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this is the anthem this is the anthem this is the anthem 06.11.2012
"only the weak believe that what they do in battle is who they are as men"
the sleep of complete complete relief, total rest, 4 years in the making, an unbelieve feeling, to be awake. swords lucretia destroyed, the ocean lives
i can see the derivation its not her own language (Zirn), the photos are whats best as her flesh is so apparent. dont like the drawings. suicide sucks. as you get older you start to notice how many people have done it. when you're a teenager it's almost funny, like, slapstick mop handle smaking someone in the face (most bodies look like that post suicide) the end of it all is too abstract to make any meaningful connection with the mop handle. its hanna barbera wiley coyote, watched so much of it when i was 3 , 4 years old, all that dynamite and frizzled cyote hair, it doesnt mean anything.
io played dead the other day "im a dead princess!!" she exclaimed. i did that too, but i was more like 7 or so. i also realized in a moment what death was, then, it scared the crap out of me.
physical creature. im happy when im a physical creature. nothing upstairs, everything downstairs.
if i could just put together some workout videos and start a personal workout routine franchise id be pretty happy.
(i would never say such a thing in nun-fighter mode. im now in full on doll mode. olympia tales of hoffman. hungry for positions, conscious of my waistline, whether or not clothes fit well. the arc of my eyebrows, the color of my nails, eyeing various high heels, trying them on just to try them on. doll mode. i dont want to be anything other than whatever my four legs can put me in. watching movies, gathering dust, no plan, confused by andrei rublev. i dont get the story. ireland felt very close now it feels further away. as if the islandman was inside the other show, i thought it would be after, a year from now. is it too far away? need to work through this doll thing, big, post partum (post show) depression, by this i mean, a physical depression, in the earth, im just lounging in my own material, i am my own armchair, like those plank boards actresses used to lie down on between shots so as not to wrinkle their costumes.) 05.14.2012 "only the weak believe that what they do in battle is who they are as women"
ptsd
lowering the bar confining the parameters
devaluing the stone
the virtues of bullshit
and
inaction
result in misuse
and rape
03.31.2012
What is the difference between mild steel and stainless steel? Stainless steel is defined as a steel alloy with a minimum of 11.5 wt% chromium content.Stainless steel does not stain, corrode or rust as easily as ordinary steel (it "stains less"), but it is not stain-proof. It is also called corrosion resistant steel when the alloy type and grade are not detailed, particularly in the aviation industry. There are different grades and surface finishes of stainless steel to suit the environment to which the material will be subjected in its lifetime. Common uses of stainless steel are cutlery and watch straps. Stainless steel differs from carbon steel by amount of chromium present. Carbon steel rusts when exposed to air and moisture. This iron oxide film is active and accelerates corrosion by forming more iron oxide. Stainless steels have sufficient amount of chromium present so that a passive film of chromium oxide forms which prevents further corrosion. Mild steel Carbon steel is sometimes referred to as 'mild steel' or 'plain carbon steel'. The American Iron and Steel Institute defines a carbon steel as having no more than 2 % carbon and no other appreciable alloying element. Carbon steel makes up the largest part of steel production and is used in a vast range of applications. Typically carbon steels are stiff and strong. They also exhibit ferromagnetism (i.e. they are magnetic). This means they are extensively used in motors and electrical appliances. Welding carbon steels with a carbon content greater than 0.3 % requires that special precautions be taken. However, welding carbon steel presents far fewer problems than welding stainless steels. The corrosion resistance of carbon steels is poor (i.e. they rust) and so they should not be used in a corrosive environment unless some form of protective coating is used. Advantages: Cheap Wide variety available with different properties High stiffness Magnetic Most carbon steels are easy machine and weld Disadvantages: Poor corrosion resistance (i.e. rusts) Source(s): http://www.ider.herts.ac.uk/school/cours… http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stainless_s…admiration + competition. i am appreciating them both today hitting bottom: it has to happen twice: once to occur, the other to see - has to be twice to know your position oh why do my sisters? fall for the misters - who swear that what they givin is better than quality time? aint lookin for sugar no more. if you got your own dough and you got your own money - let your bother know that hey - im a sugar mama A geshvir iz a guteh zach bei yenem untern orem. A nogid a nar iz oich a har. A kindersher saichel iz oichet a saichel. dreamt last night i had to say a prayer in hebrew, for that i needed to catch part of a cloud in my hand - i was standing on a platform and saw all these incredible storm clouds rolling towards me, i reached my hand up and caught a portion as they passed. it was like they were living creatures, working with me, there was some kind of happiness, in they obliging my need
Chthonic = from Greek chthonios;in, under, or beneath the earth", from χθ?ν – chth?n "earth";[1] pertaining to the Earth; earthy; subterranean) designates, or pertains to, deities or spirits of the underworld, especially in relation to Greek religion. The Greek word khthon is one of several for "earth"; it typically refers to the interior of the soil, rather than the living surface of the land (as Gaia or Ge does) or the land as territory (as khora (χ?ρα) does). It evokes at once abundance and the grave.
Though Demeter is often described simply as the goddess of the harvest, she presided also over the sanctity of marriage, the sacred law, and the cycle of life and death.
She and her daughter Persephone were the central figures of the Eleusinian Mysteries that predated the Olympian pantheon. In the Linear B Mycenean Greek tablets of circa 1400-1200 BC found at Pylos, the "two mistresses and the king" are identified with Demeter, Persephone and Poseidon.[3]
mastery
the seed of
victory
the seed
of
mastery
the copper homunculus, the man of silver, the man of gold
"locked gold", concelaed and hidden from all, and there it is called solid, it is kept from the eye so that the eye has no power over it
"One ascends to one side, one descends to the other, one enters between the two. Two crown themselves in three, three enter into one"
the scoria and scum of all metals
03.05.2012 just got a great compliment from the delivery guy. of three he liked the one "with the cloud and thunder" the best - which was the one of me. but he didnt see the figure he saw just cloud and thunder. that was the one that XDealerX said "oh its really hard that one, plein de peine" type deal. ah hahahaha.
entitlement and empowerment. very mistrustful of the one that assumes so much about the other. sorry - going through a nun phase. no orders taken CP was born in Auteuil in 1971. In her twenties, following a year in the army, she became a conspicuous society figure, frequenting the most fashionable Paris salons of the day. After 1999, however, her chronic asthma, rape, and death of her parents, contributed to her growing disillusionment with humanity and caused her to lead an increasingly withdrawn life. From 2007 on, she rarely emerged from a cork-lined room in her studio on Atlantic Avenue. There she insulated herself against the distractions of city life and the affects of trees and flowers - though she loved them, they brought on her attacks of asthma. She slept by day and worked at night, writing letters and devoting herself to the completion of In Search of Lost Time. She died in 2022. fine ass not made for wasting, wanting, or waiting.
every
is
a
take all necessary steps
because if your heart skips a beat
it is thrilling to shift the fundament. to honor. usually its one or the other, not the two together . it never happens at will - when you want it to.
thats like making a drawing. i can never will a drawing. plan a drawing. forsee a drawing. the drawing it forsees me.
also with foresnice science, you see the outermost surface, and from there, you have to get to the cause. its the one sitaution where the two are spoken of together, from the get-go.
give me money to make a better weapon, and ill make a good one. but, at the end of the day, who are you going to kill with it? there is no advanced person, to kill with an advanced weapon. the fact is, the military uses killing to advance knowledge. whether or not they kill anybody, if they are lucky - they advance technology. killing is as barbaric as it ever was. technology itself, can advance, while killing does not change. if you want to make a better weapon, you have to simply get in touch with your sadism. that's it. that's the only thing that really positions "a more effective weapon".
enemies: small mindedness medocrity fear the opera
friends: satie vermeer the cocteau twins miyazake
ignorance is fine, if you are brave you can get over it. to soften the heart - not if its made of stone. i think about those starving mystic nun people, who were ripe for lascivicious possession
i must be one of them. in machine mode, fully. so wierd how that happens.
i think of boxers who dont have sex before they fight. i think of improvement - vs/ adjustment.
i think of mailer - prolific begettor of kine - vs./ jd salinger. head to head, in the ring. one a recluse, the other a rabbit. sleeping in my clothes. i lie down like the guy from caligari, and wake up just as i was before. as if no sleep occured! in my mind i skip sleep, to get to the next day where i have to get more done. you could say thats not healthy, but it also has something to do with not being home. without an anchor there are only tasks. but sometimes there are only tasks until you find your anchor again. its not such a bad thing to go through hell it just happens anyways. i credit catholicism for putting out an image of hell whereas keeping up appearances often tries to eliminate it.
it would be good to do a show which is totally immaterial. like that tombstone in vermont that said: THE OLD NUISANCE
i think about 80's rockbands that keep on rocking at state fairs. i think about expansion, and adjustment, and how terrible it can seem, that i don't, or can't, own a giant yacht.
you could say - you are the yacht. but its not the same for people with a materialistic bent who like external validation, and ridiculous displays of power. at the same time, so much respect, for jd. its a total fight between the two; the battle for fertility.
dreamt last night i had to say a prayer in hebrew, for that i needed to catch part of a cloud in my hand - i was standing on a platform and saw all these incredible storm clouds rolling towards me, i reached my hand up and caught a portion as they passed. it was like they were living creatures, working with me, there was some kind of happiness, in they obliging my need
Chthonic ( /?kθ?n?k/, from Greek χθ?νιος – chthonios, "in, under, or beneath the earth", from χθ?ν – chth?n "earth";[1] pertaining to the Earth; earthy; subterranean) designates, or pertains to, deities or spirits of the underworld, especially in relation to Greek religion. The Greek word khthon is one of several for "earth"; it typically refers to the interior of the soil, rather than the living surface of the land (as Gaia or Ge does) or the land as territory (as khora (χ?ρα) does). It evokes at once abundance and the grave.
Though Demeter is often described simply as the goddess of the harvest, she presided also over the sanctity of marriage, the sacred law, and the cycle of life and death.
She and her daughter Persephone were the central figures of the Eleusinian Mysteries that predated the Olympian pantheon. In the Linear B Mycenean Greek tablets of circa 1400-1200 BC found at Pylos, the "two mistresses and the king" are identified with Demeter, Persephone and Poseidon.[3]
mastery
the seed of
victory
the seed
of
mastery
the copper homunculus, the man of silver, the man of gold
"locked gold", concelaed and hidden from all, and there it is called solid, it is kept from the eye so that the eye has no power over it
"One ascends to one side, one descends to the other, one enters between the two. Two crown themselves in three, three enter into one"
the scoria and scum of all metals
02.19.2012 entitlement and empowerment. feeling very mistrustful of the one that assumes so much about the other.
every
is
a
take all necessary steps
because if your heart skips a beat
ive been covering it with black paper. then i look at the covering
it is thrilling to shift the fundament. to honor. usually its one or the other, not the two together .and it can never happen willingly.
thats like making a drawing. i can never will a drawing. ever.
also with foresnice science, you see the outermost surface, and from there, you have to get to the cause. its the one sitaution where the two are spoken of together, from the get-go.
give me money to make a better weapon, and ill make a good one. but, at the end of the day, who are you going to kill with it? there is no advanced person, to kill with an advanced weapon. the fact is, the military uses killing to advance knowledge. whether or not they kill anybody, if they are lucky - they advance technology. killing is as barbaric as it ever was. technology itself, can advance, while killing does not change. if you want to make a better weapon, you have to simply get in touch with your sadism. that's it. that's the only thing that really positions "a more effective weapon".
enemies: small mindedness medocrity fear the opera
friends: satie vermeer the cocteau twins miyazake
ignorance is fine, if you are brave you can get over it. to soften the heart - not if its made of stone. i think about those starving mystic nun people, who were ripe for lascivicious possession
i must be one of them. in machine mode, fully. so wierd how that happens.
i think of boxers who dont have sex before they fight. i think of improvement - vs/ adjustment.
i think of mailer - prolific begettor of kine - vs./ jd salinger. head to head, in the ring. one a recluse, the other a rabbit. sleeping in my clothes. i lie down like the guy from caligari, and wake up just as i was before. as if no sleep occured! in my mind i skip sleep, to get to the next day where i have to get more done. you could say thats not healthy, but it also has something to do with not being home. without an anchor there are only tasks. but sometimes there are only tasks until you find your anchor again. its not such a bad thing to go through hell it just happens anyways. i credit catholicism for putting out an image of hell whereas keeping up appearances often tries to eliminate it.
it would be good to do a show which is totally immaterial. like that tombstone in vermont that said: THE OLD NUISANCE
i think about 80's rockbands that keep on rocking at state fairs. i think about expansion, and adjustment, and how terrible it can seem, that i don't, or can't, own a giant yacht.
you could say - you are the yacht. but its not the same for people with a materialistic bent who like external validation, and ridiculous displays of power. at the same time, so much respect, for jd. its a total fight between the two; the battle for fertility.
dreamt last night i had to say a prayer in hebrew, for that i needed to catch part of a cloud in my hand - i was standing on a platform and saw all these incredible storm clouds rolling towards me, i reached my hand up and caught a portion as they passed. it was like they were living creatures, working with me, there was some kind of happiness, in they obliging my need
Chthonic ( /?kθ?n?k/, from Greek χθ?νιος – chthonios, "in, under, or beneath the earth", from χθ?ν – chth?n "earth";[1] pertaining to the Earth; earthy; subterranean) designates, or pertains to, deities or spirits of the underworld, especially in relation to Greek religion. The Greek word khthon is one of several for "earth"; it typically refers to the interior of the soil, rather than the living surface of the land (as Gaia or Ge does) or the land as territory (as khora (χ?ρα) does). It evokes at once abundance and the grave.
Though Demeter is often described simply as the goddess of the harvest, she presided also over the sanctity of marriage, the sacred law, and the cycle of life and death.
She and her daughter Persephone were the central figures of the Eleusinian Mysteries that predated the Olympian pantheon. In the Linear B Mycenean Greek tablets of circa 1400-1200 BC found at Pylos, the "two mistresses and the king" are identified with Demeter, Persephone and Poseidon.[3]
mastery
the seed of
victory
the seed
of
mastery
the copper homunculus, the man of silver, the man of gold
"locked gold", concelaed and hidden from all, and there it is called solid, it is kept from the eye so that the eye has no power over it
"One ascends to one side, one descends to the other, one enters between the two. Two crown themselves in three, three enter into one"
the scoria and scum of all metals
02.16.2012
a nun - again
every
is
a
lord
eating chips all day. training this cat that stinks horribly. not into this cat thing. really glad to be home.
take all necessary steps
because if your heart skips a beat
ive been covering it with black paper. then i look at the covering
it is thrilling to shift the fundament. to honor. usually its one or the other, not the two together .and it can never happen willingly.
thats like making a drawing. i can never will a drawing. ever.
also with foresnice science, you see the outermost surface, and from there, you have to get to the cause. its the one sitaution where the two are spoken of together, from the get-go.
give me money to make a better weapon, and ill make a good one. but, at the end of the day, who are you going to kill with it? there is no advanced person, to kill with an advanced weapon. the fact is, the military uses killing to advance knowledge. whether or not they kill anybody, if they are lucky - they advance technology. killing is as barbaric as it ever was. technology itself, can advance, while killing does not change. if you want to make a better weapon, you have to simply get in touch with your sadism. that's it. that's the only thing that really positions "a more effective weapon".
enemies: small mindedness medocrity fear the opera
friends: satie vermeer the cocteau twins miyazake
ignorance is fine, if you are brave you can get over it. to soften the heart - not if its made of stone. i think about those starving mystic nun people, who were ripe for lascivicious possession
i must be one of them. in machine mode, fully. so wierd how that happens.
i think of boxers who dont have sex before they fight. i think of improvement - vs/ adjustment.
i think of mailer - prolific begettor of kine - vs./ jd salinger. head to head, in the ring. one a recluse, the other a rabbit. sleeping in my clothes. i lie down like the guy from caligari, and wake up just as i was before. as if no sleep occured! in my mind i skip sleep, to get to the next day where i have to get more done. you could say thats not healthy, but it also has something to do with not being home. without an anchor there are only tasks. but sometimes there are only tasks until you find your anchor again. its not such a bad thing to go through hell it just happens anyways. i credit catholicism for putting out an image of hell whereas keeping up appearances often tries to eliminate it.
it would be good to do a show which is totally immaterial. like that tombstone in vermont that said: THE OLD NUISANCE
i think about 80's rockbands that keep on rocking at state fairs. i think about expansion, and adjustment, and how terrible it can seem, that i don't, or can't, own a giant yacht.
you could say - you are the yacht. but its not the same for people with a materialistic bent who like external validation, and ridiculous displays of power. at the same time, so much respect, for jd. its a total fight between the two; the battle for fertility.
dreamt last night i had to say a prayer in hebrew, for that i needed to catch part of a cloud in my hand - i was standing on a platform and saw all these incredible storm clouds rolling towards me, i reached my hand up and caught a portion as they passed. it was like they were living creatures, working with me, there was some kind of happiness, in they obliging my need
Chthonic ( /?kθ?n?k/, from Greek χθ?νιος – chthonios, "in, under, or beneath the earth", from χθ?ν – chth?n "earth";[1] pertaining to the Earth; earthy; subterranean) designates, or pertains to, deities or spirits of the underworld, especially in relation to Greek religion. The Greek word khthon is one of several for "earth"; it typically refers to the interior of the soil, rather than the living surface of the land (as Gaia or Ge does) or the land as territory (as khora (χ?ρα) does). It evokes at once abundance and the grave.
Though Demeter is often described simply as the goddess of the harvest, she presided also over the sanctity of marriage, the sacred law, and the cycle of life and death.
She and her daughter Persephone were the central figures of the Eleusinian Mysteries that predated the Olympian pantheon. In the Linear B Mycenean Greek tablets of circa 1400-1200 BC found at Pylos, the "two mistresses and the king" are identified with Demeter, Persephone and Poseidon.[3]
mastery
the seed of
victory
the seed
of
mastery
the copper homunculus, the man of silver, the man of gold
"locked gold", concelaed and hidden from all, and there it is called solid, it is kept from the eye so that the eye has no power over it
"One ascends to one side, one descends to the other, one enters between the two. Two crown themselves in three, three enter into one"
the scoria and scum of all metals
01.28.2012 ay yi yi yi from hag...back to maiden...completely empty and on the verge...to in the verge - and filled up. going back to my maiden ways. break this bittersweet spell on me lost in the arms of destiny a coldly calculated act? new love, and renewed love: incalculable acts, no matter, what says the contract the greeks had it good i know what you don'ti know it because i saw it dreamt last night i had to say a prayer in hebrew, for that i needed to catch part of a cloud in my hand - i was standing on a platform and saw all these incredible storm clouds rolling towards me, i reached my hand up and caught a portion as they passed. it was like they were living creatures, working with me, there was some kind of happiness, in they obliging my need
Chthonic ( /?kθ?n?k/, from Greek χθ?νιος – chthonios, "in, under, or beneath the earth", from χθ?ν – chth?n "earth";[1] pertaining to the Earth; earthy; subterranean) designates, or pertains to, deities or spirits of the underworld, especially in relation to Greek religion. The Greek word khthon is one of several for "earth"; it typically refers to the interior of the soil, rather than the living surface of the land (as Gaia or Ge does) or the land as territory (as khora (χ?ρα) does). It evokes at once abundance and the grave.
Though Demeter is often described simply as the goddess of the harvest, she presided also over the sanctity of marriage, the sacred law, and the cycle of life and death.
She and her daughter Persephone were the central figures of the Eleusinian Mysteries that predated the Olympian pantheon. In the Linear B Mycenean Greek tablets of circa 1400-1200 BC found at Pylos, the "two mistresses and the king" are identified with Demeter, Persephone and Poseidon.[3]
mastery
the seed of
victory
the seed
of
mastery
the copper homunculus, the man of silver, the man of gold
"locked gold", concelaed and hidden from all, and there it is called solid, it is kept from the eye so that the eye has no power over it
"One ascends to one side, one descends to the other, one enters between the two. Two crown themselves in three, three enter into one"
the scoria and scum of all metals
easy love is an easy ride just wakin up to what we had can stop good love from goin bad oh i just gotta know if you're really there and you really care cuz baby im not f-f-f-f-f-f-foolin'
01.07.2012 vraiment je - j'
mad penguin marching toward certain death. really liking herzog watching everything. her eally can take the piss out of his subjects but then extracts something very positive.
feeling very pro-penetration today.
the copper homunculus, the man of silver, the man of gold
"locked gold", concelaed and hidden from all, and there it is called solid, it is kept from the eye so that the eye has no power over it
"One ascends to one side, one descends to the other, one enters between the two. Two crown themselves in three, three enter into one"
the scoria and scum of all metals
01.02.2012 vraiment j'aime le moment dans l'Exorcist ou le demon dit "je suis personne, je suis personne, je suis personne"
vraiment aussi dans ce moment on penserait que je suis absolutement folle - mais - comme une mere pour mon enfant je suis une pierre - toujours - meme qu'une confrontation avec la mort - immer immer der krieg des Todes - c'est seulment dans le presence de mes parents que je sens comme ca, la terre me manque - ils sont la source comme la bouche de la rivere dans le pienture de courbet - sans des parents les enfants sont libres
et pour moi aussi les problemes avic l'amour, c'est chouette pour les gens pour lequelles l'amour comment naturellement, un autre sorte d'une rivere - et je dis ca dans uns sens emotionel pas autre. c;est facile d'etre totallement un corps, c'est quot ce que je prefere, l'autre chose, c'est assez difficile - dunkel - plien des ombres - shatten - partous - uberalles. je suppose peut etre que je suis idealistique que je crois vraiment que des emotions viennent vers le corps, mais peut etre non. peut etre je suis totallement confusee avec le coeur des martyrs, la purite, ou l'amour et le couer se parler sans hesitation. c'est l'hesistation que je deteste, mais comment peut on faire des question, pour que trouver la verite sansl'hesitation? es gibt kein Herz, in dem das Herz nicht zutreffend ist. Etc. Etc. Etc. Je prefere me rester, et l'homme qui peut m'acheter une tasse de cafe sans l'hesitation! Pas des diamonds, pas d'or, pas le merde, c'est tous merde, mais une tasse de cafe, avec nobilitie, c'est ca la difference. Avec la nobilitie il y a beaucoup qu'on peut faire, peut etre c'est la raison pour que j'idealise les criminels, parce que ils veulent seulement a ganger - le coeur, pas des choses, pas vraiment. les choses sont faciles, les chose sont seulemt un jeu.
obtorto collo obscurum per obscurius
omne vivum ex ovo
qu'est ce que c'est cet endroit terrible, pas ombre, pas noir, pas....aucune de reference. il n y ont pas des meres, pas des peres
que je deteste les choses qui forcent les connections ou ils ne sont aucuns
que je prefere la societe de la violence ou les codes sont strictes, on se parle avec la clarite du sang, la fraternite du sange, la fraternite de la pauvrete, de la simplicite la langue de mes jeunes annees. que je pouvais le parler! m'est c'est assez pour le moment. je revais en francais, et c'est vraiment dure en allemand. un lange je ne pourrais jamais parler, jamais. je comprends un petit peu de la geurre mais c'est la totalite de cette affaire.
j'ai un repect pour la violence mais pas pour des laches. les vraies laches sont quelquefois difficile a voir. mais ils sont les plus mauvais, l'ecume, la boue
que je deteste les choses ce que ne levent pas a l'occasion de la beaute, et de la totalite, parce que on parle selement la langue des laches
ma petite fille me demandais ce soir, "maman si je ferme mes yeux serais je perdu?" je me souhaite que mon efant a cree une meilleur peur de la mort.
maintenant je tourne a l'oracle cette boite la plus grand est moins edite.
kraft
pouvoir
puissance
fortitude
macht
fiat
7 hour epic battle with the stuck turd inside my jet lagged toddler. 7 hours. Somewhere between procrastination and serious constipation. I guess they are really the same thing, hence the prolonged dramatic, epic shift of time/space continuum/lower intestine...
What is unforgivable. What sparks my greatest, sharpest, harshest contempt - is a man who acts like a baby. It's worse than being outright criminal - because that's at least outright - that is - out in the open - for better or for worse - criminal. But for a man to behave like a baby, is no man at all. It's an immediate, total dealbreaker. Bye. Forever. Dont confuse baby and sensitive. A baby is a liar, Sensitive is rather, brave.
When I say dealbreaker - I mean walk away never look back and I dont look back. Funny, some people I respect for their discipline, can be shaky around the edges. Smoking for example; I stopped. When I stop something - I stop it. FOREVER. Stop means stop, there's no intrepreting "stop". But a friend of mine, who had stopped, long ago, well he was smoking the other weekend all along a hellbent path of muscle-destrutiton/weight lifting uplifting rigorous physical construction . Not that it matters - but the discipline part - is any one else, as rigid? I mean - in the most positive sense.
That said there's a downside to rigidity. I can go into "machine mode" i actually call it that. I disassociate from myself, and focus on the goal. Pretty much, that's it. I focus on the task. No matter what else is happenning around me, or to me. If Im tired or burnt or somehow exhausted I push all of it aside - totally - and pretty much pretend like Im super rested, everything's fine - to get through what I need to, or just the day, whatever it might be. But do that for too long, it gets to be like a dry engine you start to crack around the edges, something bad like that. Probably I need to lie in the shelter or a faerie ring, for a few days. I do. I make it like Im irresponsible if I dont know all events, past, present and future, if I am to propose a plan...
...
I wondered today if I would be a better artist if I were more forgiving. That sounds really funny. GO TO YOUR FUCKING MAMA IF YOU WANT TO BE BABIED I have no - i mean - no tolerance, people who act like babies cost time and money. Its just a lower form of theft.The lowest.
The line, without boundary. The line that honors all rule the line that rules all. Ailim iath n-erend
I invoke the land of Eire: (Amergin's invocation) compartementalize everything. to bad effect. or to - the best effect. do you know how to make your boundraies clear? if theres one line that trespasses everything, you better be clear if you're headed there. or maybe not, maybe you just rise up like salt mist and subty infuse, until when the head lifts up you are there. satie. cuz in the hood they dont wanna hear it was a mistake hm. you trying to get some good fame aintchya? you tryin to sling in the ring aintchya? every kind of fatherhood realized - in a murder and execution. fucking A. THE AUTHORATIVE ERROR im the reechest beetch with the niiiiicest osssss the only vagina i have ever really studied - is duchamps, from etant donne. it perpetually perplexes me. ive looked at it for years. its a forensic inaccuracy, it bugs me. if i had a bunch of guy friends draw a vagina, that would be great. i really would like that. i dont myself draw them. i really do not draw them. occasionally ill make an attempt and it looks so cheesy, it gets thrown away. you cant pin it down, nor should you, thats why i like it, undrawn, with just duchamps attempt, as the authorative error. a my daily bread. youd think as a person ages theyd mellow but as you dig deeper and see more, dont you get hungrier - closer to realization than you were the day before. every age has its prime. there is no one prime. there's your prime, in relation to your age, in relation to what you're making. like i said, ill get married, when im 80. until then, every success is a marriage, by that i mean, objects made.
ps if anyone ever tells me again they can "do it all" i am going to hit somebody
<
dont like v necks do like crew necks do like XXL hoodies do like well cut, structured clothing dont like loose, drapey clothing do like pearls, and 22k gold dont like diamonds, 18k, 16k or 12k gold do like rubies do like emeralds dont like amythest, amber or garnet do like fine leather gloves and hats with veils dont like cloth gloves or scarves do like iron, steel dont like bronze, brass or aluminum do like water, earth dont like fire, sky do like fine, thin, shaped eyebrows dont like natural bushy eyebrows do like platinum blonde dont like golden blonde dont like baking do like full seat deerskin breeches don't like riding tights do like boots do like fine leather gloves
do like horses do like big hearted men dont like limits do like rules, structure, clarity
you disresprect the way i live. you take apart what i say.
the harder you try to break me, the harder i push on.
from the thing we have risen and from the thing we still rise.
speechless, blind, dark, everything. cut out the fat. go lean. dont spend money. fuck your own ass. to be a fully functioning physical creature, a perfect beast. that 6'7" heavyweight boxer, ballplayer, skindiver, the goal is animal. all energy is flesh. all chemicals unite in phermones performance and death. it's not animal. it's tyrannical, and tyrants are weak. enough about rape. "but look at me now, all up on the interweb" ha ha de antwoord.
fuck
no goat without a mountain
never without a rock in my pocket the only thing that i took away from the huge beckett book i read too young to understand
SO BE IT!
the copper homunculus, the man of silver, the man of gold
"locked gold", concelaed and hidden from all, and there it is called solid, it is kept from the eye so that the eye has no power over it
"One ascends to one side, one descends to the other, one enters between the two. Two crown themselves in three, three enter into one"
the scoria and scum of all metals
12.10.2012
every kind of fatherhood realized - in a murder and execution. fucking A. the only vagina ive ever really sat and studied - is duchamps, from etant donne. it perpetually perplexes me. ive looked at it for years. its a forensic inaccuracy, it bugs me, so i keep looking at it. me, i dont draw vaginas, ever. there's too much going on there, to bear any accuracy, that's why i like duchamp's so much, but also why its so wrong. a good death...good is good. good is GREAT. youd think as a person ages theyd mellow but as you dig deeper and see more, dont you get hungrier? every age has its prime. there is no one prime. there's your prime, in relation to your age. like i said, ill get married, when im 80.
ps of anyone ever tells me again they can "do it all" i am going to seriously, physically slap them. end of story. people should keep theie trap shut; the concept of one's testicles should in no way be associated with any other part of hteir body, particularly their mouths. focus on your sperm. that's why you were created.
evil is not addressed enough. evil should be in the conversation. there should be some homage to evil, just to understand it, not to be surprised by it. a daily exercize in evil. to be really evil. to be unpredictable. to be mean capricious and full of spite.
DOS AND DONTS
dont like v necks do like crew necks do like XXL hoodies do like well cut, structured clothing (gender neutral) dont like loose, drapey clothing (feminine or fat) do like pearls, and 22k gold dont like diamonds, 18k, 16k or 12k gold do like rubies do like emeralds dont like amythest, amber or garnet do like fine leather gloves and hats dont like cloth gloves or scarves do like iron, steel dont like bronze, brass or aluminum do like water, earth dont like fire, sky do like fine, thin, shaped eyebrows dont like natural bushy eyebrows do like platinum blonde dont like golden blonde do like roasting dont like baking dont like christmas
you disresprect the way i live. you take apart what i say. you try to judge me. now im judging you.
the harder you try to break me, the harder i push on. perseverence.
from the thing we have risen and from the thing we still rise.
someone i know is a major dickhead. i mean, such a dickhead, that no one would deny that he is a dickhead. if you are that much of a dickhead, then you can't go ice skating, you can't even eat ice cream, you can't enjoy a hot bath, because you're such a dickhead that your dickheadedness consumes everything, totally, and absolutely. death is prefrerable, to being so one dimensional. speechless, blind, dark, everything. cut out the fat. go lean. dont spend money. fuck your own ass. to be a fully functioning physical creature, a perfect beast. that 6'7" heavyweight boxer, ballplayer, skindiver, the goal is animal. all energy is flesh. all chemicals unite in phermones performance and death. insecurity on par with rapists...? rapists = the ultimate in insecurity. as if insecurity could have an ultimate, it does. why my own insecurity makes me insecure...how to put a better spin on weakness and insecurity without becoming a rapist. do animals rape? they don't. this is why i like animals. i actually see animals as athletes, and athletes as on par with animals - but by that i mean genuine athletes, not weak powermongers. rape is a very peculiar human quality, along with sadism. it would mar the athlete, it's not animal. it's tyrannical, and tyrants are weak.
"i weeeeelll keeeeell yuuuuuuu" ,"fuck" pronouced badly, kid saying "fuck you" but he doesnt understand that its your middle finger and not your first finger when you give the finger. the face of gadaffi sodomized and in shock did revolt me. mob violence should not be broadcast as a victory lap - no one owns the mob. and when the mob acquiesces its emotional, and nothing more, for that moment, maybe strictly guided, by colors and signs, but still emotional.
would you make a distinction between a sadist who rapes and a sadist who does not. there has to be both kinds or three would be no line between them. what is that line exactly. i know it, i possess it, i can practically run my finger over it, i am drawn to it, but deeply aware, of the distinction it makes. i know i havent even begun to dig deep, to be that happy laughing sadist, who insists on creation, on par with destruction. to put the destroyers in their place. their cunning always puts the sheep at a disadvantage, with what they cannot imagine. this is the problem.
this dream i had the other night. a man i dont know in real life walks into my hotel room with the tools of the trade. he starts to describe what hes going to with them, and with me. this interrupted by my step sister, who walks in, and hugs and congratulates me "on being dominated" as if it was the happiest moment in my life.
fuck
no goat without a mountain
never without a rock in my pocket i realize the little symbol can only for a short time be a stand in for the wedded giant. welded to the earth. i am an inflexible, conservative, old fashioned capricorn. stones and steel and the megaton of iron used to cast the solid parts of the largest wind turbine ever made. the image of the mer-goat should maybe be replaced by the maiden chained to the ocean rock. sprayed by the sea in security. the same set up as a ship anchor. they anyways make a happy pair.
SO BE IT!
the copper homunculus, the man of silver, the man of gold
"locked gold", concelaed and hidden from all, and there it is called solid, it is kept from the eye so that the eye has no power over it
"One ascends to one side, one descends to the other, one enters between the two. Two crown themselves in three, three enter into one"
the scoria and scum of all metals
11.09.2011
the copper homunculus, the man of silver, the man of gold
"locked gold", concelaed and hidden from all, and there it is called solid, it is kept from the eye so that the eye has no power over it
"One ascends to one side, one descends to the other, one enters between the two. Two crown themselves in three, three enter into one"
the scoria and scum of all metals
whats invisible is essential
A d S E
All the great things are simple
WC
The greater the general, the more he contributes in maneuver, the less he demands in slaughter.
WC
I am easily satisfied with the very best.
WC
it demands, it militates, it tyrannizes.
MdS
Truth
believing is not seeing
the _____ is the ______ always, i run away from this and then run headlong into it
just face it
face the ... god
the face of the god
the stone carved in the light of the moon
(it's mine) the thought it seals the pact (act) a precise and clear, sequence of events. that's the story, and that's the narrative.
theater fails everytime because there are no real events involved. you cross over into theater, even a little, and you have made a mistake.
you can contemplate the beauty of the moon, but you cannot even look at the sun. that makes the sun potentially ugly, and dangerous, but the moon is ever beautiful.
