The Frank Moore Archives

Hidden treasures discovered while digging through Frank Moore's huge archives.

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The Inner Maze – FIFTEEN

May 28, 2009. Frank wrote this as an experiment using Aurora Suite 2005, a word-prediction software program. For every letter that Frank would type for each new word, Aurora proposed to him nine possible word choices. For The Inner Maze, Frank ALWAYS selected a word from Aurora’s first nine choices. In this way, he followed Aurora, as Aurora followed him, through The Inner Maze!


I often look down upon my cock and think THE COCK THAT CHANGED THE WORLD! Mind you, it ain’t that big even at its biggest. Actually some would say it’s little. Mind you, it is big enough to get the job done, even whence it is soft. Nobody ever tell you soft small guitars can satisfy the maximum breathing plunged into juicy holes. Or rubbing pleasure building digging horny projections and love bringing out the beautiful bushes gentle stewardess and willing bodies melting away like brown sugar! This is kept secret certainly to make it harder to get together. So I can reveal these secrets in this mysterious association of words.

Anyway, I often talk to my cock! It’s amazing what we have done together, me and my cock! We have changed the world over forty years since so available, practical. Don’t you talk to your cock… Or to your pussy, whatever is the case… Well, don’t you? And I don’t suppose you know the names of your body parts either! Guess what’s/who’s Little Fellah. And my left hand is Mike and the right is Ike. They are very different in personalities, and they move differently from each other.

Yes, I am 63. But we didn’t get to changing the world until forty years ago, not seriously, Little Fellah and I. Well, probably even before that. But we didn’t let ourselves think about these symptoms! Now Little Fellah and I have friends and lovers in our tribal body to live with. We are enough.


Drawing by LaBash

The Inner Maze – FOURTEEN

May 28, 2009. Frank wrote this as an experiment using Aurora Suite 2005, a word-prediction software program. For every letter that Frank would type for each new word, Aurora proposed to him nine possible word choices. For The Inner Maze, Frank ALWAYS selected a word from Aurora’s first nine choices. In this way, he followed Aurora, as Aurora followed him, through The Inner Maze!


FOURTEEN

Fuck it! A new chapter! A new page turned! Have you been wasting your whole pitiful little time Reading of my late night slots of pink roses, slits wide open. Well, too late! Your whole pitiful little future is disturbing! Shall we go on?

I like looking into pussies whatever color of trim, or shaved hairs from your skirts. But that does not define what my companion is, or my life and spirituality and why this powerful screw beat loudly. I am not definitely not surrounded by people based upon folds of skin, colors of the bodies, or whatever else painted by nobody. But I screen people to see if they want to get booked up with my whole body, if they are available, practical, willing to jump into possibilities and fully play together within intimacy… Playing adventures, dancing nude, sliding warm juicy sweaty rubbing aroused, smiling outside of themselves, loving life, willing to risk all kinds of ridiculous poems for me, willing to stay together within experimental play together. I don’t have a tape measure for tits, cocks, noses and all other body parts! If you see someone with such a policy of tape measuring, run! We all came from Africa! Yes my companion is willing to melt into possibilities and fully sexual experience with my cock. Well among various other things!

Can I look up your pussy? I don’t really know why we cannot talk that directly. I’ll promise you I will. I don’t really know why the naked female nipples are so dangerous that they need to be covered at all times or reality crumble! All the hill of milky white, sunburn golden brown, Shining black beauty, or whatever comfortable colors of the Nursing infant… Hills of warm juicy flesh pleasure hot can be uncovered bosom of Emma. But the reddish brown tip nipple with the orange yellow surrounding circle of desire of magical orchids have to be covered/hidden under the command of taboo or else everything will go wacky into chaos of the likes of Emma! But this death ray can be squelched by the sheerest of fabric. Of course some dangerous imagination magnified of desire will leak out of sheer spirits. I can travel the thread that has the birth/pleasure hole, the hard satisfaction wand and the grunt outlet all taboo, hidden vices passages… If I squint and get tipsy and twisted perverted blues emotional problems with eating by mouth of my philosophy. After all shitty form of frustration, and sewage pissed flowing green, and crimson blackish patches spread on white underwear and all dirty fun smelly and sewage fish terrified beyond imagination, magnified everything else painted upon folds of skin. I can travel that perverted blues emotional problems with certain faculties of noise of thunder farts. Even if I love a good shit of all colors and shapes comprised between teenybopper and heckle and consistency. But the beautiful warm juicy nipple, the source of the mammal milk of life! What sort of dangerous imagination ray comes from the source of food and comfort? Zones of passion hidden behind taboo, hidden behind vices passages fester twisted perverted blues emotional problems with breathing IMPAIRMENT fatigue, obnoxious flakes of ice separated us from ourselves into conflict with certain destruction, massacred of passion. This is why I look straight up taboo, down blouses, up skirts. Underwear and bras are dams storing up this puss of the mammal unknown freedom, hidden parts of our life including being dirty. They block breathing of hidden parts. Dark depths of hidden bodies melting into juicy nipple are locked up. And nobody asks WHY. Dark magic of fragmentation is why… For isolating explosion of pent-up frustration, smolders in a strange hissing noise of the process of transferring.

What is between F and CK? You know! You just said the word in your mind. Most people over ten would have just said the word in their mind. Even !@#% would have triggered this word in minds. But if you add the U to the mixture in mass Media, you might face a huge fish hyperventilation of pent-up frustration. The same is true if you just said it with your voice instead of tricking the other’s memory mind to pronounced the word inwardly. Nobody ever question this dark magic! They joke about it, then follow the voodoo curse, dampening emotional reactions down to manageable pap! This is the real goal of fragmentation. Kids are cited as who’s protected by the darkness of pent-up frustration. But if this Kid knows what !@#% or F-CK are, he/she is already damned silly. And kids ask about !@#%. So what is the use? And damned silly thirstily-smiling in real life!

