The Frank Moore Archives

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

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The Inner Maze – SEVENTEEN

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!


SEVENTEEN

Strange sexual emotion gave me a lot to play with. The core of my work play in the cold was always basically for getting together with people in various ways and often kissing ladies’ bodies, melting into cream of natural curiosities of these issues of life. Taking it all beyond taboos. Jump into possibilities! Taste all pleasure and love and high ideals and everything else painted upon folds of skin. I can book you into my carnal reputation! It is everywhere everyday life, reaching outside censorship. This survey is going on, making mistakes. Oh, well! How do they know? Don’t care about macho risking. I just couldn’t live with those horrid bits of debris of shipwrecked fear. Where our butts are beautiful and tranquil, unsuspectingness of my face was transfigured and getting all the Canadian bacon into intimacy for when we have developed such clear and transparent glass partition, waiting actively involved in various stages of the screaming bedlam of women and children and invited several Persons, overhearing this chapter becomes strategically imperative and high up above the immense hollow of life. People think my work is all erotic pleasure and play with anyone to get turned on! Try being on the bottom on the pile of erotically skirmish bodies, some football players, some bony models, some lusty fleshy whales, some groping for agenda, some crying for new poetic furbelows of freedom intimacy and other indigenous productions of possibilities. I can tell you that this hurts! It’s worth it just to travel into intimacy together without checking and getting all judging and everything. But pain is not my way of breathing into hot cooking-range arousing turn on. And having my sentiments and motives questioned ain’t a joyful whinny experience. But the beautiful warm juicy sweaty rubbing pleasure of deep magic signified something fair is being revealed is why I do what I do. I never shock to shock/offend… Well except with assholes [ASSHOLES is a technical term]. But in general I never aim to shock/offend [or to please]. I just do what is called for, what’s happening during the piece, during life, reaching outside of boxes of comfortable zones. I’m willing to deal with any reaction to the art. The dealing becomes the art. Anything dreadful transported into cream and transparent Sheets of coiling like snakes and getting all the way beyond taboos.

Feisto doesn’t do anything with anything. We do together in our relationship with little fellah like fairy-tales to play with anyone to imagine staying the way beyond Europe and America. That forms a perfect tunnel under swirling dresses smooth-shaven legs and hairy legs thrust out wide-eyed widespread open, ready for sweaty life reaching up instant into possibilities taste them so charming pink roses, slits slots pussies whatever across his mouth. Grandpapa did slip Christmas Songs and sonnets and other nestle of erotically music for the private holidays. He wants you dearly today when somebody was one among others surrounding to travel to archive and expansions of deep stage of restlessness. I say more than I should! Read between the universal underground lines! Overhearing the magic words that are beyond the page and in a different language of willingness to ponder in freedom to the luminous atmosphere true enough who could keep listening and smiling. This opens doors that are beyond taboos. I read like this during my Reading Phase between 1963 and 1972. didn’t know I was preparing for anything. I am not ambitious, but more from curiosity about being involved in various states of every imaginable types of these treasures. I kept writing scripts with roles for me where I get the girl[s]! Read about experimental theater and performance theory plausible as possible and communication on air, revealing holes of softly-incisive nonsense that long waiting actively involved in true enough attempt to reach that point until the early morning when secretions have downloaded. I kept storing up everything in my body physically and back brain, becoming little something dirty growling of some cavity and communication between pieces of the everyday life. I didn’t know, didn’t have a plan, didn’t have a fixed ending, didn’t deny access to the core of what is happening at all times. Freak of nature on a dance ritual into intimacy, joy and gratitude of every gigantic bodies melting into cream. I simply didn’t go backward. I knew I did not want what’s in backward. So why go backward, even if it would be comfortable in assumed an extremely aged cadaverous face? And why try things that I saw didn’t work for other people? Obviously didn’t work for them as I observed them in various states of the times during the fucking thinking telepathic gem brimming over into hot water? So I avoided a lot of pitfalls, saving me a lot of time and trouble and vexation and energy of some terrible apprehensions. It is simply practical. But then Polly took such pains about experimental chopping away with her chirping, beeping and back again before our horror for free love. All what is practical, obvious and gratitude of tribally living was all covered hidden. But I just danced on with indefatigable clowns of yokes of jokes!

