Fresh Steps Towards Less

Hi everyone. I am asking for mercy in the form of a painless euthanasia. Think of ways to murder me without consequence and I will plan a funeral party that you will not soon forget. I can entice you with green bean casserole and plenty of gummy worms, moist beer and well-iced cups of cake. I am no longer interested in life, there has been an ebbing, a dip if you will in my desire to bring productions to the earth. This is not meant to be melodramatic and no one should worry. Please leave fun, creative ideas for dying in my comments section. I will see you sometime later in the lessness of everything. Farewell!!!!

Partnering and Buckets

My eyes keep closing to reveal the strangest scenarios, here's one - like wooden buckets rimmed with strands of green hairlike algae. These buckets come down an assembly line on a conveyor belt. They are used for something, but I am not sure what. There are people who are angry with me for not knowing what the buckets do after they've reached the end of the conveyor belt. I just don't know. Do the authorities now come to sieze these naughty buckets? Are they ruffians, these buckets? I am being asked about their qualities, their intentions, their liquid possessions. No matter how close I look, I can't tell what their purpose is. And yet, here are ready buckets, coated in the finest emerald green algae. There is a glut of useless buckets in the factory. Everyone seems dazed.

In the meantime, I am thinking of studying nude yoga. I have found something exciting that I would like to share it with you:

Contortion

I would like to rest in this position today. The brain will succumb to the hand smush on back in order to calm itself. I will drink sody pop and the bubbles will confirm my findings. See you later!

Swamp-Ridden

Hi from the swamp. The swamp asks for your forgiveness and understanding in the form of yes's.

A Refreshing Drink

The show is hung and lit and open a few days early. In celebration I have decided to pour myself some clear carbonated sweetened delight. Oh did I fail to mention my arm got sawed off by some bandits but they politely replaced it with this bionic dinker. Do you think I look old?

Done Done

I cannot believe it is true but it is. The paintings left the studio this morning, I was there in the wee hours and then the early hours and then finally they exited. I could not be more pleased and relieved. There has been only one sacrifice in this unholy endeavor and that is my voice. I sound like I imagine Frogs should, I am in possession of laryngitis. You would not think that painting would lead to voice capacity reduction but think again - this is a warning for all you who are considering switching careers. Speaking of switching careers, Corny has an excellent list of alternatives for those of us who are wanting to switch out of the unwholesome bipolar career of fine arts. Here is my list:

1. Tail Grower
2. Device Holder
3. Food Weigher
4. Penis Trafficker
5. Swimming Pool

Naughty Bruiser

Do you think he shaved himself or was it perpetrated upon him? He is fierce in his sitting stance, he is ready to become more fleshly, to commune with me or you. Hi shaved kitty, you look very strange today.

Jello Replacement

Here are some things that can happen with jello:





My rainbow jello cake disappeared from yesterday. Melancholy ensues.

Supernova, Jello, Bats and a Puddle

Morning greetings. It is pre-verbal today.

Overgrown Undergrowth

The brain cavity is creeping with vines and branches. It is attempting to orient outward but it keeps curling back on itself. The new theory is to accept it, to allow the bunching and not attempt to tame.

Final painting, I am talking to you. You can do it, you can finish. Become agreeable to my paws and bristles.

Corny I am still hoping you hire a witch to exorcise the spell of the infernal relics. I am hoping the elixir blackout comes right after without too much organ damage.

Xtra Long Hair

Doesn't it seem fun? I am seriously considering the freeing lengths, the sultry wavy locks. I have bought the pumps, the long sleeved number, the smile. The semester has ended, I am free to finish the relics. My smile is as broad as an anal probe is long.

Time Out

I will be taking some time off the blogging in the next little while - finishing paintings, getting my rocks into piles. There is much to be done. Then I will return with more zeal and freshness. The goo-bots are arming themselves in order to assist me.

