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 Posted: Thu Jun 24, 2010 9:51 pm
Yeah it's me again. Cue the White Snake....
"Here i go again on my own,
going down the only rode i've ever known,
like a drifter i was born to walk alone...."
...Man, the lead singer in that band was scary looking. Didn't know "butt rock" could be so butt ugly.... and the dude was sleeping with supermodel Bobby Brown if i'm not mistaken. Just doesn't make sense....
Anywho, it's like almost 1AM on a Thursday night bleeding into Friday morning. i'm listening to the new Deadbeat mix "Radio Rothko" and it is just out of this world deep and duby with the deep structured techno goodness. My addition to the thread that just wouldn't die's list tonight comes from my "Beat Bible" aka "The Outlaw Bible of American Poetry". This is short but so very amazing. i'm wondering if i should post some new threads. i have many ideas but i think the Advil PM is starting to kick in and i need to make my statement and get some much needed Zs.
Poem To The Freaks
_________________________
-Jack Micheline
To live as I have done is surely absurd
In cheap hotels and furnished rooms
To walk up side streets and down back alleys
Talking to oneself
And screaming to the sky obscenities
That the arts is a rotten business indeed
That mediocrity and the rage of fashion rules
My poems and paintings piled on the floor
To be one with himself
A Saint
A Prince
To persevere
Through storms and hardons
Through dusk and dawns
To kick death in the a**
To be passed over like a bad penny
A midget
An Ant
A roach
A freak
A Hot Piece
An Outlaw
Raise your cup and drink my friend
Drink for those who walk alone in the night
To the crippled and the blind
To the lost and the damned
To the lone bird flying in the sky
Drink to wonder
Drink to me
Drink to p***y and dreams
Drink to madness and all the stars
I hear the birds singing
~
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Posted: Thu Jul 01, 2010 10:28 pm
I am sooooo verrry, verrry, verrry WHAT? Sorry the suspense is killing me! ENLIGHTEN ME PLZ!!! Lyekka Kleo my dear, you are sooooo verrry, verrrrry, verrrrrry. In looking for one psychotic poem in my files i came across this marvelous piece of the timeless Allen Ginsberg. Lick a postage stamp and join the beat culture for an acid trip search for the very face of god.
LYSERGIC ACID
-Allen Ginsberg
It is a multiple million eyed monster
it is hidden in all its elephants and selves
it hummeth in the electric typewriter
it is electricity connected to itself, if it hath wires
it is a vast Spiderweb
and I am on the last millionth infinite tentacle of the spiderweb,
a worrier
lost, separated, a worm, a thought, a self
one of the millions of skeletons of China
one of the particular mistakes
I allen Ginsberg a separate consciousness
I who want to be God
I who want to hear the infinite minutest vibration of eternal
harmony
I who wait trembling my destruction by that aethereal music
in the fire
I who hate God and give him a name
I who make mistakes on the eternal typewriter
I who am doomed
But at the far end of the universe the million eyed spyder that
hath no name
spinneth of itself endlessly
the monster that is no monster approaches with apples, perfume,
railroads, television, skulls
a universe that eats and drinks itself
blood from my skull
Tibetan creature with hairy breast and Zodiac on my stomach
this sacrificial victim unable to have a good time
My face in the mirror, thin hair, blood congested in streaks down
beneath my eyes, cocksucker, a decay, a talking lust
a snaeap, a snarl, a tic of consciousness in infinity
a creep in the eyes of all universes
trying to escape my Being, unable to pass on to the Eye
I vomit, I am in a trance, my body is seized in convulsion, my
 stomach crawls, water from my mouth, I am here in
Inferno
dry bones of myriad lifeless mummies naked on the web, the
Ghosts, I am a ghost
I cry out where i am in the music, to the room, to whomever
near, you, Are you God?
No, do you want me to be God?
Is there no answer?
Must there always be an answer? you reply,
and were it up to me to say Yes or No ---
Thank God I am not God ! Thank God I am not God !
But that I long for a yes of harmony to penetrate
to every corner of the universe, under every condition whatsoever
a Yes there Is . . . a yes I Am . . . a Yes You Are . . . a We
A We
and that must be an It, and a They, and a Thing with No
Answer?
