Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

we were dreaming we were lost
& falling & why not see
where this hole leads

as worlds turn our eyes
toward the stars I wish
I am wherever you are

I want your
To eat your
Your medulla oblongata
The lowest part of your brain
In the rain with a fork
On the porch, your grey matter
Tastes like pork, fat, no gristle
Honey ham in pineapple sauce
I care about your thoughts

sweetbreads
nothing to dread but dread itself
keep moving forward

Beautiful poem K
as the world turns our eyes to the stars
I wish too.

I wish I could eat abstroint's amygdala
I have this fear of falling.

Dread, what a concept.

Hey! A good time to start savoring some of the juice of unnecessary adrenaline will be at about noon today while I give an oral presentation. Let’s do this!

If I could sweat for you I would
I would get the adrenaline shakes for you I would
if that would help
I hope it goes well
or maybe I should have said break a leg
I don't know if it is OCD or if I am just superstitious.

thank you
your words are helping already

too many years spent on ladders
i'm afraid i'm not afraid of falling
maybe i could drain some of the falling fear from you
lord knows i need it
i think it might be dangerous not to be afraid of falling

One of my heroes from way back. Red Emma a portrait in courage but she had her anxieties too.

On the Sunday of my first lecture a sealed note was left at my hotel for me. The anonymous writer warned me of a plot against my life: I was going to be shot when about to enter the hall, he assured me. ...

I was never more calm than as I walked leisurely from the hotel to the meeting-place. When within half a block of it I instinctively raised to my face the large bag I always carried. I got safely into the hall and walked towards the platform still holding the bag in front of my face. All through the lecture the thought persisted in my brain: "If I could only protect my face!" In the evening I repeated the same performance, holding my bag to my face all the way to the hall. The meetings went off well, without any sign of the plotters.

For days after, I tried to find some plausible explanation for my silly action with the bag. Why had I been more concerned about my face than about my chest or any other part of my body? Surely no man would think of his face under such circumstances. Yet I, in the presence of probable death, had been afraid to have my face disfigured! It was a shock to discover in myself such ordinary female vanity.

http://dwardmac.pitzer.edu/Anarchist_Ar ... g1_38.html



Such crazy fears I have had
women scare me
my fear of love
I have lost twenty seven years of my life to my fragile male ego.
Emma talks about female vanity, from what I can see in my own life a man's vanity is about a 2 to the 63rd power greater.


fear can be useful I think
Vonnegut was a scout behind enemy lines in WW2
in Slaughter House five he had a bit about two scouts living behind enemy lines

living from moment to moment in useful terror, thinking brainlessly with their spinal cords

but
I don't know what dread is good for. I tried reading Kierkegaard about thirty years ago but I got seduced by Jesus and Nietzsche. Maybe I should try again.



I wish I had poetry in me
but I got the brain of a bean counter
words all too real for me
no joy in them
like cinderblocks dangling by ropes under an over pass in Utah on Halloween.
a poet could say what I am trying to say in about one tenth of the words I have used here.

sorry for the ramble.

one more thing
speaking of world war two vets

I had a blow out on the steer axle of an 18 wheeler. I thought I was going to die. I can't explain it, one moment I had given up and said to myself I am going to die. And as I sat there petrified with fear. I heard myself say "I ain't dead yet" and I grabbed the wheel and started steering my ass off. I suppose you could say Jesus took the wheel or my medula oblongata did.

But for years afterward I drove with a white knuckled death grip on the wheel waiting for another blow out. After about ten years of driving like that I started running sleeper team with a world war two vet who had been blown off the deck of a carrier in the gulf of leyte and survived. When he saw how I was holding the wheel he asked me what the story was. I told him. He said that if I was going to drive all tensed up like that I would be no good in an emergency. I started hanging loose after that, cool on my stool.
The residual fears that come back and impede us. That linger. We got to get beyound those.
But real fear, fear of a present danger, sometimes only sublimianly percieved is a good thing I think. Many anecdotal stories about people who did things for no apparent reason but which saved their life. Some one sitting stalled in traffic and reaching over and locking her door just barely noticing a figure approaching in her side view mirror. The guy comes up and tries to open her door but can't so he moves on to the next car and opens it and car jacks it. She said she was not really conscious of what she was doing at the time. Fear can be a gift.
sorry again
I do go on.
I got to go
I'll delete this mess later or try to edit it
sorry ~k i hate it when I ramble all over a beautiful poem.

maybe I won't delete it
I remember once you asked me not to delete any posts to you.
but this is really to abstroint
we may fight like brothers and sisters some times
but I will never forget her kind words to me when I was douwn and out on litkicks

I hope that is not an invidious honor cyndy

what you want
seems like
I've got
no use for

but for the
dread of it
surreal realities
collapse this
house of cards

the art of
uprooting
manifestations
collecting dust

The want
Is the walk
The talk is self-knowledge

If she sees through me
I am a happy
So long
As she remains a mystery to me

It is all down hill now
Momentum carries me on
Dust to dust
Almost

I got no use
For flesh and blood women or they for me
Just the specular realities in a silicon mirror
Much safer for a coward like me
And so I make it through another day
And day after day rolls in like the surf
Free at last
Freedom from all that


Mercury running all around my brain
Mad as hatter I am
As if this
Had anything
To do with me.
Or you

I been thinking about becoming a Hindu
I got so much sexual karma to burn
I will never finish in this lifetime.
I am 67 years old going on 13

That is all it means to me
After all these years of lust
To find the sacred feminine within
Without plucking out my eyes or my balls.

They say the queen of hearts is always your best bet.
Dealing from the bottom of the deck
spontaneous gibberish

thru the looking glass
into the hole
see where it lead
beyond the pale of oblivious consent

she can't see thru you, man
even tho you are not dense
you are the real schmeel
ain't nada to see thru

word play into paper tigers
uplifting

i just volunteered for
speaking at a school
high school
someday i may be a
mudra

one time when i was down and out
in new york city
delivering lunches for pastrami 'n things
rockefeller center
i was riding up an elevator with my bags of food
in jeans and jacket
a well dressed gent in biz suit was hyperventilating
his floor door opened
he took a slow breath
got calm
walked into the light serene
i remember that scene
and my destination
was the maidenform bra hqrtrs
in the lobby there was an hundred black torso busts
all with white bras
in glass and chrome
black tiles, jack,
and walls

ya gotta eat
just don't delete
mead for wonder

to paraphrase `~k if she don't mind
"as worlds turn my eyes
toward the stars I wish for nothing"



I feel like
Camus' Stranger
I feel the tender indifference of the stars
Not a bad feeling at all.

better than last time still public speaking needs more work
must jump into more holes soon
loosen my grip and take a calming breath

as i see the hole in the cloud
i whisper out your name
in my dream
you are here
next to me
wishing apone a star
that never burns out