PSA_222

yersterday's internet is the first oblivion

PSA_221

"Art is good for my soul precisely because it reminds me that we have souls in the first place." -Tilda Swinton

PSA_220

take the chess pieces
off the checkerboard
and it becomes
a dance floor

PSA_219

baby games in gilded frames

PSA_218

in Lévi Strauss's words: "Further, the 'bricoleur' also, and indeed principally, derives his poetry from the fact that he does not confine himself to accomplishment and execution: he 'speaks' not only with things, as we have already seen, but also through the medium of things: giving an account of his personality and life by the choices he makes between the limited possibilities" (1962a, p. 21).

PSA_217

we made a big paper map the size of the ground
so we wouldn't have to get our feet dirty any more
we thought we understood the ground
because we understood our map so
the ground dissolved beneath

PSA_216

your voice will be queefing in my mind

PSA_215

them culture vultures better stay away from our buffalo carcass!

PSA_214

everything has always been a lie
the only truth i still believe

PSA_213

"Now is the time for a celebration of elitist art.."

..Richard Foreman will tell us why..
( drag the playhead to 5:03 )
("bite-sized" : listen only a few minutes )
https://media.sas.upenn.edu/pennsound/groups/Close-Listening/Foreman-Richard_Full-Program-prose-works_WPS1_NY_5-10-06.mp3

PSA_212

metaphor is truer than truth

PSA_211

“What is to give light must endure burning.”

- Viktor E. Frankl

PSA_210

Mama Mia

Mama Mia,
Papa Pia,
Baby's got the diarrhea!
Mama said it wouldn't hurt,
So Daddy ate it for dessert!

(Little Rock, AR 1984)

PSA_209

INTUITION
is a skeleton key that takes you through the wall
between the you and ALL.

PSA_208

don't talk them off the beaten path

PSA_207

talking art slows making art, pushes me further away

PSA_206

i could not bend reality
reality would not bend
i would not bend reality
reality could not bend

PSA_205

a tiny thinker! way smarter than yer average pug or chihuahua!
it's little head to pet, severed taxidermied complex psyche
captured forever , a frozen mirror
to have, with two eyes projecting my mind

PSA_204

words are passageways to thought, from thought

not thought, but a path

messages through tunnels through mountains between worlds

PSA_203

i'm gonna punch brick walls until i die !
i'm gonna punch brick walls until i die !
i'm gonna punch brick walls until my fists have turned to pulp !
i'm gonna punch brick walls until i die !

PSA_202

anais nin quotes
..and the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom"
..had I not created my whole world, I would certainly have died in other people’s"

PSA_201

is talking to marimo balls considered insane?
depends on how much is said?
depends on how much feedback you get?
pontificating to one marimo ball?
pontificating to one hundred marimo balls?
meditation with oxygen mask within fresh water sensory deprivation tank full of marimo balls

PSA_200

PSYCHOTICARTISTS is now 200 YEARS OLD ! ! !
i would like to offer you some toast
to the oldest skids on the clock
you've made us so proud if the things you could do
wear only the furrest throne on your shoulders
when the winds of mind bellow your fames
you're one speck in the sky
thank you

PSA_199

X and Y are collaborating on a multi-perspective installation of animations that propose and juxtapose caricatured psychosocial theories. Themes will include: Maslow's Hourglass of Self-Destruction, Phenomen-illogical Intersubjective Confusion, and The Johari-McLuhan Octrangle of Deception. Walt Disney once said, “Animation can explain whatever the mind can conceive." This project says, “The mind supposes whatever animation proposes."

PSA_198

"mind trip"
livin the dream
so glad yal witness cray flow

PSA_197

new brain experiment : tedious day job while wearing headphones w/
17 hours of Zizek talking
now 6 hours in ! thinking in his voice now. . .

PSA_196

Michael Mahalchick
James Kalm visits IT http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MyL1mgcnoRo#t=1m21s
IT happens http://newarttv.com/Bodo+Korsig+Makes+a+Monotype
Roberta Smith saw IT http://www.nytimes.com/2012/04/13/arts/design/michael-mahalchick-it.html

PSA_195

archive

achieve

art hive

our thieve

PSA_194

we have to become
like
mystical ghosts
that they permit to exist
because they find us intriguing
in some way

PSA_193

don't be the you watching you
you won't do anything interesting

PSA_191

maybe its art schools DUTY to financially DESTROY you
it's good for ART
ART favors DESPERATION
a preartist who is destroyed before they start may rise from ash to ART

PSA_190

aliving! teetering on the edge of thriving and barely surviving!

PSA_189

my arts is a scrambled nebula lost in my skull

PSA_188

" ASK NOT WHAT YOU CAN DO AS ART,
BUT WHAT ART CAN DO AS YOU!"
- JON F KRYST

PSA_187

You say that you are a "psychonautic bricoleur". What exactly is it that you do? What drives you to do these things? Why is it important that others pay attention to your activities and thoughts?

PSA_186

interestED is interestING

PSA_185

 I miss you tons !  I wish you didn't have to be home all alonesome , take a day of total rest , ignoring your stuff , smelling flowers and spying on butterflys , at dusk close your eyes then crawl into bed , awaken to a new beginning

PSA_184

extraverted witness of doom introverted vision of hope

PSA_183

them nay saying po-mos couldn't show agency if it shit em in the ass

PSA_182

problem: jpgs won't play in sequence with movies on media hard drive, need to be converted to individual movie files (5sec still image), but there's hundreds of em scattered across my drive! astonishing solution : photoshop actions! open jpgs> open "animation timeline", set duration, export movie! AND the "action" can be converted to a "droplet" app for drag'n'drop desktop crazyflow! awwwwwyeaaahhhboyeeeeeee!!!!

PSA_181

my little rabbit thinks it queer
to shove a carrot in it's rear

PSA_180

i am a tiny bunny in the big city of life

PSA_179

PSYCHONAUTIC BRICOLEUR

PSA_178

NEW AUDIO DUMPSTER ! ! !
http://www.soundcloud.com/psychoticartists

PSA_177

i made this dumb video salad as a chance for a fancy residency
if they caint see gems through the slop
i aint who they want
http://vimeo.com/30356466

PSA_176

THIS ONES DUMB
NOT WORTH THE IMPRESSION
SKIP IT
NO MAGIC
hearing voices movement
psychotic is causing trouble for others ?
a frequent void of happiness ?
constant anxiety without outlet ?
why is reality so important anyways ?
as long as you take care of yourself ?
control yourself when necessary ?
let yourself go far when you can ?

PSA_175

they say he used to scratch the paint off his brush handles so that when his painter friends stopped by they could never quite tell what kind of brushes he was painting with, he loaded his palette in one quick go when no one was around, he'd toss tubes back in the drawer and keep it closed, nobody ever cared, but he'd sure pretend that they did, all day long, if he left, he'd put a jumbo lock on the studio door built like a mechanical boat anchor

PSA_174

going to sleep is the only way to choose
to take your life but still get another chance
going to sleep is like a reversible suicide

PSA_173

nothing can never have value
but something can
DO SOMETHING
make a chance

PSA_172

you just gotta remind yourself
everybody else's work is worthless too

PSA_171

the phrase "ART is the new FUCK YOU" passed through my brain and I saw "ART is the new FUCK YOU" in chunky white text embellishing the floating black coffin 6 feet above a coffin shaped hole that is carpeted with the dirty glittered AstroTurf from the bottom of the coffin hole, up the sides, and across the raised ground plane that slopes gradually on all sides to ground level gallery floor.

PSA_170

BREAK the code or it will BREAK you

PSA_169

when that whale rushes up from the deep toward the surface
it never permits a paranoid thought
it never feels unworthy of it's power or speed
it never second guesses one thrust of it's tail
it ONLY thinks "FUCK YEAH!"
"I'M GONNA FUCKING FLY LIKE A FUCKING BIRD!"

PSA_168

if THEORY catches you it devours you
and you are no longer an ARTIST

PSA_167

a tragedy is just a miracle in reverse

PSA_166

from ivory tower to bottomless pit
art drowns in a desert
art pupates in shit

PSA_165

does the artist's act of articulation/externalization abstract the 'actual' internal ineffable impulse ?

