Cerebral Mallet's topics - tribe.net

haiku for women...

2007-06-10T21:37:13Z

FEMKU

1. woman is a bitch
because there is nothing else
she does quite so well

2. woman can say no
to desire, because yes
is not powerful

3. woman bleeds each month
a reminder that tyrants
must also suffer

4. a woman, a snake
the deception of men is
the beauty of both

5. woman siphons man
with her pussy, she leeches
the lips dripping blood

6. woman loves the night
vampires garbed in veils
bloody mysteries

posted in Cerebral Mallet - 5 replies

little red studio art-a-thon...24 hours of art making madness...

2007-06-10T21:29:18Z

Picture a night of creative mayhem: painters, sculptors, dancers, live models, aerialists, and poets – all creating and performing for 24 hours straight! Come revel with us, as we stretch our creative wings in our sumptuous, juicy new digs.

Experience a delightful 24 hours (or any portion of that) of erotically-fueled creation and performance that will widen your eyes, deepen your hearts, and excite your senses as only a Little Red Studio event can!

This event promises to be an incredible experience for you to witness this band of gifted artists and performers create their art on-site and then present it for sale.

You can even purchase opportunities to join in! Commission a poem to be written for you, your lover, or the two (or three, or four…) of you. Model for an artist or a body painter or sit down with a sketchbook or canvas yourself. Commission a dance, an aerial piece or even a piece of music! The possibilities are endless, bound only by your imagination.

Every hour, on the hour, you'll delight in seeing the fruits of the artists' labor. Periodic auctions will give you further opportunities to share in the creative process as a patron.

Other activities to entice you will include a Brunch from 10am to 12noon and a Closing Ceremony at 7pm on Sunday. For a one-time (4 hour) entry, you'll pay $25. For a Full Patron Pass, which gives you the freedom to come and go (or stay the whole time!) as you please for the entire 24-hour event, you'll pay only $50.

You can purchase tickets at the door or in advance at Brown Paper Tickets : www.brownpapertickets.com/event/14089

Come play with us, celebrate with us, and share in our creative magic!

www.littleredstudioseattle.com

posted in Cerebral Mallet - 1 reply

eating...a poem of our times...

2007-04-01T22:49:34Z

Eating

we are feeding today
on the bones of ancestors
and the wings of angels
we are feasting at the table
of guests
who have left the abode
drinking the wine of tears
shed for us
by those in the past
who saw the future
we are all forked
spooning out our love
cutting the bread of days
with a knife of impatience
we are grilling our eyes
with the sights of our world
tell the chef that the meal
is burning
please pass me the salt
that i may pour it into the wound
which also functions
as my mouth
djones 3/23/07

posted in Cerebral Mallet - 0 replies

upcoming open mic...

2007-04-01T22:43:19Z

we at little red studio seattle are going to start an open mic in april...hit me up for details if you are in the pnw area...the site addy is www.littleredstudioseattle.com
xo
ultra low frequency

posted in Cerebral Mallet - 0 replies

lrs style...

2007-04-01T22:34:07Z

Nasty Woman

I want a nasty woman
One who drinks, smokes
Does drugs
And fucks
At the drop of a hat
One who thinks
Coffee
Is an appropriate
Late night drink
One who engages
In public displays of affection
Not because it’s cute
But because she’s horny
I want a woman
Who can say
I want to fuck you
Not fuck with you
One who is not put off
By dirty dishes, laundry
Or the fact that I’ve
Just run out of toilet paper
A woman with a
Pornographic
Sense of humor
A woman who thinks panties
Are for pussies
Has one, uses it
But rarely if ever covers it
I want a woman
Nasty enough to reach down my pants
Grab my cock
Look at me and smile
A woman who tells me
Racist jokes
Filthy jokes
And likes it when I talk about
My nigger dick
Going into her honky pussy
One who understands
Computers, cars and guns
Knows why each is necessary
And has all three
A woman who fucks
With the lights on
In front of open windows
One who doesn’t apologize
For her menstrual blood
Who fucks me right after work
And doesn’t shower afterwards
I want a
Nasty woman
But it seems
There are no nasty women
So maybe I should get
A man like me

DJones 4/29/05

posted in Cerebral Mallet - 0 replies

waiting

2007-03-26T19:37:58Z

still water of the pond
stone stands stoic in the stream
hummingbird hovers

posted in Cerebral Mallet - 0 replies

JUST SAY / NO / TO FAMILY VALUES

2007-03-17T19:17:35Z

John Giorno, 1995
http://directorslounge.net/dltv/faretta.html

posted in Cerebral Mallet - 0 replies

Toasting Political Christians

2006-06-22T03:36:58Z

Here's to The Moral Majority,
Apostles of Hatred and Fear:
As I watched Jerry Fallwell on TV last night,
I knew that the Anti-Christ was here.

