Ah Pook Is Here

Love is a Lonly Star Which Past I Sailed One

Love is a distant star past which I sailed once on my lonely voyage

memories
the warmth and caring
dried up as quickly as they gushed forth leaving me
to work and wander through days and years

Sex is a far off galaxy
once inhabited but now abandoned sleep alone
eat alone
only a dull ache
where once was someone special

you are a universe
remaining only in my imagination two universes spinning together the energy of love is gone

I am at lost forever in the vacume space is lonely
life is lonely
love is a distant star
past which I sailed once on my path into darkness

Bruce Eisner 1989 Santa Cruz California

http://www.bruceeisner.com

Gag

Twin Flames

Despair....

"...pulled out a cog of some sorts, wranted it from me (i forget the word); oddly kept the furrow in his brow though, as if it wa a a living creature, silvery, plucking at his brains, forcing him back towards the house..."

Makoto Yabuki

MANAKAI from makoto yabuki on Vimeo.

Highly Tutored (Skype Mix)

HIGHLY TOTORIAL by pak-in

Always she's falling over inside
never reaching the end, a hammer
smashing thin translucent glass

thin as the whisper, a fragile
promise she walks alone with, knowing
only outside, never feeling in;

never seeing through the surface
of half-hearted smiles and loose
passing nods, silent voices lost,

her eye-acknowledged madness
pleading in a basket by the door
she walks past without mouthing

goodbye

into the wash of black granite night,
heavy, with only stars for comfort
she rolls back the collar of time

sinks below in whorling form
a soft blown drizzle in cool mist,
springtime sun, the despair running

through her head, some tune
of a funeral song she remembered
singing on that night before he left:

dark gifts, bleak memories, spirit
sleeping, a self-watching eye alloyed

above, holding at bay, truth, angels
forged white hot in the inchoate moment,
nascent, underfed, positioning logical

before us in the dust, our forgotten souls,
soldier-gods in the endless realm
of endless rain, in a time far off;

the mythic sun that once, on the shortest
day, briefly connected to a brow

of kings, the falling star, your cynosure,
annointed one.

NIndians

image from here which also shared a picture of X found at Y which, in the circumstances, seems an impossibly unliteral link...

Unseasonals

Think I stole this off Dissensus. Glastonbury circa 2010... cyberspace in stone circulars... Blade Runner being real and full of beardy robots... few pictures really capture the festival but this nails it... everymanandeverywomanisastar...

UBIK

Devils Of D-Day

Seconds

I watched this as a kid and was horrified. Rock Hudson is perfect. Even that it is Rock Hudson is perfect and tragic. The 60s re-aligned as wholly lacking in benelovence and empathy. As blank as they come.

Enter The Void - DMT Sequence

This Is Not America II

6 January DELETED



Facebook friends, colleagues, poetry pals, hip cool touché auto-mate race; oh fuk, forgive us, lost in a strange time, cyberspace's relentlessly attentive-to-choice playas, making up with language, stuff in prose; in this week's Guardian poem up for critical 'debate' in Forum UK, communicating the state-of-mind of its chooser, Carol Rumens, at the instant of her decision, perhaps; as much as it dazzles or enlightens us the reader with any sentient memories, or historical fact packed into light Hanoverian verse the witty George III satirists had on a brilliant run, until a Gay Swift Pope & Dr. Johnson, first speaking stuff in prose, song and satirical poetry, unheard of before, in the presence of princes and kings? The louts lowering the tone, outraging the public decency of their time, at once both very different and opposite from ours - in a puritan sense - yet exactly the effing same. Innuendo and intelligence, words well crafted, thought out, expressing conceits both at once ingeniously simple as they are compelling, to an audience who hear the same music of what happens, as we who write the words that make a whole world sing, who sing of love and everything, this wonderful, horrific, happy, joyously obnoxious song of self and same three dimensional humanity on a two dimensional page, some spiritual source, authorial impulse, imaginative force, and one's English imprimatur, psychic bones, something within us 'born slanted', the only one authentic bardic primer suggests, states, with an exact degree of reality, there, in the very fucking words of it: Answer to the ancient conundrum:

Where is the root of poetry in a person; in the body or in the soul?

