Life in the Empire
Bo's Request (an Art Thread)
Where is home?
Moved twelve times in the last 16 years. The transient in transit. Pierce Transit runs through it. Before I came here I was in Rush Limbaugh’s home town before I was surrounded by corn fed Norwegian bred Lutherans singing praise in perfect four part harmony to that Home on the Plain before I’m taken Home – Praise Jesus. I grew up in Iowa, Little Town on the Prairie an island afloat in the ocean of corn. Lived in SoCal, in the Desert where golf and plastic surgery reigns, might have the grit to stay in rainy Tacoma, but, I always say I’m from San Francisco - though I rarely visit anymore.
Home, where is home?
Home is where you are. Correction, home is where you and the two cats are.
What is home? That safe place. That place with love. I love that old car, it always brought me home. The ’75 Westphalia could be home. Or rather, the place that used to be home. Too old, too unreliable to be trusted anymore. Baling wire and duct tape. Just like the U-Haul I drive to the next place, hoping for home.
Searching for home. Migrants with heavy furniture. U-haul. Our orange travois with wheels keeps getting bigger. Full of stuff. Heavy Stuff. Stuff that anchors us. To a home of nostalgia. Anchors to a home that never really existed. That place. This is the place! Well bully for you Brigham Young. Bring ‘em young. Not young anymore, with more stuff each move to stuff in the moving van and every move leaves behind anchors that are mourned in passing.
A house burns down and the anchors are cremated and the past has passed on.
The bubble is burst. The house is on the market. The anchor is weighed. The trees we planted are left behind. Do the new owners love that Japanese Maple we planted as our 10th anniversary gift to our dream of home? Have they maintained the landscaping? Have any of the plants, the dreams, the love we planted been cared for in our absence? Or have they been torn up by the roots to make room for the next owners’ dream of home?
Where are the anchors? Is there a home port? Adrift. Without a home. Drift wood is picked up for beach fires to warm the beach rats without a home. Their shacks have been bulldozed like West Bank ancestral olive groves to make room for more condos and home-loving dreamers blowing a bubble. Pop!
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Permalink Reply by waldopaper on
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The bell tower scene... B & V in BSA/ GSA uniforms.
(Brandon)
She begins to think on Brandon.
(Valerie)
Valerie thinks on Brandon when she is alone. Valerie is alone when she looks on the sky. Brandon has bright eyes… Brandon can fly. He will take her to the tower tell all about weather or knot he is going away. He might even steel a kiss or two in their together. But that will not matter… she will love him anyway. They will marry in the church with the tall bell tower… the church where Valerie goes to pray.
(Brandon)
Inside the church is Bishop Bob, a pious man who loves his job. Galilee seems Valerie kneeling there with fervent prayer and long braided hair. Her fiancé is in the war, her prayer sincere her heart full sore. And high the bell tower up above, where first refused her Brandon love. Squeeze her eyes shut Brandon face the music in a happy place and round ball turret nipples turned. Sad is Valerie, unhappy spurned.
(Valerie)
He would take her hand in a gallant way she stepped on the strange machine. That day it smelled of oil and wind and sun, giddiness and gasoline. Brandon sparks a throated roar and shaking with a whirlwind fore and movement on earth will drop away for Valerie who flew that day. One day she will be the one. Day Brandon took her hand. Ancient music bubbled up around the wedding band.
(Brandon)
Valerie saved her virtue just for Brandon and the blessings of a god way Pastor Bob. He pets cats and smiles at grandmas, shakes their hands and likes his job. He uses hand for other things when not installing wedding rings. Tears grip tight roll down her face he is smelling wet another place. They wrote the vows and set the date and Bishop counseled her to wait the saving of her sacred soul skin for letting her young Brandon in.
(Valerie)
It is late a summer evening thunder bird moon to Bishop Bob studying hard to leak. Vigorous scripture fist pumps a sermon on intercourse in the end of the weak. He plunged the young boys into rectory calming fears and drying tears. The little girls giggle and tingle at secret how only God can love them this way. And Hellfire waits for those with stories little lamb who made thee. Beautiful Zion wilts no gravy.
(Brandon)
Tissue dabs blot up the Seminary Ridge on little round top chair. Squeak the wheels and zip the canon back into its secret lair. Buckle clanks on desk protector and suddenly is icecap fear. Banshee wail in tower bell and it sounded coffin near. Colder than the depths of space and licking tongues of flame and dust of death and demons dark. It flew from bell to landing. Witching Bishop up the spiral and it shrieked a name.
