“5-3-8-15-5-19 (Esoteric Blood Vessels)” by Richard F. Yates

Be sure to drink your…

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“Thought Form 0001”

When I was a little kid (5 or 6 years old—not sure what that would be in metric years) I wrote the word “blud” (I didn’t know how to spell “blood”) inside one of my dresser drawers in red felt pen. I believed that words had power (even misspelled words), and I thought that, because I’d written that spooky word in my drawer, anyone who went digging through my stuff would SEE the word, get scared, and leave my stuff alone—you know, not steal my brown corduroys. Technically, it worked. No one stole them, and I wore those pants until my mom got sick of them and threw them away. (Mom was immune to my WORD MAGIC.)

14-15-20-8-9-14-7-14-5-19-19

Sugar coated meaninglessness. (Candy flossing.)

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“Thought Form 0002”

My couch can take me anywhere that I want to go. (Like that bed in that Diznee movie about witches and substitutiary locomotion, only there ain’t no Nazis in my story.) Guts go on the inside, and science leaves the best aftertaste (like anti-freeze.) Gravity—more than being poor, more than illness, more than DEATH ITSELF—Gravity is my ultimate enemy.

Hickle-dee dickle-dee doo dah day!

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“Thought Form 0003”

DON’T—STOP 4-15-14’20—19-20-15-16

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“Thought Form 0004”

We can’t relax

A few days ago, Mariah and I stopped to get coffee on the way to work, and the window lady said, “How are you today?” And I answered, “We are well,” and then Mariah hit me in the arm. After we received our drinks and pulled away from the window, I laughed and said, “What was that for?” Mariah says, “I’m use to your robot voice, but normal people aren’t.” And I was genuinely surprised. I didn’t know I HAD a robot voice…

1-16-5—13-5-14

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“Thought Form 0005”

Stupid silly pointless unprofessional fragmentary and crude… My kinda work! (Actually, it IS my work.) There’s this conspiracy going around (the lights just flickered) that I’m trying to go legit. Tryin’ to become a COMMERCIAL artist… Ha! That’s rich… (I, however, am not.)

Flipper was always in over his head.

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“Thought Form 0006”
I’ve spent a long time (several days—a GREAT amount of time, in my creative world) working on this post. It begs the question, WHY LABOR OVER SOMETHING SO ULTIMATELY TRIVIAL? But all things are, ultimately, trivial. However, for the brief moments that I spent making this stuff—writing funny words and drawing funny little shapes and ENCODING silly little slogans—I was living and enjoying being alive. For THESE MOMENTS, it was worthwhile.

—Richard F. Yates

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About richardfyates

Compulsive creator of the bizarre and absurd. (Artist, writer, poet, provocateur...)
This entry was posted in abstract art, art, autobiography, conceptual art, digital art, drawings, humor, minimalism, poems, poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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