If i could talk to myself when i was 15 i would tell myself that nothing ever changes and that who i was then is who i am now
no anchor without root, no stone without weight 11.07.2011
firm adherence to a code of especially moral or artistic values
(it's mine) the thought it seals the pact (act) a precise and clear, sequence of events. that's the story, and that's the narrative.
theater fails everytime because there are no real events involved. you cross over into theater, even a little, and you have made a mistake.
you can contemplate the beauty of the moon, but you cannot even look at the sun. that makes the sun potentially ugly, and dangerous, but the moon is ever beautiful.
i am stretched on your grave and will lie here forever
my sisters and i we have one wish before we die
the young man agreed - he would satisfy their need
Young teacher, the subject
If i could talk to myself when i was 15 i would tell myself that nothing ever changes and that who i was then is who i am now 10.13.2011
firm adherence to a code of especially moral or artistic values
(it's mine) the thought it seals the pact (act) a precise and clear, sequence of events. that's the story, and that's the narrative.
theater fails everytime because there are no real events involved. you cross over into theater, even a little, and you have made a mistake.
you can contemplate the beauty of the moon, but you cannot even look at the sun. that makes the sun potentially ugly, and dangerous, but the moon is ever beautiful.
i am stretched on your grave and will lie here forever
my sisters and i we have one wish before we die
the young man agreed - he would satisfy their need
Young teacher, the subject
If i could talk to myself when i was 15 i would tell myself that nothing ever changes and that who i was then is who i am now 10.14.2011
get back to where you once belonged get back
10.13.2011
The High Priestess is also known as Persephone, Isis, the Corn Maiden and Artemis. She sits at the gate before the great Mystery, as indicated by the Tree of Life in the background. She sits between the darkness and the light, represented by the pillars of Solomon’s temple, which suggests it is she who is the mediator of the passage into the depth of reality. The tapestry hung between the pillars keeps the casual onlookers out and allows only those initiated to enter. The pomegranates on the tapestry are sacred to Persephone. They are a symbol of duty (because Persephone ate a pomegranate seed in the underworld which forced her to return every year). The blue robe the Priestess is wearing is a symbol of knowledge. She is wearing the crown of Isis symbolising the Triple Goddess. The solar cross on her breast is a symbol of balance between male and female. In her lap, she holds the half-revealed and half-concealed Torah, representative of the exoteric and the esoteric teachings and higher knowledge. The moon under her left foot shows her dominion over pure intuition. The palm indicates fertility of the mind and the cube on which she sits is the earth. The planet associated with the High Priestess is the Moon. The Fool comes upon a beautiful veiled lady enthroned between two pillars and illuminated by the moon. She is the opposite of the Magician, quiet where he was loquacious, still where he was in motion, sitting while he stood, shrouded in the night where he was out in the bright of day. Sensing that she is a great seer, the Fool lays out his sword, chalice, staff and pentacle before her. "The Magician showed me these, but now I'm in a quandary. There are so many things I could do with them. I can't decide." See how the outer sun - hungers for the inner one
the fear of corruption
you are not a child
striving for whats pure whats pure is real, unmitigated, whats real is pure, like puking into a toilet, you cant really modify that this one pm i really wanted to smoke a cigarette i dont think thats happened in 5 years maybe instead of wanting to move to a remote cottage with my old loves i should move to a spectacular glittery setting with whats new and awesome
yeah i think so, such a blind donkey purity can be misleading, for rigid thinkers, who want high caliber stimulus, no imitation weapons, and not death. sorry, sorry court of law, you really freaked the shit out of me.while i cant float on an ile flotant from the 17th century, i can, on some huge basket of shaving cream, pressed out of a giant aerosol can, way post disco, where is my belly button now, death is laughing really huge, its not an old image, it doesnt stop or get frozen, its an active, active force, pay attention, because you love to, not for any other reason, look at whats right in front of you, stop heading to the high hills, where the moss is, in your heart, its hard to balance the two, but you can procede, not transcend, but rise above, and take it with you
rigid perfection - its not a god you can worship, only an obssession,
i thought i changing all day times, holiday times, appointment times, to match the cycles of the moon, so as to no longer pay attention to the sun, to allow the sun to be permanently eclipsed by the moon, in practice, in planning
everything perfect all the time wherever the anchor is cast is RIDICULOUS
RIGHT????
drawn and quartered, by exploration. i hate all vestiges of indecision, even in the moment of making a decision, i am so intolerant of thinking about something...mulling it over, that i think i can come off as indecisive, as i feel there should only ever be one way of doing things: the right way. and too bad for you if you cannot pounce on what that is immediately. this is why people flaggelated themselves in the 15th century i am sure. i am nearly that, in my own mind, to myself, even as things do not manifest as i want them to, i keep punching hard, really, always a fighter, rarely a poet, i read other poets, like yeats, i love to get into their space, because they dont punch at all, they take their position from the punchless-whole, the beginning and the end, together, always
makes me want to bury myself in a dark corner and commune with shadows - appease the sharpness of the light. long shadows pertain to long light, make them as long and deep and dark as possible. so as to contend with the shaft the pierces deeper, opens the way to new shadows.
darkness infiltrates
shadow spreads
pour it in um, yeah, i guess so, if you say so;
even if you hesitate, you cant turn away from it, cant turn back, cant look away, cant move, cant bend, cant avoid, you have no choice, at the point of your greatest hesitation, the edge of non-decision, its been decided, nothing you can do but align totally with it, even if you dont want to, you will want to, look forward to the future, lean forward, against the fact that you will want it. so dont hesitate, just oblige, be polite, comply.
medusa head 09.15.2011
old book black and white called "sex & magic". i always wanted to go to a proper wiccan ritual, in the countryside somewhere, in a field, i imagined, always. when i did go it was in someones backyard in new york city and it was cheesy as hell. have had the idea of elementals, story from my friend gala about some strange creature she encountered in the woods that matches no category, ghost, goblin or demon. another of some grey devil thing perched high above in the trees of a park, looking down, no one else could see it, i cant remember who told me that.
the problem with wiccan rituals is that i have a really specific idea of how they should go. so when i find possibilities of real wiccan meetings i am always disappointed pretty fast as to how they are set up or announced and how then they are probably going to go. so i suppose i have to establish my own version of wicca to feel like i can participate. which maybe i have done already but not properly meted out. for myself, or to myself. i think the main thing with ritual is that it should involve a great degree of discipline. otherwise it so easily devolves into some hippy-shmippy crap, the lords and ladies who become dirty hippies. otherwise it isnt tethered to anything real.
"to set down the character of the people about me so that some record of us might live after us, for the like of us will never be seen again."
"As a fisherman, Ó Criomhthain caught a wide variety of seafood, including scad, pilchard, mackerel, cod, herring, halibut, pollock, bream, dogfish, ling, rockfish, wrasse, conger eel, porpoises ("sea pig" and "sea bonham" – the meat being described as "pork"), seals, crab, lobster, crayfish, limpets, winkles and mussels, as well as seaweeds such as dulse, sea lettuce, sea belt, and murlins. Many on the island relished seal meat much more than pork. One night Ó Criomhthain and colleagues caught a "huge creature" in their nets with great danger and difficulty. Perhaps it was a whale or basking shark. Oil from the liver of this unidentified "great beast" fuelled all the lamps on the island for five years (there were about 150 people in fewer than 30 households). " Allagar Na Hinise
Tomás Ó Criomhthain
Irish writer mentioned in this book from the 1970's who I dont know and who is local but who read so much like Beckett. Something about the straightforward no noneness never rich, in the head. From birth to death, a short day understood, for what it is and not for what it is not. huh. learning about "patriachry" from german people. this thing about how you're supposed to get out of a man's way walking down the street if you're not a man. what if you're a gay man. i think then the straight man better get out of his way. sounds a bit like prison rules eh? I was laughing so hard when someone said that the "single mothers" in his kids school made the school "diverse". another friend pointed out, well they did manage to kill 6 million jews...as if it were the right thing . point taken.
getting pretty obsessed by iron as all this work is turning out to be way difficult to make, people seem to be afraid of it - i mean - the level of the perfection - is the only thing i can guess at. so far the USA has failed, hugely, im really a little shocked, its kind of fallen along nation lines in a way i never expected. just to get to the core of the earth, work with it, diligently. i thought vaguely of that millionaire in the 1930's who flew planes and kept trying to make 1 movie, spent a ton of money on it and it never really went anywhere. reading about silent screen stars and celebrities (houdini, charlie chaplin) back in the day - their other business ventures also, some of the other things, they tried and failed at. i think always of klaus kinski and that herzog film the wrath (?) of the aguirre his crazy face tied to the pointless task of dragging a ship up a hill.
got this used book on ireland, photoessays, made in the 1970's i got so nostalgic for irish farmers, i dream of running away and marrying one for real. the moment in my life that drew a line in the sand - maybe forever. could i ever cross back over? would it be like entering the land of tir na nog?
i always was confident in my ways. but i really suffer if i cant live up to my own standard, that is is i cant AFFORD IT. it is the greatest humiliation for me. sounds dramatic but a few months back i was really relating to those finance guys who were committing suicide over the market crashing. its horrible if you cant keep the standard in the clear for yourself and your family. its one thing to curl up in a corner like a cur, in defeat, but you cant do that to someone who depends on you. "Gray iron is one of the oldest cast ferrous products. In spite of competition from newer materials and their energetic promotion, gray iron is still used for those applications where its properties have proved it to be the most suitable material available. Next to wrought steel, gray iron is the most widely used metallic material for engineering purposes. For 1967, production of gray iron castings was over 14 million tons, or about two and one-half times the volume of all other types of castings combined. There are several reasons for its popularity and widespread use. It has a number of desirable characteristics not possessed by any other metal and yet is among the cheapest of ferrous materials available to the engineer. Gray iron castings are readily available in nearly all industrial areas and can be produced in foundries representing comparatively modest investments. It is the purpose of this paper to bring to your attention the characteristics of gray iron which make the material so useful.
Too bad for you that the ones who kick the door wide open are the ones you despise. The ones you care for you want to coddle in your hands like a small animal so afriad youll crush their bones. A sadist can never be playful. Never ever be playful. But all I want to do is play.
im pretty much going to bar conventional studio visits. and be an ass like monet not let anyone into my garden. almost no one.
in fact for all of this im drawing a new floor plan with indications of what is and is not allowed, who is and who is not allowed access. basement and garden are the best palces, the rest, is mundane, and the mundane, is off limits. FUCKING INSANITY
Walkurie is a pretty stupid theme - I mean - it's really boring.
Inserting a tampon would probably get me much farther, much closer, to something heroic
Bad ideas. Bad ideas, are false ideas. That's all. They're just not all the way true, so they're bad. I get really, a lot of stupid ideas that i have to wade through. I think maybe no one should come over to my studio there's so much shit in it. Like, whats the point of looking at a draft. Maybe the entire "studio visit" model is false. Reveal nothing, perform everything. In a grumpy anti-art mood today i think i would do better designing ships. I feel like the deformed guy in mask who takes all the flags off the map where he wants to travel to and just dies. That my veins are filled with some toxic venom programmed to struggle, and to fail. (The two go together). That I were a rich bitch, it would be a different story. Starting to feel like I should marry a republican retire to a ranch somewhere, talk about the weather all day and bake pies.
Im really hungry.
I smell
No I reek - the heat - my salty ass pussy and working all day. I would like to not wash for a week in a hot country. How would I smell then.
Love NY. Bye. Where does my true love lie.
i need a gnome who lives in my backyard with direct access to a mountain world where iron methods are all known and he can just forge stuff i pass to him through the ivy
seriously.
i better marry a foreman. dead serious.
think im one of those virgin queens that gets ripped apart by the drones. ive been beating back a wall of anger my whole life and it just grows and grows and grows. easy to cut out emotions harder to resolve them. nothing present is so self evident compared tp any little thing in your hand, no pockets to put it in, what do you do with it.
beckett and his small stones, i realized recently that that whole scene is just counting stones, as any catholic would, ritualistically around a cairn. forwards and backwards. so i reverse full fathom five (FFF) and break the spell. how to eat my father and therefore, give hope to my digestive tract. i need one of those stomach stapling operations. ha ha. well some days i live like a free spirit and not a ghost. i say again that beckett is the only one who has ever written a sex scene that i find plausible. i mean, i totally love, what he wrote. i recognize it, for what it is, but he never says, outright, what it is. but that's what it is. fucking fearless. totally beautiful. dont talk about anything, just fuck, and let the light filter through the window. and then write about the window.
dont talk about anything, just fuck, and let the light filter through the window.
dont talk about anything, just fuck, and let the light filter through the window.
dont talk about anything, just fuck, and let the light filter through the window.
strippers are like, nice orphans. they bear the promise of a future thats pure malleable flesh. thats it. its not empty its fecund in some way. but i am steering clear of the moving image and they, they are better used in drawing.
New models of Reproduction, are sorely needed Mating with 8 to 12 drones will stock her spermatheca with 6 million to 7 million sperm. So I think the sculpture was just that, in the guise of a kind of Viking bier, or Romantic float down the river, with the mirror reflection off the waterline, built into it, but now Im looking at the pure strength of the iron and those who forge it: friends and ironmongers. The one time Richard Serra got nostalgic (I thought) was when he did that very literal Abu Ghraib protest drawing - It was so cringeworthy I recoiled at it, it evoked my deepest lack of sympathy. I take this view to myself, anf to the piece. I revise, or more eradicate, whatever had directed me to look at this spermatozooa thing so literally (fathers) whatever allowed me to allow that into my studio space. Thats a huge No. Nostaliga is the worst shit its unproductive. It clouds the connection between the artist's hand and heart. Nostaliga is not about the true heart. Maybe the mother is somewhat OK in the studio, in some form, only because, it is what I am, and its somehow productive, but not the Father. It becomes dumb and fascist and hollow, immediately. That's the nature of nostaliga. Fucking clears up everything, seriously. The only reason for marriage. In anyones life: you want to continually fuck that person. period. This is what the priest should say. there's no other reason. and if the desire wanes, you better get divorced. that's it. 80 year olds who fuck, that is good shit. Go for it. In that sense I think people married once they turn 79 and commit to turning their lives into a perpetual orgy. Any financial ties should be contracted separately. Ridiculous to put together fucking and money unless the situation is prostitution (where the terms are up front and most clear.) I know the pieces fit 'cause I watched them tumble down im bearing my cross, shes tending to me procede PROCEDE raining daises today in the studio, hello kitty stickers and gum drops as well
think i want to just live in the this room become like total studio creature start growing wierd cool mold and like, a third eye
awesomeness
my arm is having a muscle spasm
The virgin queen becomes sexually mature about 5 days after emergence. She is relatively quiet in the morning and most active in the afternoon. She may begin her mating flights 5 or 6 days after emergence and go on a number of flights over several days. Mating with 8 to 12 drones will stock her spermatheca with 6 million to 7 million sperm. She will begin to lay eggs in 2 to 5 days and may continue for years.
fathers are really heavy duty, i think im going to eliminate them. thats what i meant to do originally then i got caught up in them - again. now ive come back around. goodbye fathers. you are now out of the mix. back to the destruction of the father - alechmists, and louise bourgeois are the only two ive seen, who have clearly articulated this.
strippers are orphans constructed just for ur eyes.
and i alone am left to tell the tale
here it is forwards
full fathom five thy father lies of his bones are coral made those are pearls that were his eyes nothing of him that doth fade but doth suffer a sea change into something rich and strange
here it is backwards
strange and rich something into change sea a suffer doth but fade doth that him of nothing eyes his were that pearls are those made coral are bones his of lies father thy five fathom full
eliminated that dad head impression thing. going with the backwards version. THIS HOUSE IS CLEAN
iron fire escape like wrought iron fencing tree house, remote property body breaks up into 5 pieces, two mothers separate "mama mama" iron maiden iron mother iron fisted iron chain
2 tons of mother, only paralell i see is, jabba the hut, michelangelos night tomb, when the crypts of cathedrals were actually full, always the bodies buried in the crypt had the spires and the bells ringing above them, so the entire cathedral acts likea big cap, pointing down to, the bodies below.
beached whale, cant get back to the ocean. whale in the very deep, singing whale songs. only in the deep does the whale sing.
no subversion without mastery
no mastery without subversion
no subversion without perversion masters who are not perverts are dumb and fake, covering up for some real perversion they cant manage to express (due to weakness, stupidity, vanity, vice) perverts who are not masters are mostly criminal because they have to steal what they love, what they want, and acknowledge honest truths, even when they are serving 5 consecutive life sentences. they cant give up control over what little grip on it they still have, little bits of information are enough to keep the fantasy of absolute power alive.
08.08.2011
wow. quiet, calm, peaceful, industrious. how awesome is this place? Thinking about shutting down and selling off everything in my studio. Thinking about asking the stone carver at the graveyard if he's got a spare room for me. I really dont like not having a designated workspace, even just a tiny room, this cafe thing is bullshit. Feel like the work is totally vunerable and unprotected. If i shut everything down itll draw a hard line, clean up and finalize the archive and at least establish what and where everything is, definitively. Also clear out the gallery mess. Half assed support is no support at all. Not when the work is full on, its like lame, halved, and then halved again. Where does that get you. Its like a super lame bfriend. I think back on the good things about the person I was with, Ill hand it to him, in those few moments where things were good, they were good. But it in no way accounts for everything that came along with it. I can say this at a safe distance with an ocean between us. Somehow tho that is even preferable to a half assed anything. Thats why Im thinking of shutting everything down. Limp dick. If I could marry a bull I would. A real bull. I almost did. People are animals. Or I was seeking that person whos animal nature was unabashedly, upfront. And that has nothing to do with violence. Just a form of honesty, I suppose, at the end of the day. Without that how can you be really loved. "Gray iron is one of the oldest cast ferrous products. In spite of competition from newer materials and their energetic promotion, gray iron is still used for those applications where its properties have proved it to be the most suitable material available. Next to wrought steel, gray iron is the most widely used metallic material for engineering purposes. For 1967, production of gray iron castings was over 14 million tons, or about two and one-half times the volume of all other types of castings combined. There are several reasons for its popularity and widespread use. It has a number of desirable characteristics not possessed by any other metal and yet is among the cheapest of ferrous materials available to the engineer. Gray iron castings are readily available in nearly all industrial areas and can be produced in foundries representing comparatively modest investments. It is the purpose of this paper to bring to your attention the characteristics of gray iron which make the material so useful.
Too bad for you that the ones who kick the door wide open are the ones you despise. The ones you care for you want to coddle in your hands like a small animal so afriad youll crush their bones. A sadist can never be playful. Never ever be playful. But all I want to do is play.
im pretty much going to bar conventional studio visits. and be an ass like monet not let anyone into my garden. almost no one.
in fact for all of this im drawing a new floor plan with indications of what is and is not allowed, who is and who is not allowed access. basement and garden are the best palces, the rest, is mundane, and the mundane, is off limits. FUCKING INSANITY
Walkurie is a pretty stupid theme - I mean - it's really boring.
Inserting a tampon would probably get me much farther, much closer, to something heroic
Bad ideas. Bad ideas, are false ideas. That's all. They're just not all the way true, so they're bad. I get really, a lot of stupid ideas that i have to wade through. I think maybe no one should come over to my studio there's so much shit in it. Like, whats the point of looking at a draft. Maybe the entire "studio visit" model is false. Reveal nothing, perform everything. In a grumpy anti-art mood today i think i would do better designing ships. I feel like the deformed guy in mask who takes all the flags off the map where he wants to travel to and just dies. That my veins are filled with some toxic venom programmed to struggle, and to fail. (The two go together). That I were a rich bitch, it would be a different story. Starting to feel like I should marry a republican retire to a ranch somewhere, talk about the weather all day and bake pies.
Im really hungry.
I smell
No I reek - the heat - my salty ass pussy and working all day. I would like to not wash for a week in a hot country. How would I smell then.
Love NY. Bye. Where does my true love lie.
i need a gnome who lives in my backyard with direct access to a mountain world where iron methods are all known and he can just forge stuff i pass to him through the ivy
seriously.
i better marry a foreman. dead serious.
think im one of those virgin queens that gets ripped apart by the drones. ive been beating back a wall of anger my whole life and it just grows and grows and grows. easy to cut out emotions harder to resolve them. nothing present is so self evident compared tp any little thing in your hand, no pockets to put it in, what do you do with it.
beckett and his small stones, i realized recently that that whole scene is just counting stones, as any catholic would, ritualistically around a cairn. forwards and backwards. so i reverse full fathom five (FFF) and break the spell. how to eat my father and therefore, give hope to my digestive tract. i need one of those stomach stapling operations. ha ha. well some days i live like a free spirit and not a ghost. i say again that beckett is the only one who has ever written a sex scene that i find plausible. i mean, i totally love, what he wrote. i recognize it, for what it is, but he never says, outright, what it is. but that's what it is. fucking fearless. totally beautiful. dont talk about anything, just fuck, and let the light filter through the window. and then write about the window.
dont talk about anything, just fuck, and let the light filter through the window.
dont talk about anything, just fuck, and let the light filter through the window.
dont talk about anything, just fuck, and let the light filter through the window.
strippers are like, nice orphans. they bear the promise of a future thats pure malleable flesh. thats it. its not empty its fecund in some way. but i am steering clear of the moving image and they, they are better used in drawing.
New models of Reproduction, are sorely needed Mating with 8 to 12 drones will stock her spermatheca with 6 million to 7 million sperm. So I think the sculpture was just that, in the guise of a kind of Viking bier, or Romantic float down the river, with the mirror reflection off the waterline, built into it, but now Im looking at the pure strength of the iron and those who forge it: friends and ironmongers. The one time Richard Serra got nostalgic (I thought) was when he did that very literal Abu Ghraib protest drawing - It was so cringeworthy I recoiled at it, it evoked my deepest lack of sympathy. I take this view to myself, anf to the piece. I revise, or more eradicate, whatever had directed me to look at this spermatozooa thing so literally (fathers) whatever allowed me to allow that into my studio space. Thats a huge No. Nostaliga is the worst shit its unproductive. It clouds the connection between the artist's hand and heart. Nostaliga is not about the true heart. Maybe the mother is somewhat OK in the studio, in some form, only because, it is what I am, and its somehow productive, but not the Father. It becomes dumb and fascist and hollow, immediately. That's the nature of nostaliga. Fucking clears up everything, seriously. The only reason for marriage. In anyones life: you want to continually fuck that person. period. This is what the priest should say. there's no other reason. and if the desire wanes, you better get divorced. that's it. 80 year olds who fuck, that is good shit. Go for it. In that sense I think people married once they turn 79 and commit to turning their lives into a perpetual orgy. Any financial ties should be contracted separately. Ridiculous to put together fucking and money unless the situation is prostitution (where the terms are up front and most clear.) I know the pieces fit 'cause I watched them tumble down im bearing my cross, shes tending to me procede PROCEDE raining daises today in the studio, hello kitty stickers and gum drops as well
think i want to just live in the this room become like total studio creature start growing wierd cool mold and like, a third eye
awesomeness
my arm is having a muscle spasm
The virgin queen becomes sexually mature about 5 days after emergence. She is relatively quiet in the morning and most active in the afternoon. She may begin her mating flights 5 or 6 days after emergence and go on a number of flights over several days. Mating with 8 to 12 drones will stock her spermatheca with 6 million to 7 million sperm. She will begin to lay eggs in 2 to 5 days and may continue for years.
fathers are really heavy duty, i think im going to eliminate them. thats what i meant to do originally then i got caught up in them - again. now ive come back around. goodbye fathers. you are now out of the mix. back to the destruction of the father - alechmists, and louise bourgeois are the only two ive seen, who have clearly articulated this.
strippers are orphans constructed just for ur eyes.
and i alone am left to tell the tale
here it is forwards
full fathom five thy father lies of his bones are coral made those are pearls that were his eyes nothing of him that doth fade but doth suffer a sea change into something rich and strange
here it is backwards
strange and rich something into change sea a suffer doth but fade doth that him of nothing eyes his were that pearls are those made coral are bones his of lies father thy five fathom full
eliminated that dad head impression thing. going with the backwards version. THIS HOUSE IS CLEAN
iron fire escape like wrought iron fencing tree house, remote property body breaks up into 5 pieces, two mothers separate "mama mama" iron maiden iron mother iron fisted iron chain
2 tons of mother, only paralell i see is, jabba the hut, michelangelos night tomb, when the crypts of cathedrals were actually full, always the bodies buried in the crypt had the spires and the bells ringing above them, so the entire cathedral acts likea big cap, pointing down to, the bodies below.
beached whale, cant get back to the ocean. whale in the very deep, singing whale songs. only in the deep does the whale sing.
no subversion without mastery
no mastery without subversion
no subversion without perversion masters who are not perverts are dumb and fake, covering up for some real perversion they cant manage to express (due to weakness, stupidity, vanity, vice) perverts who are not masters are mostly criminal because they have to steal what they love, what they want, and acknowledge honest truths, even when they are serving 5 consecutive life sentences. they cant give up control over what little grip on it they still have, little bits of information are enough to keep the fantasy of absolute power alive.
08.02.2011
yeah amy winehouse. it sucks. its wierd to have a kid and then have all these totally contrary thoughts that have only to do with the end of the work the last gasp of energy, of sincerity, of directness, of desire, of all those things put into one thing. i have got this wierd thing about leaving new york. the city is like my family, my life blood. or was. i am having a seriously hard time accepting a little bit of positive change. or maybe im just resisting hitler. what if i fell for france? would the conflict be the same?
oh my HS sweetheart entertaining fantasies of running off with joe blow - well hes not really joe blow - in fact - but he takes life like a champ. i think. i think, if i settle down for some super normal awesome in love life, i can make art and no one will actually bother me. thats part of the fantasy. making art in a garage somewhere not bothered by anyone til after i die. only because theyre not proving to be useful in life. so fuck off and leave me alone; id be like deaf and dumb william castle making art in a shed: having awesome sex and making art in a shed. i just never thought i would get to a point where i feel good about shit, and then all of a sudden be in a fight for survival. like, building your dream home below the floodline - dumbass. and i take full responsbility - for answering the door. to all those factors. from rags to riches and back to rags again. all my investments, everything, out the window, fucked, in the ass, literally. personal relationships are the most important thing to me now, more than ever, more than i ever imagined. i have more respect for people who give a shit, and also who are moral. the right thing tends to keep the structure intact. will not threaten it. that is the critical difference. and moral people definitely have to stick together, by hook or by crook. sounds corny, but its not, its the glue.
i didnt think i would survive the fact that i do take responsibility, that it would be too much for any person to bear. lucretia, i totally understood lucretia. it is too much to bear, in fact, if you try to account for someone elses criminal element, where you are not criminal, that is what drives people mad, it is in fact asking to much but when the lines are not clear, it can happen. there actually isnt a lot of support out there, for drawing a very clear moral line, a boudry, that is the fucked up part.
anyways. a few other things. drawing to me now, on some piece of paper, as i have known it, is not enough, drawing is much bigger than that, drawing is sculpture, drawing is iron ore bulldozers and wandering through forests. buying property in remote areas, building bridges, towers, tree houses. that is drawing now. its going to be difficult as fuck to live up to this, thats all i have to say about that, at the moment, but the standard, the form it takes, is clear now, theres nothing i can do about it the past is the past and the future is the future.
Gray iron is one of the oldest cast ferrous products. In spite of competition from newer materials and their energetic promotion, gray iron is still used for those applications where its properties have proved it to be the most suitable material available. Next to wrought steel, gray iron is the most widely used metallic material for engineering purposes. For 1967, production of gray iron castings was over 14 million tons, or about two and one-half times the volume of all other types of castings combined. There are several reasons for its popularity and widespread use. It has a number of desirable characteristics not possessed by any other metal and yet is among the cheapest of ferrous materials available to the engineer. Gray iron castings are readily available in nearly all industrial areas and can be produced in foundries representing comparatively modest investments. It is the purpose of this paper to bring to your attention the characteristics of gray iron which make the material so useful.
Too bad for you that the ones who kick the door wide open are the ones you despise. The ones you care for you want to coddle in your hands like a small animal so afriad youll crush their bones. A sadist can never be playful. Never ever be playful. But all I want to do is play.
im pretty much going to bar conventional studio visits. and be an ass like monet not let anyone into my garden. almost no one.
in fact for all of this im drawing a new floor plan with indications of what is and is not allowed, who is and who is not allowed access. basement and garden are the best palces, the rest, is mundane, and the mundane, is off limits. FUCKING INSANITY
Walkurie is a pretty stupid theme - I mean - it's really boring.
Inserting a tampon would probably get me much farther, much closer, to something heroic
Bad ideas. Bad ideas, are false ideas. That's all. They're just not all the way true, so they're bad. I get really, a lot of stupid ideas that i have to wade through. I think maybe no one should come over to my studio there's so much shit in it. Like, whats the point of looking at a draft. Maybe the entire "studio visit" model is false. Reveal nothing, perform everything. In a grumpy anti-art mood today i think i would do better designing ships. I feel like the deformed guy in mask who takes all the flags off the map where he wants to travel to and just dies. That my veins are filled with some toxic venom programmed to struggle, and to fail. (The two go together). That I were a rich bitch, it would be a different story. Starting to feel like I should marry a republican retire to a ranch somewhere, talk about the weather all day and bake pies.
Im really hungry.
I smell
No I reek - the heat - my salty ass pussy and working all day. I would like to not wash for a week in a hot country. How would I smell then.
Love NY. Bye. Where does my true love lie.
i need a gnome who lives in my backyard with direct access to a mountain world where iron methods are all known and he can just forge stuff i pass to him through the ivy
seriously.
i better marry a foreman. dead serious.
think im one of those virgin queens that gets ripped apart by the drones. ive been beating back a wall of anger my whole life and it just grows and grows and grows. easy to cut out emotions harder to resolve them. nothing present is so self evident compared tp any little thing in your hand, no pockets to put it in, what do you do with it.
beckett and his small stones, i realized recently that that whole scene is just counting stones, as any catholic would, ritualistically around a cairn. forwards and backwards. so i reverse full fathom five (FFF) and break the spell. how to eat my father and therefore, give hope to my digestive tract. i need one of those stomach stapling operations. ha ha. well some days i live like a free spirit and not a ghost. i say again that beckett is the only one who has ever written a sex scene that i find plausible. i mean, i totally love, what he wrote. i recognize it, for what it is, but he never says, outright, what it is. but that's what it is. fucking fearless. totally beautiful. dont talk about anything, just fuck, and let the light filter through the window. and then write about the window.
dont talk about anything, just fuck, and let the light filter through the window.
dont talk about anything, just fuck, and let the light filter through the window.
dont talk about anything, just fuck, and let the light filter through the window.
strippers are like, nice orphans. they bear the promise of a future thats pure malleable flesh. thats it. its not empty its fecund in some way. but i am steering clear of the moving image and they, they are better used in drawing.
New models of Reproduction, are sorely needed Mating with 8 to 12 drones will stock her spermatheca with 6 million to 7 million sperm. So I think the sculpture was just that, in the guise of a kind of Viking bier, or Romantic float down the river, with the mirror reflection off the waterline, built into it, but now Im looking at the pure strength of the iron and those who forge it: friends and ironmongers. The one time Richard Serra got nostalgic (I thought) was when he did that very literal Abu Ghraib protest drawing - It was so cringeworthy I recoiled at it, it evoked my deepest lack of sympathy. I take this view to myself, anf to the piece. I revise, or more eradicate, whatever had directed me to look at this spermatozooa thing so literally (fathers) whatever allowed me to allow that into my studio space. Thats a huge No. Nostaliga is the worst shit its unproductive. It clouds the connection between the artist's hand and heart. Nostaliga is not about the true heart. Maybe the mother is somewhat OK in the studio, in some form, only because, it is what I am, and its somehow productive, but not the Father. It becomes dumb and fascist and hollow, immediately. That's the nature of nostaliga. Fucking clears up everything, seriously. The only reason for marriage. In anyones life: you want to continually fuck that person. period. This is what the priest should say. there's no other reason. and if the desire wanes, you better get divorced. that's it. 80 year olds who fuck, that is good shit. Go for it. In that sense I think people married once they turn 79 and commit to turning their lives into a perpetual orgy. Any financial ties should be contracted separately. Ridiculous to put together fucking and money unless the situation is prostitution (where the terms are up front and most clear.) I know the pieces fit 'cause I watched them tumble down im bearing my cross, shes tending to me procede PROCEDE raining daises today in the studio, hello kitty stickers and gum drops as well
think i want to just live in the this room become like total studio creature start growing wierd cool mold and like, a third eye
awesomeness
my arm is having a muscle spasm
The virgin queen becomes sexually mature about 5 days after emergence. She is relatively quiet in the morning and most active in the afternoon. She may begin her mating flights 5 or 6 days after emergence and go on a number of flights over several days. Mating with 8 to 12 drones will stock her spermatheca with 6 million to 7 million sperm. She will begin to lay eggs in 2 to 5 days and may continue for years.
fathers are really heavy duty, i think im going to eliminate them. thats what i meant to do originally then i got caught up in them - again. now ive come back around. goodbye fathers. you are now out of the mix. back to the destruction of the father - alechmists, and louise bourgeois are the only two ive seen, who have clearly articulated this.
strippers are orphans constructed just for ur eyes.
and i alone am left to tell the tale
here it is forwards
full fathom five thy father lies of his bones are coral made those are pearls that were his eyes nothing of him that doth fade but doth suffer a sea change into something rich and strange
here it is backwards
strange and rich something into change sea a suffer doth but fade doth that him of nothing eyes his were that pearls are those made coral are bones his of lies father thy five fathom full
eliminated that dad head impression thing. going with the backwards version. THIS HOUSE IS CLEAN
iron fire escape like wrought iron fencing tree house, remote property body breaks up into 5 pieces, two mothers separate "mama mama" iron maiden iron mother iron fisted iron chain
2 tons of mother, only paralell i see is, jabba the hut, michelangelos night tomb, when the crypts of cathedrals were actually full, always the bodies buried in the crypt had the spires and the bells ringing above them, so the entire cathedral acts likea big cap, pointing down to, the bodies below.
beached whale, cant get back to the ocean. whale in the very deep, singing whale songs. only in the deep does the whale sing.
no subversion without mastery
no mastery without subversion
no subversion without perversion masters who are not perverts are dumb and fake, covering up for some real perversion they cant manage to express (due to weakness, stupidity, vanity, vice) perverts who are not masters are mostly criminal because they have to steal what they love, what they want, and acknowledge honest truths, even when they are serving 5 consecutive life sentences. they cant give up control over what little grip on it they still have, little bits of information are enough to keep the fantasy of absolute power alive.
07.31.2011 I would like to say that talent is all that matters. who do you give a shit about? at the end of the day when you wacked off taken a huge shit and drunk the finest wine, who do you give a shit about. hemingway was actually old - but mcqueen, kennedy o'toole and winehouse were not. im going to put kosinksi in that group just because he was so awesome and in that - ageless - i dont want to seem overly sensitive or like too much of a sensitive medium but it pains me to think of the talent and the few missing factors that could have sustained it. by this i mean - the right kind of support. you need a lot, not just a little, to keep the visoin clear, to have it meet your standard of what it means to make a true tryst- to make it - meaningful and substantial the difference betweeen idea and fancy. so much importantt hinking goes on between whats seen, but without the proper pillars of support, how can any of it be realized.
i dont know, i feel lame. "Taking the easy way out won't tempt you in the least today, Chloe. This is not to say that you favor this approach by any means yet, it's safe to say that everyone is tempted from time to time. Not so for you on this day however as the planetary aspects will lend strength to taking all of the steps necessary however long they may be. If a partner tries to convince you otherwise, stand your ground. This will be better in the long run anyhow." "We’re pretty sure Stalin’s besties weren’t complaining to him about how their army uniform didn’t go with their (purse) gun satchel. Even back then they knew not to waste the precious time of people who matter. If we wanted to give a shit about anyone besides ourselves, we’d get knocked up. At least that person would share our DNA." "A betch in a relationship as a much lamer version of herself, having a fuck buddy is really the best of both worlds. It allows you to be your truest betch self while getting laid on a regular basis without having to deal with some miserable boyfriend around telling you that your crop top looks too slutty." Gray iron is one of the oldest cast ferrous products. In spite of competition from newer materials and their energetic promotion, gray iron is still used for those applications where its properties have proved it to be the most suitable material available. Next to wrought steel, gray iron is the most widely used metallic material for engineering purposes. For 1967, production of gray iron castings was over 14 million tons, or about two and one-half times the volume of all other types of castings combined. There are several reasons for its popularity and widespread use. It has a number of desirable characteristics not possessed by any other metal and yet is among the cheapest of ferrous materials available to the engineer. Gray iron castings are readily available in nearly all industrial areas and can be produced in foundries representing comparatively modest investments. It is the purpose of this paper to bring to your attention the characteristics of gray iron which make the material so useful.