Does anybody know?

You can start finding out by reading the untitled, anonymous Amergin text positing answers to the question at the link above, translated by Eryn Laurie; and after a few years of imbibing in the English language, our deepest draught from a 7C bardic mind, the poem unlocks itself before our very eyes, dissolves our mind into some ancient druidic blueprint, vibe, yet also, effectively, a brand new re-connection to the interior pattern where all is explainable within certain parameters of eloquence and communication, our realm of poetic equipoise perfectly balancing joy, sorrow, love, hate and a whole text of ancient bardic nous, translated and known now, for the first time since Shakespeare, since only 1979; culturally alive as an on the road vernacular eloquence, that Praed, this weeks poet, voted into being; a poster there, Melton Mowbray, suggests.

Is there any reference to that er, (fact?) in England, on the IoW, David, M'lud?



Swords

The E-Coli Enterprise

The Mersey Goat Boys, stunned by witnessing their own innards, still walking, still blinking as the last of the sun dips over the sea...

"How much shouting can we do?" one of them yells, but the words are lost.

A collective sigh. A rising swell.

"How much-?"

The seablasts, the sundrains... Augie takes a turn at the mast, making a scene with his hands, trying to send a message out to the philosophers and caps on the shore, their little beads stuck to telescopes, their breath buckling against the salt and spray...

"Semaphore the life out of them," said Antony, himself already snuggling against a backdrip of insect chatter...

"Mandibles," corrects Augie...

"a Jazz musician without a trumpet..." comes the mumbled reply.

Grey Wolves - Shitlife

About...

Please Ignore this: blog not yet dead

found here

...it's getting there, this tiny thing, but I can sense a tiny spark of life...

TTTTTGGGG

here there be...

Urstings and Birthday Beasts

...she offered, but got rejected and had to fold her limbs away.

"Even as a birthday present... it's a poor show; I've seen buckles bigger than that kids head," said Geoff, his arm waving Masonic Distress Signals that he couldn't remember receiving.

Still, Janice waited for her moment; cursed Geoff under her breath - Anaal Nathrakked him, multi-tracked her sideways glances into a wave of mutilation.

Geoff stood still; taking the blows and preparing to burst the candle flames.

Janice smiled, found herself an unexpected Janus.

"Curses, weathered, boiled..."

Janice swifted and turned; like a gull dive, like a spoiled breakfast.

Urrrrrrr

The Ferroggiaro - du Bois Gallery

What you thought you knew, but did not...

Sunday, November 16, 2008

The Ferroggiaro - du Bois Gallery

The Ferroggiaro - du Bois Gallery



World renowned photographer (photo artist), author and poet, Cherilyn Ferroggiaro creates some of the most extraordinary B&W and Color photography in the world. Her keen eye and creative mind has a profound ability to awe and dazzle admirers of her images. Her devoted and loyal global fans anxiously await her new image releases and others publish her work in major print media.

For the first time ever, Cherilyn Ferroggiaro is releasing her images for product distribution and has chosen Zazzle to make this release. Each of Cher's images is art. Some of her images appear to be paintings and you feel as if you can reach into the image and become part of it.

Recently married, Cherilyn has been inspired by the love she has for her husband and her emotions are expressed in her latest images and writing.

Enjoy her latest releases and past work as well, you will not be disappointed. It is poetry in pictures!

Emerging Magazine


ferroggiarodubois's Gallery at Zazzle

Samples of portraits for appointments - photojournalism also available :

CALL FOR PERSONAL ESSAY SUBMISSIONS FOR BOOK

Topic: THE HEALING POWER OF GIVING
posted: September 26, 2008
Submission Deadline: November 29, 2008

Book Title
29 GIFTS: How to cultivate a daily giving practice that will ignite your energy for life
by Cami Walker and the 29Gifts.org Community

Book Description
29 Gifts is the story of how 29Gifts.org founder, Cami Walker, healed from a major illness by taking an unusual prescription from a South African medicine woman. The remedy? Give 29 gifts to others in 29 days. Midway through Cami's 29 days of giving, after seeing many miraculous changes in her life, she launched a website encouraging others to take the 29 Gifts Challenge and share their stories about how it impacted their lives. Six months and 1,765 committed givers later, Cami was contacted by a major publisher and decided to say YES to their request and write a book. The book is scheduled for release Fall 2009.

