"All that we see or seem, is but a dream within a dream." - Poe This video was my first attempt at an experimental exploration of video prose. Written, performed and filmed by TheRavenOfPoe. Please note that this work has nothing to do with Albert Camus' "The Stranger" nor was it influenced by it. Regrettably I have not yet read any of his work but I look forward to doing so in the future ;) The title was chosen at random and is a common one so it is a not surprising coincidence that there are other works that share it.

A video for Poetry and Prose that actually contains Beavis and Butthead.

Proses Gasification

Carla Cohen of Politics & Prose discusses how she chose a name for her bookstore and how her bookstore has evolved over the years

The plainsong resposory Attende Domine, as translated into English in the English Hymnal (1906), is performed by the Choir of Saint Paul's Cathedral, London, under the direction of John Scott. It was recorded in the summer of 1996. Brothers Edward and Connor Burrowes are the treble soloists

Song: Where are you by Justin Roman and Soluna Characters: Neosankyo / JaneTnova of pROSE Polaris Server I like the song so I decided to make a video for it =) Intro from the ROSE Evolution Movie :))

Great song by Czech group Support Lesbiens. Video made myself with photos in the beginning and with paintings by Frantisek Foltyn, czech abstract painter influenced by avant-garde,Paul Cézanne..

ito po ang kweto ng mga super hero natin sa prose! kaya sit back and relax!

See other clips for longer version without time code. Jack Kerouac returns to Earth in the abandoned body of a street bum on the 30th anniversary of his own death. He drops in on a poetry slam held in his honor and tells the crowd how bebop sax player Charlie Parker helped inspire a new writing style. Vincent Balestri as Jack.

My second attempt at video prose. This time I memorised each section completely before filming it in the hope it would make the piece feel more natural. Written, performed and filmed by TheRavenOfPoe. The music is royalty free from incompetech.com The piece is Laendler in C Minor (Hess 68).

Former U.S. Poet Laureate & Pulitzer Prize winner Rita Dove reads her prose poem "Prose in a Small Space" at Wittenberg University in Springfield, Ohio, March 2007. Copyright by Rita Dove. Website embedding of video permitted. Reprint or any other use prohibited.

Janet Kuypers performed this poem in the live Chicago feature at the Beach Poets (Loyola Beacg, Chicago) August 14th, 2005. Because this is a live venue on the beach, there were no microhpones, and since Janet Kuypers has a bit of distance between her and the camera (and there is also a bit of wind off of Lake Michigan in Chicago) it is often not very easy to hear the poems from this show. But if you want to either see the full show, or hear studio mp3 recordings from this show, go to the web page http://www.janetkuypers.com/janetkuypers-dot-com--files/beach-poets08-14-05.htm to get the sudio clips, or even the chapbook that was released on the same day with this event. This is the original prose: Age Sometimes, when I get behind the wheel of a car, I feel like I'm at Six Flags Great America Amusement Park In Gurnee, Illinois again and I'm thirteen years old and I'm able to drive one of the bumper cars. And it's such a thrill -- because, I mean, I'm thirteen years old and I can't drive, and I'm now in control of this huge piece of machinery. Granted, there's this wire sticking up from the car that gets electricity from the ceiling, but for once I feel free, that I can just go, go faster than I ever could by running, or even if I used my roller skates or my bicycle. And when I get that feeling and I'm behind the wheel of my car I want to drive really really fast out on an abandoned road, blare some rock music, roll down my window, and turn up the heat, since it's the middle of winter. Sometimes, when I go out on a new date, I feel like I'm sixteen again, and I'll rifle through my closet, deciding I have absolutely nothing to wear. And he'll pick me up, and we'll go to a restaurant with deer heads on the walls, and we'll have whiskey sours, and we'll struggle with the lettuce leaves in the salads because they're too big, and when we're done with dinner we'll go to a bar that's so crowded and so loud that we won't be able to talk to each other, but we'll have to stand real close. And then he'll take me home and I'll invite him in, he'll sit on the chair, I'll sit on the couch, and he'll ask for a glass of water. When we can't think of any more small talk, and the clock says 3:12 a.m., I'll see him to the door, he'll kiss me good-bye, and I'll lock the door after he leaves. And when I'm sure he can't see me through the window, I'll turn on the stereo and dance in my living room before I go to bed. Sometimes, when I'm having sex with someone, I feel like I've done this for years, like I've been married to this man for twenty years, and I still don't know him, but I'm still there, night after night. After the wedding, after the new house, which was a little small, but we'll get something bigger when we have the money, after the two kids and the fifteen pounds, after I lose my job, after we don't get that new house and after the kids complain about their curfews, after the dog dies, hell, it was only trouble for us anyway, after the sinus headaches, the back problems, that all-over sore feeling, you know, it's harder to wake up in the mornings now, after it all he still has the nights, the sex with the woman he knows all too well but not at all, and we do it, as we always do. It becomes memorization. It becomes like a play, that I act out night after night. Sometimes, when I get home after 10 o'clock from working overtime on the computers, I just want to retire, to quit the work, to stop it all. I see my parents, after a life of working at the construction site and raising five children, now beginning to relax, buying a small home in Southwest Florida, playing tennis in the morning, playing cards in the afternoon, drinking with other retired couples in the evening. Sometimes another couple invites them out for a boat ride off of Marco Island, where they smoke cigarettes, drink a few beers, and drive slow enough to make no wake when they're by the pier. Sometimes I look at the computer screen I work at and remember how computers used to mean video games. I remember when I was eight and I would sit with my best friend in the upstairs den on the floor in front of the old television set and play table tennis on our Atari. Times change, I suppose, and I get old. This is my life.

