Tuesday Night Post # 34

Healers,

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

-DBL

*     *     *     *     *    

Blue

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

 
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Tuesday Night Post # 33

  

Readers,

            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?

-DBL

*     *     *     *     *     *

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

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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.

-DBL

*     *     *     *     *

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

preserved

and at the same time

quarantined from the rest

I sit on an edge of a gridded discus void

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Bare Bones Butoh Presents: SHOWCASE #23

 If you are in the S.F. area.

-DBL

 *     *     *     *      *

Hello,

We are happy to announce:

BARE BONES BUTOH PRESENTS: SHOWCASE #23!

(Adventurous Shows for an Adventurous Audience)


WHEN:

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


WHERE:
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.


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


WHO:
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.


WHAT:
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
bobwebb20@hotmail.com
510-284-7025

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.

-DBL

*     *     *     *     *

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

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Tuesday Night Post #30

 
Numbers,

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

 -DBL

*     *      *     *     *

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.  

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