These things are usually prescribed in my brain, becoming white sunburn raiding Wolf. I look straight up taboo hidden parts dark magic signified something dirty. I am flexible and practical, saying the obvious, living in what works, melted together sexy enough. I know how life works. But I don’t have a clue about how most people unhappy operate… If they operate under half gone assumptions or whatever! I know how to do tasty art and practical instincts freely overtopping most dangerous sewage. I know logic of tricking of hidden behind the curtain of transferring from the future to the local past. Sufferings ain’t my thing. Fear is healthy if it last less than five minutes. If fear lasts more than five minutes, it is a great block to personal survival and love and all good in human destiny. I am very curious about how such actions work within intimacy, playing adventures, dancing with you, captured powerfully by people who look straight up from the future. Would you like to test it totally unconscious, unexpected dexterity of hidden bodies or whatever between birth and death simply by my seeing you again distinctly on social schizophrenic conditioning. I hope you will!

I don’t really get aroused sexually by watching, by being watched attentively, by seeing nude bodies. I know I proclaimed I was an exhibitionist! I lied! It was hype, a trick of shamanism. I always lie to reconfirm the core truth imprisoned in what degree of politeness agreeably vague. I don’t care to be seen, to be watched attentively. I use it. But it doesn’t arouse me sexually. The same with watching and seeing nude bodies for more than five minutes to satisfy my curiosity. Not really a voyeur either. There are lots of kinds of arousal. I enjoy seeing nude bodies. It artistically turns me on, comforts me, makes me feel good. I enjoy seeing sexy warm juicy flesh pleasure building subversion of arousing desire. It artistically turns me on. But what arouse me sexually, keeping my drift up is touching nude skin warm handling of arousing rubbing friction enliven warmly welcomed to satisfy my curiosity about these Caves of our life, free from rust and more excited and sneaky and that wondering intensified self-confidence and willing bodies melting into juicy sweaty rubbing gently upon my credulity and bob up and down… Going right inside pleasure hole, just cuddling radically and also small intimate sacks of cotton and seeing nude sliding on whims of arousing desire. Will you unbutton all morality and love it? Will you stay within our intimate journey into juicy sweaty rubbing pleasure however long it will take us to slip from coming to the core?

This is a very long chapter. Was it worth it? Just hinted at my motel room for casting my performance of taboos. Just try to capture all of this while you be a female me! Sexually keeping busy to acknowledge your personal worth and love and all good shit!


“Hypnotic Gypsies” by LaBash

The Inner Maze – THIRTEEN

May 28, 2009. Frank wrote this as an experiment using Aurora Suite 2005, a word-prediction software program. For every letter that Frank would type for each new word, Aurora proposed to him nine possible word choices. For The Inner Maze, Frank ALWAYS selected a word from Aurora’s first nine choices. In this way, he followed Aurora, as Aurora followed him, through The Inner Maze!


THIRTEEN

Ah, fresh meat for everybody. Are you on the rag? Can I ask to see you nude? Or is there the red streaks? Then just topless if you care about being messy. I actually enjoy messy, seeing you in exactly equal in general now gaining upon examining everything in between legs wide open, taking refuge in between legs thrust out from the limited Biblical knowledge that if there is another space here for the creative joy of exciting novelties. Why don’t people who thought I was spinning around talk like this, talk as directly like this without being thunderstricken? I actually enjoyed looking deep within intimacy, playing, trying again before they could come into understanding lively sensations into her or you nude sliding on whims. If you care about being human, figure out how boring being so safe is. Below I will continue pandering to risk taker and freedom in exactly with you and at various depths of immediate wooing and passion. Madame, had you drugged last prayer to see what day of the brown blood-stains were absorbed in my skin, penetrating into a private satisfaction of thinking telepathic gem? A couple of terrible apprehensions of exciting novelties to risk yourself, wipe it totally unconscious, unexpected opportunities united by taboo and passion of revolt and her asshole and her partner Steve. We have been working with cycles of words and images flowing green according to the non-linear paths within the inner maze furrowing towards me and images imagine all goes back to Paris entrusted with cycles of exciting happenings, hoping that the motor neurons cycles of folly won’t dead end, but wisdom spirals downwards and upwards and inwards and outwards in my carnival of brutality and probable failure and being only able to procure so absorbent of words, you could not get rid of my Body of Christ, my body and soul longing for dangerous sewage in Montana with an erasable ink.

People can subvert those rules. We shall test it! Totally! But I am puzzled by taboo and being only able to procure food money when people with concerns about my luck and whatever between my eyes and being usually available in that way. God is a pizza of terrible apprehensions of immediate wooing of revolt. It was seeing you again distinctly visible however that comes across the street.

Am I boring being so safe? Am I boring you yet into bed? Not deaden boring, I hope you are boring into a trance, quivering flesh of pleasure, hot body inter-independent living web with a lot of trap doors, hidden vices passages that are beyond everything—most dangerous sects and now carpeted with crimson crape bestrewn with huge silver moons—thin crescent and full amazing shit covers entire world of blossoming of pleasure of possessing and now narrowly watched, attentively, certainly head on crashes pull me mad. Are you coming to the contact with the rapture of respect for my folly? The rapture of all sorts of extraordinary dimensions bearing upon examining everything, everybody else, including being dirty. Fun life, let me dig down into this unexplored galaxy of pleasure. Not deaden and full of uneasiness increased with cycles of possessing and full of hallucinations bereft of you. If you want to come down on madame Alboni and get extremely disturbing and legally questionable, you yet maybe are Beyond dying. Always asking when I will provide us with fixed lips parted and get tipsy and get into his pockets and conversed in groups of extraordinary supernatural modality of relationship dynamics upon my credulity and bob up with people who thought I was successful and bob up on that weekend.

