Tuesday, December 27, 2011

Tuesday Night Post #38


A joke is funny only when people laugh.  When is it inappropriate to laugh?  Give it a try to laugh out loud is to show the light that shines.  

*     *     *     *     * 

Mincey Sweet

Laying low on her side

Saving tears for later tries 

Moving slow to not surprise

Crawling in between to paralyze 

She rises up when there's a threat

Even though in doing so there is regret

Danger near it is queer 

it is erect

Falsely feared is the love 

She kept so near and left it shoved 

in her hub

Never took the offer sent

From other ones but kept it bent

in her fold

As be known to the rest 

She has a throne but she stands alone

in her question thrown

If I fear what I love than is what I love what I destroy 

With a look she made it shook

With a wall she made u crawl 

Singer sent to find the foot 

of yet another timely hook

Lets pretend we were never there

Let it happen once again in disrepair

 *     *     *     *     * 

Enable Me
(Non Existent Virtual Conversation)

Hey u


What's new


Moving far


Can I get there with my car


Don't go there make it here


I'll be ur prowler


Are u scared

You should be


Can I come


Can I be ur lil helper


Did I say it wrong

As I thought


Just a thought


Tuesday, December 20, 2011

Tuesday Night Post #37

Usually around this time of year I feel a bit down.  Not because of the melancholy holiday season that helps us remember what we have loved and lost, or the drones of shoppers scrambling around trampling for the holy spirit, or the bombardment of Santa’s puke of green and red smeared over every wall, not even the tiresome list of holiday songs which sound off the many things this holy day represents, Rudolf I assume, got me down (well to be fair they did but not do to what many might think).  What has got me down in the past were feelings of guilt knowing that many of my love ones would be buying me gifts I would love and need.  Need? Yes, need like a new pair of pants or a bundle of fresh underwear.  
They would be putting money and time aside for me and in return I could only provide my acknowledgement and gratefulness.  Having been a fulltime student with a job in the past and being employed on and off since graduating I have never been able to consistently return this gesture.  Yes, many would say a nice handmade something or another would be quite a sweet gesture.  In the past I have done this but making something for every love one is quite a chore.  A chore not cursed upon, but a chore that required time and sometimes some income for supplies.  Others would say why bother.  This season was invented for spending and capital gain.  Well I feel the same, but that does not stop my love ones from giving to me. 
Well this year I have been fortunate to find consistent income, time, and patience, which provided something for the many that I love.  The list is long, many have touched me in profound ways but only a few consistently do it and are at arms length, so only the very close made it to my shopping list.  
To consume this is a thing we all do.  We also produce.  We are living in rough times.  Many are unemployed, underemployed, or heartbroken and at the end of their wick.  In a few months there will be more in this pool.  Our troops will come home looking to get back into the world they left and might have forgotten.  Where will they fit in this struggling economy?  How will they readjust?  How will they forget the world they left?  They are coming back from a world turn upside-down.   Will it feel the same in our world?
This holiday season I am a bit more joyful than in the past.  I am even getting a kick out of blaring Christmas songs, maybe in a semi ironic way, but the child in me will always be present, or presents???!!!  For some things turn for the best, but these are awkward steps on shaky ground.  There is a long road and a dark one that needs a bright light.  Personal embers ignite this internal light. 
God speed America.

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

Tuesday Night Post # 36


A little collaboration this Tuesday.  With me is A Rose Perished.   This post is a bleeding of lost thoughts trying to find a meaning.


*     *     *     *     *

West Wind Finds Me

As a child I left many doors closed
At times eyes shut with light switches up
Several evenings adorned I felt exhausted
I would need this for the trip back, she said
Of course I conceded for lack of mis-contempt
Just this once, I cracked the window one hair’s width
In this space entered
What I called AAron
Bringing back physical objects proved difficult
Though not impossible
As I learn I void
Fully adorned I felt more fully exhausted
I remember a box with a square hole
This I found familiar

Tuesday, December 6, 2011

Tuesday Night Post # 35


Hears a song.

