Life Is Short, Break The Rules.

“Life is short, Break the Rules.
Forgive quickly, Kiss SLOWLY.
Love truly. Laugh uncontrollably
And never regret ANYTHING
That makes you smile.”
― Mark Twain

Moonancholia

naked soul swinging in the chair

trying to catch ray of sunlight

and warm herself.

chilly breeze turns of the candle,

in the darkness i am at home,

morning burns my eyes,

moonancholia is my name.

missed opportunity.

The Western Lands, William S. Burroughs

The Western Lands by i'm a superhero i can like fly and shit.

The Western Lands, William S. Burroughs

The Western Lands by i'm a superhero i can like fly and shit.

The Western Lands, William S. Burroughs

The Western Lands by i'm a superhero i can like fly and shit.

The Western Lands, William S. Burroughs

The Western Lands by i'm a superhero i can like fly and shit.

The Western Lands, William S. Burroughs

The Western Lands by i'm a superhero i can like fly and shit.

submission for:

THEME : Fluxus / Anti-Art ///
Deadline : March 30th, 2012.
Free medium and size. No fees. No jury.
No return. Exhibition in 2012.
Catalogue on line.
http://fluxusanti-artmailart.blogspot.com/

All works must be sent by post.
Send to : Thierry Tillier
26 /021 , rue de Marcinelle
B-6000 Charleroi
BELGIUM

The Western Lands, William S. Burroughs

The Western Lands by i'm a superhero i can like fly and shit.

also this page is a submission to LOST ART, using the text from Heather Phillips:

The progression of natural wilderness overtaking a run down country house.

MOTHS AND KNIVES CROSSING THE DANUBE AROUND 1890

A duo collage for David Stone, USA, new works around his poem THE JAZZ MIND.
The lost soldiers art work is a collaboration between Superhero and I.

QUOTE:

Under the Danube,extinct ocean phantoms
searched
with torches,
spectral orders
cheered the night,
breathed
shark flavors
in the corridor,
ate steak,honked,
awaited mercy.

DAVID STONE

The Western Lands, William S. Burroughs

The Western Lands by i'm a superhero i can like fly and shit.

also this page is a submission to LOST ART, using text from SamanthAshli Pants:

Several silhouette figures in an orange clouded sky. They are approaching madness in the city with long claw-like horns and bright misshapen eyes whispers of what was before crunches beneath their shadowy feet...

The Western Lands, William S. Burroughs

The Western Lands by i'm a superhero i can like fly and shit.

The Western Lands, William S. Burroughs

The Western Lands by i'm a superhero i can like fly and shit.

The Western Lands, William S. Burroughs

The Western Lands  by i'm a superhero i can like fly and shit., for
Women's Issues Art Call:

http://womensecretsconfidences.blogspot.com/

ART ESENCIA - COSAS DE MUJERES
Katia Muñoz 

C/ Verdi 35 . Atico 2 ª
08922 - Barcelona . España

The Western Lands, William S. Burroughs

The Western Lands by i'm a superhero i can like fly and shit.

The Western Lands, William S. Burroughs

The Western Lands by i'm a superhero i can like fly and shit.

William S. Burroughs, The Western Lands

The Western Lands (a work in progress) by i'm a superhero i can like fly and shit.

Gödel, Escher, Bach

Zombie Book #2 (pg. 5 of 8)
(which will eventually be incorporated into the Zombie Encyclopedia)

inspired by the video lecture series Gödel, Escher, Bach: A Mental Space Odyssey
http://ocw.mit.edu/high-school/courses/godel-escher-bach/

