Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

Even though there is nobody here, I'm going to tell a story.

It's about why poets are cursed and blessed and damned.

The story starts with Blake, Byron and Jim Morrison

hunkered down in a seedy hotel with one lonely Remmington typewriter.

The inevitable fights break out, especially after the absinthe

As Byron pisses into a Grecian Urn, Morrison tries to drown himself in the ice bucket

and Blake is fighting Tigers in the bed. Somebody calls room service.

The trouble is that room service doesn't supply girls or pills or valet egos.

The plot thickens as Blake produces a laptop that he calls Sherlock Holmes.

The little PC is obviously on cocaine. It keeps going automatically to paranoia-porn sites.

Morrison howls and reaches for his member. "This is true poetry," he says.

Byron rolls his eyes and sighs. "Oh, Jim, you are such a beast."

I can't remember the end of this story.

Can anybody help me out?

The way I heard it LRod, is that mysteriously in the background a song comes on....and everyone in the room knows the words though they've never heard the song before....

Riders on the storm
Riders on the storm
Into this life we're born
Riders on the storm


Indeed, eternity was singing.

But heck, this story has lots of endings.


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