*     *     *     *     *


Running with one side to hide
I find no peace in being recognized
Shortness is the best
I hope to die at a quicken pace
No one showed me how to eat
From the hand that is human mystic
In my mind I have one resolution
To find a friend in dissolution

Marking the points that make it clear
The end is near and it is fear
Thinking oneself as just a smear
The end is near and it is fear
Wishing the enemy wishing it near
The end is near and it is fear

Saving time for conscious delusions
Lets erase our erroneous conclusion
Whose to blame for my low self esteem
Is it just in my bloodstream?
In years to come will you give me a vaccine?
Or will the fear find its way
To turn on it’s self and disobey

An assault rifle to commandeer
The end is near and it is fear
Revolutions water the mouth of the financier
The end is near and it is fear
Population is the evil says the marketeer
The end is near and it is fear

Ending in the right ends in wrong
We all seem to sing a similar song
Taking in any innovation
Without proper investigation
I love the sight of kerosene
When it douses the natural machine
One way I chose to live
Is to choose to believe


Tuesday, November 29, 2011

Tuesday Night Post # 34


Heal; stop the hurt find new paths for neurons.  Let’s be conscious of the now universal self-destructive conditioning.  This is class warfare.


*     *     *     *     *    


From three lines come a point which is a corner
In this corner is where I am
On my knees my eyes are closed
My toes overlap
I trace another line that follows fear
This is a path that loops over and over
A knotted mess built by points of self-destruction
How must I untangle this self
In this corner I wonder

From three lines emerge a point
This point I occupy
I kneel while I reflect from the inside out
My toes close the circle
Turned inside out I am a sphere of blue
This is an infinite stream
An area created by a beacon of life
This is how I untangle myself
In this corner I exist


Wednesday, November 23, 2011

Tuesday Night Post # 33

            Tell me about secrecy.  Tell me about the privilege of it.  Help me understand the power of it.  It is easier to confuse than to lie?  When is it proper to veil the face that will eventually be seen?

*     *     *     *     *     *

When she was a child she wanted to know magic
Every child wants to be special
What made this child special was that she knew magic
was not a phenomenon
but a reflection of a specific state of mind
To her what made magic was not a power conjured up by a wizard
but a veil thrown upon a mass
She wanted to know the method that delivered this madness
She learned the silence that sheltered understanding
A right amount of distance gives control of every situation
Mouth shout
a door is close for conversation
A conversation is a field of obstacles
An obstacle is an object that tells others your disposition
This is elementary for her
As she grew she learned the fractal rules of confusion
A bullet is a dog with a stubborn direction
but with magic, bullets follow a different direction
In secrecy she finds a stable situation
Leave the other to their own conclusion
Most of us grow to find life confusing
to her this confusion added to her elevation
A lesson learned is a pencil sharpened
Add up the sum
most find a conclusion
not her
she reveals in delusion
Adding time we focus on our fusion
of past events and opinions gathered
we funnel our emotions to the closest resolution
Distance leaves very few options
She sees a voice as her greatest enemy
But leaves assumption as the greatest restitution
In the end she is harder to pin point
A target unable to disjoint
Left only to her own institution

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Tuesday Night Post #32

Viewers and Seeker,

A little voice to feel that some one cares and some one is listening is all we want.  It is a micro and macro truth, it seems.  From god to love ones we want a partner, the least we ask for is a reflection.


*     *     *     *     *

On the Ledge

A sudden fair breeze cools the blushing in my face
on an edge
I felt my weight shift towards the void
from a hair folicale
which was absent of its hair
in this void
expanding past my peripherals
I lost movement

Sensing the internal signals
The visceral reactors
I felt myself about face

Faced to my rear
in place of this
on its handle
stood a white aluminum based broom

My inverted world
I came to realize
would come with many pains

My passage of time was comprehended
by only the parts of my being
that were beyond my visceral understanding

New networks in my memory measured movement

A conversation that was formed
in new memory
reminds me of this earthly goddess
My hopes are to bathe in your transmutation
Men are foolish
replicating your powers of creation

I connect to a stream
that does not empty out
but flows into itself

A pumping of information
growing with every circulation

In another memory I crated
a carcass of a discarded wood flooring
The dimensions of this memory are
117in. x 44in. x  22in. in height

This wrapped in plastic
and at the same time
quarantined from the rest

I sit on an edge of a gridded discus void

Monday, November 14, 2011

Bare Bones Butoh Presents: SHOWCASE #23

 If you are in the S.F. area.


 *     *     *     *      *


We are happy to announce:


(Adventurous Shows for an Adventurous Audience)


Friday Nov 18, 2011, and Saturday, Nov 19, 2011
Both performances are at 8:00 pm

Studio 210
3435 Cesar Chavez St (at Valencia)
San Francisco, CA 94110
Studio 210 is located in the former Sears Building, inset from the corner of Cesar Chavez and Valencia Street. Accessible by: BART - 24th St Station; and MUNI - #12, #27, #14, #49. Plenty of on-street parking.

