Depth Projection

Plastic luminations in the anatomically correct night quadrant. Unplanned and unforeseen dilations of flesh and space-time. Milky blue distances traversed in liminal travel pods, journeys completed and aborted in quick alternation. Here it is, the sought after multi-cleft terrain, complete with folds and raised areas, a landscape of little ass after little ass. Enchanted profusions of marks, shapes and lines, cohering into atmosphere. A minimalist expanse inflected with fairy tales.

I am trying to discuss my shack habits, my shed habits. The ether has become white with static, I am wanting to start over as it is little to make sense to me. Please unshackle me from the realm of this-follows-that for good. Three steps further into the bog of prehension, with the assistance of pulleys and gears.

Insomnia is the haze of tomorrow.

Protrusions and Mold

Side-mounted droopy protrusions can be glamorous and attractive, in an interspecies way, I have found. The rabbits flock to me and nibble. I am both offensive and desirable with my prosthetics and funny smells, my anachronistic pointless ways. This is unimportant. I really do have to go. There is mold growing in the cuffs of my pants leg. The rains make it smell...however I refuse to wash them. This is part of the Mountain Man spice. I am part of the punishment that the Lord has perpetrated on the undeserving. This world is unfair. I am part of it. I have to go.

Hairs Cut

FB, this reminds me of that time in grad school when you found a box in your studio, labeled "Ponytail" and it had someone's real ponytail in it. You generously gave it to me, I must still have it somewhere. Dismembered hairdos are creepy to happen upon accidentally. Stay calm, is my advice.

Can you believe it?

There is a swizzle stick store. It's at www.swizzlestickstore.com. Look at the many subjects for the top of the swizzle. I am floored and really just mega-inspired. I want to initiate a profusion of swizzlers in my cabinets.

A Brief Tour of the Chelsea Forest

A brief tour of Chelsea resulted in the following judgements:

1. Sue Williams. I was with you all the way along, from raunchy klutzy cartoons to suave calligraphic body part scenarios, all the way up through non-objective minimal gestures. But this time I do not get it. It seems you are repeating yourself - back to toylike sex shapes, all-over composition, artfully designed...but there is something missing. It's too careful, overdetermined, predictable. Sadness.

2. Marcel Dzama. No.

3. Lisa Sanditz. You are deft with your paint-handling, you are lively and clever. Nice presto-change-ups of style and scale. But it feels cautious somehow and already-known. Too familiar, derivative. Last time around the spirit of fun was there. But now it just seems forced, self-conscious.

4. Monique Prieto. Some have said no. Sucky suck. But strangely I was drawn in to this entirely new project. I am not normally excited about word-paintings, something didactic and distanced about them. But these were slow, hard to read, revealing themselves little by little, unlike signs, where meaning comes to you all at once. The words she chose are fragments from Samual Pepys' diaries, a chronicler of life in 17th century London. The words are in places spelled anachronistically, in the ye olden style, referencing the past, but the way they are painted is graphic, Fred Flinstone-like. They are surprisingly fun to look at.

My Darling Tricia

I want to love you but I don't know how. I am ready, in the position of surrender to love, but I am nude and you are not and we are separated by the glass bar of conventional love in the ultra-clean pool of consciousness. Your name is Tricia. I have fallen for you big-time. This is my dream.

The Tremor Nation

There were over-used words hovering in the airless over-large building that was supposed to have been lit on fire but was not due to inaction. The lack of fire prevented certain dreaded actions from being ceased. The dreaded actions instead unfurled onto the laps of unsuspecting watchers: the overseer was within the enactor, causing trouble, a misanthrope, instead of within the watchers, as was originally thought. The misanthrope swelled under poorly-lit inspections and became jaundiced due to his elliptical wanderings, however, the end result was "it's ok." Which is so grand, don't you think? In light of the knotting intestines, the foul, rancid tapeworm expulsions, the lack of consumption of anything replenishing?

What is being said here is not new, it is old, from the olden days, from before our times. Trust me, it goes back a long way, to the time of the heretics and before. The tremor gives way to magic, if given time enough and space. I have to go lick the wall now and contemplate spirituality and how I can get some. If you know, please let me know.

The Head/Gut Axis

Have you ever had just so many tasks that they consume you every day and every time you think of them, your stomach turns to goo? Many tasks that cause anxiety are coming onto the hands and heart of my skunky self. I am a dirty pile of socks. I am a nervous crumble cheezy cracker bits. I am a case of temporary insanity that is lasting longer than usual. My brain-situation is somewhat in failed state. It is time for a tune-up, a re-ratcheting of the head and gut.

Jordan Plops

This is my new friend from the forgotten quadrant. His name is not his real name, but the name I have given him, on account of and owing to the fact that he can't or won't speak (I can't tell). His nature is true and good and let me just tell you a few things about Jordan:

1. He be good.
2. He be kind.
3. He be excellent with the hands and fingers, a manipulator of space and time.
4. He makes nice.
5. He is nice.
6. He be nice.

In short, I am in like with Jordan Plops. I am hoping someone will start a blog dedicated to being a fan of him and only him. Get to it!! Get energized!! It's time to honor Jordan Plops!!!!!!!!!!!

Children of the Morning

My charming children whom I birthed in the night, fully formed, with moveable parts and chill demeanors, these are them and they are speaking to me now. Murmuring to their warped Da Da nonsense of the most spiritual type. I am ecstatic, in a frenzy, wanting a lawn to girate on. I am lifted up on the wings of desire, the wings of love, the wings of hate, the wings of hope for the future. You know what I mean. I am a hooker in the most sarcastic artificial sense. There is a feeling of sha-zam when I look at my beautiful new children. Let's hope they last until tomorrow, until there's nothing left for them to give me.

I must go now, deletion is prowling on the periphery of today, a threat of no more me, but this is as usual. This is as you know.

I predict my haunches to moisten at some point today. I will report back.

Back Disturbance

I am unsure of the origins of this strange new tuft. The mutations are adorning my physique like discount accessories, unmatching of outfit, ignorant of this season's trends. If anyone can find a bag or belt to match either my tuft or my jaundiced stink-foot, please alert me, make me aware. What matches with unwanted hair? Shame. As far as I can see.

My Foot Foot

I cannot help it if my foot enthusiasm could not be contained and has turned to mutation: malleability was always the goal. I am hallucinating weedy grasses, flocks of low-flying crows and the valves of the men who came before who may have been women. There is an eagerness in my groin, my inner cavity. I glow a chunky orange from within, in the way of the Romantic Poets. My desires are for intimacy and unearthly pleasantries. I am working hard and attempting to keep my disorders in full check-out. Cheers to me and my new foot!

Rectal Prolapse

A sense of fullness, a firm mass of tissue, this is coming to you. It is caused by aging and dereliction of the embarrassing valve. Get hence and heal yourself with the whistles of the morning, the productive whistle of the weasels.

In addition you must learn to love without merging. Do not fling yourself, that is for later.

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the quizzes were fun but now am too disturbed by news reports to write anything for now. back next week.

NEW QUIZ

Already, because I am psycho. This one is called "What artist are you?"

http://www.quizfarm.com/test.php?q_id=71633

This is way too much fun, FB!