Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

a blind man who plays it by feel...

he was dissheveled, unkempt,
loose mop, stubble rubble,
rumpled tee, denim hole in the knee...

when he heard the first note
blackened hard soul, no rote,
he tied his shoes with the blues...

skies littered with witnesses...

crazy about Mars
a slight gaze at the stars
a moment's drift thru a wormhole rift
sketch its rotation, incantation
note the possible, cosmo-logical...

why chase
moribund space?

Excellent article, Zlatko.

Our foreign policy is and has been a monumentally hypocritical travesty, especially during the Vietnam outrage many years ago, and right now. How do these people in charge sleep at night? Do they really believe their own stories?

lust is a drug...
short circuit neurons spun around
cerebellum felons in circles
of naked want,
a taunt...

yeah, definitely. I have yet to be polled in a presidential race, and that's quite a few by now. Just who are they asking? Plus, these polls are all over the map, differing greatly among themselves. I say screw 'em. The only poll that counts is the one in November. Let's hope they don't tamper with ...

diggin' it

layin' it down, no jokin',
strokin', thought provokin',
smokin' broken pencils,
drinkin', thinkin' like Lincoln,
free the slaves of mind,
no child left defined,
bigger fish to defy, or fry
spry, vie to defeat the lie...

gotta move
gotta leave the groove
gotta motivate, can't be late
meditate, maybe levitate
lean into floating high lotus
chakra ascending thru traffic
heartbeat shuffled its feet
enjoyed the retreat
til next we meet....

while flitting about the
golden oldies record store
on fifteenth and broadway,
never doubt that the
language of soul
runs deeper than
stacks of pressed
vinyl

questions and answers
are the stuff of lost kingdoms
epiphanies of philosphy
how the west was won
how the east was lost
how the north laughed at the reruns
how I ordered pepperoni
and extra cheese
please

in a low budget sci fi dream
I once saw the universe
folded around itself in thirteen dimensions
and stuffed inside of a molecule
completely throwing off
my sense of scale...

the jam gods throw down
rain smokes the pavement
on their feet, street heat
splice in a beat...

leaves rustle cattle
meanwhile back at the Lazy 8,
the hands are all hungover
from hundred-proof coyote ugly
and late for breakfast toast
(and the jam)....

hey wylde...

I love...

melding with shadows linger
squinting screams silently into
the glare

...reminds me of when I leave the highways and finally manage to
get lost out in the desert.....

I can get into that....

it looked different this morning,
more like sun kissed mist skimming
over important details
unimportant to me,
except for the love
which bore witness

just wanted to say...

happy birthday Soozen...

When I finally get to New Mexico, I'll swing over
and buy you a beer....

mnaz....
(wandering again)