"filming" poems
Uhh..,I'm just gonna **** around on this one, lights, camera, action nigga..yoo,Young Ston, of course it's still gone be dat real **** Day trill spit..Yeah That unbelievable **** dawg..my ***** you should already know Dat tho dawg..
Let's go..(Uhh2)..(Yeah2)..
(Lights, Camera, Action3),we filming , we back Yeah, we back man..(Yeah2)..(Lights, Camera, Action3)..Yeah we filming,..yeah we back in business again..Yeah we back man...(Uhh2)..(Yeah2)..(Light Camera Action2)
Yeah ***** we back to filming , no acting..This is a true story yeah a documentary of a young ***** that was broke once, but used his mind to get up outta the struggle...Yeah Young Ston,..Uhh let's get it cracking..(Lights Camera Action*2)..Lights Camera Action *****
Let's get it..Let's go..Let the cameras roll & dont stop filming at all,..Lights ,Camera, Action dawg..Uhh OFTR we ready for whatever, ***** we building an empire, & a palace to relax , smoke & Trap at my ***** let's get back to business, Yeah..(Lights, camera, action..*3)..ain't no stopping, no quitting.. **** all of them doubters ***** they even more disappointed & mad now shit..they shoulda stayed on they hustle instead of waisting time being on my **** dawg.. Ayo.., I came outta no where so prepared like the attack on Pearl Harbor, blasting wisdom nigga..fuck the system ***** its very curropted..
They don't give a **** about us ****** They just want us trapped & blindfolded, but OFTR we breaking free from all of this corruption,..Uhh..
(Lights, Camera, Action*3)
Forget listening to these other ****** music they wack to me, they with the gay agenda, They hypnotizing & brainwashing the youth mane..so forget worshipping those faggets, they ******* **** & bending over just to get a check,...Only Jesus gets my praise..Aye man..
OFTR, no we ain't kissing nobody *** **** the white man, he's Satan, **** a major deal, I don't need that, Naw nigga..I'm bossing myself, forget Bossing around my ***** we all bosses man, I'm helping my ****** out that's tryna get wealthy, my ***** ain't nothing selfish about OFTR, all we ever do is help the people, **** being a celebrity ***** OFTR we all leaders my ***** let's get back to the action..Yeah..Yeah..Aye..Uhh
(Lights, Camera, Action..*3)..nigga get to filming..aye
Only Real ****** get the privilege to **** wit me, I only hang wit (The Family*2)..is my security yo my ***** if you don't like me then stay from round my way..& if you talk bad about my team then you are attempting to get hurt mane, just stay away Cuhz, you dealing wit real gangsters man, no movie, but you can call this The Rise of The ****** Disciple, Imma young ***** that made his own way Yeah..
I be thuggin everyday, I go gangsta on these beats, I be gangsta in these streets, Imma real nigga,Imma Poet, Imma legend, Yeah I'm more than a rapper ***** I'm the Streets Preacher, Yeah mane..(OK*3)..cool,..Let's do it..Uhh..
(Lights, Camera, Action3)..we filming, Yeah (lights, camera, action3)..nigga we back, Yeah ***** we back in business man, Yeah we back to filming again, Yeah we back , nigga,Yeah we back in business man..(Yeah ***** we back*3)..in business again..Aye..
lights , camera, action..yeah (Lights, Camera*2)..action..Lights , Camera, Action..
/(Lights, Camera2)..action../2
(Yeah ***** we back*3)..in business..
Young Ston OFTR
(Yeah nigga3)..(Yeah2)..Uhh
Dec 28, 2015
Dec 28, 2015 at 1:04 PM UTC
I know of just too many Cyclopes,
Let me describe one of them better,
The one who preys on values of men.
So miniature he is - mere few inches,
So often in our pockets he is found,
So crooked he is with a single eye.
When among beautiful babes & gals,
He is active getting used in clicking,
Also used up is he sometimes by fishy men for fishier purposes.