It creepeth, it waiteth, it is still, it is begun, it is the Horns of
Battle it is Multiple Sclerosis
it is not my hope
it is not my death at Eternity
it is not my word, not poetry
beware my Word
It is a Ghost Trap, woven by priest in Sikkim or Tibet
a crossframe on which a thousand threads of differing color
are strung, a spiritual tennis racket
in which when I look I see aethereal lightwaves radiate
bright energy passing round on the threads as for billions of years
the thread-bands magically changing hues one transformed to
another as if the
Ghost Trap
were an image of the Universe in miniature
conscious sentient part of the interrelated machine
making waves outward in Time to the Beholder
displaying it's own image in miniature once for all
repeated minutely downward with endless variations throughout
all of itself
it being all the same in every part
This image of energy which reproduces itself at the depths of
space from the very Beginning
in what might be an O or an Aum
and trailing variations made of the same word circles round
itself in the same pattern as its original Appearance
creating a larger image of itself throughout depths of Time
outward circling thru bands of faroff Nebulae & vast Astrologies
contained, to be true to itself, in a Mandala painted on an
Elephant's hide,
or in a photograph of a painting on the side of an imaginary
Elephant which smiles, tho how the elephant looks is an
irrelevant joke ---
it might be a sign held by a Flaming Demon, or Ogre of
Transcience,
or in a photograph of my own belly in the void
or in my eye
or in the eye of a monk who made the sign
or in its own Eye that stares on itself at last and dies
and tho an eye can die
and tho my eye can die
the billion-eyed monster, the Nameless, the Answerless, the
Hidden-from-me, the endless Being
one creature that gives birth to itself
thrills in its minutest particular. sees out of all the eyes differently
at once
One and not One moves on its own ways
I cannot follow
And I have made an image of the monster here
and I will make another
it feels like Cryptozoids
it creeps and undulates beneath the sea
it is coming to take over the city
it invades beneath every Conciousness
it is delicate as the Universe
it makes me vomit
because I am afraid I will miss its appearance
it appears anyway
it appears anyway in the mirror
it washes out of the mirror like the sea
it is myriad undulations
it washes out of the mirror and drowns the beholder
it drowns the world when it drowns the world
it drowns in itself
it floats outward like a corpse filled with music
the noise of war in its head
a babe laugh in its belly
a scream of agony in the dark sea
a smile on the lips of a blind statue
it was there
it was not mine
I wanted to use it for myself
to be heroic
but it is not for sale to this conciousness
it goes its own way forever
it will complete all creatures
it will be the radio of the future
it will here itself
it wants another form another victim
it wants me
it gives me good reason
it gives me reason to exist
it gives me endless answers
a consciousness to be separate and a consciousness to see
I am beckoned to be One or the other, to say I am both and
be neither
it can take care of itself without me
it is both answerless (it answers not to that name)
it hummeth on the electric typewriter
it types a fragmentary word which is
a fragmentary word,
MANDALA
Gods dance on their own bodies
New flowers open forgetting Death
Celestial eyes beyond the heartbeat of illusion
I see the gay Creator
Bands rise up in anthem to the worlds
Flags and banners waving in transcendence
One image in the end remains myriad-eyed in Eternity
This is the Work ! This is the knowledge ! This is the End
of man !
~
S.F. June 2, 1959
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Kleopatra Selene Vice Captain
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Kleopatra Selene Vice Captain
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Posted: Thu Jul 01, 2010 10:34 pm
Do You Speak The Truth?
by Kleo
Tell me, do you speak the truth?
Are your words true?
I ponder them all too much
Like a stone in my pocket, I clutch
At them like I once did for you.
Are you eyes truthful,
Or are they lying?
Are you words real?
The way your eyes make me feel
Perhaps I am dying.
There are things you've done
That I never can
While you stood still from your problems, I ran
But a god's--for you are a god--mistakes are much bigger than
The normal, mortal sin of man.
I don't know if you're still listening
Because I shouldn't speak to you
I know I am the liar--I know your words were true
There are things you know that I never knew
But were you once a liar, too?
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Posted: Fri Jul 02, 2010 5:08 pm
Hey Kleo,
When i said "your so very, very, very." It was an open ended statement in the vein of insert your positive adjective here __________. Has guild drama already bloomed in this seemingly low traffic thread rofl ?
