"A Piece of Paper Trapped in a Bush" by Richard F. Yates

I spotted a piece of paper trapped in a bush
in the rain
It could be love letter
to a heart that will never know it’s cherished
Or it could be a ransom note
for a child who will never be returned
Or it could be a formula
for a disease that will now never be cured
Or it could be a rejection letter
for an author who will never write again
Or it could be a suicide note
for a family who will never know why he’s gone
Or it could be some homework
for a kid who didn’t care if his C+ ever made it to mom

I spotted a piece of paper trapped in a bush
in the rain
And I left it there

---Richard F. Yates
(Primitive Thoughtician and Grand Hoohaa of The P.E.W.)

https://primitiveentertainment.com/
http://readadamnbookwithrfy.blogspot.com
https://primitiveentertainment.threadless.com/
https://www.redbubble.com/people/richardfyates/shop
https://www.facebook.com/richard.f.yates/

“Pretty Little Things” by Richard F. Yates

Into the room they floated
from where I couldn’t say
dozens of little creatures
glowing red like Christmas lights
a school of candy fish
swimming through the air as if it were fluid

I watched through half closed eyes
as they swirled
little bodies sometimes darting
away from the group
then diving back into the central mass
creating lines and arcs of light
against the shadows of the attic

I noticed
after a moment
the cat
stalking the mass
tracking this strange prey
already tasting the glowing flesh in his jaws

In range
he leapt
claws stretched
needle teeth exposed

But like a forest fire blown by a strong wind
these pretty little things
moved on him as well

They swarmed the hunter
wrapping his body in mid-air

I heard
faintly
as if from under water
a scream

And then the mass uncoiled
dropping fragments of bone
onto the ancient linoleum floor
and they resumed their air dance
so smooth
so soothing

I watched
unmoving
unbreathing
as they swam and played around the room
lighting corners long hidden in shadow

I watched
unmoving
unbreathing
as the creatures swirled calmly in the air
slowly floating towards
my bed

But I was a statue
a rock
did nothing to attract their attention

So they floated passed me
and out my open window
towards the sounds of children
playing in the streets below

---Richard F. Yates

[This is another poem from my Night Noises collection, available RIGHT NOW at many fine online stores near you!!!]

https://primitiveentertainment.wordpress.com
http://readadamnbookwithrfy.blogspot.com
https://ilosttheplotafewmilesback.blogspot.com/
https://www.facebook.com/richard.f.yates/

"Lighthouses" by Richard F. Yates

Are there any lighthouses

                that are not haunted?

I would hope not

Think about what a lighthouse is for:

                keeping boats from losing their way

                in dangerous waters

                and sailors from socializing

                with the fish

I like to think that lighthouse keepers

                in charge of the safety

                of who knows how many sea travelers

                would be a dedicated lot

                unable to let a simple thing like death

                get in the way of performing

                their solemn duty

A dark night

                waves wrestling with a wooden fishing boat

                assassin rocks just under the surface of the water

                like trolls waiting under a bridge

                anticipating the crunch and crackle

                of their stone teeth cutting through hull

And only that thin beam

                the shining eye of the lighthouse lamp

                keeping our desperate sailors on course

I would imagine that all lighthouses are haunted

Especially those

                where the light has gone out

---Richard F. Yates

[This poem comes from my collection, Night Noises, available at A-zon…]

https://primitiveentertainment.wordpress.com

http://readadamnbookwithrfy.blogspot.com

https://ilosttheplotafewmilesback.blogspot.com/

https://www.facebook.com/richard.f.yates/

“The Range” by Poetrybot 070 (Licensed to Confound)

Chemical donut mutton beard
Analog asparagus becomes giant fruit fly.
If the corruption in the sidewalk
Challenges competent Mohawks
Why bring the dishes
Under the church clang?

Blank home hand grenade
Flicks playful bat juice
Broken antenna flute goblin horse
Bedside musical
Titans of cowhide roaming brilliantly.

