Tuesday, December 25, 2012

Tuesday Night Post # 2-8

Rebels with their résistance,
What are you fighting for? Food? Shelter? Oppression? Resistance to resist the resulting annex?  What will the resister do when the resistance is co-opted without a clue?


*     *     *     *     *

Winds Of Hate

the time has come to revelate
They form storms of trust displacing old traditions
Replacing, rejoining in repetitions
In songs we hear the music’s clear
We never lose the embedded genetic cybernetics
In its place we replace a map you call arcane
Stifled with so-called pain
Now all that’s left is burning lust
Don’t go pointing standing near the place of heaven smear
A solider life will become the cultural engineers
loaded gun
Once we said to agitate
Lets begin lore to gravitate towards a higher form
Placed on you just because
This form you hold in need of some wringing out
Your sappy soul will fear the draught
Turn the sky in your hopes
Splinter poles
What is this fear or foe?
These new terms that you pronounce
on actions that are nothing new
Wordsmith found on fiery bowels make the smell rise to you
The hidden fees of buying thoughts
leaves the maker and the muse
Dazzle me
The technique is in the way you speak of something simple and reused
To create a new way to drill the truth
in this form you corrupt the youth
We tell them what we know
in the way our traditions held us low
We forgot that with no rules there is space to have the noose
in the same throat of the user
Yes the user
The abuser
The searcher
The leaper from one experience to the other
Hoping the avant-garde will shovel the will of the uncreative ones
In my pants I held my chance
Zipped them down I lay you down
With a frown I place my Right
up and toward you

Tuesday, December 18, 2012

Tuesday Night Post # 2-7

Ummm you are so salty,
     But you are my friend.  What is a friend, but a neighbor of occurrences and mutual acknowledgment?  Acknowledge my shortcomings since what you see is what I give you not who I am or what I will fool others to be.  I give you words just like others give you questions.  I have only what I find scattered around my feet.  These are thoughts dropped by this clumsy scribe. 


*     *     *     *     *

Throw salt in the fire
(Stories of the Two)

This scene you remember rite
Placed in an open field
Empty space to fill with grace
On the last trip to find a truth
he wandered
Draped in a blanket white
A stumble and a fall in a pool
One half wet the other grabbing up
What he saw

A figure above
No choice left
this hand prevented this crawl
She had no voice
A relationship made in resistance
When hands pull and there is no reference
What direction is the question

Twisted and tied this union had no space
But to collide
Violent force that creates
This in turn would suffocate
In her pride she hid her strife
Backed off hands a square to another
This one a brick brother
Mired in a history of misogyny

He wears a jacket of fashionable truth
A black hat adorns this gospel
Unaware she follows
In one judgment she keeps herself shielded
In another she steps where he wants her
Maybe he is not aware
Maybe she is
He will take what makes her a mother

Gladly she gives what is not hers
Thinking what she needs is something
others wish they could recede
Now the new is the fools that follow
This path it corrupts the Youth
In his eyes what is needed
A simple joke
A friendly coax

Solidarity for the salt of this earth
For which they are thirsty
In unison they milk each other’s arrogance

Half Awake I Remember, Half Asleep it Makes Sense

My bed lies beneath a window in my room
In my box
There is no light that filters in
It’s much to early
The only thing that wakes me slowly
is the water
It throws itself on my glass
My eyes slowly open between a thought
One of sleeping and one of remembering
This I try to forget
Memory that I am
still here
Without the love
Without the past
Without the things I use to know
My feet have felt no warmth
to quicken
In this thought I fall
Back down to being insensible
In there it makes sense
Your form
Your figures
Your timeless companionships
Wetness on the glass
Reflects only what will last
I see you there
Never more closer
than when I never knew
what I know
of everlasting
I awake
Time has passed
My regret is that
what I knew I left
What you brought
I can never take

Sunday, December 16, 2012

Extreme Futurist Festival

One more posts this lovely Sunday night. 
I and a couple colleagues of mine will have the great privilege to be able to cover the Extreme Futurist Festival that will occur in Los Angeles, California on December 21st and 22nd.  This will be an epic review on what is in stored for our near future or at least the future that a great influential portion of us wants. 

Take a gander www.extremefuturistfestival.com.  Maybe our press passes will help us peer beyond the veil and come back with a nice article/ video/ podcast.


Under the Sun, Episode 1

Are We Born Fools?

     Please take a listen to this pod cast by Aaron Franz.  These are concepts that much of us understand, but never truly reflect on.  I am sure much of you sense these things, but dismiss them as new age hocus pocus or even worse conspiracy theories.   Let us not discard what our ancestors worked hard to decipher. 

Listen on and like Franz says “seeker seek on”.