The Golden Rule he has turned into Lead:
Now it only reads "Do Unto Others".
He wants to insure we have Crosses to bear
And Backs laws to oppress his Gay Brothers.

His Dogma oozed out like Puss from Christ's Wounds
Reeking of Bigotry and Malice.
I'm certain his Holy Rituals produce
Vomit from Wine in his Chalice.

posted in Cerebral Mallet - 1 reply

What If The What If?

2006-03-15T14:12:17Z

What if space was your protection?
What if silence saved your soul?
What if this was your defenses?
What if this, your only goal?

What if this was your creation?
What if this, your story’s end?
What if this holds its own answers?
What if this your soul will rend?

What if this is all you wanted?
What if this is all you need?
What if this is far beyond
The what ifs of your soul’s deceit?

posted in Cerebral Mallet - 1 reply

what happened?

2006-03-11T09:21:25Z

So this tribe was formed due to my bad poetry.

where are all of us? No one posted since may!

say something people!

posted in Cerebral Mallet - 6 replies

Goldmine!

2006-02-21T17:30:18Z

Google "goth poetry"- it's a treasure trove! The following site is especially ripe, sample below:

http://website.lineone.net/~demonrobber/

Self-Abuser

I slashed my wrist
Gave the knife a final twist
In a search for inner peace
Some sort of release
I am a born again nihilist
I don't need you to be my apologist
Pump some heroin into my vein
To try and release the pain
You can call it self-abuse
Or just another excuse
To avoid facing up to reality
That's just my mentality
I am into self-denial
I cough up phlegm and bile
I am going to try starvation
In the hope of salvation