They call me a spammer to shut me down. The Freedom of speech is the freedom to be attacked. The only defence of society against you excercising your freedom is to make you watch something stupid all day, every day. Cause I'm a spammer. Oh yeah- a Freaking spammer. A Spam-spam-spam spammer. First they sayed I was Dumb. Then they cited me as wrong. And then they downgraded my post. Cause I'm a spammer. Oh yeah- a Freaking spammer. A Spam-spam-spam spammer. You have to dig deep to find the truth, and then you wont like what you will find. Cause I'm a spammer. Oh yeah- a Freaking spammer. A Spam-spam-spam spammer. They have to find a way to slow you down. Cause this internet makes things just way too fast. How can they control what you see and hear if everyone can say what they want? Cause I'm a spammer. Oh yeah- a Freaking spammer. A Spam-spam-spam spammer. Spammers get thier accounts locked. Spammers get thier accounts blocked. Spammers get taken down like a dog. Spammers get locked up and pumped up with pills. Cause I'm a spammer. Oh yeah- a Freaking spammer. A Spam-spam-spam spammer. Spammers get shunned and stunned and the slightest excuse is enough to bring them thier deserved punishment. Cause I'm a spammer. Oh yeah- a Freaking spammer. A Spam-spam-spam spammer. They had Jim log in on work hours to explain how stupid I was. And when that was not enough, Then they created new accounts, and the first thing they did was downgrade me and to say how stupid I am. Now they want me to type in the unreadable text every time I click on the mouse : Cause they say I am a spammer. Oh yeah- a Freaking spammer. I abused the terms of service today. I broke the rules. Now I gotta pay my community dues : Cause they say I am a spammer. Oh yeah- a Freaking spammer. My account was locked, my email blocked. My video was related to the scum of the earth. Cause they say I am a spammer. Oh yeah- a Freaking spammer. No this is not china. No, no way. It is the new world order, that is here to stay. Cause they say I am a spammer. Oh yeah- a Freaking spammer. You cant be heard unless you pay the price. You cant walk the streets without rolling the dice. Cause they say I am a spammer. Oh yeah- a Freaking spammer. It is not what I am saying, that is causing anyone harm, It is the fact that I think for my self. That is the key problem here- that is causing them fear - You need to just play those games, and send those pics, and buy those products advertised. You need to be branded by the brands, and loyal to the cause, and keep on paying for the war. Cause they say I am a spammer. Oh yeah- a Freaking spammer. You think it cant happen here, it only happens there. Well my friend It is right in your face. Cause they say I am a spammer. Oh yeah- a Freaking spammer. You cant see the Fnords. You dont hear the subliminals. All you feel is the panic and the fear. Cause they say I am a spammer. Oh yeah- a Freaking spammer. Go to the Mc Donalds and get your relief- go get your all natural flavoring fix. Cause they say I am a spammer. Oh yeah- a Freaking spammer. Our lifes are short, and are power is little. But It is still way to much for them. Cause they say I am a spammer. Oh yeah- a Freaking spammer. You are using too much bandwidth. We dont need to support you. We payed good money for all this hardware, and it was not for your to express yourself. It was to sell advertising. Cause they say I am a spammer. Oh yeah- a Freaking spammer. So go click on those ads. Go make the man rich. Go fill out your credit card info. Cause they say I am a spammer. Oh yeah- a Freaking spammer.

