perpetual jam!!!!!!!!!

Post by **stilltrucking** » March 21st, 2005, 11:06 am

jamming prosaic
prozac prosaic
to see what I am seeing
got to tune my eyes

quick
submit!!!
spontaneous with spellcheck,
Why, because she loves him, can not bear to put him down, sometimes when he is stretched out on her door mat in the sunlight, he still seems content. But he sleeps outside my high window and cries in his sleep.

Post by **WIREMAN** » March 21st, 2005, 7:48 pm

thought I posted
must be dreams
Jack came out of
mysterious dimension
on the fast track I
was, o yeah Jack Coburn
my dad, poppin' round the
room, actually more like a
visage, "be careful on the edge
Marky I'll push you off.".............

Post by **jimboloco** » March 21st, 2005, 8:33 pm

You been breating in those blue flamez again.

my dad went down inflames
rice field
south louisiana
augered in
no dancing about the room for him
six days before he was to turn 23
i went flying with him the day before
i dance about the room
flaming ace
no viet cong killer tho
muhammed ali and me.
i never mjade captain,
refused duty,
fuck the bombing.
waddaya want, man, \
blue salutes?
i think not.

Post by **stilltrucking** » March 21st, 2005, 9:54 pm

Mr Blue was a truck
1973 Autocar
Dr Sax with a diesel horn

I never cried for my father.

my dad went down in hades flames
sitting around his tombstone with don peyote
my sister says "rest in peace"
how the fear of my destiny haunted me
a father to his sons
his daughter's nightmare

my father's ghost seeks peace and rest, I can not forgive him so I have no father. But if there is time I will understand and have compassion for his suffering

Post by **WIREMAN** » March 22nd, 2005, 7:15 am

the dementia within
spaces void of reason
Carlos Castaneda visions
beyond the fringe
Dersu Uzla chanted before
the effigy as he watched
hot flames of fire roaring
at the foot of family..........

Post by **jimboloco** » March 22nd, 2005, 10:45 am

http://www.ecotours.ru/english/

Kurosawa responds with the visually hypnotic, deeply affecting portrait of nature, friendship, and survival in Dersu Uzala. Based on the journals of Russian explorer Vladimir Arseniev, the film opens to a forest that is being cleared for development, and Arseniev searching for an unmarked grave. Transported back in time, a topographic expedition troop, led by Captain Arseniev (Yuri Solomin), encounters a nomadic, aboriginal (Goldi) tribesman named Dersu Uzala (Maxim Munzuk) who agrees to guide them through the harsh frontier. Initially viewed as an uneducated, eccentric old man, Dersu earns the respect of the soldiers through his great intelligence, accurate instincts, keen powers of observation, and deep compassion. He repairs an abandoned hut and leaves provisions in a birch container so that a future traveler would survive in the wilderness. He deduces the identities and situations of people by analyzing tracks and articles left behind. During a violent winter windstorm, he saves Arseniev's life by arranging their equipment into a makeshift frame, in order to secure the straw and provide thermal insulation for the fatally cold evening. At the end of the expedition, he leaves the soldiers by the railroad tracks and returns to wilderness, only to encounter Arseniev again, years later, on another surveying expedition. However, time has begun to take its toll on the independent hunter. In an act of self-preservation, he shoots a tiger - an act which he is convinced would exact nature's retribution - and precipitates his physical decline. Unable to hunt for survival and plagued with guilt over the senseless slaughter of an animal, he accepts Arseniev's offer to live with his family in the city, and gradually fades... staring at the burning fireplace, lost in his memories, crushed in spirit.

Akira Kurosawa transcends the confines of traditional cinema with the startling imagery and camerawork of Dersu Uzala: the barren trees glowing red from the embers of the campfire; the ethereal blue smoke rising as Dersu points out his family's burial site to Arseniev; the long, static shot of the two men looking at the horizon, juxtaposed between the rising moon and setting sun; the seamless tracking of the soldiers aboard a raft, drifting down the river; the frenetic panning sequence as Dersu and Arseniev struggle to reap grass during the windstorm. To define Dersu Uzala as a story about an aboriginal tribesman is to describe humanity through a two-dimensional photograph. Dersu Uzala is an allegory for the environmental toll of civilization, a testament to a profound, enduring friendship, and a heartbreaking portrait of aging and obsolescence

http://www.filmref.com/directors/dirpages/kurosawa.html

Post by **jimboloco** » March 22nd, 2005, 11:09 am

fumes of metallic oxide
turned into art
molten dead cars
airplane graveyard
effigies in metal
dust to dust

http://www.djclark.com/dersu/images/DSCN3877.jpg

back into the elements they went
i would like to go back into a landscape somewheres.
but not yet.
in 2050 gonna do more hiking again.
when I meet my aboriginal guude,
Dr. Sax in the woods.

