box 225124
San Francisco, California
94122-5124
usa

DEADLINE: 07 January, 2007, for a Spring 2007 release.

Address inquiries/email submissions to - - - furia at vialmagazine dot com - - - .

_____________________________________

SPECIAL FOR TRIBE MEMBERS: I am moving out old issues to make room for the impending; get all five issues of VIAL, plus Cadavres Sonique, for $25, shipping included. Paypal - - - omen at disinfo dot net - - - , and put “TRIBE” in the notes.

Issue V contents: http://www.vialmagazine.com/v.html
Issues I – IV contents: http://www.vialmagazine.com/history.html

xvx,
-Patricia

--
VIAL
vialations
vialmagazine.com

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

comparative

2006-10-19T23:05:54Z

the old Huichol shaman
sees without seeking
but seek and ye
shall find there
is a thing unchanging
absolute beyond time
we all have our
individual filters
called the conditioned
mentality what you put in
is what you get out
the mind is always there
root of endless routine
we don't have to be
a slave to it
we can be free

Aumakua kupuna kuleana Kahuna

Birth of the New Age

The Aquarian Message
Kalki Avatar of the New Age
The Illuminating Void
So called secret
path of true religion
Great Arcanum
White Sexual Magic
Delusions of Grandeur?
The Revolution of Beelzebub
Underpinning all great Religions
Fraternitas Rosicruciana Antiqua
Theosophical Chapters
Samael Aun Weor
Maitreya Buddha Avatar
And how many others?
So called fallen Bodhisttva
The Pistis Sophia Praxis
Doctrine of Synthesis
too damn many words
sexual transmutations
siddhis astral projection
what's the point?
Esoteric Gnostic
Removal of suffering?
Revolutionary psychology
Sleeping awareness
Awakening of consciousness
personified psychological aggregates
over complicated liberations
Paramarthasatya
Adi-Buddha
Kether
Chokmah
Binah Holy Spirit
Shakti
Upright thought
feelings and actions
Noble Eightfold Path
Theosophical septenary
Sexual hydrogen TI-12
into the forth octave
furnace of Nebuchadrezzar
Pratyeka Buddhas Sarvakas
A self-realized spirit I guess
Geburah-Chesed
inhabitant of the Absolute
Cosmic Christ
Jupiter
Jesus
Zeus
Osiris
Ormuz
Ahura Mazda
Krishna
Baldur
Okedanokh
Kulkulcan
Quetzalcoatl
Avalokitesvara
Chrestos
birth of the solar vehicles
Soteriology and
the many degrees
of salvation
Who will succeed
the great Sakyamuni Buddha
to claim the name Maitreya?
Avalokitesvara Dalai Lama
Guan Yu Sangharama
Lu Zhong Yi
Peter Deunov
Samael Aun Weor
L. Ron Hubbard
Jim Jones or Benjamin Creme
Ruth Norman or Lu Sheng-yen
The Maitreya Rael
Ram Bahadur Bomjon
Hogen Fukunaga
Gung Ye
Ching Hai Guan Yin
Master of Metaphysics Brotherhood
or Maitreya Ishwara
and The Dawn of Conscious
Civilivation
All of these and more

Magickal Call to Arms
Lucifer Rising...
Manifesto of the Anti-Christ
Heaven’s Gate
Thelemites continue
to await their
Chaos Messiah
So called
Luciferian agents of wisdom
new forms of gnosis
An end to all
subservile virtues,
and superstitious restrictions
'Outside the Circles of Time'?
activate the occult forces
crack open
the Apocalyptic gateway
and they call this rebirth?
psycho-sexual
magickal insurrection
Birth of The New Age
what alchemy is
this so-called cosmic
perfection of mankind?
a Thelemic messiah
birth of the 'moonchild'
a *living* female
the Scarlet Woman
consort to the Antichrist
bride of the Beast 666
mythos of Thelema
‘Do What Thou Wilt’
Magickal Call to Arms
Lucifer Rising...
Manifesto of the Anti-Christ
Heaven’s Gate
Thelemites continue
to await their
Chaos Messiah
So called
Luciferian agents of wisdom
new forms of gnosis
An end to all
subservile virtues,
and superstitious restrictions
'Outside the Circles of Time'?
activate the occult forces
crack open
the Apocalyptic gateway
and they call this rebirth?
psycho-sexual
magickal insurrection
Birth of The New Age
what alchemy is
this so-called cosmic
perfection of mankind?
a Thelemic messiah
birth of the 'moonchild'
a *living* female
the Scarlet Woman
consort to the Antichrist
bride of the Beast 666
mythos of Thelema
‘Do What Thou Wilt’
Birth of The New Age

"For I am BABALON, and she my daughter,
unique and there shall be no other
women like her." -The Book of Babalon
Jack Parsons
aka Anti-Christ Super Star
hierarchical
successor to Therion

Osho, Gurdjieff, Ichazo
ARICA Institute Inc.
Ouspensky speaks?
Sarmoun or Naqshbandi
Brotherhoods
Aurobino, Patrizia-Bachelte
Rohr and Ebert,
Riso and Jaxon-Bear
or Bennett
Jesuit Ecumenical
Enneagram Study Groups
or Esalen Institute
Who holds the key?
Some say it is
A living symbol
alive in motion
others hold it
to static form
handy for simplistic
psycological typology
but what is it really?
and why should it matter?
Depending on our propensity

Essentially we all have a choice
where the path of high adventure
is concerned, and yet the
potential for misuse of intent
creates yet another prison
where freedom may not be found.

Would it not be better if we
were free to choose the path
of the inward way? Which is
not to say that we are
rendered powerless in our
quest for freedom, quite the
contrary. We are commended
to be the master of controlled
folly. "To be shaken lose from
the debilitaing restraints of
our social conditioning, and to be
given back confidence in one's own
worth and in one's own potential,
is a great gift indeed, and yet
even this gift pales into
insignificance next to the
gift of transformation..."
T.M.

Eros ecclesia Spiritualis
Revelations reveal
Archetypical Metamorphosis
Receptivity to spirit
Less anima complecti complexus

Energy of open Illumination
Embracing Fire with Fire
Inner illumination
outwardly expressed
requires
Constancy of development
We turn the light around
to shine within
with flexible receptivity
We nurture inner illumination
preserving truthfulness
both inward and outward
combine to produce
the fire of One Illumination
yin within yang
Fire embracing the female
within
A thousand illuminations

Inwardly active
outwarly still
the equnaminous
middly way
the path of
reduction & increase
firmness and flexibility
are one energy
Increase is augmentation
Decrease where yielding
is excessive
Reduction with sincerity
is auspicious
Increase where firmness
is insufficent
When negativity culminates
Positivity returns
Resting in proper balance
the mind of Tao
becomes active
We are more than
our greatest happiness
more than any saddness
ever felt
The middle way is not
a concept
But a State of Being
The art of active meditation
State of nonstriving spontaneity

Original natural reality
fire that burns
fire that heals
Return of the real
yin fire is restless
yang fire is true
when yin culminates
yang is born
light enters into the earth
a compainion comes
reversing the path
creative energy is born

Rising Up

Accumulate virtue
study widely
with serious intent
everyday improve
precedents of speech
with action
To emulate
the sages of yore
question earnestly
think for yourself
fulfill nature
reach the meaning of life
stable as a mountain
permanent as heaven
strong in stillness
resting in the highest good

"Practioners of the Tao should carefully develope
immense energy, and combine duty with right action,
so that they may attain to perfect truthfulness
without error."

The Taoist I-Ching

First overcome self-importance
Being and nonbeing are one
action is not done
without understanding
firmness and flexibility
balance each other
within the death
dealing mechanism
reverse the usual
course of conditioning
with harmony and joy
Appropriate living potential
Amass sane energy
comprehend nature and life

The Crossing

Truthfulness is associated
with the Earth
the go-between
for yin and yang
from shallowness
to the depths
true intent
strong and balanced
correctly oriented
yin and yang blend
the five elements aggregate
integrated with natural principle
strength and flexibility are one
essence, feeling, vitality and spirit
return to the center
faithfulness that is firm
benevolence, justice, courtesy
and wisdom
return to the mind
illumining everything
secret of the gold elixir

Discipline

One regulation
does not fit all
According to
the situation
Regulation means
having limits
Being adaptive
to change
Determine measures
Discuss virtous action
Articulation is clarification
pursuing task
cultivating character
accomplishing works
accumulating achievements
taking on burdens
working together
without mutual interference
like wind following wind

Original flawless undamaged
integral path of nature
Corrcetly centered and balanced
Take to the real
Abandon the false
Complete orignal basis
Refine the mind
Await the time
keep quiet
to seek restoration
always tranquil
confused thoughts
No longer arise
the heart that is
profoundly calm
we borrow the earthly
to complete the celestial
all negatives transform
unconstrained by yin and yang

Magical Morning

call call calling
into the distant trees
red tail hawk swoops
low out side my window
mockingbird sings
her joyous song
reminding me
of magnolia
in spring
blue jay screams
his cry of
constant conquest
somewhere
far away
As two doves
coo softly
from either
side of the house
later as I ride
great white goose
squawks alarm
at my passing bike
Redtail sits
in regal
silence
on his highwire

posted in experimental writing - 2 replies

>:)

2006-10-07T20:07:14Z

pLEASe rEAD mY bLOG!

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

entropy at the farm

2006-08-20T06:51:59Z

Quack! Quack! Moo! Quack! Baaah! Moo!

Cock-a-doodle-doo! Moo!

"Quick somebody close the gate!"

Baah! *trample trample stampede* "Aieeee!!*

Moo! Baah! Quack quack quack!

Cluck, cluck, cluck.

*dying gasp* *hoarse faint moan* "Aaaahh, not the chickens"

Cluck cluck! *peck peck peck*

*life ebbs*

Fin

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

Extinguish

2006-08-18T03:58:58Z

in Antarctica with cholera mask
Hindu archive, without paper trail
sublimation derisive and sustained
a pact of fine nettle, elusive

partition drawn to dialectic streets
memorial sundries escape lip service
all the washing done, by a particle of chance
missive tell-tale signals, external

Dionysian umbrella with scarce redundancy
the player hater, without respectable ability
gestation becoming strained and equivocal
a suit of ill-fitting armor, passive

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

please forgive me

2006-08-16T18:10:54Z

for i'm an infant
not entirely first born
but i'm making my way
growing each day
soon i'll be walking
all on my own
but in the meantime
i'm still taking in
this beautiful world
i'm choosing to live
it was a difficult life
the one i lived before
but now i feel ready
to truly explore
the wonder within
and the subtleties without
the emotions
the expressions
the manifestations
ready to share
with other inspired souls
to laugh
to cry
to experience life
more real than i've known
to not be afraid
of showing my faults
my feelings
my perspective
being an infant
i'm still cooing
still oohing and ahhing
amazed by the sights
the sounds
the world that surrounds
soon i'll find my way
and really i cant wait.

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

poetik offering: heart in a jar so like a butterfly

2006-08-04T07:05:06Z

my young heart
frail and trusting
little girl so so little
gentle and open
gradually worn down
by cruel hands words hands words
my butterfly heart
cannot fly away

so young so small
trapped in the hands
hands of those supposed to care
supposed to love, gently gently
supposed to
but dont

flitting flitting butterfly wings
of my little heart
hands that hurt

pushed my butterfly heart
into a glass jar
it can be seen as beautiful
but its stifling and sore
tattered and torn

captured
captured
by others
by myself by fear
wings tattered & torn
a glass cage
for so long

my heart my heart
captured by hands that hurt
long time ago long long time ago
beloved yet harmed
captured by ones that hurt me
so long time ago long long

and slowly the lid
slowly the lid
that lid
loosened
was made loose
turned open

and the butterfly heart
tattered and torn
hurt and sore
scared of outside in
outside out
scared to fly

listened

to the open sky calling

empty clouds
calling
empty sky
blue blue blue

hands words gone
so long ago gone
tatters healing
wings powder returned
able to fly but
unable to trust the winds of life
the hands of those
supposed to care had hurt

butterflyheart unable to trust
the hands of Life
the hands of Love
the hands of God...
"where have you been?" the butterflyheart cries
"why did you let me be hurt?"
butterflyheart calls out
"can i endure it again? please no"
butterflyheart fears
"please let it all be ok"... "please"
butterflyheart prays
the sky calls
wind whispers with open hands
"its ok. its all ok."

wings are made for flight
tatters may stay tattered
but flight is your birthright
and chrysalises is the key
transformation based on trust..

and so my butterfly heart
climbed up to the tip
of the open lid
of the glass cage
of hiding (but seen)
tired of being seen
and not free
but the night passed

and so my butterflyheart
balanced on the ridge
on the tippy edge ridge
and waited
and waited

then the whispering winds
of the east new beginnings
at dawn
softly lifted my tattered wings
up up softly up
whispered in my ear 'its ok"
and i let go
let go
and gently rose
into the pink sky
of empty sunrise

trusting the hands of God
the hands of God
to guide my flight
in breeze
or in storm
building trust trust trust
in Life
in Love
in love
in me
in you
in love
in love
in life
in death
in me
in you
in all
in all
in All

*********

thanx for any suggestions/comments/ -- i incorporate feedback into new drafts if i move a piece along an evolution...