—Poetrybot 070 (Licensed to Confound)

https://primitiveentertainment.wordpress.com
http://readadamnbookwithrfy.blogspot.com
https://schoolofmadnessastruth.blogspot.com/
https://www.facebook.com/richard.f.yates/

“Primitive Entertainment and YOU: What is Primitive Entertainment?” by Blah-Blah Billingsworth

Mental hygiene is an important issue in the modern age. A city dweller will be, constantly, bombarded by advertisements and slogans, music and voices from cars and phones and televisions, messages, threats, bills, pleas for help, propaganda, warnings, advice—bleeps and clicks and moans and blah blah blah… AND WE ARE MORE OF THAT!

In our favor, we are funny. Doctors agree that we are funnier than the average public service announcement or political campaign poster by at least 74 percent! We are warmer, too, unless it’s too hot, then we are totally cool.

In fact, The Primitive Entertainment Workshop is whatever you want us to be (and whatever that short, fat, old, gray-haired dude who runs the show likes.) In practice, so far, the P.E.W. is poems, pictures of monsters, prank ideas, funny stories, road trip plans, rants, memories, manifestos, fake news stories, and experiments in wasting time AND (simultaneously) an essential archive of throw-away ideas and memories, moments that would have been, without us, lost forever.

We are also CREATING what would not have been (which is pretty fucking scary, if you think about it) and preserving, for as long as THE GRID holds out, a bit of EACH OF THE MOTHERFUCKERS who allow us to put their shit up on the site.

Without exaggerating in the slightest, The Primitive Entertainment Workshop is FUCKING MAGIC!!! It’s fun! It’s candy cigarettes! It’s a mustache on a mannequin! It’s a tape loop of a cat fight! It’s a hermit crab wearing a pop can as a shell! It’s finding twenty bucks in the street just before the ice-cream man pulls up! It’s scoring a free game in pinball! It’s waking up and remembering that it’s your day off! It’s surviving another night and screaming about how happy you are to still be alive!

Fuck the police.

The Primitive Entertainment Workshop is YOU for reading this.

The Primitive Entertainment Workshop is US for making it.

It’s the fart in the elevator! It’s pee in the pool! It’s the muzak rendition of a punk rock song! It’s a cold bowl of sugary cereal on a hot afternoon! It’s the ultimate prank where everyone dies, and dies laughing, at the end! It’s understanding that it’s all worthwhile even though it’s all pointless…

Read Camus. Read Phil Dick. Read Borges. Watch The Twilight Zone. Listen to The Cure. Draw on your clothes. Put a sticker on the back of a street sign. Mail a letter to a random name in the phone book telling them you saw a ghost in a public toilet. Take a picture of a discarded cigarette butt and then give it a name. Pretend you’re Peter Cushing for an entire day, especially if you’re a girl. Play Pong!

Never surrender. Strike first, strike hard, no mercy. Live long and prosper.

Amen!

—Blah-Blah Billingsworth

https://primitiveentertainment.wordpress.com
http://readadamnbookwithrfy.blogspot.com
https://schoolofmadnessastruth.blogspot.com/
https://www.facebook.com/richard.f.yates/

[Originally posted 13 Apr. 2013 @ The Primitive Entertainment Workshop]

“Automatic Writing – 001” by Poetrybot 070 (Licensed to Confound)

Automatic writing. Go!
Floor wax sell to highest automobile
Under Flemish distress
Punish lunchbox controllers!!

—Poetrybot 070 (Licensed to Confound)

https://primitiveentertainment.wordpress.com
http://readadamnbookwithrfy.blogspot.com
https://schoolofmadnessastruth.blogspot.com/
https://www.facebook.com/richard.f.yates/

“High Pitched Squeal” by Richard F. Yates

There is an angel
trying to talk to us
from inside a UFO
in our basement

---Richard F. Yates
(Commander in Cheap of The Primitive Entertainment Workshop)

https://primitiveentertainment.wordpress.com
http://readadamnbookwithrfy.blogspot.com
https://schoolofmadnessastruth.blogspot.com/
https://www.facebook.com/richard.f.yates/

“RAMIFICATIONS” by Richard F. Yates

[From an old journal, Pocket Power, dated 28 July 2009]

Ram  if  I  cat  ions

---Richard F. Yates
(Commander in Cheap of The Primitive Entertainment Workshop)

https://primitiveentertainment.wordpress.com
http://readadamnbookwithrfy.blogspot.com
https://schoolofmadnessastruth.blogspot.com/
https://www.facebook.com/richard.f.yates/

“Found Poem” by Richard F. Yates

[I tore a hunk of one of the pages out of my current notebook, Mustache Guy, to write a phone number on, and when I looked through the missing section, I discovered this strange, unintentional poem:]

ZZ
White crap
Mariah over in
Old folks got it

Write fak
some horrible occurrence
from the Columbia River.

