Prime and Crunishment

[Frunobulax]

This will be a place for short stories, ramblings, poems, new EP/LP information, bloggage of sorts, and the like. All from me.

Untitled Story #?

It was 5.00 when Thomas walked into the diner along Highway 91. He was unaware of anything out of the ordinary when he entered the place, cognisant only of the scent of frying meat and the sounds of forks clattering against plates. 'A symphony of found sounds' is how it might have been described by a critic. But Thomas wasn't a critic, nor was he fond of the sounds or scents coming from the dining area. Sitting down on a bar stool that might have been as old as he was, if not older, he quickly told the waitress, 'Cuppa coffee and two eggs, over easy.' Hardly dinner fare she thought, but acknowledged him with a nod and a pleasant, 'Bring it to ya right away!'

The food cooked slower than molasses in Fargo during a winter storm, but it wasn't a problem. Time was irrelevant to him. Taking his coat off, Thomas revealed his face to the other patrons for the first time. Eyes the colour of the sky on a cloudy day, hair a deep brown, and a light haze of a beard that might have resembled freshly razed grass when put into scale. Everything was normal about him, save for the scar of stitches that ran from his left temple to the back of his head. They all looked pretty new to boot--and they were.


After what felt like a small eternity his dinner of breakfast items arrived. The eggs had a texture akin to old tyres and the coffee was less water and more grounds. Nothing salt and cream wouldn't fix in other words. By then the place had emptied considerably, leaving only Thomas, the staff, and an old woman eating a donut greedily and sucking down endless cups of milk. As he sat there drinking his cream/coffee grounds creation and eating his egg-replica meal, the memories returned.

Three days ago he had fought with his girlfriend (what was her name? Lillian? That seemed right), and he had left her crying on the bathroom floor with a bloodied nose and a black eye. Twenty miles away he had left a pool table with a nasty scratch and a man with a few less teeth. And thirty more miles away he had left with that wound and a man's life taken. How it happened was unclear. All he knew was something got out of hand, and that a dark alley could lead to bad choices. Was it simple chance that a pipe had been there, or was it some person who knew his nature? Was it the man's fault, or his? Where had it been? Had the police found the body? And why did that woman in the diner look familiar? More questions that he needed now, and fewer answers than he could tolerate.

As he choked down the last of his milk/coffee grounds/sugar concoction, the memories flooded him. A torrent of things past came to him faster than he could bear. He suddenly remembered Lillian's argument about his friends, about the man provoking him--a piss-drunk activist--and how the man in the alley died. He remembered how the man had surprised him, and WHY he had that pipe...
. . .
As the torrent of images came to him--a demented set of flickering images--he realised his errors. Breaking up with Lillian was the deepest cut. He had been with her for over 3 years now, close to proposing, and deeply in love. But all over a minor spat over bills (of all things) he had left her beaten, broken, and bruised. The mental reel changed. The location: A pool bar. A man with crooked teeth, eyes too close together, and a slightly bent nose, piss drunk and smelling of old tobacco, had picked a fight with Thomas. His recent break-up had not helped the situation. One pool cue and 3 billiard balls later the man had some major dental bills and splinters lodged into his skull. Thank God the police were not around--Thomas could escape easily. And so he did, running for his life. He heard sirens, the Doppler effect making them a hideous chorus. Ducking into an alley, he hit his head on a pipe--lightly, but enough to give him a helluva headache. He grabbed it in frustration, and heard footsteps. Without thinking, he swung the pipe and turned simultaneously. A man of about 27 was on the ground in a slump with a broken nose, bleeding profusely and breathing shallowly. Thomas tried everything he could to revive him (his name was Robert, or so said his ID). It was all for naught. Robert died within 10 minutes. The police report would later say of blood loss and several skull fractures. Repeating his bar stunt, Thomas ran more.

Four hours later, he hobbled to an Enterprise and rented a cheap car. That was when he found the diner.

The moment he walked out of the Enterprise, ready to drive to a Burger King he saw the diner. Plasticised magic, 24 hours a day, roadside diner--straight out of the 1950s. Walking in, he found himself in a haven. And that was when his slideshow ended.
. . .
Snapping back to reality, Thomas put down $20, left his seat hastily, jumped into the seat of the small Honda and turned on the ignition. Driving on the freeway, he wondered if it was too late to apologise to Lillian. He knew it was, but the small glimmer of hope left was gleaming brightly. As he sat there, foot on the gas, alone on the road, radio playing Stairway To Heaven, windows down, he came to a simple conclusion: He was a dead man. If he returned, the cops get called and he gets his ass put in gaol. If he returned to the bar or (God forbid) the crime scene, his ass gets placed into a cell for even longer--maybe life. But that didn't matter. He was too smart to do that type of stunt, and too smart to kill himself. He would go out of state, change his name legally, and start a new life.

It was 2.30AM, a Wednesday morning, coming to the border of Kentucky. He was a long way from home, and, after several days of marathon driving and living off of dollar burgers and Pepsi, had a case of stomach cramps worse than anything. There it was--his salvation. A cheap motel called The Maroon Lady, rent was $15/night. He knew with enough talking he could get some sort of deal worked out. The car came silently into the only space in the lot, and Thomas found the sound of his shoes hitting the asphalt to be sweeter than any Beethoven or Mozart symphony, more grandiose than any Wagner opera. That was the last time he would ever be happy.

'We have news of a man on the run, suspected of battery, assault, and possible murder,' the TV blared from inside the front office/check in area/lobby. Thomas knew it was America's Most Wanted, that Lillian had obviously reported him, and that his picture would be plastered in every post office, scanned across every TV screen, and imprinted on the mind of everybody. Nonchalantly he walked in--don't make a big deal of things was his adjustable slogan. But it WAS a big deal.
'You-you-you-you-you're that Thomas guy! I JUST saw you on AMW!!!' the clerk screamed. Picking up the phone and pressing 9-1-1 would take 5 seconds. Just long enough for Thomas to get to the car and drive off.
Running to the car, the Convict (as he called himself now, sarcastically) jumped into the Honda and got it running. Just as he was about to get into the next town, a small squadron of cars with blue flashing lights surrounded him. He gave up instantly.
. . .
Good won out once again.
Lillian got the news three hours later that Thomas had been caught. Her only words were, 'Serves that asshole right.'
The bar received news an hour after that, and received praise 2 days later for providing witnesses to the attack.
The family of the man who was killed received a letter from Thomas explaining it all. That was discarded in the rubbish bin after being torn up.
Thomas received 30 years in prison--no more, no less. His last words were, 'This is not happening. This isn't real.....this can't be happening.'
He was found three weeks later dead in his cell. Thomas Clark Porter had hung himself using his bed sheets at 3.00AM on October 26.





He was not too smart to kill himself.

[Frunobulax]

Most All Can Be Something
You say that nothing is nothing,
That something is all.
You can't see that when a bird sings
That that something is more than a call.

Most all can be something,
A water jug blurp, a lightbulb flick'r,
The old news ticker.
Everything is art.

Everything is something,
Nothing the old thing,
Something is nothing.

While music gets boring and makes people sicker,
The bullshit we tread is getting thicker.
Beer cans dropped by a drunkard with his likker
Can all be art.

You gotta see what is real,
What is fake,
What is GLORP.

Most ALL can be anything
In the right hands.
- - -[Cut along dotted line]
Incandescent
Incandescent is the light that shines through the window.
Incandescent is the light that's harsh and blinding.
Incandescent is the light that is close to a burnout.
Incandescent is the light that shows my way.

Shinin' on like a ray of light,
That harsh light bulb is a welcome sight
From the dakrness of the country and the dead of night.

Flourescent are the bulbs in the restroom here.
Flourescent are the bulbs that fool the eye.
Flourescent are the bulbs that create my beams.

Burning bright like a hi-beam on the 5,
Follow the light to stay alive.
Keep on goin' on that long drive.

All I see is Incandescent.
- - -[Cut here]
Weapon
I'm the weapon guarded by the mind,
I'm the WIT, the acerbic togue,
I'm the HUMOUR all have lost.

The lost children locked away by tests,
They all got nothing with all that stress.
While school makes sure they stay under duress
ONE slips through the cracks and uses me for the best.

Gotta keep on the run from the gun called
SERIOUSNESS.
Gotta look out for the suits and run with the loons.
Gotta follow me if you wanna see why I'm the right one.

People treat me like I'm nothing but a weed.
Let comics do the thinking and let FOX tell 'em what to believe.
Nobody cares anymore, would rather watch 'em bleed.

I'm the weapon guarded by the skull,
I'm the BRAIN which is no longer in use.
Blindly led by the media and pop culture
______________________rot_______*
I can still think, but am clouded by bias.

Those select few who can still use me
Who don't abuse me
Realise what they see
Is a load of lies.

Talking heads on the TV make me useless.
WHO NEEDS TO THINK?

Anything can be a weapon.
As long as you hold it right.

[*If recited or sung, the word 'rot' is said simultaneously with 'pop']
- - - -[Snippity snip snip]
On Ignorance
Everybody's mind is stuck on Ignorance:
A mode which is devious and makes them oblivious.
What they think is funny, right, and wrong
Is so goddamn swayed that before long
They are victims of the status quo.

Almost all are stuck with a case of bad taste.
Eat yer force-fed music and 'art'
That shit don't come from th' heart.
It's produced by a Machine.
If you look at the bleak landscape, you know what I mean.

Nobody is right on track, on cue.
Dontcha know that liberation is what you gotta do.
You gotta run away from that crap that is being pumped out today.
Gotta be your own person, and stray
From the igornat ones on the street.
You know them--they're everyone you meet.

Everybody's stuck in the Gray,
Don't know how to think or what they oughta say.
Everybody thinks they're in the pink.
Don't realise their maudlin ways are making this world stink.
- - - -[Trim, frame, and repeat twice daily]
Rinse & Repeat*
Rinse, repeat
Rinse, repeat
Rinse, repeat
Rinse, repeat
Rinse, repeat
Rinse, repeat
[*This is meant to be a single line looped and phased a la It's Gonna Rain]
- - - -[Lather]

[Jean]

thank you for posting it! I read it a very long time ago, and always remembered this one:


The eggs had a texture akin to old tyres and the coffee was less water and more grounds. Nothing salt and cream wouldn't fix in other words.

(more later)

[Frunobulax]

- - - -
Something for Something
As we go about in our daily lives
Coping with stress and strain
Stopping to sift through the good is hard with all the lies
Being propagated and drilled into our brains.

Do we want something?
We all want something!
Can we get it for nothing?
Nothing for nothing!
Something for something
Nothing for nothing
Something for nothing is a nice idea.

I understand how mixed
The messages may seem
But all here sitting betwixt
The words one may glean
That something is attempting to be conveyed.

Do you want something for nothing?
We all want something!
Can you get nothing for something?
You will get nothing!
Something for nothing.
Nothing worth noting.
Nothing for something.
Something worth saying.
- - - -
- - - -
Smoky Cumin?
Ray gets it all wrong.
Cumin ain't smoky, long pork ain't long.
'Tard fucks it all up,
Will kill your dog with food that's wrong.
Has a billion shows
All are boring or schadenfreude-tastic
Yet her Jokeresque smile
Is creepier in wax and plastic.
EVOO--what the hell is that?
And it's a spatula not a spoonula.
We are adults here, not two and a half.
So sod off and take everything with ya.
- - - -
Chemical Reactor Squeal
Why do the cities stop?
Before ten oh clock.
After four Ay Em.
Things grind to a halt. Er. Top.
Things slow to a stop. per. Plug.
Cars are countable on your hands.
People are an endagered species.
You can smell the fog, taste the smog.
The chemical reactor's squeal will
Pierce your ears.
The chemical reactor squeal comes
At ten oh one. Ten oh one and one second.
Ten oh one. Ten oh god.
The steel mill smell comes through you,
Enters your lungs like a noxious smoke
The smoke it is. Comes from the
Kem-ih-kall re-ak-tor.
Why does the city stay dead before ten Ay Em?
When does it die?
- - - -
Twelve Captions for Unmade Paintings
Like A Choir Singing Hosannas in the Sahara
As Robert trudged with heavy heart and empty pockets through the desert, the vision of water and food appeared.