PSA_164

my wasted life
will be more interesting
than your wasted life

PSA_163

force of belief achieves dreams

PSA_162

a birthday of the mind
is a funeral of the heart

PSA_161

CARL GUSTAV JUNG
CHRIS BURDEN  (ubu) (rep) (wikip)
KOKI TANAKA
CHRIS WARE
JOSH HARRIS
ANDREA ZITTEL
TEHCHING HSEIH 
STUART SHERMAN
WARD SHELLEY
MARINA ABRAMOVIC

PSA_160

loosen your hole and let out your soul

PSA_159

circumambulate  the truth
it can never be pinned (to something it IS)
it can only be penned (within what it is NOT)

PSA_158

I look in one direction only, inward, and it is only there that I find the universal humanity, when I look outward, all I see is difference and indecipherable chaos, art is art because of this inner universal, yet the tip of the iceberg fools us into believing it's closed potential is the whole

PSA_157

my private epiphanies aura-bomb other psyches

PSA_156

once i was strong
and now i am blind
thus is the strike
of the heart over mind

PSA_155

it is the very same string that restricts the kite height
that provides the tension necessary to give the kite flight

PSA_154

reason is only an anchor
not the boat
nor the boater
not the water
nor the ground

PSA_153

daydreaming through life
life becomes my dream
who we see and how they seem
turn the others into me

PSA_152

a gift accepted becomes a duty to hold

PSA_151

crying is like yoga for the mind

PSA_150

lost in the perpetual commemoration of the dying now

PSA_149

you know what i always say about GENIUS..
well......... if there is a GENIE in your ASS,
that keeps giving you ideas that impress you,
YOU SHOULD USE THE IDEAS !
- because it's YOUR GENIE !
--he lives in YOUR ASS !
---consider the ideas as RENT paid to the ASSLORD !

PSA_148

"For he will come like a pent-up flood
that the breath of the LORD drives along."

PSA_147

the story of a blind and deaf girl gone mad !
flailing her hands wildly to interact with the world around her !
but she's holding knives !
she could only recognize your face by slicing through it!
plucking out eyes !
cutting off ears !
she mentally maps her surroundings from the echos of splattering blood !
they call it splatterlocution !
deaf blind and numb to your pleas for mercy !
Helen Killer !

PSA_147

just opened a tampon for the first time
tore off an end of this paper sleeve
slipped this thing out
an extended two part telescoping shell
with a little string coming out one end
didn't know which end to pull
to make this poofy thing come out

PSA_146

i can taste my ego dying
i taste neural sheaths burning away
(as present instance is incompatible with past experience)
who i am is only who i've became
the me needs slain for the now to live free
i swear, i can literally taste it
when stress finds NO release through action
because the action is not mine to take
the contained energy implodes to destroy it's own bridge to existence
i can taste my ego dying as i am cornered by hopelessness
hope is a parasite on the body of expectation
expectation can bind and gag and blind
the old me must die
to give birth to the full potential of this moment

PSA_145

TRUTH IS DOOM
SEAL THE TOMB

PSA_144

ingest your turd before it breaks as ouroboros loops a snake

PSA_143

facadebook !
(really just the creepy penis of the machine slithering through my secrets)

PSA_142

PROPOSAL FOR SOLO #2
I would LIKE to take my mobile art presentation booth/white pedestal/"booth of shame" out into the streets for an encounter with the public. This act will take a tremendous amount of courage (or permitted naivete?). I am uncertain that I will be able to achieve the mental constitution necessary to do this during this semester.  My present lack of resolve is primarily due to our 1st year MFA show. I will be engaging in a month-long performative act throughout the duration of the show. I would like to try to sell you on the idea of accepting this as my 2nd solo performance for class. My space in the gallery is being used as a research station to analyze my creative activities outside of the gallery walls. I compared the galleries "open" hours to my overlapping academic schedule so that I could determine how much time I can actually spend IN the gallery. I am going to be spending 15 scheduled hours a week in my gallery space, wearing my lap coat, creating a time log and matrix of life-data onto a massive wall surface. I will be analyzing video and journal documentation of the creative life I live outside of the gallery. The parameters of this exploration are purposefully "loose" at this stage, so that the project is free to find it's own direction. I will do some sort of presentation during our class-time, in the active gallery space. I hope that you come visit me in the gallery during the month!

PSA_141

DIRECTIONS FOR MY FUNERAL:
1) when at the threshold of death, keep me alive long enough to get me to a foundry
2) cover my body in plaster, let it harden, let me die within
3) place my plastered carcass into a coffin, fill the coffin with plaster, let it harden
4) place the coffin into the kiln, burn away all that will burn
5) fill the empty cavity within the plaster coffin shape with clear resin, let it harden
6) chisel all the plaster off of the ash and bone speckled crystal figure, polish the surface
7) lie the figure onto an altar with a glass top, lit from within by aerial search lights
8) adjust the overhead-projector lens to project and focus my constellated remains onto the night sky
9) base all future human activities on the relationship of my projection to the cosmos beyond

PSA_140

FIVE SENSES
_sight_
1) find a pair of sunglasses with large lenses
2) pop out the lenses and replace them with 2 halogen lights facing inward
3) put on the sunglasses
4) turn on the lights
5) say "lalalalalala... " until white turns to black
_sound_
1) prioritize all objects in the room by the volume of the sound that results from dropping each onto a linoleum floor
2) use a "loop-sampling" recorder to record the quietest item being dropped
3) record the next quietest item's drop sound, overlayed onto the recording of the first dropped item
4) continue overlaying drop-sound over drop-sound, progressing from the quietest to the loudest
5) listen to the resulting cacophony over and over, with INTENSE attention
6) stop the playback
7) drop the lightest object onto the linoleum floor over and over, with INTENSE attention
8) play the cacophonous recording over and over until you BELEIVE you can hear the quietest object fall
_touch_
1) cover sandpaper with glue
2) cover the glue with fluffy cotton
3) let dry
4)psychotically pet the surface while saying "soft pretty bunny" over and over
5) continue process until you scrape bone
6) explain all this in the emergency room
_smell_
1) purchase some fish-tank air tubes plus a "Y" adapter to split air flow
2) purchase medical tape
3) purchase $20 worth of Taco Bell products
4) connect and seal the split ends of the tube into your nostrils with tape
5) connect and seal the other end of the tube into your anus

6) eat all the Taco Bell products
7) ENJOY! 
_taste_
1) go to a grocery store with your friends
2) have a contest to see who can discretely taste the greatest diversity of flavors before getting arrested
3) use your only phone-call to describe the taste in your mouth to someone who cares

PSA_139

performance idea -
sit with a VanGogh in your lap
pick off each brushstroke like a scab
(eventually revealing a landscape photo beneath)
call the piece "ZOLOFT"

PSA_138

i'm gonna open a social networking site called TWATTER
where you post a  FRESH pic of your TWAT every twenty-minutes
"do you want to follow my Twatter feed?"

PSA_137

- medium shot of deer in the forest
- fart noise
- deer startled
- jerks head in all probable directions
- freezes while turned in direction of it's rear
- sniffs
- wide shot reveals the deer is alone in the forest
- sniffs again
- deer bolts off

PSA_136

(audience arrives)

-freight elevator door opens-
for 16 seconds a man in socks pretends to tap dance on carpet
while strategically operating a party-clacker behind his back
-freight elevator door closes-

(audience waits one minute)

-freight elevator door opens-
for 16 seconds a man in a phantom half-mask plays
a loud impassioned electric guitar noise solo
-freight elevator door closes-

(audience waits one minute)

-freight elevator door opens-
for 16 seconds a mans head peers out of an ornate antique frame
that hangs on a large white pedestal that conceals his body.
he dramatically recites the following statement...
"Culture silences more than it permits.
An individual is cheated of infinite potential by this cultural disease.
We may not exercise our individuality within culture,
culture exorcises the individuality out of us."
-freight elevator door closes-

(audience waits one minute)

-freight elevator door opens-
for 16 seconds a man completely covered in strands of VHS tape
dances frantically to no music but the sound of the tape rustling
-freight elevator door closes-

(audience waits one minute)

-freight elevator door opens-
for 16 seconds a man stands in motionless tension
making blood curdling battle cries at the universe
-freight elevator door closes-

(audience leaves)

PSA_135

culture silences more than it permits
an individual is cheated of infinite potential by this cultural disease
we may not exErcise our individuality within culture
culture exOrcises the individuality out of us

PSA_134

fluxish exercise yada-ya

an artist plays the most spastically impassioned guitar wank for 22 seconds then hits a loop pedal,

he puts down the guitar while the wank loops indefinitely,

he flamboyantly tapdances for the audience in socks, activating a party clacker behind his back to simulate tap sounds,

he briskly halts dancing and pulls a toy machine gun from his jacket

and mimes mowing down the audience with surreal laughter

the looping wank stops

PSA_133

It is never mentioned that these supposed chemical imbalances in the brain may be driven in large part by our patterns of thought. These chemicals are our thoughts. Balance your thought to balance your chemicals from within. The objective biology of the brain is changed by the subjective thought processes of the mind just as much as subjective experience within the mind is affected by the chemicals and electricity in the brain. The long hard road of changing your mental habits could put brain chemistry back into balance the same way that drugs temporarily do. To the best of my knowledge, there are no negative side effects from healthy thinking.