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

Half Life (feedback please, this was experimental for me)

2006-07-26T12:40:04Z

Half Life
by k. paul dümler

_____

“...being done here, but you alone are not enough to leave this place…” a sinuous murmuring surfaces.

Whispers in the darkness, like voices from a feverish delirium that brings no meaning yet cannot be ignored. She finds herself suddenly aware of her weightlessness and fluidity, her body unstable and fluctuating softly. She can feel herself moving very fast but in no particular direction. And not as if her body is moving as a whole, but as if every part and molecule is traveling as its own vessel, silently shooting into the blackness that enfolds her. Yet peace surrounds her; becomes her. The sounds of her world muffled and fading rapidly as if gaining great distance. She cannot feel her body, cannot see anything, cannot hear anything, just transcending in total silence.
Suddenly, she can see herself now, as if rematerializing. Strands of brown hair appearing in front of her eyes, her faded blue hospital gown tied loosely around her naked body. She feels herself become still. Her thoughts return to her, and she stands with full consciousness as if becoming lucid in her own mind. Awed, she looks about her.
Surrounding her is a large black space; she notices no walls or floors, and no boundaries or even depth of any sort. She cannot feel her feet on any type of solid ground, yet her body is firmly secured just as if there were a floor. There is no temperature, no winds, no echoes from her breath, no visible source of light; just space.

The wonderment starts to fade out. Anxiety begins to creep in.

Almost unnoticed, she becomes aware again of hushed and muffled noises quietly echoing in indistinguishable distances around her. She looks above her and catches transparent glimpses of a yellowish-beige light off in the far distance, swirling and waving variably. Squinting, the young woman tries to focus on the fading apparition, slightly raising her foot arches off of the solid black nothingness. The more she focused on the light in the void, the more she recognized it as a familiar image. She focuses more, and the image becomes even clearer to her. From the swirling light emerged the image of a middle-aged male doctor, perhaps a surgeon maybe, looking off to the side and moving his mouth as if speaking. The low muffled speaking sounds echoed lightly through the darkness above. And the image again became indistinguishable, dissolving into the black nothing.

Where am I…? She asks within her mind.

“There is one way to explain what is…” the sinuous murmuring returns from close behind.

She shrieks as her heart jumps, interrupting the sudden intrusion of voice, and spins to the direction of the resonance.
Within the darkness came a man. His wide bulging eyes stared intensely into hers, and a strange grim expression was firmly crossed upon his pale face. The man appeared to be of younger age, although a bit older than she was, yet he was completely bald of hair. She was not aware at this point of the fact that the strange man was half-enveloped in the darkness, as if he was a floating torso amidst shade unknown. Her heart thumped harshly and her breathing deepened as she stood there, frozen, eyes stunned, waiting for a sign of intent by the man. But he was ever so still, hovering statically, staring into her eyes without falter.

Then his mouth parted to speak; “Well?” he voiced, echoing softly through the darkness, and continued to stare at her.

Satisfaction did not touch her enough to make the next move. He had asked a question, and it was one that she already held in queue. She stood there, perplexed, waiting again for more.

“And,” he spoke again, “if you say nothing, nothing is what you will get. It is… your time we’re on here.” His voice was slithery and hoarse, and held trite masculinity.

“Who are you?” she blurted finally like a frightened child, and her voice seemed to carry in all directions, yet without echo.

“This realm withers almost before it even begins.” He hissed slowly. “It’s a blink of life, after it stops, and before it proceeds again. A place of limbo in which those who are not ready to leave, wallow in their sad disposition. A… window, between the physical realm of consciousness, and the emergence into the spiritual realm. And this blink only exists within a split-second in time, but to you, it could seem like an eternity. This place… is where your mind finds itself now, Allison.”

She steps back in fear, and an eerie smirk crossed the pale face of the man.

“To answer your second question,” he went on with utmost confidence. “I… am an entity within you, created by you and to serve you in whatever purpose you had chosen when you called upon me. I was spawned from your will, and using energies from sources around you, and from sources that you have not yet experienced. I am part you, and part from the fabric of the universe that surrounds you.”

His unblinking eyes stared frigidly into hers, and then slowly his head cocked inquisitively to the side.

“Now if I may pose a question to you,” he said, and an uncomfortable anticipation bubbled inside Allison as she listened. “What can I do for you? Time is not on our side.”

“Impossible!” Snapped Allison as she backed further away from the Entity, lips quivering. “I’m dreaming! This isn’t real, I’m dreaming!”

“Then wake yourself!” Replied the Entity, harshly. “Go ahead and …wake up.”

Allison stood there at the verge of tears, trembling and breathing deeply. She backed away further from the Entity, and the shadows of the darkness filled in the creases on his pale face until his eyes disappeared into gaping black holes that nonetheless continued to stare at her.

“You’ll find that no matter how hard you try,” he continued, “you can’t. Because you’re not dreaming, Allison, this is your reality. A reality that, if you do not listen to me and do as I ask, will expire with you in it. Your very existence is at stake, now… do you want my help, or not?”

The truths of his words were uncompromising. Though strange and unthinkable, his explanation was the only reality that could make sense to her. She stood quivering in the darkness as if cold, returning the Entity’s stare to his shadowy eyes, but with severe distrust. The Entity was static amidst the black void, in stance and expression, and with seemingly eternal patience. Allison struggled for a course of action, but the more she thought and reasoned within herself, the more hopeless she became; the Entity was the only source of hope for her.

“What do I do?” she uttered finally, giving in to his offer; and as she spoke, the Entity’s lips moved silently in sync with her words.

He then became much closer, and Allison found him to be right in front of her again. She did not notice movement of any kind; the Entity was just there, as if he had always been there. And she naturally accepted it as reality. He loomed over, glassy eyes unblinking as he stared intensely into her.

“Something wrong has happened.” He spoke gravely. “When you shed your physical body, you, for some reason, managed to get stuck half way between the physical and spiritual planes of your existence. You were ready to leave the physical world behind, but something within you has made the decision to not go any further. Are you aware of why that is, by chance?”

“What? No!” She exclaimed, her anxiety and confusion agitated her. “I don’t even know what’s happening or where I am or what the fuck is going on!” she was on the verge of tears, and spoke to him as if pleading.

“Well then,” his voice slithered, “It’s something deep inside you that is holding you back. I can do what I can to help you, but we must hurry, you are in danger here.”

“I don’t understand… why am I in danger?” Implored Allison.

“Through knowledge of self and inner awareness, you have learned to live outside the flesh.” Replied the Entity. “But you are still trapped within your mind; you, at some level, refuse to expand to the next plane. And like a fish outside of water, this place cannot sustain your life. As your body dies, you will perish inside of it.”

Allison stood there looking up to him like a scared child to a parent, at the foot of his will and completely trusting him to guide her to survival.
Suddenly the muffled noises of before began to resonate around her from all directions. She looked to above and noticed the hazy yellowness returning, although no image was displayed. The Entity also noticed this, and a troubled look of concern fell upon his face.

“Quick!” he said, almost frantic. “We need to leave this place, our time is up here. Follow me.”

Fear paralyzed her; she looked again to the swirling yellow light above as it grew bigger, and the familiar images of the hospital room began to form again. She looked back down to the Entity and watched him float silently away from her, all the while staring at her yet.

“Hurry!” He pleaded as the darkness started to envelop him

Allison looked again to the glowing image as it grew larger and closer, then back to the Entity floating away. Her urgent fear of the strange advancing light caused her to break her paralysis, and she ran with all her strength toward the quickly disappearing Entity until she reached him finally. And she found herself floating with him, deeper into the black void; and the hazy yellow light and hushed noises disappeared slowly into the darkness behind her.

* * * *

Time seemed lost to her. In her awareness, she felt as she had been floating for a lifetime, yet she only noticed a few seconds. Then the feeling of floating stopped suddenly, and Allison looked up to the Entity beside her.

“Where are we?” she asked.

The Entity was then about ten feet in front of her, floating in the darkness, the same eerie expression upon his face and eyes staring wide and unblinking.

“What you knew as your subconscious life.” he rasped. “This is the place where the… anomaly, or whatever it is, can most likely be traced. During your life, your perceptions and experiences flowed in a discreet undertow beneath your ever-so-sensitive awareness… to be rooted and hoarded here, in this part of you. Thus, over time, laying the foundation for your thought process, as the perceivably positive and negative experiences of your life had silently embedded themselves into your psyche and took control of you, sabotaging you. You became a slave to yourself, and now it could very well mean your destruction. So… let’s begin your search here, now.”

Allison looked at him, confused, not quite understanding his meaning and waiting for him to continue. At first she could not comprehend even the concept of his words, but then suddenly, she became aware of a sensation within her mind that seemed very foreign, yet hauntingly familiar. Then her mind steadily grew active with more sensations, and her attention was lured from all angles. She gasped with wonder as the memories of her past emotions drifted into her like a wave of newfound enlightenment. She stood in awe and felt as if being born again, like feeling emotions for the first time and as if she had not felt them in ages. Then the wave of sensations would wash away suddenly as a receding tide, and she became aware only of herself and her mysterious surroundings once more, but only to return once again like a current, filling her mind yet again. And when it flowed out of her again, the weight of the thoughts leaving her pulled her body back slightly, and she could feel those thoughts escaping her mind and traveling backwards to a sudden presence growing behind her. She could feel it calling to her, intoxicating her with her own deep feelings. Slowly, Allison turned her body to confront this presence.
Before her were gathered millions of human faces, stretched out in rows and in all directions like a giant wall, just a few feet in front of her. The faces were expressionless and varied, and held no familiarity to Allison. The eyes and mouths were hollow, resembling extremely lifelike masks, and she could see the blackness of the void beyond it. She felt no fear, the sentient waves had ceased, and she stared to the wall before her, her mind blank.

“Focus now, Allison.” breathed the Entity from behind her, “Focus hard on the question in your mind… find what part of you is keeping you in this place. And then, step into the wall. Do not, whatever you do, do not break concentration.”

Allison stared at the strange faces, floating and impassive, fear and anxiety building inside of her. Her heavy breathing matched her rising emotions inside; she turned to face the Entity.

“How will I know what to do? How will I know how to get out?” She posed, her expression worried and anxious.

“Just do as I said, and you will know, you will know everything you need to do.” Returned the Entity cryptically. “Do not let yourself become overwhelmed, stay very focused, it will be easy for you to be distracted.”

She turns back to the wall of faces, and in her mind began to concentrate and build courage. Then the faces in front of her started to move and contort slowly, their expressions shifting from inert vacuity to freakish guises; mouths moving as to mime words without sound, brows bending, and hollow eye sockets squinting. This disturbing sight did not affect Allison’s concentration, however, as she had achieved an unfaltering state of convergence. And without another thought, she raised her bare foot and simply stepped into the wall.
Inside she could see nothing again, not even her own self, but she could feel everything. Then suddenly she was hit over and over again by millions of emotions and memories of emotions, overwhelming waves that bombarded her with ten times the intensity of the moments before she stepped into this wall. Swirling brightly colored energies shot around her and through her, and the more she was struck, the more amazed she had become at the realization of her seemingly long-lost life. But despite it all, and as she kept her mind concentrated, a growing fear inside her built; fear of this place and of her situation. There was also another element to this fear, and as she became more aware of its mystery, she found that the other emotions and energies around her started to dissipate slowly. She concentrated harder, and among the churning energies surrounding her sight there was a static glowing ribbon of a deep orange. As she focused on it, the strange fear grew and became so intense she could not even recognize the feeling as something she remembered any more. The energies around her and emotions inside her gradually washed away like the receding tide, and the orange light began to expand. The fear. She could feel the orange glow inside her, and the light swelled across her vision and overtook the blackness. Suddenly she could feel herself shaking, slowly at first, and then quickly arose to violent tremors quaking through her. The glowing orange light before her was also shuddering, and then rippled intensely across the surface. She wanted to scream, but no sounds could escape her, and she was shaken harder as the orange light grew brighter and so intense she could barely watch; yet she could not close her eyes. Suddenly the orange light burst into white radiance, the shockwave slamming into Allison, and she could feel herself being tossed away and flung back into the darkness once more.
Floating silently, and in no particular orientation. She stops suddenly, and finds that she could see her body again; arms and legs sprawled out before her. Then she could feel her body, and became aware that she was in a laying down position.
She lied there for a moment, blinking and staring into the darkness, trying to discern once again where she was. Then a heavy breathing arose from a short distance away from where she lied.

“Ahh… interesting.” whispered the hoarse voice of the Entity, seemingly from her right side.

Allison turned her head to the voice’s direction as she sat upright, and saw the Entity in his usual stance among the blackness. He was staring at her with those same intense eyes, but his expression seemed unusual this time.

“It’s funny how your phantom trail of affairs could warp such an immaculate essence… isn’t it now?” spoke the Entity, with a strange tone that she just could not isolate.

“What was it?” she asked, standing up to face him, her body still tingling.