Akin To A Sinister Rhubarb
Perilous shopping at the Whole Foods left Alexis hungry and willing to kill.

Talking To A Honey Bear
Rachael realised what a loser and waste of life she was during her talk show.

Four four four FOUR
Sixteen objects slowly morphed into one another during a midnight party celebrating the fall of the Communist empire.

Bottles and Cans and Bottles
A homeless man has an epiphany while digging through a rubbage bin in Santa Monica for aluminium cans.

Halfway isn't close enough to the end
A large man and a rail-thin woman marry and have a child who is in between them in terms of looks, size, and smarts. They soon realise how awful this will be and divorce.

One Lie and 1000 Defences
A criminal prepares a meal of gnocchi and red wine for his lawyer.

Scene Eight
The benefits of using the number 8 as a number, infinity symbol, and handcuffs.

Nut Allergies lead to greater things
As a man in his 20's chokes due to a peanut allergy, he thinks of how much money he can get out of pity for his allergies.

There is no caption 10
4'33"

Seed Your Foal
Chia pets, the immortal soul, and a businesswoman fight over an avocado.

Endings are a Way of Starting Something over
An elderly man decides to live as if he were a popular 16 year old in today's society.


The captions and descriptions can be used for any one of three things.
1. To create a series of paintings, drawings, collages, or digital artworks based off of what you think each one means. As long as it carries the caption and uses the description as a base, it's safe.
2. To create a series of 12 short films based off of the descriptions.
3. To create a continuous suite of 12 pieces of music that convey the captions and descriptions.

©2007, Matthew Olmos, Migraineur Music & Art
- - - -

[Matt]

Great story Fruno. It made me kind of think of this mystery story I read once and I really enjoyed it.

The imagery is something that seemed to jump out at me and once it grabs you, it will pull you in.

[Steve]

Ah, great stuff from the man himself.

[Jimmy]

Great story Fruno. It made me kind of think of this mystery story I read once and I really enjoyed it.

The imagery is something that seemed to jump out at me and once it grabs you, it will pull you in.

I felt the same way. You know how to make the reader be there.

[Frunobulax]

Thank you, everyone.
I always hesitate about posting new material or dredging up older stuff mainly because my writing is always a self-conscious thing for me. But as long as you guys like it, I'll keep posting it.

[Matt]

We do, very much. :D

[Frunobulax]

W00tness indeed, Matt. Look for more tonight then!

[Frunobulax]

- - - -
Two Concept Pieces
The following are summaries for actual pieces to be performed by an artist.

1. SCRIBE [For one performer in a crowded room]
Sit & write (on paper or Post-Its) random bits of dialogue you hear. Post on a bulletin board next to you. Point & laugh. Repeat.
________________________________________________
2. OPEN PIANO [For one to three performer(s)]
Objects Needed: (1) Grand piano, lid removed (1) Sand bag placed on the sustain pedal as to keep it depressed (3) microphones--one for ambiance, one below the piano, and a PZM above the strings [For recording ONLY, not live performance] Assorted plectrums (plastic plecs, metal plecs, car keys, press-on nails, pen caps)

Performing the Thing: The performer(s) stand over the open piano on the side with their chosen plectrum (the rest will be in a small bin on a stool next to the piano). One performer sets the sandbag on the sustain pedal as silently as possible. All performers then work together to craft a song by plucking the string directly with their plectrums or fingers/nails. At no point is a key on the piano to be depressed! ONLY the strings in their full length may be used. Eventually all performers slowly rit. to a single note or open chord, then place their plectrums in the bin, remove the sand bag as NOISILY as possible and replace the piano lid as SILENTLY as possible.

ETC.: Total time of piece--4' to 25'. The song should start focused on low and high strings, then add in mid-range, switch to high and mid, converge to mid only, then split into all three ranges at once. Performers are encouraged to switch places often.

On Recording: ALL PERFORMANCES ARE TO BE RECORDED IN SOME WAY! This means via video or digital/analog source. A CD is ideal, especially one from an analog source (IE tape, not ProTools), but digital is okay. DVDs/movies should have soundboard feeds from the mic set up (5 mics used) mixed in. Since every performance is different from the next, all possible combinations must be recorded.

[Frunobulax]

- - - -
Some random poetry shit.

#x
I sit and wander in this confined space,
Suffering from depression and death anxiety.
All that greets me in the morning is a harsh alarm
Red lights
Grey weather
and Cold.
If it's not Friday or a weekend, the scent of
Stale grounds and
The moan of the snobbish rich
Greet me, mixed with the cheers of coworkers who
Are friends.
Why am I lonely??
Then it clears up on those great days.
Grey days.
Grey dais.
Come my way,
Leave my way,
Let me stay.
- - - -

[Frunobulax]

- - - -
Projects for the Unfinishing
Crop circles meld into flesh
When you deny my protestations
And denial rages forth.
A clicking slice of your tongue
Sets off feelings within my subconscious mind.
A dark matter emits from your pores
And envelopes my eyes,
Fumes in my mouth
And fills my teeth.
Forth we move and wards we back.
And you attend night school classes at dusk,
We learn to be lawyers but strive to be friends.
What you learn does not reciprocate into
Life lessons are learned the hard way
With us as captains to some doomed
Ship wrecks line the harbour.
And all we do is talk and spit.
- - - -

[Frunobulax]

- - - -
Chalazion
My eyes are swollen shut
And bleeding tears.
They puff up
And smoke irritates it worse.
My ears ring and ring.
And cottonmouth makes it worse.
Drinking does nothing and
My curse continues.
My eyes tear blood.
- - - -

[Steve]

#x = Good stuff. I have that exact same feeling right now. Poignant, almost.

"Projects for the Unfinishing" = The best of the three. Solid, dude.

"Chalazion" = That's the reaction I get when I listen to Michael Bolton. Good way to capture it. Excellent work as always, Fruno.

[Frunobulax]

Thanks, man.
#x is based on my first month and last month in Seattle. It also reflects on my moods of the past three months.
Projects was the hardest to write because it's even more personal than others. Glad you liked that one so much.
And Chalazion--you got the message perfect.

[Frunobulax]

- - - -
One For The Rode
By writ and by rite
Do big girls fight
And by wrote and by rote
Kick and scream, tear at throats
By thin and by thick
Men stab with sticks
And by claiming a throne
They make power be shone.
So goes the ways of politics.
- - - -

[Frunobulax]

- - - -
Your random bit of nonsense for the month.
Today I stopped by my mother's friend's house (with the parents) to pick up her half of the rent cheque for our storage unit. She hadn't seen me in a couple of weeks, mind you, and after doling out some DVD sets that were marked For Your Consideration (some promo stuff she gets from a night job), stopped talking and after a few seconds said, 'You know, you should shave down that scruff a little bit to take off the curl. You'd look very distinguished with a beard.' For some reason, that made my day. I think I'll buy a pipe and use it as a prop.
- - - -

[Jean]

One For The Rode is a little masterpiece. I know some people say that puns and spoonerisms and play on words are the lowest form of tropes, but I always suspected it was envy speaking in them. The last line is rather anticlimactic, though, it is way too declarative.

I can't say anything about either #x or Chalazion, but Projects went at least some way towards changing my opinion on free verse.

Forth we move and wards we back.
And you attend night school classes at dusk,
We learn to be lawyers but strive to be friends.

the first of those lines is just good, and the last is brilliant. It stuck in my mind, probably forever. Say it aloud, it's good.

(and congratulations on your beard's success! Don't forget it was me who suggested the pipe!)

[Frunobulax]

One For The Rode is a little masterpiece. I know some people say that puns and spoonerisms and play on words are the lowest form of tropes, but I always suspected it was envy speaking in them. The last line is rather anticlimactic, though, it is way too declarative.

I can't say anything about either #x or Chalazion, but Projects went at least some way towards changing my opinion on free verse.

Forth we move and wards we back.
And you attend night school classes at dusk,
We learn to be lawyers but strive to be friends.

the first of those lines is just good, and the last is brilliant. It stuck in my mind, probably forever. Say it aloud, it's good.

(and congratulations on your beard's success! Don't forget it was me who suggested the pipe!)

Jean, the last line was this way to get out of the rhyme scheme and drop the ideas like a tonne of bricks. I'm also now very aware of your leanings towards free verse, but I'll change those views one day! You wait!

That line DOES sound good aloud...sometimes the top of my head has good shit there![/egostroke]

And should a pipe be obtained, I'll engrave in the bowl 'Suggested by Jean Melkovsky.'

[Frunobulax]

- - - -
Tungsten Tone
Clouds drift by
The sea is a colourless
Tungsten tone.
As a sailboat turns into a frigate
The waves lop and plop
Gently crash into one another
And hit rocks.
The clouds move faster now
And a tempest rages in them
As they turn a gray
Tungsten tone.
People walk near the seaboard
Get drenched as waves
Thunder and crash into them
Yet they smile and shiver
Blindly holding children,
Hands, cameras.
Obscure obfuscation
Mimics the patterns of growth.
As their hair turns a dull
Tungsten tone.
Leaves collapse into mulch
And egg shells crack under your feet,
As if a ringworm were in them.
The clouds move slower now
And the bark of the tree
Is an oddly vibrant
Tungsten tone.
- - - -

[Steve]

This evokes the themes I use in my postapocalyptic fiction almost perfectly, so I think this is (in my opinion) your best work thus far. But then again, what do I know, right? Anyway, the vision of a vast gray sea washing on the rocks dead and lifeless makes me think, There's nobody listening to that surf right now because they're all dead.

This is A+ work here, Matt my man. And I mean that sincerely.

[Frunobulax]

- - - -
Flooring the Reed
Cattails wave a gentle hello in the wind
Propping up greetings to wraiths of the past.
A small patch of grass cracks the sidewalk near them
Expressing its defiance to society.
Near the wetlands a heron plays with a tern.
Rabbits jump through reeds in some escape route.
And a man stands next to the water breathing heavily,
For he is scared of the future.
The cattails salute him in their odd way,
Monocots who offer salutations and this
Odd sense of comfort.
- - - -

[Steve]

For some reason the Travelogue music plays in my head when I read this. I think of one of those old fishing shows where the narrator calmly and quietly sets up the scene. It's beautiful. Not on par with "Tungsten Tone," but pretty damn close.

[Frunobulax]

Now I'll have to use Tungsten Tone as my personal yardstick.
Flooring... is about my experiences while visiting the Ballona Wetlands here one time.

[Hannah]

I really liked the story, which grabbed me instantly and kept me reading through to the end. I loved the imagery.

The poetry, I liked. Your style reminds me vaguely of other poetry I've read, but I cannot think of when or where. Maybe you've posted some of the same over at tdt.net? :lol: Anyways, I really like your style. I'm not really a poetry afficiando, so I don't really know what else to say 'cept I liked it. :D

[Frunobulax]

Oh yes, everything up to the 12 Paintings were at .net. The recent poems are all new.
I'm quite happy you like this stuff, though, Hannah!

[Frunobulax]

- - - -
Jobbing and Slumming
Roberta sat on her porch
Humming and weaving a blanket
Of seven new colors.
Her partner Bill was away
At the factory working
For $2 an hour.
And these are the days
When our lives seem to slip away
From our feelings
And it passes like two thousand days.
Phil sat in his leather chair
Reading the stock report
And laughing out loud.
Meanwhile Bill stood two inches
Too far and got killed on the job.
Nobody noticed.
And these are the times
When a life just slips away.
A man is lost and the darkness
Lasts for two thousand days.
Roberta sat crying on her porch
Late into the night.
Into her blanket.
And Phil sat there stunned
At the living conditions he'd
Forced unto them.
And these are the moments
Of realization.
How do we value the lives
Over monetary pleasure?
And this happens every day
Life and time slips away
And these are the times
When we miss the most in our lives.
- - - -

[Frunobulax]

- - - -
If He
If he looked into the car
He might have seen the
Bloodstained interior in the darkened cabin.
If he used the flashlight
He might have noticed my eyes
Were swollen and watching intently.
If he opened the door
He might have seen you laying
Slumped in the back seat.
If he took me to court
He might have seen
I am guilty.
- - - -

[Frunobulax]

Well, Jean has told me he does not really think of the more recent shit as poems. And I consider them more studies than anything. So let's create a new word and end the tyranny of the word 'free verse'!!