It's so great to see you constantly creating. The dog days of summer can really run you through the ringer. i'm so very behind in my never ending writing projects. BV47 has also expressed her feelings of futility in getting back into it. Knowing her she's probably turned out a books worth of writing since saying that. Were all in this together Kleo. Way to stay productive. Keep the writing coming.
Need to spruce up the thread with yet another piece. This is my third Bukowski in this thread and it's another simple cry to the peoples of this planet to love each other. To be open and friendly. This poem points out the fate of perhaps all of us. Anyone who gets old enough to feel the rejection of old age. Take in and comtemplate...
-Charles Bukowski
dreamlessly
old grey-haired waitresses
in cafes at night
have given it up,
and as i walk down sidewalks of
light and look into windows
of
nursing homes
i can see that it is no longer
with them.
i see people sitting on park benches
and i can see by the way they
sit and look
that it is gone.
i see people driving cars
and i see by the way
they drive their cars
that they neither love nor are loved--
nor do they consider
sex. it is all forgotten
like an old movie.
i see people in department stores and supermarkets
walking down aisles
buying things
and i can see by the way their clothing
fits them and by the way they walk
and by their faces and their eyes
that they care for nothing
and that nothing cares
for them.
i can see a hundred people a day
who have given up
entirely.
if i go to a racetrack
or a sporting event
i can see thousands
that feel for nothing or
no one
and get no feeling
back.
everywhere i see those who
crave nothing but
food, shelter, and
clothing; they concentrate
on that,
dreamlessly.
i do not understand why these people do not vanish
i do not understand why these people do not expire
why the clouds do not murder them
or why the dogs do not murder them
or why the flowers and the children do not murder them,
i do not understand.
i suppose they are murdered
yet i can't adjust to the fact of them
because they are so many.
each day, each night,
there are more of them
in the subways and
in the buildings and in the parks
they feel no terror
at not loving
or at not
being loved
so many many many
of my fellow
creatures.
~
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Posted: Fri Jul 02, 2010 6:18 pm
What lovely poems there are here!(:
I'd like to add another by Theodore Roethke.
An interesting thing about poems is how you percieve them.
This poem is actually sort of misleading. . .
My Papa's Waltz
The whiskey on your breath
Could make a small boy dizzy;
But I hung on like death:
Such waltzing was not easy.
We romped until the pans
Slid from the kitchen shelf;
My mother's countenance
Could not unfrown itself.
The hand that held my wrist
Was battered on one knuckle;
At every step you missed
My right ear scraped a buckle.
You beat time on my head
With a palm caked hard by dirt,
Then waltzed me off to bed
Still clinging to your shirt.
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Posted: Sun Jul 04, 2010 8:55 pm
I really do like this poem.
It is simple but has a lot of meaning.
Take it however you wish, but I believe it has something to do with the Cold War.
It is a poem by William Carlos William. Complete Destruction
It was an icy day.
We buried the cat,
then took her box
and set fire to it
in the back yard.
Those fleas that escaped
earth and fire
died by the cold.
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Posted: Mon Jul 05, 2010 2:56 pm
Okay, I know this is a song, but the lyrics mean alot to me. If you dont get it, look it up. http://answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=20091204191528AAPvJ5zHeres the lyrics: She lives in a fairy tale Somewhere too far for us to find Forgotten the taste and smell Of the world that she's left behind It's all about the exposure the lens I told her The angles were all wrong now She's ripping wings off of butterflies keep your feet on the ground when your head's in the clouds Well go get your shovel And we'll dig a deep hole To bury the castle, bury the castle Well go get your shovel And we'll dig a deep hole To bury the castle, bury the castle Ba da ba ba da ba ba da So one day he found her crying Coiled up on the dirty ground Her prince finally came to save her And the rest you can figure out But it was a trick And the clock struck twelve Well make sure to build your home brick by boring brick or the wolf's gonna blow it down keep your feet on the ground when your head's in the clouds Well go get your shovel And we'll dig a deep hole To bury the castle, bury the castle Well you built up a world of magic Because your real life is tragic Yeah you built up a world of magic If it's not real You can't hold it in your hand You can't feel it with your heart And I won't believe it But if it's true You can see it with your eyes Oh even in the dark And that's where I want to be, yeah Go get your shovel We'll dig a deep hole To bury the castle, bury the castle Well go get your shovel and we'll dig a deep hole To bury the castle, bury the castle Guys x2: ba da ba ba da ba ba da...... Hayley x2: ba da ba ba da ba ba da.....