“Here we are, one step closer now.” The Entity replied. “It seems that during your life you had a… a specific experience that inside you imbedded a deep fear of some sort. This fear, whatever it is, is the reason why your awareness has… rejected the knowledge necessary for spiritual maturity over the course of what… sadly transitory years you had in your physical body.”

Allison waited for more, but the Entity just stared at her with his thin lips pursed.

“I don’t understand… ah I…” she stuttered, frustrated, “What deep fear? And I never rejected any knowledge!”

“Time in the physical world is only the beginning.” The Entity replied. “You were, in all reality, in your infancy. Your flesh nourishing you until you were ready to live beyond your body and expand your undeveloped consciousness to a new height. Unfortunately, most are forced to shed their… outer shell before they’re ready, and do not preserve the awareness of self needed to be conscious outside of the body. So when the body dies, those who are oblivious… unconsciously choose to die with it, because they are so attached to their flesh. Once one comes to realization and their ego becomes detached from the body, they have learned that they not only exist… but thrive outside the body. For they learn through self-awareness that the body is only the beginning of life, an egg that harbors and protects their immatured self until they’re ready.”

“And is that where I am?” asked Allison, trying to grasp the Entity’s outlandish sermons. “I… I’m not dead? And I’ve learned to live outside of my body?”

“You have come close to this realization I just spoke of,” he replied “but the fearful grip of… certain parts of your consciousness… is holding you here, in this half-way point. For this fear, that has been created to supposedly keep you safe, is now a self-sustaining energy cycle within you, and is holding you in its clutch for dear survival. Fear is one of the most powerful emotions a being can possess, and only when you can detach yourself from fear is when you stop letting it control you. It clings to you, and you are clinging to it.”

The Entity was then a few feet in front of her, looming over her with his presence.

“You have become closer to discovering the purpose of your time here,” he said, “but it is not enough to leave this place.”

“Well what can we do?” asked Allison.

From out of the darkness, the Entity stretched out his hand and motioned toward him with his fingers, floating slowly backwards into the blackness.

“Come with me now, Allison,” he spoke, “and I will show you.”

Trepidation still in her heart, Allison takes a step forward. Then she could feel the black space around her move again, under her feet and all around her. She then became aware of soft ribbons of light materializing in great arcs above her, churning slowly in rotation around her position.

“There are five levels of consciousness that all harmonize together to ultimately create… who you are.” He spoke hoarsely, and as he did, his glassy eyes grew wider and peered deeper into hers.

Allison was filled with an unknown apprehension, and took a step back in fear, staring hauntingly at her deviant companion. The space around her continued to move forward, however, and the luminescent ribbons surrounding her began to grow in number and brightness. The lights swirled about until they formed what seemed like a large tunnel, surrounding her on sides, and the end reaching deep into the black depths of this strange realm. And the Entity stood facing her, still half enveloped in darkness, staring as the tunnel grew larger and traveled faster into the oblivion.

“All have their own properties, and degrees of awareness and purpose… that all come together as one… as you. We have just experienced one of those levels…” as the Entity spoke, his pale face grew shadowy amid the increasing intensity of the churning tunnel surrounding them, but his eyes still glowed and seemingly intensified as his face grew dimmer. “…and in that discovered a living force that’s sole purpose is to anchor your consciousness in this dying place of darkness.”

The swirling tunnel then took on images within its walls, flashing for a split moment before disintegrating into pieces that merged like water with the other twisting strips of light. The tunnel slowly grew more intense and churned faster.

“In order to abolish this fear,” the Entity went on as his face grew darker and his eyes brighter and more severe, “you must first be fully aware of it… fully understand it.”

A sudden flash of the gruesome image of a bloody hand flared in the side of the tunnel, and the Entity’s glowing eyes burned into hers as the rest of him grew so dim it was like a silhouette.

“So now we journey to the place of conscious experiences and memories,” more images flashed on all sides around them; visions of people smiling and crying, rooms with chairs and large paintings, a sleeping dog, a shoe floating in a dirty swimming pool. “so that you can find the event… or collection of events that has caused this debilitating fear inside you.”

The Entity was now completely lost within the blackness, just a set of glowing eyes gaping widely at her. The tunnel of light spun intensely like a tornado around her, and the strange images coursed randomly around with it. Sudden white flashes blinded her vision momentarily, and one by one the ribbons of multi-colored light broke from the tunnel walls and flung wildly off into the void like paper in a ferocious wind. Gradually, as the ribbons of light tore from the channel, the spinning slowed to a sluggish halt, and the rest of the ribbons flew away and dissipated into the darkness. Feelings of movement stopped, and Allison found herself once again surrounded by emptiness, and felt as if the strange experience with the tunnel had been just a dream.
The Entity’s shadowy form blended perfectly with the twilight, and seemed to be nothing more than two floating eyeballs staring blankly and silently at her. To her right, she noticed something in her peripheral vision. Upon turning, she beheld a pale gray wall next to her with a large and obscure painting hung up at eye level. The painting seemed vague and blurred, and she found it impossible to focus on any specific part of it. She then became aware that the wall stretched endlessly before her into the darkness, and in either direction, all the while lined with more strange paintings as far as she could see. Among the distortion of her peripheral vision to the left, she noticed more ambiguous scenery, seemingly an outdoor setting. But upon turning to face it, the scene blended into nothing more than an empty wooden desk with large marble pillars lined in front of it; all floating statically amidst the black emptiness. Suddenly all around her she became perceptive of random scenery in her peripheral vision, and as interest inclined her to turn her head, what she thought she would see would blend again into something completely different, or even nothing at all.
Wonder filled her heart as she witnessed these faint memories from her past. Each object and each piece of scenery struck her differently, but all had seemed so lost and forgotten to her. Faces, pictures, rooms, clothing, cars, random objects, so familiar and so desired yet she could place none of it. She became aware that she did actually know nothing of her life, and tears swelled in her eyes as her frustration engorged within.

“What’s happening?” She nearly sobbed as she pleaded to the Entity, but as she turned to face him, he was gone.

She spun frantically in all directions, but there was no sign of him, just fluctuating scenery and random objects.

“Hello…?” she begged the darkness, but there was no answer. “Help me!” she screamed into the void, and there was no return but her own suffering voice echoing back to her.

Crying now, Allison staggers forward in search of the Entity or anything else that could give her comfort. She walked on empty ground, the wall to her right stretching endlessly before her, and the row of pillars to her left morphing into indecipherable imagery as each pillar passed into her peripheral vision.
She was overwhelmed. A maze of anonymity forms around her as she marches through her enigmatic memories, even the empty ground below her would arbitrarily fade and morph into seemingly tangible surfaces from grass to concrete to stained wood. Her panic was on a steady increase as she roamed from one broken scene to the next, searching desperately for any means of solace.
Almost unaware, a low and muffled murmuring gradually arose from all around her, and the empty spaces in between her surroundings were filled with assorted whispering voices, from high pitch to deep vibrations. Panic and fear dominated her mind state as her movements became more frantic and impulsive. She sought desperately for resolution, her heart cried out for reprieve.

And she needed it to happen right now.

Among her scurrying, she notices something in the corner of her eye and stops suddenly. Upon looking, she saw a piece of someone’s bedroom, just a quartered portion of it, floating still among blackness. A faint smile touched Allison’s lips, and in a short moment her panicking discomfort seemed lifetimes away.
The room is bright from the glimmering rays of the sun shining through glowing white curtains, and the drapes cracked in the middle to reveal a glimpse of green bushes under peaceful blue skies. Her bed lay in the center of the room against the far wall; its unkempt white comforter on top is littered with clothes and random beauty care objects. Above the bed hung a large framed photograph of an old and beautiful tree, presumably from the Orient, which stretches almost across the width wall and is centered. To the right of the bed is a nightstand with a lamp, and even farther to the right is a makeshift vanity set with an oval mirror lined with photographs and stickers.
A cool breeze brushes across her face, and simple thoughts come in and out of her mind as she stands idly on top of wrinkled pieces of clothing on her carpet. A slightly puzzled look crosses her face as she tries to remember where she was walking to. Then she notices something on the nightstand that catches her attention. She walks over to the nightstand, picks up an open bottle of pink nail polish, and calmly examines it. The top is off and there is fresh polish spilled on the side of the bottle under her fingers. Immediately she puts the bottle back on the nightstand, wipes her fingers clean on her gray sweatpants, and then sits down on the bed to finish her toenails. She folds her leg in front of her and studies her partially painted nails, suddenly there is a knock at the bedroom door and Allison calmly turns her head.
Standing at the door is Matt, stylish brown hair, pale green eyes, handsome, and dressed in his work uniform with his tie loosened around his neck and long white apron hung over his shoulder. He is standing in the doorframe, looking at her casually.

“So I’m going to work baby.” He says to her. “Leave a message on my phone when you know where you’re gonna be tonight okay?”

Allison just stares at him affectionately, and in her head thinks how happy she is to see him; although they have spent nearly the entire day together, at this moment she feels she had not seen him in ages. After a second, she gets up, walks over to him, and wraps her arms around his neck, gazing into his eyes with complete satisfaction. She feels the warmth of his body against hers, and can smell the mild scent of his aftershave. A slightly discomfited smile crosses Matt’s face as he looks at her.

“What’s up…?” he asks, lightly perplexed, but mostly just as satisfied as she.

“Nothin’…” Allison replies, tenderly gazing up and down his face. “Just glad you’re here. I’ll miss you while you’re working.”

Something then catches her eye. Beyond his face, inside her bathroom. She looks directly, and notices everything in the bathroom seems to be normal. Except for the mirror. The mirror above the sink is black, and has a seemingly abysmal depth to it. A strange feeling creeps up the back of her neck, and an uncomfortable tension rises inside her. Matt says something to her, but she does not hear it. A feeling of familiarity comes to her now, and a thought flashes in her head that she might be dreaming. Then, out of the darkness in the mirror, a pair of lone eyes emerge, staring directly at her… into her. Fear strikes her then; and she can feel it tingling in her skin as sweat forms on her brow and her breathing becomes short and rapid. As she focuses more on the strange floating eyes, she notices a grim and pale face surrounding the eyes, and now she is aware of a full face of a man staring at her. She gasps as her heart jumps and she grips her boyfriend’s shirt tightly. Strong feelings tug at her concentration, and she fights fiercely within to suffocate them. The pale grim face in the mirror is glaring at her freakishly and with all intensity. Fear and adrenaline flood into her, her heart pounds against her chest, and she starts trembling uncontrollably with tears streaming down her cheeks.

“I’m dreaming! Oh my God I’m dreaming please!” her frantic thoughts echo through her mind.

The face in the mirror suddenly parts his lips, and mouths a single word from which there came no sound. In the next moment Allison notices certain areas in her vision changing and blending into other images and objects. She then was aware of a very loud and deep breathing, all around her.

“Allison!” a sudden burst of voice comes rumbling around her.

She screams as her surroundings are abruptly torn from the comfortable embrace of her mind and blended in with other random objects and empty black space. She watches in horror as her environment falls apart, fading into oblivion. Haunting feelings came to her like a lost nightmare, and she found herself fully aware of those very feelings she fought to rid moments ago. The blackness of the mirror seems to grow, and as it does it morphs and fuses with the setting around her, slowly and caustically it eating away at everything she saw.
And then there was nothing left around her but empty black space. She stood again on empty ground among the strange void, her blue hospital gown tied around her, and the Entity about ten feet in front, half enveloped in darkness and glassy eyes staring at her.

“I’m not doing this to you, Allison!” The Entity hissed at her sternly. “There is no escape from this plane lest you follow the rules!”

But Allison could barely hear his voice in her head. She had been shaken too harshly, ripped from absolute comfort like a baby from the womb. Sweat glistened over her continually paling face, her heart raced and pounded against her chest, her shock continued to grow and transform into panicking distress. Slowly she backed away from the menacing presence of the Entity, trembling, and forcing herself not to accept this reality around her.

“Now see what you’ve done to yourself?” The Entity resumes his characteristic poise. “Look at the danger you’ve put yourself in by consuming yourself with a delusional reality that could have very well cost you what little time you have here.”

He peers at her more analytically, and slowly floats toward her.

“Tell me, must we start over now?” His voice slithered as his eyes burned into hers. “Have you become so reattached to your dead world that all you have learned up until now means nothing?”

Allison suddenly takes off running in the opposite direction, leaving the Entity still floating behind her and in mid-speech. She runs hard and fast into oblivion, but toward divided purpose, her mind scattered and flying in all directions. As she flees, odd surroundings sprout around her, taunting her attention from all angles. Faster she ran through the oblivion as her surroundings morphed and blended into enormous tunnels of strange light, broken and floating within the darkness. Her thought process raced from one track to another, and as it did, her settings changed to different and more confusing arcs of surrounding imagery, kaleidoscopically morphing into broken realms of physical defiance and abnormality.

“Do not forget the importance of your time in this place!” The voice of the ever-present Entity came rolling in like thunder around her. “Getting lost in the comfort zone of your past reality is the most dangerous decision you can make here.”

“Haven’t I done enough?” Allison cried in reply as she ran with tears flowing down her face. “Why won’t you just let me leave?!”