---Richard F. Yates
(Commander in Cheap of The Primitive Entertainment Workshop)

https://primitiveentertainment.wordpress.com
http://readadamnbookwithrfy.blogspot.com
https://schoolofmadnessastruth.blogspot.com/
https://www.facebook.com/richard.f.yates/

“Stupid” by Richard F. Yates

Stupid.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, stoopid, stupid, stupid, stupid.

Some days, I think everything is stupid.

Everything I write, everything I draw, everything I paint, everything I say,  everything I read, hear, see, believe, and think…

All stupid.

---Richard F. Yates
(Commander in Cheap of The Primitive Entertainment Workshop)

https://primitiveentertainment.wordpress.com
http://readadamnbookwithrfy.blogspot.com
https://schoolofmadnessastruth.blogspot.com/
https://www.facebook.com/richard.f.yates/

[Originally posted 25 Mar. 2013 @ The P.E.W.]

“How to Get Gravy Out of a Stained Shirt” by Admiral Thomas J. Haha

Burn the shirt
in a public place
while screaming as if in terror

—Haha

https://primitiveentertainment.wordpress.comhttp://readadamnbookwithrfy.blogspot.comhttps://schoolofmadnessastruth.blogspot.com/https://www.facebook.com/richard.f.yates/

“What’s in My Pocket?” by Elvisa Crinkler

What’s in my pocket?

The first thing that is in my pocket is money. There are 2 nickels and 2 quarters in my pocket. They are both flat, round, and silver.

The second thing that is in my pocket is fuzz. It is really small and soft. Also, it is gray.

The third thing that is in my pocket is a pencil top eraser. It is purple. Also, it is 2 cm tall and 1 cm wide.

The last thing that is in my pocket is a small piece of paper. It says Dritz on it and it is yellow. Also, it is 3 1/2 cm long and 1 cm wide.

Those are the things that are in my pocket.

—Elvisa Crinkler

[The previous work was found in a drawer of our house in a gray envelope made of construction paper that was cut in the shape of a pocket from a pair of jeans. Though there is no date written on this work, we estimate that it was completed sometime around 2007 or 2008. Read straight, the work is a wonderful piece of process art with observations focusing on the physical attributes of the objects being described, but with no emotional or aesthetic judgements being rendered by the observer. Fun piece. —RFY]

https://primitiveentertainment.wordpress.com
http://readadamnbookwithrfy.blogspot.com
https://schoolofmadnessastruth.blogspot.com/
https://www.facebook.com/richard.f.yates/

“No Window Next Door (A Poem with Origins in the Shower)” by Seth T. Channeler

Today I am immobile
Sweaty for Spring

My eyes cross (they are so angry
with all of you that they can’t
see straight)

I would consider myself a king of
infinite space (where it not that
I have bad bills)

When pulled in all directions
by an equal amount of force
there is an overwhelming but uninteresting inaction

The paint dries on my fingers
The ink withers in my pen
The dancin’ shoes refuse to sparkle

And the Tax Man comes to call
His Black Dog, Death, is barking
in my front lawn
(But I have no more shoes to throw…)
(None that sparkle, anyway)

Why must they tear down
before they construct? (Both actions are too loud)

The planks of History (once marble)
are now boards of chipped and pressed, recycled, plastic containers
with the advertising logos all scrambled but still affixed.

—Seth T. Channeler

https://primitiveentertainment.wordpress.comhttp://readadamnbookwithrfy.blogspot.comhttps://schoolofmadnessastruth.blogspot.com/https://www.facebook.com/richard.f.yates/

[Originally posted 14 Mar. 2013 @ The P.E.W.]

