I found this piece that I did w/my good friend john who went by sohburceptonweakdasy @litkicks.com and though I'd bring it back for everyone to see. Hester will remember this as she thought John and I were out to get Doreen upon posting this. So in case you find anything that seems to be against Doreen, know it's all in good fun and that I love her dearly, think she's gret and have no intention of making her a new blue collar.
--K
Let's All sing For Doreen Peri!!!
Posted to board: Mindless Chatter
by izeveryboyin on Apr 30, 2004 12:27 PM
________________________________________
Come word Dancer and make new the light... come word dancer and make new the light... leave the love till love is right. Come word dancer and make new the light.
Let's make new eyes for Doreen Peri!!
Posted to board: Mindless Chatter
by sohburceptonweakdays on Apr 30, 2004 3:33 PM
________________________________________
Blue and green and red and yello and orange (the new colors)and five miles of blinding light! Yes! Yes! See Doreen... Blink with thine new eyes!!!
Let's make new blind babies for Doreen Peri
Posted to board: Mindless Chatter
by sohburceptonweakdays on Apr 30, 2004 4:27 PM
________________________________________
Frost bites, and burning toes. Birth on the peak of the pyramid of the sun. Nurture your muse, your bustling child, Doreen, we want to see you nurture all the blind baby ryhmes in your sleep!
Let's make a new blue collar for Doreen!
Posted to board: Mindless Chatter
by izeveryboyin on Apr 30, 2004 6:12 PM
________________________________________
We the mad dog poets and broken hobos want to see some action!! Want to see the reprise in it's glory hours. Call me up baby!! this could go all night. Take your blue collar Doreen, and make us hear you.
First off, I know Doreen is scrathing her head trying
Posted to board: Mindless Chatter
by sohburceptonweakdays on Apr 30, 2004 4:30 PM
________________________________________
to figure out what these ridiculous rambles are all about. Shheeeit. She and I don' even know each other. I missed you too, loads. Gonna hop on AOL and chat w.u for a moment about the trip. Sound fair?? I've gotta tell you the stories. Can you fucking believe I ran into Jackie of all the gals!!!??? She was in the Jersey airport, I had a layover there. Came back from visitng Jackson. Said she ran into her old teacher from College. The Italian cat from the Cinque Terre. See ya in a bit.
Just saw this, and had to reply....
Posted to board: Mindless Chatter
by izeveryboyin on Apr 30, 2004 6:10 PM
________________________________________
I don't think Doreen will scrathc her head.. she'll just have to barge in and say, What's al this fucking nonsense about making my new eyes??!!!
Let's All Sing For Doreen Peri!
- izeveryboyin
- Posts: 1112
- Joined: August 30th, 2004, 2:18 pm
- Location: Chicago
- Contact:
Let's All Sing For Doreen Peri!
sometimes I just like to breathe.
www.technicolorfraud.blogspot.com
www.technicolorfraud.blogspot.com
- Doreen Peri
- Site Admin
- Posts: 14598
- Joined: July 10th, 2004, 3:30 pm
- Location: Virginia
- Contact:
How could I forget this?
What fun! It went on longer than this with other posts and all of the posts inspired this piece which I recently performed at WIREMAN's spoken word gig in Baltimore....
Here 'tis - thanks for the inspiration! (the audience seemed to like it... they applauded and everything... LOL!... of course, what does it mean? nothing, probably... after all... it's poetry!)
--------
mad dog plights and broken hobo nightmares
people are making up stories
about me, putting my name inside
paragraphs, claiming me to
make new the light,
leave the love 'til the love is right
and i need new hands, new blue green
yellow eyes – blind babies suck
from me my gaiety and humor.
blue collars yank me to the streets.
i am ravaged by mad dog plights,
broken hobo nightmares.
want to hear me scream?
i linger in cafés with theatre stars.
i own banal domestic furnishings.
my confetti is made from ripped sunday comics -
printing ink bleeds into the lines on my palms.
i use bicycle chains to hold my brains
inside my skull,
scratch my head with fingernails
let the steam outa my hull.
i am a ship flipped upside down
i ain't no hip hop queen!
i drown in the vibrations
from my throat. no clatter
of a telegraph can make my name matter,
no jingle of a telephone or cacophony
of some typewritten splatter of verbiage
can make me experience the eerie feeling
of roller coaster ascent!
i ride the sky like a first elevator ride,
the dazzling aura of electric light pretends,
no, mocks me. who are these people
who shock me with headline news,
my name on the front page hung out
to dry? and why?
i am stimulated by the fair
people are takin' trips to glasgow,
showin' off their european jets
ramblin' about tours and more
than that, making stories sing my name
but it ain't me who wins at any canival game.
i surface from
life vignettes, bounced up
from a seat drop on a trampoline.
i live for electricity and objectivity.