Maybe prosetry? Or proety? Studiprose?

[OchrisO]

spokenwordetry

[Frunobulax]

That also works. There's also some songles in there.

[Steve]

If He: very well-written. I like it. Good job, Matt-a-rino.

[Jean]

Fruno, did you ever read any Jacques Prévert?

[Frunobulax]

Nope, Jean. Why?

[Frunobulax]

I looked up his stuff online and read every English translation available. I like his style.

[Jean]

he was my favorite poet when I was a teenager, reading a lot of French poetry and crazy about free verse.

Well, sometimes your poems remind me of his. If He was what helped me put my finger on it.

And you should read him in French. You know French well enough for that, as far as I know.

[Frunobulax]

Maybe--I'll stop by the library some time after I finish one of the Vonnegut books I borrowed to find his stuff untranslated.

[Frunobulax]

. . .
Well, sometimes your poems remind me of his. If He was what helped me put my finger on it.
. . .

I take that as a compliment--he seems to be a rather respected poet.

[Jean]

It was a compliment. Although I love your other poems - those with rhymes - way better.

[Frunobulax]

I'll try to work out a rhyme scheme for a few poems.

[Frunobulax]

- - - -
Jlidunf P'kidj [Pro. Jill-done-ph Pee-kid-zh]
Saying you gave it
All is a load of shit
Trying too hard
Led to pain like a glass shard.
Each time you fail
And arms and legs flail
You flounder and drown
Like a fish on the ground.
- - - -
And that's why I hate rhyme schemes.

[OchrisO]

It is hard to do couplets. I can never write rhyming couplets without them sounding really corny. If I use a rhyme scheme(which is very rare, I think the only thing on here of mine that has a rhyme scheme is the sonnet I did for one of the circles), I tend to use something like abab cdcd efef. I have never successfully used couplets. I think it is because couplets tends to be associated with nursery rhymes and other sing-song stuff in my mind. That's considerably better than any attempt I have ever made at couplets. :)

[Jean]

drown // Like a fish on the ground is awesome. An old and dead simile starts living an altogether different life.

[Frunobulax]

Chris, I'll try that scheme next time. Thanks for reminding me of that one.

Jean, it's a bizarre image because people tend to forget that fish drown in air.

[Frunobulax]

- - - -
Baa'bdab'coap [Pro. Bah-be-dab-koh-op]
Avast and ahead in the road
Before the street stopped
Some people came across and told
Of a purse that had been dropped.

Coins spilled forth from its interior
Dancing on cobblestone streets
Clinking sounds made inferior
By the clomp of the horse hooves and clogged feets.

Everyone stopped to take
From the small fortune laying
Goods for goodness sake
Money without any slaying.

God's gift perchance to the rabble?
How did it come in the street?
A reprieve from the life so hardscrabble,
When glances and silver do meet.
- - - -
Using abab cdcd efef ghgh, as I coded the first two lines of each stanza. I do prefer thinking in that form now.

[Frunobulax]

- - - -
Syllables
Plorkifuhb
Lopripades
Bradikub
Wrytrydais
Ulelupokiltha
Bnarthmyre
Lokrimathina
Ftanglakyre.
- - - -
Experimental vocalisations.

[Jean]

Fruno, Baa'bdab'coap is a classic. It's one of the very few, at least so far, poems posted here - not only by you, I mean by anyone who has posted - that wants to (and can easily) be learned by heart. And that means a lot.

[Frunobulax]

:blush:
Thanks, Jean. It's a new idea of thinking in actual rhyme schemes for me, but I really do like it--expect more like Baa'bdab'coap in the future. And feel free to memorize it and show it off at parties followed by 'And I know the guy who wrote it!!'. :P

[OchrisO]

Yay for rhyme schemes. I don't use them much, but I like them when they are used well. Did these stem from the discussion on here of scheme, meter and such?

[Jean]

And feel free to memorize it and show it off at parties followed by 'And I know the guy who wrote it!!'.

that was the main idea, yes. I might give some to my students for translation and memorizing; surprizingly, there are not too many short poems in English that fit learning purposes.

[Frunobulax]

W00t w00t!

[OchrisO]

I think my comment got lost at the end of the last page. haha.

[Frunobulax]

Yay for rhyme schemes. I don't use them much, but I like them when they are used well. Did these stem from the discussion on here of scheme, meter and such?

Indeed they did, Chris.

[Frunobulax]

Me reading selected works and explaining them.
http://files.filefront.com/redmp3/;7723569;;/fileinfo.html

[OchrisO]

That's cool. I've been toying with fitting stuff into common meter and rhyme schemes(as with the sonnet I did for the first three word poetry circle). I am thinking of messing with some Common Verse next, because Dickinson is one of my favorite poets, and I like trying to fit unconventional stuff into certain schemes. Since you are trying new stuff, you should give it a try. :) I by no means let this stuff dictate how my poetry is composed, but it is helpful and sometimes fun to play around with it.

Common verse is lyrical ballad type stuff like The Rime of the Ancient Mariner and most of Dickinson stuff. For an easy feel for how it works, think Amazing Grace, or even The Gilligan's Island theme. haha.

Common Meter is an iambic metre consisting of four lines of length 8,6,8,6 syllables (that is strictly the alternation of iambic tetrametre and iambic trimetre).

Iambic meaning that each "foot" of the line is one stress and one unstressed syllable. Iambic tetrametre means that it would be four iambic feet. Like so(the x being a stressed syllable and / being unstressed):


x / x / x / x /
For- get | not yet | the tried | in- tent
(The Passionate Shepherd to His Love, by Christopher Marlowe)

Retrieved from "http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Iambic_tetrameter"

In English poetry, a line of iambic trimeter consists of three iambic feet.

Here is a bit of William Blake's "The Divine Image," Songs of Innocence, 1789 with the meter labeled:
x / x / x / x /
To Mer|cy, Pi|ty, Peace,| and Love,
x / x / x /
All pray | in their | distress:
x / x / x / x /
And to | these vir| tues of | delight
x / x / x /
Return | their thank | fulness. abab cdcd rhyme scheme would probably work well with this form as well, which is what most of it uses, like Amazing Grace. :)

[OchrisO]

Me reading selected works and explaining them.
http://files.filefront.com/redmp3/;7723569;;/fileinfo.html

I'm downloading it now. i have thought of doing something like that myself, especially for some of the free verse and maybe the slam poetry stuff I have posted. I'm not sure I have the guts for it, though. haha.


Edit: I just listened, and enjoyed it. I love hearing poets read their works. I may try to do something like this and post it in my poetry thread.

[OchrisO]

I changed that previous post to use code tags. Most of the stress marks line up now, at least enough to get the idea.

[Frunobulax]

- - - -
Lokrimadies
Silent sarcophagi rest
A hard day of death
As the moon, its shape a crest
Draws its last and least breath.

So be restful now
And pleasure be to you
Lokrimadies, how
Did it derive to come to

Your own open pockets
And arms open wide
Near bursting from sockets
And pushed to the side?

In the car park birds
Coo and caw and chirp
As the ghosts of dead Kurds
Linger around like the smell of turp

En tine. a charismatic
Melodious vox humana
Calls out ecstatic
With a tone like manna.

Lokrimadies what do
You have now? Riches
Beyond compare added to
The influx of luck that pitches

Ideas to that mind?
In forty years
See if you're still kind.
And not having people cry tears.
- - - -

[Frunobulax]

- - - -
Gitranglonakrimrat [Pro. Get-rand-lone-ohk-rye-mat]
Long distances wear me out
Said the lone traveler with his eyes diverted.
Car rides, buses, trains--
All halt me.
Large eyes and heavy heart.
Brown hats and overcoats.
Saintly halos of burnt hair.
The traveler came to the
Realization that searching
Is an unfounded cause.
So he walked alone the dark,
A Shape under the streetlight.
A tilt of the hat, brim wider than
The plains he's seen all his adult
Existence.
A long road stretches
In tales woven through his words.
And we stop at Denny's,
Eat, drink, and rest.
We move slowly.
- - - -
A tilt of the head/Lets me know that I'll soon be dead.
-Johnny Unicorn

[Frunobulax]

Coming soon....
Two, bye Four
An album by Matthew Olmos.

THE PREMISE
Two, bye Four is an electronic minimalism album, consisting mainly of cells of songs modified and recorded in real time to create a spontaneous composition based around harmonic movement and minimalism. What this means is long songs based around a seemingly repetitive pattern that slowly gets more and more complex as time progresses.

TRACKLIST
1. Two, bye Four
2. Slow Down To Stop Speed Up
3. Nyuhn Sixtean
4. Interludicle
5. Polyrhythm Experiment #3, for Samplers
6. Two, bye Two

Several songs break the 15 minute mark, whereas songs like Polyrhythm Experiment and Interludicle are barely 4 or 5 minutes, tops. Cover art and more details coming in the near future.

[Frunobulax]

Coverrrrr.
BACKhage
http://img246.imageshack.us/img246/1262/twobyefourbackcopylj3.jpg

FRONTing
http://img240.imageshack.us/img240/1306/twobyefourfrontcopyva6.jpg

Both created on a PC using Image Ready. The picture for the front was lovingly ripped from a Yahoo! search.
The full title of the album is
Two, bye Four; or Two, by For: An album of minimalism somehow expressing a rotating cross that acts as the crux of humanity and creation by Darwinism.

[Frunobulax]

- - - -
Nightcap
Give me rum
Give me rye
Give me a reason to come
And a reason to lie.

Give me whiskey
Give me Scotch
Give me a blitzkrieg
And a situation to botch.

Give me vodka
Give me beer
Feed me Babka
Fill me with fear.

Give me no life
Give me lies
Give me some strife
Feed me flies.

Give me your heart
Give me your soul
Sell yourself, fucking tart
Sell your heart of coal.

Leave me or not
Be me or don't
Pour another shot,
Let me forget what I won't.
- - - -

[Candice Dionysus]

Wow... I really like that one, Fruno. Its real good.

[OchrisO]

It reminds me of an Irish Drinking Song. I like it.

[Frunobulax]

Glad you both like it. Just random musings.

[Frunobulax]

- - - -
Hlokifrang [Pro. Huh-lock-ee-frang]
Highways intersect in
Criss cross criss cross
Of six lanes, four, eight, two, one.
Engines rumble and tires.
Awaken to the squawk of
An air horn from a diesel 18 wheeler.
How long to Bakersfield?
Cowtown towncow
Tow the won.
Plopping into the bucket seat
Of Density with
Some chips and water.
Sleep and read and sleep.
Highways cross criss cross criss cross criss.
- - - -

[Hannah]

- - - -
If He
If he looked into the car
He might have seen the
Bloodstained interior in the darkened cabin.
If he used the flashlight
He might have noticed my eyes
Were swollen and watching intently.
If he opened the door
He might have seen you laying
Slumped in the back seat.
If he took me to court
He might have seen
I am guilty.
- - - -

I love this one.

[She-Oy]

- - - -
Lokrimadies
Silent sarcophagi rest
A hard day of death
As the moon, its shape a crest
Draws its last and least breath.

So be restful now
And pleasure be to you
Lokrimadies, how
Did it derive to come to

Your own open pockets
And arms open wide
Near bursting from sockets
And pushed to the side?

In the car park birds
Coo and caw and chirp
As the ghosts of dead Kurds
Linger around like the smell of turp

En tine. a charismatic
Melodious vox humana
Calls out ecstatic
With a tone like manna.

Lokrimadies what do
You have now? Riches
Beyond compare added to
The influx of luck that pitches

Ideas to that mind?
In forty years
See if you're still kind.
And not having people cry tears.
- - - -

Excellent!
I must say I'm impressed!

[Frunobulax]

Hannah and She-Oy: thank you. I'm glad that you enjoy those two poems. If He and Lokrimadies are actually two of the poems that stick in my own mind as being of a better quality, for some odd reason.

[Frunobulax]

- - - -
Pressssss
mayBe
somEday
a thing occuRs
that makes you relIse
Naught is lost
all is Going to happen.
- - - -

[Steve]

Great stuff as usual, Matt. Keep 'em comin'.