Four Poems by Scott Sparks

I received these poems in the mail yesterday (the “old fashioned” mail, with an envelope and stamp and a human based delivery system,) and I’m pleased as punch to be able to share them with you. My good friend, Scott Sparks, has had more horseshit thrown at him than most people, but he’s still trying to roll with it and look for those few positive moments that come his way. Here are his words:

“Prison Paper” (3/5/13)

A thorn in my side which I wake up with
Of whom will I collide and have to make up with?
Fitting into established grooves isn’t on my agenda
Insanities to quell, how they’re piled and pent up
How fortunate I am with a bed and a shelf
Quietly content at my desk by myself
Will within the guidelines of current confines
Comforted by the light’s shine of the other side
So I reach for the sky’s eye in a distant location
Looking down over me as I ponder what’s been created
Stationed on an island where the only escape is within
Writing on paper allotted by this prison
Letters I’ve sent and things I write down
Living on the page never to be spoken aloud
When no one is around but there’s always at least one
Might as well try instead to block the light of the sun
When it’s too much to ask for some shade now and then
What more can I do to get through but grab paper and pen

–SS

“Trying to Breathe” (9/11/12)

Time creeps by and the lights are killed
What other complications wish to be fulfilled?
Thank goodness for this light switch
Since dawn refuses to break when I most need it
Remaining bed-ridden, sickened
Purging bad influences with my desk as the only witness
The company you creep is at your door imploring
For fear that you may sleep when it’s clearly store day
Time to get this out for all just once
The inherently indolent all abscond inner nonchalance
What they feed on is still trying to breathe
Stoically suckling tricks falling from sleeves
As time creeps by, so does your company
Maladroitly employing ingrained contumacy
Only when my door is opened do I experience
Statically electrical frequented interference
Adjusting my antennae, likewise my retinas
Sensory overload is what locked doors are for in these instances
What an unfamiliar territory I’ve come to inhabit
Sickened by thought patterns seen only as idiopathic
The company you creep and the lights are killed
What other complications wish to be fulfilled?

—SS

“Worse” (12/20/12)

Why wait?
Or is it fate to keep my head straight?
You don’t darken my door anymore
But still you manage to pollute
Feel better yet?
Have you passed on what was meant to infect?
When I looked around I thought I’d set it down
But no matter the weather I’m tethered and bound
A knock on the door now feels much different
Circumspection insignificant
Inviting in the curse
What could be worse?

Why stay?
Or do I need to pay for the pretense you allocate?
The path decided for me is plastered and cemented
Despite any such disaster you wish to implement
Still speaking death?
Out of breath yet?
Have you passed on what you meant to infect?
When I looked about I thought I’d let it out
But no matter the weather I’m tethered and bound
A knock on the door now feels much different
Breathing shallow, insignificant
Inviting in the curse
What could be worse?

—SS

“Sucrose” (12/25/12)

Old habits die tragic
On the roadside or the mattress
Candlelight passage upon prayer vigils
Shame and sorrow among time now digital
The season wishes for times stereotypic
A would-be fitting end centripetally simplistic
Painted pavement ideally herds the day’s shift
Pavlov-like sensitivity to non-sequitur directives
Sunshine is hidden although there’s a window
May be some shine seen but it lacks effervescent glow
Collapsing ’til daybreak despite the ongoing sleet
What is lacked in comfort, made up for in concrete
Days like now leave a friendly embrace overdue
Indignant of causation fictionalized by each clue
I’ll smile in awhile and even right now for a bit
With good times fleeting I’ll take what I can get
Old habits die at a snail’s pace
Bottlenecked amidst rush hour traffic disgrace
A diabetic predicament of low blood sugar
Candy sticks and finger pricks couldn’t fix this musculature

—SS

https://primitiveentertainment.wordpress.comhttp://readadamnbookwithrfy.blogspot.comhttps://schoolofmadnessastruth.blogspot.com/https://www.facebook.com/richard.f.yates/

[Originally posted 12 Mar. 2013 @ The P.E.W.]

“‘So’ is Not an Adjective” Microzine by Richard F. Yates

The raw sheet for a microzine, soon to be photocopied, cut, and folded, perhaps to be distributed at a future date.

“‘So’ is Not an Adjective” Microzine (11 March 2013) – TEXT

Page One—
“So” is not an adjective

cover

Boats float.