Performances: $5-$20 sliding scale. No one turned away for lack of funds.
Additional donations are graciously accepted and gratefully appreciated.

This time around, the performers are:

Ronnie Baker, Ron Chornow, Michael Curran, Mark Deutsch (Saturday only), Carolina (Coicoi) Duncan, Liz Filippone (Saturday only), David Flaig (Friday only), Wolfgang Heinle, Martha Matsuda (Saturday only), Ri Molnar (Friday only), Angela (Irretitus Fesol) Newsham, and Bob Webb.
Quite a line-up, wouldn't you say? Should be a couple of VERY GOOD SHOWS!

Surprise guest artists may also be performing as well. There are often last minute additions (local, national, and international artists) to the programing, it's that kind of show.

Bare Bones Butoh Presents is a performance Showcase for local, national, and International artists working in the areas of butoh, performance art, and/or ritual performance. It exists for artists to try out new material, show works in process, hone improvisational chops, and redo or revisit previous material. Bare Bones Butoh Showcases employ the grassroots ethic of working together to sustain an artistic culture. We are community building and performance all smushed together into two evenings.

Thank you for your time, and we hope to see you there

Further info:
Bob Webb

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

Tuesday Night Post #31

Molecules of the Same Substance,

I find it clear tonight that what one choses to become might be the choice already chosen.


*     *     *     *     *

Spilling on a Thought

Folding a paper

that has time impregnated in it

points cross

I wonder if dogs have

occurrences of random recall

Forming a square

time leaks

from the creases

One hand cupping

the other to support

I empty into my hand

figures that remind me

My skin remembers only

what it touches

With this thought

I look to see

who will remember

this moment

No one

Who will have this job

For me I am not one to react

Left to wonder myself

these things that occur

Pouring through my hand

my face finds the ground

I find company in the liquid

of this paradox

Treading in the mistake

that lead me here

my foot gets stuck in a fold

Flesh or pulp

I do not know

Tugging straight

into another mistake

Lucky me

I am the viewer and the holder

I remove myself

With the lose of perspective

once again I find myself

spilling on a thought

Tuesday, November 1, 2011

Tuesday Night Post #30


The big Three O.  Here is a new one.  Don't know where its going but I think it is. 


*     *      *     *     *

Nikky 1
(Future Past)

In a box moving but movement is not registered.  Periodically she glances at anything of interest that the glance before missed.  After a panoramic view of the boxcar she settles back into herself.  The seat is soft but after a few hours it is as abrasive as the nasty looks she sometimes catches on her checks on reality.   She feels heavier then usual, this and the thought of the flatten seat holding her up reminds her of the space she fills.  A look down to the floor settles on her hands.  “Plumpy bumpy mitts”, she thinks to herself.   How she hates these trips to the OB/GYN.  She curses the fact that all is automated but why not this?  Lots of things can be done at the comfort of her home but if it wasn’t for the fact that officially she has to make an appearance to make this visit, official.  She is glad that birth control is free and government issued, but it makes her feel like a child to think officially she can’t take the responsibility to administer it herself.  For the safety of the whole a single birth can not be over looked, nor can a single abortion be misused.  She sometimes wishes she could be of the percentage that officially had to be sterilized.  Free from these visits on a steady simple course as part of a very proud work force.  It was beyond her why she was unaltered and able to proving for the gene pool, if she was called upon.  In a way it was a small but uplifting compliment in what she thought was quite a meaningless complicated life. 
Staring out the window, at all the blurry colors, turning into thoughts slowly finding their way in her mind, her eyes might as well have been closed.   She saw herself comfortably at home.  Her home also her workplace was her world.  The paper work came; she filled it, dated it, sent it, and loved it.  It was one of the few things in life she felt she understood.  No voice, no commands, just a simple message that she was done.  Diligently she finished her daily quota.  For after that she could enter her real Self.  A Self, created by her, in her image, an image projected by her wants. 
See saw herself seated in the device.  The device was a simple device, not many wires or dials.  It looked like a cozy leather seat, one in which you can feel relaxed, but not asleep.  A user friendly device that figured a world and self image conjured up by monthly surveys on your wishes, wants, by physiological and psychological read outs, and nostalgic views of your past.  It pixaled the circle, righting what was wronged.   There was one in every household paid by taxes and required by the general surgeon.   On her way back from her voyage, in her true Self, she felt light, well spirited and ready to go out and experience life.  It never lasted for more then ten minutes.  If the time one could spend in the chair were not regulated she would have spent more waking hours in it. 
From the dreamy thoughts of the chair there came a big leather purse that woke her of her daydream.  Packed with workers the boxcar’s air thinned by the musk and dust.  A heavy silent settled on her chest.   Droned looks parted the curd air.   How she hated this outside world.  To feel alone in a field of life stock made this ride one she could not shake.  Existence crowded her being.  Her shoulders rubbing on what made this time, this present moment more then she can recall.  Left to remember why she is a citizen of humanity she was shuttled to her official appointment.  