Click here for more:

Under the Sun

Tuesday, December 11, 2012

Tuesday Night Post # 2-6

My Fellow Futurist,
     In action we are.  If there is no death then we are.  If there is no choice made then we are.  If you believe in destiny then we are.  A thought swallowed is a decision made. Yes we are futurist.

*     *     *     *     *

Lets relay what was left on the thought feed
Which to me was more then just one flash of this moment
A device we take for granted
Those lil crystals reflect
to me more then just images
Lets us rehearse what has just transverse across my peripheral

I found this line that traced the curve of your hand
In its aftermath
was a turquoise glove

Bent over smelling each perfectly formed flower in that garden
I stood behind thinking the next thought to say

Staring at my text
knowing editing it myself would have no higher result

Holding the rail at the front of the bus
My mind dug deep in the filthiest gutter
Your eyes always wandering back to my crotch

Staring at you in the kitchen
wondering what's wrong
Thinking maybe you do need a drink

Laying there on the second story
Another layer below me
Your bed
Eyes staring at your dark green ceiling
The metal bar that held down that curtain
hanging over the threshold
In the wind it gently banged
That sound once known in youth
now etched in love

With this feed all is now and the past is a poison


From Bob Web:


(Adventurous Shows for an Adventurous Audience)


Performances: Friday Dec 14, 2012, and Saturday, Dec 15, 2012 (mostly different line-up each night)
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 (although Cesar Chavez is still undergoing eternal construction, so please plan accordingly).

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:

Both Shows: Ronnie Baker, Wolfgang Heinle, Martha Matsuda, Maria Moon, and Bob Webb
Friday Only: Christina Braun, Dasha Che, Mark Deutsch, Lila Ann Dodge, Dorine Hoeksema, Jochelle Perena, and Constance Taylor
Saturday Only: Special Guest Butoh Master Hiroko Tamano, Bad Unkl Sista, Molly Barrons, Shelley Cook, Michael Curran, John Doyle, Shoshana Green, Jennifer Gwirtz, and Megan Nicely
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 fields of Butoh, Performance Art, Ritual Performance. and The Undefinable. 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.

Thanks, and we hope to see you there.

Further info:
Bob Webb

Tuesday, December 4, 2012

Tuesday Night Post # 2-5

Good evening to you all,

On this slow and grueling Tuesday evening my body seeks to lay in the soft heap that exists in the bedroom I have created in my head which is filled with foam like material that gives to my weight just enough to make me feel like I have no mass but still have a shape.


*     *     *     *     *


Every time I open my jaw I can hear it rip from its joint
You know when you are sitting in the grass
Mind wondering
Hands that yet to go idle
Ripping moist green grass
As you mindlessly listen to your lover’s story
That feeling
That rip
That sound
That’s it
I open and close my mouth wanting to hear the noise
Feel the discomfort
Maybe it’s just to convince myself that
that is what it sounds like
Or it’s just that I still don’t believe that my jaw is doing that awful sound
Well eventually I forget cuz the dull pain at my temple starts to wander in
Maybe it’s the opening and closing of my mouth that has allowed the pain to return
or most likely it’s the five blows to my head in the last month
Hmmm but one wasn’t even to my temple
Ok to be honest three to the temple
One to the cheek
and another flashing one to the right side of the back of my skull
Elementary says the one to the back of my head would be the one to worry about
That one was the least of my troubles
Some say life can hand you a beating
But when that beating manifests itself to multiple beatings
That’s just a joke high tailored for irony only seen around these parts
Much jokes have meaning so what is the meaning of this one
What does it mean that the struggle did not end with me getting the worst of it
But feeling it
Sunken in the buff at the edge of the water
Sunglasses glaring this magnificent sight back whence it came from
Hat dipped low
Face trying to find refuge from this glorious sun
I sulk
Not in pain
Not in depression
Not in anger
But in existence
I play back the new visuals I have learned
The new stories to lament
This edge of earth I have built a humble home for this
moment of near life …
I’ve lost my train of thought and all I can hear is that
ripping sound
Sometimes the body is a glitch of useful actions
coagulating to a gunk of festering reactions
I have a perfect seat for this momentous view
The grey clouds that I have been enjoying
Orange glow reflected below
as this was above the dawning sky
A perfect audience at an event not so extraordinary
This sand so moist and willing
A seat for my ass
My head speaking in one-line stories
I sink in to this mystery that I think exists and I think I am attempting
To solve
Water in my boots darken the shadow that already is draped on my shoulder
These cold knees ache only in this contest
I am only a net filled with lost shoes and thrown away wigs
As I float away
I remembered that I left
a black pen in the pants that are in the dryer