Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

bending my soul to fit within a pulsating ego

vintage clothing
draping the gothic festival
in blackened lace,
velvet skirts swirling
to the beat of electronica,
the poe-echtomy of performance
shuttles aimlessly thru the
distortion of something new,
anything new, we must be new.

dichotomy of the cherry lobotomy
nothing is ever new
but the discovery of self
... new ways of looking
... new ways of seeing
... new ways of communicating
... new ways of transcending
the monotony of the biology
disguising its presence
thru times rapid descent -

six feet under, one inch
at a time, when feet are
measured with compasses
poised in their readiness
to calculate the endless
vibrations exuded by thoughts
traveling at hyper-speed
thru cyber-spacial existential
voices crying under their breaths
for the formulations that bring
forth the answers that stumble
frog-legged in the pond of drowning
lotus blossoms past their prime.

mea culpa... mea culpa...
awaken the eye to
what is truth with
no disguises, no masks, no ideas
without charm, without reasons,
daring to be the accepted by your own
in this: our world, your world, my world
spinning with precision that only
ma nature can provide...

bring on the bubbles of fortitude
let them burst in melodies of
tunes that click the heels,
snapping fingers in the rhythm
that only life can bring...

the bird is a bird
the tree is a tree
but man-o-man! who the fuck is
this beast with opposable thumbs?

up into the wilderness of space
seeking out heavenly homes
getting higher, and higher
(will we ever come down?)
hoping to join in union deep
expelling our seeds throughout
the cosmic field pulsating eternally.

new becomes the festival forever
seducing the imagination into
the wombs of afterlife's beckoning
with LED precision blinking in rhythms
stolen from hip hop flip flops kickin'
the ass faults wider than the jaws
of mammon's mammaries tattooed
in verses inked from blood of
jackass-jawed hillbillies hellbent
on choking realities as they please
until momma nature screams 'release'!

(she's not pleased)
(she's not pleased)
(she's not pleased)

______________________

mtmynd1
13.5 yrs old

six feet under, one inch
at a time,

what a sweet line -
you be rocking the great southwest Cec, in fact you may have it surrounded i know it's got me stoked so pardon me i got to go write something ... friday sex ain't mechanical & got no need for botanicals - how's my spelling? i cheat like hell ya know

an oldie but a goodie fo sho.......

the bird is a bird
the tree is a tree
but man-o-man ! who the fuck is
this beast with opposable thumbs

right on....says it all succinctly

Thank you, El Mingo, amigo...

... and many thanks to you, Steve....

this goes back a ways but doesn't lose it's vigor.