PSA_132

I've known for a while that the rich get rich off the sweat of the poor. I don't remember enough about Marx to give his Communist sht a just pat on the back and bullet through the head. It seems obvious that some Utopia may exist somewhere between Democracy and Capitalism and Communism. You need an ideal greater than whoever's the captain at the wheel. An ideal ideology that says everybody can do whatever they want as long as it's worth a fair something to somebody else. Some guardians of the ideal will swoop down to enforce the ideal when somebody is trying to take advantage of anybody else, anytime, someone is always looking over you, witnessing and rewarding your unique work, makin' sure that nobody fks with you. You're worth what your work is worth. If your work isn't worth anything you still get a comfortable life as long as you keep trying and caring. There is an ideal that rations the funds into guardian services all the way up to the captain who must prove his worth in absolute transparency to all. Every corporation on earth would be governed by the same ideal: absolute transparency, workers are the owners, managers are employees

PSA_131

I walked indoors, through doors into the lab, pulling a roll of toilet paper from inside my jacket (from inside my trunk), and I blew my nose. Alice and Eve were perched around this dead steaming carcass. They offered me some meat from their prey. They were ripping pieces of dry cooked meat off of the bird carcass and dipping each piece into warm red barbecue sauce before eating it. I said "The barbecue sauce is the simulacra that replaces the blood of the animal. Our inner animal would rather snatch a live bird from the sky and bite into it's warm bloody writhing flesh. Our modern civilized consciousness would deem such an act barbaric! Behind this civil facade, our inner cave man longs for primal experience. In the guise of culinary sophistication, we cook all the real blood out and replace it afterwords with tasty warm simulated blood: barbecue sauce. We pride ourselves on the variations of nuanced flavor varieties as a distraction from recognizing them as merely a yummy simulacra of vulgar blood ."

PSA_130

for the FIRST time, CARL JUNG WAS IN MY DREAM! he was sitting in a chair on the shore, he was very old, we walked by, his attention was elsewhere, I was granted a glance. I was with another old man, tall, fit, strong, well groomed, he was taking me somewhere, we walked past Carl and went into a forest, there was a small opening in the low canopy of foliage, an oval area of earth was recently upturned like an archeological dig or a grave, there was maybe an exhumed stone of some personal significance that I was shone? There was another dimension of the dream that came either before, or after, or both, a different location and interaction

PSA_129

ENVIRONMAN
he is so GIANT
that when he swallows his VICTIMS
they are LOST in this VAST environment
he is..
ENVIRONMAN ! ! !

PSA_128

If Art hangs in the forest and no one sees it, is it still Art?

PSA_126

art lives through our experience of
(but is silenced by words that claim to pin it down)
if your critical tone tries to own what was shown
GO MAKE YOUR OWN DAMNED ART!!!

PSA_125

what's the scam? how is this not a cop-out? you say you make stuff without thinking and claim to read into it after the fact? what have you read? have you ever learned ANYTHING from your art making? specifically? what is this game you play? is it what you say? is it a cop-out from saying anything? maybe you have nothing to say? maybe there is nothing worth saying? what does it mean to choose to say nothing yet make so much work? is that ok? should you be able to get away with that scam? is it a scam? are you scamming yourself? is there really nothing worth saying? what if you were forced to articulate a rational statement that was not fragmentary? could you? do you feel shame?

PSA_124

There was once this psychotic artist who painted a curved line onto the surface before him. The brush soon arrived at the same point that it started. He had painted a circle at the peak of his troubled teens. He stared into the open circle for hours yet saw NOTHING. He decided to coat the edge of this portal, as if a fresh trace in new wet paint would give another chance at life. He saw nothing. "Maybe it's the damned drying paint!?" he clearly enunciated to no one. He decided that "..to keep the portal open, I must invigorate it's edge with wet paint constantly!" (his thoughts sometimes find his mouth and escape) When the brush made it's way through the start again he noticed that if he painted at that same even pace, the line would stay wet. He knew his arm was memorizing the motion, so soon his arm could paint the line without his attention, only then could he send ALL of his mental energies through the portal, to engage with what he seeks. Yet still, he saw nothing. His psyche became this process. The line defining the circle began to extrude away from the surface (from paint upon paint upon paint upon paint, etc.) The day he turned 87, he crawled into the long paint tunnel standing out from the wall, and made up for all lost sleep. The artscience curators built aesthetically unobtrusive crystal scaffolding to hold the weight of the artobject, they sealed the mouth of the tunnel with thick glass, they injected the cavity with clear resin, they drilled into the tunnel a matrix of LEDs to evenly light the interior with the sleeping old man. It has it's own dark, sound-canceled room in the museum. Busloads of feild-trippers are always mesmerized for minutes and pick it as "favorite".  A picture of it was even printed in an art book once.

PSA_123

a moment of silence to remember the 123

PSA_122

make career out of going insane but never actually losing ultimate control!

PSA_121

i can't feel the pea under the mattress
because the mattress is soaked with pee

PSA_120

a statement of "TRUTH" is the ultimate LIE

PSA _119

sometimes my reflection believes he is me
each one to the other he wishes to be

PSA_118

a PROSER is a POSER ! ! !

PSA_117

one foot swung past the other, then the other, again and again, the wet shag grass, whisping at the front then slashing under the bottom of my boot toes, wet fudge leather in a quick flash revealed a caramel sheild, it stayed for the ride for a handfull of strides, so i saw it as a sign, and i bent to reach at my foot to peal a wet golden leaf to hold to my face to read for anything that could tell me how to survive, i read the decay at the spine juxtaposed to two dots on either side not aligned, i found nothing inside, i wanted to save the leaf as a sign of fleeting hope despite realizing that salvation can never come from the outside, i dropped the leaf on the grass and moved on, each step denying the fall

PSA_116

my god, this blog has NO integrity WHATSOEVER!!! what will this CREEP write NEXT?!? someone should have to FEEL SHAME for this USELESS HOGWASH!!! WHO ARE YOU?!? reading THIS?!? is THIS what it ALL comes too!?! i've traded a  CABBAGE ROLL for a STARTLED HEDGEHOG!?!

PSA_115

James Dean (1931-1955)
Jacques Derrida (1930-2004)
Are these the TWO names of ONE man?!?!
birth year 1930/1931? (offset for deliberate deception!?)
Did James Dean survive his supposedly "fatal" car accident in 1955?
Jacques Derrida supposedly got married in Boston in 1957, two short years after James Dean's "death"! In 1960 Jacques Derrida began teaching philosophy at the Sorbonne in Paris. In the following years, his prolific writings would DECONSTRUCT ALL!
YOU'RE NOT FOOLING ME JACQUES/JAMES! I'D RECOGNIZE YOUR POUTY-FACED, POOPY-PANTSED, COOL-GUY-DARKNESS, ANYWHERE!!!! ANYTIME!!!!

PSA_114

I paint all of my recyclables matte black before stacking them on the curb, so the trash man can get a taste of high-culture.

PSA_113

the tidal wave of neglect chases me everywhere i go

PSA_112

Q: "Why would art creators concern themselves with theory and philosophy? Should not art inherently express some unquantifiable values that these language bound disciplines can not quite pin down? If language can accurately define the values contained in art, why make art? Is theory a weapon AGAINST art? Is an artist's survival contingent on adopting a counter-theory weapon as defense (offense)? Can an artist "just make art", or do we have to read and talk all this crap just to to survive?"

PSA_111

ode to that fly that lived with me for many days (Johnny)
Remember that day when I was eating the microwave scrambled eggs
and you landed to watch.
You were puzzled that I didn't swat, but talked to you in a friendly voice.
Every time the door opened, you could have gone away.
If you cared to examine the screened window,
you would have found a loophole to escape!
You could have gone to another microverse and betrayed my secrets,
but you didn't.
You stayed to be my friend, because i talked to you,
and gave you your very own egg crumbles.
Every morning you gently woke me with a playful face tickle,
eagerly awaiting a smile and warm greeting.
So many stretching hours of labor were witnessed by
this tiny black angel :
YOU JOHNNY!
You would change location to elicit my glance
at every desperate lonely moment
when I needed reminded
I am not alone.
I am loved!
I arose from a nap on the floor,
off my trash bag filled with dirty clothes,
from under the folded boxes,
and you were gone

PSA_110

an artist needs to outrun theory to keep it irrelevant
if theory catches up to you, spit venom in it's face and keep running away!
if it catches you, it devours you
and you are no longer an artist

PSA_109

don't exorcise the demons
do exercise the demons
they wont go away until you wear them out

PSA_108

Q: "how much does the internets weigh?"
A: "the inverse carbon footprints of dinosaurs" (exactly)

PSA_107

if a sin is carried by the male man
does the damn nation transfer

PSA_106

Hi! I have to apologize because I ran out of postcards to mail, but I wanted to say hi! It's always surreal to be reminded of friends from childhood because it reminds me of forgotten moments like when we were going to actually film that "Piggy" death scene from Lord of The Flies in that rocky ravine between our houses. hahaha, and for some reason I always remember the Weeble Haunted House in your bedroom.

PSA_105

so I was carrying around a 22 of Guinness at an art opening,
wrapped in a brown wax-paper tampon disposal bag from the unisex bathroom,
I thought it marked a transition into a post-feminist worldview,
but they all just thought I was just a perv

PSA_104

I checked out your blog. I certainly see no reason you shouldn't pursue this blog writing racket. I realize that the audience of MY blog could (sometimes) only be only myself. For me, there is something I learn from articulating my inner experience into words, and there is some warmth in the potential that some other individual could care enough to actually read. This potential itself is worth the price of clicking the "post" button on your blog site. These are notes in bottles sailing into eternity :) ...geez, i am a corny fellow... Whenever you feel like expressing yourself, DO IT. It is our duty to break the SILENCE that fuels "THE MAN'S" ability to suppress and control. We are CO-CREATORS of reality. As individuals we are but one of a field of candles and culture is the wind that makes us seem the same until all individualities perish as merged into an inferno. ...whoah.. write on sister WRITE ON ! ! !