[Frunobulax]

I shall. I shall. Glad you still enjoy this stuff, Steve.

[Frunobulax]

Like a Mouse on my Brain
Erosion and the rot
Of mind and language
They itch my neurons,
Soma, axons, myelin
Like a mouse on my brain.
Schizophrenia and bipolarity
They cause irregularity.
Like a mouse on my brain.
Pain ends here
And now dopamine comes.
Dulls the mouse.
- - - -

[Frunobulax]

- - - -
Copy paste
Control me
Control See.
Control me.
Control Vee.
Copy and paste.
See and be.
Bee and me.

Three
Finger salute me.
Copy and paste me.
Control see?
Control be?
Bee and see.

Copy and paste
Let things go to waste.
Chapstick and wires.
Pencaps and old tyres.
Copy and paste, paste and copy.
Pace and sloppy.

Control control
Tone control.
Filter and see.
Copy C And V.
AV and the
Control.
Surround me.

Control and Bee.
- - - -

[Frunobulax]

Coming Friday or Saturday from me and Callahan....
http://img215.imageshack.us/img215/4637/bajillioncdsuc4.jpg

[Steve]

Oh yeah, can't wait!

*waiting anyway*

[Frunobulax]

The official "street" date (since this is Internet only) is Thursday late night/Friday morning.

DETAILS:
Number of discs - one ZIP file with pre-sequenced tracks, full artwork
Total running time - over an hour
Artist(s) - Matthew Olmos/Takuro Spirit, DMD/David Dion/Marvid Van
Label - 400 Days Records (fine purveyors of internet-only releases)
Copyrights - All tracks are (c)2007, their respective composers
Release date - 29 June 2007


And coming eventually: Two, Bye Four and Buckingham Whatever, by Matthew Olmos.

[Steve]

Well Matt, you've done it again. You've got me on the edge of my seat.

[Frunobulax]

Gooooooood. :D
My job is done.

So far: Buckingham Whatever is in the works. A fast little ditty in 13/16 time. And DD2-14, from BW is partially composed in notation form.

[Steve]

A crazy idea hit me today . . . maybe an album based on ARCHIPELAGO? ;)

[Frunobulax]

Maybe. I could see graphic scores or experimental scores.

[Steve]

Well, you're the genius. You know what the people like.

[Frunobulax]

Maybe a bleak score for low woodwinds, white noise via mic and amp, and metal percussion.

[Steve]

(as Quagmire)

Yes. Yes. Do it. Yes. Oh God. Yes.

[Frunobulax]

:lol:
Probably once the novel is done.

[Steve]

If that ever happens.

[Frunobulax]

It will--I'm certain of that.

[Steve]

Well, I'm writing it just to write now. If it ever seems like I'm getting distracted from BILLY SAID KEEP GOING (which is actually in final draft now), and KATRINA, YOU DONE A HECKUVA JOB, I don't know what'll happen.

[Frunobulax]

Awright.

[Frunobulax]

A Bajillion CDs has been delayed to July 4th due to homework.

Also, I have changed my electronic music project's name:
I was Takuro Spirit.
I now am DD 2-14.
DD 2-14: the official number for military discharge papers.
All EPs and LPs made under the original moniker will retain the name, all new releases will carry the new name. All re-releases or reissues a la Fugazi's 13 Songs will carry the name they were released under.

[Frunobulax]

OK, a link has been posted at .net for the download of Bajillion. And here it is:
http://www.sendspace.com/file/6is85f
Remember:
Side 1=me
Side 2=Dave/Callahan
If I remember correctly, two of Dave's songs have weird static present as maybe a digital artifact or maybe from peaked meters. Dunno.

http://www.sendspace.com/file/6is85f

[Frunobulax]

Coming soooooooon!!!!

Two, bye Four and Buckingham Whatever!! One EP, one LP, over 90 minutes of music.

Styles covered:
Minimalism
Electronica
Through composing
IDM

And coming soon, Songs about ambiguity..
SIDE 1--DD 2-14 original mixes
SIDE 2--DMD Remixes
Side 3--M. Olmos Number Remixes
1amphiboly2equivocation3hypostatization4division
abcd
-/--/---/----
Styles:
Minimalism
IDM
Breakcore
Acid house
Electronica

[Frunobulax]

Now available!!! Buckingham Whatever--a new LP from me. DD 2-14's first release, BW promises further development into tonal work and heavier beats. From the opening title track to the oddly captivating closing track, Intendo Piano, Buckingham Whatever promises to be a trip. Both the front and back cover feature photos lovingly ripped from Google searches for the terms "Buckingham" and "Whatever."
DOWNLOAD IT FOR FREEEEEE!!!!!!

http://files.filefront.com/Buckingham+Whateverzip/;8145589;;/fileinfo.html

[Frunobulax]

http://www.plyrics.com/lyrics/blackflag/depression.html

[Frunobulax]

Ouroboros
Am I to repeat
This vicious cycle?
Hi's and lo's but not bipolarity.
Ouroboros, a lemniscate
Of happiness and depression.
Forever returning to the same spot.
why?

[Frunobulax]

Yessum
Looking up
Seeing clouds caressing
The faint powder blue sky.
Yessum, this is the life.
Yessir this is for me.
I wouldn't move if you paid me.
Looking sideways at the grass,
Blades a-plenty.
A fountain spurts and sputters.
Children ring bells for ice cream.
Cream and ice and milk and sugar.
Replenished energy.
Kinetic movement propelling their
Broca's areas.
Chiropractice helps their parents
Carry the strife.
Propelling.
An airplane with a banner flies low
And I have the urge to consume
What it advertises.
Yessum this is America.
Yessir this is marketeering.
And now that sky turns
A bruised purple of sunsetting times.
Leaving am imprint on the grass,
The grass an itch on my flesh,
Like a fleabite with mosquito garnish.
Yessum, this is the life.
Yessir, this is a day of waste.
- - - -

[Frunobulax]

Crass
Crass cramming of facts.
Abstaining from usefulness and venturing
Into the obscure nothingness,
The world of daguerreotypes and mimeographs.
The body of capitals and currencies.
Of saffron and water.
Bread and gravy.
Crassly spotting stupidity.
Of mind and body.
Now speaking loudly,
A million lira idea.
Libra pondo, libra pondo.
Irescunt vitum est.
The argument, the answer,
Neither is clear nor needed.
Crassly coming up with nothingness
And calling it solutions.
E pluribus unum
E pluribus assus.
Nolo nolo nolo.
Q'est-ce que c'est?
Yo no say.
Crassly creasing curses and clothes.
Cockuhthewalk.
Shuddup.
Crass blocks of liberty and freedoms,
Who needs 'em?
Crass and cowardly.
- - - -

[Frunobulax]

Carjack
Hoisted upon our own petard,
Mental growth slowed to an absurd ritard.,
And crawling through slime and
Digging through the collective grime.
Clocks and glass show
As the faint sound of a flow,
Water? Acid? Waste?
Faintly leaving some acrid taste
In our mouths as a burn.
All hope spurned
For our fallout shelter.
In the darkness I felt her
Skin trembling in cold and fear,
Nothing is near.
All we hear
Is the faint hydraulic thud
Of a carjack.
- - - -

[Frunobulax]

— What was the hardest thing to determine in the vinyl era?
— Whether a Brian Eno LP was warped or whether a Philip Glass LP was skipping.

This made me laugh for no reason.

[Frunobulax]

Relthyoulpsbyr [Rellth-yule-cyber]
Yr. going to be sad,
Yr. gonna be sorry.
Oh how you'll be mad,
Stone me in a quarry.
Yr. itching and scratching,
You've got the mange.
Yr. teeth are now latching
With incredibly strange range.
Yr. gonna be sorry.
Yr. gonna be mad.
I've gone to the quarry.
Gone and left you sad.
Yr. gonna be sorry.
Yr. gonna be sorry.
- - - -

[Frunobulax]

27 Vignettes for 19 Performers
is the name of a new play I am in the process of writing. I have drafted the first two vignettes and will be typing them out tomorrow in their final form. I also have listed all 27 along with their genres. They include monologues, dramatic scenes, absurdist looks on life, and the typical comedy. Titles include Mixtapes, Electrick Shock [sic], and Evil Guides Me, which is also the title of a forthcoming suite of noise music I have created.

[Frunobulax]

700 posts.
Comment on my works, people. Please.

[Jean]

Soon.

You know I can't comment while I have no teeth.

(I know it sounds ominous, but - )

(you know how much I love your writings anyway)

[Frunobulax]

27 for 19 has been halted as a set of three drafts. I have time tomorrow to write, though.

I've written a song.

Face The Hook
I face the hook.
I face the hook.
I face the hook
From a precipice.

I see the hook.
I see that hook.
Oh I see the hook
From a precipice, a turret.

A precipice, precipice, precipice
TURRET.

[repeat]

------
This song is the first in a series of orchestral and vocal works all named after chapters in Kurt Vonnegut's Cat's Cradle.

[Steve]

Matt, you are the bard of Palaver. Keep it up.

[Frunobulax]

27 For 19 has been on indefinite pause for now. Tuesday will see some scenes being written, though. And if you like my music, go to:
This Page (http://www.myspace.com/duplicitousimages) where you can find new stuff.

[Frunobulax]

I am now officially putting 27 For 19 to rest until I move into my own place.

My new writing project is: My Life In Burma and Other Short Fiction, a collection of short stories I'll be writing sporadically. If anybody wants to publish this book, let me know.

[Frunobulax]

A failed scene
[ENTER two men, one (TOM) about 21 in casual clothes, the other (NOT TOM) about 50 with a beard in a suit.]
TOM: So, why are we even here?
NOT TOM: I dunno. Isn't that what everybody wants to know?
TOM: I guess.
NOT TOM: I know.
TOM: Know what?
NOT TOM: That everybody wants to know why we are here.
[Repeat this dialogue between five and thirty times.]

[Frunobulax]

Phoooooooooom
Rev up the motorik.
Come on let me see it,
Let me be it.
Let it go now.
What have you discovered to replace that franticism?
Devotionals all crowd the room,
Worshiping a paganicon.
The tenuous connections fading,
Destroying.
Tenterhooks enter their necks
And pull out their throats.
Leaves fall now somberly.
Ending.

[Frunobulax]

For anybody who wonders what influences my writings, here is a partial list:
-Bukowski
-Kerouac
-Chaucer
-Eliot
-Hughes
-French chansons
-Songs from chamber choir
-Lyrics from bands I like.

The one set of lyrics that have inspired me the most recently have hands down been the bizarre yet lucid musings of Dave Longstreth (leader of Dirty Projectors). I suggest anybody and everybody go to Their MySpace Page (http://www.myspace.com/dirtyprojectors) and listen to Finches' Song and Fucked For Life. Dave removed the stellar Jolly Jolly Jolly Ego, but that song has had a lasting impact. Here are the lyrics:

Jolly jolly jolly ego,
You fit in.
You fit in, jolly jolly jolly.
Let the water bead
off you naked shoulders.

"Clung to obstinate--
like an old love letter
boxed in her back pocket,
lacking love, or living saliva:
dried blood--like a
wax seal, scabbing regal."

The set of lyrics have a place in the storyline of the album The Getty Address, which is copied here verbatim:
Henley's ecstasy swells. His thoughts, flitting like electrons in excited state, are splinters or all he has ever thought. In a fever of revelation, he writes a bad poem and begins to get nauseous. Henley and Sacagawea embrace, darkly.
The overall plot of the album is Don Henley (no relation to the member of the Eagles) traveling to the fields of the Getty war site in an attempt to find the shape of Love as his mental chorus (represented by brown finches) guide him. Bizarre? Yes, but the CD booklet and lyrics form a defined structure.

[Jean]

can you specify the French chansons?

[Frunobulax]

Mainly the ones used by composers like Debussy, Jean, and a handful of chansons I learned in chamber choir but have since forgotten the titles of as well as the bulk of the lyrics.

[Steve]

Hey Matt, what do you think of Nick Cave?

[Frunobulax]

I enjoy his music and think he's an okay lyricist.

