Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

and so comes another opportunity to practice non-attachment
no past, no future
no proof
just poof!

Crack me up thx judih i almost took myself too seriously there for a moment i got up this morning and the sun was still shining jack kerouac is still dead out yesterday on the bike stopped on a railroad bridge looked over the edge and there were the scattered bones i think of a deer next to the rails bleached white & gray putting me in mind that neal cassady is still dead too so i love tug hill plateau it's always showing me i'm in the right place and must be like that for you too where you are and God bless the both of us because the number of people who need their colon irrigated vastly outnumber those of us who don't so as long as i can blow my own nose without help it's hell yeah, mongolia and away ! <* *>

I alone, as the sharer of their way of life, presented a replica of childhood.

Neal Cassady

colon health rules

judih wrote:colon health rules

* *

invented wall holding back the sea ...
but i would like to speak
apart from form
without introducing the subject of stealing / teaching / cooking
strange sounds accompany the pictures that are all put into long slots except for one man who held a toy taxi in his hand - the river was in the dark and
belonged to children
wearing skull masks
with a mexican appearance -

- a dancer roamed the halls for sure -
i could not tell if she wore boots under her dress but was told
that it was so - i don't have to go out to collect rocks, they come to me - many other things i throw out or arrange in other ways -

a doll is lost in the street i think something happened there because of the bloodstains on the sidewalk -

where
does
such
a
wind
come from ?

... and there are bullet holes in the nearby windows and in the walls - of course dreams are my attorneys & i am badly bruised, concussion, etc.

every moment is invented

i am invented

Barney

Barney is a cat - at least that is how he appears - he sleeps wherever he wants - the girls think they own him but I have seen him among the boats and all over the place up in the scrapyard - Barney is a total glad cash race what don't give two shits for any man's map of the territory -

- Barney composes poetry by closing his eyes first - he connects with his inner witness where the time of sand sings to him -
- Barney plants his eyes & watches things all around -

Inside the camera candles are made into blankets and driven as cattle to markets - the sun shines on everything above ground while underground the troglodytes stitch glass to shadow & hope to go digital soon - they factor the chance of tattoo on daughters of the moon while listening to the rain seeping towards them - Barney knows the trogs are there, he has heard them stitching away in the dark but contact is minimal - everything's minimal for Barney, that's the way he was born & that's the way likes it - he says that's the way he's gonna die too - minimally -

If I had a twin brother I would hope it was Barney

barney knows

WIREMAN wrote:barney knows

he does - I believe him to be a bona fide bodhisattva - I would not be surprised to find that he once belonged to Lew Welch - things like that happen up here on the Tug - I know Kerouac was the one with the cats but Barney don't seem like a cat would belong to Kerouac - he's definitely
a Lew Welch kind of cat -

Yesterday I attempted to straighten the crank that the dog bent when he rammed me Sunday before last - got it as good as I could, not perfect but it will do - mounted the bike, shoulder complaining loud, did some figure eights in front of the garage then swung out on the highway pedaled up the hill took my first right onto backroad blacktop, crossed the river and I was gone - far enough to say so anyways - stayed out til the shoulder began to stiffen - found a 'ku at a rail crossing where I had stopped for a break & a swallow of cold tea -

tree
growing in sand
sand growing in me

sands of time
like grapes on
the vine, history

Wireman

Up here on the Tug words are everywhere, they swirl around making strange shapes - from dead forms come living images - sometimes they gather in piles speaking a rival tongue - disparate elements unifying into strange wholes and strange wholes scattering with the wind - sometimes not only words but context speaks bigger than words - the whole place talking in tongues that unqualify me from writing it down, of committing even a single syllable to writing -

In the book of the prophet Isaiah God says to one & all "Lift up your eyes..." - yesterday out on the bike I was passing up a small hill, looking to my right lay open field and forest beyond - I was struck how my view of that changed from moment to moment as I moved forward - even a foot's distance changed everything ...

I pass over & through these landscapes on a bike hunting 'ku - the land is rich in game -

crossroads saloon
some nights 20 motorcycles
parked outside

random ku
ripen in the hand

judih

August 23, 7:44 a.m. - just had the image of snow cross my mind -