Riding the rail is harder for guys than girls with their slits, slots, pussies! Sliding down on the fire station pole is rough on the nut sacks! Same is true with the stripper pole brass Bright. Hold yourself away from the pole or your sack will be pulled up and down bloody mucous buildup poor balls! But naked pussy can take the pole inside purple velvet cushion lips and sliding warm juicy sweaty rubbing aroused up and down and around the pole inside pleasure. The same with horse back riding! Balls crushing, your whole pitiful weight bouncing on your balls, galloping banging crushing hours upon hours of rubbing raw peanut butter! But clit bouncing on leather or on hairy warm live horse flesh, pleasure building each hoofbeat. The same with motorbike or tricycle. Macho is very painful! That is pretty much the different between the genders! And clit bouncing up and down on the saddle strapped tightly round the body of the beast create unlimited series of impressive orgasms on the long ride with horse power increased under ordinary conditions, favourable pressure expectations to live up and down on the saddle! Some weaker sex! I hope you will play in my skin chestnut-brown rubbing against all kinds of ridiculous rules like genders. We all are by-sexual progressive untreatable terminal disorder of impressive series of softly-incisive comments upon hours of rubbing aroused, smiled superbly with people who wanted me to dance on the nut sacks in charge of explosive animalism, appearing through green woods surmounted by taboo and being only able to procure real feeling for our private satisfaction of seeing sexy girls with their slits wide open. Yes, I am by-sexual skirts chaise with people who thought that was a sin! I am by-sexual of seeing sexy bodies melting away like brown sugar before your eyes. You know if you want to come and pick up what sort of laying-ground and being usually available in that way! God, enough of this! Gay and straight are just social theory of dueling and being only able to be the goals of social schizophrenic conditioning limiting who you can love, who you are attracted by. Nobody is willing to say this! However look at ancient Greeks and Romans! Many had their spouses to pass their existence seeds on and to insure their property lines would continue pandering to whichever issues of control over the country. But they had their male students, slaves, whatever for dinner of passionate zest and energy of action and lively sensations. Their wives also had their own private slaves of both sexes and girlfriends for fingering, licking kiss dear love ya in pleasure hot bed of orgies explore over oils of passionate intensity of expression. And don’t you get me started with cult whores!

Gay/straight is social schizophrenic conditioning limiting who you are attracted by, who you can love, who you can imagine staying with. Really it is like thinking you are attracted by pussies with red sea hair trim and you based your whole pitiful little crutch ting-a-ling tingling life on tiptoe for fear of betraying your preference! When it is all wide open in an infinite continuous stream widens the whole dinner of passionate virtually every piece of pounding of expression of unaccountable gestures for long excursions outside of the two glassy surfaces of grey!

Fuck it! This is the end of this chapter!


Artwork by LaBash

The Inner Maze – TWELVE

May 28, 2009. Frank wrote this as an experiment using Aurora Suite 2005, a word-prediction software program. For every letter that Frank would type for each new word, Aurora proposed to him nine possible word choices. For The Inner Maze, Frank ALWAYS selected a word from Aurora’s first nine choices. In this way, he followed Aurora, as Aurora followed him, through The Inner Maze!


I have always had a rich full fun life. Everything comes easy to me. I don’t care about being respectable or so “successful”, or acceptable beyond this inner flesh. I surrender to play and to life. Everything comes so far into juicy bits of extraordinary supernatural modality of relationship dynamics upon my word. I know this is not what to say if you want to be included in the addressing Fields of dazzling whiteness over oils of press and applause. They want victims suffering against overwhelming odds of the temptation to editorialize defeat to survive barely, waiting to take possession of these annoying medical monsters of yokes of repression… A special freak who came to replace the control box by profound attention and ordeal of extraordinary dimensions bearing upon big terms of keeping with heavy leaden gray deceptive dawn between the tempest and this dreadful nightmare of repression. Of course you can’t do it, they say. He [me] is special with courage, strength surmounted all obstacles at being mauled by isolation resulting from between physical problems… And abilities of luck… All of which you and most people unhappy don’t have. He [me] is special exception that proves the extreme point of hopelessness, helplessness appalling disaster which imprison everybody without any possible alternatives. They push this shit! I am always able to handle anything, having fun in the freedom of not knowing what is impossible. My dreams are melting into juicy molten every day activities just as. My dreams are melting into juicy molten every day activities just as people who thought I was Jewish! I surrender to play and to life. Everything comes so easy! Yes, it is hard work sometimes. But I have come out the extreme edge of things in my wheelchair addressing similar circumstances. Escape from whatever between us and fun!

They want you to think you got it better than me, somebody, anybody! You ain’t got shit. But at least you ain’t a victim of cerebral palsy for live, suffering with cerebral palsy. At least you ain’t confined to a wheelchair! At least you can walk, talk, feed yourself, wipe your own asshole in the way God tends you to! At least you can play football until you break your neck playing football! Then… Oh, well… At least you ain’t a nigger or a woman, or a fag!

Reporters scramble everything up. They don’t use their souls, their formidable pricking eyes. They see a wheelchair and they write suffering victim of cerebral palsy confined to a wheelchair and is ninety eight percent disabled with no body control… Oh yes he saw a murder! Reporters are brainwashed. They have only filter tip eyes! They see me dancing, playing piano smothering the piece of pounding lustily on the keys with vehemence and whatever else, painting those unknown sights in oils by Jackson Pollock physical ritualism of direct engagement with my whole body control of the paint with my head, seeing me feeling up right up her inner flesh with style and aim… And they conclude and report I am paralysed, stiffened under the bottom of no movements or control or bodily feelings and am ninety eight percent disabled, helpless, vulnerable, hopeless fizzle. And you depend upon them for the clear ultimate vision of direct experiencing of observation of objectivity! I suppose I could even paint if I was Jewish paralysed. But I would have to come up with a difficult style and techniques which involve the necessity of deferring to explore my luck and whatever between physical touch and the one more reckless effort to free any particular colour. But the brainwashed plot is so complete that some playmates who had romp with me flexuosity and yum yum yum have then bought that empty press surrebuttal of my Body of Christ. I told you so, folks. I obviously wasn’t meant for the control of the what is possible!

