Experimentsinart Book Part 2

That is what this thing is.
Why not give it all up.
Not a scream.
My friend is a murderer.
But that is O.K.
Because he is my friend.
That is why I will take his side.
And not his victim.
And why not?
His victims are only the children of animals.
Kill them I tell my friend.
Kill them all.
Then we can take what they have
They could not hold it
Then we can have what they were
They could not be it.
Take it all.

Here is my artistic gift to you
I hope
But then you are an idiot
Kill any and all that disagrees
Kill the different ones
Kill the children
Kill them all

Maybe it's just too early in the day for me to read this with much understanding of its context or intent. The fact that it is posted under 'Show Announcements' has me additionally stymied. I'd really appreciate some clarification of motive here. Looking forward to it!
(Checking for profile information on 'Perreaoult' revealed nothing in terms of relating to author, which was disappointing.)
KAREN

Perreaoult,
Huh?
Please explain what this is and why it's here...
Philip

Second act. Perreaoult returns via a particle beam he eyes the director, thinking of something witty to say...
Death in art has been
" a formal subject a long time"
But the killing of people...
forlorn art is not a recognized reality.
can't help but think of the museums of the world
with the remains of human beings
Such beautifully beautiful of arrangements
for the consumption of their audiences.

But this is the show
Karen eyes his print.
Her art
Paintings...
he dare not critic!

My dear Perreaoult
You are a genius, mate.
Anyone who can write such incomprehensible stuff must be brilliant. There is surely no other explanation.

Keep the poems up, but keep 'em short.
Jack

Perreaoult thinks of his profile
Evidence he thinks
Best avoid the the bars
Of a jail cell
ah the glamour of an opening�
Cheese and wine
Pretty girls
Or a guy!

Simplicity is in order here. Positive mental thought produces positive
results in personal and artistic attitude. Negative mental thought produces negative results. I've been searching for a comfortable place to interact with others interested in art. I like it here and I suggest you take your thoughts to other places where the contributors
are pre occupied with discussing cold pizza and spilling warm beer on their drawing boards. Your mumbo jumbo might make more sense to this crowd. I know this for a fact, ad men on Madison Ave. will continually
produce ads that project this mumbo jumbo as what an artist actually
is and causes the public to view art and artists as fools trying to
pass themselves off as deep wise intellectuals. I encourage you to climb out of your abyss and see the positive aspects of life. This
will come out in your art and will eventually improve your artistic
vision. I thrive on intellectual artistic thought and discourse. Your
written efforts appear to fall short of what you're trying to achieve. I see most everyone at the art exchange have noticed this as well. Phillip,
you have an excellent site and I'm glad I found you and all your artistic folks. Perreaoult, you still can turn it around if you really want to. If you can't, I suggest trying to sell this to a less educated audience.

Sincerely, BWA42

Act IV: Electroshock
It was the coffee, burning
blood awakening colors and!
to paint
and to paint words
s t e n c i l e d
across a Web
woven into chemicals hopelessly peed
in the night.
(Which is why we switched to wine and
carved out the little moldy spots from the cheese
when no one was looking.)
Oh happy experiment? thought! or not
coiled into a big long cord plugged into
my bedwetting monitor and a string
around
around
around my finger--
no more coffee
too late at night.

Peer pressure tells me - go away.
They do not want me here
I am an outcast before the experiment
Is even finished
They censor me
I am alone
And my art
Destroyed
Thank you
I am so happy now
I sing to my intellectual absence!
I eat my cheese alone
I drink my wine in secrecy
I become fat
With my own Self criticism
For none but I witnesses my canvases
To�never show

To Be.
Or to Do....
Or to Do be Do be Do.......
Aye, there's the rub...
Philip
I thought
destruction
to bee
apart of
the process
ow
my butt
hurts
from sitting here
too long
wannasee?

Awfully close to quoting Sinatra there Phil- could cause a revocation of your hillbilly status.

Sinatra and Shakespeare in the same post, I'm impressed

Poor angry person.
Sits all alone.
With a coffee can size piercing clear through their head bone.
Angry at the world,
Angry at life,
Angry at the universe,
Living a life of self made strife.
Wearing a jacket....
Hands firmly laced to their back.
Who's answer to life is to life attack.
Mealy-mouthed hateful words....
Yet deserving of a gift...

Your gift:
A six-sided room one up, one down, four walls all around...
A chair, complete with metallic strips, buckles and chains...
A blindfold if you prefer...
Killing is not an art...but a crime...
to advocate.... Makes the advocator, simply more slime....
Capital reward for a spoken crime...
For no soap can cleanse such grime.
Your "gift" neither artistic nor of merit...none....
not even decent...
let alone fun....
therapists abound with couches full...
In the end revealing your bull...
...
Grow up, that is your challenge,
I, wish you well,
in your self made
Hell.
Listen to those that would disagree....
Appreciate the differences between you an me...
Cherish the children and teach them well...
That all can see the pathetic expressions you've "gifted" us with,
as the psychotic, ramblings they are, as you drive from the front bumper of another's car.
You are neither pathetic, nor conscious,
that would imply consideration,
You are definitely not to be considered,
So be it.
You no longer exist...
(So enjoy your self-made-box.)
Not for me,
nor,
for none that can see.
Oso

Oh Lordy! I cain't have thy-et!
Then folks might think I actually have a brain inside this headbone!
Philip
Copper Cauldrens, Copper Coils, to the best drivers...the moonshine spoils...

My friend
He has killed
Another of my friends
You know something eh?
I agonize over this�
perhaps
What am I here to do?
You see�I speak only in this ragged prose
Me your pathetic artist�not!

Who hides a face?
Behind the wall of light
To think that we
The ones who see
Such more that they should care
But then you are my friend.
a clue
Look out
that child he has a rock!
Set phasers to kill

I think there's a poetry forum here too- you might try that. But guns and dead thoughts will only get you grief- unless, of course, that's what you're looking for. I hope you find time to find the nice things in life- you may find art there, if you're still looking for it. jeannie

Act VII: Captain Kirk meets Peter Lorre
on the Planet Offthewalla.
A little guy, mistaken for a child
with bulging eyes.
Mazurkas play in the shadowed square
and I fondle my knife in diasporic dreams,
cutting not a man
but a rat
and place his pieces in a box
painted with scenes from a broken home.
I clamp my ears to the wire above
so they'll look like Mr. Spock's
because
I have no more emotion
to spare.

You must be taking ...mental laxitives that do not work.....
Try some lithium and halodol.

or 'shrooms. =;D
then again, maybe that's the problem....
How inspiring...prompting me to return to the refrain I learned in a much younger life:
"As I was walking up the stair
I met a man who wasn't there.
He wasn't there again today.
I wish, I wish...he'd stay away."
Anon.
KAREN

Act. 25

Perreaoult nails a panel to a living room wall
Evil comments printed
Read and taped
He'll need them all. and still they come into his mailbox
The experiments succeeds
As for the subject
Little children all adult
Bright eyed yet and lying still
The artist was once such a little thing
And threatened in the fields
That's not for you to care
So here's the show
Splashed on this web page
Hope you have some cheek some wine
The critics hated me I see
But then all critics wish to be as so creative as I Be.
He he

Close page. End of show wha �another notice in my mailbox?
My ejaculations still have after affects?
I wet my bed
For fear of waking up!