Too bad for you that the ones who kick the door wide open are the ones you despise. The ones you care for you want to coddle in your hands like a small animal so afriad youll crush their bones. A sadist can never be playful. Never ever be playful. But all I want to do is play.
im pretty much going to bar conventional studio visits. and be an ass like monet not let anyone into my garden. almost no one.
in fact for all of this im drawing a new floor plan with indications of what is and is not allowed, who is and who is not allowed access. basement and garden are the best palces, the rest, is mundane, and the mundane, is off limits. FUCKING INSANITY
Walkurie is a pretty stupid theme - I mean - it's really boring.
Inserting a tampon would probably get me much farther, much closer, to something heroic
Bad ideas. Bad ideas, are false ideas. That's all. They're just not all the way true, so they're bad. I get really, a lot of stupid ideas that i have to wade through. I think maybe no one should come over to my studio there's so much shit in it. Like, whats the point of looking at a draft. Maybe the entire "studio visit" model is false. Reveal nothing, perform everything. In a grumpy anti-art mood today i think i would do better designing ships. I feel like the deformed guy in mask who takes all the flags off the map where he wants to travel to and just dies. That my veins are filled with some toxic venom programmed to struggle, and to fail. (The two go together). That I were a rich bitch, it would be a different story. Starting to feel like I should marry a republican retire to a ranch somewhere, talk about the weather all day and bake pies.
Im really hungry.
I smell
No I reek - the heat - my salty ass pussy and working all day. I would like to not wash for a week in a hot country. How would I smell then.
Love NY. Bye. Where does my true love lie.
i need a gnome who lives in my backyard with direct access to a mountain world where iron methods are all known and he can just forge stuff i pass to him through the ivy
seriously.
i better marry a foreman. dead serious.
think im one of those virgin queens that gets ripped apart by the drones. ive been beating back a wall of anger my whole life and it just grows and grows and grows. easy to cut out emotions harder to resolve them. nothing present is so self evident compared tp any little thing in your hand, no pockets to put it in, what do you do with it.
beckett and his small stones, i realized recently that that whole scene is just counting stones, as any catholic would, ritualistically around a cairn. forwards and backwards. so i reverse full fathom five (FFF) and break the spell. how to eat my father and therefore, give hope to my digestive tract. i need one of those stomach stapling operations. ha ha. well some days i live like a free spirit and not a ghost. i say again that beckett is the only one who has ever written a sex scene that i find plausible. i mean, i totally love, what he wrote. i recognize it, for what it is, but he never says, outright, what it is. but that's what it is. fucking fearless. totally beautiful. dont talk about anything, just fuck, and let the light filter through the window. and then write about the window.
dont talk about anything, just fuck, and let the light filter through the window.
dont talk about anything, just fuck, and let the light filter through the window.
dont talk about anything, just fuck, and let the light filter through the window.
strippers are like, nice orphans. they bear the promise of a future thats pure malleable flesh. thats it. its not empty its fecund in some way. but i am steering clear of the moving image and they, they are better used in drawing.
New models of Reproduction, are sorely needed Mating with 8 to 12 drones will stock her spermatheca with 6 million to 7 million sperm. So I think the sculpture was just that, in the guise of a kind of Viking bier, or Romantic float down the river, with the mirror reflection off the waterline, built into it, but now Im looking at the pure strength of the iron and those who forge it: friends and ironmongers. The one time Richard Serra got nostalgic (I thought) was when he did that very literal Abu Ghraib protest drawing - It was so cringeworthy I recoiled at it, it evoked my deepest lack of sympathy. I take this view to myself, anf to the piece. I revise, or more eradicate, whatever had directed me to look at this spermatozooa thing so literally (fathers) whatever allowed me to allow that into my studio space. Thats a huge No. Nostaliga is the worst shit its unproductive. It clouds the connection between the artist's hand and heart. Nostaliga is not about the true heart. Maybe the mother is somewhat OK in the studio, in some form, only because, it is what I am, and its somehow productive, but not the Father. It becomes dumb and fascist and hollow, immediately. That's the nature of nostaliga. Fucking clears up everything, seriously. The only reason for marriage. In anyones life: you want to continually fuck that person. period. This is what the priest should say. there's no other reason. and if the desire wanes, you better get divorced. that's it. 80 year olds who fuck, that is good shit. Go for it. In that sense I think people married once they turn 79 and commit to turning their lives into a perpetual orgy. Any financial ties should be contracted separately. Ridiculous to put together fucking and money unless the situation is prostitution (where the terms are up front and most clear.) I know the pieces fit 'cause I watched them tumble down im bearing my cross, shes tending to me procede PROCEDE raining daises today in the studio, hello kitty stickers and gum drops as well
think i want to just live in the this room become like total studio creature start growing wierd cool mold and like, a third eye
awesomeness
my arm is having a muscle spasm
The virgin queen becomes sexually mature about 5 days after emergence. She is relatively quiet in the morning and most active in the afternoon. She may begin her mating flights 5 or 6 days after emergence and go on a number of flights over several days. Mating with 8 to 12 drones will stock her spermatheca with 6 million to 7 million sperm. She will begin to lay eggs in 2 to 5 days and may continue for years.
fathers are really heavy duty, i think im going to eliminate them. thats what i meant to do originally then i got caught up in them - again. now ive come back around. goodbye fathers. you are now out of the mix. back to the destruction of the father - alechmists, and louise bourgeois are the only two ive seen, who have clearly articulated this.
strippers are orphans constructed just for ur eyes.
and i alone am left to tell the tale
here it is forwards
full fathom five thy father lies of his bones are coral made those are pearls that were his eyes nothing of him that doth fade but doth suffer a sea change into something rich and strange
here it is backwards
strange and rich something into change sea a suffer doth but fade doth that him of nothing eyes his were that pearls are those made coral are bones his of lies father thy five fathom full
eliminated that dad head impression thing. going with the backwards version. THIS HOUSE IS CLEAN
iron fire escape like wrought iron fencing tree house, remote property body breaks up into 5 pieces, two mothers separate "mama mama" iron maiden iron mother iron fisted iron chain
2 tons of mother, only paralell i see is, jabba the hut, michelangelos night tomb, when the crypts of cathedrals were actually full, always the bodies buried in the crypt had the spires and the bells ringing above them, so the entire cathedral acts likea big cap, pointing down to, the bodies below.
beached whale, cant get back to the ocean. whale in the very deep, singing whale songs. only in the deep does the whale sing.
no subversion without mastery
no mastery without subversion
no subversion without perversion masters who are not perverts are dumb and fake, covering up for some real perversion they cant manage to express (due to weakness, stupidity, vanity, vice) perverts who are not masters are mostly criminal because they have to steal what they love, what they want, and acknowledge honest truths, even when they are serving 5 consecutive life sentences. they cant give up control over what little grip on it they still have, little bits of information are enough to keep the fantasy of absolute power alive.
07.25.2011
i need a gnome who lives in my backyard with direct access to a mountain world where iron methods are all known and he can just forge stuff i pass to him through the ivy
seriously.
i better marry a foreman. dead serious.
think im one of those virgin queens that gets ripped apart by the drones. ive been beating back a wall of anger my whole life and it just grows and grows and grows. easy to cut out emotions harder to resolve them. nothing present is so self evident compared tp any little thing in your hand, no pockets to put it in, what do you do with it.
beckett and his small stones, i realized recently that that whole scene is just counting stones, as any catholic would, ritualistically around a cairn. forwards and backwards. so i reverse full fathom five (FFF) and break the spell. how to eat my father and therefore, give hope to my digestive tract. i need one of those stomach stapling operations. ha ha. well some days i live like a free spirit and not a ghost. i say again that beckett is the only one who has ever written a sex scene that i find plausible. i mean, i totally love, what he wrote. i recognize it, for what it is, but he never says, outright, what it is. but that's what it is. fucking fearless. totally beautiful. dont talk about anything, just fuck, and let the light filter through the window.
dont talk about anything, just fuck, and let the light filter through the window.
dont talk about anything, just fuck, and let the light filter through the window.
dont talk about anything, just fuck, and let the light filter through the window.
strippers are like, nice orphans. they bear the promise of a future thats pure malleable flesh. thats it. its not empty its fecund.
New models of Reproduction, are sorely needed Mating with 8 to 12 drones will stock her spermatheca with 6 million to 7 million sperm. So I think the sculpture was just that, in the guise of a kind of Viking bier, or Romantic float down the river, with the mirror reflection, built into it, but now Im looking at the pure strength of iron and those who forge it: friends and ironmongers. The one time Richard Serra got nostalgic (I thought) was when he did that very literal Abu Ghraibprotest drawing - It was so cringeworthy I recoiled at it, it evoked my deepest lack of sympathy.. I take this view to myself, and revise, or more eradicate, what strange ties had directed me to look at this spermatozooa thing so literally (fathers) whatever allowed me to allow that into my studio space. Thats a huge No. Nostaliga is the worst shit its really unproductive. It clouds the connection between the artist's hand and heart. (Really, nostaliga is not about the true heart.) Fucking clears up everything, seriously. The only reason for marriage. In anyones life: you want to continually fuck that person. period. there's no other reason. and if the desire wanes, you better get divorced. that's it. I know the pieces fit 'cause I watched them tumble down im bearing my cross, shes tending to me procede PROCEDE raining daises today in the studio, hello kitty stickers and gum drops as well
think i want to just live in the this room become like total studio creature start growing wierd cool mold and like, a third eye
awesomeness
my arm is having a muscle spasm
The virgin queen becomes sexually mature about 5 days after emergence. She is relatively quiet in the morning and most active in the afternoon. She may begin her mating flights 5 or 6 days after emergence and go on a number of flights over several days. Mating with 8 to 12 drones will stock her spermatheca with 6 million to 7 million sperm. She will begin to lay eggs in 2 to 5 days and may continue for years.
fathers are really heavy duty, i think im going to eliminate them. thats what i meant to do originally then i got caught up in them - again. now ive come back around. goodbye fathers. you are now out of the mix. back to the destruction of the father - alechmists, and louise bourgeois are the only two ive seen, who have clearly articulated this.
strippers are orphans constructed just for ur eyes.
and i alone am left to tell the tale
here it is forwards
full fathom five thy father lies of his bones are coral made those are pearls that were his eyes nothing of him that doth fade but doth suffer a sea change into something rich and strange
here it is backwards
strange and rich something into change sea a suffer doth but fade doth that him of nothing eyes his were that pearls are those made coral are bones his of lies father thy five fathom full
eliminated that dad head impression thing. going with the backwards version. THIS HOUSE IS CLEAN
iron fire escape like wrought iron fencing tree house, remote property body breaks up into 5 pieces, two mothers separate "mama mama" iron maiden iron mother iron fisted iron chain
2 tons of mother, only paralell i see is, jabba the hut, michelangelos night tomb, when the crypts of cathedrals were actually full, always the bodies buried in the crypt had the spires and the bells ringing above them, so the entire cathedral acts likea big cap, pointing down to, the bodies below.
beached whale, cant get back to the ocean. whale in the very deep, singing whale songs. only in the deep does the whale sing.
no subversion without mastery
no mastery without subversion
no subversion without perversion masters who are not perverts are dumb and fake, covering up for some real perversion they cant manage to express (due to weakness, stupidity, vanity, vice) perverts who are not masters are mostly criminal because they have to steal what they love, what they want, and acknowledge honest truths, even when they are serving 5 consecutive life sentences. they cant give up control over what little grip on it they still have, little bits of information are enough to keep the fantasy of absolute power alive.
07.21.2011
the father the greatest foe self-impaled crater feeble ruler, feeble choices, feeble hope, feeble gain proclaiming greatness to an audience of 1 sleeping with the enemy, destroying the family enemy of the good, the greatest foe
iron fire escape like wrought iron fencing tree house, remote property body breaks up into 5 pieces, two mothers separate "mama mama" iron maiden iron mother iron fisted iron chain
2 tons of mother, only paralell i see is, jabba the hut, michelangelos night tomb, when the crypts of cathedrals were actually full, always the bodies buried in the crypt had the spires and the bells ringing above them, so the entire cathedral acts likea big cap, pointing down to, the bodies below.
beached whale, cant get back to the ocean. whale in the very deep, singing whale songs. only in the deep does the whale sing.
no subversion without mastery
no mastery without subversion
no subversion without perversion masters who are not perverts are dumb and fake, covering up for some real perversion they cant manage to express (due to weakness, stupidity, vanity, vice) perverts who are not masters are mostly criminal because they have to steal what they love, what they want, and acknowledge honest truths, even when they are serving 5 consecutive life sentences. they cant give up control over what little grip on it they still have, little bits of information are enough to keep the fantasy of absolute power alive.
07.16.2011 iron fire escape like wrought iron fencing tree house, remote property body breaks up into 5 pieces, two mothers separate "mama mama" iron maiden iron mother iron fisted iron chain
2 tons of mother, only paralell i see is, jabba the hut, michelangelos night tomb, when the crypts of cathedrals were actually full, always the bodies buried in the crypt had the spires and the bells ringing above them, so the entire cathedral acts likea big cap, pointing down to, the bodies below.
beached whale, cant get back to the ocean. whale in the very deep, singing whale songs. only in the deep does the whale sing.
no subversion without mastery jittery messed up and bumming about the death of alexander mcqueen, kennedy o'toole, ernest hemingway and unica zirn
no mastery without subversion
no subversion without perversion masters who are not perverts are dumb and fake perverts who are not masters are all possibly criminal because they are untruthful
weakness kills all creativity
godamn alexander mcqueen how it bothers me
this is all because of The Red Shoes
06.22.2011 this is the anthem the hands that - give a shit, or care - put a pencil in the hand, a bow, go slowly, dont rush to defend, dont rush to possess, dont rush Satie Oracle
06.19.2011 the hands that - give a shit, or care - put a pencil in the hand, a bow, go slowly, dont rush to defend, dont rush to possess, dont rush Satie Out on the streets, that's where we'll meet You make the night, I always cross the line Tightened our belts, abuse ourselves Get in our way, we'll put you on your shelf Another day, some other way We're gonna go, but then we'll see you again I've had enough, we've had enough Cold in vain, she said (Pre-chorus) I knew right from the beginning That you would end up winnin' I knew right from the start You'd put an arrow through my heart (Chorus) Round and round With love we'll find a way just give it time Round and round What comes around goes around I'll tell you why Dig Lookin' at you, lookin' at me The way you move, you know it's easy to see The neon light's on me tonight I've got a way, we're gonna prove it tonight Like Romeo to Juliet Time and time, I'm gonna make you mine I've had enough, we've had enough It's all the same, she said fleshing things out: sometimes i get stupid - not lazy - but stupid. i disconnect from the importance of living the thing to the fullest, as the fullest is my standard. i dont lower my standard, but i lower my self. and so my standard seems far away, unreal, when in fact it is always there and never changes. it demands the highest level of participation. so if i dont meet that, im just not participating. and my work comes out shitty, not mine - basically. part of this is denying how much sentiment i do put into the work, because that seems somewhat dangerous. as much as it might be true. its a hard thing to acknowledge. but i can say that when my sentiments get fucked up - lets say - impaled - im like a ghost. haunted, restrained, unable to connect to anything that bears any weight. im happy to be able to see this, never could, maybe i had to fucking die first, ressurect, second, when i thought no form possible. i bitchily made fun of lebron james made insecure on the court by personal issues because i have always taken cover behind an iron fist - but is that really honest cover? its not, its really not, not if you want to participate. and all i want to do is participate, good work only opens doors.ps - i was so conditioned to a particular form - i mean - physical form - that parts loosened up somewhat. i had a really rigid, simplistic understanding of testosterone, its way BETTER than whatever narrow groove i perceived - in terms of its positive output. negative - rapists - violent people - does that qualify as testosterone fueled? is there really testosterone - behind sadism. im starting to think - not. not sure how to identify whats behind that other shit, other than self hatred, which, by definition, has no balls. speechlessness goes both ways. or does it. deaf mute, choked up is that all your gold? where did it come from? what did you have to do? there is a heavan and a hell there is no heavan and no hell hell is heavan and heavan is hell both occupy the same space, now, and in the 15th century, only the laws of perspective have changed, as to how to render Man you can open a door, with: a shotgun, screwdriver, ice pick, key, credit card, shove, fist, request more than any hinge on any door could know if that was your father, would you dog him? to make the or into an and. build them low, as low as you can, lower, bitch positivity O Fortuna velut luna statu variabilis, semper crescis aut decrescis superior to the beast
FUCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCK lesbian ding bat in librarian glasses sucking dick all day. would i sleep with sarah palin. just for her...appetite? Mein Weg Als Deutscher Und Jude. 1921....vis animae conturbatur et divisa seorsum disiecatur, eodem illo distracta veneno. Lucrez III. 498. eh. ah. oof. ew. oo. onno. ivo. anno. 1513. 2020. 821. 3. -3004. -20,0013. -00000000.
should i do this or that this or that...this...thiss...thsss....thyss
vengerov! i kind of am vengerov. anne sophie mutter is playing in november at lincoln center. all notions of a break or a vacation are ridiculous. people yell that i should take a vacation. what do they mean by this. probably i should spend more time in europe. definitely, but nothing to do with a vacation. to become the lady of a castle. hows that. i did think today of a few castle plans. always. secret passageways linking all. we keep trying to find bell towers that we can go up into, me and io. when we find a church with ringing bells (there are many) she is so disappointed when we cant actually go up into the tower. it could be paris. thats a lot of stairs with a 2 year old! today as we watched violin playing she said "look mama, look at the hands!" she was so excited at how the hands moved, to make the music. medardo rosso died three weeks before my dad was born, in 1928. joeseph beuys died on my birthday. now we are hanging next to each other in that martin gropius bau show. what can become a tower: corporate conference hotel near a lake outside berlin. box. sewer. basement. resevoir. a gap between two walls. mauseloeum. which here, is just a stone cottage, closest thing ive ever seen to ill seen ill said, apart from caved in cottages in ireland, but they are like the memory of the book, and not the book itself. bats always die in captivity. i think all of america should become a subsidiary of MGM studios
05.31.2011
lesbian ding bat in librarian glasses sucking dick all day. say that 5 times fast. now make a painting. the third god. apollo dionysus and the third god. dionysus cannot accomodate stasis. the darkness that does not expand. i didnt really understand this and sometimes could not distinguish the two - mistaking stasis for dionysus. stasis is dangerous. eh. ah. oof. ew. oo. onna. ivo.
should i do this or that this or that...this...thiss...and this
vengerov!
05.20.2011
maybe i should just make iron war monuments, now that i am a mother nothing but trust nothing but get rid of the gold ring and all rings will be yours to wear
watching Phil Anselmo perform some wierd shell. room too big 3 intersecting shadows, rocks in my pockets, i like sleeping in niches not in cavernous spaces tents in ny still havent set it up in the back yard not sure if id like it there paradise island artists who turn 80 all the energy rise and fall so bad with the fall want rise all the time, how is this even possible
05.13.2011
im sitting here eating slices of bauernschinken one slice after another. the meat here is so fucking good. i blacked out my windows so the neighbors cant see me anymore. my garden in bklyn is bursting the trees are gigantic compared to last year. THE RUHR VALLEY IS IRON STRONG please lord assist me in living a life free of denial - American Industry is terrifyingly obsolete. Post collapse. It has already collapsed. We dont have the infrastructure, the resources or skills to compete with a real non fantasy based market. Germany has the technology, integrity knowledge and skill. Think of how much the US compromised its own knowledge base, industry has now mutated to mongoloid status and we cant change it back, people just get poorer and stupider and angrier totally cut out of the loop of productivity and technical progress/pride in ones work WOW WE ARE REALLY AND TRULY FUCKED. writing this even sounds nostalgic, already, Serra cant make his shit in the United States because it ISNT POSSIBLE. Checking out all these German iron and steel co's the US must have been like that 75 years ago, work strong, work ready, work proud. No more, no way, even those plants that are still running, they sit like islands unto themselves, in the middle of Indiana somewhere, lucky to be alive. Just alive. There isnt much future in that. American industry is a charity case, we cannot compete with those who can. but dont knock the present
05.06.2011 baby, baby, baby wants an empire And I'm a a vampire
Tantra - why have i never ever encountered this before (?????) WTF Someone put words to it. HEY OK !! Tantric truck Tantric rock Tantric tree Tantric floor Tantric chair Tantric box Tantric pole Tantric manga video Tantric airplane Tantric cord Tantric nail Tantric tube Tantric corner Tantric wall Tantric hole Tantric light Tantric shadow Tantric knee Tantric sound Tantric night Tantric dawn Tantric moon Tantric sun Tantric dyke Tantric priest Tantric dykepriest Tantric water Tantric dykepriest water Tantric flow Tantric dykepriest water flow Tantric wave Tantric earth Tantric earthwave Tantric skin Tantric earthwave skin Tantric sword Tantric lance Tantric vine Tantric drink Tantric vinedrink Tantric lint Tantric lord Tantric lady Tantric baby Tantric round Tantric sand Tantric corner Tantric story Tantric storycorner Tantric chamber Tantric sleep Tantric sleepchamber Tantric door Tantric portal Tantric window Tantric passage Tantric path Tantric lock Tantric key Tantric roof Tantric groove Tantric plane Tantric toiletpaper core Tantric bag Tantric plastic bag Tantric tape Tantric duct tape Tantric nylon cord Tantric green nylon cord Tantric desert Tantric hair Tantric sweater Tantric breath Tantric tear Tantric tooth Tantric mouth Tantric gland Tantric tonsil Tantric pectoral Tantric abdomen Tantric forehead Tantric Tantric rule Tantric earth Tantric piston Tantric alarm Tantric grease Tantric cylinder Tantric cone Tantric closure Tantric opening Tantric demand Tantric closure opening demand Tantric cylinder cone Tantric ice cream cone Tantric ice cream Tantric ice Tantric hike Tantric tree branch Tantric stream Tantric river Tantric brook Tantric EVERYTHING
"Durga, that is just another name for the goddess Kali. She is worshipped by her followers as the highest universal deity. All other gods, whether masculine or feminine, emerge from her. She has both pleasant and horrific characteristics, but the dark and cruel traits predominate. She is traditionally linked to a destructive, man-destroying sexuality. She epitomizes forbidden sex, destructive rage, and death. Terror and madness count among her characteristics and it is believed her out and out destructiveness will one day reduce the world to rubble. Our era, which Hindus and Buddhists equally consider to be the “dark” one, and which is rushing headlong and inevitably towards its downfall, bears the name of this fearsome goddess — Kali yuga. Kali appears to her believers as Shakti, that is as feminine energy in the form of a universal female divinity. In her omnipotence “she includes both the spiritual and the material principles and can therefore be understood to contain both the soul and nature ... The feminine principle creates the cosmos in combination with the masculine principle– though the masculine is always of secondary importance and subordinate to the feminine principle...” — reports the tantra researcher Agehananda Bharati (Bharati, 1977, p. 174)" (http://www.american-buddha.com/pure.shakti.htm)
"There is much to be said for the suggestion the tantric practices, or at least similar rites, were originally part of the cult of worship of the great goddess, which in contrast to early Buddhism had a completely free and open attitude towards sexuality. This is also admitted implicitly by the Buddhist yogis when they project all the forces of the universes into a female archetype. Since they were convinced they possessed a technique (upaya) which in the final instance placed absolute power over the goddess in their hands, they could maintain this apparent omnipotence of the feminine without risk. One almost has the impression that they deliberately adopted the omnipotent matriarchal image. Yet as soon as women actually grasped for power, this was seen by all the androcentric cults of India as a great disaster and much feared. The woman then appears as a bestial horror god or a bloodthirsty tigress who kills her lover, performs bizarre dances upon his corpse or places the still-aroused penis of the dead in her vulva. She is depicted as a being with a gaping maw and bloody canines. Numerous variants of such macabre portraits are known. In the light of such images of horror the fears of the men were thoroughly justified and man-destroying cult sacrifices were then no rarity in the vicinity of the black Kali."
edges liberation embodiment
binoculars...seen from the street, through a window, from a rooftop. sword stroke, unseen tormentor, the stroke of the sword. ghost invasion heater left on hole in the ground
just watched miyazakes ponyo for the nth time mind is not on violence. i do appreciate people who can render it but in fact what i do is not connected to it. most of all i liked how he rose above it in order to be faithful to it. thats the main thing. all else is a bit speculative. it depends on the context, so in a way the literal stuff that i wrote about today is not really relevant. sometimes i like to feel out what literal is like. but it doesnt make me an expert, personally. im looking. to look is fun, just like, really riding around on a horse, naked. live horse fur on your skin, is looking. to be able to look. counterpoint to hyperawareness is: k
Violent Wedge Tornado Tares Apart A Western Iowa City ! Part 2 coming Soon ! Twisters caused enough damage to prompt Iowa Gov. Terry E. Branstad to issue a disaster proclamation in Monona County, according to a statement released by the governor's office. This video is not for broadcast without written consent. Video may not be edited in any way and may not be posted on the internet without written consent by Keith W. Ball. 30 likes, 7 dislikes Show more Uploader Comments (blrkeith) Man1: "Hey Keith, you said it? was headed north, right?" Keith: "Yeah." Man1: "And we're east of it, right?" Keith: "Yeah, so?" Man1: "So why is it getting bigger..?" Keith: "....FUUUUUUUUU-" TheSleepyV 1 week ago @TheSleepyV? You might want to start watching it at 1:44. I said it looks like it's due north. I was driving north. blrkeith 1 week ago This comment has received too many negative votes show BlackDawg1978 2 weeks ago @BlackDawg1978 If by moron you mean trained NOAA storm spotters you mean me than yes. The job of a storm spotter is to call in weather event to NOAA so they have a better understanding of what is really going on in the field. If you do a little research you will find out that storm spotters are a very important toll for any comunity in the United States and? us storm spotters save many lives each and evry year. Look it up or call NOAA yourself and ask them if they need us or is radar good enough blrkeith 2 weeks ago 19 @BlackDawg1978 you ever sit at home and watch the weather news and hear a "Tornado Warning" for your city and get nervous/scared and go to saftey to have nothing happen?? THATS A GOOD THING... it's because of these "moronic? storm chasers" that we even have a warning system. Yes Iowa was still destroyed we can't prevent that... It's impossible to prevent a Tornado from coming but Storm chasers make it possible for us to KNOW that one is near! ashpaterson 2 weeks ago 4 @ashpaterson Thanks? I think. " moronic " LOL blrkeith 1 week ago see all All Comments (55) Sign In or Sign Up now to post a comment! That's crazy I used to go camping down at timber ridge everyweekend when I was? younger... bojibri 1 day ago @blrkeith Thanks my friend :-) I've been spotting/chasing for 25+ years and these kinds of comments are hard to hear sometimes. One thing that is unfortunate is the? large number of people who think it's "cool" to do this and that we just jump in the car and become chasers. NOT EVEN CLOSE. I can imagine how many hours or reading, and how many hundreds of hours of busted forecasts you've been on before finding the first tornado. Do you BELIEVE what you say in AL/MS yesterday? ChristopherSaindon 1 day ago keep you're hand still, bad filming? man. 05.03.2011
i dont want to go shopping i dont want to go to the super market i dont want to go to a restaurant i dont want to go to the atm i want to live naked in a forest for 24 hours sleeping in a hand made hovel with dried leaves and mud for a roof and a little fire in a center pit swords. i made a proposal for someones garden "too depressing" i was told because i took from goyas disasters of war. you know for every dark thing, a light thing, isnt one tied inextricably to the other. if you can tie them together. its not for other people to do this. its not for everyone to do this. but they are themselves tied together. art ties these things together in a way that makes sense. or at least - is - self evident. i dont really understand why anyone would look at any of my work literally. its not a story. its a work of art. nothings anecdotal, ever, nor does it seem so - how is a breast - anecdotal. how is the sublime - anecdotal? how is something beautiful - anecdotal. noe did a great job but he always inserts a dose of sadism into the equation. i dont mean to qualify that - he does insert sadism into every equation. as a sort of constant. he makes you endure these terrible scenes and then once you settle into the idea that they are over he bumps it up a level, merciless mother nature. it is a bit like the surprise ending of friday the 13th where you think jason is dead and the flowery movie-over music plays but then he bursts back out of the depths into the boat.
yea with noe - its his amazing power of observation (awesome) and a near endless onslaught of abuse... i have to think about this a little. there is balance in his eloquence. he sheds light on the senslessness which normally passes rigt before us unnoticed or kept at a distance/rationalized in some way. it is like shedding light on darkness, but not darkness per se, just depth. no depth without dimension, and so much of what is experienced is really flat. its just a vener, it doesnt penetrate, it bears no weight. i just saw a few pretty dicey images of bin ladens totally busted face not sure if he was dead or alive in the photos. you are the worlds most feared visage and you end up dying like a cur under the fist of some angry navy seal. where is that seal from. tuskaloosa? brandt? tyler? that guys fist knows a story.
i really liked the serra show, particularly the unframed pieces they were like giant temple entrances.
"Instruction focuses on our seven priorities of survival: positive mental attitude, wilderness first aid, shelter, fire craft, signaling, water, and food. You will learn knots and lashings, and will be introduced to topographic maps and compasses. Students will become proficient in fire craft; they will learn to start and maintain a knee-high fire in the pouring rain using flint and steel. Wilderness safety, preparedness, and camping skills are included in the curriculum." wall clouds, the return stroke, 10,000 FPS Violent Wedge Tornado Tares Apart A Western Iowa City ! Part 2 coming Soon ! Twisters caused enough damage to prompt Iowa Gov. Terry E. Branstad to issue a disaster proclamation in Monona County, according to a statement released by the governor's office. This video is not for broadcast without written consent. Video may not be edited in any way and may not be posted on the internet without written consent by Keith W. Ball. 30 likes, 7 dislikes Show more Uploader Comments (blrkeith) Man1: "Hey Keith, you said it? was headed north, right?" Keith: "Yeah." Man1: "And we're east of it, right?" Keith: "Yeah, so?" Man1: "So why is it getting bigger..?" Keith: "....FUUUUUUUUU-" TheSleepyV 1 week ago @TheSleepyV? You might want to start watching it at 1:44. I said it looks like it's due north. I was driving north. blrkeith 1 week ago This comment has received too many negative votes show BlackDawg1978 2 weeks ago @BlackDawg1978 If by moron you mean trained NOAA storm spotters you mean me than yes. The job of a storm spotter is to call in weather event to NOAA so they have a better understanding of what is really going on in the field. If you do a little research you will find out that storm spotters are a very important toll for any comunity in the United States and? us storm spotters save many lives each and evry year. Look it up or call NOAA yourself and ask them if they need us or is radar good enough blrkeith 2 weeks ago 19 @BlackDawg1978 you ever sit at home and watch the weather news and hear a "Tornado Warning" for your city and get nervous/scared and go to saftey to have nothing happen?? THATS A GOOD THING... it's because of these "moronic? storm chasers" that we even have a warning system. Yes Iowa was still destroyed we can't prevent that... It's impossible to prevent a Tornado from coming but Storm chasers make it possible for us to KNOW that one is near! ashpaterson 2 weeks ago 4 @ashpaterson Thanks? I think. " moronic " LOL blrkeith 1 week ago see all All Comments (55) Sign In or Sign Up now to post a comment! That's crazy I used to go camping down at timber ridge everyweekend when I was? younger... bojibri 1 day ago @blrkeith Thanks my friend :-) I've been spotting/chasing for 25+ years and these kinds of comments are hard to hear sometimes. One thing that is unfortunate is the? large number of people who think it's "cool" to do this and that we just jump in the car and become chasers. NOT EVEN CLOSE. I can imagine how many hours or reading, and how many hundreds of hours of busted forecasts you've been on before finding the first tornado. Do you BELIEVE what you say in AL/MS yesterday? ChristopherSaindon 1 day ago keep you're hand still, bad filming? man. 04.29.2011 B so i went to my corner deli today for my usual coffee - its like a mexican run very greasy spoon lots of cops go there - im standing there waiting for my coffee, bread, and banana, its busy in there, and i hear these 2 guys come in, i dont see them just hear them come in behind me - one's like "yo man, this place here, this place has some good shit, good grub you know what im saying?" in that instant my head goes: convict, just out of prison, being shown around by good intentions friend. so i feel someone standing next to me, i think (but dont yet see) "hot" he says in a very even, clear, confident voice (unlike his squirelly sounding friend) "mami , let me get 2 scrambled eggs with turkey. and can i get a banana?" i think: i just ordered a banana. then i start thinking of ___, how he grew up in a black ghetto, and speaks really similarly, with the same sort of even keeled confidence, and energy. but its maybe just that prison energy, raw, fresh, full of hope and in top physical condition - just out. so i still dont look at this guy, but i can feel him, and i know that he can feel me in the sense that im not unaware of him, and he checking me out - respectfully. then im like waiting for my order for too long finally they wrap it up i pay and turn to leave, in the moment that i bump directly into him (he somehow got behind me) i look right into his eyes; he is tall, super strong, (super) and fucking something to look at. made my day. made HIS day. hell yeah. SPRING (but unlike former self i did not carrying on a conversation wtih the guy - i now pay attention to the tsunami markers the japanese but down centuries ago those who ignored the paid with their lives trust is now at the forefront frankly that has to do with art as well) you get to know something one way it can be hard to know it another way. specifically im talking about black metal. maybe i am conservative but i dont totally understand how a movement that originated out of a very specific nordic culture can migrate to another. its like someone knew i liked certain epics so they gave me the gilgamesh hoping it would spur on new work. but an epic is not a style, its substance, one can relate to, part of the anchor. am i being too harsh here, i should talk to people who know . what is the substance behind the non nordic bands. i saw sepultura the other night, yes they are the grandpas of everything but also they are a national movement, they are really about the place they come from. people throwing brazilian flags at them, considering pinochet, sepultura is fucking raw (they are raw anyways). none of that is behind these later dark bands, whats the identity behind them? whatever it is i cant see it. actually, having seen the walkurie the other night, i would say they are a bit more like that - opera-ish, in that wagners stories are his stories, they are make-believe germanic-ish mythy-spectacles, more, marvel comics than proper epic - in the end - his riff, not really deep or shared, like a real epic would be. 04.29.2011 ‘Si eilean nam bothan nam bothan Eilean nam bothan nam bothan Eilean nam bothan nam bothan Am bothan a bh’ aig Fionnghuala ‘Si eilean nam bothan nam bothan Eilean nam bothan nam bothan Eilean nam bothan nam bothan Am bothan a bh’ aig Fionnghuala Bheirinn fead air fulmairean Bheirinn fead air falmairean Liuthannan beaga na mara Bheireamaid greis air an tarrainn Na maireadh na duirgh dhuinn Cha d’thuirt an dadan a’ seo Cha d’thuirt an dadan a’ seo Cha d’thuirt an dadan a’ seo Bheireamaid greis air an tarrainn Na maireadh na duirgh dhuinn Bheirinn fead air fulmairean Bheirinn fead air falmairean Liuthannan beaga na mara Bheireamaid greis air an tarrainn Na maireadh na duirgh dhuinn Cha d’thuirt an dadan a’ seo Cha d’thuirt an dadan a’ seo Cha d’thuirt an dadan a’ seo Bheireamaid greis air an tarrainn Na maireadh na duirgh dhuinn Thuirt an gobha fuirighidh mi ‘S thuirt an gobha falbhaidh mi ‘S thuirt an gobha leis an othail A bh’ air an ḍrus an t-sàbhail Gu rachadh e a shuirghe parameters are expansive. roland thought that i randomly draw on a sheet of paper - like its a wall - but i could never do that - the direction of the edge and the center are so important, as much as a ship and its anchor - i could not be a ship floating aimlessly at sea - i have to have a real anchor, always, i assumed that this was obvious, maybe its only obvious to me (?) but - no way - come on! they are as solid as they are ephemeral - if they were just ephemeral they would not be compelling, there would be no grip... if ever i loose my anchor i would panic, any ship would. i keep watching that tsunami footage with those poor ships getting bashed and sucked under overpasses your only chance there would be if you were anchored to the tsunami in which case you would have to be the tsunami itself. i watch that footage and i look at the limits of everything...i think : ok the water came only this high, this one patch here was spared, those houses stood no chance, that field has about 5 more seconds until it will get engulfed, because the tsunami is limitless to what a person could stand - if they are standing directly in front of it. if they are standing 10 feet above its maximum height - theyll be totally fine. its interesting to see how limits play out, what are they, how are they respected, how are they exceeded? at what point is the line crossed, so that the line itself dissolves - or not. ultimately the tsunami has a shape and it is not, in fact, limitless. the japanese themselves put down those stone markers centuries ago warning not to build below them and people themselves surpssed that , clearly defined, clearly drawn, in stone, they built homes schools and summer houses well below those markers. this all has to do with being observant, simply following through on what you see. when i say " being observant" i dont mean like, watching a ballgame. i mean, focus. this is why i respect forensics so much, it has nothing to do with death, it has to do with being so observant that you are able through tiny, very accurate details to describe a complex event. with tornados, i am always looking at them. they carve a clear path, are super vertical, they are formally strong, but still only made of wind. also, i have always had dreams about them, very detailed dreams, whole huge tornado scenarios, black earth tornados, water tornados, sister tornados, bearing down on the horizon, sometimes, underneath them, up close to them, examining them, or managing them, in the case of my dad, at his house, because he has a big field, a handful of those dreams happen there on the horizon of that field. and always in those dreams i am directing everyone in the house to the basement telling them the safest corner to huddle in, sometimes doubting in the moment, is it northwest, or northeast? which direction is the tornado coming from? then everything can get really technical the fear is gone and i get immersed in strategy and details visa vis the tornado.
