Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

don't jam without me, kiddies, please!
i couldn't more than dip my toe in
now that i've had my bath and got into my jammies
that's a note for judih, by the by
who was asking how we got prepped for jams
and why...

the why is just 'cause
the blood it just flows
and the world it just turns
and so the story goes
and i am just here
trying to get this essay done
another on prince hamlet,
i'm damn near sick of 'um

so play on, my friends
and i'll join you again
when Hamlet and I
have said all we can say
and that's more news on my life
than i meant to give
but if you read between the lines
and you know how i live
then you know what i'm trying to say...
and you know that it's all going to just be okay
if i can just get my shit back together
some day...

hmmmmmmmmm
hamlet with his skulls

Imperious Caesar,
dead and turn'd to clay,
Might stop a hole to keep the wind away
alas poor caesar turned to clay

krazee krackah
an, an, abuser!!

HellO?

IS this the decision maker?

What we got today
is the Assassination of
Leon Trotsky; at least
at the present juncture,
that's a working title, a proposal,
a concept to be flushed out
(before some other chump flushes
it), a tragic theme, with a decent
pouch of historical context;
El Viejo, who, a few months previous
to his final demise via
a mountaineer's axe,
had ducked and dodged
a hail of bullets from
red tommy guns (Siquieros,
the communist muralist
supposedly one of the masterminds),
was resting in a town south of
La Cuidad, pals with Andre Breton
and Diego Rivera and was beginning
to divulge all the dirt on
Uncle Joe and the KGB;
a lover of one of his
secretaries whom he trusted
(she knew her vato was going
to whack El Viejo too)
strode into Trotsky's study
with his volcano hammer
and smashed in his head....

Poor Old Bronstein,
once a great gambit player in the
cafes of vienna, Menshevik
rival of VI Lenin, lay dying
with some dignity...
but I'm sort of trying to
avoid melodrama
and it's questionable
whether poetry is really suitable
for this.....

Hullo?

If I mess with your Mercedes
or if flint is my suspicion
and I am chronic as the alphabet
a wiggy hirsute psychologist
a Wesson oil piano man
grumpy from a nap without medication
no sex in my jazz teaspoon
a collection of rancid ancestors
with names like Smith and Jones
rampant champions of the medium
limp simpletons on Advil and 7-11
rock band nazis dripping semen
like lilacs and aftershave mania

its not yr fault man, all sexless rock nazis
come from tejas, the lone stark street,
like a straight, ace-high, pappy
was a place of trades--
pecos bill and guadalupe
de loop; armadillos
just don't do dithyrambs,
but they can
if scratch is there
moderate,
prolly with
a Stetson on.....

excuse my conceit

Yes the Texas flag, or at least one of 'em;
with the picture of a lone star brain
or is it the Texas prosthesis;
regardless it functions
quite well as a substitute
for dialectics......

the armadillos in texas have ray guns
(smith & wesson ray guns)
and they chatter in dactyls and
seven layered nocturnal iambs
but at night there is always the campfire

Of Lone Star history I know scant;
Sam Houston and Davy Crockett
shooting mezcans at Alamo;
then after few dozen cowboys
are killed
the US Army
marched into
Mexico, all the
way to the City
and killed thousands;
but I will admit to
having read a McMurtry
and Bobby Jim
Waller book once;

ever hear the Dead play
Deep Ellum?

When ya go down to Deep Ell-umm
to have a little phunn
keep yr 15 dollahs
ready fo when
the po-liceman comes--
O sweet mama
daddy's got dem
deep ellum blues
and

perdido, pero hasta
los gueros vayan a
La Cuidad, verdad,

I have a Trotsky headache
contemplating my own assassination
over a little dispute with Rasputin
my communism ain't true Republican
I died one time but soon got over it.
Where was your Smith & Wesson, Leon?

Me and Smith & Wesson
were in Deep Ellum one night
just south of Club Dada
and above the Lizard Lounge
all the cops wear blue suede
and Blind Lemon laughs when
the wind blows down
Commerce and Main
but you hear it most on Elm

Hmmmmmmmmm
hamomelette with cheese......

Impetuous seizer
dread turned to play.
might stop a blow to keep the hole away
alas poor seizure turned to dray

krazee wisecracker
let me abuse you.

Hi lily hi lily hi low.

Fuck the decision maker.

What we got today,
is the reincarnation of
neon trollopsky; at least
at your local fingertips,
the name remains the same, a reminder,
a concept, flushed out,
(chump after chump after chump
after...), a boring theme, with an indecent
paunch of gluttonous context;
El cabongo, who, a few months privy,
to his final demise via
hillybilly banjo ax,
finessed and finnagled
a heil of i'm hayseuss from
rednecked mines, (sequestering
the price is right candidates,
supposedly masterminds of intelligence),
was arresting naysayers in a town south of
birmingham, pals with andre champagne,
and bill blass, and was beginning the beguine
with all the dirt on joe boxer and the NFL;
a lover of one of his
cheerleaders whom he abused
(she knew her vitality was going
to snack on el cabongo too)
forbode into trollopsky's chamber
with his vulgar manner,
and crashed in his bed.....

Poor Old Bronze Stein,
once a great drink it player in the
cafe's of vienna, menonsticks,
rivals of VI women, lay dying
with some fig to the knees,
but I'm sort of trying to
avoid mellow dahlias dahling,
and it's requestionable
whether mime is really suitable
for this......

bunjewel?

In Austin about every chump slings
six strings I hear;
slackers by whiskey rivers
hear those old boxcar
sounds, but dem chitlins days
are gone.. o'er a long time ago

Scott Joplin came from
tejas didn't he?
Playin' for the sportin'
lifes, the
well-to-do
macqueroos--
then headed to St. Looey
to try to become
respectable;
maple leaf
rag dolls
in the
lily'd pavillions--
A mozart of
bordelloes,
his purgatorial tunes
in the parlors
of thud

pardon me for going off topic here
but hester, that last post was a fucking delight

where is my Smith & Wesson
I'm gonna shoot myself

lotus with om
aum dark green
tatoo the picture can't compromise
my elbow like a little
flower bud, right
i can wear sleeves below my elbow

Bunjewel, aye, I knowed her well--

though your pair of 'dese
makes the yarmadillos yuks,
I find it akin to, goosely clucks

why cluck when you can quack--
why quoff when you can clack