This Cyclops was filming one such similar affair with a lady unaware,
Stripped naked was her body exposed to that bare,
Trick or truth, clothed or naked, she thought not about this cyborg Cyclops filming her **** ever in her wildest of fears.
The young lady is then blackmailed by the Cyclops's master,
"Be quiet about it and serve us in our industry,"
Threatened with publishing publicly of the moments - she gives in to this blackmail.
Feb 28, 2015
Feb 28, 2015 at 12:54 AM UTC
Tempestuous longings from behind the screen of life’s moving picture
You stare back at me, in a glimmering, shimmering afterthought
Laid low by foregoing passion
In a moment’s torrid glimpse from our hollow reflections
Fragrant evenings during seasons of filming
Solemnly captured and revised then experienced
The all encompassing struggle with context and setting
Abides a steely night, in the rustle of autumn branches
Requiem for an unremitting beloved!
Sung in the valley between piercing peaks of sorrow
She floats through the scene as distinct aura and vague essence
An embrace from the trail of vapors and misspent gestures
All emanating from a glass of cider beneath nostrils
Gracefully, you embank on the wind of time’s shadow
And nudge my cheek with impetus and vigor
Lashing out at my skin in ambivalent revelry
As if my follicles were vacuous caverns
Catching the callous moments which flutter the ***** of hillside tents
The unearthly gusts of banality extinguish the projector’s gleam
While nature embodies your beauty furthermore
Toward the end of the pathway
And the credits of the film
And the allegro of the score
And the solitude of eternity
And the rustling of the branches
Aug 30, 2010
Aug 30, 2010 at 12:09 AM UTC
.*i'm still an advocate of caesarean section... i believe in animal rights... it's just plain cruel exposing a European ****** to a pan-African phallus of a fetus head **** isn't it **** "technically"? **** me... forget the ******** **** the latex... the ****** ******* one pregnant women ************ and talking Freudian implosion will do.*
personally? i hardly think
******** **** is what men turn
to when excavating
***********
ever watched
pregnant
women
************
while filming themselves?!
ever watch pregnant women
film
themselves ************
ever?
in the beginning there
was the word,
and the word was god...
you hear the talking
of pregnant woman ************
**** me...
who the hell needs ******** ***
when you can **** off
to a pregnant woman...
jerking off, talking *****
paradoxes of Freud
about her yet to be born
son
watching her **********
who the hell needs
******** ****
just watch a pregnant woman **********
oath of god...
hand on my heart...
it doesn't actually encompass a
desire for intricacies of latex...
just a pregnant woman
************
*** mad... *** mad...
*** mad...
******* *** mad as hell...
Freud? pale as an uncooked
pancake dough...
the **** that comes out
from the mouth of a pregnant
woman ************
believe me...
i ****** off to one of them doing it
helpless.
nice try... thinking
a man would turn to ********
***********
can't turn to more ********
****
than a pregnant woman,
************
while talking, Oedipal,
*****
try... try, ******
try to bash that fact out
of existence!
Sep 5, 2018
Sep 5, 2018 at 10:49 PM UTC
‘Apocalypto’ is a film set in a Maya civilisation and consists of a story that takes place in one tribe and how a passing tribe affects them to a degree of destruction. The story unfolds in a linear way of storytelling which is basic but still effective. From director Mel Gibson, the director of ‘Braveheart’ and ‘Passion of the Christ’. An underrated director of sorts but a great one nonetheless. Overlooked due to his acting career, he has been holding back on us as a director.
The characters are set to be living a Mayan life and go about their days behaving as such but are rather generous and civilized for such an old race of people. They live peacefully and secluded until they interact with another tribe which brings about their downfall. And the way in which a Mayan civilization might go about solving problem as common as a natural disaster. Through sacrifices to the God's as a way to solve problems and mass results. Very accurate to the Mayan culture as well as the entire movie taking place without one word of English, all dialogue being said in the Mayan language. Another credit to the film.
