Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

Age-old laments will not avail you this day my sweet Angel Floosh - not even the spearhead in hand will be of any use to predict your ments. Tell me you are wearing the boots though and I will be swift to forgive anything I can.

Ha! I bought work shoes, for heavy equipment.
Be mad all you want, it'll not put the boots on me.

I've been cracking egg shells
and cracking egg shells,
pulling them out of my hair,
out of my dress and socks,
from in the PT Cruiser.

My son said, "You've been complaining a lot lately."
I bet he's right. I need to get the records on the record player
and get jazzed!

There's this one painted picture
hanging in the hallway
and it always looks like it's still wet paint.

It gets me every time.

Her dress was made up of all the people who had ever touched her.

Of course you're my wet paint,
I remember the night I was madder than heck and I flipped the picture over
and let it hang there all night
upside down.

Tomorrow the Wizard of Oz is playing at theaters.

I had a dream last night of an invention
and I was going to tell you about it today, but started to forget.
Was really excited. Something about a writing, it began with a colorful letter O, I think and it had a blue, red, yellow, green circle in close proximity so that it looked like one color with many colors side by side. Kind of made me think of color blindness.

Anyway, it was to begin a new way of writing to an old problem not treated.
Basically the multicolored designed letters are to help stimulate those who might need stimulation in the written letters. I s'pose for a waker up for visual learners or not visual, but montasory or ADHD or something, I can't recollect exactly.

So the jest of it is that as they read through a paragraph, a letter every now and then timed to rewake their brain with this stimulatory letter.

It was fantastic in dream form, and there we go.

I had another dream about you, but I can't remember it now either, though we met and met matters and splendid on the matters of what's the matter.
I saw you first!

It made me aware that I work really, really hard in dreams.

Dear Magic Man,

I just found out
everyone needs a wizard in their life,
we need a bit of a bit more illusion.

I like that you keep me looking all over the place and back again.
It makes me happy to watch you with that big imagining
making my big imagining and then there's all that is now ours
cause we let it shape, and hold.

I went into a room last night and left the car keys in some guy's drawer.
I don't know where I'm about to go, but we're going.

I don't know what's about to play on the radio, but it'll be playing.
And I'm not sure if the weather's gonna bees hot or cold, though I'll find out.

I'm charging the batts for my camera. Also I spotted the section of the room I want to photograph in. In the preparation there's so much enthusiasm. I think I get addicted to it.
I prepare when going to bed, like laying out a few thoughts that I want to take into sleep with me and then to search for them in the morning. It's almost like I'm putting something in the water and then hopping in the car, driving far down the river, setting up the tent, making a fire, eating soup and then when I wake I run to the river's edge.

Wondering at what the water might have been able to do with it by the time it's returned to me.

Fifteen Foot Falls!
I want more and more of that, it's addicting.
Just watched the Addam's Family and laughed. They must have had such great fun making those episodes, ya know.

I can't get the camera working yet and maybe it's just the rechargeable batts are ca-putt. I'll try some regular ones and see if that gets the red light on.

I had a nap today, but I'm still so sleepy.

Many days I have married you.
I've lifted the still, blanked and blotted,
mastered the metted and brought toos.

I don't want to feel inadequate or to keep saying,
"Someday I will be a great woman of the tree."
I never know what you see special that I can do,
because I can not see it.

Everything gets in my eyes, the dust, snow and dark.
Rubbed and cleaned, I manage to find what debris is out and wanting to help muck up.
I pick everything up by the talons, mouth, britches.

Waiting till you pick me up.
The wait in wind, downpours, in trains,
on bridges, doorways, by the whiskey bottle
and bourbon, the french kiss.

Maybe a part of me fell suit to Suz that he asked me about the inside me.
It is always we see those in their clothes, already in them buttons and walking out the doors, but people are not built neighborly much often and go knocking on doors wanting to go inside to eat.

He did though, sat right down and said, "What's cooking?"
So I guess I started making foods and more foods, then there was enough to create a menu, then holiday and a diner. In fact, I think we're still eating in, I smell veggie lasagna.

He wrote on my potted plant, the potted plant stand and on the edge of the kitchen table. When I couldn't find him, I heard him, he was tucked under the kitchen table. I laid down under on my back, flatted out and flattered over the writing

under the place we meet/had.

I laughed so hard and he felt for my leg, then he started to write there in blue ink.
It looked like a bird nest, all snarky branching and limb and it said,

"Bird in my yard.

I have a yard that has some bread. Eat bird, eat bird. Sing from your heart, the pitlings are started, sing from your breast, the man has smited, sing from your fleathered bettered head. Sing bird, sing bird, all is hers'. bird, this is her bird. Hers'."

Which makes you mine.
La La La, hear that, mine, mine.
Writing on the chair legs, the marble that rolls around in the sugar jar, over the light switch, by the pillow, in the mattress.

Life of the Hand

He was up at five
and cleared the clock
with the grand tap, tap
of the very top notch.

He instructed the guests
to relay enthusiastic jest
onward, forward
for the dame,
I, dame

and when undone
they'd paint the pointed gun
and provide the dainty, the plenty
of silhouette to play.

For she'd not go lonely
when there was this sport of sorts
in their meddling of hoodlum
personality

the fugitive would rest
after the guests held their chests
and kissed the dame
for luck's lay

that on her it'd suit best
and he made her quite
that lucky of ladies.

The Hand in the Hood

She'd curl swoof and furlow bull
straight into the neck of the River
sunny side of California.

Day lake, lay late
and matters much that he stays,
stayed.