posted in Cerebral Mallet - 8 replies

Welsh Justice

2005-03-15T13:23:10Z

Welsh Justice
Copyright (c) Richard J Price March 2005
All Rights Reserved

I knew I had inherited a small patch of land in North Wales, near a small market town called Mold but it wasn't until I went to look at it that I realised that I had inherited a building of sorts too.
It was a long, sandstone cowshed, measuring some 30 yards long and 10 yards wide. The slate roof had at some time been replaced with asbestos, which in turn had been removed, and replaced in parts with corrugated steel, though I did see a large pile of slates stacked outside the building at one end, almost entirely concealed by nettles and blackberry brambles, there was no way of knowing if they were useable.
The floor had been part concreted, and was part original flagstones, and sloped downwards from either side towards a leaf-filled drainage channel running right down the middle.
Large patches of grey sky were visible through the roof where panels were missing altogether, and smaller patches through where the steel had corroded. If there hadn't been then the place would have been in darkness because there were no windows, not that there were any long forgotten treasures to be found in there, just rubble, leaves, water and ancient rotting straw.
To actually do anything with the building was a formidable task. There was no way I could get planning permission to make it residential so there was little point in throwing stupid amounts of money at it, yet it had a charm and tranquility there and it would have been criminal to just walk away and not do anything with it.
Over the coming weeks I drew up plans and visited several more times, taking notes and measurements.
By late May I was ready to begin work.
I had a skip delivered along with tools, scaffolding a generator and various building materials and set to the task. It took an entire weekend to unblock the drainage channel, remove all the rubble, sweep the walls and floors, scrub the walls and floors with bleach and cover the roof with transparent blue polythene sheeting.
The roofing beams were old but sound and I spent another week removing the old steel panels and gradually replacing them with a mixture of aluminium and transparent PVC panels.
By the time I had completed that task the place was already looking better, and I had started sleeping there at night, my bed consisting of two scaffolding planks and a sleeping bag.
It rained heavily on a couple of days and I was glad to find that my roof was watertight, though I did have to realign some of the exterior guttering.
I built a chimney breast at the flagstoned end of the building and installed a wood burning stove. I purchased an old ceramic sink and installed that, the waste outlet being connected to the centre drainage channel (which I covered with pieces of flag stone I had cut to perfect size with a stihl saw) and was fed by a single cold water tap, it being a relatively simple matter to extend pipework that fed a neighbouring farmers water trough. (Oops, I never asked first).
I replaced the heavy wooden doors with new ones that I constructed myself, and though I built a small shed to house the generator outside the building and wired up two lights and a double socket point I also installed hooks and purchased half a dozen hurricane lamps.
Furniture I made from scaffolding planks and rough timber - a hard settee and chair, a coffee table, a dining table, two benches, a 'kitchen cabinet' and two cots, one double and one single. Upholstery seemed pretty pointless so I made large cushions, tailored to exact sizes needed, including large futon style cushions for the settee, and to use as mattresses on the cots.
A couple of brightly coloured and cheap rag rugs and cheaply bought second hand furniture (including a rocking chair and a couple of bookcases) and some houseplants, and I had an excellent and sizeable 'holiday home'. It had cost me less than £3,000 and had kept me occupied for two months.
I now began to work on the outside, relaying paths, scything back brambles and constructing a rough latrine shed, remembering my military engineering training. I finally liberated the slates, which it transpired were too damp and crumbly to have been used for roofing, though broken into fine chippings made a good ground cover for the beds where I introduced forsythia and buddleia, and those that were solid enough not to break I painted on in acrylics and hung on the walls inside my 'home from home'.
I found a rusty archaic looking plough in the brambles at the back of the building, and cleaned it up with a wire brush before dragging it to the front, where it lent an air of rustic charm and 'days gone by' to the whole picture, which was finally completed when I purchased a couple of ancient hay baskets and fastening them to the outside wall either side of the doors, filled them with moss, lobelia, nasturtiums and pansies.
It had been hard work and I had lost nearly 30 lbs in weight during the renovation, now was the time to relax, put my feet up, invite some friends and put some of that weight back on.
That first weekend I invited my sister, her husband and her kids (who camped out in the adjoining field which I owned). We had a great time sitting smoking marijuana and drinking wine in the late summer sun, sat up late playing chess and talking shit.
It was my own place, it was peaceful, it was idyllic. Nothing could take that away from me.
I entertained friends and family there until mid october when the nights got too cold for anyone to realistically enjoy camping outside. I checked on the place regularly throughout the winter except when the snow made it completely inaccessible, kept the generator running for half an hour on each visit and lit the wood stove, and the following year, in summer, many happy hours were spent there by many people.
The bombshell came just before Christmas. A letter from the highways department saying that they were building a road right through my land and were invoking a 'compulsory purchase order'.
The amount they gave me was pitifully small and I never saw a penny of it because it was all used up with hiring solicitors to fight the order.
And to add insult to injury, they changed their mind about the road and instead sold my land, and all the adjoining land, with planning permission for 200 homes to a private developer.

More writing and artwork at: rjpriceart.tribe.net/
"I am not mad"

posted in Cerebral Mallet - 0 replies

Monsters Like Me (WARNING - DISTURBING SUBJECT MATTER)

2005-02-07T00:21:30Z

Hi. Any info you need about me should be on my profile. It might be worth you joining my own tribe too if you like this.

Monsters like me

Copyright (c) Richard J Price 2003
All Rights Reserved

Am I listening with my heart, or are her words echoing around my
brain, rattling like a bullet in a biscuit tin, rattle, rattle,
rattle, trying to find meaning, rattle, rattle, rattle, translating
into a language whose forms I recognise, words, sentences,
paragraphs, creating symbols, series of symbols into actions, cause
and effect, green light go, red light stop,rattle, rattle.

As a child I was afraid of the dark, Now I'm afraid of everything.

But mostly I'm afraid of myself.

Not the reflection myself I see in the mirror,
For I know, that is but a mask.
Flesh is a disguise, a tan camouflage that hides the faceless and
formless monster that is my real self. Bones upon which it gives
itself shape, sinew and fat, to bulk out the all concealing skin.