The directing style for this film is beautiful and flawless to say the least. No shaky cam used or hand held cam either. All fluent movement of the camera to create a great story, one that flows naturally. The use of camera angles is creative and different, using tilted angles to convey a certain mood and straight framed shots to convey another mood.
The performances stand out as a huge positive, the actors who I have honestly never heard of give Oscar worthy performances. Mel Gibson uses unknown actors as not to compromise the film by the status of the actors. These actors and actresses give a hard performance based on body language and quiet moments, the enduring task of learning to be emotional through a foreign language. Which is why I would guess Mel Gibson used local actors who are more aware of the Mayan language than American actors.
The set design is truly Oscar worthy in this film. The Mayan temples and tribe lands are captured perfectly in the sets for this film. Well build and suited towards the amazon environment. As well as good filming locations, using the wonders of the amazon rainforest as an advantage.
In final thoughts, I believe that Mel Gibson is a stunning director with an eye for detail and a beautiful visual director. A director that can produce great work. ‘Apocalypto’ to me in the near future will become a period piece masterpiece. A tale of survival and dedication that will live on through the ages.
Rating: Film - 8.4
Personal - 8.9
Sep 29, 2016
Sep 29, 2016 at 12:02 PM UTC
In the early evening, a now, as man is bending
over his writing table.
Slowly he lifts his head; a woman
appears, carrying roses.
Her face floats to the surface of the mirror,
marked with the green spokes of rose stems.
It is a form
of suffering: then always the transparent page
raised to the window until its veins emerge
as words finally filled with ink.
And I am meant to understand
what binds them together
or to the gray house held firmly in place by dusk
because I must enter their lives:
it is spring, the pear tree
filming with weak, white blossoms.
3.8k
it's inherent ontology, it's not even necessary to process inherited ontology; inherited ontology can be riddled and lost to abstraction like the invention of crosswords as antidote to the drilling-in of the Bible... but inherent ontology? inherent is a tautological invitation to italicise the word ontology - tautology anti synonym - the doubly stressed, point origin secured, but from two adjacent / adjective angles - well, might as well be a compound, the adjacent-adjective, when language meets math and math meets.... d'uh... or simply arithmetic, because that's how it's easily translated, arithmetic is grey people and math the rich... language the poets and grammar the farts.
a shortened critique of pure reason -
a) based on phenomena
(things most likely talked about)
and
b) based of noumenna
(things least likely talked about)....
i.e. a) and the ego implant,
and b) the god implant -
likewise the zealots on either side,
bleep bleep beep r r e r s.... and muslims...
i forgot to mention that Kant forgot
to mention the trigonometric foundations
as justifying owning a villa or whatnot,
the same foundations of having
the implant ego secured and willed
are the same parameters of the
implant god secured and thought
the point being dynamic parallelism,
mid-way between cosine and sine
rigid fluctuation tangents occur,
the ridiculous abbreviations, the p.s., and ibis.;
you're basically born with ego
or you're born with god -
there's no woof woof Pavlov chime chime in between -
ring-a-ding-ding-surprise?
there's no side-winding to create cinema -
being born with ego is explained clearly, coerced
with monetary affairs;
being born with god is explained "clearly", coerced
with murderers, lastly -
no psychological theory will box-me-in
given the lost tribalism and the usage of
the trans-valuation of the synonym of thing -
with money came slang - and all thorough evils,
with slang, synonyms, antonyms, critique of vocab.,
Arizona in the ******* Amazon -
i'm basically saying what Kant said:
god isn't uncool or whatever atheism tends to forget,
it's an implant of functioning, we can't rid it
by argument, and we certainly can't accept it
by prayer - unless we're dumb enough to do either
for worth of understanding tornadoes;
because that's were Seymour Hoffman started for me,
filming Twister.
Jun 24, 2016
Jun 24, 2016 at 7:29 PM UTC
as i sit here,
eating yet another
bowl of trifle,
that is rabbit-like,
in it's ability,
to seem neverending.
my thoughts lollop,
with leperorine grace to,
fibonacci
and his box of bunnies
multipying and multiplying....
