Folks,

I'm in the process of planning and organizing what will be a monthly salon for creative folks.

Here's what I imagine: a diva-free zone with writers, performers, musicians, painters, and boundary-crossers to meet, mingle, talk shop, and share their work; no stage, no boundaries between audience and performer; no schedules, no itineraries; inter-generational, multi-gendered; invitation-only; private homes or private spaces; not for profit; a mingling of energy and talent driven by synchronicity, spontaneity, and the joy of building/sustaining community.

I had originally planned to do this on April 27th at Flawless's place to coincide with the tag sale and the waxing moon. For a number of reasons it looks like I will have to postpone. If Jack is still interested and able to host when this takes off, it will be there, but ultimately I hope for this to be at a different location each month, possibly themed.

Above all, I want a space that feels like home to all, that isn't profit driven, and that facilitates the movement of ideas and magic.

Thoughts? Suggestions?

I'm especially interested in meeting other writers, as that is my primary craft.

Below is my most recent piece, which I read at Tell Tale Art on the 25th of March:


Whore for the Universe

quote:

When transmitted through the sacred wrenching of meaning from matter by the Queen Mothers and Universal Whores—who rest their panty-hosed balls and hungry cunts in the interstitial shadow zone of this world and the next—Work! summons, it invokes, congratulates, throws up, and points out; it exists and refracts its audience at the ends of shattering possibility; it is the cry that curses and celebrates our barred entrance to the jouissance invitational. No mortal can have it, but we will continue to live as if we can and did.

Really good writing, CAM..Welcome to the Motherboards and we look forward to news of your salon-in-the-making

Thank you kindly, Chi Chi.

I love your piece, Cam

This is my favorite image:

quote:

The strangulated imitations and mistaken purpose of this word are carried on the tongues of the legions of needle-in-a-gay-stack drones who populate our ghettoes, desperately striving to be the boys who hated them in high school.