hey in wagner if you break the rules....you get to sleep inside a ring of fire!!! the rules, then emotions break the rules, then the rules are honored again, then they are broken, by emotion, again. the rule of marriage, the rule of love, the rule of war, the rule of the gods, the rule of mortality. very layered. and so heavy. the moodiness, of the power wielding gods. they change their minds, they get into a bind. they get mad. 1st act they changed the set only once, stupefying. i was wishing they would put the lights out so all the singers would move in darkness then the only thing illuminated would be the orchestra pit. then their voices would just sort of move around, invisibly on stage. i was listening last night to the sound of the shower spray as i moved, it changes, very much, but i dont see anything. totally caught myself fantasizing about having a cottage in my backyard where my nanny and her husband and 2 kids would live full time so i could come and go as i pleased and theyd all be anchored here, unstressed on salary all the time. HA HA!! keep dreaming!!!!!! for that i would have to contemplate marriage with a hohenhollzern or a hapsburg or a thurn and taxis.....or make dale chichuly style glass pieces that can be easily sold in botanical garden giftshops. 04.26.2011 B amazing show all for one and one for all dark wood of error one of my favorite song sepultura is incredible they are a national movement the fucking energy in the room - people throwing flag bandanas at them makes metallica look like such a bunch of wankers they kick ass i really have to go to sleep pretty sure what im doing right now doesnt qualitfy as work at the expense of others...parasite i think i get really wound up if i dont do 1 thing every day that releases a lot of endorphins. thats why drinking can really suck, if it fucks up my ability to be active the next day. i think i need to approach things more like im building a scaffold and less like im bashing a car - out of the respect for the next cycle - which is only ever around the corner - 1 sun 1 moon - with all due respect to the next moon there is one thing that always fuels work: being in love. as big as the void might be behind it - the shit is good shit. im talking love/lust of course, but love is lust and lust is love. im not in one of those camps that just dismisses lust, because without it, theres nothing to touch. and not porn lust per se - thats not about touching, more just, pure performance (ie not touching...) 04.26.2011 pffffftttt major shit so people wonder about being married - to someone in the same profession, or someone interested in your profession, or someone competing with your profession, or someone who has notions about your profession. what about family members? the ones you're born with. isnt that more than enough? am i going to be one of those mothers that has no idea how to respect boundaries? i think ill see my parents 1 day in a year. going to see sepultura, surprise treat, that is the phone call i like receiving in late the afternoon the guy you see on facebook from highschool who looks so wierd a different you are not sure its him - part of all brother family who were lawless - as if they had no parents in their house at all (did they?) and the one brother RIP died shot in the back of the head involved with super bad stuff, at a super young age 04.25.2011 Oophoi Oophoi freedom work Truth vs Lies Identify a lie Identify a truthLie #1: _________________ Lie #2: ____________________ Lie #3: _____________________ Each one of those refers back - to a truth. frikkin nervous about what lies ahead. am i going to like this?will it work? maybe it will be great. will i just die in the dust of nostalgia for a country that no longer exists. or does it. can new york thrive? i busted my ass here. is america just too stupid? where the fuck are all the david lee roths when you need them i, as an american, dont feel comfortable here, right now. taking my america with me, see what happens. my baby baby baby wants an empire my baby baby baby wants a real thief >my baby baby baby wants a real piece thank you random person who just wrote that they are "continually inspired" by my work. i need to hear that shit , that heavy duty germanic work ethic that dominates everything - i have impossible, giant standards (no no - possible, doable goals!!) future weapons systems, here i come glad to hear a friend of mine goes into his corporate bathroom and jacks off during lunchhour off his iphone. YEAH! If only I had somebody folded up into a box for such purposes - the fact is I am like that person myself, im like a robot either on or off - active, or inactive - no inbetween. does that make me some kind of math nerd? like one of those military types who only know how to crunch numbers - and kill people. only a few things can activate me and when they do i feel alive and i feel like myself. when im inactive i dont feel like myself and i suffer. this is also the case when i dont like the work and still at my age i have almost no patience for process even as i insist on everything being done with precision Out on the streets, that's where we'll meet You make the night, I always cross the line Tightened our belts, abuse ourselves Get in our way, we'll put you on your shelf Another day, some other way We're gonna go, but then we'll see you again I've had enough, we've had enough Cold in vain, she said (Pre-chorus) I knew right from the beginning That you would end up winnin' I knew right from the start You'd put an arrow through my heart (Chorus) Round and round With love we'll find a way just give it time Round and round What comes around goes around I'll tell you why Dig Lookin' at you, lookin' at me The way you move, you know it's easy to see The neon light's on me tonight I've got a way, we're gonna prove it tonight Like Romeo to Juliet Time and time, I'm gonna make you mine I've had enough, we've had enough It's all the same, she said (Pre-chorus) (Chorus) Yeah! Solo Out on the streets, that's where we'll meet You make the night, I always cross the line Tightened our belts, abuse ourselves Get in our way, we'll put you on your shelf (Chorus) Round and round With love we'll find a way just give it time, time, time, time Round and round What comes around goes around I'll tell you why, why, why, why Round and roundDRINK YOUR ORANGE JUICE DRINK IT UP YOU DOMINANT BITCH listening to old Isis bleah turning it off. OK high on fire, better i like trucks crawlspaces and tents tiny spaces, the basement, the boiler room, good sound proof places or places so deserted that its as if they are soundproof (though you can hear all kinds of natural sounds) things to do: longer camping trip, spitsbergen, raze the walls of the building and insert a lot of steel plate , fix the joists on the staircase also, new sheet rock new doors (new steel frame for all), treehouse in a good tree in a good forest, underground structures, buy property in the middle of nowhere build a few underground bunkers (self sustaining, with a lot of light, almost like a peat house but underground - a but like the desert houses in the original starwars but in dark and green terrain, more like Vahalla Rising by Refn), rip the rose bushes out of the back yard, raze it, plant only moonvine, build little bunker in the back yard has to be sound proof, soundproof everything, cast a world in iron soundproofing is liberating how many ways can you fill a corner, basement corner, the view from the wall or the ceiling or the sidewalk, whatever gets splattered is just 1 splatter and a lot of audio, no other details seen. also, light shifts as the eyes shift, depending on who is in control the light is controlled, sort of platos cave, what you see + dont see, you see more when you cant see fritz lang's m - where the mother is looking for her child you hear her calling but you see empt changing spaces - where she is looking (not found) you hear, and dont see name 1 good porn movie - name 1 good horror movie - name 2 good porn movies - name 2 good horror movies - name 3 good porn movies - name 3 good horror movies check out the architecture of all the serial killers/serial rapists secret bunkers, whats the viewpoint of the bunker. listening to local singer from ballvaughn aha ha Twilight - worker running through some kind of wet, authentic factory attacked by vampires never taken off guard, deflected by a sneer, somehow accurate events are always recalled in silence, unless you were there, you will never go to sound, to the sounds, as a starting point, rarely are they even part of an actual memory - and if they are they are disembodied. how much sound do you remember? some things people have said, but then they stand out, like lines in a play...not sure where im going with this. 04.21.2011 Oophoi the weekend is becoming my favorite time to work, i like being in the studio when all other shit is closed A HAPPY GIRL THIS MORNING blood woman blood bitch there's a corona a corona swelling pressing hands up against his scar ther'es no warmth, there's no warmth to be felt In the United States, 1.3 women are raped every minute. That results in 78 rapes each hour, 1872 rapes each day, 56160 rapes ech month and 683,280 rapes each year. 1 out of every 3 American women will be sexually assulted in her lifetime. The United States has the world's highest rape rate of the countries that publish such statistics. It's 4 times higher than Germany, 13 times higher than England, and 20 times higher than Japan. 1 in 7 women will be raped by her husband. 83% of rape cases are ages 24 or under. 1 in 4 college women have either been raped or suffered attempted rape. 1 in 12 males students surveyed had commited acts that met the legal definition of rape. Furthermore, 84% of the men who had commited such acts said what they had done was definitely not rape. 75% of male students and 55% of female students involved in acquintance rape had been drinking or using drugs. Only 16% of rapes are ever reported to the police. Domestic bliss: I am so happy when the laundry is done, the house is clean, the clothes are folded, stacked and organized by outfit, the freezer is stocked with wild sockeye salmon pre cut into portions to be broiled for the baby: everything upstairs makes everything downstairs run smoothly. I put Io to bed at night and she says, "Mama no sleep, mama work, mama friends, mama go to city" When things are running as they should (Benjamin Franklin: A place for everything and everything in its place) I am seriously so glad I could plant plants in my back yard sit under the cherry blossoms (rip out the roses) and watch things grow. Instead I board planes and drag my toddler on multiple trips to look at schools in foreign countries. Maybe I am looking too hard. Maybe I shouldnt be looking for anything. So concerned I am about education, fairness, and values that perform. It just got so bullshitty here. Not to mention, dangerous to even be here. How do you field a shitstorm of danger and bullshit. Imagine if Io had a spot in some awesome school that I really believed in despite everything else. It would be compelling. Would have been compelling. OK could be compelling. my baby baby baby wants an empire my baby baby baby wants some real heat free dom is free 04.20.2011 i dont mind you coming here, and wasting all my time marooned on an island locked in a box tied to a table with the same journey song blasting over and over tied into a corner with an engine revving in the next room, with the same barely perceptible journey song blasting over and over several ridiculous psy ops excersizes repeated have steve perry make a personal appearance and walk through the room stranger who enters the background sees whats happening and leaves was the most painful part of the movie for me (cowardice) The goal is to influence the emotions, motives, objective reasoning, decision-making abilities and ultimately the behavior of foreign governments, organizations, groups, and individuals. PSYOP officers assess target audiences, develop PSYOP campaign plans, programs and products, coordinate for the dissemination of PSYOP products, and synchronize PSYOP activities into strategic, operational and tactical peacetime and combat operations. PSYOP officers must maintain critical knowledge and skills associated with a specific region of the world to include foreign language expertise, political-military awareness, and cross-cultural communications. A PSYOP Officer requires an in-depth knowledge of the art and science of persuasion and influence. They need an ability to interact with host-nation military and civilian officials, the general population, detainees, enemy prisoners of war (EPWs), displaced civilians (DCs), and internees. A PSYOP Officer possesses a working knowledge of the political and cultural trends and attitudes in a variety of foreign countries, practical understanding of the social psychology and individual and group psychological dynamics that expose information voids in foreign populations, and executing advertising and marketing campaigns meant to create favorable results for the supported unit or organization. Many times PSYOP Officers have to understand how to operate PSYOP unique equipment to insure the right message is developed, produced and disseminated at the right time and place. hey this psyops shit is so funny its like a substitute for intelligence - how non intelligent people try to qualify and quantify an intelligence they cannot fathom vampire porn - just rivulets of blood flowing in slow motion, bulging neck veins, people tying and untying ribbons around their wrists and necks, medical technicians taking blood, fleshwounds blood woman blood bitch there's a corona a corona swelling pressing hands up against his scar ther'es no warmth, there's no warmth to be felt 04.19.2011 chinese 3 d porn release means you can screen adult movies on the big screen (again) rape scene and revenge scene - you expect them to be over at a certain point (the pace slows slightly, feels over) but then they pick up a line is crossed and death enters the mix - in both. thats where hes really good, he defies the story with the action, it sets the course for events. 2 scenes had that in common. facial violence really convincing actual rape less so, for the slight detail that he was really clean when he pulled out as with the blow to the face would not have been. also, pregnancy test at the beginning, he does this thing where he compresses mortal events together one end of the spectrum referring directly to the other, its great. 04.14.2011 yes...no....yes...not even a drawing...absolutely not...OK...absolutely...no...no...no...OK...definitely not...no...OK...no...yes no love no power no power no love withoutWHAT A FUCKING HANGOVER "Kill me or take me because Ill be damned if I ever change" MDS strange wierd people who live in my house WITH ME - FUCK somebody left a pair of diamond earrings on my table, i put them into a ziplock bag hooray for conservators who are experts in their field. intelligent dialogue is more valuable than time Licentiate Don Balthasar Villarexo HERE BEGIN THE PROCEEDINGS IN MATTER OF FAITH AGAINST A DEAD WOMAN...COMMONLY KNOWN AS THE MAID The cabin. Its situation. Careful. _____. At the inexistent centre of a formless ________. Rather more circular than ________________. Flat to be sure. To cross it in a straight line takes from ______ to ______ minutes... Stones increasingly abound. Ever scanter even the rankest weed. Meagre pastures hem it round on which it slowly gains... How come a cabin in such a place? ... Before replying that in the far past there was clover growing to its very walls... _________ of striking effect in the light of the moon. Let it be in opposition when the skies are clear. Quick then still under the spell of _________ quick to the other window to see the marvel rise. Let it be In opposition Satie Things which brighten the day: honest contractors thinking of those scientists who drill into ice fields to get to 1000 year old cores. same thing with mines it takes days and weeks and months to drill deep. smells like sweet sewage in here that is not good. what up. fucking ownership. brings everything to the the present moment in small ways. maybe funny in retrospect a world completely cast in iron marks based on shadows the shadows of shadows spaces where nothing else exists the dull life of saints the thing that fuels everything no one saw the rocks that bled in my mouth done with the compass, done with the chart! twice have I stood a beggar before the door of God from trust to death from death to trust Brother of mine Laibach note: under the sink in a cupboard, in a suitcase, in a basket, in a box, flexidolls are such a death trip its amazing q tips, tax forms, boiler plate, hose, old detritus been there for 50 years, gathering dust, thick layers of dust, old cobwebs, basement creature, grendel's mother, under the bog, surfaces to feed then goes back down, name unknownIf Dante's Inferno proves right I will be: Left naked on burning sand with fire raining down from unnatural clouds REGION SINNERS PUNISHMENT Vestibule: (Waiting area) Neutrals, indecisive angels who would not fight for God or Lucifer. Stung by insects, endlessly chase banners Circle I: Limbo Virtuous Pagans, Unbaptised Infants Boredom, not knowing God. Circle II The Lustful Blown forever by storm winds Circle III The Gluttons Discomfort, lying in filth and muck like pigs, senses assaulted Circle IV The Greedy and the Spendthrifts Pushing rocks, useless labor that frustrates others near them for no good end Circle V The Angry and the Sullen The angry thrash about in frustration and fight each other; the sullen sulk under water sighing, blowing bubbles, and refusing all action. Circle VI Heretics Trapped in burning tombs Circle VII: Divided into three rings. The Violent (Three types of punishment) Round 1: Violent against acquaintances and strangers. Killers submerged in blood--the more people they have killed, the deeper the blood. Round 2: Violent against self (suicides) The souls trapped in inanimate objects like trees, and their old discarded bodies left impaled nearby. Round 3: Violent against nature (blasphemers, sodomites, usurers) Left naked on burning sand with fire raining down from unnatural clouds, bored, and trapped in a burning tomb: Circle VIII: Divided into ten ditches (bolgia in Italian). Fraud against those who share no special trust (Ten types of punishment) Ditch 1 Pimps and seductresses Whipped by devils Ditch 2 Flatterers Covered with excrement Ditch 3 Simonists (Church officials who engage in bribery or buy church offices) Flipped upside down in holes and their feet set on fire. Ditch 4 Barraters (Government officials, lawyers, and judges who take bribes) Covered in boiling pitch, poked with pitchforks by demons. Ditch 5 Soothsayers (False prophets, astrologers, soothsayers, and predictors of the future) Heads twisted around backward so they can only see what's behind them, not what's in front of them. Ditch 6 Hypocrites Forced to wear lead mantles Ditch 7 Thieves and Robbers In snake pit, half of them transformed into snakes. Can only regain human form by stealing it from the other half with a snakebite. Ditch 8 Evil counselors True nature concealed in flames Ditch 9 Sowers of Discord, Troublemakers Wounds, mutilations Ditch 10 Falsifiers (alchemists, quacks, impersonators, counterfeiters, liars) Afflicted with same ailments resulting from their treatments (leprosy, madness, dropsy, fevers) Caïna (named after Cain) Murderers of family-members Frozen in ice up to the neck with heads bent forward. Antenora Traitors to political party or to country Frozen in ice up to the neck. Ptolomea (named after Maccabean general who slew ambassadors) Murderers of guests and dependents Frozen in ice up to the neck with heads bent backward. Guidecca Traitors to lords and benefactors. Completely submerged in ice. Center of Earth Satan, Judas, Brutus, and Cassius Satan is stuck up to the waist in the center of the universe he sought to control. He chews on Judas, Brutus, and Cassius with his three mouths, and with three wings sends forth freezing blasts of impotence, ignorance, and hatred. Someone asked me today what categories i like best in porn. i dont have a constant favorite, but i can be highly selective, because im always looking for a new way frame the act - a new way to get back to the act itself. it is about framing the act - allowing it to happen - allowing you to focus in on it totally. i jump around from one extreme, dull, funny, or "classic" thing to another. for others they have the ONE thing that they like, for a lifetime, sometimes. in all people it reflects on who they are, at the core. from: http://web.cn.edu/kwheeler/documents/Dante_chart.pdf
04.10.2011 WHAT A FUCKING HANGOVER strange wierd people who live in my house WITH ME - FUCK somebody left a pair of diamond earrings on my table hooray for conservators who are experts in their field. intelligent dialogue is more valuable than time Licentiate Don Balthasar Villarexo HERE BEGIN THE PROCEEDINGS IN MATTER OF FAITH AGAINST A DEAD WOMAN...COMMONLY KNOWN AS THE MAID The cabin. Its situation. Careful. _____. At the inexistent centre of a formless ________. Rather more circular than ________________. Flat to be sure. To cross it in a straight line takes from ______ to ______ minutes... Stones increasingly abound. Ever scanter even the rankest weed. Meagre pastures hem it round on which it slowly gains... How come a cabin in such a place? ... Before replying that in the far past there was clover growing to its very walls... _________ of striking effect in the light of the moon. Let it be in opposition when the skies are clear. Quick then still under the spell of _________ quick to the other window to see the marvel rise. Let it be In opposition Satie Things which brighten the day: honest contractors thinking of those scientists who drill into ice fields to get to 1000 year old cores. same thing with mines it takes days and weeks and months to drill deep. smells like sweet sewage in here that is not good. what up. fucking ownership. brings everything to the the present moment in small ways. maybe funny in retrospect a world completely cast in iron marks based on shadows the shadows of shadows spaces where nothing else exists the dull life of saints the thing that fuels everything no one saw the rocks that bled in my mouth done with the compass, done with the chart! twice have I stood a beggar before the door of God from trust to death from death to trust Brother of mine, let us kindle fires in all peoples! Let us be strong as workers my brother; In the mysterious secret we are the omen and the prophecy; We are the wild laughter of life! Laibach note: under the sink in a cupboard, in a suitcase, in a basket, in a box, flexidolls are such a death trip its amazing q tips, tax forms, boiler plate, hose, old detritus been there for 50 years, gathering dust, thick layers of dust, old cobwebs, basement creature, grendel's mother, under the bog, surfaces to feed then goes back down, name unknownIf Dante's Inferno proves right I will be: Left naked on burning sand with fire raining down from unnatural clouds REGION SINNERS PUNISHMENT Vestibule: (Waiting area) Neutrals, indecisive angels who would not fight for God or Lucifer. Stung by insects, endlessly chase banners Circle I: Limbo Virtuous Pagans, Unbaptised Infants Boredom, not knowing God. Circle II The Lustful Blown forever by storm winds Circle III The Gluttons Discomfort, lying in filth and muck like pigs, senses assaulted Circle IV The Greedy and the Spendthrifts Pushing rocks, useless labor that frustrates others near them for no good end Circle V The Angry and the Sullen The angry thrash about in frustration and fight each other; the sullen sulk under water sighing, blowing bubbles, and refusing all action. Circle VI Heretics Trapped in burning tombs Circle VII: Divided into three rings. The Violent (Three types of punishment) Round 1: Violent against acquaintances and strangers. Killers submerged in blood--the more people they have killed, the deeper the blood. Round 2: Violent against self (suicides) The souls trapped in inanimate objects like trees, and their old discarded bodies left impaled nearby. Round 3: Violent against nature (blasphemers, sodomites, usurers) Left naked on burning sand with fire raining down from unnatural clouds, bored, and trapped in a burning tomb: Circle VIII: Divided into ten ditches (bolgia in Italian). Fraud against those who share no special trust (Ten types of punishment) Ditch 1 Pimps and seductresses Whipped by devils Ditch 2 Flatterers Covered with excrement Ditch 3 Simonists (Church officials who engage in bribery or buy church offices) Flipped upside down in holes and their feet set on fire. Ditch 4 Barraters (Government officials, lawyers, and judges who take bribes) Covered in boiling pitch, poked with pitchforks by demons. Ditch 5 Soothsayers (False prophets, astrologers, soothsayers, and predictors of the future) Heads twisted around backward so they can only see what's behind them, not what's in front of them. Ditch 6 Hypocrites Forced to wear lead mantles Ditch 7 Thieves and Robbers In snake pit, half of them transformed into snakes. Can only regain human form by stealing it from the other half with a snakebite. Ditch 8 Evil counselors True nature concealed in flames Ditch 9 Sowers of Discord, Troublemakers Wounds, mutilations Ditch 10 Falsifiers (alchemists, quacks, impersonators, counterfeiters, liars) Afflicted with same ailments resulting from their treatments (leprosy, madness, dropsy, fevers) Caïna (named after Cain) Murderers of family-members Frozen in ice up to the neck with heads bent forward. Antenora Traitors to political party or to country Frozen in ice up to the neck. Ptolomea (named after Maccabean general who slew ambassadors) Murderers of guests and dependents Frozen in ice up to the neck with heads bent backward. Guidecca Traitors to lords and benefactors. Completely submerged in ice. Center of Earth Satan, Judas, Brutus, and Cassius Satan is stuck up to the waist in the center of the universe he sought to control. He chews on Judas, Brutus, and Cassius with his three mouths, and with three wings sends forth freezing blasts of impotence, ignorance, and hatred. Someone asked me today what categories i like best in porn. i dont have a constant favorite, but i can be highly selective, because im always looking for a new way frame the act - a new way to get back to the act itself. it is about framing the act - allowing it to happen - allowing you to focus in on it totally. i jump around from one extreme, dull, funny, or "classic" thing to another. for others they have the ONE thing that they like, for a lifetime, sometimes. in all people it reflects on who they are, at the core. from: http://web.cn.edu/kwheeler/documents/Dante_chart.pdf
04.04.2011 everyday everyday everyday ha ha funny huffpost question: "do narcissists know they are narcissists?" of course not! then they wouldnt be...etc. i am a sonambulist. really, i am a sonambulist. i am dormant for months completely flatlined, then suddenly i wake up and engage - i emerge, as if id been buried. the vampire effect - again. tho i also think of that moment in Bitter Moon where she gets all crazy insecure and cuts her hair wierd looks like shit - well one thing has nothing to do with the other, its a movie moment that made a big impression on me - to be vunerable. ive no image for it - and thats a good one. that said when im down for the count, im just not paying attention, vs super sharp super attention. i think about energy phases and how they have to exist but i was never good at understanding balance, its an on/off switch, not a graceful alternation, i was never good with failure, i look at and try to take in people who are good at failure, its a skill, to minimize rifts and hiccups, you can continue on much more efficiently that way. but when i know how i want something to look (or be) its exactly how it has to look, there is never any doubt, unless i seek an opinion, it would be an opinion which feeds how it has to be. some people shrug their shoulders and compromise, or take the advice of another, just like that, i am bad at all of the above, genereally i dont trust the depth of other opinions, do they go all the way forward and all the way back, can they be run through backwards, have they been practised backwards so as to understand to true breadth of the momentum forwards? can you take your computer apart and put it back together - so it still works? that sort of thing. i did that with an engine in 8th grade mine was the only one that started up again i had a lot of confidence at every step as i took it apart, this is how i think, connecting the parts apart to the parts together for when it had to start again. its 1 thing, whether together or apart. >detailsi stood yesterday between the brooklyn and manhattan bridges thinking about how i havent taken the NY water taxi ever, nor been to the statue of liberty. maybe this is a big send - out - another reason to feel super charged and super connected, looking at every building, every corner, walked a few miles with io. there is an incredible victoiran building at the bottom of joralemon street where it meets the BQE. its kind of run down, feels very earthy, almost hippy, doors were open, its really beautiful. Thieck: guys and vampires, i so literally go for the raw muscle, the pure testosterone, isnt that mother nature? with me, its literal, very unrefined, chemical, engine with a lot of horsepower, physical feats of prowess, could i please grow out of this? its never going to happen.Thieck - when he wasnt carrying or lugging something he was like an empty husk, deactivated material, piled in the corner. Very much like a Golem, very similar description to the Golem in Meyrink's version, lying dormant in that secret chamber. blame it on high school, seriously, thats where everything forms. oh and shit! the fucking long dream i had last night about my high school sweetheart - !!!! the one who facebook chats me up still i think only when hes drunk. funny how some people need a few drinks their whole lives to get courage. how do ordinary relationships compete with raw testosterone? they dont. nor do structures with tsunamis. always sided with Dionysus saw Apollo as limited. Light always extending to the edge of darkness, which by comparison is limitless. But I could be convince otherwise, could be, ive just always seen Apollo as a bit other, the structure on the ground, on top of it, trying to tie down into it, never of the earth itself. That fucking Bellmer drawing that I want to own (!) it describes this perfectly. I just need 30,000 extra EUROS so I can buy it. It is a spectacular drawing on black paper. total porn overload questing for the thing that outdoes everything else - maybe the bizarre floral curtains and potted plants or bad carpets or shitty couches is what kills it. after all, there are those dudes sometimes gangsters who just play porn in the background of whatever? like doing business with strippers at the table, the majority is just desensistized mush. maybe an index of intelligence.everyone focuses on hitler what about pinochet, we are talking the 1970's. its crazy the great lengths they went to to kill people and cover up the evidence, such a grand production, in the end, a grand production no matter what your intent thats a lot of energy and resources .a lot of energy and resources always makes an imprint, a carbon imprint, you cant get around that, even if it boils down to a handful of aged widows combing the bone fragments in a chilean desert for the particular one they loved. also people who are on a power trip are essentially in it for the validation they get from the evidence before them - of the masses of people, material, flesh, the stuff that is in their control - before them. no king without the subjecs bowing. no subject without the display of submission, one begets the other, particularly in situations which are overtly barbaric. by fact of the power trip they need the material in their grip to be visible, to do a dance. interesting how through those women, searching the various randomly dumped remains for decades now, found themselves a bit separate from the mass spread a single female victim very well preserved hands still bound with green rope, hair almost perfectly preserved, a partial sweater. the details of the clothing always fascinate me in that they are themselves a snap shot of of a persons living identitity, what they were wearing was a decision they made while still alive and unaware of any danger, of anything bad to come to pass. its a strange paradox, the casual, innocent jacket that the torturer ignores. the problem with real torture is that it is fundamentally disorganized. it boils down to the individual sadists who are willing (and happy) to spend the time and resources doing it - it has no purpose - no function - other than making those particular sadists feel powerful on that day. so the notion that its tied to government power or political might is folly. it is fundamentally folly. a waste of resources, a waste of time, an illusion of mastery - a staging of power - but not real power - the illusion is enough for the rapist who needs the image of domination to convince himself of his superiorty - only the image - not the fact. because his self image is so comprimised already that this display has to be made to show that he is worth something (that he is in control) to himself. An idea of self worth rooted in control over others is nothing new. Everybody becomes a victim, not just the victim per se but the police investigating, sometimes they get toyed with, very openly, etc. to obtain value in some other way which involves acknowledgement of others is not possible because the rapist is so fundamentally insecure as to feel always totally alienated. hatred of women just goes along with this. keeps the equation isolated from any other option or possibility. the victims fear - display of fear - is part of the display the rapist is looking for, a direct reflection of his (image of) power, a dramatic enactment of his position. just as a dog cowers, or the omega wolf tucks his tail between his legs, this is what the rapist is after, for lack of means. which brings me to the point of the inquisition, and dictatorships - it is about political might at the point of arrest. only at the point of arrest. after that - you may as well throw away the key. the point has already been made. after that its the luck of the draw and sheer fear, and chaos. fundamentally because everything is so out of control. prisons are scary places because they are so out of control - not because anyone is in control. its quite the opposite. there is all this display of control on the part of the institution, but thats a glamour, its a really just a display, because everyone is quite afraid of - everyone. there is no real order, there is no real law, its the rule of might, at the edge of implosion, so no one is really safe and despite all the safeguards, everyone knows it. ill always remember that prison guard with the tools of his trade - billyclub, handcuffs, what else, etched into the chrome gas tank of his harley davidson.also the guy in the junk shop in the middle of nowhere in new hampshire who was proud of his incredibly badly drawn tattoos only of women bound and gagged, all over his body. his was so eager to take his shirt off and show those off and talk about them. he seemed to really like talking about them. whats funny about super shitty tattoos is that the crappy rendering isnt really a big concern to the wearer, its the theme of the tattoo on their body that makes it so enduring, so cool. in this case its that everyone was bound, really crappily dran women, with messed up toes and rushed fingertips, gagged and restrained. but the guy didnt realize this was an overarching theme he just thought he had cool tattoos. really, he didnt think of what he'd chosed he just thought they were "cool" and something to show off - to the ladies! the problem also with prisons, particularly in undeveloped countries, and pseudo developed (or regressing) countries like the United States is that the prison relies on the tools and tricks of violence to exert control. How does this make them different from violent criminals? Arent htey all using the same means, the same tools? Towards similar ends- control over something. This is a problem. It doesnt take much to corrupt power and when everyone's throwing a punch who knows who's getting hit in the end. No surprise that the prison system here only creates more criminals, its really about maintaining a level of violence, not dispelling it, not dispersing it. Its all about hte top dog, a vicious dog, also a weak dog, with very little imagination, almost no resources past its weapons. People balk at countries like Sweden who have very open policies and small sentences but the fact is they dont need this whole pompous display ofp ower to achieve results. And the results, in their case, are real, they are not confused, as they are here, because we are a violent society, and our goals in terms of imprisonment in general, are very unclear, so obssessed are we with control by all means - no end in sight. Even the death penalty is really an extension of this display of violent control and not any clear path to justice. It is as much of a theatrical display as it was centuries ago when executions were staged publicly, they still are in the media, this orchastrated death is a visible point that is being made, being illustrated, by the system, the value to justice, questionable, you would ahve to ask the victims families about that.
Rothenburg Torture Protocol - 1656 confession of Catharina Ranzebach; admit's to being the "Devil's Mistress" (a witch)
Rothenburg Theorie of Torture
Horny Shame Mask
car service guy cracking sunflower seeds and pulsing his foot on the brake at every light so fucking annoying see how a small irritating thing when re-directed can become a form of torture. strange how the line is so thin, it just takes a sadist and the littlest things can become the greatest power play. i dont quite get the argument whether or not something is torture, as if words alone can change the facts. torture was implemented as a method of justice in medieval times, it wasnt considered wrong, it was merely a tool, a ridiculous one of course, but a tool nonetheless to enforce the absolute reach of the church. they say the long arm of the law but if it can be internalized into a persons self worth they wont go anywhere, they are their own prison. im suprised though in some of the documentation i have read how many people acted freely despite the threat of torture, belief in onceself is always much stronger, time and time again, despite all of the torture it was a losing effort, something all dictators fail to learn. the only thing they get in the end is a pile of bodies, no one will be convinced, fear never convinced anyone. it might curb actions, but still one's thinking is clear. its just am atter of waiting until the threat of military control has passedor is toppled - for how long can a dictator envision his grip on...people just like him? those are the only ones who are really willing to play the game, and it can only ever be a few. that crude, ugly, terrifying happy faced iron maiden found in one of husseins compounds, a possession of his sadist son , all he was at the end of the day is just a regular sadist, no different, not special, just like every out of control sadist before him and since. so you get more mass graves, how is that pattern different from any other despots? Iraq, Chile, Germany, the same.i come back to the same question time and time again: what would be more terrifying, to be attacked by a man or an animal? i find it really interesting to hear from people who say animal. for me that means they have some great confidence in man or they are just a bit shallow...actually im not really sure but id like someone to convince me. there is no real argument for me because animals are incapable of sadism. i should speak to some more animal people about this.
when i was young i perceived hospitals as these kind of magical places where everything is perfect and clean, everyones clothes go with the whole scenario, all lines are straight...now that i am older its amazing how dirty hospitals seem, chaotic, uncoordinated, riddled with infection...
that scene tho in all that jazz where he smears his bloody head against hte hospital wall made such an impression on me i could not have been more than 7 and i thought the gun shy performer at the start of the movie who got laughed at for having an erection had peed in his pants. that is what made sense to me at the time.
reading this article about seeing and blindness reccommended - hey who are these people who dont remember anything until they were 6 or 7 i remember fucking everything, and it all starts when i was about two and a half. so what was i doing while these other people were not ...
got thrown out of class for wearing a ring - strict dude
got a ticket to my dream production april 28 psych!! becketts description of sex. and his description of a death. both so amazing. neither of which are clearly stated but that is what they both are. it is so accurate, in a way no one else i have read has been. except for a few irish songs, here are 2: A blacksmith courted me Nine months and better He fairly won my heart Wrote me a letter With his hammer in his hand He looked quite clever And if I was with my love I'd live forever. But where is my love gone With his cheeks like roses And his good black billycock on Decked round with primroses I'm afraid the scorching sun Will shine and burn his beauty And if I was with my love I'd do my duty. Strange news is come to town Strange news is carried Strange news flies up and down That my love is married. I wish them both much joy Though they can't bear me And may God reward him well For the slighting of me. Don't you remember when You lay beside me And you said you'd marry me And not deny me If I said I'd marry you It was only for to try you So bring your witness love And I'll not deny you. No witness have I none Save God Almighty And may he reward you well For the slighting of me. Her lips grew pale and wan It made a poor heart tremble To think she loved a one And she flew to the steeple. A blacksmith courted me Nine months and better He fairly won my heart Wrote me a letter With his hammer in his hand He looked quite clever And if I was with my love I'd live forever. And: My true love said to me, my mother won´t mind And my father won´t slight you for your lack of kine, And she stepped away from me and this she did say, It will not be long love ´til our wedding day. She stepped away from me and she moved through the fair, And fondly I watched her move here and move there, Then she went her way homeward with one star awake, As the swan in the evening moves over the lake. The people were saying no two were e´er wed, But one has a sorrow that never was said, And I smiled as she passed with her goods and her gear, And that was the last that I saw of my dear. I dreamt it last night that my true love came in, So softly she entered her feet made no din, She put her hands on mine and this she did say, It will not be long love ´til our wedding day.
