Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

not going to take that impuslev shout of despair back
I when I think of december 1980 all I think about is DJ Seabold, the skinny six foot two musician hippy who smelled so bad and played so good, He hung around Takoma Park before it got so hip, Kottke's old stomping ground

yes myths do transmorgify,

His mother that abondoned him as a child came back to die, he about 18 at the time, and then some frat boys in college park beat the shit out of him one night, cause his hair was down to his waist and he was drunk

But his troubles had only begun. Because then he met mybaby sister This post was edited to remove racial stereotypes

hey take the conversation outside
man
this here's a poetry jam
rap it out
or take it out back
drink the coffee
or pay yer bill
it's high time to put your mouth where your money's at
and scat the syllables sublime

I tell ya like it is big mama
I was going to change tha jap to baby sister
jimboloco likes eye bits
I am a sorry ass piss of shit that the had the misfortune to see the light of day'

I got no syllables, I got no pictures, I got no music but i do got big

WORDS

likg transmorgification

we go to life with what we have,

I just want to rock and roll

all night long

going out for another pack of cancer sticks

are you the moderator here first sister

cause the only person I take marching orders from is DOreen

I love lightning rod, I love jimboloco, I love surfer mike, hell I even love that son of bitch geoff.

did i step on your toes clay

i read a story about a planet where the people fought their wars with songs

they sang their war songs to each other until the best one won.

dear moderator, the post above this one was edited to remove racist stereotypical. I only called her that because she was so spoiled because rose trying to make ammends for Crazy Mike.

BOP-SHOOBIE
machine gun words
for hurtin hearts
sellin sparks
wired ones
ST's and j's
panta rhei's
and mtmynds
doreen's & Lrod's
sublime
light the way
o ye poets
light my day...............

words are words are words
arranged in lines or sentences
poetry is not limited to the iambic

let the words flow
with no control
nobody is giving marching orders

we ride the mustang
don't ask where it goes
the winter shows it's colors

words are words are words
are words

judih is an Admin. She is helping me. There is a vision. We both would like the Jams to veer away from becoming a chatroom. The idea is to get inspired by each others words and to create posts which are poetic, literary, and not chat. Example - I should have written this post in a poetic style. We love you, too.

Markif you weren't so got darned ugly I would kiss you for that
in a nut shell beautiful brother

judih I'll be dipped you are the moderator, here
remember how I would get in the middle of your estrogen jams whit ehite bird.

this is testosterone I suppose,
bore dumb

I was looking for some passion here, this is acolld dark month, i t needs passion
I

do I sound like i a m chatting
I am peeling of my skin
I don't know why I got to tell my story before I die

yeah love
I know what that is my silicon friend/sister
I love this place and the denizens there in
trying to be low maintenace but you know I am crazy.

jam sticky
lay it on the land
bout words
mucho importante
blue words
high words
just words
jam sticky

if words could heal
if words could make peace
if words were food to feed the hungry
bongo beat
imagine that

all in the beat
rhythm pushin
raga bottom
blues soul
celtic thunder
climbing out of
the wishing well
right turn at hell
way past pearly gates
hear the thunder.......

Words can heal the spirit
like the warmth of spring,
yet words are often sharp and
sometimes sting like icicles
which jut from roof and eaves.
In the beginning, there was the Word
and the Word was made flesh,
the myth is told.
Let history blend and mesh,
refresh the garden, poetry unfold.

yeah those fleshy words make me wonder, intelligent design such a seductive phrase. In the begining was the word I think it said somewhere in some old forgotten book. The word preceeded us and we were made for it

or was it tumbling dice

all comes out
as poetry for
this o say can
ya see wireman
jumpin in and
out of the
frying pan
sizzling.............

I smell that smell
wireman cooking
making me hungry
starving for beauty
in and out
yes in and out
on a beautiful sping day out of the blue
sunshine and warm breezes
like Christmas in Santa Barbara CA

poetry and music
food and water
that is all I need

and a sunny warm day in December