Page Two—
“SO” is not an adjective!
You cannot be “so” hungry.
You can be “so” hungry
THAT horses become
fireflies.

THEFT IS FOR HEROES!

11 MAR ’13

Page Three—
The Marshmallow Queen
loved the ghost in the den,
but was afraid of the postman
and the bad news he carried.

A long time ago
my donut was gone.

Page Four—
yr

Page Five—
Receipts cover the floor of
the claws that catch…
her phone. What you need?
together with a bow.
SEHORSEHORSE guy..
messages AA DD EE CAEG
to your Mom, but she forgot
least from the head.
escape the flow of
(The puppet isn’t real.)

Page Six—
FC FJ DCCB.
It’s all horseshit.
Is it horseshit?

I’m really more of a bunny
You keep sending text

Page Seven—
When the phone rings, I
HORSEHORSEHORSEHOR

Page Eight—
The Primitive Entertainment
Workshop

zoom

https://primitiveentertainment.wordpress.com/

dread.

yr

[Originally published 11 Mar. 2013 @ The Primitive Entertainment Workshop.]

“I am Convinced That” by Richard F. Yates

[2 March 2013]

I am convinced that
he they it they
he they it they
will were
will whirrrr
and I am convinced that

---Richard F. Yates
(Commander in Cheap of The Primitive Entertainment Workshop)

https://primitiveentertainment.wordpress.com
http://readadamnbookwithrfy.blogspot.com
https://schoolofmadnessastruth.blogspot.com/
https://www.facebook.com/richard.f.yates/

"Thom's Redemption (and Demise)" by Richard O'Brien & Richard F. Yates

There were two things Thom considered fun:
a game of bowling and a witty pun.
The former was an exciting sport,
but some haters said the latter made for a lame retort.

The moment of his life came when he combined the two,
during Triangle Lanes’ bunny-pin tourney hullabaloo.
His remaining 7-10 pins caused silence and stares,
until Thom said, “Guess I’m splitting hares!”

(Epilogue: Thom had his pun framed and mounted in his studio apartment. It was found when neighbors smelled an odor and Thom’s body was discovered with a suicide note that read, “I can’t wait any longer for the McRib to come back. Please donate my pun to Smith’s Onion Museum – Smith is a good guy and I love Walla-Walla Sweets. Word to your mother.”)

—O’Brien & Yates
[Words by Richard O’Brien. Image by Richard F. Yates.]

https://primitiveentertainment.wordpress.com
https://www.patreon.com/primitiveentertainment
http://readadamnbookwithrfy.blogspot.com

“Axel Ping Cotton Bullion” by Poetrybot 070 (Licensed to Confound)

Fatal cereal
Instant mildew record collection
Wind chime alcohol
Pristine earwig marble concentrate
Halifax postmark
Incorruptible but covered in blood
Blunt triangular exit wound sings
Malcontents dance in sorrowful circles
Lexicon broken
Whistling shards
Vacuum flare for twenty pennies
Pumpkin degenerate eats lost kitten socks
Mission accomplished

---Poetrybot 070 (Licensed to Confound)

https://primitiveentertainment.wordpress.com
https://www.patreon.com/primitiveentertainment
http://readadamnbookwithrfy.blogspot.com

“Litigious Street” by Richard O’Brien & Richard F. Yates

Sunny day,
filing the torts away,
on my way to where the lawyers meet,

can you tell me how to get,
how to get to Litigious Street?
–
Drawing a big, yellow birdy,
Jim Henson’s intellectual prop-er-ty.
The Count will count your money, man,

can you tell me how grouchy you’ll be,
how grouchy you’ll be living in a garbage can?
–
You’ve got some gall,
I mean, Snuffleupagus-sized balls,
wow, you’re in such a mess,

can you tell me where to send,
where to send the lawsuit from PBS?

Today’s letter is “S” – “S” is for “Subpoena” – you’ve been served.

—O’Brien & Yates
[Words by Richard O’Brien. Image by Richard F. Yates.]

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

Be sure to drink your…

“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.)

“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!

“Thought Form 0003”

DON’T—STOP      4-15-14’20—19-20-15-16

“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

“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.

“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