04.01.2011 flashlights are cool. all a room needs is 1 flashlight as a night light. the feeling of "home" is actually internal. i have been a little mistaken until now very much yearning for a rock to settle on, for a Home, I was so obssessed with obtaining that. but now what i like about this place is where it puts me, and where sleeping under the stars puts me, and where the ocean puts me. i now want to try more things, it seemed so impossible 10 years ago, even 3 years ago. i realize that its possible to be more settled, and less bound, HURRAH. see how flashlihgts work in a room, a tent, and on the beach! they are all the same! i am so excited for this show in november there is so much to do. including riding in a trash truck and going to the plasteline factory in jersey they are giving me a tour (!) i take a flashlight everywhere now i like how they illuminate a narrow beam indiscriminately wherever. the whole time i had that cabin in NH in 2004 i groped through the darkness on purpose the ENTIRE summer, now i am enjoying flashlights, what a change. back then i dragged a generator through the woods and carried gasoline OK enough already how hilariously literal i guess i am LOOSENING up. thanks io. seriously. you rock my world, through you i have been freed of so much.
Rothenburg Torture Protocol - 1656 confession of Catharina Ranzebach; admit's to being the "Devil's Mistress" (a witch)
Rothenburg Theorie of Torture
Horny Shame Mask
car service guy cracking sunflower seeds and pulsing his foot on the brake at every light so fucking annoying
when i was young i perceived hospitals as these kind of magical places where everything is perfect and clean, everyones clothes go with the whole scenario, all lines are straight...now that i am older its amazing how dirty hospitals seem, chaotic, uncoordinated, riddled with infection...
that scene tho in all that jazz where he smears his bloody head against hte hospital wall made such an impression on me i could not have been more than 7 and i thought the gun shy performer at the start of the movie who got laughed at for having an erection had peed in his pants. that is what made sense to me at the time.
reading this article about seeing and blindness reccommended - hey who are these people who dont remember anything until they were 6 or 7 i remember fucking everything, and it all starts when i was about two and a half. so what was i doing while these other people were not ...
got thrown out of class for wearing a ring - strict dude
got a ticket to my dream production april 28 psych!!
03.30.2011
man i just shitted on them
:)
highschool , trees, under the school, in front of the "twilight zone" prague, the gemalde galerie, romania, bulgaria, the isenheim altar, the man on atlantic avenue with the carbuncle nose, the honest taxi driver, what's American might be itself completely wrong
getting rather addicted to the gym and to updating this page so im going to stop for a while
ps the white male hold on power is over - there is no real power without culture. the god who resembles an aryan brotherhood re-interpretation of a raphael painting is long done and gone. its now just an identity crisis, watery eyed nostalgia for a former hold. cant participate. only when it does will it redeem itself. white sons are now illegitimate in the eyes of whats relevant. particularly in this country. if you dont get rid of the arrogance of slave holding you are going to fade (youll stay out of touch) imagine if the worlds CEOs were mostly black - they are in other countries, but not in the united states. this is really a united states problem, as the world becomes more global, the USA becomes smaller minded, and just smaller, in its ability to achieve, to think creatively. and also to think honestly (honest creativity) because the sun has set rather than face it its becoming more and more about compensating for straight up inability, and insecurity, maintaining what "was". etc.if you only speak your own language you have no chance.
yay for modest genuine performers
the future: http://www.lilwayne-online.com/
awesome museum
awesome people
awesome work
Runner up: lactic acid The girl with the Dragon Tattoo is a great. how to put all those moves together tho is a long challenge. i will get to the swords. i know those are going to come super naturally. thats the whole point - to get to the swords.
state of constant temptation unrequited free
dom
the
moon
i ride the bullet from the south and take the taste in my mouth
the 4 women at the morgue, the dead blonde. the device decorated with the cast iron face of a dead woman.
the bludgeoning of the father
the weakest act imaginable
1 secret page on this site (to be opened in the event of my death...not going to work: vampire)
the various levels in my basement basement level 1 basement level 2 basement level 3 basement level 4 basement level 5
is it possible to have seen everything? porn wise, i think i have. seriously. i would like to be surprised on that front. i think thats why im compelled to make something (anything) surprising.
a list from that
balloons rape machines wrestling (loser gets fucked) big love
they say testosterone gets transmitted through saliva, the vampire's drug of choice choice vs. no choice at all this is why lil wayne is constantly drinking syrup
i ride the bullet from the south and take the taste in my mouth
im ok with the super rich. im ok with the working class. also the working poor. but not with whats between. whats between cant see the edges - or any edges. hand them a rare diamond and they wont see it. they will water it down and make it digestible, to themselves. they take the diamond, away from the diamond. the working class and the working poor have a lot of power. even if they dont see the diamond the way the superrich do they do see it in a way thats true, that has to do with strength, inevitably tied to the substance the superrich also live for. Its how they live their lives, even if its on the other side. always there is medocrity but only with those two can there be clarity. whats inbetween will alway incline towards its own comfort zone, the fat around the love-handles. the book about sex. the sit-com about porn.
the best critics are postmen and UPS guys. if they stop what they're doing to tell everyone in the room how fucking cool they think your show is you know you're OK. i remember stings fictional mythical sounding story about how he heard a window cleaner whistling one of his songs, he knew in that moment hed be OK. That story rings true. Anytime joe the plumber stops waxing about mcCain (thats a joke) to wax awesome about my work, i am really happy. Artworld critics, not really, only if they can wrap their craft around my shit. Like the few tattoos that have spontaneously erupted out of peoples love of the work. most dealers dont get that. but metallica, for example, didnt start with a bunch of well heeled record execs, those record execs have no fucking clue really. incidentally i remember being at a dinner with a bunch of record execs once and i was so incredibly amused by how out of touch those guys were. but also trying to be so cool. its probably their job, that position, but if they were to shift that position slightly they might make a shit ton of money.
The girl with the Dragon Tattoo state of constant temptation unrequited teenage make out session oddly raises the stats of being a vampire ORACLE hard work can't find the sutton landed in New York >where land splits and forms the unfamiliar, the other suddenly outside, the charged edge that turns the heartfelt into something wild, fertile and dangerous known and pregnant with surprise pregnant with surprise or a black hole - between surprise and a black hole - black witch weaving the two together. only a witch can do it. never can the light of day see it. only she knows that once what was everything is now easily nothing. celine only liked children a little, but thats a different kind of darkness ive got no time for the poor doctors and the glug glug glug, as i said to my friend Sue today: only yachts. where the symbolic was once so pure and remains so blind to itself. dangerous. but no less dangerous than being alive. better to be a witch. best to be a witch. to suffer the depth of the hole on a yacht. hemingway. better to be a witch. if he had had powers to guide the fish. the star not the sun see how the outer sun hungers for the inner one Geza Csath Heidegger - taking walks in the forest. I always liked that image ever since i read his biographical intro in Being and Time.To have an anchor, in the earth. There is a beautiful cemetery near my apartment in Berlin it is one of my greatest pleasures these days to walk through it in silence. I think too of the few people I know with whom I enjoy sitting silently, its the same posture as listening to music, both the graveyard and the person. maybe this is why late at night i sit and do property searches for the most remote possible plots of land obtainable - in northern canada. the kinds you have to helicopter into. the silence of ages Beckett is a person who has really opened up the space of silence, I was so delighted to find this accidentally in one of his short stories recently. i got caught up watching pro skate videos on youtube last night. this 15 year old kid named Borros so amazing. travelling 70 ft through the air on a skateboard. but he has such a good attitude, he just goes about it like his regular business, not at all pompous, in no way full of himself, just full of doing it. what's the magic stone: the magic stone is what: what stone is magic? what's the magic word: what word is magic: the magic word is what? recognized by a hand unlocked by a hand A big block of stone was in front of her. She let her head be driven against the stone, made a mass of fragments of it, and she -
...murderous on Murtheimne Plain a heavy sleep of three days and three nights by the gravemound at Lerga - I am Lug --- your father from the Side
The first war spasm - hideous and shapeless - unheard of - every knuckle and angle and organ shook like a tree in the flood his body madea furious twist inside his skin - On his head his temple-sinews stretched to the nape of his neck, each mighty, immense, measureless knob as big as the head of a month-old child. His face and features became a red bowl...his lower jaw struck the upper a lion-killing blow...Malignant mists and spurts of fire - the torches of the Badb - flickered red in the vaporous clouds that rose boiling above his head...the hero halo rose out of his brow
The blind daughter of Tuoni, A girl there was of Tuonela, blind
The girl of death's doman was blind, Lovitar, an old woman
Tain Bo Cuailnge the curse that causes a temporary inability to fight
Those manuscripts, because they ceased to be understood, were rarely consulted, and so they survived
Old Irish, Ogham, only names remain, no longer spoken, changed into Middle Irish in the 10th century or so 792. Aelmidhair, OEconomus of Cluain Mic Nois, who was of the Sil Maelruanaidh, died. The men of Ulster are disabled by an apparent illness, the ces noínden (literally "debility of nine (days)", although it lasts several months). A separate tale explains this as the curse of the goddess Macha, who imposed it after being forced by the king of Ulster to race against a chariot while heavily pregnant.[1] The only person fit to defend Ulster is seventeen-year-old Cú Chulainn, and he lets the army take Ulster by surprise because he's off on a tryst when he should be watching the border. Before one combat the Morrígan visits him in the form of a beautiful young woman and offers him her love, but he spurns her. She then reveals herself and threatens to interfere in his next fight. She does so, first in the form of an eel who trips him in the ford, then as a wolf who stampedes cattle across the ford, and finally as a heifer at the head of the stampede, but in each form Cú Chulainn wounds her. After he defeats his opponent, the Morrígan appears to him in the form of an old woman milking a cow, with wounds corresponding to the ones Cú Chulainn gave her in her animal forms. She offers him three drinks of milk. With each drink he blesses her, and the blessings heal her wounds. After a particularly arduous combat he is visited by another supernatural figure, Lugh, who reveals he is his father. He puts Cú Chulainn to sleep for three days while he works his healing arts on him. When Cú Chulainn wakes he undergoes a spectacular ríastrad or "distortion", in which his body twists in its skin and he becomes an unrecognisable monster who knows neither friend nor foe. (Edited out of Wiki)
WORK = LIFE when the work sucks i always feel like im dying BECAUSE I AM DYING anything else - sock it to me - you could lob a truck at me i wouldnt care
Things people are afraid of:
Spiders Women Cats Cockaroaches Snakes Rats The Dark Men Speed Heights Clowns Dolls Displays of Emotion Embarassment Humiliation Prison Poverty Being Fat Failure Physical Harm Rape Dogs Horses Crowds Solitude Crazy People Drug Addicts Drugs Out of Control People Out of Control Anything, like machines, storms, mudslides, water and animals Sex Animals Ghosts Ghettos Guns Knives The Dentist The Ocean Quicksand Tight Spaces The Police Authority Mothers Fathers Priests Nuns Cult Leaders Seargants Murderers Criminals Debt Collectors Gangsters Bad Graphic Designers Movie Producers Followers of Satan Satan The Devil Incubi Succubi Demons Aliens Gay People Black People Hispanic People White People All kinds of People who you do not identify with as "your own" Cornfields Mazes Graveyards Ponds Lakes Swamps
03.27.2011 whats it like to have a brother.
Anyone could be my brother. because i dont have one, nor any sisters, im an only child, anyone could be my bother. although that may not be true for them, its possible always for me. the natural boundaries, they dont exist. (it that sense i could also be a witch.) i could make someone my brother, for a day.
i hallucinated partitions. thats is really extremely strange. i saw them there, in the most casual way, what? were they there 100 years ago? ??? a ha - those dead bodies in the basement and the field. the tick between the tweezers. the sick dying woman at my door, looking so like death, i had to turn away at the airport she was sitting in wheelchair, staring into space, dark skinned with the same rounded sunken in eye balls. in my dream she was standing at my door wanting to come in i swept her up in my arms like a baby i said "no no you cant come in, dont worry, dont be afraid" i comforted her i cradled her head.
i couldnt deal with the parents dying in that noe movie. it was upsetting to see - kids crying for their dead parents. at the same time, it made me wonder, to have a brother, more primary than...anything. because they are kind of your same age. or close to it. whats that like. you see your brother naked, before your dad, i am sure. that would make the brother a lot bigger, i think. time is shared, not so, controlled. more of a fellow passenger. what if your dad was less of the control tower operator, and more of the air marshall. invisible, silent, watchful. manifest only in the event of an attack.
who would you rather attack you, a human or an animal?
i am swilling lwith actic acid right now. i get inspired and i go out and kickbox i get so filled up. paying for it this instant in lactic acid.
im ok with the super rich. im ok with the working class. also the working poor. but not with whats between. whats between cant see the edges - or any edges. hand them a rare diamond and they wont see it. they will water it down and make it digestible, to themselves. they take the diamond, away from the diamond. the working class and the working poor have a lot of power. even if they dont see the diamond the way the superrich do they do see it in a way thats true, that has to do with strength, inevitably tied to the substance the superrich also live for. Its how they live their lives, even if its on the other side. always there is medocrity but only with those two can there be clarity. whats inbetween will alway incline towards its own comfort zone, the fat around the love-handles. the book about sex. the sit-com about porn.
the best critics are postmen and UPS guys. if they stop what they're doing to tell everyone in the room how fucking cool they think your show is you know you're OK. i remember stings fictional mythical sounding story about how he heard a window cleaner whistling one of his songs, he knew in that moment hed be OK. That story rings true. Anytime joe the plumber stops waxing about mcCain (thats a joke) to wax awesome about my work, i am really happy. Artworld critics, not really, only if they can wrap their craft around my shit. Like the few tattoos that have spontaneously erupted out of peoples love of the work. most dealers dont get that. but metallica, for example, didnt start with a bunch of well heeled record execs, those record execs have no fucking clue really. incidentally i remember being at a dinner with a bunch of record execs once and i was so incredibly amused by how out of touch those guys were. but also trying to be so cool. its probably their job, that position, but if they were to shift that position slightly they might make a shit ton of money.
The girl with the Dragon Tattoo state of constant temptation unrequited teenage make out session oddly raises the stats of being a vampire ORACLE hard work can't find the sutton landed in New York >where land splits and forms the unfamiliar, the other suddenly outside, the charged edge that turns the heartfelt into something wild, fertile and dangerous known and pregnant with surprise pregnant with surprise or a black hole - between surprise and a black hole - black witch weaving the two together. only a witch can do it. never can the light of day see it. only she knows that once what was everything is now easily nothing. celine only liked children a little, but thats a different kind of darkness ive got no time for the poor doctors and the glug glug glug, as i said to my friend Sue today: only yachts. where the symbolic was once so pure and remains so blind to itself. dangerous. but no less dangerous than being alive. better to be a witch. best to be a witch. to suffer the depth of the hole on a yacht. hemingway. better to be a witch. if he had had powers to guide the fish. the star not the sun see how the outer sun hungers for the inner one Geza Csath Heidegger - taking walks in the forest. I always liked that image ever since i read his biographical intro in Being and Time.To have an anchor, in the earth. There is a beautiful cemetery near my apartment in Berlin it is one of my greatest pleasures these days to walk through it in silence. I think too of the few people I know with whom I enjoy sitting silently, its the same posture as listening to music, both the graveyard and the person. maybe this is why late at night i sit and do property searches for the most remote possible plots of land obtainable - in northern canada. the kinds you have to helicopter into. the silence of ages Beckett is a person who has really opened up the space of silence, I was so delighted to find this accidentally in one of his short stories recently. i got caught up watching pro skate videos on youtube last night. this 15 year old kid named Borros so amazing. travelling 70 ft through the air on a skateboard. but he has such a good attitude, he just goes about it like his regular business, not at all pompous, in no way full of himself, just full of doing it. what's the magic stone: the magic stone is what: what stone is magic? what's the magic word: what word is magic: the magic word is what? recognized by a hand unlocked by a hand A big block of stone was in front of her. She let her head be driven against the stone, made a mass of fragments of it, and she -
...murderous on Murtheimne Plain a heavy sleep of three days and three nights by the gravemound at Lerga - I am Lug --- your father from the Side
The first war spasm - hideous and shapeless - unheard of - every knuckle and angle and organ shook like a tree in the flood his body madea furious twist inside his skin - On his head his temple-sinews stretched to the nape of his neck, each mighty, immense, measureless knob as big as the head of a month-old child. His face and features became a red bowl...his lower jaw struck the upper a lion-killing blow...Malignant mists and spurts of fire - the torches of the Badb - flickered red in the vaporous clouds that rose boiling above his head...the hero halo rose out of his brow
The blind daughter of Tuoni, A girl there was of Tuonela, blind
The girl of death's doman was blind, Lovitar, an old woman
Tain Bo Cuailnge the curse that causes a temporary inability to fight
Those manuscripts, because they ceased to be understood, were rarely consulted, and so they survived
Old Irish, Ogham, only names remain, no longer spoken, changed into Middle Irish in the 10th century or so 792. Aelmidhair, OEconomus of Cluain Mic Nois, who was of the Sil Maelruanaidh, died. The men of Ulster are disabled by an apparent illness, the ces noínden (literally "debility of nine (days)", although it lasts several months). A separate tale explains this as the curse of the goddess Macha, who imposed it after being forced by the king of Ulster to race against a chariot while heavily pregnant.[1] The only person fit to defend Ulster is seventeen-year-old Cú Chulainn, and he lets the army take Ulster by surprise because he's off on a tryst when he should be watching the border. Before one combat the Morrígan visits him in the form of a beautiful young woman and offers him her love, but he spurns her. She then reveals herself and threatens to interfere in his next fight. She does so, first in the form of an eel who trips him in the ford, then as a wolf who stampedes cattle across the ford, and finally as a heifer at the head of the stampede, but in each form Cú Chulainn wounds her. After he defeats his opponent, the Morrígan appears to him in the form of an old woman milking a cow, with wounds corresponding to the ones Cú Chulainn gave her in her animal forms. She offers him three drinks of milk. With each drink he blesses her, and the blessings heal her wounds. After a particularly arduous combat he is visited by another supernatural figure, Lugh, who reveals he is his father. He puts Cú Chulainn to sleep for three days while he works his healing arts on him. When Cú Chulainn wakes he undergoes a spectacular ríastrad or "distortion", in which his body twists in its skin and he becomes an unrecognisable monster who knows neither friend nor foe. (Edited out of Wiki)
WORK = LIFE when the work sucks i always feel like im dying BECAUSE I AM DYING anything else - sock it to me - you could lob a truck at me i wouldnt care
Things people are afraid of:
Spiders Women Cats Cockaroaches Snakes Rats The Dark Men Speed Heights Clowns Dolls Displays of Emotion Embarassment Humiliation Prison Poverty Being Fat Failure Physical Harm Rape Dogs Horses Crowds Solitude Crazy People Drug Addicts Drugs Out of Control People Out of Control Anything, like machines, storms, mudslides, water and animals Sex Animals Ghosts Ghettos Guns Knives The Dentist The Ocean Quicksand Tight Spaces The Police Authority Mothers Fathers Priests Nuns Cult Leaders Seargants Murderers Criminals Debt Collectors Gangsters Bad Graphic Designers Movie Producers Followers of Satan Satan The Devil Incubi Succubi Demons Aliens Gay People Black People Hispanic People White People All kinds of People who you do not identify with as "your own" Cornfields Mazes Graveyards Ponds Lakes Swamps
02.11.2011 whats it like to have a brother.
Anyone could be my brother. because i dont have one, nor any sisters, im an only child, anyone could be my bother. although that may not be true for them, its possible always for me. the natural boundaries, they dont exist. (it that sense i could also be a witch.) i could make someone my brother, for a day.
i hallucinated partitions. thats is really extremely strange. i saw them there, in the most casual way, what? were they there 100 years ago? ??? a ha - those dead bodies in the basement and the field. the tick between the tweezers. the sick dying woman at my door, looking so like death, i had to turn away at the airport she was sitting in wheelchair, staring into space, dark skinned with the same rounded sunken in eye balls. in my dream she was standing at my door wanting to come in i swept her up in my arms like a baby i said "no no you cant come in, dont worry, dont be afraid" i comforted her i cradled her head.
i couldnt deal with the parents dying in that noe movie. it was upsetting to see - kids crying for their dead parents. at the same time, it made me wonder, to have a brother, more primary than...anything. because they are kind of your same age. or close to it. whats that like. you see your brother naked, before your dad, i am sure. that would make the brother a lot bigger, i think. time is shared, not so, controlled. more of a fellow passenger. what if your dad was less of the control tower operator, and more of the air marshall. invisible, silent, watchful. manifest only in the event of an attack.
who would you rather attack you, a human or an animal?
i am swilling lwith actic acid right now. i get inspired and i go out and kickbox i get so filled up. paying for it this instant in lactic acid.
im ok with the super rich. im ok with the working class. also the working poor. but not with whats between. whats between cant see the edges - or any edges. hand them a rare diamond and they wont see it. they will water it down and make it digestible, to themselves. they take the diamond, away from the diamond. the working class and the working poor have a lot of power. even if they dont see the diamond the way the superrich do they do see it in a way thats true, that has to do with strength, inevitably tied to the substance the superrich also live for. Its how they live their lives, even if its on the other side. always there is medocrity but only with those two can there be clarity. whats inbetween will alway incline towards its own comfort zone, the fat around the love-handles. the book about sex. the sit-com about porn.
the best critics are postmen and UPS guys. if they stop what they're doing to tell everyone in the room how fucking cool they think your show is you know you're OK. i remember stings fictional mythical sounding story about how he heard a window cleaner whistling one of his songs, he knew in that moment hed be OK. That story rings true. Anytime joe the plumber stops waxing about mcCain (thats a joke) to wax awesome about my work, i am really happy. Artworld critics, not really, only if they can wrap their craft around my shit. Like the few tattoos that have spontaneously erupted out of peoples love of the work. most dealers dont get that. but metallica, for example, didnt start with a bunch of well heeled record execs, those record execs have no fucking clue really. incidentally i remember being at a dinner with a bunch of record execs once and i was so incredibly amused by how out of touch those guys were. but also trying to be so cool. its probably their job, that position, but if they were to shift that position slightly they might make a shit ton of money.
The girl with the Dragon Tattoo state of constant temptation unrequited teenage make out session oddly raises the stats of being a vampire ORACLE hard work can't find the sutton landed in New York >where land splits and forms the unfamiliar, the other suddenly outside, the charged edge that turns the heartfelt into something wild, fertile and dangerous known and pregnant with surprise pregnant with surprise or a black hole - between surprise and a black hole - black witch weaving the two together. only a witch can do it. never can the light of day see it. only she knows that once what was everything is now easily nothing. celine only liked children a little, but thats a different kind of darkness ive got no time for the poor doctors and the glug glug glug, as i said to my friend Sue today: only yachts. where the symbolic was once so pure and remains so blind to itself. dangerous. but no less dangerous than being alive. better to be a witch. best to be a witch. to suffer the depth of the hole on a yacht. hemingway. better to be a witch. if he had had powers to guide the fish. the star not the sun see how the outer sun hungers for the inner one Geza Csath Heidegger - taking walks in the forest. I always liked that image ever since i read his biographical intro in Being and Time.To have an anchor, in the earth. There is a beautiful cemetery near my apartment in Berlin it is one of my greatest pleasures these days to walk through it in silence. I think too of the few people I know with whom I enjoy sitting silently, its the same posture as listening to music, both the graveyard and the person. maybe this is why late at night i sit and do property searches for the most remote possible plots of land obtainable - in northern canada. the kinds you have to helicopter into. the silence of ages Beckett is a person who has really opened up the space of silence, I was so delighted to find this accidentally in one of his short stories recently. i got caught up watching pro skate videos on youtube last night. this 15 year old kid named Borros so amazing. travelling 70 ft through the air on a skateboard. but he has such a good attitude, he just goes about it like his regular business, not at all pompous, in no way full of himself, just full of doing it. what's the magic stone: the magic stone is what: what stone is magic? what's the magic word: what word is magic: the magic word is what? recognized by a hand unlocked by a hand A big block of stone was in front of her. She let her head be driven against the stone, made a mass of fragments of it, and she -
...murderous on Murtheimne Plain a heavy sleep of three days and three nights by the gravemound at Lerga - I am Lug --- your father from the Side
The first war spasm - hideous and shapeless - unheard of - every knuckle and angle and organ shook like a tree in the flood his body madea furious twist inside his skin - On his head his temple-sinews stretched to the nape of his neck, each mighty, immense, measureless knob as big as the head of a month-old child. His face and features became a red bowl...his lower jaw struck the upper a lion-killing blow...Malignant mists and spurts of fire - the torches of the Badb - flickered red in the vaporous clouds that rose boiling above his head...the hero halo rose out of his brow
The blind daughter of Tuoni, A girl there was of Tuonela, blind
The girl of death's doman was blind, Lovitar, an old woman
Tain Bo Cuailnge the curse that causes a temporary inability to fight
Those manuscripts, because they ceased to be understood, were rarely consulted, and so they survived
Old Irish, Ogham, only names remain, no longer spoken, changed into Middle Irish in the 10th century or so 792. Aelmidhair, OEconomus of Cluain Mic Nois, who was of the Sil Maelruanaidh, died. The men of Ulster are disabled by an apparent illness, the ces noínden (literally "debility of nine (days)", although it lasts several months). A separate tale explains this as the curse of the goddess Macha, who imposed it after being forced by the king of Ulster to race against a chariot while heavily pregnant.[1] The only person fit to defend Ulster is seventeen-year-old Cú Chulainn, and he lets the army take Ulster by surprise because he's off on a tryst when he should be watching the border. Before one combat the Morrígan visits him in the form of a beautiful young woman and offers him her love, but he spurns her. She then reveals herself and threatens to interfere in his next fight. She does so, first in the form of an eel who trips him in the ford, then as a wolf who stampedes cattle across the ford, and finally as a heifer at the head of the stampede, but in each form Cú Chulainn wounds her. After he defeats his opponent, the Morrígan appears to him in the form of an old woman milking a cow, with wounds corresponding to the ones Cú Chulainn gave her in her animal forms. She offers him three drinks of milk. With each drink he blesses her, and the blessings heal her wounds. After a particularly arduous combat he is visited by another supernatural figure, Lugh, who reveals he is his father. He puts Cú Chulainn to sleep for three days while he works his healing arts on him. When Cú Chulainn wakes he undergoes a spectacular ríastrad or "distortion", in which his body twists in its skin and he becomes an unrecognisable monster who knows neither friend nor foe. (Edited out of Wiki)
WORK = LIFE when the work sucks i always feel like im dying BECAUSE I AM DYING anything else - sock it to me - you could lob a truck at me i wouldnt care
Things people are afraid of:
Spiders Women Cats Cockaroaches Snakes Rats The Dark Men Speed Heights Clowns Dolls Displays of Emotion Embarassment Humiliation Prison Poverty Being Fat Failure Physical Harm Rape Dogs Horses Crowds Solitude Crazy People Drug Addicts Drugs Out of Control People Out of Control Anything, like machines, storms, mudslides, water and animals Sex Animals Ghosts Ghettos Guns Knives The Dentist The Ocean Quicksand Tight Spaces The Police Authority Mothers Fathers Priests Nuns Cult Leaders Seargants Murderers Criminals Debt Collectors Gangsters Bad Graphic Designers Movie Producers Followers of Satan Satan The Devil Incubi Succubi Demons Aliens Gay People Black People Hispanic People White People All kinds of People who you do not identify with as "your own" Cornfields Mazes Graveyards Ponds Lakes Swamps
12.07.2010 The work that never was (this past summer): The Leopard by Giuseppe di Lampedusa
What is and should stay as is: grandma's tea cups, the 17th and 18th century prof of literature who makes fun of herself because its such an awful era: I AGREE The tryst that has yet to - come
Studio blows, just threw a whole lot of shit away, sorry, but I feel like burying my head in an Irish peat bog, Ill feel at home
Cold, dreary, take solace in a hay loft, drink some beer
or nachos and chicken wings, mindless, surrounded by construction workers and strippers.
Becketts description of ___ is funny
I love cold dark weather
The blind daughter of Tuoni,
Tain Bo Cuailnge the curse that causes a temporary inability to fight
Those manuscripts, because they ceased to be understood, were rarely consulted, and so they survived
Old Irish, Ogham, only names remain, no longer spoken, changed into Middle Irish in the 10th century or so 792. Aelmidhair, OEconomus of Cluain Mic Nois, who was of the Sil Maelruanaidh, died. The men of Ulster are disabled by an apparent illness, the ces noínden (literally "debility of nine (days)", although it lasts several months). A separate tale explains this as the curse of the goddess Macha, who imposed it after being forced by the king of Ulster to race against a chariot while heavily pregnant.[1] The only person fit to defend Ulster is seventeen-year-old Cú Chulainn, and he lets the army take Ulster by surprise because he's off on a tryst when he should be watching the border. Before one combat the Morrígan visits him in the form of a beautiful young woman and offers him her love, but he spurns her. She then reveals herself and threatens to interfere in his next fight. She does so, first in the form of an eel who trips him in the ford, then as a wolf who stampedes cattle across the ford, and finally as a heifer at the head of the stampede, but in each form Cú Chulainn wounds her. After he defeats his opponent, the Morrígan appears to him in the form of an old woman milking a cow, with wounds corresponding to the ones Cú Chulainn gave her in her animal forms. She offers him three drinks of milk. With each drink he blesses her, and the blessings heal her wounds. After a particularly arduous combat he is visited by another supernatural figure, Lugh, who reveals he is his father. He puts Cú Chulainn to sleep for three days while he works his healing arts on him. When Cú Chulainn wakes he undergoes a spectacular ríastrad or "distortion", in which his body twists in its skin and he becomes an unrecognisable monster who knows neither friend nor foe. (Edited out of Wiki)
WORK = LIFE when the work sucks i always feel like im dying BECAUSE I AM DYING anything else - sock it to me - you could lob a truck at me i wouldnt care
Things people are afraid of:
Spiders Women Cats Cockaroaches Snakes Rats The Dark Men Speed Heights Clowns Dolls Displays of Emotion Embarassment Humiliation Prison Poverty Being Fat Failure Physical Harm Rape Dogs Horses Crowds Solitude Crazy People Drug Addicts Drugs Out of Control People Out of Control Anything, like machines, storms, mudslides, water and animals Sex Animals Ghosts Ghettos Guns Knives The Dentist The Ocean Quicksand Tight Spaces The Police Authority Mothers Fathers Priests Nuns Cult Leaders Seargants Murderers Criminals Debt Collectors Gangsters Bad Graphic Designers Movie Producers Followers of Satan Satan The Devil Incubi Succubi Demons Aliens Gay People Black People Hispanic People White People All kinds of People who you do not identify with as "your own" Cornfields Mazes Graveyards Ponds Lakes Swamps
11.30.2010 AXL ROSE'S CORNROWS when bands make it big, and they go back to do an album, why are they so often so incapable of staying simple? everything gets killed by too much production, too many opinions, too much outside influence - too much of everything but themselves. its so obvious, whole huge efforts shot to shit. try GnR chinese democracy, what a piece of crap!
KEEP IT SIMPLE you dont want to hear the truth so im gona lie to ya make it sound fly to ya
if you a nigger you a crack if you a cracker you the devil if you the devil you the enemy
lord its so hard living this life of constant struggle each and every day
some wonder why
id rather die than to continue living in this way
many of mine they cannot find the truth cause no one seems to really know
but i wont accept that this is how its gonna be lord youve got to let me and my people go
plan vs implementation fantasy vs reality win vs lose lose vs win
IC how do you draw it?
real vs fake tears
Things people are afraid of:
Spiders Women Cats Cockaroaches Snakes Rats The Dark Men Speed Heights Clowns Dolls Displays of Emotion Embarassment Humiliation Prison Poverty Being Fat Failure Physical Harm Rape Dogs Horses Crowds Solitude Crazy People Drug Addicts Drugs Out of Control People Out of Control Anything, like machines, storms, mudslides, water and animals Sex Animals Ghosts Ghettos Guns Knives The Dentist The Ocean Quicksand Tight Spaces The Police Authority Mothers Fathers Priests Nuns Cult Leaders Seargants Murderers Criminals Debt Collectors Gangsters Bad Graphic Designers Movie Producers Followers of Satan Satan The Devil Incubi Succubi Demons Aliens Gay People Black People Hispanic People White People All kinds of People who you do not identify with as "your own" Cornfields Mazes Graveyards Ponds Lakes Swamps
10.14.2010 AXL ROSE'S CORNROWS when bands make it big, and they go back to do an album, why are they so often so incapable of staying simple? everything gets killed by too much production, too many opinions, too much outside influence - too much of everything but themselves. its so obvious, whole huge efforts shot to shit. try GnR chinese democracy, what a piece of crap!
KEEP IT SIMPLE you dont want to hear the truth so im gona lie to ya make it sound fly to ya
if you a nigger you a crack if you a cracker you the devil if you the devil you the enemy
lord its so hard living this life of constant struggle each and every day
some wonder why
id rather die than to continue living in this way
many of mine they cannot find the truth cause no one seems to really know
but i wont accept that this is how its gonna be lord youve got to let me and my people go
plan vs implementation fantasy vs reality win vs lose lose vs win
IC how do you draw it?
real vs fake tears
Things people are afraid of:
Spiders Women Cats Cockaroaches Snakes Rats The Dark Men Speed Heights Clowns Dolls Displays of Emotion Embarassment Humiliation Prison Poverty Being Fat Failure Physical Harm Rape Dogs Horses Crowds Solitude Crazy People Drug Addicts Drugs Out of Control People Out of Control Anything, like machines, storms, mudslides, water and animals Sex Animals Ghosts Ghettos Guns Knives The Dentist The Ocean Quicksand Tight Spaces The Police Authority Mothers Fathers Priests Nuns Cult Leaders Seargants Murderers Criminals Debt Collectors Gangsters Bad Graphic Designers Movie Producers Followers of Satan Satan The Devil Incubi Succubi Demons Aliens Gay People Black People Hispanic People White People All kinds of People who you do not identify with as "your own" Cornfields Mazes Graveyards Ponds Lakes Swamps
10.05.2010 i had this dream about pete steele. love of my life, at long last he finds me and wants to sleep with me. he pulls his dick out and its really huge, but beyond that, pierced, all the way around, with studs, like a black metal armband. I look at him, looking at me, offering all that he's got. im like: "But you're dead!" and le's like: "I know." So nothing happens, between us.