....ad infinitum...
another spoon,
to my mouth.
stop....
the sun's gentle rays,
sparkle through,
jellies translucency.
as tastebuds swoon
at sweet sugar's mango rush.
synapses hop and pop within
my head....
and in my mind's eye,
i see flopsy, mopsy,
cottontail..boy and paul.
(not peter..copyright laws)
cavorting with fibonacci's
numbers,
1,1,3,5,8,13,21....and so on.
playing leap frog, in a hedge
maze.
they play and add and hop and
grow,
in an unending trail,
spiraling off.... into the west,
in a sweet smelling lavender haze.
at this point, i'm now thinking...
just, how much sherry did
aunty beryl put in this magic
trifle....
if i am honest with myself
and with you as well.
i will open my heart to confess.
to three new,
believed abstractions:
one;
after all these years(47)
i am still enamoured of beatrix's
cute little rabbits
(but i must still claim
miss jemima puddleduck
as my all time favourite)
two;
fibonacci's numbers still rule
(what an extraordinary mind
this man owned and used
to the betterment of man kind)
and three;
....much more prosaically..
you see...
i fear i am having a moment of
metenoia ....
with regard to the trifle...
and the amount of it's delctable
connsumption.
i can now clearly
and a tiny bit queasily,
see....
what it is to be a glutton!!!
and i find repentant thoughts
of never again will i eat so much...
(in one sitting)....
are stomping on the rabbits.
(fortunately the rabbits are
getting out of the way....
...quick little fellas aren't they..
...no rabbits were hurt in the filming
of this imaginary sequence...)
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 12:50 AM UTC
Film and television cameras:
Roving eyes for many of us.
But are We the cameras on the world
For an audience somewhere out there
Beyond the stars?
Our world: a studio for countless films.
The animal race a production crew
For programmes watched by spirit beings.
And who collects these reels of Life?
Where is The Director?
What Company employs us all?
Those with feelings of Déjà vu do ask:
Which Take are we doing now?
And Minds of Science claim
We can Forward Fast or Rewind.
It’s one great mystery of course:
The longest journey of them all.
A soap opera to beat all others:
This film called “Life”.
Paul Butters
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 5:30 AM UTC
at the desk, applying for jobs
there is coffee in my cup
and paint in the creases of my fingernails,
on the wall, a whiteboard with new song lyrics
and a list
of things I need to buy,
of course, once I have the money to buy them,
which brings me back to the desk
which an empty bottle of Cabernet Merlot
sits with an empty glass
and notebooks and a mason jar
with cloudy brown-red water
from the bristles of my paintbrushes
my coffee is cold
the french press is in the kitchen
but my flatmate is filming in there
so I’m stuck at my desk
with two sips of cold coffee left,
applying for jobs.
I feel very fragile
right now,
partly because I didn’t go to a job interview
today,
partly because I didn’t go to a job trial,
on friday
though I don’t want to be a waitress
and **** modelling for art classes scares me.
there’s a plant on my windowsill
named Lucy
and she doesn’t have to do anything
and there are two vanilla candles and an incense holder
with lavender incense burning
but **** all the things that
"bring peace"
like small plants, candles, incense, crystals and photographs;
I want a healthy and clean life,
so I have these things
part as a protection
from my own mind
but to be perfectly honest,
I’m at the desk, browsing jobs online,
saving them for later into a bookmark folder entitled
"Wellington Jobs"
instead of actually applying.
Nov 24, 2013
Nov 24, 2013 at 10:08 PM UTC
Newspapers are only covered in ***** print;
of despair and distress and danger playing master of our moves.
So I can’t talk to you through that.
Paintings are for love songs left unsung;
they are the inner kept journals of unrequited dreams,
scrawls of abuse or lumps of hurt, growing like tumours.
You wouldn’t understand.
So I can’t talk to you through that.
Music is only for the sunlit realm of lovers found;
of certainty and confidence and devotion above the sordid,
tangled affairs of wayward souls.
