Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

The shattered consciousness
nailed to a post in history
like a wanted poster of a rabbit
assemblage point everywhere
pushed to the max

Sacred times ahead....solar ash on shadow water

days torn from their transcendental roots
the way broken into the terror being
between the stars is a night between a night

a trick of the wind, blowing along empty tracks
a lone nothing sound whistling through the cracks
in the worlds, a raven feather of smoke blowing

in the gone eye the river is speaking the names of
the dead like a snake rolling over the face of Christ
like all those who died that day in the whisper of time

oh we are drunk with the highest amount of contradiction
the worst still have all the rapacious conviction,passion be
damned, everything staggers like a cheap soap opera
the newspaper parts like a whore's thighs, the malodorous
scent drips from the naked moon of our alienation, the shortest
period from the blackest hole to the blindest spot

oh, checkered god dog wave your drunken rattle around
at the really deep sunshine that crawls through the infinite identity
blow the blue smoke up the ass of the assemblage point of no return

All that I can deal with
it is all so human

It is the calm reasoned discussions of what to do about it that crack me up
I shattered my world on statistics and mescaline. I never have been able to get it all together again in one piece, not completely, fracture lines still not healed. It is all so fragile, one well reasoned opinion can leave me in shards. A quantum mystic in my old age.

<center>
I appreciate the poetry
Ja, blow smoke up their ass,
makes more sense than reasoning with them.</center>

sorry for pouring out my life story on you.
I remember you from litkicks
the guy with the twenty twenty night vision
Who used to live in a library.

is cool, when i was a young cat, first startin out on my Rimbaudian
quest, i did sorta lived in book stores and libraries, i have written
some poems about those days, most of that Litkick stuff is dispersed
to the breeze, but i got a pile of poems from another site.My novel, was
going to be about my life as a poet, as i see it, but i realized, i had to
start from the beginning, how i became drawn into to it all, so i wrote
about my teenage days in the late 60's.The other part would be how
i met a crazy surfer cat, that was a poet from L.A. that became my
mentor.Writing about your life and filtering all those episodes from memory
is a very strange process, especially for a crazy cat poet.I really was influenced by Dada and surrealism, but i read everything.But, it was
the coming of the computer that really sped things up, from the
second hand typewriter days.Kinda miss the more simple ways.

welcome back... good to read your words again...

since we're talking about c.m. and your talent, i'll simply say well, ya!
a poet's only truly alive when the words get out
written or spoken.
revolutionrabbit, you would be doing us all a great service
if you'd record yourself
and get yourself uploaded to the radio station doreen's got going

this is serious!
i'm rubbing the lamp and asking

have to see, i would like to record my reading, have to figure
out how that happens, on a little recording machine.

by the way i was just reading some stuff on here, i read it, and
thinkin how my poet self works.I have these feelings about the
stuff going on around me in the world, right? there is all that, and
then there is the self training of those thoughts and feelings, through
cultivating intuition, and allowing the intellect to be guided by that.
In other words, I want my deepest feelings to be put into words, so
in order to do that, i have to also find ways of putting those feelings
into language that also appeals to my sense of aesthetics and my sense
of controlled chaos.Part of me just has to let it go, rip, fly, and the other part
has to imagine myself in the shoes of a great thinker, or damn good writer,
like a person putting a ship in a bottle or like Stephen Hawkings
constructing theory about the universe.I see the poem as consisting
of these elements, and at the same time it is just as hard core as a
Bukowski story or poem.This involves the thinkers i read, the other
thinker/poets and their influence that it has always had one me, and it
also involves the intensely personal process as what i actually do in my
head, to make this writing event take place, the nuts and bolts nitty gritty.That is a living image of a poet that is timeless, that is part of
all the poetry i have read and i have and will write.

i see it like that, but i say it in minimal -
i eat impressions, digest, cook em a little and hopefully produce a product that does justice to what i'm trying to express.

when it comes out, it does. there's no pushing process.
but there can be a speed-up of stimulations
in many guises.
and another poet's offering often hits the spot.

Brilliant!
H