09.15.2010 I look at beautiful guys, and see only vigor and beauty all shit I want to fall into.
07.07.2010 For the last 12 years of her life Marlene Dietrich conducted her affairs from her bed. Katherine Hepburn on her deathbed crying for Spencer Tracy. Dying with the dead – lyrics to “I am stretched on your grave (and will lie here forever)". Surgeon who cuts open a womb to extract life performs the same action as a murderer. In Hamlet, Ophelia, loses her mind to unrequited love, sings mad songs then drowns herself in a river. Harriet Smithson, actress playing Ophelia around the turn of the century in Paris, enthralled Berlioz. He wooed her and won her, but as it turns out he had fallen in love with the character and not with the actress herself. Glug glug from Celine Journey into Night “There was something tender yet willful about her, and in her movements the precise grace you often find in women who are sexually fit” “I’d have liked to examine her, but she was losing so much blood, there was such a gooey mess I couldn’t see anything in her vagina. Blood clots. A glug-glug between her legs like in the decapitated colonel’s neck in the war.” Dieu est suspendu, comme Aino, comme Ophelia.
06.18.2010 METAL SNOB Yes, that’s right: I am a total snob about Metal. That is: I frown on and look down upon those who make a big fucking deal about it, over intellectualize it, try to claim it as something other than what it is. Here’s the deal: IT’S WORKING FUCKING CLASS So get off your high fucking horse, and enjoy the music. Or maybe you can’t, in which case you have already dis-invited yourself, whole heartedly. Furthermore Metal is not really a guy thing. Secretly, or just below the surface, it’s a gore fest of dark and procreative power. Don’t forget – that bog that Beowulf jumps into? It’s very dark down there. So when Metal becomes another boy-fest, yes, it starts looking gay. GAY As in GAY So shut your trap and put your ear to the ground, get a boot in the face – it happens sometimes – check your sensitive headshit up your ass – none of it has anything to do with what it really is. Which is AN EXPERIENCE that came from a FUCKING PLACE that didn’t have to think too hard, about itself.
06.17.2010 Had an interesting conversation today with the woman who runs the Morbid Anatomy library. About the South. Like: how the South never recovered, its self image never recovered, from its dependence on slavery. How Hegel (or Aristotle?) outlined the inferiority of the Master inside a Master/Slave relationship. Because the Master's sense of self, and superiority, depends totally on the slaves obdience to that role. But as soon as the slave gets a clue, the Master is lost - while the slave is free - free to leave - and change. Whereas without his status, the master will perish. This is what happened to the South. I mentioned the Without Sanctuary book of postcards of lynchings, from an exhibition either at the Pierpont, or the Museum of New York, some years ago. Its amazing to see these postcards, casual and friendly momentoes, little notes written on them, bearing a mutilated body strung up above a huge crowd of white men, staring at the camera, hats on. A declaration of power. A statement of control. Horrifyingly casual, and dumb, and pathetic, and self destructive. Imagine if your sense of self worth relied on the display of the mutilated corpse you murdered. You had to do that to get the approval of your friends. I guess "lynching" was a way to avoid the word "killing" as the whole point was to was to dehumanize + assert power and at all costs not acknowledge a murder. That would be too real. Since the whole thing ran on fantasy. How else could anyone justify wearing a white robe and burning crosses and chanting some gobbedely gook about the superiority of the white race, in an economy and in fields that could not propser for lack of real inspiration or real worth?
The South has never recovered from that dilemma. It went nowhere but to a sad fingernail scraping back towards some nostalgic version of the slave days. Where no one did any work and other people raised their children (and provided sexual diversion.) Just couldnt function without help. An infant society of landowning fools. Peasants posturing with whips, peasants who beat their horses to death because they know no other language, and see accidental death as something like a storm that has blown the roof off a shed.
Yeah instead of innovating or working with what they got, they formed the Klan. A band of guys in costumes intimidating the population like a regular bunch of thugs - thats what the South became known for. Thats it. Its like your worst foot forward.
xxxxx
Koji Suzuki was born in 1957 in Hamamatsu, southwest of Tokoyo. The father of two daughters, Suzuki is a respected authority on child-rearing - an expertise acquired while a struggling writer and househusband. In 1990, his first full-length work, Paradise, won the Japan Fantasy Novel Award and launched his career as a fiction writer. Ring, written with a baby on his lap, catapulted him to fame, and the multi-million selling sequels Spiral and Loop cemented his reputation as a world-class talent. He has two girls, he gets horror. Some dreams that return (or images, recurring:)
Shoes. Piles of shoes. Shoe stores. An over abundance of shoes. Stacks of shoes.
My dads property. Always associated with a tornado. Almost never am I inside the house. Always outside, in the fields, seeing the aproaching twister. Sometimes multiple twisters. Bodies, buried in his field. By mexican laborers. (Illegals). Ghosts. A lot of interiors with ghosts. Old houses, I dont know in reality, but very specific. Angry ghosts, dominating rooms, exacting vengence, a lot of anger. Trying to control, evoking fear. Invisible but very present, in everything, in the room. Dominating staircases, attics, large ballrooms, bedrooms.
Graveyards, ones I dont know in reality. Tombstones, rows, the landscape, very clear. One with a pathway, gravel, lines with trees, winter, no leaves, and a hedge. Another on a hill, near a fairground, on a slope, no hedges, very open. Another is in bright sunlight, clear blue sky, with a very very high hedge, the kind you might see in England, a sort of wall, surrounding the entire perimeter of the yard. Maybe its in Ireland.
A body in the trunk of a car in very dark, very muddy water. Its wrapped in a carpet. The carpet is yellow.
2 Bodies in my basement in the building I grew up in, in a certain area. One on top of the other. Near the foundation. More, under the basement.
05.10.2010 Koji Suzuki was born in 1957 in Hamamatsu, southwest of Tokoyo. The father of two daughters, Suzuki is a respected authority on child-rearing - an expertise acquired while a struggling writer and househusband. In 1990, his first full-length work, Paradise, won the Japan Fantasy Novel Award and launched his career as a fiction writer. Ring, written with a baby on his lap, catapulted him to fame, and the multi-million selling sequels Spiral and Loop cemented his reputation as a world-class talent. He has two girls, he gets horror. Some dreams that return (or images, recurring:)
Shoes. Piles of shoes. Shoe stores. An over abundance of shoes. Stacks of shoes.
My dads property. Always associated with a tornado. Almost never am I inside the house. Always outside, in the fields, seeing the aproaching twister. Sometimes multiple twisters. Bodies, buried in his field. By mexican laborers. (Illegals). Ghosts. A lot of interiors with ghosts. Old houses, I dont know in reality, but very specific. Angry ghosts, dominating rooms, exacting vengence, a lot of anger. Trying to control, evoking fear. Invisible but very present, in everything, in the room. Dominating staircases, attics, large ballrooms, bedrooms.
Graveyards, ones I dont know in reality. Tombstones, rows, the landscape, very clear. One with a pathway, gravel, lines with trees, winter, no leaves, and a hedge. Another on a hill, near a fairground, on a slope, no hedges, very open. Another is in bright sunlight, clear blue sky, with a very very high hedge, the kind you might see in England, a sort of wall, surrounding the entire perimeter of the yard. Maybe its in Ireland.
A body in the trunk of a car in very dark, very muddy water. Its wrapped in a carpet. The carpet is yellow.
2 Bodies in my basement in the building I grew up in, in a certain area. One on top of the other. Near the foundation. More, under the basement.
04.28.2010 TH SHTTTTTT KCKD TTA UUU!!!!!!
My young love said to me my mother won't mind And my father will not slight you for your lack of kine And she said these words to me And then she did say It will not be long love til our wedding day
She said these words to me And she moved through the fair And fondly I did watch her move here and move there And she made her way homeward with one star awake As the swan in the evening Moves over the lake
Now people were saying That no two were ere wed When one has a sorrow that never was said And I smiled when she passed me with her goods and her gear And that was the last that I saw of my dear
I dreamt last night that my true love came in So softly she did enter her feet made no din And she put her hand on mine and this she did say It will not be long love til our wedding day
Joan Collins on Linda Evans, 2006: "Im not thrilled when Ben suggests Linda Evans to play Leatrice. We starred together for nine years in the TV series Dynasty - she played saintly Krystal and I played bitchy Alexis.However, I'm convinced she's always disliked me, since she rarely spoke to me on set. Ben tells me that he's talked to Linda and "she's (pause) fond of you"."I don't believe her," I say. "She needs the work, and for God's sake, she's never been on stage at all - and she wasn't even that good on TV! Late August 2006: New York Linda arrives at first rehearsal with cosmetic-surgery tape over and under her eyelids and underneath her chin.Naturally, the cast all pretend to ignore this, but it's obvious she's come straight from either the face-lift shop or a car crash.She also has the weirdest collagen-enhanced lips I've ever seen. In fact, she epitomises the expression 'trout pout', with those huge lips that make her look like a gargoyle when she smiles. It's quite off-putting to have to look at that face, which used to be so pretty, and pretend not to notice. Everyone who sees Linda is shocked by how she's spoiled her looks. Linda says: "I love to fight. Barbara Stanwyck taught me to do my own stunts. I don't do car crashes or falling off buildings, but fighting with another woman is not a problem for me." Well, ha, ha, and thanks, Linda - but this woman was taught by Gene Kelly never to do your own stunts."Firstly," he told me, "it's dangerous, and second, you're putting some poor stunt girl out of work."So I subscribe to the Kelly theory - or have done ever since twice ending up in hospital after an over-enthusiastic bout of cat-fighting with Krystal on Dynasty. Once, in our infamous lily-pond fight, she pulled my leg so hard that it was practically dislocated; and, another time, I ended up in the emergency ward with a dislocated neck vertebra." Hey when the bull puts his head down in defeat, I retreat (calm): so take this with a measure of salt: custody lawyers, crack cocaine, are all pretty stressful to contend with (pregnant) though this is sobering, and actually, realistic, and ancient - ill leave it in like badly cooked meat or burnt toast: a short swim, and death. there is no pattern, no proscribed path, no beautiful way as far as human reproduction is concerned. women can conceive against their will, in a drunken stupor or as the result of rape. it makes sense then that women take this fact and choose with whom they want to reproduce. and the end of the day it is they who are responsible, and they who take care. sperm play a role which is vital for about 30 seconds. after that, it is women who have always carried the bulk forward into the future.
if all those pro choice opponents put their energy into preventing rape, maybe then theyd play a more substantial role in the overall reproductive output. as it is now, a woman in germany cannot choose to have a child on her own, at a clinic, if she wants to. she has to be heterosexual, married, and be undergoing interuterine fertilization only as a result of infertility problems. that is the law. elsewhere, it is not, and IUI is encouraged, and promoted, as an extremely positive thing. of course, any person willingly going through great effort to conceive probably has made responsible, careful plans, visa vis nurturing new life. now think of all the guys out there who have spawned countless chlidren, mindlessly, who have to be taken to court, for child support, and who make a big fuss about being the dad but dont actually do the real day in day out work, of raising the child. none of that is acceptible, but somehow society has made it so. why is that? ask the anti-choice people. patriarchal images, and notions, but they are just that: images and notions. maybe a panicked grab and some kind of identity which will endure (for mor than 30 seconds). so if its the women who have been tending the future all of these centuries, its time they stepped up and made the conscious choice to do so. men will have to find a way to participate, that actually functions, in this future, even if biologically they will always remain isolated and somewhat interchangable, and easily frozen, in a cryobank. models of efficiency, productivity, and profit are changing. not out of political will but out of the necessity of preserving the earth. man has clung to the humanistic model, where man is the center, the decider, since luther. but at this point it is doing more harm than good. and as the auto industry, and american might, collapses, necessity, again, and not some theory, makes this clear. Other: The shape of homunculi, snow white, death, bog sacrifice, Arthur, Elijah and the Golem. In particular the version of the Golem as told by Gustav Meyrink. In Meyrink the image of the Golem is not so clear. It remains a question, or a suggestion. It is an apparition, an agent, a call, to magical forces, to wisdom and to the unknown. In other versions of the Golem story the word for "Truth", must written on a piece of paper and put into the Golems mouth. Take away the fist character in "Truth" and you are left with "Death". Between sculpture and drawing, the most physical and the most ephemeral, exist. Something wierd: there is much more literature about battles than there is about birth. Birth wins on violent change. maybe only demons and witches best embody it. but even in a epic like the Tain, they mention menstruation, and magical twins and children are often born, but the process itself? absent. vainomoinens wounds in the kalevala are better described (broken bone door). very physical, the shattering of membranes, opening of portals. time collapses in on itself, like in a car accident. and you are thrown around like a doll by something coming out of your own body. im really amazed at the amount of ignorance, silence, and fear that the process carries. people dont talk about it. it is horribly idealized, and hardly allegorized, there is no common effort made to deal with it - this thing at the very center of life. the nuture and fostering of children is still such a mystery to society. as if no one knows where they come from, or they just happen. sex education is a joke. there is more to be said in zoos about zebras, or on pbs, than there is about fetal development, breast feeding, and the fertilization of eggs. to think that some people are offended by breast feeding in public is beyond the pale and so openly hostile. how else is the baby going to thrive? i continue to be amazed at how such a catholic, prude, and protestant mentality shuns the most necessary and natural things as shameful. their own institutions rely on it, severely, all do, if they'd like to fortify, protect, and cultivate their coffers. and keep their floors clean. and make elegant their funeral. and then there is the birth itself, so disembodied, and disconntected from what it is - that is - giving birth. hospitals are like slaughterhouses, where, something that nature designed, and that has worked, very naturally, over all of time, is broken down in a chaotic mess of kafkaesque beds and devices, stressed out doctors with different jobs all football huddled on top of one writhing female trying to reconfigure her physical process into some predictable arrangement of external parts - a job given to mechanics - the ones who used to double as dentists. in the end it makes modern medicine look barbaric, people are so afraid of lawsuits and liability that at the slightest inkling of trouble they cut you open like a christmas ham. you dont bond with the baby you're high as a kite on morphine and you regard the world with cool, post - operative detatchment. in a state no different than if you really had been in a car accident and broken a bunch of bones.
maybe thats the problem, that "all of time" is difficult to understand, to swallow, to take in, so there's a panicked compulsion to cut everything into into tiny bits that you can label and put into some kind of visible order. the closest experiences id had to birth, before giving birth (or in my case, being sliced open) were both in ireland. one was a lamb who gave birth in the barn at the house where i was staying, in the night, the other was an extremely pregnant mare, who i was hoping id see give birth. the farmer whos mare it was showed her to me, mentioned something about the full moon and werewolves and her pregnancy, that it would still be a week or a few days because of some combination of all those things. i dont remember exactly he was one of these charmers where everything magic and romantic was perfectly legit + woven in to everything, plus he was a professional matchmaker, i cannot remember the word for that but the old school kind who wanted to match me with some irish farmer. they are terribly hard up these days, nobody's running to rural ireland. i also watched hours and hours of nature videos and spent hours and hours at the berlin zoo contemplating the process of birth and of mates wooing one another, how different species do it, since the human species is so at a loss as to how to make it work, peacefully.
I am stretched on your grave and will lie here forever With your hands in mine I am sure well not sever My appletree my brightness Oh Im sure Ill be there soon For I smell of the earth And am stained by the weather
While my family thinks I am safe in my bed From night until morning I am stretched at your head I cry out into the open air With tears both hot and wild Oh I grieve for the girl That I loved as a child
All the priests and the friars behold me with dread Because I still love you although you are dead I would still be your shelter From rain and from storm But in the cold earth I cannot sleep warm =
Must say though, that no matter who or what tries to lay claim to the process, the baby comes out, the morphine wears off. Whichever method, its like coming out of a car accident. I wish someone would have explained the traumatic aspect of it, and also, the physical process - better. Especially the dilation of the cervix and the timing of the contractions. Afterwards you feel like this: The blind daughter of Tuoni,
And I am again amazed and amazed at the ignorance that surrounds the process, and the female body. Birth is also such an individual process, no two are really alike, though the result is the same. Some people breast feed some people dont, some people can, some people cant, boobs are good with it, some not etc.
And thats the apparatus that connects old life - to new -what a thing to take for granted, to misunderstand, or to fear.
Even the wisest man grows tense
08.07.2009 THE SHIT
a short swim, and death.
PPD is like: feeling responsible for everything with a shotgun to the head. and you cant get out of it.
no words describe.
enjoyed the ensor show vy much. oophoi: cambrian rain. slumnation 2: by zalozabal. image of crazy texas chainsaw massacre cousin looking thing by Nathalie Djurberg on my desktop. learning how to tattoo. 9 clown faces. ensore clown and death together (or "pierrot") told one person i was depressed and all they had to say was "well that makes sense if you look at your work" i was really insulted and disgusted. hate all journalists. except the ones who are poets. love beckett. his commentary on the moon (ill seen ill said) is enough. listening to long distended drones, very little else going on. in what im listening to. back at the compass in hand show. no sense of mastery no distinctions made. very bad for drawing. death of michael. he stopped working stopped being open stopped believing in himself. poor elvis. showbiz got bigger than his own instincts. my great fear is to be disconnected from my instincts. by time age delusion pomposity comfort or complacency in any form. the hard edge of a dark shadow never dies. no matter what weight gained or lost. looked at rossos own photos from his studio today. brilliant and beautiful. i think i have 3 friends. would any of them make me a cup of coffee. i think of the simplest things. the best drawings reduce. the best friendships - cannot die. the best connection is - straightforward and clear. like a nail hitting a sledge hammer. i think of more of a - railway tie. i hear michaels fragility. its the pure product of abuse. a universal rule. you cant do that to a kid and get away with it. no matter how hard you smile, or cool you act, or stern, or blase or business like. damage done. from one soul to another. holy mountain by jodorowsky. clown porn by ramco productions. dirt by salem. soeur marie keyrouz. an invincible voice and she is a musicologist. some things i would like to build. a big semi underground wedge shaped studio mostly out of concrete half submerged with a lot of green growing on the roof. a treehouse multiple levels spanning multiple trees in a tall forest. a tower vertical with bedrooms and living areas in a stack one spiral staircase at center running from the bottom to the very top of it. A garden that blooms only at night. to be honest to be clear. to have the manpower to do all these things. to be used. to be loved to be supported to be believed in.
saw anal cunt last night. what a riot. worth the wait. staring at the tiny box that is my studio. dont have enough wall space to put up all the drawings. got word that a drawing was damaged in transit. sucks ass. i hate that so much. it was perfectly flat when it went out the door. it drives me nuts not to be able to see it in person now and not to know how it happened or what happened.
the difference between good - and great - is emotion. for this reason i do not like any of caravaggio's work. its flashy and glam but there's not much more going on. and the obvious pin up value of a lot of his works/models. keeps it all from the deep. the deep is where the good stuff resides. or at least - dips - or plunges. but dont plunge too hard. i think again of the story of beowulf and grendel - where grendel lived. that black pool or black bog where beowulf dove to get the monster. its so much a sacrifical bog - pre christain. seems so obvious - and intruiging for this reason. but theres also the personal act of diving deep, going into the black, to come out with the prize.
listening to the cocteau twins. have done since i was 15. looking at picture of guy who took my virginity.
04.22.2009 THE SHIT unchainable unobtainable riveted dark dark forest Yes I went through a period where I felt like a total loser unprepared for a child because I didnt own a ferrari or a custom aston martin or a lamborghini (car of choice) wasnt married to or at least belived-in by a billionaire who could infinitely improve upon his skyscrapers with my brain - as much as he could improve upon mine. But - getting hit by a truck is getting hit by a truck - no matter who you are or where you are at. what kids need: solid ground, friends, a home. the feeling that they are needed and loved + the most important thing in their parents life. read today the disclosure of CIA documents outlining the specific guidlines for torture - waterboarding - among other things - the precise angle - the amount of water - the method of application. the notation inside the report - that despite specific guidlines - often - excessive amounts of water were used - wholesale - dumping of water on peoples faces - as if - the author of this report was suprised or simply had to note that the method of application exceeded the implied control of the rulebook. in a dark room - secret - sequestered - literally - hidden - from the light of day - a huge and shining green light to whomevers stupidity, crappy understanding of arabic, of people, or truth, of what is useful, legitimate, of what the real indicators of death and unbareable pain - are. did they ask the torturees to describe - on a scale from 1 - 10 - how much pain they were experiencing? (just had to do that in the hospital - btw - with little cartoon faces drawn to describe gradating degrees of pain. 10 = a round unhappy face with a lot of drop shaped tears.) the only person halfway qualified to tread a fine line between life and death - comfort and pain - is a doctor or nurse. but even doctors get it wrong - all the time. and what one person might tolerat as OK another might - die from. so how could anyone hand the responsibility of pain application and management over to some moderately intelligent - or lets say - of ranging intelligence - agent - and think - that words on paper would strictly control - their own (subjective) perception of another person's (subjective) experience? thoroughly unqualified. thoroughly gross, naive, power hungry in the most bloated barbaric and third world sense of the word. pathetic dictator style. torture works as a method of extracting truths only for those who lust for some brutal display of power. pain has only been traded for fact where the facts dont matter are unreliable and cannot be objectively confirmed. torture is practiced by the most insecure and undeserving rulers. those that have no clue how to make constructive and smart use of their great means. the which hunts of the 15th century - the inquisition - never really caught any witches. they just - invented them. and made the general population - hysterically afraid. not of witches - but of the inquisitor. ive met a couple intelligence types in my life and i can say i would not want them to torture me. i dont think they could do it with any efficiency. how could they if they have to read an instruction manual? written by an idiot. there's no way to practice that on dummies - so everyone - apart from real sadists - would have to be a novice. and real sadists are not after truth.
you know in 5th grade we had to do this excersize where we wrote out - as clearly as we could - instructions for making a peanut butter + jelly sandwich. now try this at home: get a jar of jelly - a can of peanut butter and 2 slices of bread. now write down, in sequence, what someone needs to do to make a sandwich. find that someone and sick your instructions on them. now try the smae thing - drunk. its a good drinking game. for the MOMA i will be talking about disembodied heads and the anonymity of death. that's my main beef with military intelligence. it's a lot of hocus pocus. its modern day alchemy. its fantasy. its a bunch of boys running around in underoos thinking they actually have superhero powers. the key to any competitive edge - is actual intelligence - i mean - smart people. using whatever worldly means they have at their disposal. not a huge chunk of financial and mental resources run into the ground by a bunch of dilletantes attempting to be "inventive". yea, real creativity - is the real advantage. is the real ability to visualize scenarios with great precision, and come up with creative ways to innovate and improve the known. trying to remember the title of the film with klaus kinski - aguirre - the wrath of god (?) where he as some kind of 16th century spanish explorer tries to drag a ship up a south american hillside. i think of this past summer of an island in maine where the winds were bad and the water so choppy you couldnt launch a kayak off a beach - so my then boyrfriend was like: lets carry the kayak across land to the backside of the island and launch there - away from direct wind - and i was like - no screw you there is no way we are carrying this double long two ton thing with all our gear in it across uneven ground all strewn with fallen trees and debris and whatever. he was like - ok: fuck you - and picked up that double kayak all full of shit by himself and carried it across the island. i was totally impressed. physical strength in guys can be just plain impressive. its straightforward - and clear - it doesnt have to talk at all to get the job done. so henceforth every man i sleep with will be a: motherfucker car wrecks and shamanic dismemberment its as close to childbirth as an outsider can get - and falling off a building - shattering bones - lying in traction for a couple months. but your whole body is in on it. tsunami - whirlpool - freight train. and at the same time - it means very little. its very close to death. automatic - execution - like the guillotine. you may live you may die but the creature will come out. thinking about tents and triangles and lifting up arms to form the same. also biers and cairns. and the trip to venice this summer with a little baby - balancing on boats with a bunch of italians - thatll be fun. corsetry actually - rage and betrayal can fuel some good shit once you get past it. everything's temporary even if there's real concern in the moment. as long as it gets absorbed the right way. and you're able to handle it. guess some people arent. thats why we had to split. as my friends have said "he can't handle you - he's not able" actually he was up to the challenge - and up to challenges - but he has a fucking problem that reduces his spine to gelatin. it sucks when something or someone you thought was really strong turns out - to be - very weak. in some really fundamental way - like - the fundament - they stand on. in themselves. the kind of weakness that cant be tolerated once you have a kid. no matter how much he enjoys pitching a tent - or how perfectly his hand might fit into mine - he cant be around me and my brood. but yeah when things fail - its like a form of dishonesty. it feels like that. because normally when your heart is fully invested in something - it works. maybe i am too focused on overcoming. and not - sitting on a big fucking rock somewhere. well u am sitting on a big rock - but i dont look for it in other people. always relying on myself to fix everything. maybe that makes me a sucker when someone offers to help i dont get it im vunerable. ..........in love with...............drawing getting a little vicous i dont know why i had a dream that my ex was a dog. a big sloppy mouthed pit bull. he ran up to me all excited and a voice overhead said: "you have to respond to him emotionally" reading kids book called "how to behave" its says be FAIR HONEST AND STRONG i want to create a ballet that doesnt require a stage. always the parameters of the stage annoy me because they are so false. only some extreme presence that exceeds the stage can use it as launching pad. this is the only thing that will capture my attention in a theater. fiona shaw - medea - the rare occasion where i didnt start fidgeting in the first 3 minutes. lemmy - motorhead. some others. live loud music - but not just that it has to bind. a bad sound system can ruin a favorite band that happened to high on fire when they "opened" for megadeath and we had spent the whole day playing megadeath pissing in our pants laughing. only time i really ever listened to megadeath. so a ballet that doesnt require a stage with a very melancholy russian sounding violin solo and nutcracker forms that open up a bit like the jaws of death and let out black sulphur. those kind of mousetrap jaws that swing on a single hinge. skeleton robots to emphasize that death is mechanical. one audience member - with all the rest being skeleton robots. this is to emphasize that death is solitary. all the skeleton robots are shrouded in darkness so that they resemble something like death but cant be completely made out. one skeleton robot is a woman - dressed as a skeleton robot. but she also changes outfits. everytime she is seen she is wearing a different outfit almost like a flip book where each page = a completely different outfit. theres one bathroom - a mens room - and it has a perptual line of old men waiting for it. but once they go in they never come back out. arctic wind bright sunshine against small stunted arctic flowers plentiful in their microcosmic scale against huge glacial rocks covered in lichen. i stick to my first instinct on children and relationships. the two should be separate. that is: one should have and rear their children on their own without the changing variable of some other person. you just dont know what lies ahead or how that persons values might be different when the shitstorm hits or when you have to make a really big change thats important to you but not to them. my oophoi cd is skipping like crazy. oophoi. this is ambient but like - songs. there are some in particular i like and i play them on repeat. its - subtle singing sort of - just under the surface - like a conversation with small signs on an airplane in full view of a lot of noise. or a conversation with an airplane. i think about the hum of the engine when i was little sleeping by the feet of the seats. on a plane its pervasive. gianluigi giasparetti. Okay im considering becoming a full time lesbian. For all the testosterone that I love in my life - i am really having doubts if there's a man out there who could ever measure-up. That sounds twisted and fucked up. But the big trucks and ships and wrought iron that i need in my life - what man is the material that measures up? They all fall short. And fail, in some real and serious way. Im sad for my girl. Another girl - raised - in a world of girls. All these guys stunted and missing parts - full of claims - and promises - with very little ability - to deliver. Guys are fragile and conflicted about their role. And they depend greatly on women. Its not very well defined - by nature. As much as random rain can water a seed. I am real sad - for the dad-lessness of the universe. Venetian Snares. Saw arms and armor at the met today and Celtic torques made out of gold. + one amyethyst ring that i would like to wear. 4th century BC. I like the guys voice - in Fever Ray. Also now - Salem. But im not into elf crap.
Its amazing how quickly the body regenerates and is ready for another round. That is so fast. nothings changed same as when i was 19. I just did something cool with some tape + i am cooking two artichokes also. advantages of live work. lots of disadvantages there as well but my babygirl is safe + secure. and so am i. its starting to sink in (after a big spell of resistance) what it means to own + not to have and landlord. it's like - peaceful here. i can do whatever i want. even if i inherited the crap sheetrock and electrical work of the former hippy owner - i can change it. even if it has to be gradual. i can leave move buy something else - eventually.
lawrence wiener made a porno but it all looked like art sex. he is totally the pimp daddy - anyways. he oozes dancefloor moves - doesnt really need to make a move. tap into youth. but they were all so self conscious. thats boring. i am just a big huge amazing pressure container right now in how many ways do i want to bust out - and can?? the world is so much more awesome with a little girl in it. everything is better bigger bolder badder. 
Mediocrity in Love Rejected
Give me more love, or more disdain; The torrid or the frozen zone Bring equal ease unto my pain; The temperate affords me none: Either extreme, of love or hate, Is sweeter than a calm estate. Give me a storm; if it be love, Like Danae in that golden shower, I swim in pleasure; if it prove Disdain, that torrent will devour My vulture hopes; and he's possessed Of heavan that's but from hell released. Then crown my joys, or cure my pain; Give me more love, or more disdain. -TC
03.25.2009 THE SHIT
Mediocrity in Love Rejected
Give me more love, or more disdain; The torrid or the frozen zone Bring equal ease unto my pain; The temperate affords me none: Either extreme, of love or hate, Is sweeter than a calm estate. Give me a storm; if it be love, Like Danae in that golden shower, I swim in pleasure; if it prove Disdain, that torrent will devour My vulture hopes; and he's possessed Of heavan that's but from hell released. Then crown my joys, or cure my pain; Give me more love, or more disdain. -TC
I just took a ballet class. Wahoooooo!!!!! It was awesome. I am so weak. Its ridiculous. But - my body remembers. that is cool as fuck. Here's what we did: tombe - pas de bourre - chasse - balance - balance - arabesque - coup de pied - REPEAT
Finally unpacking my books for real. I put the Kalevala next to the Mabingion next to the crappy copy i have of the Edda. Hesiod's Catalogue of Women is my new purchase. All fragments. Io is mentioned river goddess daughter of Inachus. My Encyclopedia of Faeries tops them all. Also thinking about going to Ireland this summer not sure about that everything is strange right now and unfocused. I would like to live with a posse of horses in a clover field thats how im feeling these days.
I think they should shut down the armory and retire the venice biennial. move the whole thing to sea caves off coast of ireland. give each artist a 3 ton truckload of mixed cement and 36 hours to do something with it.
03.07.2009 THE SHIT
No shit breast feeding is amazing, and so is the bizarre act of giving birth. But - to be defined negatively by surgery. That depressed me & i wasnt prepared for it. Just - not understanding of it. I underestimated. And then to contract a disgusting 19th century dirty hands (or open cervix) infection - worst nightmare. The bone door and the gore gate in the Kalevala couldnt be more true. "Well when your cervix is dilated for so long its like an open door - all the infection passes through" etc. That anyways was the explanation. I got pushed around by insurance companies the bullying and retardation culminating in a fucking womb - wound - infection. Pre-hygeine. Like that food worker who infected half the country with her dirty hands. Is it possible to be defined positively - by surgery? That's where it has to go. But what a depressing spell. The baby is beautiful and strong, the mom, limping and cut and suppurating ill smelling liquid. I always knew she would be fine i just wasnt prepared for the physical frailty, fragility, weakness. That old stubbron war survivor who refuses to go to the doctor and insists on "fixing" his broken or sprained wrist - by tightening his watch band. Wasnt doing anything stupid with duct tape!! But it was internal. In the womb not at the site. Some recent thoughts: Pro America: Now that im here i still have moments where I pine for pure americana. I want open roads and trucks and classic rock. A friend of mine is putting together a show in Oklahoma during tornado season. That could be way fun. Its funny. Some people give me turn of the eye and ask - "is the father american" yeah dude! I sound like such a jerk saying that - because love - like surgery - can happen at any time and take any form - but thats the deal. He is so american. He is more american, than your american, than your american's american. And i love every kind of painting. But this is not a painting. America invented the John Deere lawnmower - the tractor kind - theres a whole lifestyle - way of life - WOL - attached to that. It goes unsaid - but its there - underneath everything. A connection - to the earth. John Deere! Bumped into friend at the AS yesterday - he was very critical of Bellmer.He was totally unphased by the show. He didnt see any connection - to my work. He talked about Bellmer being "obvious" "not a good draftsman" and findamentally "dishonest". Having done the show - gotten closer to - the substance not the idea - having fallen into the work when i was 19 or so - i sort of agree. When things get porny they get shallow + fall short. But - the drawings I chose are not iconic or so - recignizable - as his. They are wierd and strange - for him. At least - for me. That the ego is on the surface like a thin shell - easy to crack - unable to achieve great depth. Like Gene Simmons. But the obviousness is seductive - to my perpetual teenager - just to have dicks and cunts out in the open - defining the terms - that part speaks openly - honestly? Everything is teenage - teenage - teenage! Its good when its - really teenage. But - i agree with my friend. There is an arrogance - an insecurity - that makes Bellmer somewhat - unplayful. Hey I got this really cool book of writing about music. I picked it up and asked my friend - how can anybody - really write - about music? Its a silly idea. History - OK - art history - OK - music history - OK. But actual music - funny. So I bought it. Want to see how people describe - music - with words. Its sort of absurd. But there is some writing of musicians - just about the world - that is interesting - by itself. Nothing to do with trying to describe music.
February 3, 2009 Dido’s Lament by HP When I am laid, am laid in earth, may my wrongs create
Maybe by acquiring a space for the first time i will by process of elimination create a new one.
DIGITAL TV Is full of shows about murder and Hitler. And infomercials. Murder, Hitler. Informercial. Murder, Hitler. Informercial. Hitler is on TV all the time. At all hours of the night. I never expected - when I ordered Direct TV - that id be totally overrun by in depth psychological analyses of Hitler. Everybody's talking - about Hitler. Goering hid his cyanide in a jar of face cream. Then gave the US officer guarding him - a pair of white kid gloves for slipping it to him. "I really need my face cream".
