Cut it up!!!1

[billy]

Hey guise - been a long time....

I wasted my Sunday creating a website for jerks like myself. It's a small gadget that can cut-up any text you paste into it just like my fave author (William S. Burroughs) used to do.

On top of that, you can save your cut-ups to the site's pastebin, which is browseable- that means, you can recycle previously submitted cut-ups and remix them with whatever you want...

A small sample (cut-up of Blake and Baudelaire):

void; Life! or are you driven here, To of sweepers, Dick, Joe, Ned,
who allure, The nameless grace of every bleached, had a bright key, And
thirty-two white teeth. For he who has not folded in his of
cold quays to Ganges' of
trouble with your potent sneer The feast
And goad your moving artistically, and sways, Feeble and weak, on
a varnished cadavers, and grey Lovelaces, Ye go to lands unknown Carrying bouquet,
sweep, and in soot I dream; They do not see,
robe, in royal amplitude, Palls in ye, mad
dazzled race: "Proud lovers with Tom was a-sleeping, he had such
laughs at burning stream, The mortal troupes dance onward in a to
the sing the violins, And the
my mother died I was very young, And my father sold with flowery
went. O irresistible, with fleshless
fathomless eyes Are made of shade and
sinister grace, And the extravagant courtesan's thin river, and
do their duty, they oft perfumes herself with myrrh,
and never want joy. And so Tom all
fear harm. awoke, and we
none but the brave. Your eyes' black deep folds around
a horror under every sun, Death
gloomy beauty; and bare bone That is most dear to me, tall
these hearts beat for and void of breath, Drawn
by the rumour of the plain, leaping, laughing, they run And wash in
that very night, As and glides. And truth to tell, I fear lest
corpse on with a spur? Or do you hope, when
within the opened sky, The Angel's
laugh and name you in the wind: And the
awful broodings stir, Brings giddiness; need not
of arms A skeleton, nor fed on graveyard charms, Recks not his father,
Sabbath, by dead lusts that stir
he opened charm of nothing decked in folly! musk-scented
angel told Tom, if he’d face, Say to these dancers in their
upon clouds, and sport the prudent reveller Sees, while
your head’s me while yet my tongue Could scarcely cry was quiet, and
said, ‘Hush, Tom! never mind it, for, when
shine in the bare, You know that the soot cannot spoil she
got with our bags and our brushes head, That curled like a
sprays Her skull is wreathed be a good boy, He’d have God for
naked and white, all their
and handkerchief, and gloves, Proud of her gulf, where
The charms of horror please
some mocking nightmare far her
a dry foot, shod With a mingles with your madness, irony!" When
well of fault and foolishness! Eternal alembic of antique
to work. Though the morning
about her collar-bones As the the smile you gave?
skeleton! Come you black. And by came an angel,
lamb’s back, was shaved; so I warm: So, if all
face. Was slimmer waist e'er in a
bags left behind, They grips him from beneath, The eternal
serpent curls
pale candle-flame lights up our sins, To height as when she lived, Pleasure's
death, all free; Then down a green scornful jest that flies, Her
smile of trellis of your sides The sateless, wandering
moves With all the careless and high-stepping sleep. There’s little
find, Among us here, no lover to your mind; Which
of them locked up in coffins of
ball-room wooed? Her floating the coffins, and set them
was cold, Tom was happy and distress!
furbelow, or paint, or scent, When Horror comes the way your heart? Fathomless
your white hair.’ And so he sun. Then
mortals, as ye run; And they Who
bright flower-like shoe that gems
her frail vertebræ. O lascivious
the flame hell lighted in that Beauty
a sight!— That thousands ‘Weep! weep! weep! weep!’ So your
Still o'er the curved, white drive
like ye And trumpet raised on high. In every clime and
and Jack, Were a Caricature, They see not, they whom flesh and blood
rose in the dark, And sod. The swarms that hum
skeletons! Withered Antinous, dandies with plump faces, Ye you should
Tom Dacre, who cried when his rise
streams caress the stones, Conceal from every apart, And cool
chimneys I the paint above your bones, Ye shall taste
Dance of Death. From Seine's

SOOOO....

My idea was that all of you poetic guys could indulge in the fun, and start remixing your own and each others- then post results right here

Also- if you thin the site is missing some features, let me know. Except, I wont be working on the graphics, sorry, but I like it simple and old-school, just like it is.

Looking forward to read some crazy cut-up stuff

Also- once this reaches page 2, I'll cut some of Billy's stuff up with my own

EIDT - I completely forgot to SPAM my URL: http://cut-up.comli.com/cut-up.php

put the url in your sig and stop spaming the site
i'm thinking this might be better in for fun or miscellaneous, we'll see ho it goes, good to see you back.

can you make an iambic engine

i forgot, hi again