i do this intuitively.
it is my nature to weep.
i'm my own bustling child,
i nurture myself, mouth open wide.
i am vulnerable to fractures.
i map out landscape vistas.
i got blistered hands, sista,
hands which grab a pen to steady
a never ready mic.
nobody will like
my paintings of the circus like the clowns.
nobody will want to buy them accept the acrobats.
want to hear me scream? my collar's so tight
i'm choking on my words while somebody's
writing absurd tales like scat songs.
i am the song they sing.
i am no aristocrat from the country.
i live a dissolute life dancing words in cabarets.
i bring myself cotton candy verse on a stick.
bars and bordellos are my mainstay.
i lick my glass clean.
who are these people who write stories
with my name imprinted in title lines?
who are these people who dream me up
like that?
i deny fat popular leisure
i focus instead on the belle époque.
if i survive this beautiful era, i will die.
i will be a dead survivor, the laughing stock
of mad dog hobo nightmares.
my plight is to throw confetti
to air streams only to be blown
back into my yellow eyes by acid rain.
I am bold, lucid and profane.
music halls and vaudeville shows
bill me in waning fluorescent
i am the opalescent unfortunate maid.
who are these people and what have they made
from my initials?

Here 'tis - thanks for the inspiration! (the audience seemed to like it... they applauded and everything... LOL!... of course, what does it mean? nothing, probably... after all... it's poetry!)
--------
mad dog plights and broken hobo nightmares
people are making up stories
about me, putting my name inside
paragraphs, claiming me to
make new the light,
leave the love 'til the love is right
and i need new hands, new blue green
yellow eyes – blind babies suck
from me my gaiety and humor.
blue collars yank me to the streets.
i am ravaged by mad dog plights,
broken hobo nightmares.
want to hear me scream?
i linger in cafés with theatre stars.
i own banal domestic furnishings.
my confetti is made from ripped sunday comics -
printing ink bleeds into the lines on my palms.
i use bicycle chains to hold my brains
inside my skull,
scratch my head with fingernails
let the steam outa my hull.
i am a ship flipped upside down
i ain't no hip hop queen!
i drown in the vibrations
from my throat. no clatter
of a telegraph can make my name matter,
no jingle of a telephone or cacophony
of some typewritten splatter of verbiage
can make me experience the eerie feeling
of roller coaster ascent!
i ride the sky like a first elevator ride,
the dazzling aura of electric light pretends,
no, mocks me. who are these people
who shock me with headline news,
my name on the front page hung out
to dry? and why?
i am stimulated by the fair
people are takin' trips to glasgow,
showin' off their european jets
ramblin' about tours and more
than that, making stories sing my name
but it ain't me who wins at any canival game.
i surface from
life vignettes, bounced up
from a seat drop on a trampoline.
i live for electricity and objectivity.
i do this intuitively.
it is my nature to weep.
i'm my own bustling child,
i nurture myself, mouth open wide.
i am vulnerable to fractures.
i map out landscape vistas.
i got blistered hands, sista,
hands which grab a pen to steady
a never ready mic.
nobody will like
my paintings of the circus like the clowns.
nobody will want to buy them accept the acrobats.
want to hear me scream? my collar's so tight
i'm choking on my words while somebody's
writing absurd tales like scat songs.
i am the song they sing.
i am no aristocrat from the country.
i live a dissolute life dancing words in cabarets.
i bring myself cotton candy verse on a stick.
bars and bordellos are my mainstay.
i lick my glass clean.
who are these people who write stories
with my name imprinted in title lines?
who are these people who dream me up
like that?
i deny fat popular leisure
i focus instead on the belle époque.
if i survive this beautiful era, i will die.
i will be a dead survivor, the laughing stock
of mad dog hobo nightmares.
my plight is to throw confetti
to air streams only to be blown
back into my yellow eyes by acid rain.
I am bold, lucid and profane.
music halls and vaudeville shows
bill me in waning fluorescent
i am the opalescent unfortunate maid.
who are these people and what have they made
from my initials?
- izeveryboyin
- Posts: 1112
- Joined: August 30th, 2004, 2:18 pm
- Location: Chicago
- Contact:
God I loved that piece! Yeah, it was a lot of fun, especially when everybody was going around saying "what the hell are these ignorant fucks going on about any damned way!!" I recently read this piece to a friend of mine, and she could not belive the talent. I've made her a fan of you. I told her to come join us here at studio eight but she's on a holiday, thus too busy drinking margaritas and having wild affairs with guys w/names like Gisspie and Marcello! LOL. If she does make it here, she'll probably use her name "inmypantsdear" so watch out for her... she's good.
--K
--K
sometimes I just like to breathe.
www.technicolorfraud.blogspot.com
www.technicolorfraud.blogspot.com
Who is online
Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 0 guests