[Frunobulax]

NEW ARTWORK SOOOOOOOOON
I am starting work on a new mixed media collage, currently untitled. Pictures will we up as soon as it's completed and dried.

MATERIALS:
-Entertainment Weekly words + pictures
-Old Apple power cord
-Paper clip structure/Vicious Cycle(?) #1
-Post-It Matisse Style #1
-Puzzle, white, and hot glues
-Staples
-Tape
-Scissors for cutting up mercifully (S.C.U.M.)
-Straight razor for intricate cuts and occasional random cutting
-Hat or plastic bag for
-Random words from any and all EW reviews for
-Tzara style poems
-Poster board, any size
-Cubomania

[Frunobulax]

Any comments?

[Frunobulax]

Don't all rush in.

[Frunobulax]

My Portfolio
As some know, I'm applying to an art school (CalArts), specifically for the Composition Specialization in Experimental Sound Practices MFA. So I need to get together a portfolio of any size for the school to review.
THINGS TO BE INCLUDED:
-Graphic scores, any and all. This includes photocopies of many many pages from both my own autograph scores on stave paper, a home made score from computer paper and ink, three pages from my Moleskine journal (the Aleatron series), and three Map Project scores
-Drafts for home made instruments/experimental acoustic structures
-Instructions for prepared string piano, see Open Piano entry
-Scores for orchestral works: Nolo Contendere, Clown Tits (sketch, three measures), 3 & 4 Pianos, Pitched Percussion Phase, Crapshoot (draft), Polyrhythm Experiments 1 & 2 (from autograph scores), instructions for Music For A Theremin and Film
-Recordings of material: DD 2-14 and self titled electronic works, selected Soundscaped For Your Dinner Parties (including the newly recorded dronology-based Bassoon Sample/Bsnsmple), various tape manipulations/SoundForge manips. (A Whole New New Attitude, The Fucking Beast, etc.), ChaosSynth granular works (Flying Over The Khyber, Cloacal Kiss, Biofeedbacking, Music For Noise Vol. 2 disc II excerpts), Bitcrush Drums backing for improvised instruments, selections from the forthcoming Works For Guitar EP showcasing third bridge techniques, and the like.

So we're looking at about 20-30 pages of music, about 5 diagrams, maybe 2 CDs, and about 5 pages of text in various formats.
Jeezus.

[Steve]

Sorry for not getting back to you on the collage project -- I was just waiting for more info. It sounds really bad-fucking-ass right now, Matt. How much will a copy of this cost?

[Frunobulax]

Each collage in the EW series is independent of others--one made to order collage would be about $30-$70 depending on the desired size, shipping included.

[Steve]

Good stuff, Matt. I will certainly be awaiting a chance for one.

[Steve]

Hey Matt, how's 27 for 19 comin'?

[Frunobulax]

27 For 19 is on current indefinite hiatus due to a lack of time and inspiration.

[Jon]

:lol::lol:Translation: laziness!

[Frunobulax]

Pretty much, Jon. :lol:
I'm not gonna deny it.

[Frunobulax]

The new collage has been started. I am using only old issues of Family PC and Entertainment Weekly. It's called the anti-Britney commission.

[Steve]

Ha!

[Jon]

I like that Frunno!

[Frunobulax]

Fifty Words of Pitfall
As music singles decrease in time,
And the ProTools tracks grow in breadth--
Sound peaking and layers triplicating--
Tastes now favor the short.
Three minutes equals the average attention span.
That of a rat is longer.
JUMPCUT!
JUMP CUT!
When will the attention span shrink to
Allow a one minute song to become the number one?

[Frunobulax]

Liff of Paine
All my friends have partners
I am left alone.
I reside in sorrow.
Residue forms on the windows of my happiness,
Darkening all.
Hope abound, none shining through.
Do chemicals need transfers?
Scented emotions never forwarded.
Carbon copies of some decaying feeling dissolve into abandon.
I have yet to see the abyss,
Yet it stares back constantly.
We are like that in Anthem.
Yet the freedom spoken of exists not in these circumstances.
Lone.
Lone long.
Lone longing.

[Frunobulax]

That was some mopey shit I posted, eh?

[Jean]

well, there was a nice allusion there anyway

I have yet to see the abyss,
Yet it stares back constantly.

[Frunobulax]

Thanks for recognizing the reference/allusion, Jean. One more in a list of influences.
But now that the crippling depression/heart of winter phase of my attitude has melted, happier wordworks can be anticipated in the near future.

[Jean]

few things could make a bear happier than that news

[Frunobulax]

Placebic
Water soothes and cools and drowns.
So why do we drink it still?

[Steve]

Good point, Fruno old boy. Let's drink milk!

[Frunobulax]

Tiling the Untiled
Open wide: the jaws of life
Close them now with tensile strength.
Leave: pain and strife
Seal it up 'til it's putrid, rank.
Title the story at the end of the book.

[Frunobulax]

For those who like my music:
I'm making electracoustic noise as CLUB SAUCE (a not so veiled reference to the superb TV show Arrested Development). This is the second LP. The first LP will be coming out by the end of June. This one will be out in the summer.
http://a135.ac-images.myspacecdn.com/images01/64/l_13962f2a41fb3c9d7b4fcbab2d9fdf0e.jpg
The title is a reference to a certain video game series.

[Jean]

For those who like my music:
we are quite numerous! http://i91.photobucket.com/albums/k291/mishemplushem/Facilitation/0134-bear.gif

[Frunobulax]

Cool. The music is not for many, though. It's hardcore noise--layers upon layers of distortion.

[LadyHitchhiker]

Something for Something
As we go about in our daily lives
Coping with stress and strain
Stopping to sift through the good is hard with all the lies
Being propagated and drilled into our brains.

Do we want something?
We all want something!
Can we get it for nothing?
Nothing for nothing!
Something for something
Nothing for nothing
Something for nothing is a nice idea.

I understand how mixed
The messages may seem
But all here sitting betwixt
The words one may glean
That something is attempting to be conveyed.

Do you want something for nothing?
We all want something!
Can you get nothing for something?
You will get nothing!
Something for nothing.
Nothing worth noting.
Nothing for something.
Something worth saying.

^------ is this a song because I have a tune for it in m head...

[Frunobulax]

NEW LP AVAILABLE FOR FREE DOWNLOAD:
CLUB SAUCE - CARMILLA

http://www.mediafire.com/?sharekey=bc8b60e91ca6a8b2d2db6fb9a8902bda

Note/Warning: This is a noise release. It is loud, full of static, and may cause elevated heart rate. Try it!!

[Jean]

if that is the reason of your unprecedentedly long absence, it better be good.

[Frunobulax]

My absence can be attributed to many things, some personal, some work-related. I've been busy all summer recording, mixing, engineering, producing, mastering, and playing for two bands (which resulted in two albums, one of which is on iTunes), working more on my own music (which resulted in almost seven new albums, of which only three or four will be released), confrontations with an asshole I used to think was a friend here in CC, and a ton of other things. As before, I'll be intermittently here.

[Frunobulax]

A new mini-LP (8 songs, but listed as 13) will be out next week. This is the best thing I've made so far in terms of my electronic efforts. Or at least I think so. This may be my "Blue Moves."

[Steve]

:excited:

Man, Matt, it's great to have you back! This place just ain't been the same without ye. :clap:

[Jean]

::grumbles::

the same goes for someone else, too... yes, yes, look at yourself (gr gr grrrrrrrr)

[Jean]

Sweetheart - did you mean to post it in your poetry thread? I'll move your poems there then.

[Frunobulax]

Mah thread!! Mah thread iz hijaked!

[Runs in a circle, arms flailing]

[Frunobulax]

Don't say I never gave you nothing:
http://www.mediafire.com/?mnv1zimukzt
A new mini-LP. Six songs made in Ableton, ranging from interludes that are 30 seconds to one minute long (four songs are like this) and two songs utilizing samples, from the centerpiece: a seven minute long, seven part sound collage made entirely of samples edited together painstakingly from parts one second to 1/100th of a second long. This one's been worked on for the past month now, and it's time to release it.
http://www.mediafire.com/?mnv1zimukzt
A little thing called Frozen Tunes. Eight songs, 21 minutes and 3 seconds long. With special gravy packet for extra flavor.

[Jean]

Mah thread!! Mah thread iz hijaked!

[Runs in a circle, arms flailing]
don't worry, everything is under the bear's control!


Don't say I never gave you nothing:

soon, soon I will have some spare time and will listen again! Bears love Frunobulaxes' music!

[Frunobulax]

Awesome. This one is a touch abrasive at times (almost all drums have saturated volume levels to create distorted rhythms), but I think it's by far my best disc.

[Frunobulax]

http://i47.photobucket.com/albums/f187/Frunobulax19/lamonte.jpg
Coming soon.
Songs Inspired by La Monte Young.
Five songs, 47'19", drones aplenty. Minimalism in its purest form, as informed by the creator of the genre.

[Frunobulax]

New.?.d.ads
Starting over sounds good.
I'd like to be a phoenix in that sense,
Perhaps taking the ashes I spring from and fertilizing new ground.
Reap what I sow.
Plow through the mess.
I'm starting over again.
The first time is best the second time around.

[Frunobulax]

Snore in Peace
As the sun rose over the clouds
A sound arose, clear and loud.
'Twas the banging of a can
Maybe a pot or a pan...
Unknown in terms of origin,
The song stopped only to begin
Again repeating is fractured beat
Invasive to all, to none a treat.
Opening the blinds to see what it was,
Astonishment met me because
It was Tuesday of course!
Only the milkman on his weekly course.
- - - -
I tried to use couplets for a more "normal" style. It's got the intellectual value of a marshmallow Peep™.

[Jean]

http://i91.photobucket.com/albums/k291/mishemplushem/Facilitation/bear_thumb.gifhttp://i91.photobucket.com/albums/k291/mishemplushem/Facilitation/bear_thumb.gifhttp://i91.photobucket.com/albums/k291/mishemplushem/Facilitation/bear_thumb.gif

I value other poets here too, especially Jon, Daniel (The Nameless) and Candice, but yours are the only poems the bear knows by heart...

[Frunobulax]

And that means so much to me as an artist, a friend, and a person.

[alinda]

I am downloading your tunes now, I want to hear some Fruno tunes! :rock:

[Frunobulax]

Hope you enjoy the music, Linda.

[Frunobulax]

Poor _
Trash fills up in the bin.
...emptied.
Dishes in the sink rise in stacks like skyscrapers.
...cleaned.
Dust forms, fields of gray wheat.
...dusted.
Bones break under stress.
...mended.
Eyes fail under sunlight.
...shaded.
Emotions fail with you near me.
...never remedied.
Some things never go away. Something sticks me,
A thorn in my side. A thorn so sweet, so bitter, so lovely.
I hope that pliers never come.
Thorn sticks in me.
...please stay.
I'll never be with you.
...please stay.
You might hate me.
...please stay.
I wish you were near me.
...please don't move.
I wish you were next to me.
...please don't move.
I wish you were here now, writing this with me.
...please don't move.
I wish you would repudiate me.
...please don't stay.
You want to stay his friend.
...please don't.
I was his friend first.
...please don't.
When is your time frame expired?
....please soon.
When is your mind restarted?
...please soon.
I want you.
I want you.
I want you.
...please.
...please.
....pleas...plaintive...sweet...please.

[Frunobulax]

Your Infrequent Update
Career
I am now a full-time musician, engineer, producer, etc. I did this so I can start to establish myself in the area and industry. So far, I have one paying gig now, another coming in December, and am working with all my bands and projects for free (which means four things, sometimes all at once). Hopefully by this time next year I will be successful. This summer I am forming a production company with my friend, which will only do for-pay gigs.
Music Fetish
iTunes: I now have over 30200 songs. It's gotten out of hand, really. And each day I find another one to 10 albums and listen to them all. I recently found all my Reverend Horton Heat and New Order albums. Fuck yes!!
Two Stories
Story 1: It is my ninth grade year. I am in band, which also means marching band (which counts as PE, despite our never marching or rehearsing marching). October comes and I am disillusioned with this fake credit, despite it saving me from the humiliation of real PE (keep in mind that I am only really good at two physical things: weightlifting and not being knocked over). I find out due to an overheard conversation where the football coach is - and they are looking for new players. I go to the coach and ask if I could try out. He looks at me, with my standing at 5'9" or so and about 180, and asks me what position. I reply, "Linebacker." He looks at me and suggests that I chose right, given my naturally broad shoulders (despite being a little overweight, I am pretty solidly built) and solid legs (no fat on the haunches, so to speak). I ask what the schedule is like, and the second he states it I realize that it is either music or sports. I tell him that I would either get back to him or not see him again to talk about this, depending on my band schedule. I never went back. Music didn't want me to stay after school until 8pm four days a week, and it also didn't want me to travel all the hell over the state theoretically.