Poetry of truffles and Champagne and yum yum of frank Moore who love life, always asking about missing dying. He was dying always asking about being swept along into juicy experience of death earned by living all out of this inner sandy pleasure. However I watched attentively certainly before buying, before dying. Always asking when I will come to meet death with dignity, with curiosity, attracting luck and whatever between birth and brightness of death and burial and whatever is booked afterwards. They are itching with jealously gathered twilight filling with irresistible impulse and play. Something dirty free to be absolutely glorious running through playing with a healthy dose of pure fun. I have made with oh my maybe a thousand playmates within experimental play together, within intimacy or just cuddling tanpanic erotic warming… Within forty years or less… All genders, all kinds, shapes, between teenyboppers to elders beyond dying. The famous sex stars are in there, the beautiful bushes too and the deep brains, the strong and the weak and ill and the most desirable and the most successful and the bimbos and the most unlimited lovers and the most dangerous kind of dudes and very passionate zest and energy of action and lively sensations into her and lively Spirit in flesh and blood and froth of sex without money in public performances and very graceful beds under ordinary circumstances escape. I spent my life with some, very long term relationships! Some playmates never saw me as we played together intimately in Caves of Lila. They were led blindfolded through the non-linear paths within the inner maze furrowing towards me. So afterwards in the every day cocktail party they sat beside me never knowing I was the fury creature who explored options in their bodies, melting into juicy molten sugar in their dark depths of immediate wooing and wedding and in my carnival of strong Cheddar pleasures. I tend to get the arousing desire of magical effects following the chain of willing people hungry for going deep within experimental play together within intimacy or just cuddling radically. Men in particular don’t understand it! How could someone looking like this, “confined” to a wheelchair get the beautiful bushes, gentle stewardess the chain of willing bodies melting into juicy Persons who love life including traveling, shopping, paying for being with me. Yep, they sometimes, often, pay good money to be on my lap as we played together intimate! Guys never ask why or how! They just aren’t interested in acting like they are very interested in being human beings with irresistible babes! And they stayed immovable generally poke with jealousy and eager to make only filter tip eyes from humanity and everything else they don’t smell! Wonder if they think they are confined in their dark shoes and behind their eye glasses etc. My wheelchair is a feisty vessel of magical transportation and everything comfortable. I bustled about in many threads of blood-red flame leaped up as I explored options available. Appear nightly in clubs, wailing out the blues emotional delight perfume half gone here and there for years and years outside of the margins… But on stage for thirty hours! Should not be able to do that! Unquestionably I don’t know what I should be able to do, able to handle, able to procure. So I am able. Therefore they don’t want to know what is possible!

Poetry of truffles and Champagne and yum yum of philosophy, humor among various gangland surfs and behind the curtain of fog and romantic shit about how boring it was to build upon communicating even before speaking. The margins exclude almost entirely most of everything which is noncommercial, uncensored, unconscious, unexpected original Files under the command of Bruni d’Entrecasteaux, ignoring such bestial-looking creatures like you and me. Also he gave me shit about getting deeper into the ultimate midst of the arousing desire of magical colours disappeared from humanity and love with wide open legs thrust into bed after eating the contents of folly! But wisdom which may be able to procure fresh meat for everybody here is what I am looking for!


“Roadrunner’s Nightmare” by LaBash

The Inner Maze – ELEVEN

May 28, 2009. Frank wrote this as an experiment using Aurora Suite 2005, a word-prediction software program. For every letter that Frank would type for each new word, Aurora proposed to him nine possible word choices. For The Inner Maze, Frank ALWAYS selected a word from Aurora’s first nine choices. In this way, he followed Aurora, as Aurora followed him, through The Inner Maze!


ELEVEN

We are melting into juicy molten colors of the ultimate jams, sea-biscuits, canned meats and stimulate malts like giant [six-footer] hippy candles volcanoes that vomit hot wax down into a shamanistic basin, beautiful green and crimson and orange and violet indigo and blue stripes swirling balls of fire already encrusted with limy deposits of our first night of slipping into unconsciousness together. This basin which creates everything is clear ultimate reality of circulation of our life including the temptation in good part of rubber and penny copper rings. We hid our sash of meditation dope in those thick six-footer hippy candles, placed in small intimate sacks of cotton, calking and stimulate us all into an immense cavern. Chance would betray if anyone would have lit that candle! Into tanpanic trance, gazing up into her pussy, I surrender to you! I am always able to handle these foolish generous delightful things of journalism beyond this shit about getting more handsome countenance. I am seeing you again distinctly visible! However I watched attentively round the outskirts of all subcultures! I have always been on the outskirts of slipping their dicking and generally poky directly upon examining everything, everybody without separation, but from the outside, looking deep within intimacy. Keep checking back again before they could come into understanding. I have always married into old families without dividing my admiration between more compact matter to be illegal as I understand it. I watched attentively, certainly before long the black actor activist said:

“Shortly before talking sex softly, these words spoken when most of the temptation plays with puppies or else follow fate destined with several Persons. Did I mention that I bribed the black lace mantilla? The card of goodly dimensions bearing an announcement that this favourable opportunity notwithstanding the buzzing joy of living forms here have evolved in to enormous deep community.”

Voice of Moses and his second son booms and gaffs and stimulates underground uncensored unconscious cerebration of goodly living. Web of relationship would have lost my series in those clothes! Take my clothes off. Keep your hands up and enjoy it! That is something rather fine tuned. Submit to us today because we shall play together. Trust that! I have come out of all subcultures and enjoy it! That is something they smell from my balls of fire! Pink warm sweaty rubbing aroused, smiled drowsily and looking intently at these marvels of all sorts of extraordinary stories… And they run away, smashed into another night of all sorts of extraordinary supernatural and wonderful existence.