Episode 9400 GUESTS/AFFILIATIONS: Betty Friedan, Author, "Life So Far: A Memoir" /// P.D. James, Author, "Time To Be In Earnest: A Fragment of Autobiography" [Knopf] /// Francine Prose, Contributing Editor, Harper's / Author, "Blue Angel" [Harper Collins]

More 20th Anniversary celebration for KLBJ-FM's Dale Dudley.

Prose performance narrative voice should be in your normal speaking tone. Get tips on using narrative voice in prose from a communications and public speaking expert in this free instructional video.

1994, I think they where from Seattle cuase I haven't found precise informations about 'em except about their homtown. pure slept.on hip-hop for real lovers. bought their album new for 0,01$..do the same!!

HA! Listen really closley when I say "So to help the people of Ember from there tities.. err cities..." i really did say that!!

Longer clip. Jack Kerouac returns to Earth in the abandoned body of a street bum on the 30th anniversary of his own death. He drops in on a poetry slam held in his honor and tells the crowd how bebop sax player Charlie Parker helped inspire a new writing style. Vincent Balestri as Jack.

Coloring words in a prose performance emphasizes images being talked about. Learn how to enhance images with words in prose from a communications and public speaking expert in this free instructional video.

A commentary on the job dynamics of our era, in prose form, which I wrote in 2004 and taped in 2007, and is even more relevant in 2008, amid the economic crisis! "Ramblings of an unemployed man" (2004) by Nick Panayotopoulos What I need is a job. But not any kind of job The right job, the right job, a JOB. A job that meets my training skills a job that satisfies me a job that meets employers' needs a job that merely fits How befitting is to work What a social satisfaction What a wealth creation function A job, a job, a job! What I need is a job. But not any kind of job The right job, the right job, a JOB. How depressing to be poor How sad to be unsure Insecurity Uncertainty Insanity Being jobless a profanity! In today's society But is that a reality? What I need is a job. But not any kind of job The right job, the right job, a JOB. How fantastic to be rich To be high beyond the reach of misery of saucery Pure fantasy! I don't want to be alone Looking through the glass dome The job ads are so many Wish I could be fit for any Suitable! Employable! Enjoyable! What I need is a job. But not any kind of job The right job, the right job, a JOB. But is it feasible? All the experts agree The job market is a flea Today's reality Yesterday's formality Oh how the world has changed! Oh my god I feel shortchanged Global exchanges Global dynamics What I need is a job. But not any kind of job The right job, the right job, a JOB. I wish I was trained in ceramics! I could then create some art Sell it the highest bidder Underpaid is a curse Little money in the purse A job would be a blessing! And the need is so pressing! Like a window dressing! Comment: The people in the streets of NYC, LA, London, Paris, Amsterdam, Budapest, Hong Kong, Sydney, Lisboa, Rio, Athens, Austin, Montreal care about having a job. How many of them "feel shortchanged" by the current dynamics?