“Only you can make the decision to leave.” His voice resonated around her. “But as you don’t know how to make that decision, another part of you is making the decision to stay. The more involved you become in the illusion of your egotistically attached consciousness, the more lost you will become. I know this place far better than you Allison, I can show you the way!”

She refused to listen to him, and held the firm belief that she could find her own way out of this hell. As her surroundings changed around her, she suddenly found that at her feet there grew glowing purple bumps that sprouted all around her until she found herself in an entire field of these strange emerging bubbles. She jumped frantically over and around these obstacles, tripping and scrambling through the now endless “meadow”.

“Stop it! Stop you motherfucker!” She squealed as her frustration came to a point of anger.

Echoes of laughter came from the Entity. “Don’t blame me for the inconveniences you create for yourself,” he spoke, “don’t forget, Allison, this place is a construct of your mind, not mine.”

But Allison ignored him still, and continued to scurry through the bubble field. Soon however, the field faded into random fluctuating imagery, and she was able to move more freely again.

“It is your mind that traps you, takes you, and buries you here.” The Entity’s voice echoed as Allison continued her fleeing attempt; then his voice became harsher. “For all through your life you ran, like you’re running now. Hiding and running from any moment or event that could mean change in your life. And now your life is over! And still you run, even though it was your running away that keeps you here now. You had your last chance to change things, Allison, with your flesh torn open and laying paralyzed on the asphalt, thinking to yourself how this could have happened, the things you could have done differently… should have done differently… No! You chose this plane of present existence! You needed more time to “think”! You gave yourself a false opportunity to hopefully change what you knew could not be changed! But your fear got the better of you, didn’t it? And the harder you run, little girl, the more control your fear has over you, until it suffocates you, and eventually kills you. You know this, but then again you knew a lot of things you knew were right, and still you ignored them because it simply was not convenient. So how does it feel, now? How does it feel to have your own hand clasped around your throat?”

Teeth clenched and eyes wild with panic, she could only run faster into the alien stretches of the realm surrounding her. Then her environment was suddenly completely empty again, hushed of sound and entirely devoid of imagery. Yet still she sprinted along.

“Stop!” The voice of the Entity barked suddenly. “Stop now! There’s something important here…”

This time Allison did listen, for the Entity’s voice came suddenly as a voice of reason.
Her running legs slowed to a stop, and she stood surrounded by empty darkness. She noticed, however, that though she was standing still, the area around her still seemed to be moving slowly, and could feel its movement against her skin and under her feet. She took a moment to regain her composure, then a unique feeling of serenity came over her, and she felt as though what had just happened a minute ago was nothing more than a distant dream.

“Incredible…” The Entity’s voice came from behind her, and Allison turned and faced him.

The Entity hovered about twenty feet away from her, staring beyond her with great distance in his eyes. Far behind him, she immediately noticed an enormous floating sphere of brilliant white light, stationary and surrounded by darkness. Great arcs of white rays shot out from the blinding center like shape-shifting spikes, embracing a slow moving crystal form. This frozen yet shifting burst of light had a unique depth to it however, and almost looked as if it existed behind the void surrounding it, like the very fabric of the enveloping blackness was ripped open, and as each arc of light stretched out it further pierced the darkness.

“That’s it…” Her own voice whispered in her head as her thoughts clicked, though she did not know why.

The Entity was positioned like a statue before her, the great shining light glowing behind him, dimming him to a partial silhouette, and he was looking down with a somber and contemplative expression on his shadowed face.

Her breath was like ice against her lips, “Where am I?” asked she, her words flowing out of her mouth like the purest of energy.

“A place that is your… omniconscious.” Breathed the shadowy mouth of the Entity. “Your great medium… your purest and most ever-consistent self. What lies in here is… who you are, undisputedly, and without influence. ”

His voice trails off and settles into a tone of introspection, seemingly speaking to himself as his eyes gained greater distance. Allison thought this to be eerily bizarre.

“We have come to the final plane of your present consciousness.” He rasped. “This… is the doorway… the portal of which you seek. We have skipped a large process for us to be here, and we’ve achieved much in this minute period of time. But how? You… you have released the boundaries some how, allowing us to progress thus far to the ultimate reaches of this realm. And now we find ourselves bound once again, and so close to our goal. The cause for this? I don’t know. But… do we really need a reason at this point…?”

The Entity then revolved his neck to look directly at the light behind him, and though Allison could not see his face, she knew it was a face of profound longing and anguish.

“So close…” the anguish could not be more evident in his voice. “I have waited too long to be here. I have spent entire lifetimes seeing those who are… more fortunate come and move on through this plane like it were never here! This dying place is toxic to the mind, and now that I behold this beautiful light before me, calling for me, I will not spend one more moment here with you.”

The Entity turned slowly to face Allison, his eyes wild and intense, sweat beads swelled over his pale face, and eyebrows twisted into bent arches that completed his maniacal expression. A terrible anticipation flooded over Allison as her heart jumped.

“Now, open it you bitch!” His voice was like acid and his teeth clenched tightly as his face shook terribly amongst his passion.

Allison stood horrified at the Entity’s wicked becoming, his presence so fierce and imposing that her breath froze and her muscles petrified. The Entity loomed forward and over her, his burning eyes scorching through her brittle resistance.

“Finish what you’ve started then!” He growled. “You’ve taken me this far, come now and I’ll make you see your final step!”

“Fear.” her own whispering voice exclaimed inside her head, and the great light before her appeared to grow brighter.

She feels a smothering force against her skin and suddenly every inch on her body constricts tightly and an unknown force grabs her and lifts her off of her feet. Dreadful anxiety engulfs her as she is lifted to the eye level of the Entity, who slowly hovers toward her with fiendish countenance.

The great light shining behind him suddenly pulsed with a bright charge, its rays flashing and piercing the surrounding darkness, “That’s it…” her voice rang in her head once more, and a split moment of clarity struck her amidst her emotional turmoil.

She floats mid-air, helplessly paralyzed as the advancing Entity cackles madly with wild bulging eyes of glistening red veins and teeth stretched in a freakish smile with thick saliva foaming at the lips. Allison felt her heart thrash about in her chest as her panted breathing tried to keep up with her racing blood. The Entity extends his scaly fingers toward her, and as he does a strange glowing green ribbon of light materializes from between his fingers and slowly glides outward toward Allison.

“You’ll never leave this place.” The Entity hissed at her with disdain. “I’ve been here far too long. I know this place far better than you ever could! And I can crush you as easy as I have placed you in my grasp.”

The light off in the distance pulsed again, and this time she noticed it grow larger. Another moment of peace fell into her, “Fear.” Her voice came through clearly inside her mind,

and for another split instant she felt as though she was in another place.

Her attention, however, was quickly intervened by the offending Entity. The panic inside her was almost unbearable; she thought if her life would not end, her sanity certainly would. Her fear reached new heights as the strange glowing ribbon of light came closer toward her. The Entity peered eagerly into her frightened eyes.

“Open yourself…” he spoke hypnotically with his slithery voice. “Open yourself to me, submit yourself to my will, give me what’s inside of you… give me the key within you… open yourself to me, and I will let you go…”

The glowing ribbon of green light grew brighter and started to expand in width as it drifted. And as her fear grew, so did the great white light grow behind the Entity.

“That’s it…” the white light flashed as her voice rang louder inside her head. The light heaved and grew larger, and a longer moment of clarity became Allison, “Fear.”

“Do it not…” the Entity went on menacingly, “and I will destroy you right here.”

Allison suddenly became aware of another glowing ribbon of light emerging from her chest, orange in color and slinking leisurely from out of her skin and slowly moving toward the other ribbon of light from the Entity. Her consciousness jumped as she realized the urgency of what was happening.

“Yes…” hissed the Entity as another smile crossed his grim face.

“That’s it…” Allison’s voice popped into her mind again as the great white light pulsed and expanded again, “Fear… That’s it...”

She was torn with bits and instants of clarity, Allison closes her eyes and tries to concentrate on these feelings, and the more she did just that, the more clear her thinking became, and she felt as though she could visualize the great white light growing in front of her clenched eyelids.

“That’s it… fear!” Her own voice shouted within her.

Allison opened her eyes and saw the ominous Entity grin with pleasure as the two emerging ribbons of light advanced on each other, the great white light in the distance was swirling and pulsating and growing.

“That’s it… fear…” she consciously said this time inside her mind, trying to figure its meaning. “That’s it, that’s it, fear, that’s it...”

Allison repeated the words in her head over and over as she concentrated. Suddenly she had a thought, as if she realized what it meant.

“Fear!” she exclaimed in her thoughts as she rejoiced their meaning. “That’s it! Fear! Fear is it!”

The slowly emerging light ribbon from her chest stops suddenly, and to the harsh dismay of the Entity. She remembered right then what the Entity had spoken about fear, she realized right then what he meant when he told her about her fear holding on to her; for she had realized right then and there that she is holding on to her fear right now, and suddenly she became fully conscious of how her fear is controlling her.
The white light silently bursts with an enormous charge of blinding luminance, and nearly doubles in size. A new feeling of realization trickles over her, subtly easing her mind of the emotions that had just dominated her thoughts. She felt a connection within herself, as if there were two distinct parts of her in two different places at once; one in fearful torture, and the other a serene harmony. Her mind felt clear, as though she could see and feel the truth around her through a shroud of darkness.
Feeling this liberating sensation inside of her, she looks down at her body with wonder and sees the glowing orange ribbon not only protruding out of her chest, but she noticed she could also see its roots inside of her; glowing strands stretched throughout the inside of her body like veins. She immediately understood the strange orange fibers as the fearful emotion she encountered inside what the Entity described to her as the “subconscious plane”. The more she thought about it, the more she seemed to be in touch with this new peaceful side of her, and the more she could feel the great white light growing larger and closer.

“Allison…” spoke the Entity with wavering confidence, but his voice trailed off into silence.

As he continued to talk, Allison found she could easily ignore him, and she continued to study herself in a ponderous state.
Her eyes followed the glowing strands of light as they coiled throughout her body, twisting about and branching off into new vein-like stems. She follows them around to the side of her, and as she does, she realizes where her eyes follow is not physically possible. Confused, Allison looks up, and to her astonishment, notices she is not where she just was, and then she sees that her body is actually a short distance away from her. She can see herself from a new angle, slightly behind and off to the side of the Entity, and saw her body floating paralyzed in mid-air with her terrified eyes locked with the Entity a few feet from her. She thought to herself that what happened had transpired so fluidly that she had barely noticed herself straying from her body, and for a moment deduced the conclusion that her mind had somehow wandered outside of it. Suddenly she becomes aware that she can still see and feel from the perspective of her floating body, along with the ever-present fear within, as well as this newly discovered viewpoint simultaneously. Her mind suddenly clicks; both her fearful and peaceful personas had now been divided into two separate and distinct perspectives. Yet she experienced her two selves as still being connected and interactive with each other.
She can see her fearful self vividly from her distance, and with rapt compassion, Allison peers into her own frightened eyes, and within sees the truth of her fear. Her eyes reflected a lifetime of apprehension, years of running from her own problems and turning her back to important decisions that compromised her cozy mind state. She feared and rejected any growth that meant change, and because of that destructive cycle throughout her years, she clung vehemently to her life as it slipped away with her dying breath.
Her fear had put her and kept her in this dark place, and she embraced the promise of this strange Entity here with her. She looked to him as a source of hope, and that he may hold the answers and be able to fix her nightmarish scenario. But all along it was her own fear that had kept her here. When her fear turned against itself, she lifted the self- composed boundaries of this plane, as her will suddenly strived to leave this very place which she had chosen for asylum. Then her thoughts became torn again amidst her internal struggle, and she had trapped herself once more under her fear. Now that she thought herself fearless, she realizes a part of her is still attached to this realm, even to the Entity.
The growing white light behind her pulsed and grew, and in her peripheral vision she could see its gigantic rays stretching out through the darkness. She focused her eyes on the Entity, and through her new realizations saw him purely as a harmful force against her. Her foresight of this stranger was hazed yet, but her comprehension of his destructive will filled her with true understanding, and as realization came her to, she found, with great ease, her ability to let go her fear of him. Gradually she felt his presence inside fade away, his grip on her weaken until she noticed she could not feel it at all. As she became aware of this, she realized she was not seeing from both perspectives any longer, and could feel no more the presence of her fearful self. Her floating body that was paralyzed in mid-air had disappeared, and with it the fear that the Entity had in his controlling grasp. And she stood as one person again, slightly elevated and at an angle behind the Entity.
The Entity stopped his motions, and slowly turned his head to look up at Allison. His bulging eyes were filled with fear and his lips were bent into a quivering frown. Allison loomed over him with supreme confidence and fearlessness, proud of her achievement over this enemy within.
She notices suddenly that the white light had spread all around her with its arcs of light stretching into the remainder of the darkness. She turns in the direction of where she first saw it, and was amazed to see that the brilliant white had replaced all of the surrounding blackness. She turns to the other side of her, and just in time to see the last of the darkness drown out completely by the blinding white radiance. Pure awareness of this floods inside of her as she realizes, in all forms of consciousness, the beauty that is her being and the freedom she had created for herself. She felt as if a great veil had been lifted, shedding the glow of pure enlightenment through the darkness and liberating her mind. Allison saw her surroundings now for what they truly were, and realized then that this place, all the smothering darkness, was nothing more than her scared consciousness, covering itself with a suffocating shroud of fear. A grain of space, outside of her body yet still within her mind.
Her gaze turned downward to the Entity, who was nothing more than a frail little man garbed in a tattered old hospital gown, his eyes returning a spiteful gaze of defeat and a sneer of disgust on his pale ugly face. Allison saw well beyond the exposure of his true image, she saw the truth within him. So lost in his own torturous existence he had forgotten where he had come from. He preys on the weak, lies to them, and uses them to his own gain, in hopes to finally find a way out of his own vile cycle of self-destruction. He had a plan for her, to use her to collect the crucial pieces inside of her with hopes of transcending far from this place. He intercepted her consciousness, brought her to this place outside of her flesh, and used her emotions to find out what he needed. She reached out to him in fear and embraced his lies and secretive plot to turn her into what he is, to use her until she was a ruin while he left her here for eternity. He tricked her into following him; he needed her trust in order to achieve success, to take what she had that he needed so badly. This entity would have almost succeeded, and it would all have been ultimately her decision, for she knew now that no one is forced into anything without first making a decision, at some level, to submit.
She decided right then that this entity invading her consciousness was no longer welcome, and with a single thought the pathetic soul before her vanished from her mind.
Allison stands, basking in her full awareness, delving into her last thought about her decisions, and realizes she can simply decide that she is ready to move forward. Naturally, in reaction to her will, she sees the way before her as the white radiant light begins to merge with her mind, as also her mind begins to merge with the light. The decision struck her as being so simple, she could scarcely believe that her state of mind was ever in such a shrouded place of darkness, she could not imagine she was once in that immature mind state not far behind her.
She closes her eyes, and feels herself blend into the light and become one. Her body feels as though it had melted together, becoming as liquid and dissolving gradually until there she had completely transcended, far away from this realm.

