Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

North Korea
Gaza
Gulf of Mexico

Afghanistan and Iraq
News I can't get enough

What do I care if six was nine
I got o loose forty pounds

Thinking about my stress test
I hope they have an ambulance waiting.

"I got the pork chop she got the pie"

"A woman's worth"

Lysistrata got my number

What good is all this for without her.

Machismo introductory course 101
Killit or fukit

Got to "kiss the peace"

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"Kiss your ass good bye"

It is a tasty maggot
late in the day to notice that

Still Trucking, Good luck with your "stress test" procedure.

Thank you

If a coward dies a thousand deaths I am going to have the mother of all mortuary bills.

IT kind of puts thing in perspective, a detached view of world events.

I have developed an inner ear that hears, late in life, it hears words "brush your teeth" "eat a salad" "take your pills" take a shower" "go out for a walk" like taking orders from a distant mind. The same words I hear as I type now. A constant dialogue with the Buber thing. Never Read that book by Martin Buber but it has a catchy title.


I may be a hypochondriac steve. Doctors don't tell me much happy talk is all I get. The doctor I want to go see does not accept medicare patients, I am going to have to deal with the one I got. Something come up on a ultra sound test, something a murmur I don't what no body telling me. Just more tests. They don't tell me nothing about the stress test, my brother a doctor has had two heart attacks he laid it out for me and I am thinking whether I want to put my life in these guys hands. Going to delete this personal shit out later it is needed now so I can keep the flow going on what ever it is I ma flowing towards. I feel like I am flowing towards Vela.

Strange to think about how sweet it is to have life, closer I get to the end of it the sweeter it gets.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DQep6ij9eZk

I have in my mind something beautiful, and then I read the closeness to death; all I can think of is unfinished business, and that time can be tricked, it can be manipulated by magicians. I don't want your light going out yet, Jack. I know you get tired of my being weak, I can't help it or find a way to avoid saying so.

My light not that bright dame
You will hardly notice

I just writting this stuff while I can Dame
Freud looked to sex as the driving life force
libido makes us want to tango
but you know every body sick and tired of hearing about the freud shit
we all no he was drug addict who went through twenty operations on his jaw for cancer and never took any pain meds (morphine) because he wanted to keep focused on finishing his last book.

They say freud changed his mind about sex late in his liffe. He theorized something called "the death instinct"

Oh yeah this little light of mine
gonna light a path untu my self

Tasty maggots
This is the one
Diana Moon Glampers
I want to get back to those tasty maggots
Want to get back to a book I been reading for years and just barely got into it. Thinking about life under earth
and the denial of death.
thinking about a line from a poem
"laughing buddha guys don't have all the answers"

This me dame
I am diana moon glampers
who everybody thinks is too dumb to live
I am very much thinking about the avatar for this user name

don't mind me
I am just trying for a pity fuk.

I tell homeboy I am trying to arrange my affairs, try to get my funeral planed and paid for. He says "Save your money."

What does it matter?

I thought you were going to go out across the ocean? Guess it depends on which ocean to figure in the rest.

Sometimes you scare me.

That would be my first choice burial at sea, just sail off one morning into the sunrise.

Does Hawthorne ever scare you?
Am I in good company.
Sorry Dame I have so much fear but it just makes me stubborn I won't back down. Not from G-d. Whatever we call IT. We have different religious backgrounds maybe

Not my intent to scare you
Not unless it amuses you to be scared.




http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4vudA72hibg

Yes, even Brautigan scares me sometimes.
I read you like I read what I'm reading, except you're my live writer friend.

You don't have a spot or shadow do you, Jack?
I know I shouldn't ask such personal questions
and if you don't want to be straight up, I understand.
I worry a lot.

No shadows?
Ha
You oughta see my xrays.
The mystics speak of an inner light
I suppose if we have inner lights we could have inner shadows too.

I think I am pretty dark beneath my skin
Just look into my eyes you can see my pupils how dark is it.
Dam I am too tired to write this
Try again
Our pupils are dark, black no light when we look into our pupils all we see is the blackness, unless we got one of those ophthalmology thingies
No light in me beneath the flesh. How could there be.
Freud or some poet wrote of "the dark sea within us"

I need to go to bed because I will keep eating if I stay up.
I think I completely mangled what I wrote above

I will Check it out and repost it later.

Sorry Dame I am very tired, I know I am not answering your question taking it too literally. It is my intent to be transparent to you. I used lay on the floor before a big floor model radio in my grandmothers house and listen to the The Shadow on the radio. "Who knows what evil lurks in the heart of ..."



I think u are a pretty smart cookie, you have a mind that keeps me off balance never know what way you will come at me. I like that, like we had a discussion about you believing anything I say.

Sometimes I take poetic license, especially about funerals.

This is something I am working on, I think I ran two or three funerals together here>>>


I went nutz at my father's funeral. Not so anyone could see but I knew it inside from where I was hiding in a remote corner of consciousness. I heard the Rabi speaking the prayers in Hebrew and I had little book from the funeral home which had the prayers spelled out in English Phonetically. And I was thinking snarky bell jar thoughts about how I was putting one over on god. I bet he thinks I understand a word of this gibberish.


My memory of a slaugher house a funeral at Hebrew cemetery next to the Esskay slaughter house, we all standing at the grave site in our black paper funeral home give away skull caps trying to hear the Rabbi above the screams of the hogs being slaughtered. A light drizzle just enough to make the ink run out of our paper hats and run down our faces like black tears.