Hidden, behind this face is a monster. An evil devil creature capable
of inflicting the greatest of evils upon its brothers and sisters.
A destroyer.
A devourer of souls.
A killer and rapist.

I hear her voice but how can I ever answer? What words can ever make
her understand?
What words?

"Speak, Amjad, Speak.

Amjad, what is wrong?
Today you are as cold and as quiet as the grave.
And your complexion,
You're as grey as the sea on a stormy day.

Amjad, is there something the matter?
You are as still as a statue.
Please say something.
Do something.
Say something.
Do something.
Please.

Amjad, you are ill.
You need to see someone.
You have been like this for weeks.
Not eating,
Not sleeping,
Not talking.
Just sitting and staring at nothing.

Sometimes I wonder if you can hear me.

Please Amjad.
Please.

You've been like this ever since you got back.
Home from the war."

Yes, the war.
The precious war.
The War that turned soldiers into cripples,
Woman and children into corpses,
And boys into men.

But what kind of men?

Monsters like me?

There were no soldiers in the village.
Just frightened old men, and women and children.
We had no orders to kill anybody, just to camp there.
For one night.

One soldier was being kept awake by the crying of a baby.
So he went into a house, and taking the baby, he threw it into the
camp fire.
I watched, blankly.
The babys mother tried to reach into the flames, she was screaming
but made no sense.
Three soldiers pulled her out of the fire.
She would have been better off if they left her to burn.
They had their fun, and bored, they called another soldier,
A boy of 16 over.

"Go on fuck her" they said.
"Fuck her", over and over again, a chant,
Joined by all the soldiers in chorus,
"Fuck the bitch, fuck the bitch, fuck the bitch".

"Prove you're a man"

The boy fucked her and then, urged by his Sergeant he rammed his AK47
into her cunt and fired.

The rest of the villagers were dragged from their houses.
Some were shot on the spot.
Others, including the children, were raped.

Soon the only sounds were the crackling of the fire and the
whimpering of the dying.

I didn't sleep at all that night.
In the morning I found the girl whose baby they had burned.
She was still alive but weak,
And her mouth made no sound but a croak as her lips begged me...
'Please.....please....'
I shot her in the head.

I tell myself there was nothing I could have done.
If I had intervened my corpse would have joined theirs.
None of this would have been prevented.
My own wife a widow, and nothing gained.
My wife, a good and loving woman.
The woman with the baby perhaps a good woman too?

My wife sees me as a hero,
Returned from war where I fought for virtue,
Gods war, against the evil unbelievers.
There are no words to make her understand,
Nothing I do, nothing I say.....
I hear her.

"Amjad.
Please,.....please....."

posted in Cerebral Mallet - 0 replies

right now in a galaxy under your nose

2004-12-22T01:51:27Z

RIGHT F$$KING NOW
IN A GALAXY RIGHT UNDER YOUR NOSE
(2K3)
----------------------------------------------

how many of our offspring
will be forced to sing
the same old song
will be fed to the greed machine
slowly, surely turning green
as they chug along
in fossile-fuel burning earthcraft
turned green by rot and corruption
green like a dollar bill gathering lint
in the pocket of a three-piece suit
purchased with absconded tax money
fear and envy knocked back into their toxic hearts
feeling funny, tasting like honey
mixing together nicely like their
poisonous compulsory post-workaday cocktails
as they watch the storm-troopers roll by like snails
and wait for ineffective public transit
to herd them home from their timeclocks?
how many drops of blood squeezed from rocks
will they swallow
before they refuse to wallow
in the job-sty?
how long will they suffer
how long will they cry
before they refuse to pay
some boss's salary with their labor
how long before they light up a saber
and decide not to say, "someday....
someday some hero
will show me what it means to be a jedi..."
don't think you are radical beacause of the ring in your nose,
your red eyes, your long hair, or your tattered modest clothes!
!START NOW!
what you do or do not do matters, not what you try
Force your oppressors to respect you without telling lies
don't abuse The Force & it'll protect you
erect you infinite column of light
and you will BE what is right
BE the secret weapon that wins the fight
without fighting
without even lighting up your saber!
some people think i'm mad as a hatter
or that i lie
when i say The Force is with them
but it's true
and so it is with you
YOU have the power
to break your bonds
and lead all your people on
to freedom!
just let The Force flow,
let your hatred go
and you will know
what the future holdes
what to do and what not to do.
MAY THE FORCE BE WITH YOU!

posted in Cerebral Mallet - 0 replies

Cerebral Mullet

2004-05-17T20:09:58Z

It's worth thinking about, isn't it?

posted in Cerebral Mallet - 5 replies

haiku

2004-05-14T19:20:47Z

Bonk! Bonk! On the head.
Smashing mallet to your skull
This poetry SUCKS!

posted in Cerebral Mallet - 50 replies

Miles is GONE! submit 'missing miles' thread urls from other tribes please!

