People sometimes ask, “Where is your work heading? What do you want to do next?”
It is not my work. It is not my choice.
For me, it is not a question of a next thing. It is a growing, evolving vision. I am carried along in this vision of life, of art. A performance does not have a beginning or an end. It is just a tiny bit of the vision. The vision braids around itself, flowing on. I do not know where the vision is taking me. I have not been down this vision before.
One thing’s for sure. We humans are not the end of evolution.
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 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 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
of 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 life, 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 do!
At least you can play football until you break your neck playing football! Then…
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 paralyzed, 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 paralyzed.
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 color.
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 what is possible!
Poetry of truffles and Champagne and yum yum of philosophy, humor among various gangland serfs 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 colors 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!
Lying here together Just holding each other Small, warm, Smelling each other Breathing each other in Breathing life in Breathing everything in Taking everything into our bodies Our body Breathing life, All life in, deeply To our core, Then breathing pleasure out, All warmed up, Breathing warm pleasure In all life everywhere, Watering life, Growing stronger, freer With every deep breath Taking EVERYTHING in Transforming transmuting everything Into our rose-skin reality Falling falling falling Masks falling away Who we pictured ourselves Falling away Just surrender into each other, Into egoless self within us combined, Without fear Trusting the core within us Falling Skin melting Nerve-endings pull us in From within Rich blood rushes in, Washing us from within, Tides within between us Rocking rubbing on each other In the sea of skin Everywhere surrounding us, Enveloping us You lay here, me in your mouth Not going anywhere Just slight movement To keep arouse pleasure alive Beyond time Before separation, Before birth and death A calm excitement Of being together Being within, Not being between
There is a draining, A releasing of surface tension Skin pales As everything flows deeper To the core Everything gets slower, Warm cool Beats melt together Warm wax colors flow in veins We get too small, We become invisible Rubbing rocking me From your belly button Downward In between Moist Absorbing everything Into our grooved smallness Into the life code of change Where we play Unseen, unknown Rocking small, pale Falling Without fear Into the cool tickling grass Sinking into cool slippery mud Getting dirty Falling, Following the roots Downward into cracks In hard cold rocks Breaking them open Revealing hidden meanings Breaking through to underground ocean Of dark invisible matter, Warm satin which seeks out All space, Seeks out all skin, Becoming/enfolding our body Filling everything So small That we plunge into the molten core, Into subatomic center beyond space Into solar explosion deep in the universal everywhere breathing spiraling warm change in and out deeply as we lie here smelling the sweet sweat of our very human bodies
In 2002, Will Harper interviewed Frank for a feature article about Frank to be published in the East Bay Express. Watch the video below to discover why Frank wrote this poem ….
Ansel Adams was no Will Harper by Frank Moore, Wednesday, January 01, 2003
Ansel Adams was no Will Harper Never could be! Hey, he barely became Ansel Adams! Took him about 25 years To get started Being Ansel Adams! Before that He was That fuck-up Ansel That drop-out That reject That hopeless kid! Thank god For rich pappy!
No, Ansel Adams was no Will Harper!
But then again Ansel wanted to be a piano player But some fool Must have told Ansel He was no Jellyroll! Some fool Must have told Ansel In this life You have to channel Your creativity Down into YOUR TALENT! Never mind What you enjoy! Never mind Ansel wrote too!
Everyone knows Each person Is a limited soul Not able To plunge Into the unlimited Ocean of free play, But has to be content In the wading pool Of genre Of TALENT
No, Ansel Adams was no Will Harper
But then I’m no Ansel I’m no Will I’m just Frank I have to live with that! DARN!
You can read the article, “Touching Our Private Parts” by Will Harper, along with subsequent related articles and letters to the editor published in the East Bay Express here: https://www.eroplay.com/ebx/index.html
A family friendly poetry reading? Really? Do you mean like READERS’ DIGEST? MMMM… I suppose some poets would go along with it… The kind in READERS’ DIGEST The kind who don’t see Don’t mind The command For “self” censorship Tucked neatly in the warmly caramel apple Phrase Of FAMILY FRIENDLY There ain’t no “self” censorship You are censoring art, Words, Intensity, Truths, The Audience Down into nice mellow Fascism
I suppose some are willing to accept this…. The kind who don’t question Questions like Which family? It definitely ain’t my family Not any of the expanding rings Of my family In fact It is down right hostile To my human tribal family Which teaches our kids How to use words To communicate with all kinds of people In all kinds of contexts Openly Deeply Freely Exploring all life With a passionate honesty, Sitting together In the yummy smelling kitchen Of Life Sitting together Around the tribal fires Generations sitting together Passing the talking stick around Telling their stories Revealing their desires and fears, Wisdom and folly Exploring myths… Listening and telling Into the center of respect and acceptance… All the family listening All tell In their own ways… Silly little sister Wise grandma Hot angry brother Mother finding new words Dad listening to family voices… All beyond taboos In this sacred ritual of telling.