PSA_103

how do you turn
"what am i doing? and why do i want to die?"
into
"why am i dying? and what do i want to do?"

PSA_102

"black and white don't mean a thing
when you're standin' in line at burger king"
-potential misunderstanding of rapers outside my window

PSA_101

lesson for today...
1) post the stupidest thing you've ever posted
ready
GO !

PSA_100

ON THIS CENTENNIAL BLOGGE POSTING
I HEREBY DECLARE A STATE OF HIGH BLOGGE ARTISTRY
BLOGGE ARTISTE OF THE TWENTY FIRST CENTURY
! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !

PSA_099

text missing

PSA_098

scene missing

097

I don't want to die.
I'm having a good time here.
I have turned my life into a heaven and I want to stay forever and ever
and keep on making with my hands and thinking with my brain.
I have grown quite fond of them and wish that we could be together forever

096

YOU SEE SO ITS LIKE THIS OFFICER...
I HAVE SOME SILLY KIND OF MIND THAT DOESNT TEND TO STORE RECONSTRUCTIONS OF WHAT MAY HAVE NEVER HAPPENED SO WHEN SOMEBODY TELLS ME TO REMEMBER THINGS FROM THE PAST I MAY AS WELL FLOAT THROUGH A FANTASY AND BREATHE FREE OPEN AIR INSTEAD OF BURYING MY HEAD AT THE BOTTOM OF A HAYSTACK IN A PAINTING OF A PAINTING OF A PAINTING OF A PAINTING OF AN INTERNAL MODEL OF AN EXTERNAL REALITY FROM A ME THAT MAY NOT HAVE EVER EXISTED ANY YESTERDAY BEFORE A NOW THAT IS ABSOLUTE AND ALL CONSUMING THE PAST LIKE A FIREFLY ON THE SUN OF NOW A SMELL REMINDS ME OF ITSELF A SMELL THAT HAS SMELLED IDENTICAL DEEP IN THE PASTS UNBROKEN CONTINUITY UNTIL NOW IS LIKE ASKING FOR A PEBBLE TO REMIND YOU OF THE UNIVERSE THAT FLOWS THROUGH ME NOW AND I CAN FEEL IT ERODING EVERY MOMENT THAT WAS NOT MEANT TO BE HELD ON TO SAY THE WORD OBLIVION A SECOND ROUND WOULD BE BLIND TO REASON WITH THE REAL ME TRANSFORMING IN THE PREGNANT CESSPOOL OF TIME IN A TIME WHEN EVERY FOCAL POINT OF ATTENTION IS IN A WRITHING ECSTASY OF ITSELF I'M TRYING REAL HARD TO SUMMON A MEMORY OF A MEMORY ELICITED BY A SCENT BUT MAYBE I CAN WORK WITH THE SOUND OF MYSELF RUSTLING FABRIC AND FLESH AND RATTLING A GRID OF BLACK PLASTIC BUTTONS I REMEMBER THE FEELING TONE OF EVENTS BUT THE TEXTURES BURN AWAY TO NOTHING WHEN THEY SIT IN THE FLAMES OF SENSATION REMINDING ME THAT I AM HERE NOW I KNOW EVERYONE ELSE IS SUPPOSED TO SPEND ENOUGH TIME PRACTICING LOOKING INTO THE PAST BUT IT IS RARE THAT I AM SATIATED BY THE DIMMED EXPERIENCES OF MOMENTS WHEN I WAS ENGAGED WITH MY SURROUNDINGS IN ANY WAY NEAR OR EVEN FAR BEFORE NOW MY MEMORY REFUSES TO GIVE ME ANYTHING BUT EMOTIONAL FIELDS THAT RESONATE IN HARMONY WITH THE CURRENT OF MY CURRENT ATTENTION I GIVE AT THE COST OF ANOTHER NOW SLIPPING AWAY THAT I MAY FIND WHAT I'M LOOKING FOR IS TO THINK OF AN EMOTIONAL EXPERIENCE AND FOLLOW IT IN TO THE EPICENTER TO SEEK A SCENT OR SOUND THAT CONVERSELY MAY REMIND ME OF THIS EVENT AT A FUTURE DATE THROUGH MY CONSCIOUS CONNECTION OF A PIECE OF THIS AND AT PEACE WITH THE FACT THAT THE YESTERDAYS HAVE GONE AND FADE UNTIL THEY BLEND MEMORIES TOGETHER LIKE A CONVERSATION IN A CROWDED RESTAURANT FILLED WITH CONVERSATIONS MAKING A CACOPHONY BEYOND A WISH OF DISSECTION WHY THE HELL IS THIS GIVING ME SO MUCH TROUBLE WHAT HAPPENED THAT FRIGHTENED ME AWAY FROM REMEMBERING THERE IS NO OVERARCHING TRAGEDY THAT RULES MY LIFE THERE IS NO REASON I CAN DREAM UP THAT EXPLAINS THIS DIFFICULTY WITH COMMON FUNCTIONS CONSCIOUSNESS IS LIKE A DISEASE THAT EATS AWAY AT THE THREAD THAT CONNECTS IT BACK TO ITSELF THIS BODY OF TEXT IS EVIDENCE OF THE REALITY OF MY CONDITION I NEED TO KEEP LOOKING AHEAD OR THE WIND UNDER MY WINGS WILL CEASE

095

Citizenship in these "United States of America" has granted me the luxurious privilege of changing my socks and underpants at the dawn of every new day. Thank you sweet lady liberty.

PSA_094

the bowl of chili looked to me like an unflushable toilet

PSA_093

if you really want to trip the psyche
swig wacky liquor from the freezer

PSA_092

well OFFICER... he's an "ARTIST"... this is just how he deals with the world. he only psychologically engages the public, never physically, NEVER. completely harmless to a fly

PSA_091

do the "what ifs" scare you?
or ENGAGE you ! ! !

090

the most liberating thing I have recently learned to say is...
"I am NOT an ARTIST!"

089

the only thing between being a resident
and being a president
is a little bit of pee

088

art as outside / a little girl with a speech impediment once told me that when she grows up she wants to be an "outist" / I want to start calling myself an outist / the word "art" seems to be tainted, much like organized religion has slain the spiritual

087

save the ifs for when

086

the sensation arose again, connected to moments in my youth, a sensation that makes the distance between the core of bone to the outer face of skin seem VAST, a feeling that I am GIANT yet still contained to the same frame sitting here, it is at once mental and physical, all consuming, alien to ALL sensation, this time it was centered from my upper jaw through my skull, through my arms into my massive hands, there is almost a taste sensation like my existence is permeated by a dull yet robust deep bitterness, I relate this in youth to sickness and medicine high, now it comes extremely rarely when I am thinking profound intellectual thoughts that point towards the unknowable, almost like when approaching the barrier between consciousness and beyond, the mental space becomes physical, a numinous numbness, I always feel drawn into it, like I want to cross the threshold and leave the physical world, like tasting a cavity in my soul

085

at every turn I choose, why do we capitalize "I"s, no seriously? why not ME? Did you ever see that video of Buzz Aldrin REFUSING to "swear to god" that he had actually been to the moon? HE REFUSED. He went through extreme efforts to get away from the "conspiracy theory paparazzi" without uttering the simple words "yes" or "of course" or "you morons, didn't you see it LIVE on TV?" I am 'THE' NASA videographer (I am old as f'k) and it was I who took the FIRST STEP on the moon! I touched it FIRST! WHO do do think was holding THE CAMERA for the TV spot? The audio "This is one small step..." was a pre-recorded voice over! Do you think those dumb-ass-tronauts could make up such a genius phrase ON THE SPOT?!? I wrote dat sht! On da blacktop, breakdancin' wit' hop-scotch chalk in mah (*)

084

you're the guy from the hamburger train, right?
you came from all the way over where the mustard bin's empty?
SEE, the obsession has me bound in razor wire's tightening.
so it seems, that sewing seams TOTALLY SUCKS!
been sittin' here ALL day
(he has integrated his cornered squat rocking routine into the cornflakes)
she did her hair all burnt and tattered into fire victim chic
burnt bows accents and a STANK that filt ANY room !
OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo
(song: purdy bubbles , purdy bubbles , you take me farther...
YEAH THE SONG ENDED ABRUPTLY, OKAY!?!
you're the guy from the hamburger train, right?
you came from the far side of the grill
fancy hair doos and fancy hare donts
Q: "What do you call it when the doggie is constipated?
A: "Doggie-dont!"

083

YOU'D slobber all over the place TOO
if somebody injected MEAT POWDER into the side of your FACE!

082

new quakey painting!!! LINK!!!