Post by **stilltrucking** » March 22nd, 2005, 11:53 am

1911
I knew she was old only because of her voice
heavey ruff sounded like moe on the simpsons
ninety four and she still knew the score
I can run your door till 2035. After that I will consider it borrowed time. Thanks for the mountains and clouds, doctors my eyes.

Post by **jimboloco** » March 22nd, 2005, 5:59 pm

Into the NOW and how,
smoked into peace
with anger holstered,
skillfuil means upholstered
sofas and chairs
settled over the years thru the fears and the tears
in the dust shining valleys
awakened to the cry
people have the power.
What I say!

Post by **WIREMAN** » March 22nd, 2005, 6:25 pm

Taking a joy ride
this afternoon
hell it's spring
and I've had my
face in fire the past
2 daze hangin' off the
4th floor harnessed
and thinking to myself
old fart? Not this wired
man, I'm going down
fired and wired and
havin' one hell of a positivo
day-o...day-o.....daylights-a-breakin'..........

Post by **jimboloco** » March 22nd, 2005, 10:05 pm

Early spring ride with the windows open
in country where it gets cold,
wondering about the spring to come
and me in sub tropical country
wait the return of the heat.

Post by **stilltrucking** » March 23rd, 2005, 1:18 am

Spring in south Texas comes and goes pretty quick, now it is Camelot, mild days cool nights, sweet water falls from the sky. A waltz across Texas is a joy ride.
Schrodedinger's Cat black against black tonight.
Crazy Mike reaches out his hand for mercy
She is over him but Rose's is daughter is not over the damage he did to Rose and Rose inflicted on my baby sister. If all dads were Jack Coburns and all mothers were Anniefay what a world this would be
Digital photography is hot, but I miss the negatives
Developing a life for my sister but this veers to vanity so I call it fiction. I ain't still trucking.
*****************************************

Post edited 3/23/05
The story of Schroedinger's cat (an epic poem)
07-May-1982
Moved to humor board
http://www.studioeight.tv/phpbb/viewtop ... 7172#17172

Post by **WIREMAN** » March 23rd, 2005, 6:36 am

raining it's ass off 5:34 am
trying to call pistola, stay
in D.C. man, got the Nextel
curse once again, It's a joy
just to talk on a regular phone,
talking bout not being an exact
science.....................

Post by **WIREMAN** » March 23rd, 2005, 11:19 am

Jammin' with ry cooder
and u.m. bhatt down
by the river with my
clay pot udu....bullet
harmonica mike jammed
inside.........reverie

Post by **stilltrucking** » March 23rd, 2005, 3:37 pm

o yeah Jack Coburn
my dad, poppin' round the
room, actually more like a
visage, "be careful on the edge
Marky I'll push you off.".............

At peace with this body crazy mike's mad molecules my creator in this finger tapping fool scribler that I am

my uncle abe the truck driver my male role model, I was blessed with maternal uncles which is a high honor in my tribe.

jimboloco's dad flying low
the first time I read jimbo was like remembering an old friend
so I been listening to the blues again, I have no idea who I am listening to at this moment, a compilation by a hill billy friend, my desk is broke I am on my knees as I type this
humming they just be humming and it was so beautiful
now a blues harp
thinking about my musician friend compiler of the tape i am listening too
he had a achilles heel and it was booze and that not being able to be happy just playing his martin, had to drink too. He stayed overnight on my couch for 18 months. A native american son of the shenandoah valley. Homeless, but mama tried
`````````````````````````
flip side he put cowboy songs

hanghing on the wall like a thousand times I been there
a picture of a field of dandy lions and some young stud colt fllowing some old cowboy on a broad mare
it ain't much to look at just a print I got from grandma a real west river cowgirl in her day since the old girl gone before me
sometimes I need religion since the old girl's gone before me..........

Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

perpetual jam!!!!!!!!!

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