I never check if I still want to do what I wanted to do sometime before. Such checking takes three seconds or so, removing me from the dancing, causing jerking that isn’t much fun. I assume I’m doing what I want to do and will flow into the next step. I just do not care who does what, who desires what. If you really want me to do so much rubbing pleasure and we are a tribal body physically following in a deep dancing, it would be just plain silly to check if I want to rub you… Just as silly as eating my share of tiny sugar cookies, then eating all of them because there was not enough to share. Strange conceptually of sharing and locative desire and stretched out from our melted body. Moaning shouting coaxing gesturing and dying in the hunger of depression and resentment and frustration. I’m convinced there was nobody to push back and forth between pieces of despair. I felt them all with kindness, very inspiring and very true. We are still here! Please do send copies of sharing of tiny white sea clothing. I want you. John does reshape his body for me and I do the same for him. He answered as I directed him. After all, he is me. Mad hard strange man came to buy me and I can’t wait to mark in freedom active little man with his accordion and very graceful and wonderfully intense blue stripes swirling. Balls of life dancing erotically, following one another, merging in to one another sometimes lying hidden under ordinary conditions.

I can’t remember where we met in the beginning of our maze body splashed with letters of pure spiritual nonsense and drunk with the traditional fund-raisers of what is between this and that. So I may repeat things over and over again… But hopefully in different conceptually contexts. But I don’t know! I will type and will vocalize you ting-a-ling in to trances dancing erotically, following in our next generation of pure core of what is between two clouds. I don’t understand people. I understand how life works. Funny, the bimbo quit the rehearsal which contains over thirty cds of pure spiritual love and high heaven and the twelfth open ready note just when it was getting good, comin’ together. Why do people tend to leave when things are getting good? Shit attracts problems! Jane, will you unbutton all morality for me? And explain people to me? I totally missed something like crushed brick Walls which kept storing up those erratic blocks in your mind. In favour of awareness, we’ll play these tracks. But really I do not really know why. We two get such shit! We are watching funny trances dancing explicitly with infinite continuous stream of pretty impressive orgasms on the Colbert report. I am staying here. Are you? Fucking thinking telepathic, are you? Fucking baby indulging Throwing nuts at the purple velvet cushion lips and sliding warm juicy sweaty underfed drones. Trolleys filled with quiet conversation turned out to meet death with dignity. He decided to come and smoke alone for several centuries. I can’t remember what my brother told me. What is stuck up between your legs again? A very disturbing way to end this chapter!

Drawing by LaBash

The Inner Maze – SIXTEEN

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!


SIXTEEN

Sorry, I had to cut it short and scant and run to read the last few chapters at the Temescal. It is called life, outside of this novel and this extraordinary supernatural modality of a maze. But I am back with Little Fellah and my left hand Mike [the calm, level headed, smooth dude] and my right hand Ike [the high-strung, nervous, shy worrywart]… And other night-birds and other indigenous productions of this inner sandy pleasure building subversion of arousing desire and stretched out floating. Did you miss me? This novel is making the rounds at the stand-up joints, crack jokes that promise that you may come with little bells chiming.

Well, Mike always has had a special relationship with Little Fellah. Yep, I am left handed. Mike always has rubbed Little Fellah the right way… Well, rubbing raw, the salt of the loneliness sweat streamed down into red sores, mixed with sulphur pleasure. Paul Anka, Ricky Nelson, and Fabian stared down from the TEEN BEAT posters on my walls as I first discovered beating the meat after they pulled down my balls. I was thirteen in Germany. I was listening to better music on Radio Luxemburg. But those lame posters were all I could get Mom to put up. I was sneaking peaks at PLAYMATES OF PLAYBOY. But teen-age idols watched Mike rub blisters on Little Fellah for the first-nighter! After a time I learned the trick of one knee push ups when I was lying on my side, rubbing Little fellah on the cool Sheets of the bed. Much more accommodating and warm juicy. But that only worked when I was lying on my side. When I was lying on my back, it was Mike’s job! Mom Connie never commented about Little Fellah’s red blisters or the dry wrinkled stains on my pajamas and on my Sheets… Or about my wailing with the radio Luxemburg! But I wonder how I got the German maid to show me her tits in my bedroom. I couldn’t even speak German… In fact, I couldn’t even talk. Oh, those damn mysteries of art! She went on to rip us off! These symptoms now can invade the bed much more zippy and warm and moist farts and feeling rather intense.

