so, lurr. gee, um hattricks?
“I have a circus in my brain”
Said me, just now. I was describing a solo stage act presentation of prose that I came up with years ago, but never wrote, never told anyone about, just designed.
Wanna be in my freakshow, baby? I’ll never call you that again if you don’t like it. What would you like me to call you? What sorts of things make you happy? For me, animals, food, or my name. Directer the better. Now you’re stuck in my brain again, too, but better. Wat da? Why this/now? Yup/cuz. Glowy shivery. Hmm.
So, the one-act thing was a single sentence, repeated as many times as could create different meanings, using punctuation, pacing, pauses, and eventually, full conversations or scenarios acted out to use up all those words as slowly as can be reasonably entertaining. I want to make you giggle like the smart, dorky little fearless kid who ain’t got the life beated outta it yet.
Then, someone at the show “woo’d.” It froze, pointed at her mouth and loudly, into the microphone, ordered, “stop that, stop making that sound RIGHT NOW!” It started screaming and sputtering, and while the crowd backed away in terror (we got it on film), the curtain dropped and the “banned” busted into a righteous version of “epic fart” whose “chorus” or whatever, was “ROOOM CLEEAARRRER!” in the most frightful demon screech as a chorus of angels could muster. It has production value. The set folds up tiny, all custom led lighting. It looks pretty cool out in the middle of a field (bring an extension cord), but you should see it in a cramped basement. When your purpose in life is universal nirvana, you go to pretty extreme lengths, no?
I saw a bunch more of your face. I like it. It seems like I might be able to make you smile. You smile. Whutevah, smiling is fun.
°ن° °ڼ°۞ ° °O° °ѡ° °υ° °⊎° °⋓° ☋ ↲↱↗⇅⇆↻ ∁;☽☾:ↁ ⁁‼‽
竇 is Chinese for http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sinus_(anatomy)
≈〶/ｷ/牛 ☰†¥₤€®☷ ◮ℱℳℒ◭ ✌●♌♍ ✯爻★爼✮爽✪爾 ▀▄ ¶✍❡ ✿❀❁ ☃☂❂ ▀▄ ❝☑№™©®♙§☢☣☠℞❞ ▀▄ ∑π∆▲△∴∞ⁿ ✇☯☮♥❦♡♥♫♪♩♨ ▀▄ ☺㎐㎑㎒㎓㎔☻ ◎ (ｼ) ▀▄ http://bit.ly/GrokHealth ◄4► help ▀▄ dance❂luv. ▀▄
homeless ☥ anti-profit ♀ dance ✇ bot ∢☤Ω ☸〄☯☮ pure ☾♥❦♡♥☽love ☋ health ↲↱↗⇅⇆↻ ∁-: nutrition ✈✠✦⋆✸✹❄❆☀❂ teach ∆☒▲◆△ maths ∴∞ⁿ write ¶✍❡ pretty ☂✺✾✿❀❁ cooperative
- Sun ☉
- Mercury ☿
- Venus/female ♀
- Earth ♁
- Mars/male ♂
- Jupiter ♃
- Saturn ♄
- Uranus ♅
- Neptune ♆
- Pluto ♇
(cheese sandwich and talk-with-dad break. He didn’t know I went to NO during law school to help with post-Katrina/flood clean-up. I told him. Then we talked trusts and permaculture. Sustainable “development.” Ehmphasis on the “sustainable.”)
In order to get this radio station to come in, there’s a wire I have to stretch out to hook over a nail in the floor. I keep kicking it out. It’s maddeningly funny.
In my current state, vouch for me. No need. I vouch for me. I’m the only politician I would vote for, and the only policymaker I trust. You should feel exactly the same way, and now that we’re in agreement, the only logical next step is to work out what needs to be said, and start collecting/analyzing opinions about how the world should be. Then, make it that. Of course my opinion counts more, because I know more. I have opinions which pre-date yours. Trump cards. If this is an organized discussion, any sort of rule-based organization, I win. I have the skeleton key password. Love.
You’re just not loving enough things simultaneously. Once you start to get a few of them, the rest of them make a lot more sense. Scientific concepts, them. There’s no way to “get” a person. Enjoy their presence, words, voice, touch, whatever. Understand what they do if you must, but love it regardless. Understanding is not a prerequisite of compliance. If you hesitate and I encourage you, know I mean you no harm. I want your honest reaction. If you want to be around me, I can’t argue that. Be gentle.