Kid Quiet by Lovers

zombiesemics inspired by the song Kid Quiet from Lovers

tears of white and grey fall upon your handle-bars andmix in with the rain. oh what a day. you'd never seen a brighter star,you'd never be the same. cause when we touch, the shadow of a bicy-cle is no more beautiful than us. so at dusk, meet me on old summerroad in the autumn cold to talk. kid genius, you built me a radio, saidwhen i feel alone, turn it on, and i'll find you there somewhere with atinfoil smile or like a star. with no one ever there you'd laugh eachtime they didn't care but now your sides ache and i came too late.with glitter in your eyes you'd laugh each time you would've cried butnow your sides ache. you laughed until the tears came. and nowyou've gone away, and in a little room i dream of you and the picturein my brain doesn't fade like the circles of a radio signal float out intospace. and before you lfet you came and hung a string of lightsaround my bike as i slept. a sweet planet where fireflies zoom like ahundred moons around your room in orbit is my wish, and a ten-foot-tall mirror-ball hung from city hall. and good magic. my constellationkid, i plotted the routes you'd traveled through and the line i drew con-nnecting it made a clear image of a lightening bold through your child-hood home, like the stories told on your wrist. tears of white and grey.i'll never see a brighter star.

drawing by Lemons Don't Make Lemonade!

Breakfast Time by Adam Boenig

zombiesemics inspired by the following short fiction by Adam Boenig:

Breakfast Time for +Nina Pelletier

Waking from my eight our slumber, I cloth myself in fabrics of a foreign nature (made in China). Having dawned my armor, I emerge to face what awaits me.

It's breakfast time.

On my journey to the kitchen, I narrowly avoid death as I slip in my socks upon the tiled floor, barely catching myself on the firm support of the wall as I run and slide in the hall. Thinking quickly, I gather all the ingredients for my breakfast:

An onion. Eggs. Milk. Cheddar.

Thinking quickly, I choose my weapons from a drawer...the one to the far left of the sink, one drawer down.

A cheese grater.

From the knife rack, I remove a large knife. A blade to aid in the defeat of these monstrosities!

What can I say? They're a little old, the onions; still good, just have to peel off a few more layers.

Picking up the block of sharp cheddar (extra sharp, the most dangerous kind!) I us my trusty edge to chop off a large hunk. This, I take and put aside.

I realize I competely forgot the prison for my creations. I go open the cupboard and pull out two bowls. Contemplating for a moment, I pull out yet another bowl.

I had decided to add... ham.

I open the fridge and dig through the drawers in search of the elusive beast. I find a bag of the lunch meat and take out two slices.

It will do.

I take the slices to the chopping board, next to the stove. I make one pass over it, chopping it into thin ribbons. I repeat this again; now it's cubes. And again! I decimate this ham!

That being done, I realize there is nothing with which to cook my defeated enemy. I lean down, open a lower cupboard, and pull out a pan; a shield to match my blade. I put this on the stove, turning the heat to medium.

Things were getting hot.

While things were getting hot, I put the now atomized ham into a bowl to keep it contained. Otherwise, God only knows what it would be capable of! I then shred the cheese, enjoying it's imagined cries of agony as I...

What the hell. I put aside one bowl and just grate it directly on top of the ham.

I then take three eggs... that's right, three: I'm high enough level... and crack them, one handed, into the other bowl.

It is only then that I realized I am unequiped to deal with this danger. With fast reflexes I grab an egg beater, and before they have a chance to attack I quickly mash them into a bloody pulp! Then, I add milk and seasoning, mixing them all together, enjoying this small victory.

But this was no time to rest, o no; there was still a foe left behind, and I, much like my predecessor, take no prisoners.

I take the inion and quickly chop the bottom and the top off. I smile grimly as I peel off it's skin, then the first layer of dermis lying underneath, throwing them all into the trash. I then slice it; one cut at a time, one slice at a time, making sure it suffers; and suffer, it did. I then repeated the procedure I had with the ham; chopping it once, and again, and thrice!

The pan was now hot.

I spray pam in the bottom; butter flavor, for buttery death. I then add the ham. It sizzles with a glee echoeing my own as the smell of burnt flesh fills the small kitchenette. Grabbing a spatula, I stir it; I want it cooked equally, with no part left untouched.