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Posted: Tue Jul 06, 2010 9:57 pm
Song lyrics can be poetry too!
Say, why don't you post who wrote the lyrics?(:
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Kleopatra Selene Vice Captain
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Posted: Tue Jul 13, 2010 12:56 am
Beautiful
by Kleo
You say that my eyes
Are too blue for the sky
With that smile on your face
That smile I can't place
So I reply, "That's a lie."
You gave me a hand
Helped me to stand
Gave me a reason to live
But you take more than you give
Why can't you understand?
Because I know that you're beautiful
You make my life whole and full
You tell me that you love me
And we have matching heartbeats
They have the same pull.
However, I just understood
When you told me what I could
Do
I never knew
I never would (because of you)
Because I know you're beautiful
You made my life whole and full
You loved me but put me down
And now I'm glad you're not around
You wouldn't hear my tears cuz I'm not making a sound
With you I was lost but now I am found
Our heartbeats no longer have the same pull.
I used to think our love was full
And our hearts would have the same pull
I used to think you'd always be in my life
I used to think someday I've be your wife
But I just realized you're no longer beautiful.
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Posted: Thu Jul 22, 2010 12:16 am
3:02 AM .... and it don't stop First off here's a response/compliment to BV47s amazing piece of William Carlos Williams. What else do you respond to a cold war poem with? http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Abbie_Hoffman-Abbie Hoffman School Prayer for the 80's _____________________ Lord we know you're not a Commie We're sue your not a k**e We know you're one of us Lord cause they say that you're all white We know you're not a homo even though you got no wife We know you're not a woman Lord only man could have created life We're not mad about disasters Lord cancer's just a minor fluke And we know you'll guard our future thank God, you're, not anti-nuke So deliver us from evil punish us for all our sin But when they draw the lottery just remember it's me that's supposed to win ~
Thank you all for feeding this beast of a thread. i can't let this bad boy die. It's like my kid or something. Among things i have to get posted before i'm put in a box in the ground. i've been perusing a series of letters. Back and forth communications of Harold Norse and one Mr. William Carlos Williams. i may get around to transcribing them if i decide they have anything to add to the make shift purpose of this thread. i'm so very behind and tonight is my first hard core night of catch up on here. There will be more to come. It's 3:10 AM right now and the house Welsh Corgi Emmy is sleeping in my Lazy Boy. Time to put her and i to sleep for the night. This will be my third post in this guild that i seem to have renamed. So glad my ideas could have an impact here. i wish that your all haunted by the sleepless nights of demanding inspiration and creative impulse. dramallama wahmbulance emo
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Posted: Thu Aug 12, 2010 6:15 pm
i have been putting off my many updates for a couple weeks. i feel like i have a small arsenal of timeless words to keep this bad boy fed with. This next poem is classic care free beat writing by the known to many as "The King of the Beats" (no matter how stupid such a title would be). This is the very definition of flipping off "the world at large" to be simple drunken happy in the middle of nowhere. This is the inspiration to quit because no one owns you. This is the realization of our immortality and divine essence. Stand in awe of....
-Jack Kerouac
Skid Row Wine
_______________
I coulda done alot worse than sit
in skid row drinkin wine
to know that nothing matters after all
to know there's no real difference
between the rich and the poor
to know that eternity is neither drunk
nor sober, to know it young
and be a poet
coulda gone into business and ranted
and believed that god was concerned
instead I squatted in lonesome alleys
and nobody saw me, just my bottle
and what they saw of it was empty
and I did it in cornfields & graveyards
to know that the dead don't make noise
to know that the cornstalks talk (among one another with raspy old arms)
sittin in alleys diggin the neons
and watching cathedral custodians
wring out their rags neath the church steps
sittin and drinkin wine
and in railyards being divine
to be a millionaire & yet to prefer
curlin up with a poor boy of tokay
in a warehouse door, facing long sunsets
on railroad fields of grass
to know that the sleepers in the river
are dreaming vain dreams, to squat
in the night and know it well
to be dark solitary eye-nerve watcher
of the world's whirling diamond
~
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Posted: Sat Aug 14, 2010 10:23 pm
It's 1AM on a Saturday night and i'm fighting off a dose of Lunesta, a couple strong beers, a Vicoden, and so on and so forth..... eek
Regardless! i am presenting a piece from one of my heros. "The punk prophet" as so many have called him. This is an essay/comedy routine from none Other than William Lee (pen name) The amazing and timeless William S, Burroughs. So everybody score a fix of whatever you use to relax. Fix up and enjoy. Here's one for all you future manipulative cult leaders. Cause everybody starts somewhere.....