In addition to Cami's inspiring personal story, 29 Gifts will also include a collection of 29 personal essays from others about the Healing Power of Giving.

SUBMISSION DETAILS
Authors whose stories are chosen for publication in the 29 Gifts book will receive a one-time payment of $200.

Selected contributors also get a brief bio at the end of their story and a link to their 29Gifts.org profile page. On your 29Gifts.org profile page, readers can learn more about you, leave comments for you about your story, and link to your website.

How to Submit:
1. SIGN UP for the 29 Gifts Challenge at http://www.29Gifts.org

2. Give away 29 gifts in 29 days. Your gifts can be ANYTHING given to ANYONE -- smiles, kind thoughts, old sweaters, cans of soup, spare change...

3. Write and submit a story that is 2,500 words or less about how it impacted your life to focus on giving for 29 days

4. Email your story in the BODY of an email to story@29Gifts.org (NO ATTACHMENTS, please)
*Put STORY in the SUBJECT LINE of your email
*Include your FULL CONTACT DETAILS: first and last name (as you want it published in your byline), phone number, mailing address, email address and the link to your 29Gifts.org profile at the TOP of your email and the story below that.

Submission deadline: November 29, 2008

NOTE: You MUST be a member of the 29Gifts.org site (i.e. have a profile on the site) to be considered for the book.

If you haven't signed up at http://www.29Gifts.org yet, DO IT NOW and start your giving because story submissions for the book are due 11/29/08!


A FEW GUIDELINES TO GIVE YOU THE BEST CHANCE OF BEING SELECTED FOR THE 29 GIFTS BOOK:
1. Write in present, active tense.

2. Use a lot of sensory detail that helps stimulate all five senses.

3. Use conversational tone, as if you are sitting down and telling the story in person to your best friend.

4. Tell the story of the gift(s) you gave, but also communicate how it impacted you. How did you feel about yourself after offering the gift(s)? Did the gift(s) change your perception about something? Did you receive something unexpected in return? Was there an evident impact on the recipient of the gift(s)?

Please direct any submission-related questions to: story@29Gifts.org
*Absolutely NO phone calls please.

-------------------------------

Please share this with anyone who may be interested!

can you delete me from this blogggggggggggggggggggggg

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gggggggggggggggg

balls in the background

did you see a painting
of my cock?

it just sits there,
painted.

i thought, holy fuck
that's my cock

and it's just sitting there,
painted.


~lds08

The Blown Fusings

No reason to keep re-animating this excepting I like the (b)idea of keeping it just hovering over the edge of life; like there's a quiver of EEG still draining out the system which cannot yet be detected because the EEG machines aren't sensitive enough.

Like a type of blog consciousness whicb looks smooth and lifeless to the eye but which, at the micro-level is just a little rough and spiky...

Animal Collective - For Reverend Green

THIS SITE HAS BEEN RE-NAMED.

FROM NOW ON IT WILL BE KNOWN as COCAINE JESUS AND HIS AUTOMATON'S (tUChE hIP priEST)

One of the Diddy Men

return

discharge 3

go here....discharge3 ...NOW!

not even with a when or an if could the petulant child be placated.
so with a keen blade, and some strong twine, the truculent infant was brought to brook.

comicopera by robert wyatt

this gentleman's latest long playing record is now available. comicopera.

marvellous in 66

DISCHARGE

we are discharge.

we are deviant.

we are dark angels with bright wings.

we are dysfunctional.

we are blog art.

discharge2

DISCHARGE - the best art collective in the blog world

David Carradine

David Carradine (born John Arthur Carradine on December 8, 1936 in Hollywood, California) is an American actor

The Killing

hey Tuche and Automaton'ers, my new chapbook The Moveable Ones is just out from Transmission Press

The Moveable Ones

my kind of people

Deadman

One of the overlooked but totally GREAT comic book characters of my youth. In the hands of Jack Miller and Neal Adams this was a DC masterpiece.