Living in a fantasy to escape the loneliness aching in soft spots inside.
So I can’t talk to you through that.
Letters are lost in nostalgia;
a celebration to be had, words unspoken for decades,
births and deaths, reserved for life events detailed in the past.
So I can’t talk to you through that.
Movies are just reenactments of dreams;
stunning heroes, masters of skill, justice seekers,
adventures of awe, loves broken but patched together with stronger yarn.
A world of little lies to helps better cope with heartache and grief.
We can’t immortalise ourselves in something
when it runs the risk of breaking.
So I can’t talk to you through that.
But I can do something much harder
then writing or filming or singing or painting…
I can give it all up, over to you.
I can trace patterns across your shoulders as you wake,
our special language which tells you I love you, I’m trying to trust you.
I can write you little notes, decadent words and sultry ideas,
and make a trail for you to follow to me.
I can be vulnerable in your arms, more than skin and internals
and a framework of bones.
I can be more real with you than I have never known to be possible.
It’s not just me showing how much I need you by the length I hold your kiss,
or how long it takes for us to disentangle ourselves from sleep, how often
we see each other naked.
It’s more the heart I dare draw on your skin with my lips.
Aug 7, 2016
Aug 7, 2016 at 7:48 AM UTC
.
I'm so proud !
::::
Now here's how it came down
//
A whole lotta girls at our high school
Come up with a new *** craze
Literally
Getting ****** up the *** by a billy goat !
In and of itself
This is hardly noteworthy
But (!)
They took it too a new level by filming themselves
Doing it
While also ************ with one hand
And jiggling their **** with the other
And basically turning it into
A sort of ***** dance competition.
//
Now this caught on real big
And the high schools in the area each got
Together competitive teams
And then a city wide league
Where the teams are judged on form
And
Creativity
And synchronization of *******
And mutuality of masturbatory modalities
( like oral *** )
//
It is a huge money maker for the schools //
Drawing 1000 of fans
Who basically
**** and **** off all night
In the stands !
//
At first the Christians of the town
Objected
But
Eventually it proved to be that
Not having to pay taxes is a higher CHRISTIAN precept
Than ****** purity !
//
Everyone here is having a good time
and maybe some of your towns
Might get something going
//
Some schools I know of
Are trying to include
Cutting oneself and menstrual blood
Into the completion
Hopefully new ideas will occur
And the sport will grow
.
Dec 9, 2015
Dec 9, 2015 at 1:56 AM UTC
Faceless books relive life as pseudo-abbreviated scribes
the tip tapping of helvetica lies reporting banal times
falsified laughter coughed up between every three lines
Faceless books wasting precious time
gathering the masses for the fanfare of a couple of guys
and gals.
Crippled by conformity to fit within cyber-society for cyber-friends and cyber-lives, virtually living a virtual life without virtually living in the first place.
Posing pursed lips and filming grainy video clips
one-liners of the wall signers pretending to pretend to care to come off as they actually pretend to care to begin with.
Two hundred and plus empty entities and counting, the next person met can subscribe to my life now.
Feb 16, 2010
Feb 16, 2010 at 8:22 AM UTC
Acquiring the libel of critics
Internally at times I bleat
And snarl, brow furrowed
Like an actress when filming a major motion *****
“Originality bid us farewell” screams my advanced intellect
Nothing more than a social outcast who lacks a catalyst
(though thankfully the universe is an object of open ended philosophy)
The voices of such a generation fail to carry notes
Beyond the octave range
Only Canis lupus familiaris feces, in its rejuvenated appearance,
Delivers abstract imagery
What was once honorable has dissolved into media sewage
Virginal darlings now dissolved into marionettes
Shall my poems alienate the public
They shall at least demonstrate bravery
Sep 7, 2012
Sep 7, 2012 at 10:53 PM UTC
Do you remember me?