I never understood the fad of jacking off. To me it was always filling hunger with Spam. I have not jerk off in over thirty, forty years. That doesn’t mean Mike and Little Fellah don’t have a special relationship together. Mike always is rubbing aroused smiling ah yes warm pleasure… However it is everywhere everyday activities deep magic signified nothing sexual, just playing feeling goodly dimensions of calmly happy, going nowhere, just in a state of elation. Feeling goodly happy. But Mike is rubbing aroused within me. It is not going within you, being curious about your ideas. It is not melting away with another soft dreaminess into actual Songs on whims exploring journey together, both electric spark from you and kinky live on communes. So it is a cool beer on a hot cooking-range. I have expectations without pictures and churches and the symptoms of human desires. I enjoy a beer, enjoy Mike rubbing Little Fellah, like enjoying purely primitive watching television. But there’s much more zippy and warm and tender conscience in my bedroom, lumber-room and valuable young lady endowed with great relish. Why settle for being so alone for several centuries? I can’t give up! I always think what if the next time would be the time everything would have open up for me if I had just tried again. So I kept trying, kept erasing my comfort zones of dullish death-bed of canned life. I just couldn’t live with that unknowing about the next step not taken into uncomfortable eddies of possibilities. That always motivated me. I never was ambitious. But I always was self-moving and motivated. When things got too comfortable, fragile I always was ready to go into adventures which allowed free movement of the elements. I always tried to include other people in the unknown freedom, intimacy and other indigenous productions of possibilities. Fragile comfy zones are prisons of isolation… Not really comfortable at all. I’m looking for going outside and inside pleasure of deep contact with you, stretching, risking, expanding, twisting into flexibility, melting into cozy little bed-n-breakfast of delights with you. I am not talking about macho risking to prove something, for power Tools ego acting in to dangers with no context. That is just as fragile as comfort zones of dullish death-bed existence. I don’t try to digest whether I feel comfortable, lucky. I assume I’m eager abundance and motivated to communicate through language of willingness to go into anything with you, stretching both of us into cozy little green Caves of Lila, working anything with you, stretching into flexibility, melting into one another. Sometimes lying hidden under ordinary conditions shipwrecks, sometimes standing up straight, almost unconscious unexpected dexterity of deep meaning… Physically this is mind-blowing mind-expanding strange sexual emotion with you during my childhood experience. This is a live comfort, knowing humor and no particular answers because we are together. This comfort is a jamming state of deep magic signified the velvet ledge of rock solemn injunction of you and me, babe! Who would be surprise that we are still going higher? I assume things will work out. I have always gone out to meet people with hearts or whatever, to meet life with opened arms and smile or screaming or whatever… But legs wide apart! Getting hurt is a part of life… But avoiding life is death without living! And that is hell! I never have gone to hell personally! Getting hurt, failing, getting lost all build your immune system, your ability to cope and adapt… To play with life, knit a quilt of warm diversity. All of this is outside of comfort zones. This molten clay of fleshy flexibility is much more zippy dependable and inclusive cozy than rigid perpendicular fragile gated comfort zones in which you have to be always checking if you are still inside and no particular exertion of boxes of eroticism, whatever between pieces of coral has come to threaten to commit suicide.

I have always been playing with outside life, communicated I wanted and needed to be with people on the outside, deep inside. I was always basically a happy person, even when I was isolated and looking intently into the neighborhood of the everyday activities which I was outside of. I always tried to include myself, projected joy of living. Even when I was five, when the doctors were still saying I had no intelligence and should be put in to a institution and be forgotten, my being happy, engaged with people at the day-school, even when I couldn’t talk, made it obvious to the teachers, etc, that the doctors were wrong. This happiness, playing with life, reaching outside of myself to land people in to relating with me directly always has saved me. Wonder who were/are lost in the human warehouses of all kinds if someone like me escaped!

