Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

Note for the hard of hearing: PLEASE HIGHLIGHT TO READ

If a bra wire was entered sideways into the moon and the moon deflated a bad mood on society and then society, self satisfied, combusted like a fly strip in a lace curtained window and the window had blue streaks that cast blue shadows on the bottle of anti-depressants and the bottle had legs and ran across the floor and fell through a crack in your thought process and your thoughts acted out an absurdist melodrama of cruelty inside a theatre or a bus station at midnight and the midnight energy transpired that the moon wasn't in fact deflated it was just all in your thought channel and like I said before, your thought channel is acting out absurd acts so it may be possible after all for the bra wire to puncture the moon, and, by extension, reality, and if the bra wire punctures reality then it is all the fault of the energetic cross-dresser and the plump woman with sores on her under arm, and to arm nations and bleed them upside down from wooden crosses and then blame the cross is an equal action to satisfying your own empty existence by sending a man in a tin can to the moon, which is deflated anyway and the tin can gets caught on the end of the wire and hangs there to this day but this day doesn't exist because the flattened moon has out sourced the gravity and the gravity of the situation is a malignant tumour and the tumour, with wings, flies up to take its post as a moon replacement and the wage isn't great but it was always known by the tumour that it's okay to sell your blood but never your soul and then the soul sat down and read a book under a tree but looking up realised that it wasn't a tree but rather, it was a wire with a tin can hanging from it, a tin can with Russian writing made in China and all credit going to the USA because it was they who built the wall that can be seen from space and it was they who built the wall in your freedom and it was they who built the wall in your lucid thought processes and it was they who destroyed the walls to suit themselves and it was they who charged you a fee to rebuild the wall that you never wanted anyway and the white picket fence American dream is as redundant as sense, what I mean is, sense is a by product of society and since I never felt like a part of society I have no need for sense, sense slows me down and this would never exist with sense and there's the point, right there is the point, the point that sense can kill your intent, just like white America killed the natives of that land, in tents and then stole the feathers from their head dress and used them to dust the black from the history of that land and christen it Christian and introduce a form of sanity called Deprivation and Conformity and then introduced the idea of straight thinking which never really appealed to me anyway.

I do like the way your mind works! (Once I figured out how to highlight, because I am hard of hearing, oh so hard of hearing. Thanks for the instructs because I would've spent the morning squintin'.)

"I have no need for sense, sense slows me down and this would never exist with sense, and there's the point, right there is the point, the point that sense can kill your intent"

And may I say to coin a phrase, "fucking A"

"just like white America killed the natives of that land, in tents and then stole the feathers from their head dress and used them to dust the black from the history of that land and christen it Christian and introduce a form of sanity called Deprivation and Conformity and then introduced the idea of straight thinking which never really appealed to me anyway."

And fucking triple AAA deluxe.

Jesus that's good writing Bennie and strikes a chord with me.

Pure gold! Or should I say white on gray.

ta much, mousey1

that came out in a spurt. just like that: spurt.

This is the sort of writing that I live for. I don't tend to do it much but when I used to use LitKicks forum boards to post I did a lot more of this kind of stuff. I think the reason I quit doing it was because I found it to be a bit too...something. I don't know why I stopped writing like this but I'd like to start again. I was looking through an old notebook and found pages and pages of rambling prose, which I found to be quite lyrical and through the strange tangerine fog there were moments of exquisite insight and disgusting beauty.
disgusting insight and exquisite beauty.
Even if I do say so myself.

In some ways I don't value it as much as poetry because when you write like this I don't think you can edit. To edit this kind of writing is to corrupt it (what's the point in free flowing thoughts if you take out the bits you don't like? it ceases to be fee thought, and instead, comes at a price. the price being censorship.)

But, with poetry it's okay/good/important to edit. I don't think it's always neccessary to edit but occassionally this bit need to go here and this bit with the beat needs to be transposed with this bit and this bit runs on too long and this bit needs to be deleted and...

So it's more labour intesive to write poetry, which gives a sense of satisfaction at the end. I write stuff like the post you've just read and I think it's not as valuable as a nice formatted poem. It still gives me satisfaction though.

Poetry is a cake with all the right ingredients; it's pink and appealing, appetising and sweet. And when you eat a piece you feel satisfaction because it's pleasurable.

Free flowing prose is more like a giant turd; you may have to look harder to see the beauty but it's what it is, and what it is, is honest, real and sometimes smelly. When you shit you feel satisfaction but it's different from eating a cake. you feel satisfied because you've exorcised a demon or a pressing thought.

Anyone who drinks guinness often will be no stranger to the idea of comparing a shit to exorcising a demon

Cake or turd...?
that is the question.

I'll take the guinness....and raise a glass to you!

And I prefer cake.....

But you force me to admit...

However distasteful it is for me to do so....

As I am a lady after all....

That turds have their place....

And yours are more than presentable.....


Giant EW!!!

on that one!!!!

white America

like you say this shit can't be edited, but the word white jumped out onto my eye like a sliver of broken pottery


EUROPEN MAN, all of a sudden we who were the scum of the earth sailed to america and became white men. kemosabe


white America
then introduced the idea of straight thinking which never really appealed to me anyway
yes sometimes common sense over rated,
absurd melodrama on a bus
love on the bus she is thirty four homeless riding the bus with her baby son, going no wheres fast, he is twenty , he needs a woman to validate himself as a man. she tells him after they play house for a month that she is preganant, so he thinks oh well what the hell and a month later like a miracle she is pregnant, I sit looking at the next 18 years of his life, with her garbage piled waist high in a kitchen corner shitty diapers everywhere, and I ride around with a baby seat in the back of my car,
the wire punches through on the gray horizon as a black point~ a pin prick of reality

Bennie, you mad slasha you, you madcap!!!!!!

Now there's a strong statement if I ever saw one, meaning el avataro. I wonder what my next avatar will be.....perhaps a squashed melon or a melon squash. Don't ask, don't ask, I just go with the flow of my melon and....there she be. What does that mean? I dunno, zany, zany. Do you ever talk to yourself, as you can see I do and I answer myself too.....too weird, too weird
is me.

Miss those nice eyes there garfunkle.

And look at still, so staid, steady and stern looking with his handlebar.