Tuesday, October 25, 2011

Tuesday Night Post #29

The Happy Ones,

Happy Tuesday night.


*     *     *     *     *

I Saw the God of Man

By a stream near a cliff side
I tried to study the history of myself.
As I looked into the void,
I saw.
Peering at me, eyes that blink,
one eye, blue eyed, stern with contempt?
Fix unwavering
I saw the eyes of our ancestors.
Peering lost, controlled
Star twinkled eyes in mosaic tiled patterns
forest greens
navy blues
I saw the aesthetics of the past blocked and organized.
In a fleeting moment I saw our god of the America’s
Star spangled eagle eyed
red, white, blue
Cross spinning on its axis in a clockwise direction
Layered transitioning background to front and back again
In one moment, teeth and mouths came before blankets of eyes
falling on the cliffs and later the trees
Smiling teeth coming out at me from my minds eye
The cliff side had eyes that watched the ocean turn to a wasteland.
A stream murmured by
with gems of forgotten points of views
When I went to look at them I stood over and grasped at their sparkles.
Eyeballs flowed between my fingers
I saw history layered on top of it’s self
When all came clear
I forgot it
I was knee deep in a confusion that made me feel fulfilled.
Ever since then I look for this.
The layered lesson of why I believe.

Wednesday, October 19, 2011

Tuesday Night Post #28

Gentle Critics,  

Excuse the extreme truancy.


*     *     *     *     *

White Cubes of Erasure
(Future Past)

I am emotion
I was solution
An observer in the bush
I brooded over my conclusion

In single files I could see
the boxes lush and lined with velvet
A replacement put aside
for its streamlined cousin

Counted every encounter
an equation was developed
Forgetting the last one that offered
a new interpretation
Knowing loving what is love
the result of
In time it became sequential
lift and draw the blood

I found the one who made me.

Their want only to give
what they wish they were part of
In distance they found
a quote to live by

I asked what was I the result of.
She made me just for love.

“I made you just for play
A sense of touch
a perceptive eye
a bleeding heart
and a law to please.
A reason for me to stay.”

I saw them fit with
E-motions I was not capable
to define
In a quest to learn
I spoke to every one
A simple gesture
in a very simple world
My words were sent away
to all of you
In an instant known
how quick I send them
set in stone

My E-motions obsolete
my ideals much more primitive
How quickly they delete
the thing they were once
so proud of

From my eyes reflect
boxes of ill fate
Images of the systematic proof
that I was built yesterday
Yet I can’t relate
to things I am not programmed for
I was build but for love
just for play
Same hard shell
but a softer inner core

Stationed on a stone
positioned in a jar
Knowing I was not a threat
A complex statue
viewing a lesson learned
from an inverted world
made of whites cubes of erasure
lined with deep red
on top of earthly brick
Filed, lined, and positioned.

I remember the simple games we played.
The way we played was the way we learned.

Endless arches
Windowless openings
Engulfed in lessons of attention
forgotten by decisions of mass intrusion
My age of love eroded by the Age of Reason.

Monday, October 17, 2011

CicLAvia Performance Stills 2


Hungry for more stills?  

And a little description?

Well, if you were a witness you would of heard an otherworldly sound (produced by the broom) accompanied by a rhythmic audio track. 

Make-up by A Rose Perished.


*     *     *     *     *

The Wires Tell the Tale of the Broom

Gathering the Earth

Stopping the Wind

Spinning the Earth

Mind the Cloud

Roman Æon

Spring and 8th


Make Sound

*stills provided by Seajay