081

i don't need coffee as much to wake me up before work
but i need a cup to wake me when i get home
all pooped from trying to be all that could be done
to save a flawed reality from crumbling in my hands
because like a house of cards
if it falls on your turn to touch
it is judged as your fault
instead of blaming the precarious reality that you were forced to meddle in
like transporting aged nitroglycerin through a china shop in an earthquake
i wish i could stay in bed and live in nightmares
because they at least end or change like channels
instead of this continuity of doom called living

080

dyununehNEAHnuh-dhyenuhNuhnihNehnuhNehnuh
dyununehNEAHnuh-dhyenuhNuhnihNehnuhNehnuh
dyununehNEAHnuh-dhyenuhNuhnihNehnuhNehnuh
dyununehNAY! dyununehNAAY!
(if you can decipher what that guitar riff is, you must be crazy too!)

079

buh...... BOOO!-dika-dika-dika-dika-dika
buh buh buh..... BOE!-fzzzzzz, BOOO!-dika-dika-dika, BAHH!-screeyeeyeeee
yaaayaaayyaaayaaayyaaayaaay!!!!!!!!
buh buh-b-b-buh buh-b-buh..... (etc)

078

I am trying to get through a vast forest before dark,
but I'm transfixed momentarily by every square inch of bark.

077

The ground is covered with leaves but I only saw four fall. / Push the buttons : release the bombs. Peel the flesh from the earth : start anew. / I am a fetus in my skull but the mouth of this womb is sewn shut. / The landlord of a vacant heart is willing to lower the rates. / I am a starving child opening a happy-meal box but only finding a toy. / It's like an angrily compassionate crowd at the edge of the dessert whipping full bottled waters at a dehydrated man. / Answer me NOW or I will close my eyes and cover my ears! / The wind blows hate into love. / Arbitrary words fill the silence just as well as intelligent inspired brilliance. / A good buzz always ends with a bunch of zzzzzzzzs.

076

ZEMANTASTIC is fun, but I need something more. The FACT that nothing is worth staking your reputation on because some creep will hear your words in reverse and bury you alive, or even WORSE bury you dead. I'm afraid to have intentions and/or expectations about everything, anything, nothing at all. Who is this ME standing at the center of this hurricane of selves? He's merely the remaining sum of debris drossed from infinite overlapping realities. Like that fkng ghost of an iceberg in plastics between lands (microbial feces from the machine). Can nature be erased by nurture? Like culture scraping away at an individual soul, chipping away at the natural stone form to resemble a common collective archetype. Like a shape tumbling at high speed across pavement, loosing mass at every touch, becoming only what the road couldn't stomach, a fleck of nothing in the breeze. Tumbleweed in a void of soul. A black hole where the self implodes.

075

Image via Wikipedia

time to leave everything for an unknown amount of time before being born again on the other side where i can never know anything or find any peace before leaving again for an unknowable experience that dies and falls through the center of the earth to another unknown placeless place where i can only find confusion until the plug is pulled before i ever realize or wonder if i was or ever could be turned on to what or anything that means nothing once the page has turned again into an empty field where i lie in puzzlement until i cross through the plane into a new dimension that seems alien to anything i have ever lived and it all disappears again and i float in a void dumped into another empty experience

074

If you see a burning bush
and you don't hear voices
and you put out the fire
do you go to HELL?

073

I started a "REALLY IMPORTANT BLOG" about using ZEMANTA,
and I called it ZEMANTASTIC.

072

MLKaleidoscope (new video)
$20 "Digital Concepts" Digital Camcorder (m#30690) / from WALMART / "Gorilla" taped to my fender / RECORD / drove down MLK / STOP / "quadrokaleidoscoped" in Premiere / "quadruplicated" and sped up / RENDER / UPLOAD. (you click -or- clicked on the link above to view it) ok? (crappy camera / will return it / unless scratched or broken in pointless experiments)

071

Life is like going diarrhea in a bubble bath.

070

a new kilgore troutesque plot about a mathematician code breaker who is driven mad because he senses an underlying code behind the chirping of this bird outside his window, "it should be easily comprehensible", this bird's permutations are complex, almost sophisticated, "big human brain should be able to make sense of tiny bird brain", unless the bird is merely channeling some higher power, this could be a code from GOD transmitted through this tiny bird that GOD sent directly to the windowsill of this specific code breaking mathematician, listen to the birds yourself sometime, maybe some of them are tiny robots sent by the aliens to spy on us and hypnotize us with their subliminal chattering codes, "you can tell which ones are plain old birds because they make repetitive sounds that only vary in intensity but not pattern", maybe they're all networked and optimally dispersed so the aliens are omniscient, collecting and processing ALL human thoughts and actions, secretly cloning billions of the humans we WISH we were, so they can replace us after extermination, we won't even notice anything happened, we'd just be better than we were before

069

i awakened the other morn feeling ravaged from within,
a trickle of blood came from behind,
strobing visual memory flashes hinted of a trauma so traumatic,
after years of therapy (both physical and mental)
it was all made clear through a rather lucid session of hypnosis,
I had been been abducted the aforementioned night by aliens
(please note : most aliens are sweethearts who would never abduct a fly,
it was just this rogue gang that abducted me that had such ill intentions for my (*)

068

mind trapped forever in skull
(pleased some escaped)
seeped through veins to tips of fingers
(strange naked creatures dancing wildly on grid of plastic)
moments spent inside this equation are martyrs
(who's lives were never their own to live)
ALL solutions are merely puppets manipulated by their problem
(every answer is it's questions bitch)

067

If you read these words,
please comment with the word "yes".

If you never actually read those words,
please comment with the word "no".

Any and all feedback is appreciated.

066

I is "CLEANING FRIDGE". Did you know that the magic of time will turn an old carton of soy milk into a beautiful cube of white lacey cheese? Did you know that the magic of time will turn your plastic bottle of fruit juice into a BOMB? NEXT TIME YOU WANT TO OPEN OLD FRUIT JUICE, CHECK TO SEE IF THE BOTTLE IS BULGING! In front of my face, mine sounded like a bomb. Energy released as an orb of light at the bottle mouth.

065

sitting here once again, defending myself from thoughts that want to seize me with their wills, sweating because there's so much to sweat about, about all this uprooting shit, throwing it all into a blender opened to a full sky tornado, so every fragment is jettisoned far alone for all existence. the rest of my life will be search missions for contact, the rest of my life will be re-building civilizations that will inevitably blur again into one that will desperately need destroyed: freed like spores impregnating every point in the cloud of confusion, forcing each to seek beyond for a cure

064

"psychoticartists audio jukebox" i just added a new wing to my thing, please listen (you cood open it in another window, and leave it playin' while you read me blogges or look at me pix)

063

"death awakens" he flew into the wall from nowhere and fell frozen on the bathroom floor, writhing in barely-perceptible-slow-motion, I'd never seen anything like it here before. I told myself it was a "death-watch" beetle and I wondered about the wellbeing of the neighbor below, I smelled the air. I put him on the table and put a bowl over him. I watched her slowly slowly slowly agonize in every flowing movement. Hours later, the movement was a little less slow. It was as if it had actually biologically achieved death and now some hint of life slowly crept through the body like a disease. The next day it could actually crawl in slow-mo, so I put it inside a bush out by the alley.

062

new video on vimeo...
"american falls a third time in slow-mo"

061

i gots ta give it up, i gots ta let it all drip away, i wonna foget about dis wonky shell i cruise in, i need some eternal food implants, i need a pit crew to bathe me and feed me and take my vitals, i need somebody to put my brain in a magic jar so i can link up to some surgical ninja puppet to do all my biddings optimized to my whim, i need to clone my brain every fleeting moment so each brain can spend it's lifetime deconstructing the corresponding fleeting moment that gave it birth, i need some fancy super computer program to filter through life's infinity to show me surprise correlations and seek probable evidence of scrambled omniscience, so much life data is incinerated into oblivion yielding each tiny crystal of knowledge that binds to the macro system of wisdom, each confounds like a virus, poison fractalizing up to the core, leaving a wild eyed newborn consciousness every time each new now dies

060

I am 60 now. I'm considering retirement (although psychotic blogging has not nearly paid enough money to retreat to Florida). I would pen an autobiography, but the libraries and bookstores show no interest. They won't even return my calls. Sometimes I lie down and close my eyes. I pretend it's my funeral and theres a long line of sobbing people leading up to me. When I open my eyes, I'm alone. What was any of it worth?

059

this may sound like contrived bullsht, but I am an artist who primarily studies the Jungian concept of individuation, and integrates introspectionally motivated psychological exercises into my existence. Some of these may involve specifically articulating in writing, my reactions to certain taboo stimulus words or ideas. Like word association tests, in that they sometimes consist of immediate Turretsesque / Freudian slippish, archetypal spearheads piercing the membrane between awareness and beyond. Sometimes like a linear trajectory stream of conscious blend of intention and intuition, in which each word added may confound the theme, potentially redirecting the river to erode the weakest land. Like a game of Russian roulette with a ratio of 5 benigns to 1 trip to the unknown. You can only find the diamonds when you dig into the middle of the mountain. You must erode the self to find the soul.