Eyes and Ears

Will someone please be my eyes and ears? I am blind and deaf, I can sense only with the burning swirly tips of finger. I hardly know a thing anymore. There are tornadoes of synaptic motion outside my window, mixed in with the sunlight. I can't believe how much time has passed. I am meditating on the doodle of cheez and how it curls like a smile.

Shadow Puppets

With fangs and scales, and tongues protruding, we assume the confrontational stance. It is time for the reconciliation of truth or at least bombastic meta-harmonies. I am willing to in spite of apparent malformations. The ratio relationship of the pulverized self to the desire for wanton melding precludes the ability to immerse fully in the other. I am able mostly to intuit either dread or ecstasy. The puppets play out an inconsistent drama. The silhouettes are the hiding place.

August Strindberg

‘I am everywhere, in the ocean which is my blood, in the hills which are my bones’

-August Strindberg

Strindberg was a painter and experimental photographer, as well as a writer...I didn't know about all this until I was tipped off by my pal DS. Thanks!

Check out this excellent article by Barry Schwabsky:

http://www.findarticles.com/p/articles/mi_m1248/is_4_90/ai_84669344

Quotes from the article:

"the very fact that [Strindberg] was self-taught, that he was an amateur, seems to have freed him from all sorts of preconceptions about what a picture should be."

"[There is an] analogy between the materiality of paint and the physical sensation of place..."

"[He wanted to] imitate nature in an approximate way, imitate in particular nature's way of creating." To this end--well before the birth of John Cage or the Surrealists' proclamation of the doctrine of psychic automatism, and three years before Stephane Mallarmes publication of "Un Coup de des" began to edge the theme of chance toward the heart of European esthetics--Strindberg advocated the use of chance methods in artistic creation as a way of realizing a work in which "the whole reveals itself as a wonderful mixture of the conscious and unconscious."

"Strindberg's art was driven by the desire for an unmediated vision, a continuity between thought and matter."

"It can be argued that this is simply the fundamental desire at the heart of all painting: the desire to breathe life into mere colored mud, and for inanimate matter to become transparent to thought."

Chicken Parts or Parts of the Chicken

I hereto have come to believe that it is chicken that binds us together and transcends gender, race, religion, posture, etc. I am you in the chicken wing, you are me in the slimy off-pink breast area. We are joined in unanimous votes in favor of the oppressor. We are bound and gagged in the gut punch of human sensibility. Fortitude is lacking in certain regions; purposeful consumption is not. We must emit gutteral monosylllables and stretch the limbs outward towards assembly with our fellow earthworms.

There is still much work to do on relic #3, an important relic that comprises pink bubbles, mossy ground cover and gesture trunks. All is not well in this relic, it is an awkward inconsistent scene that must be punished into excitement. The goal for the next 4 days is transformation. The raw chicken is my beacon.

Chump By the Sea

This is the alternate version of myself, a water-dwelling scum-sucker that took my pants, even though it's not me. Fishy saggy sac has stolen me pantaloons.

Night night.

Greetings Ether Artists

Circle of Dogs

The dogs are choreographed to slumber in a circle. They foretell of soothe, of glisten, of no taxation. There are Snickers bars and pox under the grasses. Your forebearance is coming in the form of a lisp.

Doktor Wyrd

I am sending out a distress call to Doktor Wyrd, will you please swoop in and save me? There are many issues:

1. My boat is sinking.
2. My torso is full of pains.
3. I am considering garden hosing myself.
4. I am being kicked out of my shack right after my show opens.
5. I am disassociating.
6. There are swellings on the inside of my gut. My gut is connected to my brain and as we all know that is pretty much fucked, so there are two sites of error, two vile sites of error.
7. Krakow's liver is necrotic.
8. Poodles have taken over my soul. They are fouling everything.

I cannot focus on the tasks at hand, the tasks are not completing themselves. My inner hairstyle is mussed. Please, if you see Doktor Wyrd, tell him about the hose. He will not be happy but he will know what to do.