I then add the onions, poring them from their prison onto their banished comrade. It knew what was coming; you could tell by the way some flakes clung to the side of the bowl, which I deftly scooped out with my finger. A new smell now entered the air; a scent of charring, cooking onion. I revel in it as I stir them all together.

And now, the main ingredient; the eggs.

I pour them in slowly. I want to revel in it; my vanquished enemy, now ment to serve as a means to feed my growing hunger. I begin to stir quickly, knowing how fast they cooked, how easily they could rebel. The eggs cooked into white sheets, made fluffy by the milk and delicious by the it's allies.

Waiting until the last moment, I seized the bowl of cheddar and pored it on top. It bubbled and melted, it's essence covering the foe in delicious cheddary flavor.

When it had melted, I scooped the contents of the pan onto a plate and prepared to sit down for my victory meal. Then, I decided this meal deserved toast.

I look. The bag is empty. Noooooooo!

And so it is that rather than eating my victory meal, I instead have to mount my stead (A bluc Chrysler Conchorde) and go to the market for a very important item. I will not stand such a travesty as being toastless! For this, I will need extra gear, which is located in my den.

Stealing away back down the hall whence I came, I open the door and grab my Bag of Infinite Holding (My backpack). All I need is contained therein; my wallet, important papers, magazines, newspapers a length of rope, an oil lamp, lamp oil, a bow, a satchel of arrows...

...I may or may not have made some of that up. You decide.

That said, I exited my den, passed through the kitchen and the living room, and exited out the door for my fetch quest.

The weather outside: brilliant. Just chill enough; a light breeze coming off the river. There are trees everywhere, so it always smells of greenery; lots of gardens too.

Passing through the treachery of sticks and stones that is our driveway (and realizing I must weedeat again, lest the weeds get out of control and I have to use magice to clear them), I unlock the door with a key I paid much gold to have. I slide into the driver's seat, throwing my bag into the passenger seat. I alide the key into the ignition, turning it. The creature roars to life.

Guiding it forward, I steer it along the path, avoiding the grass where monsters may lurk (and so I don't anger the creatures known only as neighbors). It glides past them disturbing none. My steed can outrun them, but it is not them I am worried about, for they have the ability to summon blue uniformed creatures who cannopt be beaten with sword or bow, and my negotiation skill is not nearly high enough to get out of a ticket.

I come to an intersection, where herds of steel beasts trundle buy; many of them exceeding the posted speed limit. I wait until there is an opening, before gliding deftly through to join the herd. You must pretend you are one of them, you see; it's the only way to survive their treachery.

I come to a traffic light, which turns yellow and, and causes me to slow down; for, occasionally there is a guardian at these posts, and they can be ornery when angered. I move on as the light turns green, turning left and following the road up to the market, using the back entrance rather than the foront, because only beginners used that. I am no beginniner.

I pull in and park the car, grabbing my bag and walking to the area known as Publix, where many strange cultures congregated in their quest for the important items usually listed on a Grocery List. I did not have one, for I am a forgetful being and such things to not interest me.

I step through the glass door as they slide opn, grabbing a special item known as a cart and going out in search of items we may need. Within these hollowed walls lies a never-ending supply of important, health-restoring items, all lined up on shelves and tables.

I knew where I needed to go, so I went and got the necessary items, making sure not to get distracted by my gowling stomach. Hunger makes you do stupid things in stressful situations; being surrounded by food and other hungry beasts much like yourself is one of those situations. Gathering my items, I put them withing the cart's protective walls, guarding them against foragers and thieves, watching them closely.

The goods were delivered and scanned; I paid the NPC using a debit card. Epic class.

Having attained my goods, I went to deliver them to my steed. I popped open the trunk and transferred my loot therein, quickly, before I am noticed.

My quest complete, I climb back into the front seat of my transportation. I turn the ignition; once again, it starts with a satisfying growl.

My necessities attained, I return home.

Rod Summers' Helgi Saga I

zombiesemics inspired by Rod Summers' Helgi Saga I