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_S_Burroughs***************************************
-William S. Burroughs
personal magnetism
_________________
"Are you bashful? Shy? Nervous? Embarrassed? If so, send me two dollars and I will show you how to control others at a glance; how to make your face appear twenty years younger; how to use certain Oriental secrets and dozens of other vital topics."
I am none of these things, but I would like to know how to control others at a glance (especially my Latin teacher). So I clipped the coupon, beginning to feel more magnetic every minute.
In a week, I received an impressive red volume with magnetic rays all over the cover. I opened the book and hopefully began to read. Alas! The book was a mass of scientific drivel cunningly designed to befuddle the reader, and keep him from realizing what a fake it was.
I learned that every time one yawns, a quart of magnetism escapes, that it takes four months to recuperate from a cigarette. And as far a cocktail! Words fail me. Another common exit for magnetism is light literature of any kind, movies, and such unmagnetic foods as cucumbers and eggs. I never realized that a cucumber was so potent. They always impressed me as watery and tasteless.
And how is magnetism acquired? So far as i can make out, one must sit perfectly still for hours reading the dictionary or something equally uninteresting, then, laden with magnetism, one should arise with tensed eye (whatever that is) and with slow, steady steps, bear down on one's quarry like a steam roller.
Did I find out how to control others at a glance? I certainly did, but never had the nerve to try it. Here is how it is done: I must look my victim squarely in the eye, say in a low, severe voice,"I am talking and you must listen,"then, intensify my gaze and say, "You cannot escape me." My victim completely subdued, was to say, "I am stronger than my enemies." Get thee behind me Satan. Imagine trying that out on Mr. Baker!
I think the book was right in saying that by following its instructions I could make myself the center of interest at every party. Interest is putting it mildly!
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chancellor cherryclaw Vice Captain
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Posted: Sat Sep 11, 2010 7:58 pm
I have found two poems/songs that have amazing messages.
The Rest of My Life- by Less Than Jake
I fell asleep last Saturday
Underneath polluted skies
I walked alone on those Jersey nights, and I
Saw the boardwalk start to fall
The emptiness starts to drown
The quiet corners off this town, and I...
Late last night, I made my plans
It was the only thing I felt I could do
Said goodbye, to my best friend
Sometimes there's no one left to tell you the truth
It's gonna kill me... The rest of my life
Let me apologize while I'm still alive
I know it's hard to face all of my past mistakes
It's gonna kill me for the rest of my life
This is my all time low
Somehow it feels so familiar
Somehow it seems so familiar
I feel like letting go
And every second that goes by
I'm screaming out for a second try
Said goodbye, to my best friend
Sometimes there's no one left to tell you the truth
It's gonna kill me... The rest of my life
Let me apologize while I'm still alive
I know it's hard to face all of my past mistakes
I've got to live with them rest of my life
This is the mess I've made
These are the words I can't erase
This is my life support, shutting down, for the final time
And it twists like a blade
And kills me for the rest of my life
If you won't forgive me
The rest of my life
Let me apologize while I'm still alive
I know it's hard to face all of my past mistakes
It's gonna kill me for the rest of my life...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hero (red pill remix)- by superchick
No one sits with him, he doesn't fit in
But we feel like we do when we make fun of him
Cause you want to belong do you go along?