Do you remember the way you pulled at my hair
The way you bit on my shoulder
Legs
Thighs
Neck
The way you hit my cheek
And left marks of yourself all over me
The way you flung money on my face
The way you kept ******* me
Even though I was asking, begging
PLEADING
For you to stop
The way you screamed,
"Work harder you *****
I didn’t waste money for you to stop"
And the bruises you left
When I passed out?
I
Am the girl
From the Red Room of The ***** House.
I
Am the ****
Who is ***** everyday
But society says,
"NO. It's all for the easy money"
I
Am the gold-digger
Crying for people to stop.
I
Am the story
Of eighty million **** toys
Behind the Curtains less Doors of Pleasure for Men.
No.
We aren’t **** stars.
We don't become famous for filming obscene videos.
We are just some toys
That men borrow
Like a rental car.
We are the colors
The society talks about in hushed voices
In the corner of a deserted street.
We are the discarded clothes
You never wore
Because they weren’t good enough.
We are the succubuses
Of every man's dream.
We are Pleasure
And
Lust
And
Money
And
Sin.
But,
We die a bit everyday.
We have felt, seen and heard pain
MORE than any one of you here.
We are WOMEN.
But no one holds a candle lit march for us
When one of us is *****
Because
"It's all for the easy money"
Isn’t it?
We are the Strippers, the Prostitutes, the *****
We
Are the nightmares you never wish to have
We
ARE THE UNSHED TEARS OF A FORGOTTEN PAST.
do you remember me now?
Apr 6, 2020
Apr 6, 2020 at 11:22 AM UTC
Morning drops like a parachute,
circumnavigating
the irrational things within her.
She drew the grim cartwheel
--crayoned images of kids in closets,
and blackens them into
illustrations of war.
She sleeps on bleak days
with young cameras,
Lucy under the tongue,
rosaries at the border
feel like pins and needles
to an adrenaline sorceress
in giallo approach,
her eye in a labyrinth,
the eye she lost in the Crusades,
filming streets below
the color of dark Roman wine.
It's a staring contest,
waiting on rooftops
in stages of collapse,
there she lives or dies
at the dividing line with the grave.
Jan 20, 2024
Jan 20, 2024 at 5:51 PM UTC
Jenifer Garner looked every inch the mom in control as she and estranged husband Ben Affleck picked up their daughters from karate class.
The actress, 43, strode out ahead clutching her cell phone in one hand and car keys in her other as the Argo star, also 43, followed behind with Violet, nine, and Seraphina, six, and carrying a canvas shopping bag.
Garner also had her wedding ring back on, but on the middle finger of her left hand and not the ring finger.
Affleck, though, seems to have ditched his wedding ring altogether.
He hasn't been seen with it on for a couple of weeks at least, although when they first split the pair had made it known they'd still keep the gold bands on around their kids.
Rumors had started to swirl of a possible reconciliation between the two after they were seen leaving couples counseling together in Sana Monica on September 4.
But sources close to them moved quickly to quash any suggestion they might get back together, saying they were simply seeking professional help to guide them through the changes that divorce brings.
Affleck was a doting dad on Friday as he smilingly shepherded his daughters to the car as they snacked on apples.
The Good Will Hunting actor was dressed casually in an olive green t-shirt, black jeans and sneakers.
Seraphina wore a pretty light blue pinafore dress with a matching hairband and her favorite purple and pink Nike trainers.
Violet wore an all black workout ensemble with turquoise athletic shoes.
Not with them was the girls' younger brother Samuel, who's three.
The estranged couple are back in LA after Garner spent most of the summer filming Miracles From Heaven in Atlanta, Georgia, and Affleck was reprising his role as Batman for Suicide Squad in Toronoto, Canada.
With those projects in the can, it means they can focus more time on caring for their children as their divorce moves forward.
Affleck is also prepping his next project Live By Night, a Prohibition-era drama that he's written and plans to star in and direct.
The film based on the novel by Denis Lehane and set in Boston is scheduled to start filming in November.
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Sep 20, 2015
Sep 20, 2015 at 10:59 PM UTC
On the beach I sat on a rock, staring out to sea.