Saturday January 24, 2009 In the studio:
COMPLETELY INHUMAN
and
BLACK FOLDED WING
Friday, January 23, 2009 Overcoming is...everything
Bottom line is – life doesn’t change. People do not go out of their way for you – give you a seat on the subway – or step aside. That’s life – normal life – whether you’re pregnant, carrying a large box or struggling with a big bag of laundry. You still make art you still think you have all the same desires and are just as hungry for knowledge and places as you were before. You still have the same capacity to bear children – you always did, all the while making art. Which is another thing I find to be funny. People have been having children – since anyone can remember. So what’s so shocking about it. Every generation, bears another generation – and a few choose not to. Either way – all bodies have the capacity to do it. They were designed to do it. The thing – works. Well. For all the head bashing, thumb screwing and ram battering Ive had to inflict along the way – this is definitely a joy. Simple, straight forward and clear - fufillment. I have felt totally in synch with it from the moment it became - real. I think in some ways artists – as perfectionistic – and malleable – as they are – make good candidates for parents. You really have to fight for your work - and take excellent care - of it. Always. So you know how to fight - and you know how to take care. This is my view of an artist - it excludes the self obsessed – neurot. The kind that kind lacks the flexibility – and the imagination – in their work and lives - to take real risks. Without the risk - it's obvious. And most of all - lazy. Weakness, fear - cloaked by the intensity - of a narrow focus. I also exclude the infantile image of artist that keeps the dealer in the position of "caretaker" no matter what the real balance of power. An artist's natural born perfectionism – married to discipline – makes for– healthy – robust – and thorough – results; well rounded, full of potential, pointing in some material way - to what else is possible.That can happen in a person's heart. As well as in something they are holding in their hand. One more thing. Some people ask – are you going to take time off. To that I ask – what do you mean – take time off. What does that mean. Does any artist ever take time off? As if there’s a choice. Artists don’t take time off . They do what they do – to exist. So it’s a really silly question. And many become happy mothers and fathers – both.
December 5th, 2008 Trying chocolate – in a sort of lame way – through a mold not a big mold person so don’t know what will happen…thought maybe afterwards I could deform it in the microwave. Iron, the idea to use it. Underground. Also – romance – I remembered something that struck me again – took me out of hyper-plan-mode – all of a sudden. That’s nice. I forgot. Made me want to go away to some place isolated and nameless. Funny those places with no names. That’s why I like the idea of buying land in one of those maine sectors – that have only numbers. No towns. Just towering, dark pine – and bears. Its like j74326 and j39572 etc. Looked into Canadian land also – nothing- no roads – hardly accessible by anything. Scary once youre there. But whats it like and if I were to own it? They have these great overhead helicopter shots of the plots. One – a kind of tongue – in a river – sand bed and pine – that super dark kind where if you turned to bone youd instantly become part of it. Eaten by it. All anyone would get – would be like – a helicopter shot of trees from far far away.
October 27th, 2008 Writing sucks. October 26th, 2008 Pornography is the wrong format. October 20th - 27th, 2008 I just erased everything i erased - before. posting live. Tuesday, September 9, 2008
the pix x has of me — he puts the 3 together and says it’s “like a movie” to see three of me in succession
FUCK THE LAW I WANT MEAT From Nightbreed by CB Pelican and Boone and the Swashbuckling Pinhead character:
SPH: Move and ill slit your throat!
P: U got him?
SPH: I got him
B: (oh shit - r u from Midian?)
SPH: We should take him below Pelican
P: Hes not nightbreed hes natural
B: (no ive killed people – that’s why im here)
P: Shut the fuck up. You’re meat
SPH: If we eat him we’ll break the law!
B: (so its true)
P: Everything is true. Gods an astronaut. Oz is over the rainbow. And Midian’s where the monsters live. And you came to die
B:(I didn’t come to die! I came here to be with you!)
P: No - sorry. I can smell innocence (touches neck - inhales scent) from 50 yard
B: (Ive killed people ive killed 15 people!)
P: You told you that? (eyes flash) He lied asshole
You’re (growls) -Natural - That means-You’re meat - For the Beast - ! SPH: We musnt! It’s the law!
P: Fuck the law - I want meat!
(P rips a chunk of flesh out of B with his teeth)
FROM THE TEMPEST BY WS (my high school year book quote:) Full fathom five Thy father lies Of his bones are coral made Those are pearls that were his eyes Nothing of him doth fade But doth suffer a sea change Into something rich and strange
LIST OF GIRL NAMES Emerentiana Escoffine Zerlinda Allegonda Aloynoushca Amalaswintha Amerentiana Athanagild Dearbhorgaill
i like locks have pictures i took of a few on display in a musty dusty municipal museum in Salzburg, as well as some from the met for a show it did on noble craft - technology of the late renaissance taught as a matter of course to the high born. the lathe was at the apex, its ivory products and designs for various wunderkammer, complex cabinets. this is late renaissance going into the baroque when the universe was re conceived by man as something both comprehensible and mechanical. glockenspiel and the planets appear together as public time pieces, death with his hour glass no longer dominant. plague pretty much over.
the lock i like in particular was a test made by a novice to make the guild. it has visible parts and then trick parts which lead onto secret parts.
in shop in 7th grade the wooden box i made with a secret compartment for…???
i liked the idea of secret places. i had glow in the dark stars on my ceiling. now i have a planetarium with streaking light and a rotating sky. like the passing of time. i would like it to be a real clock.
ive always been irritated by baroque stuff, fashion, frippery + that embrace of the mechanical, a clear + transparent universe - constructed by a happy hand - god as engineer, lapels flapping in the wind, arms maker - musket-master - no more the food poisoner - or potion trader - a precision fabricator - with a jelly roll for a mistress - a new level of corpulence - that strange counterpoint of excess and ornament adulation of fatty flesh. putti-fied world.
a matching show in another musty dusty space also salzburg - reliquaries from the same period - 17th into 18th century - in crappy old cases in some sort of civic hall - my own private show - no one else around - so much frippery it looked like decay. ribbons, lace, petals, flowers, braided and beaded crap all of this florid shit-vomit encasing some tiny shard of bone or tooth - no bigger than a nail clipping. some of them - probably nail clippings. the nail clippings of dead paupers. the excess out does everything, decay is voluptuous, bernini’s st. whatever has that ridiculous caravaggio pre courbet cloth-fold orgasm, (the ridiculousness is in her face - i like the cloth), sodeath steps back again from the bigger badder massiveness of the machine and all the shit spewing out of it.
that totally wasnt possible before the 17th century hit. guess when the reformation came - man fondled himself for that first time and realized that he, not god, was in command of his penis. that is machiavelli. i really dig machiavelli. so clear, and to the point. still - bawdy medieval times im sure were over the top they are just visually overcome and skewed by all that homogenous drapery and soaring stone - the discovery of an architecture - must be lofty - angels hovering without wings. where the angel part is folded into the overall presentation, into everything, including bodies laid out emphemeral and flat on top of tombs, in doorways and threshholds.
i was recently at st. denis - my favorite place for stone carving - hours spent - really - in that shitty ass neighborhood - all of it on top of tombs, everybody laid out on a slab - the shift from late medieval into the renaissance totally palpable - pithy - frighteningly sudden + self aware. like going from internet pix into an actual mortuary. pride in substance, in truth, and weight - man inhabits the world.
bad tattoos —none of them could stand up to or formulate the substance that x is. all these guys want to be him - he is what they want to be - he is what lies in the outer slumbering un realized limits the of their bourgeois, suburban, unchallenged tattoo choices - they strive to be - reach towards - get marks in awe of: x’s tattoos x’s experience the muscle mass that is x’s life - the cinematography of the fantasy - but real - built out of sheer brutal raw uncomprising resistance + strength. SHEER BRUTAL RAW UNCOMPROMISING RESISTANCE AND STRENGTH. those are laurels. prison: where you make sculpture out of soap because all other materials are denied. roses out of toilet paper ink out of ash.
where do you find the real shit? in good art - and in rare friends. and in books, in certain books. thats art too, but ill put it down separately because its a different format and the tools used (words) are well established in advance - unless you are joyce or beckett. or a writer in a language no longer spoken or understood. with art you make your own tools and in rare people you recognize the them - so you share some part of an inutterable, silent, power. that is true for those alive and dead. thrilling tho - when you’re both alive and can just stand there share the same air - knowing what you both know.
always i love the inutterable word for god- and the magic ward written on a piece of paper + stuffed into the golem’s mouth.
MY FAVORITE SONG By MG, The Swans
Take this glass of water, hold it in your hand. Drink the water slowly, don’t show any emotion. Take your clothes off. Sit on the edge of the bed. Cover yourself with your hands. I’ll stand in the corner. I’ll stare at the wall. I’ll try to remember what you look like sitting there. We’re seperate bodies. We’ll never understand what the other one needs. It’s just like breathing. It’s just like breathing water. Sit there with your clothes off while I look at you. We’ll never change. The world’s getting smaller with every second we breathe. When it’s inside you, you’ve changed
MY FAVORITE SONG Traditonal irish/chloe’s version
My young love said to me, my mother won´t mind She stepped away from me and she moved through the fair, The people were saying no two were e´er wed, I dreamt it last night that my dead love came in,
CHLOE PIENE
03.05.2009 THE SHIT
No shit breast feeding is amazing, and so is the bizarre act of giving birth. It is so powerfully connected. To everything. This isnt a feeling its a fact. No catapult with plague bodies or burning embers can compare. But - to be defined negatively by surgery. That depressed me & i wasnt prepared for it. Just - not understanding of it. So scared of the hospital and the docs and their stupidity. Didnt think i would be. I underestimated. And then to contract a disgusting 19th century dirty hands (or open cervix) infection - worst nightmare. So scared, so scared of harming my womb the whole "never have children again" scenario - fucking crap. The bone door and the gore gate in the Kalevala couldnt be more true. "Well when your cervix is dilated for so long its like an open door - all the infection passes through" etc. That anyways was the explanation by the doc i never liked. I got pushed around by insuraned companies the bullying and retardation culminating in a fucking womb - wound - infection. Disgusting that this society should be lurking int he shadows of pre-hygenic ignorance. Like that food worker who infected half the country with her dirty hands - 100 years ago. Is it possible to be defined positively - by surgery? That's where it has to go. But what a depressing spell. The baby is beautiful and strong, the mom, like limping and cut and supporating ill smelling liquid. I always knew she would be fine i just wasnt prepared at all for the support i would need. So the old man reared his head up - again - and no - i couldnt ask for help. Its such a stupid macho flaw. That old stubbron war survivor who refuses to go to the doctor and insists on "fixing" his broken or sprained wrist - by tightening his watch band. Yes - thats me - post cesarian. I had to get over that ridiculousness to realized the seriousness of the whole thing. Some recent thoughts: Pro America: Now that im here i still have moments where I pine for pure americana. I want open roads and trucks and classic rock. That is pure pleasure. A friend of mine is putting together a show in Oklahoma during tornado season. Thats could be way fun. Its funny. Some people give me turn of the eye and ask - "is the father american" yeah as if he wouldnt be! I sound like such a jerk saying that - because love - like surgery - can happen at any time and take any form - but thats the deal. He is so american. He is more american, than your american, than your american's american. And i love every kind of painting. But this is not a painting. America invented the John Deere lawnmower - the tractor kind - theres a whole lifestyle - way of life - WOL - attached to that. It goes unsaid - but its there - underneath everything. A connection - to the earth. John Deere! Whatever - you carry in your feet - connects you to the ground - no matter where your head is at.
Bumped into friend at the AS yesterday - he was very critical of Bellmer. He talked about Bellmer being "obvious" "not a good draftsman" and findamentally "dishonest" i sort of agree - having done the show - gotten closer to - the substance not the idea - having fallen into the work when i was 19 or so - That the ego is on the surface like a thin shell - easy to crack - unable to achieve great depth but the obviousness is seductive - to my perpetual teenager - just to have dicks and cunts out in the open - defining the terms - that part speaks openly - honestly?
February 3, 2009 Dido’s Lament by HP When I am laid, am laid in earth, may my wrongs create
Maybe by acquiring a space for the first time i will by process of elimination create a new one.
DIGITAL TV Is full of shows about murder and Hitler. And infomercials. Murder, Hitler. Informercial. Murder, Hitler. Informercial. Hitler is on TV all the time. At all hours of the night. I never expected - when I ordered Direct TV - that id be totally overrun by in depth psychological analyses of Hitler. Everybody's talking - about Hitler. Goering hid his cyanide in a jar of face cream. Then gave the US officer guarding him - a pair of white kid gloves for slipping it to him. "I really need my face cream".
Saturday January 24, 2009 In the studio:
COMPLETELY INHUMAN
and
BLACK FOLDED WING
Friday, January 23, 2009 Overcoming is...everything
Bottom line is – life doesn’t change. People do not go out of their way for you – give you a seat on the subway – or step aside. That’s life – normal life – whether you’re pregnant, carrying a large box or struggling with a big bag of laundry. You still make art you still think you have all the same desires and are just as hungry for knowledge and places as you were before. You still have the same capacity to bear children – you always did, all the while making art. Which is another thing I find to be funny. People have been having children – since anyone can remember. So what’s so shocking about it. Every generation, bears another generation – and a few choose not to. Either way – all bodies have the capacity to do it. They were designed to do it. The thing – works. Well. For all the head bashing, thumb screwing and ram battering Ive had to inflict along the way – this is definitely a joy. Simple, straight forward and clear - fufillment. I have felt totally in synch with it from the moment it became - real. I think in some ways artists – as perfectionistic – and malleable – as they are – make good candidates for parents. You really have to fight for your work - and take excellent care - of it. Always. So you know how to fight - and you know how to take care. This is my view of an artist - it excludes the self obsessed – neurot. The kind that kind lacks the flexibility – and the imagination – in their work and lives - to take real risks. Without the risk - it's obvious. And most of all - lazy. Weakness, fear - cloaked by the intensity - of a narrow focus. I also exclude the infantile image of artist that keeps the dealer in the position of "caretaker" no matter what the real balance of power. An artist's natural born perfectionism – married to discipline – makes for– healthy – robust – and thorough – results; well rounded, full of potential, pointing in some material way - to what else is possible.That can happen in a person's heart. As well as in something they are holding in their hand. One more thing. Some people ask – are you going to take time off. To that I ask – what do you mean – take time off. What does that mean. Does any artist ever take time off? As if there’s a choice. Artists don’t take time off . They do what they do – to exist. So it’s a really silly question. And many become happy mothers and fathers – both.
December 5th, 2008 Trying chocolate – in a sort of lame way – through a mold not a big mold person so don’t know what will happen…thought maybe afterwards I could deform it in the microwave. Iron, the idea to use it. Underground. Also – romance – I remembered something that struck me again – took me out of hyper-plan-mode – all of a sudden. That’s nice. I forgot. Made me want to go away to some place isolated and nameless. Funny those places with no names. That’s why I like the idea of buying land in one of those maine sectors – that have only numbers. No towns. Just towering, dark pine – and bears. Its like j74326 and j39572 etc. Looked into Canadian land also – nothing- no roads – hardly accessible by anything. Scary once youre there. But whats it like and if I were to own it? They have these great overhead helicopter shots of the plots. One – a kind of tongue – in a river – sand bed and pine – that super dark kind where if you turned to bone youd instantly become part of it. Eaten by it. All anyone would get – would be like – a helicopter shot of trees from far far away.
October 27th, 2008 Writing sucks. October 26th, 2008 Pornography is the wrong format. October 20th - 27th, 2008 I just erased everything i erased - before. posting live. Tuesday, September 9, 2008
the pix x has of me — he puts the 3 together and says it’s “like a movie” to see three of me in succession
FUCK THE LAW I WANT MEAT From Nightbreed by CB Pelican and Boone and the Swashbuckling Pinhead character:
SPH: Move and ill slit your throat!
P: U got him?
SPH: I got him
B: (oh shit - r u from Midian?)
SPH: We should take him below Pelican
P: Hes not nightbreed hes natural
B: (no ive killed people – that’s why im here)
P: Shut the fuck up. You’re meat
SPH: If we eat him we’ll break the law!
B: (so its true)
P: Everything is true. Gods an astronaut. Oz is over the rainbow. And Midian’s where the monsters live. And you came to die
B:(I didn’t come to die! I came here to be with you!)
P: No - sorry. I can smell innocence (touches neck - inhales scent) from 50 yard
B: (Ive killed people ive killed 15 people!)
P: You told you that? (eyes flash) He lied asshole
You’re (growls) -Natural - That means-You’re meat - For the Beast - ! SPH: We musnt! It’s the law!
P: Fuck the law - I want meat!
(P rips a chunk of flesh out of B with his teeth)
FROM THE TEMPEST BY WS (my high school year book quote:) Full fathom five Thy father lies Of his bones are coral made Those are pearls that were his eyes Nothing of him doth fade But doth suffer a sea change Into something rich and strange
LIST OF GIRL NAMES Emerentiana Escoffine Zerlinda Allegonda Aloynoushca Amalaswintha Amerentiana Athanagild Dearbhorgaill
i like locks have pictures i took of a few on display in a musty dusty municipal museum in Salzburg, as well as some from the met for a show it did on noble craft - technology of the late renaissance taught as a matter of course to the high born. the lathe was at the apex, its ivory products and designs for various wunderkammer, complex cabinets. this is late renaissance going into the baroque when the universe was re conceived by man as something both comprehensible and mechanical. glockenspiel and the planets appear together as public time pieces, death with his hour glass no longer dominant. plague pretty much over.
the lock i like in particular was a test made by a novice to make the guild. it has visible parts and then trick parts which lead onto secret parts.
in shop in 7th grade the wooden box i made with a secret compartment for…???
i liked the idea of secret places. i had glow in the dark stars on my ceiling. now i have a planetarium with streaking light and a rotating sky. like the passing of time. i would like it to be a real clock.
ive always been irritated by baroque stuff, fashion, frippery + that embrace of the mechanical, a clear + transparent universe - constructed by a happy hand - god as engineer, lapels flapping in the wind, arms maker - musket-master - no more the food poisoner - or potion trader - a precision fabricator - with a jelly roll for a mistress - a new level of corpulence - that strange counterpoint of excess and ornament adulation of fatty flesh. putti-fied world.
a matching show in another musty dusty space also salzburg - reliquaries from the same period - 17th into 18th century - in crappy old cases in some sort of civic hall - my own private show - no one else around - so much frippery it looked like decay. ribbons, lace, petals, flowers, braided and beaded crap all of this florid shit-vomit encasing some tiny shard of bone or tooth - no bigger than a nail clipping. some of them - probably nail clippings. the nail clippings of dead paupers. the excess out does everything, decay is voluptuous, bernini’s st. whatever has that ridiculous caravaggio pre courbet cloth-fold orgasm, (the ridiculousness is in her face - i like the cloth), sodeath steps back again from the bigger badder massiveness of the machine and all the shit spewing out of it.
that totally wasnt possible before the 17th century hit. guess when the reformation came - man fondled himself for that first time and realized that he, not god, was in command of his penis. that is machiavelli. i really dig machiavelli. so clear, and to the point. still - bawdy medieval times im sure were over the top they are just visually overcome and skewed by all that homogenous drapery and soaring stone - the discovery of an architecture - must be lofty - angels hovering without wings. where the angel part is folded into the overall presentation, into everything, including bodies laid out emphemeral and flat on top of tombs, in doorways and threshholds.
i was recently at st. denis - my favorite place for stone carving - hours spent - really - in that shitty ass neighborhood - all of it on top of tombs, everybody laid out on a slab - the shift from late medieval into the renaissance totally palpable - pithy - frighteningly sudden + self aware. like going from internet pix into an actual mortuary. pride in substance, in truth, and weight - man inhabits the world.
bad tattoos —none of them could stand up to or formulate the substance that x is. all these guys want to be him - he is what they want to be - he is what lies in the outer slumbering un realized limits the of their bourgeois, suburban, unchallenged tattoo choices - they strive to be - reach towards - get marks in awe of: x’s tattoos x’s experience the muscle mass that is x’s life - the cinematography of the fantasy - but real - built out of sheer brutal raw uncomprising resistance + strength. SHEER BRUTAL RAW UNCOMPROMISING RESISTANCE AND STRENGTH. those are laurels. prison: where you make sculpture out of soap because all other materials are denied. roses out of toilet paper ink out of ash.
where do you find the real shit? in good art - and in rare friends. and in books, in certain books. thats art too, but ill put it down separately because its a different format and the tools used (words) are well established in advance - unless you are joyce or beckett. or a writer in a language no longer spoken or understood. with art you make your own tools and in rare people you recognize the them - so you share some part of an inutterable, silent, power. that is true for those alive and dead. thrilling tho - when you’re both alive and can just stand there share the same air - knowing what you both know.
always i love the inutterable word for god- and the magic ward written on a piece of paper + stuffed into the golem’s mouth.
MY FAVORITE SONG By MG, The Swans
Take this glass of water, hold it in your hand. Drink the water slowly, don’t show any emotion. Take your clothes off. Sit on the edge of the bed. Cover yourself with your hands. I’ll stand in the corner. I’ll stare at the wall. I’ll try to remember what you look like sitting there. We’re seperate bodies. We’ll never understand what the other one needs. It’s just like breathing. It’s just like breathing water. Sit there with your clothes off while I look at you. We’ll never change. The world’s getting smaller with every second we breathe. When it’s inside you, you’ve changed
MY FAVORITE SONG Traditonal irish/chloe’s version
My young love said to me, my mother won´t mind She stepped away from me and she moved through the fair, The people were saying no two were e´er wed, I dreamt it last night that my dead love came in,
CHLOE PIENE
02.03.2009 THE SHIT February 3, 2009 Dido’s Lament by HP When I am laid, am laid in earth, may my wrongs create
Maybe by acquiring a space for the first time i will by process of elimination create a new one.
DIGITAL TV Is full of shows about murder and Hitler. And infomercials. Murder, Hitler. Informercial. Murder, Hitler. Informercial. Hitler is on TV all the time. At all hours of the night. I never expected - when I ordered Direct TV - that id be totally overrun by in depth psychological analyses of Hitler. Everybody's talking - about Hitler. Goering hid his cyanide in a jar of face cream. Then gave the US officer guarding him - a pair of white kid gloves for slipping it to him. "I really need my face cream".
TBD: cross wrap - stomach muscles locking fold - supple and sealed a plaster laid over a surface - which hardens into place certain knots two parts which pull at the same center - to make one piece
Saturday January 24, 2009 In the studio:
COMPLETELY INHUMAN
and
BLACK FOLDED WING
Friday, January 23, 2009 Overcoming is...everything
Bottom line is – life doesn’t change. People do not go out of their way for you – give you a seat on the subway – or step aside. That’s life – normal life – whether you’re pregnant, carrying a large box or struggling with a big bag of laundry. You still make art you still think you have all the same desires and are just as hungry for knowledge and places as you were before. You still have the same capacity to bear children – you always did, all the while making art. Which is another thing I find to be funny. People have been having children – since anyone can remember. So what’s so shocking about it. Every generation, bears another generation – and a few choose not to. Either way – all bodies have the capacity to do it. They were designed to do it. The thing – works. Well. For all the head bashing, thumb screwing and ram battering Ive had to inflict along the way – this is definitely a joy. Simple, straight forward and clear - fufillment. I have felt totally in synch with it from the moment it became - real. I think in some ways artists – as perfectionistic – and malleable – as they are – make good candidates for parents. You really have to fight for your work - and take excellent care - of it. Always. So you know how to fight - and you know how to take care. This is my view of an artist - it excludes the self obsessed – neurot. The kind that kind lacks the flexibility – and the imagination – in their work and lives - to take real risks. Without the risk - it's obvious. And most of all - lazy. Weakness, fear - cloaked by the intensity - of a narrow focus. I also exclude the infantile image of artist that keeps the dealer in the position of "caretaker" no matter what the real balance of power. An artist's natural born perfectionism – married to discipline – makes for– healthy – robust – and thorough – results; well rounded, full of potential, pointing in some material way - to what else is possible.That can happen in a person's heart. As well as in something they are holding in their hand. One more thing. Some people ask – are you going to take time off. To that I ask – what do you mean – take time off. What does that mean. Does any artist ever take time off? As if there’s a choice. Artists don’t take time off . They do what they do – to exist. So it’s a really silly question. And many become happy mothers and fathers – both.
December 5th, 2008 Trying chocolate – in a sort of lame way – through a mold not a big mold person so don’t know what will happen…thought maybe afterwards I could deform it in the microwave. Iron, the idea to use it. Underground. Also – romance – I remembered something that struck me again – took me out of hyper-plan-mode – all of a sudden. That’s nice. I forgot. Made me want to go away to some place isolated and nameless. Funny those places with no names. That’s why I like the idea of buying land in one of those maine sectors – that have only numbers. No towns. Just towering, dark pine – and bears. Its like j74326 and j39572 etc. Looked into Canadian land also – nothing- no roads – hardly accessible by anything. Scary once youre there. But whats it like and if I were to own it? They have these great overhead helicopter shots of the plots. One – a kind of tongue – in a river – sand bed and pine – that super dark kind where if you turned to bone youd instantly become part of it. Eaten by it. All anyone would get – would be like – a helicopter shot of trees from far far away.
October 27th, 2008 Writing sucks. October 26th, 2008 Pornography is the wrong format. October 20th - 27th, 2008 I just erased everything i erased - before. posting live. Tuesday, September 9, 2008
the pix x has of me — he puts the 3 together and says it’s “like a movie” to see three of me in succession
FUCK THE LAW I WANT MEAT From Nightbreed by CB Pelican and Boone and the Swashbuckling Pinhead character:
SPH: Move and ill slit your throat!
P: U got him?
SPH: I got him
B: (oh shit - r u from Midian?)
SPH: We should take him below Pelican
P: Hes not nightbreed hes natural
B: (no ive killed people – that’s why im here)
P: Shut the fuck up. You’re meat
SPH: If we eat him we’ll break the law!
B: (so its true)
P: Everything is true. Gods an astronaut. Oz is over the rainbow. And Midian’s where the monsters live. And you came to die
B:(I didn’t come to die! I came here to be with you!)
P: No - sorry. I can smell innocence (touches neck - inhales scent) from 50 yard
B: (Ive killed people ive killed 15 people!)
P: You told you that? (eyes flash) He lied asshole
You’re (growls) -Natural - That means-You’re meat - For the Beast - ! SPH: We musnt! It’s the law!
P: Fuck the law - I want meat!
(P rips a chunk of flesh out of B with his teeth)
FROM THE TEMPEST BY WS (my high school year book quote:) Full fathom five Thy father lies Of his bones are coral made Those are pearls that were his eyes Nothing of him doth fade But doth suffer a sea change Into something rich and strange
LIST OF GIRL NAMES Emerentiana Escoffine Zerlinda Allegonda Aloynoushca Amalaswintha Amerentiana Athanagild Dearbhorgaill
i like locks have pictures i took of a few on display in a musty dusty municipal museum in Salzburg, as well as some from the met for a show it did on noble craft - technology of the late renaissance taught as a matter of course to the high born. the lathe was at the apex, its ivory products and designs for various wunderkammer, complex cabinets. this is late renaissance going into the baroque when the universe was re conceived by man as something both comprehensible and mechanical. glockenspiel and the planets appear together as public time pieces, death with his hour glass no longer dominant. plague pretty much over.
the lock i like in particular was a test made by a novice to make the guild. it has visible parts and then trick parts which lead onto secret parts.
in shop in 7th grade the wooden box i made with a secret compartment for…???
i liked the idea of secret places. i had glow in the dark stars on my ceiling. now i have a planetarium with streaking light and a rotating sky. like the passing of time. i would like it to be a real clock.
ive always been irritated by baroque stuff, fashion, frippery + that embrace of the mechanical, a clear + transparent universe - constructed by a happy hand - god as engineer, lapels flapping in the wind, arms maker - musket-master - no more the food poisoner - or potion trader - a precision fabricator - with a jelly roll for a mistress - a new level of corpulence - that strange counterpoint of excess and ornament adulation of fatty flesh. putti-fied world.
a matching show in another musty dusty space also salzburg - reliquaries from the same period - 17th into 18th century - in crappy old cases in some sort of civic hall - my own private show - no one else around - so much frippery it looked like decay. ribbons, lace, petals, flowers, braided and beaded crap all of this florid shit-vomit encasing some tiny shard of bone or tooth - no bigger than a nail clipping. some of them - probably nail clippings. the nail clippings of dead paupers. the excess out does everything, decay is voluptuous, bernini’s st. whatever has that ridiculous caravaggio pre courbet cloth-fold orgasm, (the ridiculousness is in her face - i like the cloth), sodeath steps back again from the bigger badder massiveness of the machine and all the shit spewing out of it.
that totally wasnt possible before the 17th century hit. guess when the reformation came - man fondled himself for that first time and realized that he, not god, was in command of his penis. that is machiavelli. i really dig machiavelli. so clear, and to the point. still - bawdy medieval times im sure were over the top they are just visually overcome and skewed by all that homogenous drapery and soaring stone - the discovery of an architecture - must be lofty - angels hovering without wings. where the angel part is folded into the overall presentation, into everything, including bodies laid out emphemeral and flat on top of tombs, in doorways and threshholds.
i was recently at st. denis - my favorite place for stone carving - hours spent - really - in that shitty ass neighborhood - all of it on top of tombs, everybody laid out on a slab - the shift from late medieval into the renaissance totally palpable - pithy - frighteningly sudden + self aware. like going from internet pix into an actual mortuary. pride in substance, in truth, and weight - man inhabits the world.
bad tattoos —none of them could stand up to or formulate the substance that x is. all these guys want to be him - he is what they want to be - he is what lies in the outer slumbering un realized limits the of their bourgeois, suburban, unchallenged tattoo choices - they strive to be - reach towards - get marks in awe of: x’s tattoos x’s experience the muscle mass that is x’s life - the cinematography of the fantasy - but real - built out of sheer brutal raw uncomprising resistance + strength. SHEER BRUTAL RAW UNCOMPROMISING RESISTANCE AND STRENGTH. those are laurels. prison: where you make sculpture out of soap because all other materials are denied. roses out of toilet paper ink out of ash.
where do you find the real shit? in good art - and in rare friends. and in books, in certain books. thats art too, but ill put it down separately because its a different format and the tools used (words) are well established in advance - unless you are joyce or beckett. or a writer in a language no longer spoken or understood. with art you make your own tools and in rare people you recognize the them - so you share some part of an inutterable, silent, power. that is true for those alive and dead. thrilling tho - when you’re both alive and can just stand there share the same air - knowing what you both know.
always i love the inutterable word for god- and the magic ward written on a piece of paper + stuffed into the golem’s mouth.
MY FAVORITE SONG By MG, The Swans
Take this glass of water, hold it in your hand. Drink the water slowly, don’t show any emotion. Take your clothes off. Sit on the edge of the bed. Cover yourself with your hands. I’ll stand in the corner. I’ll stare at the wall. I’ll try to remember what you look like sitting there. We’re seperate bodies. We’ll never understand what the other one needs. It’s just like breathing. It’s just like breathing water. Sit there with your clothes off while I look at you. We’ll never change. The world’s getting smaller with every second we breathe. When it’s inside you, you’ve changed
MY FAVORITE SONG Traditonal irish/chloe’s version
My young love said to me, my mother won´t mind She stepped away from me and she moved through the fair, The people were saying no two were e´er wed, I dreamt it last night that my dead love came in,
CHLOE PIENE
01.23.2009 THE SHIT Friday, January 23, 2009 On Being pregnant (II) Bottom line is – life doesn’t change. People do not go out of their way for you – give you a seat on the subway – or step aside. That’s life – normal life – whether you’re pregnant, carrying a large box or struggling with a big bag of laundry. You still make art you still think you have all the same desires and are just as hungry for knowledge and places as you were before. You still have the same capacity to bear children – you always did - before you became pregnant. Which is another thing I find to be funny. People have been having children – since anyone can remember. So what’s so shocking about it. Every generation, bears another generation – and a few choose not to. Either way – all bodies have the capacity to do it. They were designed to do it. The thing – works. For all the head bashing, thumb screwing and ram battering Ive had to inflict along the way – this is a joy. Its simple and clear - joy. One more thing. Some people ask – are you going to take time off. To that I ask – what do you mean – take time off. What does that mean. Does any artist ever take time off? As if there’s a choice. Artists don’t take time off . They do what they do – to exist. So it’s a really silly question. And many become happy mothers and fathers – both.
December 5th, 2008 Trying chocolate – in a sort of lame way – through a mold not a big mold person so don’t know what will happen…thought maybe afterwards I could deform it in the microwave. Iron, the idea to use it. Underground. Also – romance – I remembered something that struck me again – took me out of hyper-plan-mode – all of a sudden. That’s nice. I forgot. Made me want to go away to some place isolated and nameless. Funny those places with no names. That’s why I like the idea of buying land in one of those maine sectors – that have only numbers. No towns. Just towering, dark pine – and bears. Its like j74326 and j39572 etc. Looked into Canadian land also – nothing- no roads – hardly accessible by anything. Scary once youre there. But whats it like and if I were to own it? They have these great overhead helicopter shots of the plots. One – a kind of tongue – in a river – sand bed and pine – that super dark kind where if you turned to bone youd instantly become part of it. Eaten by it. All anyone would get – would be like – a helicopter shot of trees from far far away.
October 27th, 2008 Writing sucks. October 26th, 2008 Pornography is the wrong format. October 20th - 27th, 2008 I just erased everything i erased - before. posting live. Tuesday, September 9, 2008
the pix x has of me — he puts the 3 together and says it’s “like a movie” to see three of me in succession
speaking of which - internet porn - arrrrrggggh. went to maine camping and kayaking, compass, map, tandem, baby (not yet born), trees. kayaking is so wicked raw and awesome, to get to those islands accessible only by kayak, in 25 knot winds, no people.
FUCK THE LAW I WANT MEAT From Nightbreed by CB Pelican and Boone and the Swashbuckling Pinhead character:
SPH: Move and ill slit your throat!
P: U got him?
SPH: I got him
B: (oh shit - r u from Midian?)
SPH: We should take him below Pelican
P: Hes not nightbreed hes natural
B: (no ive killed people – that’s why im here)
P: Shut the fuck up. You’re meat
SPH: If we eat him we’ll break the law!
B: (so its true)
P: Everything is true. Gods an astronaut. Oz is over the rainbow. And Midian’s where the monsters live. And you came to die
B:(I didn’t come to die! I came here to be with you!)
P: No - sorry. I can smell innocence (touches neck - inhales scent) from 50 yard
B: (Ive killed people ive killed 15 people!)
P: You told you that? (eyes flash) He lied asshole
You’re (growls) -Natural - That means-You’re meat - For the Beast - ! SPH: We musnt! It’s the law!
P: Fuck the law - I want meat!
