Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

i was thinking about the boys and Gordon when they were so young and filled with that innocence that he seemed able to direct and tame into little tarzans in kauai- we went south side one day to get out of 'fishbowl' hanalei- 'one horsed town' and naturally mike didnt bring his surf shorts- so we had to buy him tourist surf shorts- they are like the hawaiian joke- lil white boys that dont know any better putting the nutsack in that net things and then getting body whomped in the sand by the waves for a few hours- causes big trouble for the owner of the nutsack-
so mike is really in pain- and this was back when the only thing open at night was the safe way in kappa= mike walks in- he is about 9 and he says really loud 'MOM WHERE IS THE BUTT CREAM'
??????
ALL THE CASHIERS in safeway are now looking at me like some kind of child molester.
but my boys arched over to that daiper baby section and got the destin and we were back on the north shore- after mike went to the bathroom-
back in those days hanalei was still a real sweet town- the irons ruled and big steph and clancy and his captain zodiak- up and down the napali- since then - the reef is sick- so no more- tourist trips in rubber motorboats.

idyllic life in paradise, but the coral is sick
I remember the first time I read Ferlinghetti Pictures of the Gone world. There was a long time in my life when I lived without much poetry. Lost years, limbo years, I have to tell myself to take it easy when I think about those years.

'take it easy bra' hey my guess is that there are changes we dunno nuthing about- i hope that soon the lawn mower outside will be quiet- and that i can take my afternoon siesta- i spent the day rubbing the house and bathing its floors- now i would like some great sex and viliolience on televison-- maybe even live humans doing it would be fun to watch- but no such luck- poetry does not leave you- it is not like a woman or a man or a great lover- or a guy with errectile dysfunction- POETRY IS THE MISTRESS OF ALL THE IMPORTANT REAL THINGS- poetry is a fly on the wall- an x ray machine- an M R I of the soul- a cat skan of the inner emotional stuff that if you try hard you can see it- get it- roll it smoke it-whatever- pray hard- words are powerful- so the poetry mistress just teases you a lil- implicates satisfaction and hidden pleasures- mixed with smoke and mystery and long hot baths-

have to keep it clean-

what was that joke about Mr. Clean, something about why he does not have any children.

I like the title of this thread, yes the other day I was thinking how the birthdays in my family seem to cluster around certain months. So many May birthdays I forget them all.

I wish you many happy healthy returns of the day my fellow reclusive cyber pal

Good capture and well put.

you guys rock!!
thank you