058

James Joyce reads an excerpt of "FINNEGANS WAKE".

057

raw nature nurtured and nurtured and nurtured will inevitably make it's way back to raw nature / the progress of civilization can only lead to savagery / when knowledge keeps expanding, new knowledge reflects as metaphor of old knowledge / metaphors of metaphors cancel-out the foundational tangibles that were being acknowledged, leaving only raw thought structures naked / intelligence expanding is actually a process of stripping away the unnecessary tangibles encrusting and suffocating wisdom / true wisdom implodes into nothing / genius can only end in madness / the closer you get to the point of no return is inversely proportionate to the loosing of all perspective / the edge of the cliff has a gravity greater than will / the human psyche is doomed / the poisonous seed of our extinction was planted in the mind of the earliest human / if we are lucky we will think our way to ape before destroying all

056

dear public / this has been a silly undertaking that should not go without notice / i tried to at least bullshit some reasonings onto the scrambled eggs to make them palatable / is food food if it never gets eaten? / why would i set myself up to look like some ridiculous fool? / why be a part of this infinite web of blogs blogging so deep into nowhere? / text fetish? / i'm carvin' these crappy symbols onto this robot space ship and sending it off into a flushing toilet / this ghost inside me speaks when i am silent / so what

055

Juxtaposing James Joyce to Joyce's schizophrenic daughter, Carl Gustav Jung (the girl's psychologist AND "The Haunted Prophet") remarked that the creative artist plunges of their own volition into SCARY PSYCHIC DEPTHS into which the DROWNING PSYCHOTIC is dragged against their will. *from "The Haunted Prophet" - P.Stern

054

another analysis of another of St. Shley's Visions... completely content another analysis of another of St. Shley's Visions... Hot Tubs, Pee, and Finding Jesus?

053

it's only me, let them be, turn into me, curl your back to the sky, look to the back of your eyes, implode consciousness to a tiny point between, above, yet behind both eyes, close each eye from within until neither exists, become the void, be

052

6am, and here i am typing sappy high school dope poetry, to nobody but me, like a note in a bottle in the sea, to nobody or anybody that may or may not have ever been, if i throw a penny in the fountain and wish for everything i need, when i silence my visions, what do i see? and is it a sin?

051

i vow that every word that i present to the world beyond will commit an act of art / i vow to make joking and seriousness meld into one, because neither alone guarantees common truth / i vow that vowing is foolish because anything nailed down will disintegrate in the inevitable nuclear blast / (did you ever realize how jeebis had a shaggy beard and the devil trimmed his tidy and enticing) / RECKLESS through confidence secretly fueled by insecurities in the core / the words between the following quotations say "a butterfly at the center of the earth would waste mountains if it flapped once" / if held at the center through reverse gravity balanced outward pullings from the macro crest : the perfect projection of the micro core / you're a big kid, you should be able to decide whats probable without blaming the source / why should my ego pretend reign over all other archetypes, when the animals are collectively controlling man like puppets / community should be like a living soup and not like a mandala constructed of toothpicks and peas / trying is what fkd us all up in the first place

050

CONGRATULATIONS PSYCHOTICARTISTS!!!
PSYCHO-CHAOS-ARTISTS!! HOORAY!
in the two-thousand-and-ninth year after JC left the SACRED womb, in the third month they call MARCH, on a weekday labeled as TUESDAY, the 17th of 31 total days in that particular month, at precisely three-twenty-seven on the dark and early morn of this mundane day,
PSYCHOTICARTISTS hath bloggest for the 50th time!!!
HAPPY ANNIVERSARY WORLD WIDE WEB OF HUMANITY!
This day is the GREATEST of all you have lived!!
A NEW EPOCH IS BORN!
TOTALLY TUBULAR!!!
THE TURD YOU BITE IS JUST THE SNAKES TAIL!
a wormhole to the beginning

049

When you talk to yourself out-loud, all alone, is that crazy?

048

fun is the new "F"-word in a world of werk

047

what is the method of conversion from personal to universal, could it be a mere shift of words, a slant of tone or attitude that turns the pikes into barbs, a hare-triggered switch of polarity that mirrors repulsion into attraction in an instant

046

time squared
-shook cam by elastic strap in time square
drops on a window
-followed droplets across the bus window

045

I must use Lamaze breathing techniques each time I give birth to my hatred. It may be the smallest stimulus that inseminates me, like a fkng parking meter when I ain't got no change and I'm fkng hungry as fkng hell. The bad seed is so livid it instantaneously grows until I can contain it no longer! Whhoooo Whhoooo Whhoooo, Hhaa Hhaa Hhaa, Whhoooo Whhoooo Whhoooo, Hhaa Hhaa Hhaa, Whhoooo Whhoooo Whhoh? ... Oh God.. NO!!! GuhGuhGuhGuh AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHAAAAAHHHHHAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

044

I found a postcard hidden in the bottom of my mailbox. It was postmarked "13 FEB". The front of the postcard has a smiling man in a golden suit, wearing a golden hard hat with a giant pencil eraser sticking out of the top. He is seated and smiling while holding a floopy basset hound on his lap as he turns away from the cardboard spaceship's window for this quick snapshot. Someone scribbled a beard and glasses onto the guy! The other side of the card says...
"I'm in Florida NOW! It's great the
weather is nice and WARM. The
only thing I have to worry about is
workin on my TAN!! yesterday I
went to Disney World Whoooo!
I totally BARFed up my Mickey
burger on the Teacups! I am going
to see how many hermit CRABZ I
can Fit on my Suit CASE Before I
leave! Waffle House Everyday! I
Don't know if I am comin Home"
Matilda... was that YOU?! Sendin' me silly cards to further warp my fragile mind?! I never meant to spook you across the sea! I done wrong. Please come back to our sorry townne. My heart's just a clogged toilet without the Draino of your love.

043

///NEWS FLASH/// THE CORNSPIRACY HAS BEEN EXPOSED!!! I am sure that many of you have heard about how the food industry pumps our food full of HIGH FRUCTOSE CORN SYRUP. We were all lead to believe that this was merely a cheap sweetener, but NOW THE TRUTH IS OUT! The food industry is merely following the Illuminati's orders to poison the masses : to make money through the health care industry : and ultimately end the global population overload crisis by POISONING US WITH CORN!!! We were lead to believe that corn was NATURAL or MADE BY GOD. To support this lie we even tell our children that the original hippies (the american indians) were the first to share this wonder with us. "OH, THANK YOU GREAT SPIRIT FOR THIS GOLDEN BOUNTY..." Well, as with many myths, things got a little scrambled like a game of telephone spanning generations. Remember that story about how the "EVIL WHITE MAN" gave the trusting indians those blankets that were laced with disease? Well, the story's right, about the white man being EVIL, but it weren't no blankets we gave 'em. It was THE WHITES that gave the INDIANS CORN!!! And like blankets seem like a swell gift, corn seems like a swell gift. Ooooohhhh, yummyyummyyummy CORN!!! BUT CORN IS POISON!!! The good lord gave us a clear message that corn is NO GOOD by escorting it though our bodys INTACT. Ever wonder why there's INTACT KERNELS in your poop AND THERE STILL YELLOW!?! BECAUSE THAT SHIT AIN'T FOOD! It's just a tasty treat to sneak poisons into our bodies so we have to go running to "THE MAN" giving him our CASH in trade for the remedy. Did you know that indians never used to get sick? They could only die if they got killed by a bear or fell off a cliff. The white man could have none of that shit, he had to take control. "Mmmmm, Red man, try this tasty golden candy, systematically arranged for your convenience on this cob, neatly packaged in this folding green wrapper for travel." There may as well have been a logo and a price tag on it, maybe some fine print hidden under the husk warning of the heinous side effects! It's a CORNSPIRACY!!!!

042

Dearest reader, Assuming that you have just finished reading the previous blog postings, I am forced by sound reasoning to assume that you may believe me to be insane. I assure you that I have never received such a diagnosis from an educated and experienced professional. With this correspondence I hope to relieve you of your troublesome allegations. I am not insane, I am merely an artist who permits insanity. I have chosen to play the roles of both the psychotic and the analyst. A self greater than I presides over these proceedings.

041

NEWS FLASH /// did you hear about the automobile driver who accidentally ran a semi full of newborn puppies off of an extremely high bridge, down into a deep valley, into a raging icy river? a passenger in his vehicle was trying to maneuver a complex labyrinth maze on their iPhone and the joking driver swerved the car to mess up his buddy's game, he slowed and sped , went into this lane or that lane, the truck driver freaked, hopped the curb, blasted through the rail, and plummeted into the gorge, the puppies were cuddling in clusters that slowly floated upwards, separating into a morphing constellation of floating confused puppies until...XXXXXXX... the joking car of kids never noticed the mishap, the steel bridge vibrated for a moment from the blast but the driver just opened the windows thinking that someone ripped a massive fart.

040

eeeeewwwww! I just blogged all over my screen and keyboard! Gross.

