Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

It's 8:30 in the void
a soft wind blows over Mexico City
you can see the colored wind
over a floating city built on lakes

New York City is awesome but
Mexico City is terrifying

I was a pirate today stealing
office workers computers in
between my construction
wired play.....found it to be
a blast and when they saw
what was on their screen this
word spell was cast...............

Ode to the Jobsite

out on the slate gray site,
the steel must be stuffed in cages,
the busters rail and rant,
the plans they must recant!
the steel must be stuffed in so tight,
the concrete will never flow right!
call upon the designer's powers...
get 'em outta cubicles and ivory towers!...

in and out of the trailers I
sail the rebar sea is an
ocean that on one side
is blue, whilst the otherside
is epoxy green.....these trailer
dwellers bring me flowers and
sometimes the pearls of parlay.............

the trailer dwellers assemble the world...
attach it all together with 3/4-inch bolts
and steel I-beams holding up the economy
and portland cement from seattle,
quite possibly...

into their world I strode
playin' a once upon a time
in the west bronson tune
and they looked at me with
distain yet were afraid to
say a thang....so I just kept playin'...................

tall buildings filling the bellies
of el salvadors children....on
the mournful flight back home
today....and elsie trembled with fear
on the eve of her flight to mexico
city and sojourn in san miguel de
allende.....76 years and never any apprehension
yet this trip.....this adventure was cause
for immense alarm......hector ...fredi...and jose
flew to san salvador today outta respect for
the patriarch.....the buildings will still rise....
putting glasses on the childrens eyes as they swim the la playas of
their concrete minds filled with dust of jackhammered existence in the labor pool.......driving nails, tieing wire, and keeping the gringos happy.........................

Cold steel ended the old west,
with harmonica's revenge.

The new west tore down the old
and rebuilt itself with more of the same...
cold steel and ambition...

attention: ....now arriving at gate 753 BWI international airport from the amazing subcontinent..."India" my new tabla player...Riyaz
....we are setting him up in a room on the 2nd floor of casa sowebo .....tomorrow there will be a feast in his honor catered by the Banjara restaurant of federal hill after which he will be fitted into his rebar suit and wire accutrements.....you will soon hear and see him standing proudly alongside his lone ranger amigo WIREMAN at all wired shows in the future lending an exotic blend of percussive sounds to delight all who encounter their performances......the WIREMAN is in the process of sponsoring his 3 sisters to dance the immortal rajistani dances that have amazed the red empire for over 2 centuries........there is a rumor that ravi shankar will join the tour at the jack kerouac school for disembodied poetics concert in boulder, colorado........a concert emceed by the one and only dr. of gonzo literature, Hunter S. Thompson......opening for the WIREMAN ensemble will be the Micheal McClure/Ray Manzerek poetry project
with the ghost of Jim Morrison on distant vocals and sensuous flashings.......hope everyone will watch the cable television special marking this event..................

like riders on the storm
we punt or catapult
our industrial needs
like cities yearning

dirt villages in China
tents in Sudan
crap recollections of Camelot
the arts district in Aushwitz

Dallas, where new steel and 'crete
stretch to the sky. And the asphalt.
let's camp on the freeways
the rooftops and the elevators.

strips of asphalt between bombed out suburbs...
the road to hell is paved with my taxes
we hold these truths to be self-evident
that all politics are created equal in the pursuit of
life taking liberties with liberty
and the sacred buzz,
as noted in the
Party memo....

your beauty is sacred
like jazz that foams from an artist's mind

there's horror in the world
like thine eyes have not seen
unheard tales
lost in asphalt blood

but your beauty is sacred
never
shall your gorgeous soulspirit dissipate
because there will always be poets
shivering in the wind

I said I'd love you till i died
now I'd rather die before l love you

Saycred
you say you're credible
sacred

nothing sacred about your existence
there is no beauty to admire
you're fucking wood amidst a fire
your verbosity dense

hit the 'on' button
plug in, get caught up...
solar wind, or nuclear wind...
maybe there's not much difference anymore
they pitch a good case for it on the news
over a desolate sea of data.

I might bet on the dark horse,
though much maligned of late...
beauty might be the only way out,
the needed nudge....

you can see beauty with your eyes rolled back in pain
beauty of the being
so tangible
it slips through my fingers like liquid lead

i want to grasp on to the gifts life offers
like wet grass and warm bread
a child's tear and a baby's yawn

society has made beauty
a topical disease

westernized beauty
smells like burnt rubber
decaying corpses
hidden in designer clothes
heavy with ugly

the splendor of true beauty
is thick and wild
the jungle of existence
let me keep myself warm
and wrap life's gorgeousness around my heart