Poem: Pressing by Bruce Eisner

Pressing

Two people pressing against each other can be a start
can create heat
the cool ocean air surrounding
two people pressing against each other
in the dark
groping for inner
strength surrounding
warm ambiance of skin
two people pressing against each other
to find
what is this spirit that grows stronger
hearts melding
eyes sinking
forever deeper
two people pressing

June, 1983
Santa Cruz, CA
Bruce Eisner's Vision Thing

Amalgmated Society of Watermen Lightermen and Bargemen

Whores

Whores have the ability to share their most private and sensitive body parts with total strangers.
Whores have good senses of humor.
Whores challenge sexual mores.
Whores are playful.
Whores are tough.
Whores have careers based on giving pleasure.
Whores are creative.
Whores are adventurous and dare to live dangerously.
Whores teach people how to be better lovers.
Whores are multi-cultured and multi-gendered.
Whores give excellent advice and help people with their personal problems.
Whores have fun.
Whores wear exciting clothes.
Whores have patience and tolerance for people that other people could never manage to put up with.
Whores make lonely people less lonely.
Whores are independent.
Whores teach people how to have safer sex.
Whores are a tradition.
Whores are hot and hip.
Whores are free spirits.
Whores relieve millions of people of unwanted stress and tension.
Whores heal.
Whores endure in the face of fierce prejudice.
Whores make good money.
Whores always have a job.
Whores are sexy and erotic.
Whores have special talents other people just don't have. Not everyone has what it takes to be a whore.
Whores are interesting people with lots of exciting life stories.
Whores get laid a lot.
Whores help people explore their sexual desires.
Whores explore their own sexual desires.
Whores are not afraid of sex.
Whores hustle.
Whores sparkle.
Whores are entertaining.
Whores have the guts to wear very big wigs.
Whores are not ashamed to be naked.
Whores help the handicapped.
Whores make their own hours.
Whores are rebelling against the absurd, patriarchal, sex-negative laws against their profession and are fighting for the legal right to receive financial compensation for their valuable work.

Poetry by Alexa Chung (popworld)

Study of an Adventurer

The Lost River

Sam found a Lost River
And was immediately disappointed.

'It's just like all the rest,' he said
Colouring his maps.

here she makes a meal of a moment that curses everyone and, as Charlou once said: "Everyone's pink on the inside"


Sam finds Pox and Pox finds Sam

Sam went to Africa
To search for new diseases.

Caught a little pox
From a frog in the jungle,

Drew the rash
With coloured pencils

And plugged himself
With ancient herbs.

'I wonder,'
His mind was wandering,

'If the disease finds us
As much as we find it?'

Sam spent the rest of the year
Looking for a notebook

That was smaller
And more neatly coloured

Than his own.

here she opens her heart a little, making a move towards the blessed regime of poesie with an almost Gericaultian assault on the senses. later, you can read the tears as they run down the page.

Underestimating the locals

'Never,' said Sam
'Underestimate the locals.

'You never know
When a pygmy might strike.

'They're unpredictable
And nippy little fellahs.'

One time, Sam got caught
In what he thought was a net.

Turned out to be a hole
With no way out.

'If they eat me,
I'll live forever,' he said,

Feeling optimistic
And starting to hallucinate.

They let him out
And sent him on

With a tattoo of an arse
On the back of his head

Which they found funny.

here is her response to the Jade Goody Celebrity Big Brother debacle - re-released in honour of 'Nigeria' Emily's latest contribution to the racism debate.

Carrier Pigeons

Sam used Carriers
To get his message across

Then some silly bugger
Ate one for supper

Using a fork
In the same way as the locals.

'Goddamit!' said Sam
From his Mexican prison.

'Is no one out there
Afraid of his stomach?'

One pigeon came back
With a message of love

And many best wishes
From all of England.

Sam, it said,
We wish a speedy return.

no one's even sure if she wrote this one and it seems like the names have been changed

Bear Bird Rabbits

Avey Tare & Kiri Brekken - Foetus No Man

A Yousendit She-Loves-To-See-Them-Run-In-The-Fields Production

Handcars

"They walked, lamed to a few bad decions and shanked themselves to the brink of martyrdom"

from The Retracers; an aural history of palour and self-sufficiency