Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

well, that's about it, isn't it?
to become more than society dictates, a precarious mix I suppose,
since what I seek to transcend provides so much of my existence too.
balancing act, no doubt.. a sort of circle..

Wow, this is a little freaky. But I used 'ghosts' as a verb, which is absurd, so maybe it's ok.

I feel like I fell out of one of those grainy '50s horror films too. And basically, I did. And the cat too. I don't look mal enough either. Maybe a tattoo or something. Maybe not. Nice.

Supple is underrated, it seems,
though it may prove useful to survive
the various amusing cultural hurricanes,
that seem to whip up daily.

I remember how those greasewoods bent,
supply maybe, in the face of winter,
in the high desert.

The Strip is everywhere. We won the war, built some highways, some gas pumps, roadhouses, flashing lights. We put up neon swoop flourish against deserts. We put up some rusted Space Age swing, some billboards on the outskirts of Texas. The roads all went south beyond rusted steel plants and jimson w...

kinda reminded me of watching Sarah Palin do her Marie Antoinette-esque pontiferation on the teevee-- the fake righteous patriotism and puffery and what have ya, and the general disconnect of it all. Wasn't what I expected when I clicked on the title. Cool.

Happy birthday Soo. Good to see you around this joint again! I miss the desert, and NM. Gotta get back down some time...

Control of my TV set was returned back to me, after a mangled Yeats-speak mumbling of mine-- though no doubt that was a meta-forical TV, done up faux retro channel promo style. I'm corn-fused. But then, I've never seriously tried to deny my overall corn-fusion..

................done,
............... burnt,
...............tapped,
..............over, out.
.............no more the
............words surface
...........to my fingertips.
.........blink.blink.blink.blink.

Wha? Was I getting slammed? Must have missed that one. Maybe I was hungover or something. Haha.

Oh I dunno, Cec. Was just daydreaming on a sunny Saturday, and I thought about my creative writing teacher way back in high school, and then about those flavorless airport wings that seem to stretch forever and are sometimes empty. I'm always tempted to wallow in that "postmodern" stale randomness a...

She said, “I want you to write about the most impersonal scene you can think of in post-modernity.” I thought of airports— long wings paved with acres of linoleum sheen, especially the ones they never use. You get only a diffused clicking of distant commerce in transit, an occasional far jet creepin...

Looks like the prophets of doom/gloom and ignorant masses are itching to have it their way, self-fulfilling style. What was that line? "The worst are filled with passionate intensity while the best lack all conviction?" Something like that.

Cec, I know exactly what you're writing about-- the drone of a didgeridoo, among other things. Love that, btw. The answer is OMMMM..

Lightning. Was away from the computer yesterday, but, oddly, thinking about you at the time this thread was posted. I always meant to call and harrass you on the phone some day, but never got a round tuit . Maybe some day. Anyway, get well soon. The Absurdist Party needs you to run again. Duty calls.