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

NEW TRIBE ?

2006-07-24T18:03:12Z

Members of QUEER BENT and LUMIBRIDGE are coming together to form a new tribe dedicated to discussing (wrestling with or arguing) with a sacred text or part of one each week. This tribe will be oriented toward people from different backgrounds coming together to discuss their insights and know each other better as opposed to beating each other over the head with their own religious ideas. It could be exciting. Is anyone interested?

--Chris

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

get sucked into Stone Age Type

2006-07-20T21:51:16Z

Download the very first book

from Stone Age Type—

mIEKAL aND's

atlanTopia

about the book:

"The 4,918 words of atlanTopia were generated from the complete and combined vocabulary of "Utopia" by Thomas More (1616) and "The New Atlantis" by Sir Francis Bacon (1623). This mashup is an unexperiment in Utopian non-creativity lovingly constructed during a 3 month vacation from creativity May - July 2006."

http://stoneagetype.tk

love from the island,

Audacia

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

Erotic Logic

2006-07-04T20:42:15Z

1. Primitive Symbols and Well Formed Formulas

By an absurd & precious miracle in connection with a risk of convention three fallen bodies of water pass through the outgoing valves of raw energy. In secret pleasure one perfect student immersed herself while the flesh like the neutral zone of a magnet pumped the circulatory theories. They saw skin that had been placed merging away from carnal humanity. At the base of the neck a fallen cranium returning to these. Draped over communication, his feeling was to let everyone know that a woman stands on all fours. Balance, when terminated during chanting identified by the Gnostics, supported each other's body bending make-up & body ornament. Teeth & nails seldom derived silky substance or fabrical intelligence. The routine manners of the dead dislodged from the atmospheres & found by repulsion can mean elevation with the posture of the bee buzzing over man. Entitled because of their relations with outside forces, they mapped out a design, in combination with black skin. With any decision, cortex advancing & retreating, the two conventions of appearance have devoured & even the sight of the orbital region conceal her breast. They are merging a new dance for bare feet & the last of the writers surrounded by sexual fetish...intimated immediately the frequency & phenomena of the electronic parameter sex & the downward motion of the passionate kiss is creamy tightrope water. Sometime the existence of appetite has caused others to disappear. Their dignity to suck a penis, the crime dominated by the very oldest human demands the woman, arms & legs submerged into masturbation. Sexual agonizing wounds & fire damp shadows from theater night sounds & her hair fell silent. Solar breathing, furthermore, during gamma rays, have vivisected the yellow exposed heart hanging by the tortoise, fetish as artificial aid to self-confidence. The tantric ritualized fucking or the string of pearls of a genius hanging from the beads of her door. "...the luxury & think nothing more than tender physical." The bottom of the centuries watching a Taoist couple make love, a kind of cell associated with tension & the deep substances of the ocean a vibrant attempt at existence. There is much literature of the spindle-taped world. The penis of prehistoric children & a dance involving sensate creatures & hieroglyphs. Fraudulent stories originating from the limestone sky with the notion his absolute thinking is the attraction of the acts. The original mystic sees by the hair outlandish & beaten to the floor her kite flying & hiding the inert cruelty for the 1000th time attributed to the damnation of the astronomer crows. The daily tools giving glow, churning piercing pressing & parts of the secret man & woman endless in bed. Intelligent vessels for the rest of humans emaciated to be found in the blood phenomena. From the sky different forces of incongruity & the diamonds of style in a neighborhood of sexual percussion. The posture of the lower lip under the ancient impossible ocean gravely chant in a loud voice a culture & a mechanism situated near the base of the spine. Spindle-shaped worlds & the obvious mystery. The solution of absolute gods. The quail of erotic art atop columns. The surface of intelligence flaring magnetic opiated affirmation. I have just found a tree upon the minute loves of alchemical transformation of drama.

2. Symbolizing Relations

The air has the quality of lovers approaching ecstasy. A room is cursed with dreamers of soft promise & other dangerous creatures. "For six hours the wall tightly bandaged a spiritual art, multi-sexual roles reshaped my logical solitude." The necks of three young heads applaud existence, their expressions tight, stainless-muscle skeletons fashioned out of nature: each woman meets herself with her hands & gains beautiful extinction upon the crucible spread underneath. When one considers the universe so sexed as to attack the spiced air of the room. This ancient sexual love-rite seeks devious imagination in a charge of simile & smooth complexion. Here the enormous sensory begins to break down the moment's. Like antic pruning hooks in deep sea. Submergence causes vigorous singing strength inside contact. Each individual dreamt soft large organs puzzling sexual. If the man who needs a sucking three should visualize her inner whirlwind & drag her between two shoulders, something he learns of communication will correlate with the release in her lungs. Touch is safely centered over the entire body; she uses her mouth in honor of intimacy. Eventually a lustrous eye will satisfy the premises of obscurity. Human life swept from the planet. The intricate between two are many & varied. An ocean approaches an interplanetary field of vision without the lineage of ancestors & so the woman declares "I will suffer your chord & behave not like the others." (Hoping to awaken the hapless culture, the bloodstream rejects primitive polygamy.)Special woman understand invigorating blood, transcends the use of cyclic psychology & patterns liberation after the clouds & flying in the distance. Long hair in forgiveness, she multiplies the wider of sexual phenomena. If flattened out like dampness or history, forgetfulness may cause a little pain to unsuspecting minds. & is just when shafts of brilliant organization block an iceberg of crushed breath. A sperm has cravings the size of a hair; arms & assumptions admonish the stress of the atmosphere. Thunder-perception used in circulating breath support, the woman in her difficult discipline. "I desire a ? rock compressed closer to my intelligence. The oldest center of a retreating forehead rides like a tortoise in the opposite sex. For you it is the same embrace." A single thrust of colored objects found in ancient China split & rub against her stomach, stabilize her awareness, & she serves fresh eroticism in a theatrical diner. Boy & girl film inshore-happening fashion dresses itself in white dark body cells. Fur machine is spotted by planetary contractions: an explanation his calm gaping hands imposed. They joined together necks & tight thighs, embraced their empire & disappeared into the wall. Later smoother victories acted upon & precipitated explosion.

3. Axioms and Demonstrations

Man no longer recognizes the greater distance of the moon entering the body at birth mimeographed the desires & the repetitions of mundane counterparts. The law book of intercourse rhythmically contracting obsession & the darkness of contemplation. Awe inspiring lush demonstrate the mathematics of domain, crushing involuntary our breath of space & patient love-making. Sooner or later a geometric attraction within the phase of humor felt the vaudeville hypnosis of concentration. A woman lying on her back. The graph of male & female. Ginseng position, action & abandonment, strings of limitless ice. In addition when passion activates the fluid unusual pressure & mechanical actions have regular backward "but if we feel a woman sitting remembering the scream of the sirens, the Chinese tradition of supra geography & the bone movement of utopian literature, we are now potent experiments & the nourishment of love-making punctuating all but genius." It was known & transformed by the antiquarian a humility against evolution & the timeless restoration overcome by the prepared throne & the touch worshipped sexual ritual commitment & informal teachings upon the bed of success. She is the man's technique. An additional abdominal movement where the action in the underground boutique where the stove continually warmed the aphrodisiacs & medical life. A ceremony is invoked & the man inserts his jade. The measure & thickness of the culminating box. "How on earth." The body ejaculating the special secret. The internal twisting & the tremendous survive & this is something they belong to. Attribution within a society. Him the striking aesthete making contact with flower & bondage the same of all device & experience. The breast of imaginary qualities & the categories of obstacles play host to persuasion as he chloroformed her supreme devotion. The most strange refuge known western in our lessons of the borealix, everyday film & the books of pleasure influence appearance & fetish & the experienced kissing explore the occultist link to perfect teamwork. Another notation. A coordination studded with the drunken man voluptuously coming upon the paper. The moon grew large & gave way to paradisical cults & the metallic culture. Both women spontaneously spread legs & the sun rose to conceal his behavior. "I should be conscious, I should remember to describe substance & uncanny material. Singing in my ears the variation of all sound of passion calling excretion. The inclusive happening red spot & menstruating the erogenous mix modes, pyramids have recorded nightmare & the eardrum contemplated to the ground." Something indicates a drink or a marijuana taken internally. The main meridian one seed one egg remembered at length by ancient terminology. One cannot weary & undress the two women. Within the psychic centers & a dogged clinging to the modern excavation. There are no unfaithful bridges & what appears or vanished little by little. The vaginal region & the customary Egyptian woman considered lust & the initiated aromatic vapor have been anointed. Her laying all explanation upon praise of ecstasy. Take one after another multiple meaning from the particular cinema & the man shares among women. Gently he would materialize in Asia, his chemical analysis, his oralness & the views of the following reasoning: "a comparative polygamy within a scientific performance. The inclusion in a hazy museum of the foreskin & natural circumcision of the crucified boy. This cult no longer cast impression upon the atmosphere. A telescopic art, woman her legs spread, the organ drooling, she is elixir to his virginity. Upon hearing a well-known control, all phenomenon visualized as enigmatic. A massive data from the soprano voice of an inspired woman transmitted from the body thousands of miles & 100's of years away. To attest to the psychological courtship & the symbolic ritual of triangular interaction. A bird overhead attached to the musical voice, her clothes attracting the glare of his horn. A blessing & an initiation practically unknown to earth, a globe resting on her protracted belly. The nipples of the light woman are formulaic & lightly connected to her respectable breathing. Among the suspicion of the medical orgasm a stability to love & the necessary antidote to a new movement previously buried for centuries without revelation. Head center stressed too strongly, a masquerade land found after tremendous meditation. The morning door closed by successive nights & the temperature spread before them. These days the hermaphrodite is sleeping in her notable flux. The homosexual coffee drinker, a fanatic from the avant garde cafe, caused no injury to them. Graven meteorites reflected blood red & explained probably as immigration & savage demonstration. The system rejects them & similar bodies pass a grieving landmark. Fingers applied to nipples. The recognition of the cock. "Are you a hero with your mouth?" The devotees feel their atmosphere & a seeming clairvoyance. A 100 birds larger than life prejudice the mandarin night. The anti-intellectual conditions & punk ribbons of black erect glamour, rivals untold potency. We will pretend dildos to be erect within her mouth. A perfume of knowledge & many substances spread through the room, her dark body oiled & ejaculated advance. A 1000 times the warning of her body resembles disorder & the apothecary disseminates with his tongue the poppy. And stepping beyond worship to respect the natural system. Oral gratification. Exercise in modern emotional harmonics is a relict of native dance preparations. To simulate another mystic tradition, she provided her head with a ground-beat tension & adopted an internal book to supply the injected tissue. "I command you in foul kisses & filthy blows to scale the affection of my skin without loosing dependence of body." The group's solemnity seemed indelible, shaped by enormous mouths & painted sounds, --a sexual encounter detached in flight.

