Old Burber Greaves
Old Burber Greaves
Written by Sam, Pat, Gene, and Rosemary by playing writing roulette on 12/28/09.
Tori Amos was sick. She had a light heart that whimpered when
squeezed. Lenny Kravitz held her hand gently. “There, there, Tori,”
he said. “Why must you be so forlorn when you have such great
things on your mind like fucking?” Taken aback by such an affront,
Tori threw her glass into the underpinning and scooted a crow out
the other side. Randy held fast to his end until the crow emerged.
“Yonder crow. Halt!” The crow looked around with a very bewildered
look. Its beak had made tapping sounds on an unseen window that
looked out over the mountain- ha! The mountain! And Old Burber
Greaves was behind the Christmas tree the whole time.
haha too cute.
Not positive but that last line sounds very Gene Defcon. Very… authentic human-ish lol.
Actually, from “…ha! The mountain…” on it’s my friend Sam Gary Vandeliner aka Gary Barftits. The game was intense because we only had these one minute intervals between trading papers. Four of these exquisite corpses were made by passing around a paper that you wrote for only one minute on, then folded the piece of paper so that only the last few words could be seen by the next person and so on. We used a timer that came with a different game. Chef likes to call them “Mad Lib poems.” I call the result an exquisite corpse. But the game is called writing roulette.
I like the idea. Josh B, James Oswald and I did something like that when we were living in Dallas. Josh had a typewriter designated for anyone who wanted to write a few lines and continue this one long poem. Each time I visited I’d write a little here or there. Ended up being mountains of this type of poetry laying around and this is what started the short lived zine called, “Walking Mountain Range”. I love projects like this.