AMP: Artists' Meeting Place and Resource Collective

I can't even write a coherent sentence about my life anymore. I guess to an extent it's been like this from day one. Everything that's going on just seems like such nonsense anyway. When I have something on my mind that weighs on me heavily, I may start out with the intention of describing real events and real feelings that actually happened, but I won't get far before it has all degenerated into awkward end-rhyme verses and random descriptions of fantasy scenarios.

You know how there's this notion that most people think in words, and only a few people (mostly children and artists) think in terms of pictures? Well, I'm not sure which category I fit into. Sometimes, sentence fragments may pop into my mind, and sometimes, I'll feel conversations going through my head, but most of the time these are echoes of something that somebody else said to me, or that I said to them. They're not really my thoughts so much as they are my memories. Occasionally distorted ones.

it wont let me enter my blog here yet,
so here it is!!!!!
www.rithma.org/blog

Hi!

We have a new album "This Warm Saturday", which is now available for Free Download.

Please check it out, and let us know what you think!
:o)

Link to download page:
http://www.corrientesmusic.com/albums.html

-ev
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¡Hola!

Tenemos un disco nuevo "This Warm Saturday" .
¡Bájalo gratis!

¡Déjanos saber lo que piensas!

Aquí está:
http://www.corrientesmusic.com/albums.html

:o)

-ev

Again, I Demand, "Merry Christmas"

Merry Mass of Christ
riven upon the four-fold way
cut into deity and man
on the crossroads
at the witching hour.
Tell us of all things holy
Make us see and feel the pain
the horror of wrenching heart
from soul. Of blithely obliging
demonic Angel Fate
that each generation may descend
into fiery pits of degradation
reaching, reaching
into and out of the story, the path.
If Christ is love,
If love is what we worship, eyes closed
in holy communion,
what keeps us riven
on the crossroads?
What keeps us from reaching out
to bind each others' wounds?

Tiny Boxes is a song I co-wrote a year ago with a good mate of mine Troy Kemp.

The Piano piece was one of the first things I wrote in November 2004, after 12 years away from music completely... Still my favourite piece.

I read the news today that my social security number (SSN), my birth date and school records were probably comprimised when a hacker broke into the UCLA student database. As a socialist it sent me into a mild depression because I feel that the only use I have to the modern proletariat is fodder for monitary scams. The whole "identity theft" problem is so much more than just another thing to be paranoid about. First of all it tells me that Marx was so very wrong - in the purest of capitalist societies, the bourgeois do not take advantage of the proletariat - the proletariat takes advantage of the proletariat. Secondly it is something that signals to me that human beings are being objectified into a set of numbers by other human beings in order to take advange of them. I'm used to being treated like a number though my job, my health care and my insurance. But I had nievely hoped that the "random person on the street" would want to know about me and not about the potential numbers in my bank account. It's tragic but when I die, I will most likely be put into a plot of land that also has a serial number.

Got video of a couple of my routines up...would love feedback!

Thanx,

S

http://one.revver.com/watch/92191/flv/affiliate/38003

http://one.revver.com/watch/92190/flv/affiliate/38003

I have just finished an intense period of performance and rehearsal on the Adelaide Feast Festival, and have collected a number of images I am happy with so I'm intending on showing them here at my blog or at least on the AMP site in random ways. The Festival was great - I directed a few shows and performed myself in a few also.

Hey Visionaries,

Ritual Journeys, Emerging Visions #5,
is now online at:

http://emergingvisions.blogspot.com

be there

Manifestation Ritual

Create the vision.
Move into it.
Live there.
Feel it growing through you.
Play with it,
seeing it from a wide range of perspectives.
Delight in it.
Laugh, dance, weep.
Sing it out loud.
Sing it softly as a lullaby.
Now, slowly or quickly or however it feels right,
create a stairway.
Name each stair.
Give each a folder of possibilities,
more and more complete, concrete, living.
Live out the life of your stairway,
allowing it to lead you to the promises

Emptiness profound and endless, an icy cold nothing, into the abyss forever falling into the emptiness beneath surrounded by the forlorn gloom and murkiness of deaths bittersweet surrender. A simple word was all I wanted, all I desired. A simple encouragement that never came. So still I sank ever further, the light above dimming, blurring in the festering murk. A murk almost alive in its greed to steal the light away from me. Ever sinking into the depths of despair that convulses about me, winding tentacle, slashing beak. Beneath the waves a pointless lonely death awaits in a cruel twisted sou