Story 2: Tenth grade now. It's November, and an announcement comes over the PA that the school needs people for the wrestling team. I'm in [marching]band again, same thing. After school, between the end of school and the start of marching band I see the wrestling coach, who is also one of the two physics teachers at the school, and ask him bluntly: 1. Do you think I could be a wrestler? 2. How would this interfere with band? He replies: 1. Yes, I could probably wrestle in the upper weight classes (see story one for that, only now I'm about 5'10"). He then asked me about my endurance and fitness. I tell him that I have good breath endurance from band and am an avid walker (I had also started lifting regularly around this time, which I mention), and that my fitness level is not congruent with how it might be perceived. 2. I could do both, but barely. I would have to miss rehearsals half to 2/3 of the time. He says to get back to him within a week so he can either form a tryout for me or not. The coach also expressed concern at my wearing glasses and inability to wear contacts (I cannot put things in my eyes, lenses or eye drops for instance). I mulled it over for a while, and instead chose music. Also, the chances of my getting ringworm even once ended up being a huge deal breaker.

So music has also trumped social status for me.


And you probably didn't give a fuck about this shit, but who gives a damn??

[Frunobulax]

NEW REMIX. KANYE WEST'S "LOVE LOCKDOWN" MADE INTO A NOISE-TYPE TUNE.
http://www.mediafire.com/?emwy4kyuyjy

[Frunobulax]

0931))(*#___))@
Light pours in, flooding.
Shades close promptly.
And the cycle repeats daily.
Sometimes the shades stay closed.
Sometimes the light ceases or fails to be.
And the cycle is infrequent.
When the light floods the retina
The shades of eyelids drop.
And this happens hundreds of millions of times.
When the shades drop for the millisecond
The light is ceased.
And the cycle is blinking.
When the shades stay closed
And the light ceases to be
The cycle is sleep.
When the light floods
And the shades are drawn wide
It is the cycle of waking.
Circadian.

[Frunobulax]

FJ
Sounds rush from the freeway
Engines revving in solemnity
As the CHiPs are always at bay
To halt a fine or tragedy.
Avoiding the cars are easy
As long as you have the sense,
While the thought makes some queasy
To avoid you'd have to be dense.
This is the city I live in,
I've seen too much to pretend.
It's a bit of a garbage bin,
But time for LA I lend.

[Frunobulax]

(Something)
And the curse lifts. Gentle, slow, sweet.
Ban the mindset, verboten and forgotten.
Take me away to four years ago but now at the same time,
Maybe to something better.
Five years gone, five years gone,
Three years spent, three years spent,
No time wasted.
Hastily pile on the tears.
Hastily, burn the coals.
Fuel the fire with your shovel.
Spoon feed me the images.
And pierce my brain with your poison needle.
Fingers like tentacles reach into my psyche and pull out the undesirable.
Air my grievances and let them be gone.
Tentacles of sertraline make it easy.
Don't ignore, don't regret, embrace.
Oh, how I have embraced. Oh how I have left it within.
Bottles broken and bottles poured, corks displaced without thought.
And now we can move on.
Take the past and take it to heart.
Take the past and bury it three inches under the surface.
Move on, and keep this with you until you die.
And now this is happiness.
This is happiness.
I can smile easy without cynicism.
Drinks so bitter have been replaced with nectar.
And now the tentacles become vines like lambsear.
It's going to be fine.

[Frunobulax]

Lokdpr
Locked up prose.
So many months of silence and stasis.
Free verse cannot convey how it once did.
But the stride has been regained.
All is well.

[Jean]

::patiently waiting for a real poem::

[Frunobulax]

Fr Jn
Clicks resonate in my head
Derived from driving
The gas light shines red
Holding on to fumes, striving.
As the mile markers fly
As the dashed lines go by
The tyres wear down well
The tyres grip is swell.
Clicks resound, deafeningly
Dulled pain from the mind
A mission's goal, singularly
Cut those ties that bind
The exit is here now
The exit flashes past my brow
Clicks resound at the door
A bell rings with clear voice
Said goodbye, nothing more
What you do is your choice.
The path is cleared and I move on
Sunrise marks the end of dawn.
Clicks count seconds in quiet reservation
The hours have gone by
I leave now, 70 mph, no trepidation
If you need to ask, you'll never know why

[alinda]

:excited:FRUNO!!!!:excited: So good to catch you how are you doing?
:couple:

[Jean]

Fr Jn
Clicks resonate in my head
Derived from driving
The gas light shines red
Holding on to fumes, striving.
As the mile markers fly
As the dashed lines go by
The tyres wear down well
The tyres grip is swell.
Clicks resound, deafeningly
Dulled pain from the mind
A mission's goal, singularly
Cut those ties that bind
The exit is here now
The exit flashes past my brow
Clicks resound at the door
A bell rings with clear voice
Said goodbye, nothing more
What you do is your choice.
The path is cleared and I move on
Sunrise marks the end of dawn.
Clicks count seconds in quiet reservation
The hours have gone by
I leave now, 70 mph, no trepidation
If you need to ask, you'll never know why

yes, yes, that's what the bear meant!!! http://i91.photobucket.com/albums/k291/mishemplushem/Facilitation/bear_thumb.gifhttp://i91.photobucket.com/albums/k291/mishemplushem/Facilitation/bear_thumb.gifhttp://i91.photobucket.com/albums/k291/mishemplushem/Facilitation/bear_thumb.gif

(more!.. bears want more!...)

[Frunobulax]

Linda! All is good, just very busy as always.
Jean, add in some vowels to the title of that poem.

[Jean]

Jean, add in some vowels to the title of that poem.
In fact, bears always do that automatically - they see word puzzles everywhere. They nearly burst with pride and delight when they saw it!

[Frunobulax]

Heh. I figured as much!

Ypres
Ships revisiting the tone they knew
Tungsten circle reforms
As an eastern breeze blew
Gentle and vaguely warm
Oceans crash
Slaps, bash
The hulls of the hulks.
Rotting solemnly the ships go on
Marching to a new island
Each captain a willing pawn
Knowing well they'll get paid and
Reforming the circle of wood
They should go on.
Australia is born.

[Frunobulax]

NEW LP
http://www.mediafire.com/?jhnkj1fw2wt
http://www.mediafire.com/?jhnkj1fw2wt
http://www.mediafire.com/?jhnkj1fw2wt
http://www.mediafire.com/?jhnkj1fw2wt

[Frunobulax]

Notes on two new releases
Today I am uploading two new albums for free download.
1. Three Ambient Experiments
Exactly what it sounds like. Organ and saxophone (both via softsynth) with plenty of reverberation to trypp out to. Each song is two cells of music that loop and are faded in and out of each other to create a constantly shifting suite of amorphous sound. Good music for any task that is stressful.

2. 11+
Full length (47'05") of ambient songs. 11, 11a, 11b, etc. to 11f. Each song is made from manipulated samples of music I've made or listened to during the making of Three Ambient Experiments. Inspired by Stars Of The Lid, 11+ is one of the better discs I've made. Some long songs, some short songs, all steeped in ambient noise and usually culminating in a formant being pulled from the sound (that's just me talking audio theory bullshit, never mind). 11f is dedicated to Eugene Levy and draws its genesis from the White Rainbow song "How High I Ridge I Could Not Tell (Song For Eugene Levy)" from his excellent debut ZOME.

LINKS COMING SOON

[Frunobulax]

http://www.mediafire.com/?lzgjmgz3e4y
http://www.mediafire.com/?2txd5lobwdt
11+
Three Ambient Experiments
Free downloads.

[John Blaze]

downloaded, thanks Fruno.

[jayson]

Downloading now.
Thanks Fruno.
Looking forward to hearing it.
:D

[Frunobulax]

I look forward to your review/compliments/criticisms/etc. guys.

[Frunobulax]

28B? Mortigi.
Place your face in the box.
Stare into the black abyss.
Do you see what you've got?
Now that all has ceased to exist...
Put your hands on my face.
Feel the sweat bead slowly.
Let your memory and fingers trace
What you earned barely, poorly.
Put your hopes into me.
Let's become one entity.
Put your dreams within me.
Let's live as one entity.
Put yourself onto me.
Let's combine into one entity.
You know I care because you don't.
Stop tricking yourself into apathy.
You know I care because you won't.
Stop fooling yourself into disbelief.
Let's live as one couple.
Don't leave me behind, a memory of failure passed.
I swallow the bitter medicine of defeat.

[Frunobulax]

Palindromic Synapse
Three.
The number of time things happen until a new cycle begins.
Hydrochloric trepanning.
Two.
The number of times things should be thought over.
Acidic tongues.
One.
The number of times things happen.
Long.

[Frunobulax]

Anyone Can Write What I Write
Why be original and use free verse?
Dedication to couplets is a fucking curse.
Why be original with iambic lines?
Dedication to interior ruins all rhymes.
Why be original and do slam?
You spoke of your feelings, you're a sham.
Why be original and do Eliot, too?
Fuck that, pretentious - fuck you.
Why be original and be a beat?
The dullness of your ethos will be trampled into the street.
Why be original and write for a song?
Take your pop ideals and kill them, ever long.
Why be original and write a paean?
All the gold will lose its sheen.
Your dedication to one style shows the naivete of you ways.
Your dedication to your ideas shows the ignorance of your wordplays.
Your dedication to Tzara is a fucking joke.
Your dedication to one mindset will make you choke.
Why be original and write in sections?
Switching into bizarre lines of free verse are better....
Then
you
_______________begin.
tothinkofwhatitcouldbe
In an ex
per-i-mental waaaaaay.
So why be original in this age and day?
Tried to write a parody and comment on everybody but me.
All I did was reflect what I see.
Each writing I post is a worthless shit.
No wonder nobody ever reads it.
All I do is post about random.
So why should anybody care?

[Frunobulax]

For _______ ______
You have no artistic value
You never sound interested
Every song shows you
Singing notes out of your range's safe bed.
Each tune has 4/4 down
And your cellist is wasted.
I want to beat you down.
Blood is what you should've tasted.
All success is because you're rich.
Fuck you, bitch.
All success is because you're fake.
Tell me what pills you don't take.
All couplets are dull.
Beaten into the listener's listless skull.
Adult contemporary is a dead scene.
Do you have emotions at all??
Sadier sounds unaffected or serene.
You just want to be done with it all.
Congrats on transposing up and not telling your keyboardist.
Now you fucked him over so he has to remember to undo
Each button press with calculated risk,
Lest he reveal your callous errors like you
Deserve.
Happy to move away from your false face.
Beauty is your only weapon.
Gonna go to a real artist's place.
More art's the beckon.
Your idea of artistic community for charity has got to be a sick joke.
You don't understand what you're giving to.
Activism for the sake of activism makes me choke
On laughter and abhorrence as my hot air blew.
All success is because you look good.
Your guitar should be made into firewood.
All success is because you're safe.
You move in parallels as advancement is what you strafe.
All success is because you're rich.
Fuck everything you stand for, bitch.
My vitriol is masked to keep up appearances.
My vitriol means nothing.
My blood burns when I hear of your success.
My blood boils when real art is trumped.
My face reddens when you play live.
My face pales when you fail each high note.
The '90s are dead for a reason, stop fornicating with its corpse flagrantly.
The Goo Goo Dolls fucking suck and should not be an influence.
Do yourself a favor and fuck the status quo.
Leave behind all those kinds of people you know.
May you be forgotten in a year's time.

[Frunobulax]

So after the anger, angst, vitriol, and general acid bath of the previous few werdwerks....