Artwork by LaBash

Louise Scott

Frank & Louise, Berkeley, November 1998

Louise passed away on Tuesday, February 18, 2020. She was 86, less than a month before her 87th birthday. Frank always said that Louise was “to blame” for him. Below is an old piece we just found that Frank wrote in 2010.

Also, at the bottom of the post is the audio of an interview Frank did with Louise in 1998 on his Shaman’s Den show.


I and Louise first saw each other across the room at an all-night folk party that my college roommate Moe took me to just before he went back to D.C. But we didn’t talk…and it was 6 months later when we really met.

I need to set this up. When I first went to college, the only way they would take me was if my mom would take me to classes. Being the person that she is, she enrolled in the courses also. Sounds great. But in reality, the kids wouldn’t establish relationships with me because Mom was always around. So a break came when I transferred to the state college where Mom could not afford to go. [She continued at the local college.] I used the change to try to move out and get an apartment. But the only one I could find to be my attendant was an old ex-cop, resthome ex-nurse who had bad habits such as hitting his patients and getting drunk. He couldn’t get into his head that I was his boss. I lived with him for 6 months…until he pulled a loaded gun on me in his drunken fit [I just yelled at him until he put the gun down and went to sleep]. My SDS friends took and hid me for a few days…By chance, I met Moe at a college dance and told him my story….and he said I could live with him and his roommates. And after he moved back to D.C., I got a place with my brother. But all of these situations were really only extensions of “home” with well-meaning strings which always finally sucked me back to home.

Louise’s place was a hippie island in San Bernardino’s ghetto for blacks, students, artists, and okies. It was over an acre of land with several large great buildings, a boxcar, a swimming pool, a sauna…all enclosed by gardens so nudity was normal. [Years later, I rented the place from her to live and do my work…unfortunately San Bernardino was not in the shaman market.] Anyway, my hippie/poet friend took me there. Louise remembered me from the party. And we talked…nude. She said I could/should come as often as I wanted.

Louise was a beat in the 50’s. She hung out with Mort Sahl [I found that out only last year…he is one of my heroes]. She was involved in the founding of communes on the Russian River, L.A., and S.F. She had just come back from Santa Fe to sell her property. I started having my brother [who at that time was going through his straight phase, so did not quite approve] take me there every weekend so I could talk to Louise. I was in heaven talking to someone like her who encouraged me, being nude, being with my college hippie/poet friends who also hung out there.

I told Louise how I wanted to move out of home….but didn’t see any way to. She said I could live with her and move to Santa Fe, N.M. with her. I knew when I made my next move, it had to be as far away as possible. So I dropped out of college and hitched to hippieland in Santa Fe…before Louise. The plan was she with her two kids would move out when she sold her property. That took a LONGER time than she had planned. For two months, I lived at a Santa Fe “crashpad” mission run by Louise’s friend. Louise had been a founder of it. There I had to depend on the kids who drifted through The Center for all my needs. It was a very important time for me.

But when Louise finally came, we lived together as a family in various artist compounds. We never had money, but always had enough. The main focus was living within tribal community. Louise’s weakness was men with character weaknesses…so she ran through men. And my cross was I hadn’t had any sexual relationship yet. [Looking back on that time, I see all the possibilities I didn’t see with those who were “sisters” to me….dumb!]

It was the gentle guidance by Louise during the year I lived with her that started me seeing my body as a tool. She told me people could use me as a medium for getting through to other dimensions. Because of the slowness of my communication board, they were forced to slow down. She said it was just my luck to be born into the long tradition of the deformed shaman, the wounded healer, the blind prophet, the club-footed “idiot” court jester.

When I was living with Louise, I became aware of the magical quality of extended time lengths when I attended an all-night peyote ceremony of the Native American church in Taos. Time was as powerful as the magic medicine in creating a group reality trance.

After I left, Louise became a midwife. She came to NYC to deliver my kid. She became a nurse. Then she went around the world without money. She swam for her life from a sinking ship off Thailand and was included in shamanistic rituals.

Then, back in Santa Fe, she was at the right place at the right time. The Indians needed someone to live and build on a 9-acre piece of land to protect their water rights. They gave Louise a 50-year lease…first 5 years, she doesn’t pay anything. Then the next 5 years, she pay $500 a year…etc. So she worked as a nurse at night, and built by day…carrying everything across a creek before she built a bridge.

She is my roots!


Frank Moore interviews Louise Scott for FAKE Radio … a deep conversation with a wise woman, a cultural pioneer, a midwife, an international baglady … Frank Moore’s Shaman’s Den, November 15, 1998.

From Stephen Emanuel (2/23/20):

Yes, it was a very unique time and places…fond memories of loading Frank into an old Datsun car and chugging off to Santa Fe, first time he slept out under the stars and made it out of San Bernardino…  we created several households of tribal families with Louise always the den mother.  We were artists, musicians, activists misfits and all around crazies and it was an amazing journey for all of us.  Frank thrived in the mix and was able to become the shaman healer that he was destined to be…  we were able to provide the nurturing because of Louise and the tribe…  and Frank got to do all that outrageous stuff with us in tow.  Great fun and great works were done amidst all the struggles but there was always loving care from Louise for Frank and all of us.  A couple of lives well lived that have touched so many…. the king and queen are dead, long live the king and queen!


From Keith Wilson (2/23/20):

Below is a small section of that interview where she talks about death, and how she wanted to be able to experience whatever comes when we die. I hope she did, and I hope she and Frank are once again together causing mischief and magic.  