The day was sunny and warm, though blowing a gentle breeze.
There were only a few people there on the beach.
They were engrossed with having fun, and ignored me.
Further along the beach, in a striped top, was a girl.
She walked to the edge of the sea, and watched the incoming tide.
I idly watched the girl who was watching the incoming tide.
Her long hair, unbound, was teased by the gentle breeze.
She stood there motionless, just an ordinary girl,
Gazing at the relentless waves rolling in from the sea.
Although there were other people scattered on the beach,
None of them had any attraction in any way for me.
I was spending time alone, there on that beach,
Watching the slow encroachment of the incoming tide.
As the sun moved overhead, stronger became the breeze,
Making breaking white tops on the waves on the sea.
Reaching into her pocket, a camera was produced by the girl,
Who slowly started filming the scene, turning and facing me.
I watched the girl, standing there, with her back to the sea.
Was she secretly filming me while pretending to film the beach?
She was bare-foot, and as I watched, her feet were wettened by the tide.
The wind had moved round and from her to me now blew the breeze.
I thought I could detect a subtle scent wafting from the girl.
“Attar of Roses”, my favourite fragrance, drifted across to me.
Then, as I sat and watched, further turned the girl.
Having turned fully around, she stood again with her back to the beach.
Then, she seemed to realise, she was surrounded by sea,
And gradually she became aware of the incoming tide.
Once again, she slowly turned, hair blown in her face by the breeze,
And her face, framed by her hair, was now facing to me.
Then, camera swinging from a hand, she walked up the beach.
The panorama that I saw, had now lost some appeal for me.
The sun was slowly sinking down, and colder blew the breeze.
The waves were getting stronger, on the incoming tide.
I decided it was time that I ended my sojourn by the sea,
And I could still smell “Attar of Roses”, a memento of the ephemeral girl.
*Grahame Upham
9th May 2014*
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 10:36 AM UTC
There used to be a time when you were paddling down the river
You'd hear that banjo song and you'd go all a quiver
You know the song I mean it always made me shiver
Now, there's something scarier when you're out there on that river
(banjo music...deliverance theme)
No matter how far south you go there's tv shows galore
Cajun this and Cajun that and Cajun even more
Louisiana sold out it's a reality tv *****
If you find name one show that's filming you know there's 15 more
(banjo music...deliverance theme)
Of all the shows out there I don't get Honey Boo Boo
I mean, look at how that child looks we're talking nasty ju ju
There's a high priestess out there who did some Boo Boo Voo Doo
I've never seen another kid who looks like Honey Boo Boo
(banjo music....deliverance theme)
There's not a place down south not owned by Duck Commander
They own the rights on everything, on every salamander
If there's a deal on anything, these good old boys will land 'er
The Robertson's own everything, those Buck 'n Duck Commanders
(banjo music...deliverance theme)
Now, as I said that banjo song was scary and it was a real big hit
But, now it takes up second place, something else will make you 'git
No need to fear the banjo being played by a hermit
It's when the State Trooper asks..."Boy, where's your paid up film permit?"
( banjo music...deliverance playout)
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 11:51 PM UTC
I was overwhelmed by the enthusiastic response this poem received when I posted it last month. As it seemed to resonate with the current prevailing mood, I figured I'd try a quick spoken word video to go with it.
Thank you again to everyone who commented on, liked, added and reposted the written version.
https://youtu.be/wGxRvuMWCig
Credit for filming and editing goes to Cornelius Something of Manufacturing Content
manufacturingcontent.co.uk
Feb 7, 2017
Feb 7, 2017 at 4:20 AM UTC
The only reason I ever went downtown
was for music class
or orchestra gigs
or for LA Phil concerts,
but I found this cool bookstore once.
I walked around with you once
during a break between rehearsals
and you asked me if I thought anyone
actually lived here
"LA's just a movie set," you said.
I was downtown for an audition once
and they were filming Batman.
There was fake snow everywhere
and you told me that you and a friend
pretended to have
a snowball fight.
Imagine.
