hahahahahahahaha!!!!!!

Another hours8 identity.

pk & otter(kids cartoon) the only thing funnier than watching you accuse innocent and talented writers like ming of being me is this fucking poetic stab at originality above.the best thing that could happen to mr.merciless might be becoming a facet of horus8, but you are way off this morning...let me reitterate if i may once name can be changed, ones approach can be changed, but once style is too finger printish to be confused with the fingers of others. i am only two, nothing more, nothing less..well less a normal nights sleep and a homecooked meal, but i think today is another surf detox sun blast moment..i hope i drowned this time.

I thought it was pb and otter. And how the fuck do I know what you do when you Noodle dance. You are a true master of mystique. A spoken word genius, although I am not much of a fan of the spoken word types. Too much performance art becomes simply too much performance of low-grade talent trying to be excessively deep. I try to stick to the poetry angle. And it seems to work.

yes..meditate on your poetic angle....everyone listen up! pb otter will now define the difference between spoken word poetry and what he does,because we all know that when we are in that "poetic" moment of flow we don't speak the words out loud in our minds to see how they sound...no..never.. and choosing to pen it down instead of recording yourself speaking the words is also extremely different....and correct me if i'm wrong, but don't slam poets verbalize and perform their work on stage (improv-ing, ranting, living the work) for those interested, no...we would much rather see 87 year old mrs. jenkings up in front of a mic reading, monotoned, and at half speed her favorite cat poems from her spiral notebook...my dear topeka tater tot, the medium in which one chooses to create their work with is neither here nor there, the end result is the same. poetry..whether it's written in blood,ink, rocks (stonehedge, architecture is a form of poetry) shit, with soap on a mirror, with microphone, or instrument, paint, or posture...dying by living...now i despised aristotle, but in his book poetics, he makes a good point in dealing with just what exactly poetry is...."poetry is a mixture of words and messages that can be understood by the author and audience(reader) on many interchangable levels, holding diverse and subdivided symbolic understandings and it at all times should reach a universal and personal climax for all involved". (which is why poetry gives those who read it the feeling that it was crafted especially for them) a mime is a poet, a doctor is a poet, even you sir are a poet, but a poet is not just a poet he or she is an expressor of word pictures for the purpose of experimental communication to convey a vastly more profound message. the only reason you're aware of objects and activities around you at all times is because you have a name for each and everyone of them, god spoke life into the body of adam. if you don't have a name for something it escapes your senses and is essentialy undetectable, poltergeists, ghosts, big foot and ufo's(unidentified flying object) unnamable flying object, duck! it's a dovishian jerty foron. wow. that was close. i have to surf now. bye..

Finally, some of your crap comes through in the random file. Now I see why Cake and Sugar Ray jump at the chance to purchase your profound lyrics. So clever, so Hollywood, so full of advertisements. Were you paid for adding those in? And for your other rant, what's wrong with listening to an 87-year-old monotone if they can write? Has California warped you brain, made you to hip and shiny. Granted poetry is better heard aloud. Just listen to Mr. Hughes and you can understand that. In addition, while some slams promote ranting and raving, and the extemporaneous works are always fun, these poets of the Rollins class, which you seem to belong in, usually go down quite early. Just check out results from last year's Taos Poetry Circus. Why? Because they suck. A slam is just another means for a real poet like myself to make a mockery of people like you who put words together because they sound good, not because they mean anything. Come on, sir, you are a trite figure (I looked at the website) who has to surround his writings with fast edits and flash because the words have nothing worthwhile to say.

yes.yes.no.yes.maybe. how dare you. thank you. right back at you. could you pass me the meatloaf. hey, there's always next year.taos poetry circus, you bet i subscribe! national library of poets want to give you a plaque and turn your poetry into music, that's great! good luck. thinking of you stretched out at balboa beach. wondering if your running through the beans beat boxing away.do they give you guys different colored belts to show rank and experience. one day soon i hope you'll take me in as your new acolyte, and show me the weirding way.do you think when i get back home today...we can maybe..hang out you know i can follow you around the site while you follow and kiss z's and d.a's arses with your cute little eskimo squint. you are my muse. but must you drink out of the bottle. when we have a whole cupboard full of glasses. your's truly 'mother'. oh if you got 2 or 3 minutes later maybe we can name some famous jay hawks, "together". thanks. thinking of you.your supplimentally discharged penis, horus8

Yes, I thought you went surfing. Isn't that what all you Utopia of Clowns hipsters do? Me, I am stuck in the Denver airport waiting to get back to KC Misery. Or Topeka, as you like to mix geography. I have a rodeo to attend tonight. Afterwards I am lecturing the cowboys on the art of the slam. Some of the cowboy poets want to try to see if the can possibly rant and rave for 8 seconds. After follow around the LA superintendent of schools for the past two weeks it will be good to get home so I can look at all my trophies. I miss them all. As for pointers, I will give them at will when your poems come to me at random. I do not have time to search them all out. I am sorry, son, you are on your own. I can only be a mentor to so many.

so that's what that tickling sensation was...

A delightful first poem Ming. 8. The contrast between the simple yet effective words of the poem and the more educated title is inspired stuff.

Man baby
Man baby
that's your poem.