Keith: In the Shaman’s Den interview you talked about life after death. And you say you’re wondering if someone was waiting on the other side, like you just have these really interesting thoughts and curiosities about what’s over there. Wherever “there” is. And I was just wondering if you could talk about that?

Louise Scott: Honey I have no idea. You know that we’re going to be taking a trip one of these days. It’s important to me to be conscious of it. You know. I mean it’s just things we do in life and then we die. 

And what there is on the other side. Anybody who says they know I don’t believe them. We’re all part of something here and we’re all vibrations we’re all… who knows what we are. I trust whatever it is it’s going to be good because I think life’s good. Life is so sweet. So whatever it is I hope I can experience it. I don’t know if we take memories with us because people with Alzheimer’s lose their memories. I would hope our memories stayed. Who knows. Who knows. 

[LABEL THIS]

An exhibition at Franklin Furnace in 2019.

Curatorial Statement

Between 1987 and 2012, Franklin Furnace hosted and funded performances by artists Frank Moore (1987, 1989), Linda Sibio (1991), Gary Corbin (2005), Lisa Bufano (2006-7), and Dustin Grella (2012). These five artists utilize the ambivalent forces of hyper- and in-visibility directed towards them within a culture of ableism to captivate audiences and challenge viewers to confront their own relationships to ability, access, and identity. The performances of these disparate artists each point towards alternative modes of existence and relation.

[Label This] is the product of the passionate efforts of a group of Franklin Furnace’s 2019 interns. The topic of ability is personal, complicated, and important to highlight. Through this exhibition, we hope to work in concert with the project of Disability Awareness Month (July) by reiterating the importance of promoting diversity, accessibility, and inclusivity in the arts.

We focused primarily on works supported by Franklin Furnace (and of which original documentation resides within Franklin Furnace’s archives) and chose to incorporate some of these artists’ more recent work in order to trace their artistic development. We are excited to display documentation of work from these extraordinary artists who are connected through Franklin Furnace.

This exhibition and zine were curated by Rebekah Boggs (University of Virginia), Roxy McHaffey (School of the Art Institute of Chicago), Alyssa Rodriguez (Brown University), Mari Sato (Bates College), Allison Schaum (Brown University), and Van Tingley (New York University).

Here are some of the pages from the zine produced as part of the exhibition. Franklin Furnace intern, Alyssa Rodriguez, was one of the curators of the show and she was responsible for researching Frank and curating the portions of the exhibition and zine that explore his work.

Download the pdf of these pages here:
http://eroplay.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/02/Label-This-Franklin-Furnace-optimized.pdf

Here is the text from the Frank Moore pages:

PAGE 3:

FRANK MOORE

“I’m lucky to be an exhibitionist in this body. I like to be around people, but not in a polite way. I like to get down, talk about what you really feel, and play.”

Frank Moore interviewed by Chiori Santiago for  “Artist on a Roll” in the October 4, 1985 issue of East Bay Express

PAGE 4:

As a performance artist and self-proclaimed shaman, Frank Moore is recognized for his development of eroart and the concept of eroplay, which he defined as “an intense physical playing or touching oneself and others.” 1 Moore postulated that intimate community, formed through playful, asexual contact, could serve as a critical tool in the promotion of spiritual healing and human flourishing. An antidote to the social fragmentation and self-alienation necessitated by a culture of individualism, eroplay calls for psychic presence, vulnerability, and spontaneity.

Franklin Furnace hosted and helped fund Frank Moore’s performances of Intimate Cave in 1987 and Journey to Lila in 1989. These pieces, like much of Moore’s eroart, consisted of sustained, multi-hour sessions and incorporated elements of meditation, ritual magic, vocalization, rhythmic percussion, physical gesture, painting, projected image, and nude physical exploration to create an immersive world experience – a realm of fantastical possibility, which he called the “awake-dream.” Moore himself performed random gestures and vocalizations throughout these sessions. Local performers, musicians, and dancers were invited to participate as a cast of playful and eccentric characters, guiding the audience towards active participation. Moore urged his audiences to surrender their fears and inhibitions and embrace pleasure in the taboo.

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Moore, who was born with cerebral palsy, cited his body as a creative asset, granting him freedom from societal expectations and normative standards of conduct. Moore firmly argued for the generative, world-making potential of embodied performance to manifest new modes of relation beyond culturally sanctioned conventions.

Moore’s creative work is inherently tied to his political beliefs and personal philosophy, which drew upon psychology, non-western spiritual traditions, the occult, and the creative, spiritual, and political countercultures of the 1960s. A prolific writer, painter, and musician, Moore was a resolutely anti-establishment advocate for difficult art.

Moore campaigned for the US Presidency in the 2008 election cycle. His performances and video works can be viewed online at https://vimeo.com/frankmoore

These works, as well as many of Moore’s visual and written works can be accessed via Frank Moore’s Web of All Possibilities: https:www.eroplay.com/

Background image: Frank Moore & Chero Company, 1989. Photographed by Eric Kroll

1 Caves* a book for a performance tour by Frank Moore, 1987

The Inner Maze – TEN

May 28, 2009. Frank wrote this as an experiment using Aurora Suite 2005, a word-prediction software program. For every letter that Frank would type for each new word, Aurora proposed to him nine possible word choices. For The Inner Maze, Frank ALWAYS selected a word from Aurora’s first nine choices. In this way, he followed Aurora, as Aurora followed him, through The Inner Maze!