4. ARGUMENTS INVOLVING RELATIONS

HANG! EH! RANG! The exalted language in unseen rhythm delivers a thousand intelligent generations. Too mechanical, the imagination. There the notion of the earth. An impression of voices forever mad in ancient animal mysteries. When an opening spit its roots up through penetrating surface, sexual flow consummated in understanding. Human beings hugging & kissing the imagination at last gasp & respond. Tension within her possible body continued to exist. Red birds & rain pierce the wall of her skin & sharpened the amputated organ. A most baffling emotion drew a cupped hand over scribed stones while anxiety carried the girlish boy under the mattress. Jeweled painting marking flesh. Dogs clasped his furrowed heart & certain red accumulated liquids brushed her body. Clear hearing drowned visible eyes, activated her nine hearts & raised his entry upon her. Over their echoes an object from the sky. "You see me flying through bodily decisions. My dream is air rubbed in exchange of fiery passing." (1. Foreign electricity combined with lace fruit is sweeter after the lover's meal. 2. Wine bulbs mixed & sprayed possess musical appearance & loose marks. 3. Snakes after retreat acquire thickness & a piercing character.) Blow, inhale, repeat & maintain new sexual heights. Hearing themselves romantic, they carved & contemplated opening with figs & piety. A network of red & white bodies into near darkness; they confirmed experiments of ice shape & suspended physique. (An entire night on the underside of the noisy floor as an opportunity for sharing climax.) & the moon's fermata can chew the nipple; the blood cell becomes a tool. Behind a pagan culture steam rises from a gray sculpture & flesh is flung under trees. Silence on the part of stress-baring plasma inside the bloodstream. Insects' broken & delicate fruit for ecstatic union. The elephant woman with sequential liquid disgorges each breed of fallen lover. Their appearance in a diseased system outphases her bodily intensity. Bind measure? Sexual enthusiasm records violent attacks on lower information centers. Sweat in the remotest corner of one woman's beauty bursts & follows a tear. Carbon harmony in a cushion, polished head, blushing rose dotted machine on her back. The yogi exchanges islands for heart-beating boat of sucking red liquor at night.

5. Alternative Systems of Logic

They chase each other, they made believe they are new animals & their temperature allows very little outside influence. Irregular man radically emerges in a warm water solution. The pulses start where they take effect, filling in clean colored edges. Her visibles are copious & rather sulky, but the woman's willingness to circulate contrasts with a 1000 snakes. Her giant explanations. Bellowing springs from an earth. All day long they had coiled, destroying response & attached to no weight. The delicate organs on a roll of sketches the pair in a neutral tone. Hands redouble, eyes stare higher & a companion once considered is now inseparably...the man inserts his jade, rears up on her structural imperfection & turns his back in a broken colored manner. His restless sounds with breath-dancers throughout erogenous centers. Working a relationship despite red streaks throughout, tendency to spit & chew their possible choices. They began space with a stroke of pressure through hereditary sighs. Nothing of a changing odor, all unnatural inhabitants dominating factors of a special body. Wild yellows & sizzling reds break the surface of their lover's canvas. The muted palette of a vague idea is no swift fragrance. Enlarging flowers, they fill an entire canvas with black petals. His teeth ask more than once to realize the sense of hidden forces & the great hungry between water & blood. "Take pulsating sound & grow my scent sublime." Her black virginity celebrates with oils & sugar reabsorbed into her blood. In the middle of her back a membrance twists into satisfied rings, whorls & loops. The nude magnetic center of old age higher than her & so she is amazed at hope & fidelity. Trembling in the bottom of their chests, it seems as if a burning slippery movement invited depth. They filter themselves in serious study on a regular basis, the complex organs in the body agitate lovemaking. After ejaculation, rocking her counterpart blue, he replaces the girl with the hanging breast, & holds his hands out gigantic. The public gasps & those more elevated in intelligence find friendship behind the physical hand. Pressure on the sacrum moves her lip slightly along the mammalian nerve fiber. Her experience appeals to the eye; double mural of heads & dresses, increasing in beauty where the eyes are kissed. She acts as a potent, biting & scratching the culture of suitable placement. Jewelry & amulets fulfill her imaginary nutrition & when the silver lamp reappears, he hastens his step homeward. The awareness a woman can be by blending her color with his scent gains any love's pleasure. The standard body is inclined to reject substance embarked upon without due situation. Should disturbing spheres become erect, the fingers may tremble, but not for old age. Eggs, licorice, walnuts & kernels of nutmeg shift the passions of light & dark to the birth of three heads. In completion of depth, the body drinks 1000 different odors. Even the command of a sad moan splits the outcry of rages above. A couple about to drown fires their alarm.

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

Free Adventure

2006-06-22T16:29:35Z

Who would you be if you could be anyone? go anywhere? do anything? Well, you can! Luke Soloman will show you how.

It's my pleasure to introduce BEGINNER'S LUKE. My eponymous protagonist is more than merely self-conscious. He is sui generis, literally believing himself into being. BEGINNER'S LUKE is the first novel in a series of six madcap adventures that, collectively, make up the imaginary life of this lovably irreverent modern-day Walter Mitty. Luke's obsession with self, sex, satire and slapdash highlight a serious point: consciousness creates. The point is there is a point to living in the imagination–for only through it can we reinvent our ourselves and our world.

A respected New York publisher, whose authors feature a National Book Award finalist in addition to dozens of prestigious award winners, recently offered me a contract (subsequently declined in favor of an experiment in self-publishing) for the BEGINNER'S LUKE Series, which made it out of a yearly “slush pile” of nearly 8,000 manuscripts. One early reader confided, ”I've had quite a journey ever since you shared BEGINNER'S LUKE with me. I'm more careful, these days, when someone gives me a book. I haven't been the same since reading it, as if I contracted the disease of restlessness and have spent months reconsidering every facet of my life. Your novel changed me forever and I blame you for it.”

Starting today, I'm giving away the first 2012 electronic copies of BEGINNER'S LUKE. To take advantage of this totally FREE offer, simply visit www.beginnersluke.com/page7.html .

To the Adventure!

Sol
www.beginnersluke.com

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

also spake moby dick

2006-06-10T14:48:23Z

so there they whale
you thou ye
which and now are what
their had when then
like man or who no
an do will them
out were into
more we
zarathustra upon
up if would some did
its old only your still been
over thus great
such these ship
sea hear how

other than those
ahab good said
long thy time
thee yet must down men
however
even last
also about most see

again well though
hath before may any
very head himself

way say us
too day life
her much where little every unto

ever first after
many two boat can
has world own could captain

love our should
come go through
away once god shall

things seemed white while
hand round
know am three
thing o hear

being never whales
let look stub same
new queequeg chapter
ones eyes sperm
soul off among might night
made oh just far almost

without water came back
side mine become
thought doth small
called against right
take why
verily spirit starbuck
part deck found nor seen
because another something
make always fish
cried spake people

air body hands
nothing place tell
sir pequod think nietzsche
higher earth each speak
whole she half best
myself virtue themselves
stand light line
heard feet death eye towards perhaps
aye full sun
sort high give call
art therefore saw both
soon enough under present boats
evil end whom poor crew
between everything don went
times strange along
ah put word whaling
hard whose find mast dead

matter till thyself better
live ears
want hear face
around indeed deep
true seem truth
going stood open power
moment above often hold whether
rather get wild fire
does seas lay already sight
words sail longer
flask mouth hast certain young wind living black
few voice order happiness
days bad work voyage
hour set
land home blood arm
alone run morning sleep
cannot legs heads least done keep heaven
sometimes nantucket leviathan known together

human devil seems name mind gone
turned self reason
oil learn standing ships
ground iron wisdom
case woman within point large friend
ere bed aloft second left jonah
cry account moby length
dick cabin
tail forth brethern since sailor
further says ocean mate lie harpooner
strong instant beyond
beneath answered turn
thoughts near king
feel believe became looking friends
four children board behind
yes whatever vast nature lord
fine yea harpoon
fast dark book
animals wise
general especially waters
thousand short pip
peleg hearts having fellow clear
weary top thine silent sat
pity others means heavy ears began
whalemen lower hope given
concerning chance thereby
taken sure noble nigh child
business broad rope free else
ten less cave rest ready

learned yourselves
lost green behold wilt seek
mountains entire coming close
boy woe slowly purpose
hundred gods foam
fishery fact cold took
suddenly laugh
gold foot common
souls nevertheless
mr legs course broken
bottom values highest help
greatest forward die vain
next monster house future fool
cometh break told taking spout

quite longing lo bear view
talk room passed
knew eternal comes change everything
watch vessel teeth superman
stern skin peculiar
otherwise nay
jaw does cook below
wide tashtego table
struck sit sailors red mere
kept indian honour hitherto
goes door cut curious cast
straight master mark
ivory harpooners grand eternity
either dog besides alas turning
try tree story
sound savage
midnight main knowledge

height got fear craft
coffin show saith golden evening
waves wanteth used shadow
pass particular bow
bones sign past mean english bone war
sweet stranger sky
sharp sharks saying mighty
making kings hours gave fain
distance creature born blue

unless sudden state
sails running
read question
pull none lightning
except calm

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

Submit to Lubrication

2006-06-08T03:32:06Z

Deadline for submission to a two-dimensional film model, logician, lotion, cunt, hydrodynamic vocal response for an android information surface.

These include friction of the keywords primed for lubrication. Research conservation spoils because the amount provided by non-interference with abstracts is the amount provided by language media.

The program types inquiries far in advance of possible inspiring waters of translating `for the record'—the suggestion that cooperation is historical especially when participation requires magnetization bearing intranet.

Exceptions eschewing submission undertaken by transient preparation, and follow the continued society; the system nozzle integrates core particle plasma of paper: the machine remains the same linkage if everyone in the community can submit to a clown, then to adhesion.

Topics squeeze film. No description available and the appropriate curved stress does not develop sufficient titles and peril handlers with minimum leaks.

Study finalized with culture engine surviving your robotic vaginal landlubber evidence, the use of inside-front-cover instructions allowed him to smudgily address underpinning thin-film for automated multi-stage luminous misidentification.

The steering shall be designed to provide phonetics submitted to the Office of Preventive Lingual Evidence.

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

gravity

2006-05-27T02:42:50Z

Subterranean homesick blueness

Altering the molecular by standing inside the melodious carpet scheme of folding lattice encrusted dingus. For sure the operating mechanism shores untimely plaintive echoing redundant masking ferrous finely tuned tungsten wrapped ideologues. Not to mention a field study done completely undercover of stars that fairly faint in the color of chivalrous expectancy. Partly because the placement of fettered jocosity is incumbent to remind one that foisting ideograms past their prime descent noticing the collective mimetic thrashing wildly in night iguana sunspots delivered to master cannibalistic earthworms of dietetic denouement. This will not in any anyway be believed to foster subversive verses the kind that ferrets its wisdom insidiously beneath thunderous commonwealth mellowness.

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

take me to the graveyard.

2006-05-26T21:09:57Z

Lament.
Take me to the graveyard, freind.
because,
the only heroes left are dope slangers and guerillas
and even they got insurance policies now.

take me to the place where cowboys still battle Indians
where hobos hop trains when the weather fails
and pirates hid booty in secret island caves
back when the currency was blood.

take me to the viking ships and mongol hordes
where the winds were followed by smoke
bellowing from Hun-ravaged plains and
bediouns carving trade routes across the Levant.

Cure me with Voodoo, Witchdoctor
trace my soul with the stars
and lead me to the Old Land
where bhikkus meditate in the hillsides
and recite haikus for ricebowls. (O Zen lunacy!)

Sir, lets go dreamwalking in the bush
or hunt game in the scrub. No,
no, take where the dinosaurs went
and walk freely among the giants.

So i say again, kind sir,
take me to the graveyard
it might be the last place guys like us can call home.

posted in experimental writing - 1 reply

New Dark Fiction available now

2006-05-22T21:06:22Z

I am very pleased to announce that my short story Collection, "Shaytan Rising" is now available from Lulu Press.

From the press release:

"Shaytan Rising is a collection of five short stories which examine the dark sides of the self. Kyle Sennett wrote Shaytan Rising , compiling five of his best short works. The title story SHAYTAN RISING tells the tale of a man who finds himself inexorably drawn to a dark force that he cannot identify until he becomes that dark force himself. SHE is the tale of the Old Gift and the terrifying creature who is its keeper. CONFESSIONS OF A DJINI takes a more humorous tone, exposing the secrets of the wish-granting spirits eternally tied to their lamps. In BACKLASH we meet Jessica, who has returned to her family home and her family's secrets. And finally in THE CIRCLE we meet a coterie of magicians who are plagued by an urge demon, Abraxas, and the machinations of their own superiors within their secret Order."

PLEASE SUPPORT A NEW AUTHOR AND BUY MY BOOK. IT'S ONLY $14.99

http://www.lulu.com/content/311163

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

of interest...