A snowball fight in Los Angeles.
Impossible.
Except when Los Angeles is Gotham
or New York
or Chicago
for the day.
No one is ever on the streets in LA.
Unless LA is Gotham
or New York
or Chicago
for the day.
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 7:23 PM UTC
Part 1:
Mami let me get with you, wanna share my bed with you,We can have *** in H.D. digital,
It ain't really difficult, let me see your ******* boo,
Dance for me baby, just move how the strippers do,
My private lil prom queen, doing all the wild things,
Never seen yourself giving head on the flat screen,
Instant celebrity, natural star to me,
Sit back and rewind the part when you was riding me,
Ran out of blank tapes, need another blank tape,
One more scene and we got ourselves a *** tape,
Your friends know I'm filming ya, they seen what I did to
ya, We can even use a camera phone like Vivaca...
Part 2: We can play like actors, know you not a amateur. You can have the lead role, and I'll be the director. Setting up the camera, get into your character. Come up out that little dress, and let me climb on top of ya. Now baby let's just get involved, with the camera on. You see that red light, that means I've pressed record. Now mami look it's easy, go ahead, come on please me. Now we can put on repeat, and play it back on t.v.Let's make a ****** *** tape, show the world your head great. Show the world you good with it, back shots, hair pulling. Time for some action, Kimmy Kardashian
Lil camcorder that's pointed at your *** again
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 8:19 PM UTC
i would compromise
--i compromise. i appear to i mean,
with peace-demeanor customized for show
paraded there and there, obeisant nonsense
in a confidence of meek to render compliments
crowding infancies of all
for the sake of art
i bend my frame about cliche
to have a human dragon claim
"the real persists unknown"
and gather at a sacred dolmen
fascinating morals sung beneath the stars and sun--
you said there was a butterfly
tasting at my skull, shaking with uncommon music too..
its skinny, immigrant feet abuzz
within the world they called a One, wings on pause, my eyebrows in flight.
a blanket iris cries warmth
in clusters hung ripe, filming over all
a native ceremonial, falsepolitik
i pluck at them atop a fence
obscure for comforts masking truth
discarded, found, fashioned
into furniture for candled houses
built with children's sons
where families try to see
a clearing in the warping
mirrors saddled with a dripping time no illustration comprehends
. wooden beams help it rise and dim,
the sunny lie, genuinely fake,
authentic trick of aeons hidden in the true
-- growing young, stemming back
to foil brighter undiscoveries for otherwisely
patient basements full of heirlooms,
sheik dining areas all
nodding over cheap wine we still manage to squint up at nothing at
in apple layers
symbolizing tidy crimes invented ceaselessly,
serving existential voids--
grace, fall, stumble catch
acquired tones of oak or berry--
other fruits would do, or none,
as i still feel
praised by your rejections --
when indifference gains a sweetness
like a novel vengeance won
i am indulging villainy
workshopping staling norms,
garden dark as cultivated loam.
where i am words
mooding intellect to torment,
faun complexity awry
Mar 1, 2013
Mar 1, 2013 at 8:37 AM UTC
Not sure if this would be consider taboo
To even mention the view
Did I just hear her say the word touche
When the doctor proceeded to do what she had to do
With stage crew and camara in hand
Filming what little dignity I have left
Are the tapes rolling, I may need consoling
When this crazy trip finds somewhere to land
Do I even need to mention the day before
Pills and laxatives by the score
To clean out my innards must be least 10 pounds thinner
Need I say anything anymore
Back to the uncomfortable crowd
You can hear a pin drop at the sound
For them it's routine, for me a dastardly deed
Could someone please send in the clowns
Adding a touch of savoir faire
Excuse me, is there enough room in there
If things get a bit tight make sure the pliers are sanitize
Anyone up for a game of truth or dare
Doesn't get anymore personal than this
Best friends now without even a kiss
Operation at 7 film at 11
To be viewed YouTube via Internet
Jun 27, 2016
Jun 27, 2016 at 10:57 AM UTC