(P rips a chunk of flesh out of B with his teeth)
FROM THE TEMPEST BY WS (my high school year book quote:) Full fathom five Thy father lies Of his bones are coral made Those are pearls that were his eyes Nothing of him doth fade But doth suffer a sea change Into something rich and strange
LIST OF GIRL NAMES Emerentiana Escoffine Zerlinda Allegonda Aloynoushca Amalaswintha Amerentiana Athanagild Dearbhorgaill
i like locks have pictures i took of a few on display in a musty dusty municipal museum in Salzburg, as well as some from the met for a show it did on noble craft - technology of the late renaissance taught as a matter of course to the high born. the lathe was at the apex, its ivory products and designs for various wunderkammer, complex cabinets. this is late renaissance going into the baroque when the universe was re conceived by man as something both comprehensible and mechanical. glockenspiel and the planets appear together as public time pieces, death with his hour glass no longer dominant. plague pretty much over.
the lock i like in particular was a test made by a novice to make the guild. it has visible parts and then trick parts which lead onto secret parts.
in shop in 7th grade the wooden box i made with a secret compartment for…???
i liked the idea of secret places. i had glow in the dark stars on my ceiling. now i have a planetarium with streaking light and a rotating sky. like the passing of time. i would like it to be a real clock.
ive always been irritated by baroque stuff, fashion, frippery + that embrace of the mechanical, a clear + transparent universe - constructed by a happy hand - god as engineer, lapels flapping in the wind, arms maker - musket-master - no more the food poisoner - or potion trader - a precision fabricator - with a jelly roll for a mistress - a new level of corpulence - that strange counterpoint of excess and ornament adulation of fatty flesh. putti-fied world.
a matching show in another musty dusty space also salzburg - reliquaries from the same period - 17th into 18th century - in crappy old cases in some sort of civic hall - my own private show - no one else around - so much frippery it looked like decay. ribbons, lace, petals, flowers, braided and beaded crap all of this florid shit-vomit encasing some tiny shard of bone or tooth - no bigger than a nail clipping. some of them - probably nail clippings. the nail clippings of dead paupers. the excess out does everything, decay is voluptuous, bernini’s st. whatever has that ridiculous caravaggio pre courbet cloth-fold orgasm, (the ridiculousness is in her face - i like the cloth), sodeath steps back again from the bigger badder massiveness of the machine and all the shit spewing out of it.
that totally wasnt possible before the 17th century hit. guess when the reformation came - man fondled himself for that first time and realized that he, not god, was in command of his penis. that is machiavelli. i really dig machiavelli. so clear, and to the point. still - bawdy medieval times im sure were over the top they are just visually overcome and skewed by all that homogenous drapery and soaring stone - the discovery of an architecture - must be lofty - angels hovering without wings. where the angel part is folded into the overall presentation, into everything, including bodies laid out emphemeral and flat on top of tombs, in doorways and threshholds.
i was recently at st. denis - my favorite place for stone carving - hours spent - really - in that shitty ass neighborhood - all of it on top of tombs, everybody laid out on a slab - the shift from late medieval into the renaissance totally palpable - pithy - frighteningly sudden + self aware. like going from internet pix into an actual mortuary. pride in substance, in truth, and weight - man inhabits the world.
bad tattoos —none of them could stand up to or formulate the substance that xxx is. all these guys want to be him - he is what they want to be - he is what lies in the outer slumbering un realized limits the of their bourgeois, suburban, unchallenged tattoo choices - they strive to be - reach towards - get marks in awe of: x’s tattoos x’s experience the muscle mass that is x’s life - the cinematography of the fantasy - but real - built out of sheer brutal raw uncomprising resistance + strength. SHEER BRUTAL RAW UNCOMPROMISING RESISTANCE AND STRENGTH. those are laurels. prison: where you make sculpture out of soap because all other materials are denied. roses out of toilet paper ink out of ash.
where do you find the real shit? in good art - and in rare friends. and in books, in certain books. thats art too, but ill put it down separately because its a different format and the tools used (words) are well established in advance - unless you are joyce or beckett. or a writer in a language no longer spoken or understood. with art you make your own tools and in rare people you recognize the them - so you share some part of an inutterable, silent, power. that is true for those alive and dead. thrilling tho - when you’re both alive and can just stand there share the same air - knowing what you both know.
always i love the inutterable word for god- and the magic ward written on a piece of paper + stuffed into the golem’s mouth.
MY FAVORITE SONG By MG, The Swans
Take this glass of water, hold it in your hand. Drink the water slowly, don’t show any emotion. Take your clothes off. Sit on the edge of the bed. Cover yourself with your hands. I’ll stand in the corner. I’ll stare at the wall. I’ll try to remember what you look like sitting there. We’re seperate bodies. We’ll never understand what the other one needs. It’s just like breathing. It’s just like breathing water. Sit there with your clothes off while I look at you. We’ll never change. The world’s getting smaller with every second we breathe. When it’s inside you, you’ve changed
MY FAVORITE SONG Traditonal irish/chloe’s version
My young love said to me, my mother won´t mind She stepped away from me and she moved through the fair, The people were saying no two were e´er wed, I dreamt it last night that my dead love came in,
CHLOE PIENE
12.02.2008 THE SHIT October 27th, 2008 Writing sucks. October 26th, 2008 Pornography is the wrong format. October 20th - 27th, 2008 I just erased everything i erased - before. posting live. Tuesday, September 9, 2008
the pix x has of me — he puts the 3 together and says it’s “like a movie” to see three of me in succession
speaking of which - internet porn - arrrrrggggh. went to maine camping and kayaking, compass, map, trees. kayaking is so wicked raw and awesome, to get to those islands accessible only by kayak, in 25 knot winds, no people.
FUCK THE LAW I WANT MEAT From Nightbreed by CB Pelican and Boone and the Swashbuckling Pinhead character:
SPH: Move and ill slit your throat!
P: U got him?
SPH: I got him
B: (oh shit - r u from Midian?)
SPH: We should take him below Pelican
P: Hes not nightbreed hes natural
B: (no ive killed people – that’s why im here)
P: Shut the fuck up. You’re meat
SPH: If we eat him we’ll break the law!
B: (so its true)
P: Everything is true. Gods an astronaut. Oz is over the rainbow. And Midian’s where the monsters live. And you came to die
B:(I didn’t come to die! I came here to be with you!)
P: No - sorry. I can smell innocence (touches neck - inhales scent) from 50 yard
B: (Ive killed people ive killed 15 people!)
P: You told you that? (eyes flash) He lied asshole
You’re (growls) -Natural - That means-You’re meat - For the Beast - ! SPH: We musnt! It’s the law!
P: Fuck the law - I want meat!
(P rips a chunk of flesh out of B with his teeth)
FROM THE TEMPEST BY WS (my high school year book quote:) Full fathom five Thy father lies Of his bones are coral made Those are pearls that were his eyes Nothing of him doth fade But doth suffer a sea change Into something rich and strange
LIST OF GIRL NAMES Emerentiana Escoffine Zerlinda Allegonda Aloynoushca Amalaswintha Amerentiana Athanagild Dearbhorgaill
i like locks have pictures i took of a few on display in a musty dusty municipal museum in Salzburg, as well as some from the met for a show it did on noble craft - technology of the late renaissance taught as a matter of course to the high born. the lathe was at the apex, its ivory products and designs for various wunderkammer, complex cabinets. this is late renaissance going into the baroque when the universe was re conceived by man as something both comprehensible and mechanical. glockenspiel and the planets appear together as public time pieces, death with his hour glass no longer dominant. plague pretty much over.
the lock i like in particular was a test made by a novice to make the guild. it has visible parts and then trick parts which lead onto secret parts.
in shop in 7th grade the wooden box i made with a secret compartment for…???
i liked the idea of secret places. i had glow in the dark stars on my ceiling. now i have a planetarium with streaking light and a rotating sky. like the passing of time. i would like it to be a real clock.
ive always been irritated by baroque stuff, fashion, frippery + that embrace of the mechanical, a clear + transparent universe - constructed by a happy hand - god as engineer, lapels flapping in the wind, arms maker - musket-master - no more the food poisoner - or potion trader - a precision fabricator - with a jelly roll for a mistress - a new level of corpulence - that strange counterpoint of excess and ornament adulation of fatty flesh. putti-fied world.
a matching show in another musty dusty space also salzburg - reliquaries from the same period - 17th into 18th century - in crappy old cases in some sort of civic hall - my own private show - no one else around - so much frippery it looked like decay. ribbons, lace, petals, flowers, braided and beaded crap all of this florid shit-vomit encasing some tiny shard of bone or tooth - no bigger than a nail clipping. some of them - probably nail clippings. the nail clippings of dead paupers. the excess out does everything, decay is voluptuous, bernini’s st. whatever has that ridiculous caravaggio pre courbet cloth-fold orgasm, (the ridiculousness is in her face - i like the cloth), sodeath steps back again from the bigger badder massiveness of the machine and all the shit spewing out of it.
that totally wasnt possible before the 17th century hit. guess when the reformation came - man fondled himself for that first time and realized that he, not god, was in command of his penis. that is machiavelli. i really dig machiavelli. so clear, and to the point. still - bawdy medieval times im sure were over the top they are just visually overcome and skewed by all that homogenous drapery and soaring stone - the discovery of an architecture - must be lofty - angels hovering without wings. where the angel part is folded into the overall presentation, into everything, including bodies laid out emphemeral and flat on top of tombs, in doorways and threshholds.
i was recently at st. denis - my favorite place for stone carving - hours spent - really - in that shitty ass neighborhood - all of it on top of tombs, everybody laid out on a slab - the shift from late medieval into the renaissance totally palpable - pithy - frighteningly sudden + self aware. like going from internet pix into an actual mortuary. pride in substance, in truth, and weight - man inhabits the world.
bad tattoos —none of them could stand up to or formulate the substance that x is. all these guys want to be him - he is what they want to be - he is what lies in the outer slumbering un realized limits the of their bourgeois, suburban, unchallenged tattoo choices - they strive to be - reach towards - get marks in awe of: x’s tattoos x’s experience the muscle mass that is x’s life - the cinematography of the fantasy - but real - built out of sheer brutal raw uncomprising resistance + strength. SHEER BRUTAL RAW UNCOMPROMISING RESISTANCE AND STRENGTH. those are laurels. prison: where you make sculpture out of soap because all other materials are denied. roses out of toilet paper ink out of ash.
where do you find the real shit? in good art - and in rare friends. and in books, in certain books. thats art too, but ill put it down separately because its a different format and the tools used (words) are well established in advance - unless you are joyce or beckett. or a writer in a language no longer spoken or understood. with art you make your own tools and in rare people you recognize the them - so you share some part of an inutterable, silent, power. that is true for those alive and dead. thrilling tho - when you’re both alive and can just stand there share the same air - knowing what you both know.
always i love the inutterable word for god- and the magic ward written on a piece of paper + stuffed into the golem’s mouth.
MY FAVORITE SONG By MG, The Swans
Take this glass of water, hold it in your hand. Drink the water slowly, don’t show any emotion. Take your clothes off. Sit on the edge of the bed. Cover yourself with your hands. I’ll stand in the corner. I’ll stare at the wall. I’ll try to remember what you look like sitting there. We’re seperate bodies. We’ll never understand what the other one needs. It’s just like breathing. It’s just like breathing water. Sit there with your clothes off while I look at you. We’ll never change. The world’s getting smaller with every second we breathe. When it’s inside you, you’ve changed
MY FAVORITE SONG Traditonal irish/chloe’s version
My young love said to me, my mother won´t mind She stepped away from me and she moved through the fair, The people were saying no two were e´er wed, I dreamt it last night that my dead love came in,
CHLOE PIENE
10.26.2008 THE SHIT October 27th, 2008 Writing sucks. October 26th, 2008 Pornography is the wrong format. October 20th - 27th, 2008 I just erased everything i erased - before. posting live. Tuesday, September 9, 2008
the pix x has of me — he puts the 3 together and says it’s “like a movie” to see three of me in succession
speaking of which - internet porn - arrrrrggggh. went to maine camping and kayaking, compass, map, trees. kayaking is so wicked raw and so awesome, to get to those islands accessible only by kayak, in 25 knot winds, no people. working very closely with the elements.
FUCK THE LAW I WANT MEAT From Nightbreed by CB Pelican and Boone and the Swashbuckling Pinhead character:
SPH: Move and ill slit your throat!
P: U got him?
SPH: I got him
B: (oh shit - r u from Midian?)
SPH: We should take him below Pelican
P: Hes not nightbreed hes natural
B: (no ive killed people – that’s why im here)
P: Shut the fuck up. You’re meat
SPH: If we eat him we’ll break the law!
B: (so its true)
P: Everything is true. Gods an astronaut. Oz is over the rainbow. And Midian’s where the monsters live. And you came to die
B:(I didn’t come to die! I came here to be with you!)
P: No - sorry. I can smell innocence (touches neck - inhales scent) from 50 yard
B: (Ive killed people ive killed 15 people!)
P: You told you that? (eyes flash) He lied asshole
You’re (growls) -Natural - That means-You’re meat - For the Beast - ! SPH: We musnt! It’s the law!
P: Fuck the law - I want meat!
(P rips a chunk of flesh out of B with his teeth)
FROM THE TEMPEST BY WS (my high school year book quote:) Full fathom five Thy father lies Of his bones are coral made Those are pearls that were his eyes Nothing of him doth fade But doth suffer a sea change Into something rich and strange
LIST OF GIRL NAMES Emerentiana Escoffine Zerlinda Allegonda Aloynoushca Amalaswintha Amerentiana Athanagild Dearbhorgaill
i like locks have pictures i took of a few on display in a musty dusty municipal museum in Salzburg, as well as some from the met for a show it did on noble craft - technology of the late renaissance taught as a matter of course to the high born. the lathe was at the apex, its ivory products and designs for various wunderkammer, complex cabinets. this is late renaissance going into the baroque when the universe was re conceived by man as something both comprehensible and mechanical. glockenspiel and the planets appear together as public time pieces, death with his hour glass no longer dominant. plague pretty much over.
the lock i like in particular was a test made by a novice to make the guild. it has visible parts and then trick parts which lead onto secret parts.
in shop in 7th grade the wooden box i made with a secret compartment for…???
i liked the idea of secret places. i had glow in the dark stars on my ceiling. now i have a planetarium with streaking light and a rotating sky. like the passing of time. i would like it to be a real clock.
ive always been irritated by baroque stuff, fashion, frippery + that embrace of the mechanical, a clear + transparent universe - constructed by a happy hand - god as engineer, lapels flapping in the wind, arms maker - musket-master - no more the food poisoner - or potion trader - a precision fabricator - with a jelly roll for a mistress - a new level of corpulence - that strange counterpoint of excess and ornament adulation of fatty flesh. putti-fied world.
a matching show in another musty dusty space also salzburg - reliquaries from the same period - 17th into 18th century - in crappy old cases in some sort of civic hall - my own private show - no one else around - so much frippery it looked like decay. ribbons, lace, petals, flowers, braided and beaded crap all of this florid shit-vomit encasing some tiny shard of bone or tooth - no bigger than a nail clipping. some of them - probably nail clippings. the nail clippings of dead paupers. the excess out does everything, decay is voluptuous, bernini’s st. whatever has that ridiculous caravaggio pre courbet cloth-fold orgasm, (the ridiculousness is in her face - i like the cloth), sodeath steps back again from the bigger badder massiveness of the machine and all the shit spewing out of it.
that totally wasnt possible before the 17th century hit. guess when the reformation came - man fondled himself for that first time and realized that he, not god, was in command of his penis. that is machiavelli. i really dig machiavelli. so clear, and to the point. still - bawdy medieval times im sure were over the top they are just visually overcome and skewed by all that homogenous drapery and soaring stone - the discovery of an architecture - must be lofty - angels hovering without wings. where the angel part is folded into the overall presentation, into everything, including bodies laid out emphemeral and flat on top of tombs, in doorways and threshholds.
i was recently at st. denis - my favorite place for stone carving - hours spent - really - in that shitty ass neighborhood - all of it on top of tombs, everybody laid out on a slab - the shift from late medieval into the renaissance totally palpable - pithy - frighteningly sudden + self aware. like going from internet pix into an actual mortuary. pride in substance, in truth, and weight - man inhabits the world.
bad tattoos —none of them could stand up to or formulate the substance that x is. all these guys want to be him - he is what they want to be - he is what lies in the outer slumbering un realized limits the of their bourgeois, suburban, unchallenged tattoo choices - they strive to be - reach towards - get marks in awe of: x’s tattoos x’s experience the muscle mass that is x’s life - the cinematography of the fantasy - but real - built out of sheer brutal raw uncomprising resistance + strength. SHEER BRUTAL RAW UNCOMPROMISING RESISTANCE AND STRENGTH. those are laurels. prison: where you make sculpture out of soap because all other materials are denied. roses out of toilet paper ink out of ash.
where do you find the real shit? in good art - and in rare friends. and in books, in certain books. thats art too, but ill put it down separately because its a different format and the tools used (words) are well established in advance - unless you are joyce or beckett. or a writer in a language no longer spoken or understood. with art you make your own tools and in rare people you recognize the them - so you share some part of an inutterable, silent, power. that is true for those alive and dead. thrilling tho - when you’re both alive and can just stand there share the same air - knowing what you both know.
always i love the inutterable word for god- and the magic ward written on a piece of paper + stuffed into the golem’s mouth.
MY FAVORITE SONG By MG, The Swans
Take this glass of water, hold it in your hand. Drink the water slowly, don’t show any emotion. Take your clothes off. Sit on the edge of the bed. Cover yourself with your hands. I’ll stand in the corner. I’ll stare at the wall. I’ll try to remember what you look like sitting there. We’re seperate bodies. We’ll never understand what the other one needs. It’s just like breathing. It’s just like breathing water. Sit there with your clothes off while I look at you. We’ll never change. The world’s getting smaller with every second we breathe. When it’s inside you, you’ve changed
MY FAVORITE SONG Traditonal irish/chloe’s version
My young love said to me, my mother won´t mind She stepped away from me and she moved through the fair, The people were saying no two were e´er wed, I dreamt it last night that my dead love came in,
CHLOE PIENE
10.20.2008 THE SHIT October 20th, 2008 I just erased all personal commentary from this site. Adios! See ya! Toodle fucking loo! Pregnant vampires, faeries, hobgoblins, astral beings. What happens to the reproductive organs of the undead. Are they sterile? Can they reproduce? If so – what? Characters live in a suspended zone. Their whole life – and body – functions only inside – the story. So yes, that makes them sterile. Airplane interiors, luggage, Federal Express, knots, molds. How to improve. The space functions, its an entity an inhabited process - not, in fact, static. Monuments are the least static in that respect. Thats what i liked best about my first casts/molds, always putting a variaton on the rope id tie to hold the clamshell together. I took pictures of them all. They do look pretty. But it was always a question of where to turn and loop back the rope to get the most satisfying amount of leverage - against itself - to make a better knot.
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
the pix x has of me — he puts the 3 together and says it’s “like a movie” to see three of me in succession
speaking of which - internet porn - arrrrrggggh. went to maine camping and kayaking, compass, map, baby (not yet born) so wicked raw and awesome, to get to those islands accessible only by kayak, in 25 knot winds, no people. working very closely with the elements.
FUCK THE LAW I WANT MEAT From Nightbreed by CB Pelican and Boone and the Swashbuckling Pinhead character:
SPH: Move and ill slit your throat!
P: U got him?
SPH: I got him
B: (oh shit - r u from Midian?)
SPH: We should take him below Pelican
P: Hes not nightbreed hes natural
B: (no ive killed people – that’s why im here)
P: Shut the fuck up. You’re meat
SPH: If we eat him we’ll break the law!
B: (so its true)
P: Everything is true. Gods an astronaut. Oz is over the rainbow. And Midian’s where the monsters live. And you came to die
B:(I didn’t come to die! I came here to be with you!)
P: No - sorry. I can smell innocence (touches neck - inhales scent) from 50 yard
B: (Ive killed people ive killed 15 people!)
P: You told you that? (eyes flash) He lied asshole
You’re (growls) -Natural - That means-You’re meat - For the Beast - ! SPH: We musnt! It’s the law!
P: Fuck the law - I want meat!
(P rips a chunk of flesh out of B with his teeth)
FROM THE TEMPEST BY WS (my high school year book quote:) Full fathom five Thy father lies Of his bones are coral made Those are pearls that were his eyes Nothing of him doth fade But doth suffer a sea change Into something rich and strange
LIST OF GIRL NAMES Emerentiana Escoffine Zerlinda Allegonda Aloynoushca Amalaswintha Amerentiana Athanagild Dearbhorgaill
i like locks have pictures i took of a few on display in a musty dusty municipal museum in Salzburg, as well as some from the met for a show it did on noble craft - technology of the late renaissance taught as a matter of course to the high born. the lathe was at the apex, its ivory products and designs for various wunderkammer, complex cabinets. this is late renaissance going into the baroque when the universe was re conceived by man as something both comprehensible and mechanical. glockenspiel and the planets appear together as public time pieces, death with his hour glass no longer dominant. plague pretty much over.
the lock i like in particular was a test made by a novice to make the guild. it has visible parts and then trick parts which lead onto secret parts.
in shop in 7th grade the wooden box i made with a secret compartment for…???
i liked the idea of secret places. i had glow in the dark stars on my ceiling. now i have a planetarium with streaking light and a rotating sky. like the passing of time. i would like it to be a real clock.
ive always been irritated by baroque stuff, fashion, frippery + that embrace of the mechanical, a clear + transparent universe - constructed by a happy hand - god as engineer, lapels flapping in the wind, arms maker - musket-master - no more the food poisoner - or potion trader - a precision fabricator - with a jelly roll for a mistress - a new level of corpulence - that strange counterpoint of excess and ornament adulation of fatty flesh. putti-fied world.
a matching show in another musty dusty space also salzburg - reliquaries from the same period - 17th into 18th century - in crappy old cases in some sort of civic hall - my own private show - no one else around - so much frippery it looked like decay. ribbons, lace, petals, flowers, braided and beaded crap all of this florid shit-vomit encasing some tiny shard of bone or tooth - no bigger than a nail clipping. some of them - probably nail clippings. the nail clippings of dead paupers. the excess out does everything, decay is voluptuous, bernini’s st. whatever has that ridiculous caravaggio pre courbet cloth-fold orgasm, (the ridiculousness is in her face - i like the cloth), sodeath steps back again from the bigger badder massiveness of the machine and all the shit spewing out of it.
that totally wasnt possible before the 17th century hit. guess when the reformation came - man fondled himself for that first time and realized that he, not god, was in command of his penis. that is machiavelli. i really dig machiavelli. so clear, and to the point. still - bawdy medieval times im sure were over the top they are just visually overcome and skewed by all that homogenous drapery and soaring stone - the discovery of an architecture - must be lofty - angels hovering without wings. where the angel part is folded into the overall presentation, into everything, including bodies laid out emphemeral and flat on top of tombs, in doorways and threshholds.
i was recently at st. denis - my favorite place for stone carving - hours spent - really - in that shitty ass neighborhood - all of it on top of tombs, everybody laid out on a slab - the shift from late medieval into the renaissance totally palpable - pithy - frighteningly sudden + self aware. like going from internet pix into an actual mortuary. pride in substance, in truth, and weight - man inhabits the world.
bad tattoos —none of them could stand up to or formulate the substance that x is. all these guys want to be him - he is what they want to be - he is what lies in the outer slumbering un realized limits the of their bourgeois, suburban, unchallenged tattoo choices - they strive to be - reach towards - get marks in awe of: x’s tattoos x’s experience the muscle mass that is x’s life - the cinematography of the fantasy - but real - built out of sheer brutal raw uncomprising resistance + strength. SHEER BRUTAL RAW UNCOMPROMISING RESISTANCE AND STRENGTH. those are laurels. prison: where you make sculpture out of soap because all other materials are denied. roses out of toilet paper ink out of ash.
where do you find the real shit? in good art - and in rare friends. and in books, in certain books. thats art too, but ill put it down separately because its a different format and the tools used (words) are well established in advance - unless you are joyce or beckett. or a writer in a language no longer spoken or understood. with art you make your own tools and in rare people you recognize the them - so you share some part of an inutterable, silent, power. that is true for those alive and dead. thrilling tho - when you’re both alive and can just stand there share the same air - knowing what you both know.
always i love the inutterable word for god- and the magic ward written on a piece of paper + stuffed into the golem’s mouth.
MY FAVORITE SONG By MG, The Swans
Take this glass of water, hold it in your hand. Drink the water slowly, don’t show any emotion. Take your clothes off. Sit on the edge of the bed. Cover yourself with your hands. I’ll stand in the corner. I’ll stare at the wall. I’ll try to remember what you look like sitting there. We’re seperate bodies. We’ll never understand what the other one needs. It’s just like breathing. It’s just like breathing water. Sit there with your clothes off while I look at you. We’ll never change. The world’s getting smaller with every second we breathe. When it’s inside you, you’ve changed
MY FAVORITE SONG Traditonal irish/chloe’s version
My young love said to me, my mother won´t mind She stepped away from me and she moved through the fair, The people were saying no two were e´er wed, I dreamt it last night that my dead love came in,
CHLOE PIENE
03.19.2008 THE SHIT "the dancer who relies on the doubtful comforts of human love - will never be a great dancer. Never!" - BL from The Red Shoes whats going on right now: plastic bags!!!! funny - picasso breaking apart the human form in some unradical fashion - soon after jack the ripper - shattering the mirror - in whatever calcified form it had taken - like a wrecked ship half sunk encrusted in barnacles - busting that crust - victorian hang over - high strung tightly laced ignorant and blind to all paths preceding - medieval bawdy - backwards faces whores and thieves and drinking songs table top dresses elaborately starched lace collars black velvet against searing white the plague the rack the wheel the pike the angelic long forms carved in stone all regents alien and alike unlike the funny faces the grotesques capping the columns the old hag the fearsome bitch with flat empty sacs for tits waving her gnarled hand over sleeping men - the fallen groom - the angry mare - shakespeare getting into the dark depths of murderous unrest the anxious queen devoured by power fracturing her own pearl encrusted mirror eating herself like the king whose black mouth opens up and attempts to devour his son see how the outer sun - hungers for the inner one i got tickets to throbbing gristle. i am listening to oophoi. I just obliterated my account of the whole cesarean episode. There’s nothing like a loss of time caused by a traumatic drug induced infected haze to cause total panic. I wonder if in the midst of shipwreck some people just get hysterical and cling vainly to a floating log or boot or piece of plastic siding or whatever. I read about the one guy of 4 total who survived that fishing disaster discovered hours from death. The two friends who he said took their life jackets off and just floated away. They gave up. I wondered what it was like to just give in and give up. But in certain situations - fighting against the flow - causes - panic. For lack of a boot - or piece of plastic siding. In which cases - friendship seems or becomes - very important. But to be this weird piece of road kill all puffy and tricked out with black eyes - adding to the panicky panic. Like when people try to wear art - in some dumb way - show up to openings with some funky hat they picked up in the gift section of the dale chichuly expo in Columbus Ohio. You feel like that person. Stupid. Compromised. Crushable. Naive. To feel so disconnected by haze and confusion. From one's self. You cling but you are your own foreign object. A weird situation. Its only - to do with surgery. I would direct the surgeons in the operating room if I could. Like that scene in the Kingdom where that mad doc attempts to prove a point by transplanting a cirrhotic liver into his own body. But all the docs are mad there - they are all in on the argument. Being hit by a truck - the equivalent - by an isolating experience will induce - overcoming. Some degree of understanding - insight. Massive shift. Major adjustment. Learning to walk again. But when that strength - can’t be seen - visualized - and is just itself weird and ugly - panic. Hard to see when the carnage is staring back at you in the face. You are the carnage. To try and hold on to the old & not to change - brittle panic, brittle determination - healing is a change - (but infection is not) between infection and healing - utter confusion - there insert friendship - find it not - because you are foreign - and mortal - and too normal - stuck to this strange rumplestilskin spot - extended - long - over the course of many weeks (add oxycodone to healing and infection) and never have you ever taken a physical break for nearly that long - and there you have - a definite cause for panic. time slips away in strange terms and you have no clue what to do other than - cling. Didnt think i would be pin-eyed against my will + i was so pro meds but not pro surgery. Fuck drugs taken - non recreationally. Alright. I got a big smiley face scar in an awesome place. Shocked all the docs in the ER when I went back for the infection. Which flipped me out - like - some victim of some failed experiment - or like that doc who'd stick his penis in unconscious patients mouths - almost ritualistically (nothing else occured) but a big incision. Googled other scars - yup - none compare. COOL. Proud of it. Kept thinking of Beowulf diving into that dark pool to find Grendel. The sacrificial bog - underneath there lives the monster mother all slimy and scaly looking something like jabba the hut. Dumb and fat. Wreaking havoc/vengence. I think that whole thing was really about a poltergeist. Anyways Im back as of 3 - 4 - 09. I remember seeing RP after he'd spent all that time in a coma - he looked awful skinny with those black eyes - but there he was anyways - at an art opening - standing. Pro America: A friend of mine is putting together a show in Oklahoma during tornado season. America invented the John Deere lawnmower - the tractor kind - there’s a whole lifestyle - way of life - WOL - attached to that. It goes unsaid - but its there - underneath everything. A connection - to the earth. John Deere! Bumped into friend at the AS yesterday - he was very critical of Bellmer. He was totally unphased by my show. He didn’t see any connection – between Bellmer & my work. He talked about Bellmer being "obvious" "not a good draftsman" and fundamentally "dishonest". I sort of agree. When things get porny they get shallow + fall short. But - the drawings I chose are not iconic or so - recognizable - as his. They are weird and strange - for him. At least - for me. Hey I got this really cool book of writing about music. I picked it up and asked my friend - how can anybody - really write - about music? History - OK - art history - OK - music history - OK. But actual music - funny. So I bought it. Want to see how people describe - music - with words. It’s sort of absurd. Its like a joke. But there is some writing by musicians - just about the world - that is interesting in there. Nothing to do with trying to describe music.
Dido’s Lament by HP When I am laid, am laid in earth, may my wrongs create
DIGITAL TV Is full of shows about murder and Hitler. And infomercials. Murder, Hitler. Infomercial. Murder, Hitler. Infomercial. Hitler is on TV all the time. At all hours of the night. I never expected - when I ordered Direct TV - that id be totally overrun by in depth psychological analyses of Hitler. Everybody's talking - about Hitler. Goering hid his cyanide in a jar of face cream. Then gave the US officer guarding him - a pair of white kid gloves for slipping it to him. "I really need my face cream". I was obsessed with forensic shows when I was pregnant. And porn. Stayed up all hours of the night. Couldn’t get enough of either it was some weird extra part of my brain opened up got tons of energy.
COMPLETELY INHUMAN
and
BLACK FOLDED WING
Overcoming is...everything
Being pregnant is a very funny condition – for other people. Like writing to a prisoner. What they can’t imagine – or could not do for themselves - causes fear. So while some are not phased and let it be, others get all squishy and awkward and say stupid things. I took that forensic facial reconstruction class – so many people found in the woods, or scrub brush – I thought about those locations. Always – the introduction to the body – is where they were found, the immediate surroundings - the details of the flora – fauna – trees – ground. In the woods in a forest, off the side of a road, in a field, outside f Salt Lake City – etc.
Writing sucks.
Pornography is the wrong format.
I just erased everything i erased - before. posting live:
FUCK THE LAW I WANT MEAT From Nightbreed by CB Pelican and Boone and the Swashbuckling Pinhead character:
SPH: Move and ill slit your throat!
P: U got him?
SPH: I got him
B: (oh shit - r u from Midian?)
SPH: We should take him below Pelican
P: Hes not nightbreed hes natural
B: (no ive killed people – that’s why im here)
P: Shut the fuck up. You’re meat
SPH: If we eat him we’ll break the law!
B: (so its true)
P: Everything is true. Gods an astronaut. Oz is over the rainbow. And Midian’s where the monsters live. And you came to die
B:(I didn’t come to die! I came here to be with you!)
P: No - sorry. I can smell innocence (touches neck - inhales scent) from 50 yard
B: (Ive killed people ive killed 15 people!)
P: You told you that? (eyes flash) He lied asshole
You’re (growls) -Natural - That means-You’re meat - For the Beast - ! SPH: We musnt! It’s the law!
P: Fuck the law - I want meat!
(P rips a chunk of flesh out of B with his teeth)
FROM THE TEMPEST BY WS Full fathom five Thy father lies Of his bones are coral made Those are pearls that were his eyes Nothing of him doth fade But doth suffer a sea change Into something rich and strange
LIST OF GIRL NAMES Emerentiana Escoffine Zerlinda Allegonda Aloynoushca Amalaswintha Amerentiana Athanagild Dearbhorgaill
i like locks have pictures i took of a few on display in a musty dusty municipal museum in Salzburg, as well as some from the met for a show it did on noble craft - technology of the late renaissance taught as a matter of course to the high born. the lathe was at the apex, its ivory products and designs for various wunderkammer, complex cabinets. this is late renaissance going into the baroque when the universe was re conceived by man as something both comprehensible and mechanical. glockenspiel and the planets appear together as public time pieces, death with his hour glass no longer dominant. plague pretty much over.
the lock i like in particular was a test made by a novice to make the guild. it has visible parts and then trick parts which lead onto secret parts.
in shop in 7th grade the wooden box i made with a secret compartment for…???
ive always been irritated by baroque stuff, fashion, frippery + that embrace of the mechanical, a clear + transparent universe - constructed by a happy hand - god as engineer, lapels flapping in the wind, arms maker - musket-master - no more the food poisoner - or potion trader - a precision fabricator - with a jelly roll for a mistress - a new level of corpulence - that strange counterpoint of excess and ornament adulation of fatty flesh. putti-fied world.
a matching show in another musty dusty space also salzburg - reliquaries from the same period - 17th into 18th century - in crappy old cases in some sort of civic hall - my own private show - no one around - so much foppy undulating ribboned shit it looked like decay. ribbons, lace, petals, flowers, braided and beaded crap all of this florid shit-vomit encasing some tiny shard of bone or tooth - no bigger than a nail clipping. some of them - probably nail clippings. the excess out does everything, decay is voluptuous, bernini’s st. whatever has that ridiculous caravaggio pre courbet cloth-fold orgasm, (the ridiculousness is in her face - i like the cloth), so death steps back again from the bigger badder massiveness of the machine and all the shit spewing out of it. that totally wasnt possible before the 17th century hit. guess when the reformation came - man fondled himself for that first time and realized that he, not god, was in command of his penis. that is machiavelli. i really dig machiavelli. so clear, and to the point. still - bawdy medieval times im sure were over the top they are just visually overcome and skewed by all that homogenous drapery and soaring stone - the discovery of an architecture - must be lofty - angels hovering without wings. where the angel part is folded into the overall presentation, into everything, including bodies laid out emphemeral and flat on top of tombs, in doorways and threshholds. Tombs are way lame now. There are none. Masoleums – Phantasm did something cool with that. But since then – nothing I can think of. i was recently at st. denis - my favorite place for marble carving-- in that shitty ass neighborhood (some one got their bag snatched right in front of me on my way out) - all as a tomb, all figures laid out on a slab - the shift from late medieval into the renaissance totally palpable - pithy - frighteningly sudden + self aware. like going from internet pix into an actual mortuary. pride in substance, in truth, and weight - man inhabits the world. Kings and queens reduced to rigor mortis– they look – in agony – but also – formerly beautiful – and real – no high gothic lofty idealized alien creatures/angels where all regents look more or less the same.
bad tattoos —none of them could stand up to or formulate the substance that x is. all these guys want to be him - he is what they want to be - he is what lies in the outer slumbering un realized limits the of their bourgeois, suburban, unchallenged tattoo choices - they strive to be - reach towards - get marks in awe of: x’s tattoos x’s experience the muscle mass that is x’s life - the cinematography of the fantasy - but real - built out of sheer brutal raw uncomprising resistance + strength. those are laurels. prison: where you make sculpture out of soap because all other materials are denied. roses out of toilet paper ink out of ash. i love the inutterable word for god- and the magic ward written on a piece of paper + stuffed into the golem’s mouth. That slab of clay come to life. I like Hebrew writing. GREAT SONG
Take this glass of water, hold it in your hand. Drink the water slowly, don’t show any emotion. Take your clothes off. Sit on the edge of the bed. Cover yourself with your hands. I’ll stand in the corner. I’ll stare at the wall. I’ll try to remember what you look like sitting there. We’re seperate bodies. We’ll never understand what the other one needs. It’s just like breathing. It’s just like breathing water. Sit there with your clothes off while I look at you. We’ll never change. The world’s getting smaller with every second we breathe. When it’s inside you, you’ve changed
She Moved Through the Fair Traditonal irish/my version (there are a few variations of this old song) My young love said to me, my mother won´t mind She stepped away from me and she moved through the fair, The people were saying no two were e´er wed, I dreamt it last night that my dead love came in, |
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