DJ Riff Nasty just played LCD Soundsystem. At my house. The real-time hub that is community/request radio is an untapped resource.
When they gave me a radio show, my eyes widened. I babbled, but I put music underneath me, so it sorta flowed. I took calls from freestyle rappers. All flavaz. No violence, no insults, no hierarchy. Just a fascist what likes sharin’ a mic.
You really want to know what I think of your rhymes, kid? You put a lot of time into this, did ya? You learn a lot in the process? You get the idea, obviously, but you seem unsure of yourself. You’re emulating other people of whom you’re not sure, and you don’t seem sure of your own words. My advice, if you’re looking for that, is to open up your conception of your art to account for more of your life than it currently does. What affects you? What happens to you? What mundane thing that you did one day is so perfectly boring and representative of all of humanity right at the moment you speak it that historians will be fawning over your words generations from now? Spit dat.
You get better every time I hear you. To be honest, I wouldn’t put ya on my label. I wouldn’t tour with you knowing I’d have to hear you rhyme every few days. I like the sound of your voice when you hit your groove, but I’ve only heard you catch it for a few seconds on each of a few tracks. Trim the fat. Cut out the filler. Feed me raw. I told you my musical opinion is strange. Part of it is that I universally encourage the creation of a number of sorts of music. And music generally. It’s powerful. Tonal-rhythmic-poetry? Fuck yeah, it’s magical. Keep spittin, and if y’ever want notes, e-mail me links. If you want to practice mixing up some totally new shit to destabilize the methods of your game, feel free to bite anything I have ever recorded, as long as you share it for free and tell me about it. Fuck yeah. Write me a guitar loop and come up with a 5-gallon drum part and I’ll co-busk with you down on state st. if I’m feelin’ it. I know that’s a big if. Alls I’m saying is, there are possibilities.
Brother Ali is coming to Point on Saturday. I can’t afford to see that. I’m on starvation lock-down, you know. I can’t attach in present state.
The highest concentration of people I would like to meet in person seems to be L.A. Is there a fucking hippie commune in LA where I could live and work and art and music and dance? I don’t know why. Yes you do. Does someone need to invite you? I think she already did.
How about this: We could get together and design an off-the-grid passive solar/earthship ripoff (or work with the man, whatever), and put it in a future permaculture grove somewhere. You know, a forest garden. Hillside, lots of fresh air, sunlight. Natural heating and cooling. Yesh, we can get interweb so we can sell all our lovemaking because it will be so fucking beautiful the world should really see it. It’s not gonna be a sex tape, it’s a love life. I dunno. I just want to be warm and eat wholesome food. Yes, raw. We can raise our own fucking chickens and pigs and cows and they’ll be so healthy that everyone will have to eat them raw when it’s their time. Fishes, too. Fuck yeah, you can generate energy with synergistic fish/plant interactions. We’ll be the local one-stop solar oven sprouted local grain bread, sprouted raw delicacies, and otherwise illegal non-processing of the healthfulness of the raw. You can eat potatoes raw, or dehydrate them. Solar dehydrators, too. Ok, maybe it’ll only make enough for us, but that will be okay, too. Should we put this in a rainforest somewhere? A mountainous jungle of humanlessness? I like the humans. I want to be around some again. Soon. Very soon.
All the entry says is “which flooded as the levee system catastrophically failed.” Yeah, that’s what happens when you put massively underfund repair/development of clean/sustainable infrastructure for years, and then finally use explosives in a levee. Mass fucking land grab. Smash and grab is all that capitalists do. You’re cannibals. You’re parasites. Fall on your fucking swords so that the farmers, gardeners, and productive, loving, gentle people can repair all the shit that you’ve been fucking up for aeons. Profiteers.
I’m all for creativity, and drive, and posterity and what-not, but if you build up your “fortune” in grass-surrounded, nuke-gridded, compartmentalized torture chambers, I don’t give a fuck if you’ve amassed millions. Are you just that friendly that people want to give you money in exchange for your time? Or, are you just so good at enforcing the status quo of this system that pays you so well that it will keep you playing your little math and word games as long as you keep putting poor people’s money into the beast’s coffers while it lines your pockets? It don’t matter how, if you rich, you scum. He’s not rich. He’s an honest and talented player. He just won’t see the big picture. The big picture destroys all those pleasant little fantasies that keep your head doped up all day. Fucking argue-matons.