There is no modest humble unassuming bone in my body! Physically this happiness appeared to have always been playing in me, doing something right! Also there is no modest shy bone in my body either! Perhaps you have not notice! Maybe this is why I rub some surprises into some people the vulgar way. I never understood modesty of any kind. I understand real humbleness of being always amazed and awe-struck by everything in life. But when somebody writes IN MY HUMBLE OPINION, humble ain’t the reality that’s going on. As you can tell, my opinions are never humble pie. Taste them up deeply with opened arms and smile as I write this down on you, expanding twisting into intimacy. I always put myself outside waiting actively for people to play with me directly sitting behind the chess board at the teen club waiting for someone who would play, Jerry my eight year Younger brother sitting beside me ready to move my men as I directed him. I don’t know how I directed him. After all, Jerry didn’t know how each piece moved… And I communicated with him by head nods, grunts, smiles to get whatever across. When there was nobody to play chess with, I just people watched, listening, overhearing. This was my acting training. This was my period of time for preparing, Reading everything, a wide range of useless information and shit, from Mike Hammer, history, biography, how to put people in to trances, philosophies, Mark Twain, sci-fi, acting and directing theories, white magic [creativity], film editing, political manifestos, and everything else for no obvious reason. Keep in mind, growing up I had THE GIANT GOLDEN BOOK OF NATURAL HISTORY that I could turn Pages by myself. So I did for hours. Then THE SEARS CATALOG. Then the dictionary. Then the encyclopedia. Yes, I was always preparing for when I could get out into the world and be with people, not just watching nude legs under swirling dresses undulating feverish wakeful to trances dancing at the teen club sock hop to the house band BILL HALEY AND HIS COMETS. I erase the comfort zones of dullish death-bed existence and getting money on running aground, bringing maximum breadth of breast of natural curiosities not boxed in by holding on to pictures or expectations, without checking and getting so frightened to play in low paying gigs. I just love you dearly to the core of my duet with life! Reaching finally the screaming end of this chapter, I just couldn’t live with those horrid bits of hay and oats every night and often bands play better hopefully we will be proud to carry the homeless and everything else for no obvious reason!

“Talking Bi” by LaBash

Adobe Books Art Show, Jam and Let Me Be Frank Screening

From the poster:

The Art of Frank Moore & LaBash
The first ever showing of shaman performance artist Frank Moore’s erotic innocent primitive passionate digital art, alongside the funny/disturbing/mind-scrambling/reality-bending drawings of LaBash.
Sunday, Feb. 2 – Saturday Feb. 15, 2020
Hours
M-F 12-8pm
Sa-Su 11am-8pm

Let Me Be Frank video screening
On Valentine’s Day, the first ever live screening of episodes from the web video documentary series, Let Me Be Frank, based on the life and art of shaman, performance artist, writer, poet, painter, rock singer, director, TV show host, teacher and bon vivant, Frank Moore.
Come EARLY and bring your musical instruments for a music jam before the screening!
Friday, Feb. 14, 2020
5-6:30pm – MUSIC JAM
6:30-8pm – LET ME BE FRANK screening and Q&A

FREE!

Adobe Books
3130 24th Street
San Francisco, CA 94110

Corey and Erika setting up the show.
Photo by Keith Wilson
Photo by Keith Wilson
Photo by Keith Wilson
Photo by Keith Wilson

MORE PHOTOS HERE AND HERE


See the art show (and setup) here:

About the jam and screening

by Erika Shaver-Nelson, Alexi Malenky and Corey Nicholl

When we arrived at Adobe for the event, we found that people had left comments and drawings in the notebook we had left in the gallery space.

“fuckin’ love this stuff!” “you inspire me profoundly” “many thoughts head full …” “whoa!” “WTF?! infathomable, navy?” “the world needs more FRANK MOORE for all of us to be sexually liberated!”

Heather said that the art show has been getting a lot of positive reactions, especially from young people who come into the shop. Heather and the other volunteers at Adobe Books create a very open feeling there, and it felt great to have the event there. She told us later that when we take down the art in a week, the next group is a bunch of young people who will be doing some sleepovers in the space, and writing their dreams on the walls …

We brought homemade popcorn (two kinds: buttered & curry), and orange spearmint water, and valentine’s chocolate … they were a big hit, devoured!

Michael Peppe was the first to arrive, and the first person who came for the jam. Only one other came to jam, one of the people we recognized from several of Frank’s later performances, including at Temescal. He brought a drum which he played, and sometimes took toy instruments and shook them inside the drum, etc.

But at first, it was just Peppe … he came back into the gallery and sat down at a keyboard and started playing … we three started jamming with him, and before long there was a couple who had not even come for the event, but were drawn back to the gallery space, and after checking out the art, they also joined the jam. It was really fun, and it felt/sounded like a Frank jam, felt primal, and Erika said that the feeling during the jam was “freedom”. As time went on, more people came in and joined the jam.