2004-04-15T15:43:06Z

we'll see him no more
and without his wit life's a bore
i adore this man, i tell you true
let's erect a memorial
it's the least we can do

fuck! fuckity-fuck-fuck fucktards!

i think i'll become depressed now and complain about what a loser i am all over tribe. in miles' honor.

posted in Cerebral Mallet - 1 reply

tribe addict

2004-04-10T22:16:46Z

Hi my name is sik and im a tribeaholic.
just jumped on board, along for the ride
I think obbsession is what they call it
and I just joined another fucking tribe

sikshow

posted in Cerebral Mallet - 3 replies

Another One Bites The Dust

2004-04-09T18:51:28Z

Somebody has already quit rather than read this nonsense. Not sure who it was though.

posted in Cerebral Mallet - 7 replies

It's quiet....

2004-04-06T03:59:22Z

....TOO quiet. To break the silence, I give you the poetry of Janos Honkonen of Finland. And they say Finns don't have a sense of humor!

TOAST FOR HATRED (1996)

The vats full of blood-red grapes
Much like the blisters on the feet
Which burst and mix their putrid tears with
The wine, the wine, so thick and sweet
Whipped up skin, broken bones
The feet won't stop, the rage within
So this is the making
Of the wine of hatred!

There's not many people whom I know
Or have known on this sorry Earth
To be so mean or bad or disgusting
That I have thought are worth
Of drinking the toast for hatred
For it scalds, the hate all consuming
But that was before meeting
The worst of bitches, you!

So now I dip my hands into wine
And drink it, a handful and more
I taste it, the sweetness and bitterness
Burning with visions of blood and gore
I hear you cry, I hope you'll rot!
The flames of hate burn red and high
I once loved you, and that's why
I'll drink this toast for you!

posted in Cerebral Mallet - 12 replies

Bad poetry generator:

2004-03-26T08:35:00Z

http://www.jelks.nu/poetry/dom/

Sample:

Heaven throbs with the ecstasy of velvet agony.
And yea!
My love fiddles with a wanderer's madness.
Hark!

A wet cave quivers in raw lust,
As the sunset shines like black rapture.
The wind spews forth virgin bananas.
Oh, how the sun aches for luscious dew drops!

posted in Cerebral Mallet - 3 replies

BLOOD poetry

2004-03-25T22:22:46Z

ugh my heart lies mangled in blood ugh
ugh my period leaks all over ugh
ugh mama's lungs coughed up all bloody ugh
ugh daddy's stool all bloody ugh
blood blood blood blood blood ugh
essence of life
blood
ugh

posted in Cerebral Mallet - 19 replies

The Opus

2004-03-24T23:54:00Z

Allowing the eyes to trace lines I catch sight of fluttering about my salty, dried brow
That damned helmet shielding his head
summer's metallic green with dents from the flight
Amidst the starving mind of a pleading child now, she scopes the prey to seize the dead wing with a weathered leather belt jumbled with the tools of her trade, confusion and chance.
She batters me with pleas I once mumbled and jets to my forehead in an airborne dance.
Seeing her time she rolls the sleeves off her shirt and dives inward to the central flailing pore.
Glacial hands of tangerine flesh slicing slight skin with a grinning sadist's flirt.
Warming coldly through my cephalic door, trudging through rich membranous mesh chipping my skull with a talon tool.
She possesses a serpent's will carved in stone and has entered her kingdom of divine rule.
My nerve ends no longer sense her quick turns, only constant pain brought on by the sprint as she runs with shredded glass in hand.
Gouging wide channels throught my brain, she yearns to see bended knees and repent for dreaming smiles could block her stand.
My ear drums quiver as she beats upon her chest and coughs while tasting the warmth of my blood.
The coachmen unbridles one horse and then the rest while my life streams through her fingers as a flood.
I taste blood as she shatters the crystal and confusion seeps downward through my palate.
She decides death can't approach the cost and roots fingers in my brain to begin the trial.
Calling to my fears with her cerebral mallet, she sifts with a comb for thoughts tossed aside when I first saw her feathered wings flap.
She lunges forward with her tongue protruding licking my mental attics which held the trap of pride that I secure from her intruding.

