Friday, April 19, 2019

Embedded youtube poem reading




"What we have here is failure to communicate."   Those depressing words by actor Struther Martin, in the film Cool Hand Luke, drive home the fact that people are rarely perfect for one another.  That's often the way in the humanities field.  We don't all agree on what is humane or pretty.   One tries to propose, in the abstract, a new way of thinking and seeing.  It doesn't always work.  Sometimes it's the attempt that matters more so than the afters.   If one can't communicate well, once can do so however one does.   Behold my latest poem reading video, with guitar.

Friday, April 5, 2019

Big Buff Bruce's Poetry Presentations presents: Getting The Treatment




GETTING THE TREATMENT

"Doc, it started with this irrational hatred for sardines."

I was trapped at sea with people I hadn't known before.
By the time we'd all been intimate, the boat crashed
 
The doctor asked me:   "You enjoyed watching half hour situation comedies when you were little, didn't you?"

I replied :   "Reruns, Doc.    Reruns of half hour situation comdies,
with songs about islands and beaches."

We're the animals that think and believe in free will. 

In that neck of the woods you can't throw a rock without hitting a cellist.

Naturally I'm upset


...

Please, pretty please view my new poem reading with flute video.  Just over one minute of possible heaven if you are the rare beauties who really dig me.  You should.   Let me know if I can help.  There's a shitload of customer support, right the fuck here, for everyone.   Let me share an inspiration.

The flute playing in the video.  I play the wooden flute about as well as a third grader, but with the help of a digital editor recordings can be whacked with electronic reverb, takes one second to *do it to it,* and the flute playing sounds complex and difficult to perform.   It's easy as making cereal treat bars, with drugs in them. 

I began playing the wooden flute for an asinine reason.  I saw David Carradine play one in a scene in a stupid movie.  I wanted a similar flute.  It looked visually interesting to play one by a camp fire, or outside a country church, such as in a scene.  How fucking idiotic.  I don't care who knows  what I'm like.  I'm an amusing little cuss.  I stopped the movie, on Netflix, bipped over to ebay, found a wooden flute ($30., looked cool)  closed the deal on the flute, and resumed watching Kill bill.  A month later I started learning to play entry level riffs on it.   Then something tragic happened.

Carradine was found dead  in a hotel room.   Story has it he was performing auto-erotic asphyxiation in the closet, choking himself, using a belt, into a randy mental state, while contemplating  the long skinny Buddha. It doesn't really have any effect on anything, aside from extraneous judgment made against a person at large.  It in no way disproves that it is cool to play a wooden flute.   Everyone needs to grasp the philosophy of Universalism.   Listen.  Listen to my recorded video poetry reading, with wooden flute.  You will comprehend.  Fuck, yes.

Thursday, March 28, 2019

We are what we assimilate

I was binge watching the entertainment series Breaking Bad the other day, and since then have been having laughing fits about this quote by character Jesse Pinkman:


"Did you know that there's an acceptable level of rat turds that can go into candy bars? It's the government, jack. Even government doesn't care that much about quality. You know what is okay to put in hot dogs? Huh? Pig lips and assholes. But I say, hey, have at it bitches 'cause I love hot dogs."


Bravo.  Exactamundo.   This is sublime.   He has no power over the meat processing industry or over the government.  He has no stake in anyone's diet except, possibly, his own, and that choice may be invalidated through scarcity or contamination.   What if one's only food choice, either on the road or, maybe, in jail, is limited to meat products made of pig bung?   


The speech is analogous to the human condition.   It isn't merely hot dogs that are made of assholes.  So's Congress.   The ruling corporate oligarchy is composed of pig assholes.  Or are the assholes pigs?   You decide.   I'd like to demurr.





B

Tuesday, March 26, 2019








Saturday, March 16, 2019

How Do You Think?

I think I'm too old to benefit anytime soon  from therapy of any kind.   My ass is deteriorating, and by 'ass' I mean the gestalt of the body human.  All of a person is 'his/her ass.'  You know, like, "How's it going?  I ain't seen your ass in ages."   If your financial investments are rising in value, you might say it's 'good for your ass.'   Also, a proper diet and the right amount of exercise is good for your ass.

With our terms neatly defined, some shit of interest happened this fucking week.

I'm over age sixty, and geriatric bullshit, consequences of getting old as fuck have been on the front burner.   I was making a demo video, talking instructional shit into the back of my cheap shitty camcorder, trying to produce a novelty cooking feature for my shit-fucking barely known podcast project (The Not Too Social Hour, look for it, ingrates!)  when my voice changed.  I didn't mean to do it, but I accidentally inflected the way Bernie Sanders does every time he says more than ten words in sequence.  You can see it yourself on my very recent youtube video about the chicken fried mountain oysters I prepared and chowed down on.   I ate over one pond of breaded, fried sheep's balls, while video recording it all, bounces and wiggles on the cutting board, the sizzling of hot grease.   Here's a cute little biopic on my ass as regards sheep's balls:



I got off subject.  I was going to say something about the way people think.  People differ organically and structurally.  A philosopher who has brains and private parts in working order will admit they may think in a  radically different manner than, dare I fucking say it, everyone else.  What a fucking stupid way of explaining this shit.   I'm fessing up to the highly personal fact that I tend to think in the form of a dialogue with an imaginary person, possibly a friend or stranger.    I'm supposing a lot of people think independent of an imaginary person or persons, and there are royal differences in personality among people with differing thought structures and brain hardware.   In the unlucky event that I just fessed up to being a loony, it's too fucking bad.   

What I'm saying is I'm a fucking philosopher, and it can lead to social conflict.   It's why I'm a disgruntled hermit with low numbers on my blog.   People with normal thought structures are much more popular.    Fucking pricks.