Cause his pain is the price paid for you to belong
It's not like you hate him or want him to die
But maybe he goes home and thinks suicide
Or he comes back to school with a gun at his side
Any kindness from you might have saved his life
Heroes are made when you make a choice
You could be a hero
Heroes do what's right
You could be a hero
You might save a life
You could be a hero, You could join the fight
For what's right for what's right for what's right
No one talks to her, she feels so alone
She's in too much pain to survive on her own
The hurt she can't handle overflows to a knife
She writes on her arm, wants to give up her life
Each day she goes on is a day that she is brave,
Fighting the lie that giving up is the way,
Each moment of courage her own life she saves
When she throws the pills out a hero is made
Heroes are made when you make a choice
You could be a hero
Heroes do what's right
You could be a hero
You might save a life
You could be a hero, You could join the fight
For what's right for what's right for what's right
No one talks to him about how he lives
He thinks that the choices he makes are just his
Doesn't know he's a leader with the way he behaves
And others will follow the choices he's made
He lives on the edge, he's old enough to decide
His brother who wants to be him is just nine
He can do what he wants because it's his right
The choices he makes change a nine year old's life
You could be a hero
Heroes do what's right
You could be a hero
You might save a life
You could be a hero, You could join the fight
For what's right for what's right for what's right
Little Mikey D. was the one in class who everyday got brutually harassed
This went on for years until he decided that never again would he shed another tear
So he walked through the door, grabbed a four four out of his father's dressing drawer
And said I can't take life no more
And like that life can be lost
But this ain't even about that
All of us just sat back and watched it happen
Thinkin' it's not my responsibility to solve a problem that isn't about me
This is our problem
This is just one of the daily scenarios which we choose to close our eyes
Instead of doing the right thing
If we make a choice and be the voice for those who won't speak up for themselves
How many lives would be saved, changed, rearranged
Now it's our time to pick a side
So don't keep walkin' by
Not wantin' to intervene
Cause you wanna exist and never be saved
So let's wake up and change the world
Our time is now
You could be a hero
Heroes do what's right
You could be a hero
You might save a life
You could be a hero, You could join the fight
For what's right for what's right for what's right
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Posted: Fri Sep 17, 2010 12:20 am
*dolofonos daimonas* Those are beautiful lyrics that have a serious connection to the world today. The world i grew up in being a high school senior in the class of 94. Your contribution is greatly appreciated. The "Superchick" tune. Though i doubt i've ever heard it. Made me immediately start to sing a song off of the timeless "Dead Kenedies" release "Give Me Convenience Or Give Me Death". i forget the name of the song but it's serious mosh pit starting punk rock with a refrain from Jello that starts:
"Whose that kid in the back of the room? Whose that kid in the back of the room? ....Setting all his things on fire! Setting all his things on fire! ....Where did he get that crazy smile? Where did he get that crazy smile? We all think he's really weird, we all think he's really weird...."
Gonna do something Completely uncalled for and post one of my pieces tonight. This thread keeps growing and i'm kinda taking my time with the book digs and poem unearthings. This is a piece of mordernist/ futurist composition that i came up with while at an all time low living on the lamb several years ago in Pittsburgh during my second stay there.
Bask in your thought crime
_________________________________________
The waitresses in hell are easily scared
shell shock, date rape, double helix
escape route, panic attack, born again
black out, burn out, a new out
a sweaty grip on your credit card
like a crucifix in a death hand
beyond reach, antimatter, antibody, antisoul
mystical calculus, gender geometry, amplified presence
candy raver, super model, spiritual pollution
discorporate, trip planner, my crystal palace
temple of the mind, Seratonin serenade
pride of the peacock
mass replicated
warm loving hologram
is this Juan's sadness?
spiraling nightmare, neverending ramifications, cowardice companion
What is it to be written off?
disowned
cursed
doomed
i have a scrapper that's never been used, it's displayed proudly on my alter.
it's still just a rough draft on my final exam
the zone takes care of zone...
~
So glad to see people contributing and sharing what they find vital. This thread is all about each personal truth and what is moving to each individual. There is much for me to transcribe. i'm looking at doing a few write ups for the prose section of this guild. Thought about posting William S. Burrough's "Invisible Generation".
The fall is attacking me from out of nowhere and that fall feeling has me craving those fall tunes. Shoegazer, Industrial, Goth, and sad cathartic emo/folk strums. Bands in the vein of Skinny Puppy, Slowdive, Landing, Windy & Carl, Panda Bear, Flying Saucer Attack, and the big indy name to drop since they just made the cover of xlr8r magazine: "SALEM" Not sure what to make of them but i listen to allot of their tunes and the hype about this band is just everywhere in new music circles. (i seriously wondered how long i could hold out not shamelessly promoting music somewhere in my posts).
***Here's to everyone on a quest to make the art happen***
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