Friday, July 5, 2019

medical advice


Literature. It can be safety instructions, if you break up the meaning of shit. It's something happening now, something hair raising, and it's some public health fuck-all.

I've been having espresso penis for the last month. Lots of whizzing. Ridiculously often. Comical labor squirting those last surviving drips and surges. Irritation. Thought I was gonna die. Might be alright.

I quit drinking super harsh budget espresso. It may take a lot of the hot, thick, dark-brewed ape urine, and two days into the program the thing seems to be clearing right up. I think I'm surviving espresso penis. I think the shit irritates my thoughtful, reliable and timid urethra. So if you drink dollar store espresso cowboy style, boiling in a little sauce pan, straining through a budget steel mesh strainer, and your sluices get jumpy, quit drinking it. It's horse piss.
 




Thursday, April 25, 2019

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.