Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

From pinterest.com

Like your picture of the archer, inspiring I thought
thanks for posting


Picture of me and Jitterbug, the closest man to Christ that I know.

My next to oldest friend
My religion is friendship these days

put it down to males butting heads
I always liked Travis McGee's definition of friendship
"a friend is someone you can say any tom fool thing to and still remain friends"


.

Well, I was thinking about buying a bow and arrow set, only I want to hold it in my hand before I decide on the weight of it. I don't know that I could actually put an arrow through some animal or person, but I don't want to count that out since survival will make a person permit things unnatural to them, if need be.

I'll always be a friend for you.

I don't want to count that out since survival will make a person permit things unnatural to them, if need be.

Unnatural? You mean like turning the other cheek?

Not that clear on what is natural on unatural for men, not sure what is natural on unatural for a woman either.

I think Barbara Ehrenreich is right about the survival of the species. we were born to be killers, and artists and poets.

Natural selection, as it has operated in human history, favors not only the clever but the murderous." Barbara Ehrenreich

Mongolians Hell yeah
I been reading The Anti Christ for the first time, he has quite a bit about what is natural for Jews.

If I was ever to father a child by a Jewess I would want the kid to read nietzsche instead of having a bris.

I guess I mean there is a lot of possible scenarios and I don't have any real plans, just instincts and referring back to past in order to move forward. My past is based on surviving and I didn't always turn the other cheek, I did encounter moments that I felt I might destroy the attacker. That means if survival wakens my childhood gut, I prolly better put a bow and arrow in my hand.

I don't know. I might change my mind by tomorrow, never can tell.
Everything being like water for me. Going down the river.

Since mingo has a cold...
I went to give him chicken noodle soup.

That was good, thx. Doll

I'm hungry in the games.
I might go watch The Artist tonight at the movies and just take my son with me, I think he'll like it, too.

Edit~NM, guess it's not playing, I wonder if it already has played or hasn't yet.

I guess I tell you so that you knows that the nature of me, even with the intelligence of what is going on and on down the line, the nature still needs my battling it, needs my constant attention.

It's always game on. I can't give into myself on impulses, but then I need to give more into myself on my inner spiritual. Give, take. Back and forth. I have to know the two selves, need to call out their names, my body and my spirit, it's the two.

What I want is what my child self wanted, to be happy, to be good, to have curiosity and opened eyes, but to choose rightly. She wanted that strength to not fall into the failures or at least not purposely. She didn't want it to be on purpose.

What I have is the same what that she feared and knew about at that very young innocent age, she knew I'd always have to fight back on all the bad choices I could make and do sometimes make because there will always be that balance, the greed, jealousy, pride, selfishness, etc.s. She knew. I don't know how, but she did.

Anyway, I'm just trying to win back her heart, her love of me and let her know that I'll always keep her in mind. That she was wise and I'll try to become clever. That is what this feels like, it feels like she is standing there and she is correct, so I want to present myself to her as she wished.
If I make her happy, she has all the connections to the soul of us, all of them and the soul has the connections to God and that is my wheel. That is what is going on.

Meet me in a matchbox small enough for us two,
like a dresser drawer and we fold out in it.
We'll sip rum in the corner,
sip rum in the corner.

There'll be a small tree growing
straight up the center with branches
and blossoms,
it scents the whole space.
We'll forget people walk out on egg shells
and dine on conversation pertaining to sports, to weather
and war.

Everyone will muffle and I'll hear your laughter.

After the tree gets much bigger
I'll cut off some branches to build a table.
The tea cups, the wine glasses will be fragile and small,
tip-tip tipsy.
You'll have that kool-aid mouth, being red to the corners.
But, still there we'll sit to drink rum in the corner,
drink rum in the corner.

Nice work

"You look gorgeous. Have a cookie. Now tell me what's on your mind."
The Spirit of Sisterhood Is in the Air and on Air

http://www.post-gazette.com/stories/new ... ir-632731/

Thanks, Jack and by the way that picture of yours is one of my favorites, cause it's kinda like the child-self me.

an old fried drew it
blessed be her memory


she was an art teacher elementary school kids
she was my last duchess.

There's your 'n' slipping
You and mingo got a thing for it.
If I could draw (which I can') but if I could, I'd hope I could draw like that.
Kinda the mother goose style and it'd fit in with my writing, too.

I had an end of world dream last night, still is haunting me and giving me the creeps.
I went to 'the underground', which was a place where everybody was living and the first thing I noticed after going down to the 'pits' was newly born or once born newborns abandoned on the cold cement ground. It was the first sights, some of them still had their umbilical cords hanging from the belly and flattened on the other end to the ground. My first thoughts was the first baby's body and going forward to scoop it up, I was too surprised to have seen it there discarded, my mind, my spirit hadn't even made the connection yet that it was the possibility that it was left behind. I guess I first thought it was accidental.

But, as I reached down to lift it, I saw many more, all these nude little newly borns scattered and it was the heaviest lift I think I've ever had to make, the understanding what it really meant. I without thinking lifted one who wasn't quite as new as the others because he was nude except he had on a pair of little white socks and some dark blue shoes. Partially loved for one moment in time than abandoned.

The crowd down there in the pit didn't have any cares anymore for the nature of society, for the cruelty. They kept up their socializing and trying to hit on the ladies, tried to hit on me, too, as if there wasn't even dead babies laying there at their feet. As if there wasn't new babies still with chance to be picked up and brought in. I was yelling at them that I was going to call in someone to help, someone who would help me pick up these babies.
Trying to call somebody with still a heart.

I get so upset internally from the end of world type dreams.
The reality in them is too much becoming the reality, it's as if as terrible as they are I can still 'see' it happening just by the behaviors in today's world.
It's not that far fetched and breaks my heart to know it.