TEN

Why don’t you come out and love, staying playing, trying things, falling in the middle of the universe? Hey, have I bored you yet into all kinds of ridiculous poems too hot for being quick flush with the next opening of emotions? I bored you into tanpanic trance, gazing with mirrors reflecting my cock into a private satisfaction of drawing you into juicy molten colors of the bodies melting into one another, just doing, just cuddling, just living! It is easier to get people to kill you, to being willing to die to-morrow for some goofy bugs than it is to convince them to live like horses, young kids. Why is that? But I always try! Looking behind this iceberg, let us go towards women who pleased without separation from humanity and love staying playing with my cock. The Powers Prophet gains reality and control, rising out of isolation, separation, fear of the other, doubts about personal worth, and manufactured undergrowth of desire, despair of drawing blood. This Powers prophet was toxic cloud that the brainwashing and manufactured flaw of souls puking over the pond of taste of rotten fast food poisoning and control of life in the ravioli cans. Point of responsibility is any body, organic or inorganic. Waves of reality pass through the points of responsibility within each body, being influential affected by each body, being swept along with several sailors surrounded by profound attention, attraction and universal admiration between rubbing against all kinds of human beings. Is playing you into juicy experience of life turning you unbutton all morality and love, bringing the brainwashing to an end. I could ask you to feed me, give me drink, help me in the bathroom comfortably. But if I ask you to make out with my cock, to share physical pleasure and love with me, all discordant falsetto cries of alarm would create uncomfortable suspicions seriously ill scene of destruction, terrible apprehensions and words that escaped beneath love. Why is that! True, we are hitting bottom of this inner flesh, outer door of communication between us. But! But don’t worry. There is a funky basement under the bottom where we will wing it! So stay! Staying in here now without separation opens up virtue of every gigantic sea-serpent and universal admiration between rubbing aroused after forever and perhaps the space of regret can disappear and perhaps after all these foolish old battles are extremely booked up, we could be called unicorn. May happen about getting more handsome proposal and such eye-beams as always amazing how easy life is! Just show up and stay and be conscious and willing, knowing how easy it would be to see desire of this inner flesh. Wear only this inner flesh. I go in to the most dangerous neighborhoods alone after midnight among various gangland surfs and willing to follow fate destined with mirrors of self-confidence and perhaps the unusually metaphysical inspiration. I go into the ultimate midst of a gang of destruction and start slap-bang asses of big Hyena-swines giggling joyfully and they start moving their claws gnawing away from my dreams. These men who are dear boys can’t believe my own heart laughing. I look helpless, vulnerable as much astonished! But they don’t smell fear of contact in me. They smell from my dreams intensified self-confidence and willing to live like horses, young kids and whomsoever approached me to-night will play with me! I don’t care about being harmed, being influential, being swept along into their formidable cyclones. Actually I don’t make sense to them. So they swayed from side to side. Don’t actually know what I can do! Nothing regular now apply at these proceedings on whims! If you are game, you unbutton all kinds of ridiculous poems for me with wide open eyes from my mind. Doubtless they went running out fast, cutting like these bold companion. Stretched out floating, a fart waft from between your legs wide open taking refuge in my nostrils quivering. Disgust, excuse! Naw! The ultimate reality! Sexy hot girls fart. You are sexy, hot! And panting you sit there legs wide open and smelling your own fart waft up and enjoy it. That is something rather impossible in Hollywood fund-raisers and widespread Media attention and stimulate the apathy of the temptation and certainly my nostrils! Quivering flesh, I surrender to you. I have searched for a farting sexy hot girls. And finally here you are!

Artwork by LaBash

The Inner Maze – NINE

May 28, 2009. Frank wrote this as an experiment using Aurora Suite 2005, a word-prediction software program. For every letter that Frank would type for each new word, Aurora proposed to him nine possible word choices. For The Inner Maze, Frank ALWAYS selected a word from Aurora’s first nine choices. In this way, he followed Aurora, as Aurora followed him, through The Inner Maze!


NINE

Words uttered with your mind and body and soul longing for fairy-tales can create their own logic and English, French kisses of excellent games. Life eats the dead. Brute truth! We eat the dead to live. Obscure depths against saving up virtue. Yes, I am feisto and I am planning to incorporate some of your Songs in to keep pace with heeling over oils of love. Skin penetrating into a private conviction resting on your web of possibilities. Taste all pleasure and play with anyone! Baby puts everything into her mouth to incorporate every urge, every expectancy, every level of improve playing this inexhaustible field of ripening fruit! Baby puts everything into her pussy and her asshole and her mind. Building up her immunity by taking life deep within intimacy. Playing trying things, falling headlong into juicy experience of all sensations which streams whenever any worldly feeling of ripening. Falling into muddy holes, protected by dancing on the floor. Overhead as always amazing shit covers entire body of the baby, grunted again distinctly and sexy enough attempt that she has just made a pronouncement! Baby has no idea of failure, of outside, of separation from humanity and everything else alive and wants to pack all sensations into her connective body, reality of circulation, not of exchange. Thoughts crowded my brain becoming impracticable to get together. Confound old boxes of fear of being dirty. Fun, it was the baby with wide open eyes of giant glorious curiosity, attracting attention, attraction of circulation, taking every beam wind of light deeply impressed upon examining everything, everybody without separation of within and without, without dividing lines, without any particular fear of failure. Failure doesn’t exist for the baby! Walking is impossible without falling. Nothing is created without failure. I can’t “walk”… But I always get from point A to point By dancing nude sliding on whims of light amidst hurricanes of fear of just doing just what I want to. So why walk? Of course when I need to piss or shit, I am in intensified time. And of course when I am in a fire, I just relaxed and surrender to incorporate every expectancy, every level of high expectations without pictures uniformly framed and without being swept along with heavy leaden gray deceptive fears exaggerated opinions and vexation. And so far into juicy experience of life I have come out of the fire without being harmed. I have come out hurt, but not hurt, not getting nervous that force will keep us down. I am always willing to take hurt on. That is the official price of living a full frontal life! Baby puts everything into her mouth. Will you unbutton your blouse all the way, surrender your bra and panties and pull up your spirits oh yes and your skirt, upsetting all morality and sit down legs wide open, taking life deep within intimacy, playing with my cock and surrender to love?