Looking For...
Just when I was going to stop looking, I found it.
"Your love swells and pounds me"
Just when I was going to stop living, it saved me.
"I hold nothing"
Just when I was going to stop trying, it graced me.
"It's not meant to be a struggle uphill"
Just when I was going to stop smiling, it struck me.
"See me wave my flag"
And all went black.
And all flickered back on.
And all turned white.
And all was right.
Just when I was about to fail again, you saved me.
"I know nothing"
Just when I was about to hide again, you found me.
"I will find you, I will find you"
Just when I was about to kill myself, you loved me.
"Only when I'm not looking for it"
Just when I was about to throw it away, you gave all to me.
"No gods, no excuses"
And all went right from wrong.
And all went good from bad.
And all turned ebullient and joyous.
And all turned 180 degrees.
You saved me.
You gave me all I needed.
You are why I continue.
You are everything I ask for.
You are more.
You are a thousand different metaphors and ways to say,
"Thank you."
///////
Notes: This poem contains many many many lines from various Phil Elvrum songs to emphasize points. It also is intensely autobiographical, so please keep that in mind. Also, for those wondering, it is about a place and not a person.

[Frunobulax]

Torn
Staring at the past unfold
Future unravels itself upon itself
On to some distant choice untold
Or resigned back to the highest shelf.

Drowning in the seratonin's grasp
Choices are so unclear now
Empty bottles, empty flask
The way is revealed, the when why how.

Torn between the ideals of perfection versus choice
Win win is so hard to comprehend
Torn between the call of a perfect voice
And the brilliant light at the end.

I cannot lose. It's hard to admit
I cannot lose.
I cannot lose. It's hard to believe
I cannot lose.
I am free.
I am invincible.
This is my moment of glory!

And it will be everlasting.
With no shadows casting
Grim dreary doom on my face.
I'll relocate to the perfect place.

[Frunobulax]

Started a blog:
http://matthewolmos.blogspot.com
Storm. Static. Sleep.

[Frunobulax]

Parenthetical Ideals
Logic so circular it leaves jet trails.
Ideals so crooked they weave in looms.
People so vapid they're wind in sails.
Thoughts so deadly that all that dwells is doom.

Your parenthetical ideals show your confusion.
Your ellipses laden statements show a sheared mind.
All you think will lead to dissolution.
You're caught up in your own ties that bind.

Words so prosaic.
Prose so dull.
Influences placebic.
Jackhammer my skull.

Your parenthetical ideals show no end.
Your space laden works show a lack of originality.
A victim of beat misunderstanding hipster trend.
Piles of uselessness is all I see.

Readers are blinded by your "obscurity."
Don't see there's no skill underneath.
Since they're really short or long, may seem "edgy."
When it's all angsty grief.

Leave it be. Go.
Leave it be. Go.
Leaven your mind. Go.
Cast the second stone. Go.

[Jean]

Fruno, did I tell you that you were my favorite poet?

I think I did, but it bears repeating.

Will you let me quote this poem when I need it? I often have to express similar feelings in prose, and a poetic reinforcement would come in exceptionally handy.

[jayson]

Words so prosaic.
Prose so dull.
Influences placebic.
Jackhammer my skull.

i enjoy the whole thing, but it's this part i keep coming back to.
well done fruno, well done

[Frunobulax]

Thanks guys. Jean, I would be honored yet again if you chose to quote this poem ever. Jayson, glad you like it. You guys are awesome.

[jayson]

what's awesome is that you choose to share your gifts with your friends. :)

[Frunobulax]

:D Well, what else am I going to do? It's better to share at the risk of failure than to wallow in self-pity for lack of output (at least as an artist in any definition).

[sarajean]

Parenthetical Ideals
Logic so circular it leaves jet trails.
Ideals so crooked they weave in looms.
People so vapid they're wind in sails.
Thoughts so deadly that all that dwells is doom.

Your parenthetical ideals show your confusion.
Your ellipses laden statements show a sheared mind.
All you think will lead to dissolution.
You're caught up in your own ties that bind.

Words so prosaic.
Prose so dull.
Influences placebic.
Jackhammer my skull.

Your parenthetical ideals show no end.
Your space laden works show a lack of originality.
A victim of beat misunderstanding hipster trend.
Piles of uselessness is all I see.

Readers are blinded by your "obscurity."
Don't see there's no skill underneath.
Since they're really short or long, may seem "edgy."
When it's all angsty grief.

Leave it be. Go.
Leave it be. Go.
Leaven your mind. Go.
Cast the second stone. Go.

yes.

[Frunobulax]

Endometrium Excise
I grew tired of changing structures as if they were icicles.
Gunning endless enemies in search of ammo.
I fail to realise I'm a salve.
I fail to think I'm a replacement for real.
I spit at your ideas of ideas.
I snub your dullness and move on to my own.
I offend all while befriending the world.
My existence is merely to cause irk.
"Fuck the impostors!
Kill the usurpers!"
Shouts a heckler in the third row.
That heckler is him.
The one who has the skill while I hone nothing but my own ego.
"You cannot even spell! Why bother typing if the red underlinings mean nothing?"
And he was right again.

The paranoid fever dream of the opponent manifests as decried screeds.
But all who know its true meaning agree.
For I am nothing
I am nothing but a useless waste of life's bandwidth.
Refusing to admit when I cheat or lie.
Riding out on falsities until I die.
Adding on veneers while that heckler pulls his off.
Maybe it's the eastern mentality, but it can't be.
The others from my part of the world are not as bad as I am.
Maybe I really am just a useless beat rehash.
Critical analysis is needed now.
Or others will be blinded by my useless prose.

[Frunobulax]

Oh yeah, one new release soon.
Acridity is the partner EP of the forthcoming Acrid EP (due out this fall or winter). Live instruments with effects. Fun fun fun.

[sarajean]

Endometrium Excise
I grew tired of changing structures as if they were icicles.
Gunning endless enemies in search of ammo.
I fail to realise I'm a salve.
I fail to think I'm a replacement for real.
I spit at your ideas of ideas.
I snub your dullness and move on to my own.
I offend all while befriending the world.
My existence is merely to cause irk.
"Fuck the impostors!
Kill the usurpers!"
Shouts a heckler in the third row.
That heckler is him.
The one who has the skill while I hone nothing but my own ego.
"You cannot even spell! Why bother typing if the red underlinings mean nothing?"
And he was right again.

The paranoid fever dream of the opponent manifests as decried screeds.
But all who know its true meaning agree.
For I am nothing
I am nothing but a useless waste of life's bandwidth.
Refusing to admit when I cheat or lie.
Riding out on falsities until I die.
Adding on veneers while that heckler pulls his off.
Maybe it's the eastern mentality, but it can't be.
The others from my part of the world are not as bad as I am.
Maybe I really am just a useless beat rehash.
Critical analysis is needed now.
Or others will be blinded by my useless prose.
fuck. yes.

:thumbsup:

[jayson]

Endometrium Excise
I grew tired of changing structures as if they were icicles.
Gunning endless enemies in search of ammo.
I fail to realise I'm a salve.
I fail to think I'm a replacement for real.
I spit at your ideas of ideas.
I snub your dullness and move on to my own.
I offend all while befriending the world.
My existence is merely to cause irk.
"Fuck the impostors!
Kill the usurpers!"
Shouts a heckler in the third row.
That heckler is him.
The one who has the skill while I hone nothing but my own ego.
"You cannot even spell! Why bother typing if the red underlinings mean nothing?"
And he was right again.

The paranoid fever dream of the opponent manifests as decried screeds.
But all who know its true meaning agree.
For I am nothing
I am nothing but a useless waste of life's bandwidth.
Refusing to admit when I cheat or lie.
Riding out on falsities until I die.
Adding on veneers while that heckler pulls his off.
Maybe it's the eastern mentality, but it can't be.
The others from my part of the world are not as bad as I am.
Maybe I really am just a useless beat rehash.
Critical analysis is needed now.
Or others will be blinded by my useless prose.

bravo my friend!!!

:clap:

[Steve]

Fruno, I've meant to ask you this for years:

Thoughts on David Lynch?

Seriously, I think you + Lynch = a terrifying amalgamation of shit-your-pants awesome that would blaze across the sky in a dazzling explosion to rival the Tunguska Event.

[Frunobulax]

I seriously love Lynch. I think he's a visual genius and knows how to make the bizarre totally accessible once you understand his oeuvre's main threads. I would be flabbergasted if I could ever work with him.

[jayson]

i can hear your music going quite well with a lynch project. he can't use badalamenti all the time, right? not that they don't work magically together because, clearly, they do, but some of your stuff would work great in a lynch context.

[Frunobulax]

Working in the contextual constraints
My mind is as useless as a line of corrupted code.
No codices are my deus ex,
But rather a malacoda to see the end of
All my days.
Now the click click click click
Fills the room.
And myself aches in pulses of heat.
Wrists fractured from the crucifix nails of carpal tunnels.
Elbows expunged of sponge with years of misery.
And the data loses more information.

[Jean]

Little as bears like free verse, they can't help but appreciate the one above; especially the first four lines. http://i91.photobucket.com/albums/k291/mishemplushem/Facilitation/0134-bear.gif

[sarajean]

Working in the contextual constraints
My mind is as useless as a line of corrupted code.
No codices are my deus ex,
But rather a malacoda to see the end of
All my days.
Now the click click click click
Fills the room.
And myself aches in pulses of heat.
Wrists fractured from the crucifix nails of carpal tunnels.
Elbows expunged of sponge with years of misery.
And the data loses more information.

:clap:

excellent.

[Frunobulax]

Textit
Your supplementary innocence masks your poorly chosen tastes.
And the text you routinely shit out lacks substance.
Each new line of verse is a pile of fetid waste.
The ghosts of your supposed past cements...

Hope your line wears down
Hope your line wears down
Hope your mind tears down
Hope your brain breaks down

Every bill you post references your incapacity.
Yet still people are snowblind, piebald.
Maybe more than us three will see
Your ignorance and lack of style that callously scalds.

Hope your feet break down
Hope your line wears down
Hope your flag burns down
Hope your tears drip down

Whatever ideas you have, throw them away.
Your ideas of metaphor and theme appall me.
With all the bureaucracy of an executed one's stay,
There's nothing for my eyes to interpret or see.

Hope your drives corrupt and decimate down.
Hope your bitrate drops down.
Hope your flag burns down.
Hope your line wears down.
God, I hope you calm down,
God I hope you're struck down.
God, I hope you're numbed down.
God I hope you vanish now.

[sarajean]

:couple:

[jayson]

another excellent addition to the collection fruno :clap:

[Frunobulax]

Ululations
Glossolalia mocks my ever present mind,
Twisting my words into knots of needlessness.
Explosions puncture my eardrums,
Creating a machiatto of blood in my head.
As my eyes burn with the thousand rays of a sun's anger,
My tongue flails like a drowning fish.
The clever ululations hide my lack of ability.
This is no way to live.
I wish I were dead, but then no use for me could be found.
I wanna live. I want to live. I need to live so bad.
And all was well.
And all is well.

[Jean]

Much as bears dislike free verse (I really must find a hieroglyph for this introduction), the last lines contrasted with the rest created that true poetic tension that touches so deeply...

[Frunobulax]

Thanks, Jean. Your comments carry weight!
//
Gravitational Qualms
Hurdling to a ball of molten
I feel heat on my skin
Breath bated, shaken,
Chances of infinity are thin.
Cast off thee disguise!
Avert the eyes.
And stare at the unfolding heptagonal shape.
Cash in all the riches you've raped.
Feel the clever shifting heat,
As you stand helpless on a ball of rock.
Terra firma's gentle contact with your feet
Only exists because of the gravitational qualms that your mind may block.

[Jean]

and my reward came immediately!

Fruno's real rhyming poem! Fruno's real rhyming poem!!!

Few things can make a bear that happy.

Fruno, you've been developing some dolent fragility that make your poems resonate with bears' soul almost to the point of becoming unendurable... I am going to learn this one by heart, like I did all your previous poems (what I call poems, anyway) - among other reasons, because then such lines as

Chances of infinity are thin

won't come unexpected and catch me off guard. I know that I am becoming soft, and poetry does make me cry more often than it used to when I was younger, but soft or hard, I am definitely not becoming more tolerant or ready to cry over bad, mediocre, or passably good poems. Which means yours are great - well, yes, I know it's a personal opinion, but I am going to stand by it.