I don’t really know what to make of this Hostile FAMILY FRIENDLY… Ok, I do. This is making poetry, All art, Into a hallmark lapdog Of the brainwashing “socialization” Of little lily and billy Reinforcing SCHOOL/CHURCH/CORPORATE shallow Dogma, Using us poets To be the shallow virus dogma carriers, Thinking FAMILY FRIENDLY can ever be Anything but enforced shallow reality On everyone
Sure, When I read at schools I play by THE RULES Not because of the kids
But to get into the brainwashing camps To slip the kids A subversive potion of Words/ideas/images
But shoot me If I ever read at a FAMILY/KIDS FRIENDLY POETRY READING… No… Shoot the fascist’s parents!
Flaming hair, flaming voice singing belting raging the blues, singing setting things right for the people, belting it, the spirit, out beyond her voice, flaming her voice hoarse beyond linear limits.
Listen very closely, carefully, focus on her breasts as she leads you by the arm through an ever changing nonlinear maze of stories, connections, names, human passions. You’ll need this focus point to surrender.
She, Jesse, can and will lead you skipping and dancing into the heart of all things, of all matters.
She has lived and danced upon this liquid lusty path, has lived deep hard soft in the not-so-clear/clean/pure waters of humanity long before, and will long after, us.
So surrender to the mad woman, to the senile bag lady, to the peter pan child… fall into her time warp hole… fall into Jesse, and you’ll be falling into wisdom deep and warm!
We enter the magic cave Of play and healing, Shedding our fiction characters We use outside, Ego masks, skin tight, Limiting….limiting the expanding. Those masks will change When we put them back on, Softening to fit our new bodies, new faces… Later.
Here we are More than ourselves More of ourself Expanding Expanding into one another Rubbing skin Friction of pleasure Falling into the in-between Surrender to the falling Out of time and space, Surrendering into discomfort Of strangeness which contains A strange comfort of remembering The body and soul
Falling into the in-between, Surrendering into the trance Pleasure friction of creation Rubbing dead skin into each other, Aroused and excited, Going into each other, Taking each other in, There is no THE OTHER, No IN-BETWEEN. Breathing each other deeply, Smelling and tasting, Licking and kissing, Prickly state of inter-penetration, Nerves connected In the skin, Melt bodies together, Removes the lies of separation, Hearts beat together strong relax, Rich red blood flows deep.
We rock calm deep contained within each other Within the combined body Deep pleasure flows over us Washing from deep within.
We have been here before, Being contained within everything, Enveloping everything within. Lying extended within our combined body, Combined self/soul, relaxed, enjoying being within, Sucking aroused pleasure up As a tide of change, Enjoying being with each other Without going anywhere, Being enough.
The tide, the laugh Giggle, sobbing Pleasure Leave our body reality Trance of inter-dependence, Inter-penetration, Holy healing play dance, And flows inward into the whole cosmos, Changing everything, Changing healing unseen, unknown
We leave the cave With each other inside… And our masks expand and soften.
I came to play! Came to the table to play I don’t care what I have to do to get a seat at the table
I play every hand dealt to me not really caring about winning or losing or about skill… just playing hands to stay in the game
Yes, I am a dangerous player, keep on playing
I came to play! Came to bed not to fuck you but to melt with you enjoying mutual surrender washing pleasure swept away into oneness exploring skin from the inside, beyond time, beyond self, into the fun of being into exploring the furry cozy sweating love that can’t be confined to the bed, but claims the whole life as its playpen I came to play to mix things up to see what unexpected will appear, to jam with playmates, to lose ourselves within one another, within the playing, the dancing, the touching, the music… into listening and melting
I came to play… playing life the best way I can… always playing against the house, against the odds… not a smart player… never in competition… just keep my eye on the ball, on each hand, on following the every move of Lady Luck
I came to play… often in the lonely fields beyond taboo, breaking thru THE WALL to new possibilities… but I am a team player… always looking for playmates to get muddy or sweaty with… because… truth be told… playing with myself for myself has never been fun, only lonely
I came to play with colors, noises, realities, bodies, words, characters, limits, dreams, images, life, death, symbols, magic… and with you
I came to play and I’m a dangerous player because I don’t play for money, fame, power, or from anger, bitterness, hatred, emptiness, or to win… so I can’t lose can’t be beaten!
I came to play to play just for fun ….just to change everything!
I came to play… after all… I want to play with you… we are mammals, after all!
Creativity is like shitting. Most people do it. Everyone needs to do it…. More or less regularly. Every shit is different. There is nothing like a good shit! Some people obsess on their shitting! Some obsess on their own shit; Others obsess on others’ shit, Even buying it! I just enjoy a good shit! Oh shit, I’ll let you in on a secret… I play with shit! Creativity is just playing.