A new brand of possession is stalking Miss Emily...

prose day funk made by me(Ramza)

Janet Kuypers reads the original prose piece "Age", to video that was shot by John Yotko in the Galapagos Islands os dancing Boobies - literally video footage of a mating dance ritual of the Nazca Booby (there are Nazca Boobies, Red Footed Boobies and Blue Footed Boobies that are indigenous to the Galapagos Islands, but this is the only video footage John Yotko filmed of the mating ritual dance). The Nazca Booby, in this dance, make a few giant steps in place, then opens their wings to show their greatness, and they repeat this dance to woo their female Nazca Booby. Because we had this dancing video footage, we read a dance-related poem from Janet Kuypers over this mating ritual dance. For more information on the writing of Janet Kuypers (or artwork, including photography form the Galapagos Islands), go to http://www.janetkuypers.com to read more of her work. This is the original prose: Age Sometimes, when I get behind the wheel of a car, I feel like I'm at Six Flags Great America Amusement Park In Gurnee, Illinois again and I'm thirteen years old and I'm able to drive one of the bumper cars. And it's such a thrill -- because, I mean, I'm thirteen years old and I can't drive, and I'm now in control of this huge piece of machinery. Granted, there's this wire sticking up from the car that gets electricity from the ceiling, but for once I feel free, that I can just go, go faster than I ever could by running, or even if I used my roller skates or my bicycle. And when I get that feeling and I'm behind the wheel of my car I want to drive really really fast out on an abandoned road, blare some rock music, roll down my window, and turn up the heat, since it's the middle of winter. Sometimes, when I go out on a new date, I feel like I'm sixteen again, and I'll rifle through my closet, deciding I have absolutely nothing to wear. And he'll pick me up, and we'll go to a restaurant with deer heads on the walls, and we'll have whiskey sours, and we'll struggle with the lettuce leaves in the salads because they're too big, and when we're done with dinner we'll go to a bar that's so crowded and so loud that we won't be able to talk to each other, but we'll have to stand real close. And then he'll take me home and I'll invite him in, he'll sit on the chair, I'll sit on the couch, and he'll ask for a glass of water. When we can't think of any more small talk, and the clock says 3:12 a.m., I'll see him to the door, he'll kiss me good-bye, and I'll lock the door after he leaves. And when I'm sure he can't see me through the window, I'll turn on the stereo and dance in my living room before I go to bed. Sometimes, when I'm having sex with someone, I feel like I've done this for years, like I've been married to this man for twenty years, and I still don't know him, but I'm still there, night after night. After the wedding, after the new house, which was a little small, but we'll get something bigger when we have the money, after the two kids and the fifteen pounds, after I lose my job, after we don't get that new house and after the kids complain about their curfews, after the dog dies, hell, it was only trouble for us anyway, after the sinus headaches, the back problems, that all-over sore feeling, you know, it's harder to wake up in the mornings now, after it all he still has the nights, the sex with the woman he knows all too well but not at all, and we do it, as we always do. It becomes memorization. It becomes like a play, that I act out night after night. Sometimes, when I get home after 10 o'clock from working overtime on the computers, I just want to retire, to quit the work, to stop it all. I see my parents, after a life of working at the construction site and raising five children, now beginning to relax, buying a small home in Southwest Florida, playing tennis in the morning, playing cards in the afternoon, drinking with other retired couples in the evening. Sometimes another couple invites them out for a boat ride off of Marco Island, where they smoke cigarettes, drink a few beers, and drive slow enough to make no wake when they're by the pier. Sometimes I look at the computer screen I work at and remember how computers used to mean video games. I remember when I was eight and I would sit with my best friend in the upstairs den on the floor in front of the old television set and play table tennis on our Atari. Times change, I suppose, and I get old. This is my life.

They aren't poems. They are pieces of poetic prose. Don't call them poems. (a pet peeve of mine) These were written several years ago... thought you might like umm. I promise to do some good old fashion vlogging soon... about my ~feelings~ and my thoughts and good ol stuff like that.