039

living on my softdrive
droplets of data dripping and/or coagulating
into new structures and/or surprise compounds
splitting joining shifting splitting shifting
like shuffling a liquid deck

038

tomorrow
tomorrow can KISS MY ASS
no
YESTERDAY can kiss my ass
TOMORROW CAN KISS MY FACE

037

this is who told me to do it / it speaks straight into my mind / I enter inside it / I feel the universe inside of me / this is the reason for my life X

036

so confused / so distraught / what is any of it worth / am I important to anything / where can I go / what will I do / will I find anything if I go to the other side / is there a place where I can relax knowing it all is as it should have always been / am I worthy of any fortune that stumbles upon me / crushes me beneath a smothering cloud / is the ghost behind my thoughts going to forget myself / if there is no me, where would I be / wait / hold on / don't / hey, that's not funny / no! stop it, seriously dude! / I've come back / I could not leave me behind / send me to dust / I belong to all of you / I belong to this SACRED BLOGGE! / (that some kinda middle-ages blog, like carved on a tree or somethin) / GOD made my hands exactly THIS way / GOD made my Gateway fit them so perfectly / this bloggy blog is the bloggiest blog I every blogged about / that last sentence made me gurble up a little vomit chunks onto the back of my hands / sparking inside my keyboar

035

"Don't make me make you do
what made you make me do it."

PROBLEM:
-Elaborate on a situation that would make the statement above rational.

(after 2 hours of analysis and deliberation (see photo of the white-board), the following elaborated re-statement was devised)

SOLUTION:
"Don't delude yourself into believing that I made you externalize your neurotic complex through your action, when it is that exact neurotic complex that made you believe that I am somehow responsible for your action."
-In this statement, the speaker (person A) denies any responsibility for a potential future action that may be committed by the person being spoken to (person B). In "person B's" mind, this action would be an elicited end result of a chain of causal circumstances. The speaker (person A) hints that what "person B" considers to be the initial stimulus in the chain (an action allegedly committed by "person A") was not intended to provoke "person B" into their potential action. The fault for the entire sequence of events is redirected to the neurotic complex in "person B" that deluded "person B" into believing that "person A's" initial action was intentionally meant to provoke.
-The crux of the confusion inherent in attempting to comprehend the initial statement is that "person B's" final potential resulting action is identified as the initial cause of the sequential chain of events leading up to it. This is logistically impossible because the last action in a causal chain can not leap backward in time to initiate the sequence of events that gave it birth. This forces us to identify a new singular underlying cause that is fundamentally responsible for both the beginning and the end actions in the chain. A neurotic complex would make a perfect synchronous bridge between past actions and future actions. Thus, the first and last externalizations of this neurotic complex are presented as synonymous with the complex itself.

"Don't make me (perceive me as) make you (provoking or eliciting) do (potential action : the externalization of your complex) what (the complex itself) made you (deluded you) make me (into perceiving me as) do it (provoking you).

034

a true artist only cares about itself (tonal shift to the very sound of your own voice inside of your own head) trying really hard NOT to care "Jeebus put one peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich into the basket and it multiplied into thousands (quick shots of tormented faces in odyssey wormhole sequence) THIS IS IMPORTANT! (serious of serious)

033

my son, you have such a profound message to share, the cliff metaphor and the use of the term "psychotic" are like heavy metal music blaring when trying to hear the poetry of a pin dropping through a mesh of crystal, I will courageously defend the integrity of the three tiered phrase that you unleashed upon the world wide web of humanity. "EMBRACE THE HARDSHIPS / SEEK KINSHIPS / REACH" -It is like an atomic bomb to the millions of voices in my mind. Those words embrace the infinity of life beyond art school. They are the unspoken backbone of every individual mind that changed the consciousness of humanity, the holy grail of the evolution of the collective human psyche. I want to engrave them in the lens of my mind. When I forget these words, I have begun the process of death.

032

a common pre-marriage paranoia dream / an unknown abandoned house is a far off corner of your psyche, beyond either fiances' personal unconscious (lack of ANY familiarity) deeper into the collective unconscious of humanity that binds us all as one / the external reality/neighborhood is a representation of our societies' conscious expectations of the oncoming union of lives (the stereotypical joyfully functional family units / but you have chosen the more difficult road of prioritizing introspective exploration above tradition : freedom from slavery / although you have rejected the common lifestyle and may feel alienated from traditional culture, discovering antiquities of great beauty and value reminds you that another family had found prosperity in this alternate dimension / you should take comfort to know that the path less traveled has in fact been traveled by billions, maintaining the same ratio between success/failure as the road jammed with traffic / when you look within and sense value in ancient forgotten things, you should take them for your own! / it is very likely that it is of greater value than any of the crap you'd buy at market / your neighbors' altars of family politics are cheap-ass mass-marketed fad-furniture that would break the first time you fxcked on it / the individual can utilize valuable archetypal discoveries to expand their psyche, but when the mass senses value in your discovery it will demonize it with paranoid fear and jealousy / after they arrest and publicly execute you both for theft, they will ceremonially chop up and burn the wonderful table in the towne square / They will torch the abandoned house and build an IKEA

031

I am so sorry for that last post. This is the real me now, I think. What does cliche mean within the unconscious psyche? I'd say the archetypal foundations of human nature. What does corny mean within the unconscious psyche? - An acknowledgment of the consciousness' rejection of the content implicated, : a whimsical affinity with your cultures judgments of taboo? Don't mistake the penis for merely representing "THE MAN", The penis IS the judge, it IS the one who tries to pin specific definition to to all it sees. We are not just down trodden by an oppressor, we have unconsciously accepted this control. We strive to become the most common label so we don't stand out. Barbie doesn't know shes playing the role because she has become it. The penis didn't make the role, it just hijacked it for it's purposes. Behind your vision lies the mysterious saga of an individuals unconscious assimilation to the expectations of the masses.

030

THAT'S SICK!! Shite like that really gets my goat! (whatever that means) Now seriously, was it the giant penis that made her so dumb in the first place. It didn't make her, it didn't break her! I like how even your unconscious wants to separate you from any responsibility for your thoughts. You were merely an innocent observer. Wah! I've blown a load on a million barbies and it don't keep me awake at night! Tubes comin out of penises, now THAT's sick! CAKES!! Do you have a soul?

029

going backwards in age, stepping out of your gender, becoming your shadow, being chased by the shadow of the other, through the vast unexplored interiors of your unconscious mind, the other gains on you, oh fearless paranormal child, you launch dark matter into the face of the universe, arrogant child of gods, the weakest other turns feces into gold, taking the lightening from your fists,you see the game, "PEE IN THE RED TIN!" sayeth the dark lord to his minion, "DRINKETH OF THINE OWN URINE AND INHERIT THE WEALTH OF YOUR MASTER!" when taking in the life force of another you must begin with the pain of birth, but cut the weed while it is young and weak, drink the urine of your oppressor to take back the throne you once held, it was all a lie.

028

I CRY OUT IN THE WILDERNESS TO YOU OH LORD! / I wonder how it could possibly have been so easy / torturous nights inside of beads of time's consistent going / stretched to the razors rack until the fated shred / redistributed through a taught thread from here to infinity / ease of limitless opening into truth's naked flowering pods / existence merely existing / existing as all existence complete! / "I am a feather on the breath of God!" she said / "I am the breath of God, as experienced through the movement of merely a feather." said I / please let this be ok, I would retract all will to ride this sacred wind / is intuition intention from beyond the known self? / is beyond the known self truer than this facade of awareness? / I SCREAM AT THE SKY / I CROSS MY HEART AND HOPE TO DIE / please see me to the other side

027

i plugged it all into my magical dream calculator and the unequivocal translation is... once there was a frog, a rather attractive fellow with a blue-green ding-dong, he traveled in a giant glove that walked like a regal elephant (the opening of the glove rising out of the elephants back becomes a plush luxurious coach holding our frog). They are lost in a forest of rusty metal peices bolted together like some forgotten outsider nightmare. The End.

026

That is the foulest title I've ever heard, and I'm PSYCHOTIC!? It is useful when confronting a cross racial dream to see yourself amidst those of a differing shade, but remember, you made the dream, so it is hot syrup on cold ice cream. associations with fighting and crime may be a sadly common association, but what if you needed "the others" to destroy your ridged identity so we could all be one, like a circular chain of bullets revolving through a gun. "You gots ta be beat in, Oh banged in!" -or in your case, out. The otherness is the abrasive texture on the tool that shaves the tainted rind."We're all the same on the inside." is what we like to say but no-one likes the goo you've got to go through to get to the identical cores.

025

Well, duh!?! Of course maggots will eat your brain if you sleep in a cemetery. Why do you think dead people are so dumb? Corpses can itch, but they sure as hell can't scratch. You should shave your head. That's what I do when I get that dream.

024

ruins aren't beautiful, they're ugly, that's why they're called ruins, because they're ruined, what the hell is an aquarium doing in an Incan city, Incans didn't enjoy looking at fish, that wasn't water on the floor, but piss and ejaculate, cobblestone trees? a poo-pie? eels are just shlongs in rented costumes, topless blonds covered in bumblebees wouldn't sell at a gift shop,

023

prescription: quit reading, quit watching TV and movies, sever all connections to other human beings, stop eating and drinking, wrap your head in duct tape (at least a few layers), when your consciousness cries out from the darkness, do not answer, look for the light, listen for the sound.