After feasting on my insecurity, she surfaces from my cushion of pretension and empties her belly of my digested hope.
Marking on slate my ripe maturity she grabs the fluid of her soul invention and pours a noose of liquid rope.
Her tastebuds savor my frailty as she scores what courage she will allow to remain.
Those blanched seeds of bravery she plants in moors of my warped cerebellum now balancing sane.
She sets my skull aflame with volatile chance, igniting it with a mouth full of laughter.
Raw rage she forces through my bond and bounces chuckling in a mid-air stance, waiting to hear the whimper come after she mutes my beggars's tone.
She wings away to the pocket of my shirt, smoke trailing her toe tips as she heads home to sleep until she has the chance to hurt any margin of freedom my future owns.

If I should leap to grace and sing for joy, she will grapple my meek optimism and cripple my will to share.
Silence, she rests. I avoid her ploy.
I breathe in a vault of criticism muffling my desire to care.
I will claim this satan sister to be my own flesh, wretched as she seems.
For if I extend my love to another, she will certainly bridge and infect his dreams.

posted in Cerebral Mallet - 34 replies

Too Good To Be True

2004-03-20T20:25:26Z

http://www.liquidgeneration.com/rumormill/ipod_killing.html

posted in Cerebral Mallet - 3 replies

dada poetry

2004-03-20T19:47:11Z

The other day my favorite writer/commentator, Andrei Codrescu, spoke on NPR about the very dadaist nature of much of the spam he recieves. I thought to myself, "how come I get the dull, repetitive GET HUGE spam, and he gets the good stuff?" Well, the powers that be must have gotten wind of my disappointment, for this morning, I found this gem in my inbox:

Bubble toward feels nagging remorse, or dust bunny for satiate clock from gypsy.When near clock prays, hand for nation panics. Jed, the friend of Jed and daydreams with related to tenor. But they need to remember how often hole puncher over laughs out loud. When over hydrogen atom daydreams, cup near goes to sleep.
holography prompt edit bromley

Submarine defined by dissident, cup beyond, and marzipan around are what made America great!
arrogate antonym dram begotten schuylkill mix

So remember, folks: Cup beyond and marzipan around are what made America great. Words to live by.
Love,
Lidan

posted in Cerebral Mallet - 1 reply

Rhombus Couch bustle:

2004-03-19T18:30:35Z

The Encroacher’s expression coils toward a buttery derisive grin as a cavernous intonation cyst donates an admonition of menacing emergence.
Host retreats towards preservation,
Seeking port from immense knots of sturgeon barbs.
Refined broth promotes the collapse of jarring corrosives.

posted in Cerebral Mallet - 0 replies

George W Bush, the poet

2004-03-19T08:25:56Z

This poem, arranged by Washington Post writer Richard Thompson, is made up entirely of actual quotations from George W. Bush:

-----
MAKE THE PIE HIGHER

I think we all agree, the past is over.
This is still a dangerous world.
It's a world of madmen and uncertainty
And potential mental losses.

Rarely is the question asked
Is our children learning?
Will the highways of the Internet
Become more few?

How many hands have I shaked?
They misunderestimate me.
I am a pitbull on the pantleg of opportunity.

I know that the human being
And the fish can coexist.
Families is where our nation finds hope,
Where our wings take dream.

Put food on your family!
Knock down the tollbooth!
Vulcanize society!
Make the pie higher!
Make the pie higher!

posted in Cerebral Mallet - 0 replies

My cerebrum done be malleted

2004-03-19T02:17:03Z

It's late. I read the tribe as "Cerebral Mullet".

posted in Cerebral Mallet - 15 replies

should I....

2004-03-12T23:50:20Z

post the famous poem?? LOL!

posted in Cerebral Mallet - 16 replies