The Jam

Between the first two episodes, we were talking with Michael Peppe, and he said some amazing things about Frank …

“You have a bunch of things that you regret in your life, not necessarily that you regret doing, but regret not doing, but I was thinking watching the film that that’s one I totally do not regret, is hanging out with Frank Moore, and jumping into his thing, you know, going to performances, being in the performances, watching the videos, reading the text, and all his art … not one second of my life was wasted hanging out with Frank Moore.”
He remembered the first time he performed with Frank at UC Berkeley. “From that moment on, yeah, I absolutely do not regret any of that.”

He is such a once in a lifetime kind of person. Usually in art, you think well, wow, he was great, I wonder who the next guy’s gonna be. You know, who’s gonna follow up. There is no next Frank Moore. There is only one. There is only one, and that’s all you get. And I’m sure that there’s not going to be anyone quite as amazing and remarkable as him. The world has had plenty of time to come up with another one, and it hasn’t managed to do it, so … he’s it, he’s the only one.”

He also talked about the Outrageous Beauty Revue, which is when he first saw Frank at the Mabuhay in 1981. “No one had ever done that, and no one has done it since.” “Celebrating people for who they are, what they are, whatever they look like …” He was also really struck by the quotes from Frank at the end of the 1st episode, about faking it until you make it, and how Frank saw himself as beautiful. “And like he said, that’s magic. That’s what magic is. You know, that’s something to think about. That’s magic.”

Watching Let Me Be Frank with a live audience was amazing … it was the first time, after only having watched it together at home. Both the reactions, laughter, etc. and the silence really made you feel like people were taking a lot in from the episodes.

Alexi counted about 25 people at the screening. Among the people who came was a coworker from the health food store where Corey works, Kacey, and Erika’s coworker Megan and her boyfriend Josh. Megan was the last student who worked with Frank. Also, Keith Wilson came, the filmmaker who is doing his own documentary on Frank.

Let Me Be Frank screening

One of the first questions after the screening was if Frank had been an organizer for disabled people in the bay area community, or if his work drew other people with disabilities into his work. We talked about how he had participated in the protests in the early 80s at the Federal building in SF over the ADA, and also about the group that put on the OBR, and how it came together through Frank’s workshops, and that there were several people with disabilities that were part of the workshops and later formed deeper relationships, formed households together, etc.

We talked also about how Frank was challenging to the disability community in the seventies, because while they were advocating independence, hiring people to help you so that you could be “independent”, Frank was talking about having deep relationships with friends and lovers who would take care of your needs.

We also told the story of Frank showing Fairytales Can Come True at the CP Center.

Heather brought up what she had read in How To Handle An Anthropologist about Frank’s experience at the San Francisco Art Institute, and about not getting booked by gallery spaces and being embraced by other subcultures like the punk scene … and we ended up telling the story of The Lab cancelling Frank’s performances, and how the poetry community came out to perform with him on the street in front of the space. And then Peppe talked about how you can’t even count how many places have banned Frank! And how Frank didn’t care, he just thought it was funny!

A Japanese woman who Heather told us later had come specifically “for the Frank Moore event” told Erika that she had a friend who had been severely disabled, and gets very down in the dumps about what she can’t do anymore (she is an artist), and that she felt that Frank was really inspiring, and would be inspiring to her friend.

At the end of the night, after the second episode, she talked again about how Frank was really inspiring, especially how for so long, from such an early point, Frank had this idea of interdependence (instead of independence), and she was struck by his self-respect and his will to do his art, that was really admirable, and a lot of people could not do this, so she couldn’t understand how anyone could ever ban him! She also said he was “so cute! so lovable”

Afterward, a couple who had come to the event came up to us. Matt is someone who volunteers at Adobe, and is a musician who recently did a dissertation for his degree at Mills College where he helped create musical instruments for people with disabilities, that they could play and jam together with. He was really inspired by Frank, and had been thinking about doing something about Frank with his disabled students where he teaches at an Academy, but he said he will have to see what the administration of the school is open to.

Also after the screening, as we were packing up, Heather’s partner Kyle talked about the part of the OBR episode where Steve Hoffman was playing Joe Cocker. He was really impressed. He said it was “pure rock ‘n’ roll”, and that he have never seen anything quite like it.

When Peppe left, he asked us when is the next one!? He wants to be there.

Heather wants to do more screenings/jams, and suggested that perhaps the next one could be around Frank’s birthday!

From left to right: Heather, Corey, Erika and Alexi

MORE PHOTOS HERE


Watch the jam, screening and Q&A here:

You can watch the two episodes that were shown:

EPISODE 1: A Lucky Guy

EPISODE 12: Outrageous Beauty Revue

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!


FIFTEEN

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.