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Spin a Wheel for Creativity apríl 22, 2008

Posted by herraheri in Herra the Heri, M. L'éléphant, Mr. J. Squirrel Phd..
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Plug in. Imagine yourself in a tiny little room. Not to small – there will be enough space for a few instruments, some people and something to drink. And a drumkit. It might be a little loud if a band played in the room. But for now there will be no band playing. There will be nothing more than reading. Calm reading. Slowly turning the pages following the story of Nabokov’s Lolita or maybe even the adventures of Oedipa Maas in Pynchon’s Crying of Lot 49. Nothing but calm reading. AHHHH.

Plug out. Turn on. How did those people manage to enter the room. Yes! It’s the ill-famed Herra Héri Orchestra, packed with instruments, playing as if they dared to give noise a new definition. But somehow you like it. Vibe. And suddenly, a squirrel comes out of a bottle of vodka and whispers into your ear: Eat a tune, and follow it carefully. Starlight and forrest multiplied by peas with six electrons on their premium gas atoms. Watch for the sun. Care for positron and Gauss with his equations. Never mind the harmony. Silence. You leave the room – enter the wood – a coocoo is blowing his tune. You take out your wallet and shake it. Fortune.


Anything Blueberry febrúar 17, 2008

Posted by herraheri in Mr. J. Squirrel Phd..
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Yesterday, the weather was quite bad for cracking nut. And I also could not find the inspiration necessary to work on my thesis on nuts (as you know). So I jumped around in the park, had a few Martinis (and maybe one or two dry gins) and wrote a little poem. Although, it might sound desperate to some readers it is a twinkling monster full of lust. But read yourselves. Sincerly yours, Dr.Squirrel Phd.

Nothing is as anything seems, scare,
voice pondering through the nasty trees,
hurt wood, rotten despair,
hope bleeds and its hair is sprinkled with tears of the wind.

Nevermind, cheer up, some cake?
Blueberry, maybe some plums?
Did you ever read Williams? Elliot? I show you fear!
Screaming and Edward Munch is reluctant to preparing hot milk with honey.

Whatever. Any ever. Snow is silent,
a prism of perception, anticipated by rain.
Shift perspective and run the engine.
Whatever they say, stay
away from Blueberry cake.