[sarajean]

fruno is quite possibly my favourite poet.

:couple:

[Jean]

Among those writing in English, my favorite poet remains Bob Dylan... but then it's Kipling, Poe, Tennyson, and Fruno, not necessarily in order specified.

[flaggwalkstheline]

Among those writing in English, my favorite poet remains Bob Dylan... but then it's Kipling, Poe, Tennyson, and Fruno, not necessarily in order specified.

fruno's pretty good, no doubt, though my favorite poet of all time remains Gregory Corso

[sarajean]

sheesh. not asking for a debate or other favourites, just saying that fruno happens to be mine. :rolleyes:

[Frunobulax]

I have a bunch of seeds for poems in my head right now, but (as with every other time) life is taking up free time I can spend here. As always I make my appearances, but will be scarcer than in the older days. But the basic ideas for Ululations and Gravitational Qualms are part of a selection of about 30 ideas in my head just floating around. Dunno when the others will be up, but in due time they'll be seen.

[Jean]

sheesh. not asking for a debate or other favourites, just saying that fruno happens to be mine. :rolleyes:
I brought them up on purpose, though. You see, Dylan, Kipling, Poe, and Tennyson seem each so big, and at the same time so different, that looking at the four of them it appears that they kinda shared the universe between them, and there’s no more angle that would be at the same time totally different from those four, and as big as they are. And then comes Fruno and finds this new angle without losing in greatness.

[Frunobulax]

In Somber Prose
In somber prose, I,
The author of such works,
Can only hope to try
To convey my lingual hypnic jerks.
In extended meaning and meter
I have tried to sum up my mind.
In metaphor and ripoff
I have tried to sum up thoughts of this kind.
I do not write originally,
But as an amalgam of many.
I am Legion.

[flaggwalkstheline]

oooo mysterious

i like it

[Frunobulax]

Repose
Sitting down by the carport
The memories flooded my mind.
Time is so short,
So my words were something I was unable to find.
Oil stained pasts,
Asphalt regrets,
Pavement lined casts,
Machine bored bets,
All was revealed in a sea of steel.
Wading out in the pool,
My past was shown rapidly:
Gentle repose on a stool,
Phone calls aborted hurriedly.
Nil regret and forward thought,
Time removed in a flash.
Blood leaks from my head, my legs are caught,
Beneath an old man's heap of trash.
Ribs stick my liver and lungs,
Longinus spears of calcification.
O! my final songs have been sung,
As my brain swells with rigid mortification.
Now the light dims, the bright bulb of the sun died.
All I hear are screams of terror.
My eyes are marred by bile, lest I cried,
To a terrible death's bearer.
All will be gentle,
All will be sweet,
When crushed by tonnes of metal
In the middle of the street.

[Frunobulax]

OK, so I'm sure that Jean will appreciate this following piece of text from me.

How do I write my prosems? Well, I often only have the first line solidified. I then either sit in complete silence or with loud music (IE volume all the way up, not loud as in shit like metal, although Mastodon and Aborted have led to good works), actively shut off my thinking processes for writing, then let my fingers flow. Basically what you see is the first AND final draft. I choose not to retool my own words.

[Jean]

http://i91.photobucket.com/albums/k291/mishemplushem/Facilitation/bear_wink-1.gif

[Frunobulax]

Same as Zero
I stopped looking in my life for the things that are unanswerable.
So I sat on a stone, begging to the open sky to find my heart.
I stopped gazing at the streetlights until the halogen became unbearable.
So I sat in omphaloskepsis, begging for the sodium lights to find my heart.

Looping upon myself, a circular statistician
A methodology for the alone.
Respooling my thought processes, my internal electrician
Is asleep at the job - he's no skill to hone.

I stopped looking for love in my life, thinking about warmth.
But it tracked me down in the form of friends.
I stopped looking for love in my head, knowing I am cold.
So it came to me soft and sweet, and I hold it to never lend.
I stopped looking for heat, focusing on the sworn.
Decisions never rash, always bold, lessons old.

My front and back surrounded by a shield of invisible care.
I am at ease, resting in utter happiness.
The number of times I have to worry now are the same as zero.

[Frunobulax]

Caloric
Consumed as a communion wafer
The rigidity of your exclamations masks all.
All that I see is 8th grade level rants
And attempts at Ginsberg.
Everything is an empty snack.
Caloric so as to leave false contentment.
The sugary floss of the prose you shit out
Leaves a terrible frost in the mouth.
The masses consume mindlessly,
Not realizing how terrible all you do is.
Caloric so as to fatten into abominations.

[sarajean]

Caloric
Consumed as a communion wafer
The rigidity of your exclamations masks all.
All that I see is 8th grade level rants
And attempts at Ginsberg.
Everything is an empty snack.
Caloric so as to leave false contentment.
The sugary floss of the prose you shit out
Leaves a terrible frost in the mouth.
The masses consume mindlessly,
Not realizing how terrible all you do is.
Caloric so as to fatten into abominations.

:wub:

[Frunobulax]

Twenty Five Dollars
Picked up in New Mexico,
Rotting hulk of a mind.
Like the ships of olden moving slow
Down the Thames of a deserted kind.
All he has is $25.
All he has is $25.
Bucked the system while intelligence grew smaller.
Tried palatial appraise.
Shot down in an instant.
General constant malaise.
False idols insistent.
All he has is a keyboard.
All he has is hope.
All he has is nothing.
All he is is a dope.
Tried writing down these emotions.
Tried to seem like it's smart.
Failed at every devotion,
Except to take nothing to heart.
All he has is $25.
All he has is $25.
Sand shifter, come my way.
Swirl into a hyperpool.
Sun drifter, come my way.
Shine into a hyperpool.
All he has is nothing.
And I hold the keys.
All he has is nothing.
And I hold what cannot be seized.

[flaggwalkstheline]

hey cool poem

I think I know that guy, there're a bunch of em in new mexico lol

[Jean]

Bears love. The use of repetitions and parallel structures is exquisite. Already committed to memory.

[Frunobulax]

Dullahan
Head removed from body
Riding a pale horse on a cobblestone road.
The riding crop slaps gently across my thigh,
Reminding me that corporeality is a myth.
Shall I claim thee soul?
Betwixt a universe of life and an unending death,
Dullahan rides.

Head removed from body.
Riding a dark horse on a dirt road.
The saddle bags gently slap my steed,
Reminding me of all life I took.
Shall I repent upon mine cross?
Or let the thieves next to me do the talking?
Bury the hatchet or use it to scalp?
Dullahan rides.

Neck removed from body,
An empty carcass laughs from within.
The metal of armor clinks gently upon contact with my joust.
Reminds me of times past.
Between being above and below, stuck on a non-ethereal plane.
Can I talk to thee?
Or will you run like the others?
Dullahan speaks.

Mind contained with body,
Too much wisdom for a dead being.
The regrets of past endeavors stab my lobes.
Reminds me of humanity.
Shall I ride endlessly?
Or will you join me in this regal manner?
Dullahan vanishes.

[Jean]

http://i91.photobucket.com/albums/k291/mishemplushem/Facilitation/bearmood_amazed.gif

you know how bears feel about free verse, right?

well, this one is fucking good!

[Frunobulax]

I'm seriously elated that you like this one so much, Jean. Thank you.

[Frunobulax]

Flicker
Candle burn to the base.
Flicker in the wind of arguments.
Wick burns in a never ending chase,
A grave or a monument.
Hot wax marks time's advance
And the metal base of the candlestick grows hot.
No hope for hope or a chance
To remove the blood in a blot.
Candle burn to the ground,
Like this old house will in an instant.
Bones and charred remains will be found
To prove that life was extant.
Hot wax removes the fear
Of life ending in a flash.
Flames lick clothes and books - all near -
Until it's all ash.
Candle burn through the skin.
Reveal white bone underneath.
Burn through muscle and tissue, thin,
Until it sees blood beneath.
Hot wax encases and closes in.
Suffocation by it and smoke.
Remove all original sin.
Laughing that leads to a choke.
Candle extinguish your flame.
Flicker out and die gently.
Stop your dazzling game,
Now just die out gently.
Hot wax forms in a ball,
Ready to be lit again.
Eternal as it is, as is all.
Reapers don't fail, they'll always win.

[Frunobulax]

So between the next thirty minutes and tomorrow at midnight, I'm going to try to post five new poems. Flicker and Dullahan are two of them. I NEED YOUR HELP THOUGH!
Choose any three:
-Rhyming poem
-Free verse poem
-Rhyme and free verse poem
-Short story [include topic or idea]
-Experimental story
-Short scene [include # of actors]
-Experimental scene
-Nonsense poem/Jabberwock/Finnegans Wake
-Something else not listed [specify what]
WHATEVER GETS THE MOST VOTES GETS WRITTEN!!

[sarajean]

nonsense.

[Jean]

will the nonsense poem be rhyming? if not, bears are for rhyming poem

[Frunobulax]

Nonsense would not be rhyming. So one for nonsense, one for rhyming.

[Jean]

http://i91.photobucket.com/albums/k291/mishemplushem/Facilitation/awake.gif

[Frunobulax]

Jean, I need one more type before writing.

[Frunobulax]

Britton
Far in the back of the mind of the truth
Look at the sun!
Nigh on ages ago,
As the riverranonsomuch
Drought plagues of ratborn bubonic can last no longr.
Nigh on ages ago.
Brittanic clarions shout'd! LET GO!
Then
the
time
reset.
Far in the back,
Under the tree looking like a corpsepainted fisherman hat,
Brittanic clarions call'd

[Frunobulax]

Four.Four.
Tempii shifting my way.
Feel the ground quicken beneath feet shuffling.
Exhaust clouds drift then stay,
Linger in the aether, bluffing.
They want to hurt, they want to stay
They want to be inhaled each moment of each day.
Four four pounds the kick.
Four four says the clock.
Three four says the incessant click.
Six eight says the tock.

[Frunobulax]

___________________________
____
______
___
________
_-__
______
_____
______________
______
__________

[Fill in yr own words]

[flaggwalkstheline]

well alright then

___________________________
Fruno says to fill in my own words
____
For now
______
I do have
___
Quick
________
Fresh dreams
_-__
Unraveling
______
But I fear
_____
My mouth
______________
Growing dull & rusty
______
Every word
__________
A shiny shove

[Frunobulax]

flagg gave his own interpretation
Of space.
He missed
The
Hyphenated space
(Right - see?)
It's OK since
He made
A semi-decent end
And made
Me reply.

[Frunobulax]

Ion Chain
Pull apart, piu moso.
Covalent liars.
Pull apart, carbon chain
Let the sign of age show.
Carbon14carbon14
Date the elements.
Gaze at the stars and realize that size matters not.
The ion chains around your neck bristle
Pull apart - you feel pain.
Pull tighter - you feel tense.
Ion liars, covalent masks.
When rocks are made of bones,
Chalky leftovers from errata past,
Molecular strategists are all that remain.

[Frunobulax]

Day It Is
What day it is reflects the processes of thought?
The day it is exists not.
What flowery prosaic methodology will pepper speech?
That way will never have reach.
What what what what what???
The answer is clear, as a deforesting cut.
What frost-ridden heart calls out?
The lack of warmth makes each molecule shout.
What heat-laden hand extends yr way?
Until you are silenced, words have no sway.
The day it is matters now.
That day it is dies.
Choose what day it is you want to die.

[Jean]

One of your finest and most powerful poems. Thank you a HUGE LOT



The answer is clear, as a deforesting cut.
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[Frunobulax]

:dance::thumbsup::cyclops:
Just wanted to use emoticons for once. ThankyamuchlyJean.

[Frunobulax]

Of course the double entendre of "Day it is" and "deities" cannot be understated.

[Jean]

Of course the double entendre of "Day it is" and "deities" cannot be understated.
No, you're not supposed to write your own Commentaries. It will be the bears' job, when we at last publish the academic edition.

[Frunobulax]

Commentary partially redacted then.