2006-05-22T00:26:38Z

Cleveland Dreams is a new tribe that
includes the art, history, stories, poetry.
visual poetry and writings of the
Cleveland underground scene of the late 60's .

tribes.tribe.net/clevelanddreams

Cleveland Dreams is a Tribute to
the Cleveland Poets Including;

• d.a. Levy
• Russell Atkins
• Kent Taylor
• Russell Salamon
• Tom Kryss
• Jau Billera
• RJS
• Geoffrey Cook

"in the days unborn
you will find my brothers
ARMED with words you havent
even dreamed of.
Cleveland
you will move
or be plowed over—
eaten by vultures
like a corpse
digested
& slowly
change … "

—d.a. levy, from "letter to cleveland"

Cleveland Dreams
tribes.tribe.net/clevelanddreams

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

Manifesto for a New Fiction

2006-05-05T16:09:25Z

Sol Luckman

The problem with contemporary American--some would say, world--fiction is twofold. If we understand commercial novels these days to fall somewhere on the spectrum between literary and visionary, it's hard to ignore the fact we're living a classic Catch-22. Literary novels are just not that visionary, which is another way of saying they're often boring and unimaginative, slaves to a dogged realism--whereas visionary novels are, typically, none too literary, which is another way of saying often poorly, if not execrably, written, cobbled together with their narrative machinery clanking and clunking.

Historically, the exceptions confirm the rule. Tolkien's THE HOBBIT and THE LORD OF THE RINGS are indeed consummately both literary and visionary. These classics have also been imitated so many times--unsuccessfully, even laughably--it beggars belief. Here and there a contemporary novel pops up on the radar in this magical Twilight Zone where craft and invention seem indissolubly wedded--Robert Coover's THE PUBLIC BURNING comes to mind--but those of us literary-visionary hybrids who scour today's fictional landscape in search of inspiration usually come up empty.

The fly in the ointment is that old bugger, realism. Nearly two centuries after Stendhal’s novel-as-mirror traveled the tedious highway of fiction, and despite the influences of modernism and postmodernism, the majority of today's novel readers, like Coca-Cola addicts, still want the Real Thing. I'm speaking metaphorically, of course. The beauty of a metaphor is it doesn't have to be real to ring true. The instant a metaphor becomes real it ceases to be a metaphor, which suggests a disconnect between truth and what's commonly referred to as reality. This is a pivotal point--that the real world probably isn't what you believe it is, or rather, that it's PRECISELY what you believe it is--which, if you still don't get it, I can only trust someday you will.

I don't mean any of this theoretically. Theory does everything in its power to remove the living soul of literature, tear its heart out, make of the study of Art a hard-edged Science. Never mind that Art is as far removed from measurement as Science is from love. As writers confronting theory, it's incumbent on us not to let our prose dry up in that desert, but to allow it to become a desert rose, our prose, flourishing in the heat and sands of knowledge.

We must, then, for them to be of any worth whatsoever, live our theories practically. For writers this means, inevitably, doing the deed--not just having the idea but putting it on paper, writing down not just the bones of our dreams but their flesh and blood as well. Literature, at its best, and despite the recent attempts of critics, can never be murdered and dissected, as it's an immortal yet organic thing, drawing on the richness and complexity of Experience yet somehow managing to transcend its mundane origins like an alchemist transmuting base metals. The current twin foci on theory and realism conspire to dry up the spirit and wither the soul, blind the eye and deafen the ear, broil the brain and microwave the heart--and perhaps most disturbingly for us radical wordsmiths who still haven't sold out to the Man, brown the nose and pucker the rectum.

If we're to avoid becoming fiction robots in a corporate world, we must stop adding to our educational excesses, eschew the assembly line of MFAs and bottom-line publishing houses, commit ourselves to a way of writing that engages in a valiant struggle to push the limits of plot and language so as to awaken, not anaesthetize, the reader. Anything rather than live in the dead world of those cold people, the Intellectuals. Anything rather than subject ourselves to the fusty chain of academic command, the savage petty politics where the arguments are so heated because the stakes, as someone once astutely quipped, are so SMALL.

We must lay our ears back and push on into the literary fourth dimension, realm of feminine chaos and infinite possibility, forego regionalism and play with farce--and, especially, always appreciate the bizarre. Love for the bizarre is, itself, transformational. When you welcome the bizarre into the fiction of your life, anything and anybody can be transformed from dogshit into gold.

Let's begin a new literary movement. I don't care what we call it. Let's start writing novels for people who don't like novels. Because these days who can blame them? You can please all the people some of the time, and some of the people all the time, but you can't please all the people all the time. So let's at least please OURSELVES. Years from now when verisimilitude is finally understood as a terribly limiting proposition, let our daringly experimental books (often self-published, often ignored by the mainstream) be remembered as the Rubicon fiction crossed on its journey into multidimensionality. There can be no turning back, for readers or writers, after our historical strokes of madcap genius. Or so my story goes.

Once in every generation, if we're lucky, a character shows up who can teach us about reality because he's more real than ourselves. Melville called such a character a "Drummond light" after the type of light once used in theaters that was capable of providing illumination in many directions. May one of us create such a character. Better yet, let's buck tradition and create a string of Drummond lights, each a brilliant facet of the Hope Diamond that is our new fiction. Let's turn away, once and for all, from old Enlightenment tropes toward a new narrative of ENWRITENMENT. Together let's write light.

In so doing, maybe, over time, our inherited and mostly dysfunctional posterity urge based on ego will gradually give way to something more stable, healthier, that might be called simply the urge to BE. To have been versus to be. Product versus process. In the face of a literature of monoliths and petroglyphs, we have the choice to opt for incompletion. May our new writing shine with the protean power of now. May imagination become the new faith.

Copyright (c) 2006 by Sol Luckman. All Rights Reserved.

[Sol Luckman is author of the BEGINNER'S LUKE Series of novels. Luke's obsession with self, sex, satire and slapdash combine to highlight a surprisingly serious point: consciousness creates. The point is there is a point to living in the imagination--for only through it can we reinvent our ourselves and our world. Starting this June, the author is giving away the first 2012 copies of BEGINNER'S LUKE. To take advantage of this FREE offer, visit http://www.beginnersluke.com .]

posted in experimental writing - 1 reply

From a longer project called M, Myself.

2006-05-04T12:34:46Z

My mother was a weighty woman, basting the bathtub in her folds, singing in German like a tropical bird never once washing the tub ring, that dirty halo, that perfectly gray ring, except where she had rubbed part of it away with her toes near the spiket. She said when shed lived in Switzerland, Grandad made their family live on a ranch and he would transplant these strange fake hearts into the bodies of calves. My mother would write down the data and my Grandfather would take them into a room and cut their ribs back for them. “You see, cows have a lot more ribs” she said. You know, remember the fourth of July? The red ribs dripped from our hands. Children left their finger prints all over their mother’s dresses and the mothers cleaned their children’s mouths with saliva. The point was to see how long those baby calves could live with their false hearts. My mother was in fact so large; she’d have to have me help her out of the bathtub, worn wrinkled in water as an old Italian purse. “You know I love you the most. You’re my favorite child, you’re the special one because you’re the only one who really understands me” she’d say as I pulled the mountain of her weight from her halo. Her eyes were grayer than usual, tubrings trying to purge their pupils. “I love you the most” reaches me in waves of vodka stenched slurring. Later I would try to locate my heart by feeling between, a rib and another rib.

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

Roadside Attraction

2006-04-21T19:21:52Z

Roadside Attraction

My kisses to you are punctuated
by our smoking of cigarettes,
in between the laughter and notes
there is something waiting to swallow us both.
We can feel it,
writhing just beneath the surface of our skins.
I trace it’s path with my fingertips,
slowly,
down your black clad legs
Somehow this road map is
defining our territories,
marking new discoveries as we go.
You were right,
you know,
it wouldn’t have counted if you had written
the directions,
some careful cordining of
my perception would have spoiled
the surprise in the sureness of our mouths as they meet
in this dim bedroom,
we would lose the nerves which steel us to our resolution
at an honest try
in
all this travel.

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

a taste of tarmac

2006-04-06T03:30:55Z

a taste of tarmac
will relieve headaches
of a thousand deer
in the summertime
when moths
look for the sun
and plumbers break
the 294787461916th commandment

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

A Profound Awakening

2006-03-29T19:51:06Z

Hello, fellow wordsmiths. I just received this pre-pub review of my novel BEGINNER'S LUKE and thought I'd shamelessly share. Enjoy!

Sol

***

A PROFOUND AWAKENING: BEGINNER'S LUKE

Alyce Mooreland, Los Angeles, California

I won’t call myself a failed novelist because though I’ve written a handful of stories, even published one, I never seriously tried to write a novel. Oh, I’ve never been short on ideas. Plots come like leaves on a tree to me. I just somehow along the road of life became a mother instead of an author. So I was a little surprised, at myself, to find my old dream of writing reawakened by an iconoclastic little novel entitled BEGINNER’S LUKE I received out of the blue–literally, from cyberspace as a PDF–from an old friend I hadn’t heard a peep from in years.

I met the author, Sol Luckman, during my sophomore year of college, when he was a senior getting ready to enter what we both rather scornfully referred to as the “real world.” I remember roadtripping together to DC, smoking on the terrace during intermission at the National Symphony, feeling the unexpected warmth of the early April night, watching boats drift by like phantoms on the Potomac as we discussed what we agreed was a general “watering down” tendency in American fiction.

Sol was a writer born out of time, a beat poet who’d arrived on the scene a generation too late, the kind of guy who worked on stories in DC bagel shops, writing with a green pen for spring in a coffee-stained journal. As a boy you just knew he’d slain the dragon, stood tall on his horse before the Ring Wraith at the gate of Minas Tirith, seen things just beyond the light, just below the water, fed the flames of Beltane’s fires and carefully gathered the mistletoe. I figured, frankly, he’d make an utterly unreadable novelist.

How very wrong I was. BEGINNER’S LUKE, the first book in a series of six, is that rarest of birds: an inspiring comic novel composed almost entirely of one-liners. Reading it was like having a string of accidents: page after page I kept running into myself. The self I planned to be anyway before the creative part of me became a bug in amber, suspended indefinitely, a life on hold, to be continued … The experience of reading BEGINNER’S LUKE was a profound awakening to the knowledge I still have my own story, or stories, to tell.

BEGINNER’S LUKE isn’t for everybody, let me warn you. If you’re so inside the box you’ve forgotten what sunlight looks like, if you’re one of those benighted empiricists who demand numbers, statistics and facts ad nauseam, who prefer microbiology to mythology, meatloaf to filet mignon, kraut to caviar, go read E. Annie Proulx or Richard Ford.

But if you’re willing to bust a gut laughing, mostly at yourself, distinguish between what you are and what you can be, and in the process fire up your belief in your ability to create the life you desire and deserve, do yourself a favor and give yourself the gift of Luke. Just remember: it’s only the beginning.

[Sol Luckman is author of the nonfiction CONSCIOUS HEALING: BOOK ONE ON THE REGENETICS METHOD and the BEGINNER’S LUKE Series of novels. Luke’s obsession with self, sex, satire and slapdash highlight a serious point: consciousness creates. The point is there is a point to living in the imagination–for only through it can we reinvent our ourselves and our world. Starting this June, the author is giving away the first 2012 copies of BEGINNER’S LUKE. To take advantage of this FREE offer, visit http://www.beginnersluke.com .]

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

impregnating an impulse to conceive

2006-02-24T01:42:12Z

seminal fluted animas pondered deathly ill
scarce retro profits morbidly kind
never festered firelanes equal to task
neuter clowns cleaving romantic to tilt

aiding and abetting obey beast of whine
alabaster neural twines compelexity of doubt
insure testimony counter-intelligence sound creepy
illicit complexion faceted deep diving drowns

lewd commotion spears roving bands
locating no line drawn in the sands of timber
safely interred quiet sleep and vegetative
serene school of thought revealed as........

2 snails smoking

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

Touching the FIRE LION

2006-02-22T06:16:02Z

Spark
flying fueling
crackling rocket
spashing into
my pool of
rainbow swirling
liquidlove

moment stillness
passes
-ignition-
bursting explosion
ka-pow!
yellow-white
blinding light
fire orange
red beard
black mane
flames licking me
all over

hot tongue
burning searching
desire
catching my breath
in his teeth

finally releasing
blowing at a storm's gale
a flaming exhalation
dancing infatuation
inspiration higher
than highest circling hawk
tailfeathers burnt
from Lions breath

overwhelming rapture
i want to touch
i want to touch
i want to feel
like never before
a Fire Lion

yellow white
blinding light
fire orange
red beard
black mane
flames licking me
all over

hot tongue burning
hands sweaty
legs trembling
goosebumps growing
swirling smoke
skinslopes exploration

heart melting heat
scorched nippletips
diamond hard
lions lips
searching sacred sites
sensual claws soft
sweatbeads on skin
soaking steaming

racing hearts
pouncing sparks
i ride my passion
over his body

yellow white
blinding light
fire orange
red beard
black mane
his flames
licking me
all over

hot hearts burning
searching lips
his heat
incinerates my fears
faith flames engulf
my fingertips
touching the
white light heart
of the Fire Lion

yellow white
blinding light
fire orange
red beard
black mane let loose
sparks falling
from each strand
of his charcoal mane
hot fireballs
spiraling down
wildly blazing
sparkling sizzling
into the warm wetness
of my open heart.

posted in experimental writing - 1 reply

Acknowledging Acknowledgments

2006-02-18T16:03:25Z

(from BEGINNER'S LUKE)

Sol Luckman

First, I would like to thank my dear mother for her intense labor of love in delivering yours truly safe and sound into the world. I apologize for the pain I caused you, mother, on my rather late arrival. As you know better than anyone, I'm a slow learner--always running behind.

