Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

the numbers are still counting the days
since they hung the rebel of rebels on
that tree or beams or history's bad
it seems still talkin the same of same olds
my bad your bad we all are bad dad bad
let's count back to that day of days
that darkest of moments..."why dad?" why?
that marked the before and after of
before and afters, when religion
and politics had a hurt hiccup
can we say that in a poem?
Rome roam roads all meet
at the crossroads and masked ones
shout "stand and deliver" that pizza pie
up in the sky and i forgot my cut roller
so we pooped out an Easter egg instead
the rabbit hole just got deeper crap shoot
electrons through that hard on collider
e-x-p-e-r-i-m-e-n-t christ in a time machine
or on a crutch don't mean much to a tree
there goes that funny bunny, honey buns
what did that handsome bearded dude
say after the Emperor's goons did a hatchet
job on the holy of moly good god miss molly?
we could say holy mackerel or holy cow
but since he came back as hit of acid we say
holy WOW! how now did this King of Poets
become the butt boy of the Pope of dopes?
but I don'y know but I been told "God is Dog"
spelled backwards, and we still count thee way

oh Jesus, I don't care if it rains little Bo Peeps
don't care if it freezes hell over or melts it again
we still act like a bunch of defiled sheep of people
under that whore of Babylon's skirts the steeple
and my creed-it card has a great lookin hep cat prince
of peas but its gets sore bein on my knees lookin up em
jeepers creepers where did you get those cool shades?
better keep a low profile man cuz its gets hard don't it?
tryin to keep it all spiritual they shoot wild horses shoot
wolf pups shoot scripture guns at the rug heads shoot
and the whore's race it was written on Bukowski's face

Amen
and thank yous

makes a hand sign
back an forth, so so
"dominos abyss spoon
spittoon experiment sank too"

Amon

"try to make it real"

"Domini, domini, domini, you're all Catholic now."

domini dumbini damnini

lordy lordy lordy

bless me father
and now i have sinned!



Les Mccann lyrics

Compared To What lyrics

I love the lie and lie the love
A-Hangin' on, with push and shove
Possession is the motivation
that is hangin' up the God-damn nation
Looks like we always end up in a rut (everybody now!)
Tryin' to make it real — compared to what? C'mon baby!

Slaughterhouse is killin' hogs
Twisted children killin' frogs
Poor dumb rednecks rollin' logs
Tired old lady kissin' dogs
I hate the human love of that stinking mutt (I can't use it!)
Try to make it real — compared to what? C'mon baby now!

The President, he's got his war
Folks don't know just what it's for
Nobody gives us rhyme or reason
Have one doubt, they call it treason
We're chicken-feathers, all without one nut. God damn it!
Tryin' to make it real — compared to what? (Sock it to me)

Church on Sunday, sleep and nod
Tryin' to duck the wrath of God
Preacher's fillin' us with fright
They all tryin' to teach us what they think is right
They really got to be some kind of nut (I can't use it!)
Tryin' to make it real — compared to what?

Where's that bee and where's that honey?
Where's my God and where's my money?
Unreal values, crass distortion
Unwed mothers need abortion
Kind of brings to mind ol' young King Tut (He did it now)
Tried to make it real — compared to what?!


Tryin' to make it real — compared to what?

X²

It's not one of those emoticons and I do try to remind myself to watch for them (cause I'll never know).

Hello rabbit, do you know what I mean? I liked this, I read it while drunk last night, then again today and it works in both ways.

the forces that shape our feeling? Anyway the stuff
I write would end up being changed one way or the other, if
I was going to make it final, so somebody telling me that a
certain line is cute, when the feeling that I had when I wrote
it was part of a whole larger view that is part of the way I think
and part of my style or way I chose to say it, with certain emphasis
on certain lines or images, I am seeing it in my mind as a whole
process not just some one little "cute" line.So the feeling that
happens is always like a drunk staggering down a train track, or
gets lost in the reading, once the writing has bled through.

Don't mind me
I blew my mind on mescaline and statistics

thank you for the poetry

Chi the 22nd letter of the Greek alphabet.
As in the Chi Square analysis
If you are comparing pottery shards for example
sincerely
X²

see, i don't know how to mind you, other then
through the actual friction of language that makes
some thought stand out from the other ones that
just stand around and make small talk.By the way
my novel, is mostly about all the LSD i took in the
late 6o's, i actually describe a series of trips that
i took by poetically recreating just how i remember
what i experienced along with the events and people
that took place along with it, as the more poetic prose
goes deep into the trip the language becomes psychedelic
only in so far that the poetry already has that mind's eye
visual effect.Like if you compare say the lyrics of Bob Dylan
with some shards of ancient text and invoke divination in
elements that have changed and still cannot be named except
by images.So when the music is added to the words, then we
also hear the energy that speaks through our expanded senses.

I would like to put my money where my mouth is, I been searching studio eight for a link to your novel. Is it available yet?


the shattered-consciousness

what a strange treep it has been, when i began writing the novel i was not the same person i was when i was that person so long ago in the blink of that poet's eye.But i had all that memory flooding through me, that i just had to write down, the only way i knew how.I keep referring to the novel because that is where all my poetic will went, i could not just keep it in little poems, it was bigger then me.the novel such as it is, is a first novel by a poet, it has all the flaws that a poet has, it is not a thing trained by university professors, i read no books on how to write a book, it is just the culmination of all my reading and all my writing.Easier to go back to the beginning and just recreate with what life experience and poetic balls you care to juggle.So, it would not be wrong to call it a poem novel, or a novel poem.So then, its like a long poem that keeps changing every time you read it, it has the same characters, but each trip unfolds into the next one like a deck of tarot cards,or like a snake eating its tale.I wrote it so people would read it, you know other poets and fellow travelers, or like Stephen Kessler's first poet novel he calls 'Mental Traveler' after an obscure poem by William Blake.

"I don't know how I got to write those songs. Those early songs were almost magically written" B Dylan

a click on revolutionrabbit.

"....and the whore's race it was written on Bukowski's face"

Hell Yeah!
H

Even in an altered state, one MAY petition the Lord with prayer...
Always go to the emergency room with clean underwear,
Keep those cards and letters flowing toward the continuum
Of the world soul...maxims to snack on for the Empire...

i was just attempting to put all that altered states in a poetic context, because what came first the poet or the altered state? as far as all that
stuff that we encounter, all that conditioning via religion, all that residue
of the ages, all those psychological states shook up and stirred, as a young person just thrust into the psychedelic experience, that event of the times a changing within and without.All those factors, involved and here we are down the road, and all the same issues still relevant still relative, how much awakening and how much still swept under the carpet of Empire.To the tune of when does the most concrete poetry begin to become the actual language that we speak, or how much of Dylan's early lyrics still seem like magic?