(Valerie)
Brandon! Oh I saw your daddy grave rush up at two o’clock! Brandon fire! You are on fire! Oh God please I want your cockpit underneath my right wing fire off rocket take me Brandon! Take me flying! Brandon! I am dying! Brandon! Ground me round me pound me oh my God! Brandon! Aaa. Eye can not breathe aye carnal breed! Breathe! Breathe! Breathe! Brandon!
(Brandon)
Phantom from behind hate and fate the fugue state hurt. Bishop Bob lies “vasectomy” and quietly lifts her skirt. Push the canon in to sacred skin and give a squirt. Ring the bell open Hell another h
Holy lie to tell and Judge Mint drips come from above. Bishop Bob gives Valerie a firmer shove. Valerie spread wing Valerie fly Valerie crush skull concrete die. Phone the police and call her mom. Clean up come with telegram from Viet Nam.
(Narrator in Waffen SS Uniform)
We did not mean to start a war. We did not mean to lie. We did not mean to make all the millions die. We passed an Enabling Act so no one could speak. We wrote all the news and changed it week by weak.
(Copper Knot)
We had to stop the common mists a peace in Viet Nam and make the world safe for apple pie and Mom. We put on a PATRIOT Act made everyone a traitor and just for desert do it all again later to whatever end we land in.
(Valerie)
And Valerie thinks on Brandon. She flies out of her g-spot. Her pains excused church fugue. State used her brains to paint a parking lot. Motor oil soul. Thanks a lot!
(Chorus)
Valerie and Brandon will always be nineteen. They fell from heaven. They left the scene. Ein kann-nicht-anders tragedy between each reformation. They died for their God and their Nation! Gott mit Uns ein Volk so pure! His Grace on thee and crown a tree from sea to shining sea!
Valerie and Brandon will live forevermore in a candy apple heaven with a parquet butter floor. Bishop Bob still has his job. But his soul is on fire for a boy in the choir who wants to gobble his knob. It was business as usual in 1968. Church business was good business and busyness was great.
(Horst-Wessel lead in bellhop uniform)
Die fanny hoax for Valerie and Brandon! Essay marsh eared, Mitt rue egg fest in shit.
They died for freedom and democracy! They died for cheese us usury diamond Mitt!
(Chorus joins in)
Die fanny hoax for Valerie and Brandon!
Essay marsh eared, Mitt rue egg fest in shit.
They died for freedom and democracy!
They died for cheese us usury diamond Mitt!
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Permalink Reply by BO on
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Bath Salts Performance Theater (actually it was done to promote a TV show)
Surprised no one got tased.
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Permalink Reply by pan on
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An "arty" thing we did soon after opening Barefoot Studios. We had hoped to continue making performances reflexive of visual art installations in the Studio but the ensuing exhibitions didn't provide as much to react to.
The children's two sections aren't as strong as the rest of the piece.....not sure how I would fix that if we ever remounted the work.
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I will never pull up my pants the same again. Thanks for that.
Nice juxtaposition between us old farts (with canes) and youth. Beautiful young women. They could pretty much do anything and I'd consider it art.
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I recognized you. I like how you worked the canes into the performance. You must have bought a truckload. What did you do with them all? And...what did you do with your dance floor, lights, mirrors, etc.? Is it all in storage?
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The artist Harriet Sanderson had the canes for a previous project she had done - I kept one which I used post-surgery(s).
The floor, lights, etc. were all given to the 501(c)3 the Barefoot Collective that we helped started - and they resented it because there were responsibilities of running the studio involved. I have no idea what they have done with it since then.....yep, I'm a little bitter about that.
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Permalink Reply by Mouse on
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Tonight I met half a bottle in the larder and I am thinky.
I am so thinky that thoughtforms wobble and cascade
their debris dripping the sad remnants of tomorrow's covert action
all over the shop.
There is red, there is gleaming cream and roses blooming like robbers
amongst the poor.
Years after the first champagne waterfall we quaffed our laugh because to be
blurred
to be blurred is best
and west
and all sun setting and there, you can see the poor sod, the poor poor sod
lying there
ravaged
and sad,
just the way it looked the last time.
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