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

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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!


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

Art is a Bitch

Nude Stacy by Frank Moore

Someone asked:

1. What were the THREE MOST IMPORTANT things you did to get a break and start moving toward recognition as a performance artist?

2. While you were moving toward getting to where you needed to go, how did you make enough money to survive while not taking away TOO much time and energy from your creative work?

3. How do you spend your days now, mostly? e.g., approximately what percentage of each day is spent writing, marketing yourself, planning shows, arranging tours, scoping out and applying for grants, bringing in outside income, acting as a mentor to other artists, etc.?

4. What do you love MOST about doing what you do now?

5. What do you HATE most about doing what you do now?

I can only answer
art is not a career
not a money maker
but a money taker
an addiction,
a life long master
who does not give
a flying fuck
loves, hates,
what I want to do,
where I want to go

the artist’s job is to surrender,
to follow, to melt into art

making money is easy
but the river of art rarely flows
naturally that way
without damming the river up

so keep your day job
get a day job you like doing
because art is your mistress of night
& you ain’t her pimp
she’ll take your money & time
she will take you into the basement
of the unseen

you’ll get old with her
attending her needs
rocking on the porch with her
no goals, no plans, no marketing,
no rush.

Just rocking, just surprises everyday,
just people dropping by,
just floating without knowing,
just doing, just suffering, just enjoying.
Just following.

Just trust the bitch art!

© Frank Moore 03/20/1999

“Frankly Speaking”

Frank wrote a column called “Frankly Speaking” for each issue of his zine, The Cherotic (r)Evolutionary, TC(r), that he published in the 1990s. Reading through them now … they are filled with gems … and so much of it applies to right now.

This, for example, is excerpted from the TC(r) #2 “Frankly Speaking” column:

“I’m lazy. For months I have been thinking about writing about the liberal sickness called “political correctness.” This sickness fragments people into artificial groups (black, gay, women, disabled, etc.) within which they then are forced to stay. This sickness makes the individual so fragile that any “bad” or “wrong” word or image (nigger, fag, chick, cripple) can completely shatter the person. This fragileness makes it impossible to function in the real world without the artificial dome of pc-censorship. I was going to examine this sickness within the art world, using the art combine Highways/High Performance magazine as my case study. But I kept putting it off. I’m lazy. Then Curtis York’s letter fell into my hands. Now I don’t need to write that article!

Talking about pc-censorship brings us to the cartoon by the rock’n’roll artist John Seabury. We have gotten shit for running his “pig rape” drawing in this issue … from people who normally are against censorship. I’ve been thinking about why this drawing gets people so angry or uptight. I don’t think it is the images. After all, look at LaBash’s drawings. The taboo-breaking image contents are equal between them. The difference between these two artists is LaBash is nonlinear while Seabury is linear.”

(Frank is talking about “The Political Correctness Mafia” by Curtis York that is in Issue 2. You can see John Seabury’s cartoon here:  https://www.eroplay.com/seabury-pig.html)

And then there is this excerpted from Frank’s column in Issue #4:

“I was feeling better. Then I remembered that some “gay” bookstores will not carry T.C.(r) because it is not “queer enough”! It doesn’t matter that about eighty percent of our contributors consider themselves gay or bi. It doesn’t matter that some of the works focus directly on “gay” reality. It doesn’t matter that T.C.(r.) has always been included in the queer zine scene. And it does not matter that I am a lesbian in a male body.”

“Frankly Speaking” from TC(r) issue #4

This is the very first “Frankly Speaking” column. It appeared in Issue #0. Frank thought that Issue #0 was totally self-promotion so he didn’t put it on the website and it wasn’t available to buy! We have just added this column to the site. Issue #0 will appear in the compilation book.

Editorial by FRANK MOORE
April 10, 1991

At first look, this first issue of TCR looks like a shameless self-promotion, a big advertisement for my book, Cherotic Magic, for my apprenticeship, for my 6-session course, for my performance art and videos and tapes, and who knows what else. Well, you have to start somewhere. And that somewhere is the exploration of the magical edge I have been on for about 25 years. This promotion that we call TCR is a promotion of the edge itself.

Since Cherotic Magic was published, there has been a written dialog centering around the book. What is exciting about this dialog is that the people in the dialog are serious explorers of the edge themselves. They are writers, artists, publishers, cultural revolutionaries, reality subverters around the world. In this issue, under the cover of writing about my work, they talk about magical issues that I for one have been hungry to talk about for a long time in the depth that is possible with people who have committed their lives to going across the taboo border to effect evolutionary change. In future issues of TCR, I hope we will move far beyond the book, Cherotic Magic, and give one another aid and comfort on the edge by linking together, by announcing new findings of our hidden experiments of nonlinear change.

TCR is a journal of the edge. TCR is an offensive movement or measure, offering alternatives to the fragmentation, isolation, personal helplessness which is actively promoted by the combine of power systems. TCR is anarchical, based on the personal responsibility to reshape reality into a more human, trusting, loving reality, full of fun and pleasure. TCR is not a reaction. It is a magical act of enjoying life. It is a journal of and for people who are doing this magical act. Thanks to S/R Press, we finally have a channel of communications among the personal revolutions … otherwise known as mutations … which has always been the main fuel for evolution. Now we magical misfits know we are not alone, that there are others out/in here/there feeling, thinking, trying, doing similar things. This just by itself should speed evolution up.

Let me hear from you. Let us play together…

All of the columns are linked from here: https://www.eroplay.com/frankly.html

Frank’s Letterboard

Here are some of Frank’s old letterboards … construction varies depending on how they connected to Frank’s wheelchair. Frank designed all of his letterboards starting back in the 1960s.

Frank in New York City, NY circa 1974:

Circa late 1970s:

Also circa late 1970s:

Frank on the boardwalk in Atlantic City, NJ, August 1984:

Street performance in front of The Lab, San Francisco in 1988 with a letterboard mounted on plexiglass:

Board circa early 1990s that Frank used on his “motor” wheelchair (painted by Mikee LaBash):

Frank and Linda Mac on University Ave circa 1990. Photo by Jim Appleton.

Board mounted on plexiglass circa early 1990s used on Frank’s “push” wheelchair (painted by Mikee LaBash):

Frank and Linda Mac during Frank Moore’s Shaman’s Den on FAKE Radio circa 1998/1999 with another plexiglass board:

This board was used through the 2000s until 2013 (board construction by Alexi Malenky, painted by Mikee LaBash):

Frank and Linda at Risk For Deep Love October 2012.
Frank is now using a laser pointer.

This “adjustable” board was built in 2013 by Alexi for use on Frank’s new reclining wheelchair. The board had hinges so it could be adjusted as Frank reclined (painted by Mikee LaBash):

Frank and Linda at Erotic Risk For Deep Love September 2013 performance
… with adjustable board.