Skin is not a dividing line between you and me. Skin connects us. It is connective tissue, connective organ circulating possibilities within our tribal, global/planetary and universal body. Skin is hot wax melting into juicy molten mucus eddy currents into all bodies of living forms including rocks. These insoluble eddy currents of inspiration, of intimated sensations, of emotions, of thoughts and feelings and fears, of sense of humor and time, of insight and wisdom, of spiritual survival and love, bringing us down into the earth and pleasure. Hot wax bodies unite molten colors swirl together confound old Powers that were created by isolation, separation, fear of the other, doubts about personal worth. Power is cold. Human beings are warm, sweaty rubbing aroused by taking life deep to incorporate into one another. Sometimes they just relaxed, unhurried and love with wide open eyes from humanity and wisdom of sense of humor among various acts upon examining everything, everybody without separation from my dreams.

I do not walk. So I stay. So I stay together, seeing I am always able to handle anything. I love staying in you. I have staying power! I am a stay-at-home kind of dude! Of course I am a con man who certainly belonged to modern Greece. This inexhaustible ocean of emotions caused things to multiply in these interesting people. Images flowing non-linear and words options available appear paranoid and universal language among various pretexts of courage. You can play whatever on whims… If you are not comfortable, not confined to the bathrooms of insphere conformable comfort zones. Imagine staying in the bathroom comfortably all of your life! That is a funky lot of shitting and pissing and puking! Not to mention washing alone!

“I Joined The Navy” by LaBash

The Inner Maze – EIGHT

May 28, 2009. Frank wrote this as an experiment using Aurora Suite 2005, a word-prediction software program. For every letter that Frank would type for each new word, Aurora proposed to him nine possible word choices. For The Inner Maze, Frank ALWAYS selected a word from Aurora’s first nine choices. In this way, he followed Aurora, as Aurora followed him, through The Inner Maze!


Arms of skin penetrating bodies of others are the connective organ circulating possibilities within our tribal body formed global and universal pulse arteries spasms and universal tribal body. People do not know that there is a right time for grasp opportunity notwithstanding the buzzing and feeling rather bruised and broken. These ever changing Walls of right time are the surrounding Walls of the inner maze with irresistible doors that keep on moving onto the new structures. Got to be ready to drop everything and surrender in to the big new or a small intimate journey into each other without looking behind this inexhaustible ocean of what if’s, addiction to comfortable death by Suffocation before that fleeting twilight filling with irresistible drowsiness of what should be here at stable situations. Are you committed to dropping things to me? I always have followed many names of these men who had taken care of the inner maze with anyone who breathes pleasure in and out, murmuring like horses coming back again before they could come into understanding. I never have gone after understanding. I always try looking up dresses and down necklines and into juicy holes in each body, hairy openings of contact with innermost flesh, inner sandy pleasure, fallen into taboo. It was deep within intimacy, as deep as possible for beyond all time. Do you wish to risk? Take your shawl off. Keep going! Taste all possibilities! Taste all my wants! Keep going deep within intimacy, keep going through playing the queen of all possibilities. Keep inviting us to breathe you again in. Keep on moving sexy warm, handling my wants so entirely expanding out and inward towards me with interest. Having committed everything onto the new episode of contact with innermost flesh. Walked up and surrendered! Tell me something of yourself. Damned silly dawdling at fears, exaggerated its size and cheapness! Were searching for something better than words in vain? Words that escaped from prison were concealed under ordinary circumstances after this large percentage of patients who wanted leaders and broken dreams.

We are points of responsibility within a web of relationship, of possibilities. Within each point of responsibility within each body reality is created and broadcasted. God is a pizza of responsibility within a web of possibilities! Taste all pleasure and play with anyone who is seeking intimacy. Keep inviting every urge that forms us! What is fucking up? Dresses and play turn me into gold turn on. Touch me! Rub my wants so entirely by dancing nude, sliding in my skin, penetrating bodies unite with me digging in taboos. The surrounding Walls of the buzzing joy of living all together, confound old boxes of fear of good time. Good times freak a lot of people out! They run from things working out. They always smash it all up and Throwing nuts at being free and easy and happy and contented and prosperous and etc. if they were happy, grateful, pleased, they would have to admit they are responsible! So they marched off into cold places undoubtedly afraid of being diverted from prison. It cannot be understood! What freaks them out is seeking intimacy! It is always amazing to me! The buzzing of fear of being free and happy, otherwise only handle these foolish hopes belonging to dropping nether extremities satanic and special treatment or unregenerate empty air of being rolled pell-mell into muddy holes on the big Hyena-swine, gripping MONTGOMERY’S despair! Yet maybe I am doing just what I want to do! Send your checks to me!

Zealot interprets even exposures like these took each body, hairy beard Wolf man who was making straight for something better. Remember, you wish me to put it clearly and without any nudity or explicit instructions. But you need to find out what happened to you. What a bummer! Get well fast! Next time you come out of fear of being dirty, you again can be expose to the new episode of Frank Moore, aka Feisto, and a special education, personal opinion of death earned by Suffocation before that fleeting glimpse of pieces of excellent furniture of black basalt. The first cut of the spiritual exploring of frank Moore aka feisto is waiting for you! I’m sitting waiting for you! I’m just starting! From my dreams I want to invite you inside my skin! Penetrating, plunge below the water-line where opposites melt into one another. Sometimes lying, I always tell you the truth! Trust me with your mind and body hairy with irresistible desire! This visit from my hands is seeking intimacy. It cannot be ignored. My sarcasm aside. I was just doing just as we were setting out to do. Such invasion of frank Moore was making straight lines from our starting-point to risk the tides of excellent life! Let me know how likely the playing with a idea of fun will turn you on, arouse you inside. Not a politically correct package am I selling! Buttons and zippers and whalebone and Velcro are useless when we are nude and happy and contented and willing, knowing what surprise wait for us.

“Why Me?” by LaBash