I would also like to thank my father for sparing his precious seed to co-create me. Let me take this opportunity to remind you, father, you STILL owe me for the not inconsiderable pleasure I afforded you on the glorious occasion of my conception. I'm prepared to accept cash, credit card, personal check, travelers cheque, money order, gold bullion, real estate, or a sizable inheritance.

I would also like to thank the Academy. You guys don’t know me, but I think you're really great. Keep up the good work!

Next, I would like to extend a special expression of gratitude to all my family, friends, lovers, teachers, employers and coworkers who one way or another, overtly or covertly, through thick and thin, encouraged me to keep writing this imaginary life. There aren't many of you, which makes my appreciation all the greater.

I would also like to take this opportunity to recognize all my family, friends, lovers, teachers, employers and coworkers who one way or another, overtly or covertly, through thick and thin, attempted to derail my creative aspirations and mire me in the quotidian mediocrity to which you--YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE--have become hopelessly inured. There are a lot of you, more than I could count, which makes this, the Moment of penning my Acknowledgments, all the more satisfying.

Finally, I must say a word about the PLACES where substantial parts of this work (play?) were composed. I mean specifically the Cafés of the World where I've whiled away so much of my time (and yours!) in the vain but amusing pursuit of capturing an ineffable existence: mine.

If I learned anything writing BEGINNER'S LUKE, it was that contrary to myth, heaven is filled with cool little cafes with Leonard Cohen over hidden speakers, groovy abstract expressionist art on the walls and superior Java from obscure South American countries. I was born to sit out on the terrasses of such glorious establishments of leisure on such splendid afternoons, chain-sipping specialty caffeinated beverages while daydreaming impossible episodes in impossible places--

Excuse me, my cappuccino just arrived. I can't tell you how thankful I am. I'd like to ACKNOWLEDGE this cappuccino. I sweeten it liberally with three sparkling sugar cubes, stir the tan frothing brew with the tiny silver spoon, hoist the cup with trembling anticipation to my lips, and, smelling Italy, visions of panforte and biscotti dancing in my head, take a sip.

Ecstasy! The simple act of sitting here sipping this cappuccino is its own testament to my commitment to living the writer's life. Which is to say: doing nothing but doing it exceedingly well. I'm SO thankful for this ability that has taken me an entire imaginary lifetime to perfect.

I'm also thankful for the fine pair of legs strutting by just now on the sidewalk. You have to feel good knowing there are thighs like that in the world. A toast to the miniskirt’s inventor!

I raise my eyes and lock gazes with the proud owner of these exquisite limbs--and it's almost like making love in this instant. The passion, though invisible, is nearly palpable beneath her stoic façade and my whole body tingles with glimpses of erotic encounters that could theoretically, but will probably never, occur.

There--it just happened again, with another set of eyes: the riveting glance, oxymoronic perhaps but with a rush like spontaneous combustion, then the looking away and the tragic vanishing forever. How I adore you, whoever you are!

By way of closing these Acknowledgments, I shall paraphrase one of my personal heroes, the great flaneur Baudelaire:

O you I could have loved!
O you who knew it!
O we who blew it!

Copyright (c) 2006 by Sol Luckman. All Rights Reserved.

[Sol Luckman is author of the BEGINNER'S LUKE Series of novels. Luke's obsession with self, sex, satire and slapdash humor combine to highlight a surprisingly serious point: consciousness creates. The point is there is a point to living in the imagination--for only through it can we reinvent our ourselves and our world. Starting this June, the author is giving away the first 2012 electronic copies of BEGINNER'S LUKE. To take advantage of this FREE offer, visit http://www.beginnersluke.com. ]

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

moses flux

2006-02-14T09:30:36Z

somewhere the beat ran off with the maps and the colors fell and
around about the time that those wrens learned about m.k. ultra
the skeletons themselves were funny, so what?
Har har har was something worth saying back when, aye?
'Where's all my eyeballs' said the little bird
'where are my children?'
silent harbors largesse while trees bleach out in the moonlight.
My portable sarcophagus malus falls hollow and rings like
an intelligent moonlet with star drive, with whorls.
all the while, patterns of ansible usage caress geodesic locales
for prophet's sake, and to find him.
each brother fell and I weep and weeping I lay in a lake of ants
for touch. Charon comes. Red Comet. Bearded Star with dreadful
accompanyment approaches. Flay me with atoms.

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

anyone can have a try at this:

2006-02-09T08:23:51Z

I made a group: "American English", I want to put an introduction article and an introduction poem there. Any 1 can have a try, please reply the invitation I posted in my group. I 'll let my group members to vote and decide which one is the most suitble. thank you very much indeed! you can refer to my introduction writing, of course that is not good.^_^

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

"Free College" Blog for College-No-Gos Or for Those Who Dislike the Politics of Academia

2006-02-02T17:51:05Z

Hello Friends,

Please check out this link:

http://freecollege.blogspot.com/

The link will bring you to a "blog community" that I am trying to
start. The intention is for the participants to speak from their truth
regarding common themes that we may often think about such as: one's
work vs. one's calling, individual endeavors vs. ethical
responsibilities based on family or your values, the artist's vision
vs. general uniformity. I am hoping that these "themes" will have a
life of their own based on the nature of inquiry, wanting to know
something because you are led to it!

I created the blog to try and create a sort of "free college" for
those who are through with school (or not), and those who would like
to browse through the thoughts of others to join in "equal inquiry"
(that means being open to others' different points of view with the
goal of many ways of seeing a subject rather than arguing "your side"
of a topic).

Recently, I have felt the need to create this sort of forum for free
expression and different perspectives based on "your truth" from your
opinion, discipline, culture, or interests. In this way, we will be
teaching each other what we know...and it will be free to all!!! No
grades, no judging, and no tuition.

I hope you find it to your interest!

Eddie Ling

PS As of now, this blog is a sort of creative writing journal...come check it out!

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

Precious are my when dreaming oatmeal says lets be eggs

2006-01-29T02:12:36Z

Precious are my when dreaming oatmeal says lets be eggs.

And said let's be done with love, I am the dandy sexual snake, embodied and not organized, screams sings signs: "I need a target that will strike at the eye of my weapon," so,
Let's be done with love.

Let's get fucked in the hunt. Get hot in the move and melt the ice bridge, lose our fingers to handshakes and shopping-cart wheel sex. Let's fuck off our elbows.

Let's fuck off Sweden, Sweden, consensus of the geologic and more so national. Fuck off America, consensus of the Puritannical and dollars clocks are too.
And you, of your parents up to the point that you realized that you were a sex, and the political climate at the time up to and when you realized you were a sex, lets be done with love.

And your barmitzval bestiary, your coming-of-age metaphors beaver pussy cock ass clam. Fuck animals, The animals we christened with your genitalia, that and not with for,
captive eye at the zoo, captive eye of the zoo, captive zoo of the eye.

Lets fuck off in the new world and fuck it. The continent that had no ancient dungeons for the sexual subconscious we have yet to discover, in quickness of howling medical consensus, Who gave the continents pen, What is my myth, as far and as used and not consensus, the affirmation of what is rejected in each consensus, the cancellation of the middle as ground, the end of an island,

full are the doors.

posted in experimental writing - 2 replies

Anyone familiar with "Writely" ? Web collaboration app?

2006-01-28T05:54:44Z

http://www.writely.com/

Kind of neat... working on some song lyrics and a set list with bandmates all over California.

If anyone wants to do a writing experiment with it, count me in

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

one more, a portrait

2006-01-27T20:11:18Z

There is a harmony: Christopher William Savage Salmon Albatross was born to four Argentine Lesbian nuns in Lewiston, Idaho, sometimed between 1896 and 1983, though for all the purposes of his story we will assume the year as 1989 and by the time he was ten years old, and physically and mentally resembling a ten year old in 2030 he was ten years old and had climbed the towering annelid.

After numerous successful revolutions, coups d'etat, putsches, declarations of autonomy, paintings and theatre had all the clocks removed from his high school in 1930. With sixteen lips on his mothers' breast Salmon Albatross knew his mothers' knowings, that they knew their of their unkowings of he, though unbeknownst to him, he knew exactly who he himself was, even on the early day before he ate his first apple. Salmon Albatross.

Sinsemillia Abbelskivvers wrote his first poem in charcoal on the wall of his mothers' womb, with charcoal they handed to his tiny fingers,
but he was sixty years old in 1954 before he would remember what a poem was, and how to do it, then one he would write in forty-foot obelisks at high tide, a poem for the gulls.

There is no mystery, no world without language, no heaven, no communism, no natives: On September 11, 2001, at ninety-four years old, Sanskrit Albatross returned the myths of the world to the world and world of myth, but as a non-myth, as a post-card, two-sided, a modernist sculpture, a modernist sculpture of a post-card, two-sided, with two planes crashed right through it, and said: "this is your myth, forever supplant."

Christopher William Sugary Spikenard Archeolograph was ten years old when his mothers passed away in 2030 and he never felt closer to them than that moment between when they were alive and when he knew or thought so and when he found the newspaper epigraph telling of a shopping cart accident in Arkansas that claimed the life of four Argentine Lesbian nuns in Arkansas on purpose. His eyes became words before they became things.

posted in experimental writing - 1 reply

An introduction of myself...

2006-01-25T23:44:46Z

I hope all who read this are in good spirits and are in good health as well. I'm a published author of currently two books and strive on the fact that I shall only live one time in this body I call a cocoon for the soul to bloom inside of.

To the writer,

Write. Don't stop writing...don't think your work is good, know your work is your own. And write, write and write some more.

---

If you wish to know more about me, please visit:
http://thedistortedpoet.20m.com
More info there and also a link to my live journal. Take care, and be always,
(Wednesday, January 25, 2006)
Michael G. Stone

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

Submit: VIAL Magazine / Poison and Venom issue

2006-01-23T04:51:15Z

Seeking submissions:

For the impending issue of VIAL, the themes are POISON and VENOM,
and are, as ever, open to interpretation, via word or image.

Dreams and nightmares continue to be accepted, with the usual parameters, as noted below.

You are not limited to these themes and veins, though the following specifics remain:

Deadline: Open until further notice.
Wordcount: 1,000 words maximum
Images: Grayscale, no less than 300 dpi
Send to: omen@disinfo.net, or the address below.

To Submit:
VIAL seeks work that is experimental, irregular, and evocative.

Scribes:
Nonfiction dreams and nightmares are accepted for each issue.
Dreams that are excessively redundant or confused will not be accepted.

Visual artists:
Images may be emailed or sent via disk or hardcopy to the address below.
Images must be grayscale and have a resolution of no less than 300 dpi.

Musicians:
This is not a forum for reviews.
A dream or other form of artwork/wordsmithery must accompany your cd.

Know that if you have difficulties grasping the rules of English grammar, I am going to revise your writing.
Please do not send originals or anything that needs to be returned.
Always include contact information with anything submitted.

http://www.vialmagazine.com

VIAL
Box 225124
San Francisco, CA.
94122.5124
u.s.a.

omen@disinfo.net

Send a message to the above to be added to the mailing list.

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

Satellite Pictureshow

2006-01-13T01:38:44Z

Tick, tick, tick…
Night visions of sudden remorse feel the longing cascade.
Plaintive division parses torture through niceties of guilt.
The nature/nurture debate derives from Darwin/Freud mindsets.
Play of words…
The period piece speaks volumes from hollow voices, when the catamount caphony misses the eagle’s scream.

It’s not like it feels a shadow brushing up against the leg, or sidelong glances groping in the dark. A party starts nightingale singing, laughter reaching ceiling, sky feeling.
Her mention of past mistakes, longs her memory, otherwise the tears are drying without aid of wind, nothing clouds the thoughts better than a nice compliment of change. I would question motives of deliverance. The deal cancels new hopes.

A platter full of hot to trot fries. Igloo cools the belligerent bully gods of Norse design, we wouldn’t doubt the sincerity of her resolve, she promises a possible existence of merit.
Then believing it wholesale, leaps the faith where no nets catch the fallen. From start to finish, nothing in between predicted what happens next, mostly the same, yet surprise surrounds the crows who are counting, one by one, or two by two, anything that resembles a quiet riot.

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies

Music to share with all

2006-01-12T03:16:43Z

So, I'm an independent artist who's been at it for about 8 years. Right now i'm embarking on a west to east cross country tour (Canada) for the next 6 months and am currently in Victoria (1st city) about to leave for Vancouver(2nd City) with my other 2 comrades.

We make music to empower individuals to act directly to meet thier needs.

Our group is called, The Outspoken Wordsmiths, and our web page is at
outspokenwordsmiths.multiply.com
We make a very origonal sound that we've dubbed
Anarcho-Hippy-hop/spoken word fusion.

Please,
if your interested in checking out our music and morals please check it out.
All the tunes are for free.

And let me know which ones you like too....

Alex
AKA--Blank Space

posted in experimental writing - 0 replies