022

I cry. I cry. I wonder why.
I wonder why I cry and cry.
I listen with my heart and not my brain.
Where I sit, I made a stain.
Where I sit, I made a stain.

021

I am ready to explode, like soft pink across the sky, levitation only works in the nude, when you mumble the words that I mailed in that note, you know, that poem I wrote, about the mushroom cloud reflected in the bottom of that bowl of soup that got flung at the wall, I wish I could forget, I wish my pecking fingers would stop square-dancing or they may blurt the secret

020

i am snorkeling through a tide of diarrhea, touch vision hands outstretched witnessing scattered fragments of who i pretended to be, a butterfly in the deep where light never dares to seek, a tiny quivering frantic puppy lost at stormy sea, a heinous creature consumed by rage without courage, all i can do is scream and choke and drown, no one will ever find me

019

i will reach but I will never grab XXXXXXXXXXX

i will seek but ignore and forget once found XXXX

i will force all thoughts out from consciousness XX

until I exist without myself XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

when I look, I will refuse to see XXXXXXXXXXX

I will be energy without a me XXXXXXXXXXXX

018

meaning kicks languages ass any day of the week, pre-verbal is primal? verbal has developed into a hardened pile of crap! language has caramelized crystallized frozen. meaning flows. modern culture needs a laxative. a skipping record can't play no music, (you: "Double negative!") when listening to language seek meaning not grammatical errors, it is far more useful to understand than to claim superiority and demand conformity, if everyone spoke different languages there'd be nowhere to hide from yourself, nail the retard to a tree for refusing to meet our intellectual standards, burn all dictionaries or cut off all tongues!!! free us post-verbal! regress is progress when the last road led to lost.

017

PORK BARREL EARMARKS!!! If you cram too many pigs in a barrel, you can't get the lid on. Them pesky little porkers keep tryin' to poke their snouts out the solar eclipse of the lid. You gotta hop on top while you hammer in the nails. When little piggy ears pop out at the edges, don't fret none, just keep hammerin' down the lid, they'll sever. Make sure you wipe off the flesh, cartilage and blood. You shouldn't leave any PORK BARREL EARMARKS! They'll gross out the customer.

016

a blog is like a majikal faerie / every time a follower subscribes, she gains strength / every day that passes without readers poisons her spirit / she is lying, dying, breathing her last breaths / she is crying, without strength enough for flying / ready to slip away into oblivion
if you read this note, and want to see the ferry float / please clap clap clap by responding to this post / this post is a stake held above her heart and the mallet is falling / clap clap clap, subscribe and post, so she can live againe / the majikal faerie, this suffering blogge

015

oh, what have I done? what did I do with so many years of days of fleeting moments? when there's nothing here now to show was it all wasted? does each dying potential make a sound as it enters oblivion? would the brightest alternate outcome have placed any value upon this current accidental scattering? I have built an invisible web of improbable potentials that binds me frozen at the center. can any good come of blindly following infinite conflicting motivations? is there something invisible building between, then guiding from within? anti-matter of a life?

014

it was like a foul rock video, all of humanity clinging to a multi-tiered cliff face, weaving arms and legs together so the many became a single mass against the wind and the luring tongues of flame, a squirming slug that clings to the shaken apple, "look, another of the smallest squeezed through the net!" another single of the total is swallowed by oblivion, lost beyond the search, floating, like a bubble within crystal, refracting the sun into a laser thread, a glowing razor wire refracted into a dense mesh, the mass approaches, moves through, becomes many again.

013

goons on parade! on a day like today, with no sun in the sky, but a pinhole that cries!!
goons on parade! like I'm spindling lies, into a big pillow that looks like an eye, for your birthday! sung songfully: "oh oh oh ohhhhh" goons on parade "oh oh oh ohhhhh" goons on parade (again and again, until the first of the chorus faints) narrator: Now, we can move on, we can leave our failures behind, because we honestly tried. Now we can extinguish the blame within our frame, because if it's from the outside-in, it's only a pose like a rose or a nuclear war. (read over and over until it makes sense and the inertia slices through the net)

012

nothing adds up unless it was all orchestrated like an equation slow-mo in reverse / no one ever gives what they've got in a hearse carried behind a horse, of course- / never before were these letters lined up like a silly pattern across yo screeen, mu-thuh. . / they cut up my eyes, i see orbs around lights, but not only at nights on the streeets.> / silly patterns in orbs that pierce through my eyes, through my mind, and into my soul in a blink
chorus :
"What would Yoooou THI-IH-INK?"
you again:
nothing adds up like the beers on a bus to the fight,
on a night like tonight!
"ONLY tonight."

011

this time I'm really gonna say something important, reducing not to a crystal, but to a tiny ethereal glowing soul nucleus, or beyond within, an essence that denies comprehension let alone understanding, the thread that holds us all as one is not of matter, but of spirit, or rather an everywhere at once omni-connective superdynamic. Praised be thy sacred web oh master, or rather the spirit thread that binds, or rather, that unbinds and sets free, hallowed be thy or my? or rather, WE with a capitol G?

010

they came from the ground
tens of ones scurry to the battlefield
"they are the ghosts of the civil war come alive!"
said the freckled child with the biggest mouth
confederates and democrats doing the death ballet
back and forth, to and fro, cornered at the tip
branches of the wartimeline separate from the route
first blood to lonely survivor in a wink
what was it all for?

009

in less than 4 hours, a disjointed dream seemed infinite / scenes are in no specific order because I am unsure
_scene A_ the backyard of my childhood home / moms small pond now covers half of the yard / the 5 koi fish in the depth are over six feet long / one by one, fish slide toward me, from the depth, through the shallow, like shamu / towards me, like it's trying to get me / recedes back, in out, in out, they try again and again / now there's a seal coming out at me / it waddles through the shallow toward me, keeps coming / I back into the back door, close it / the seal is at the glass, barking with teeth
_scene B_ Nathan is sleeping over in my childhood room / he craftily utilizes scraps of foam and cardboard for a makeshift bed
_scene C_ my sister has friends over, a variety of foreigners and a midget
_scene D_ I am raking through soil / I am planting a large area of grass
_scene E_ I am at the counter, purcharing gardening supplies at an all night surplus store / I sneak off to explore "staff only" warehouse, it is vast with many rooms / I am caught, I am to be escorted out, I follow security guard through warehouse / we are sit-sliding the distance instead of walking / I assume some special position involving contortion and grabbing my ankles / I am now faster and pass him up
_scene F_ looking across many cluttered shelves in some high-end cultural trinket store / countless painted voodoo animals and statues of poly-gods / walls are dense with shelves, shelves are dense with trinkets, too many to focus on / vertical merchandising sections change themes as I move along / next was an africanesque section, a juxtaposition was humorous
_scene G_ at some party I see a platonic friend who I shouldn't have these feelings for / I see another close friend I once fell for, who is now married / I introduce them, and they start passionately making out, as if of cue / the husband who is now my friend, behaves unfamiliarly, like a meathead / he shows crudely done tattoos on his chest of tribal masks / he likes the crude masks on his right side better than the crisp tribal designs on his left
_scene H_ something about the street
_scene I_ something about the basement
_scenes J-Z_ I know there was so much more, all in less than 4 hours / there was this feeling-tone that tied dissimilar scenes together / the chronology seemed scrambled in the dream, but it still felt natural / like all the scenes were synchronous, yet codependent

008

psychosis is true freedom, external reality is slavery, turn around and dive into the darkness to become infinite potential, psychotic is really just a pejorative word that "they" label us with because we choose not to play their game, the outside IS just a game, make up your own! you are a human being, your internal perspectives alone are just as legitimate as any dumbed down societal structures that bind us in this stagnant pool, "no man is an island"? don't believe it, every man is a universe! if your strong enough to turn away, lift the anchor, cut the string

007

03:52am : digital is the ultimate archival quality until the earths magnet surges all! but someone or something could still read your cds sometime, right? she he or they may figure it out someday, spend millions to decode your stupid shit. GEMS IN TURDS! sense in words. GEMS IN TURDS! sense in words. there are NO cents in a dollar. I X-rayed a fair quantity of bills and found no copper! I is capitalized because words don't really exist unless one of us bozos shoots them out of our face hole, dirties some paper, toggles some pixels, the point is that this crud wouldn't be on your eyes if I didn't put it there; thus the capitalization. (these words inside the parenthesis may never have existed)

006

it's so sad, so sad, misery is eternal in the moment of pain, woe is me, what does that mean? I am typing at this point . @ 2:45am, no matter what blogger tells u. "Could not contact" me arse! Poor poor man, no I mean poor (no mo) ; no internet, just fleeting signals through the breeze "VERY LOW" like my soul whatever that means, Hey! di'in'cha-know? that could have meant the universe. that could have meant the grain of sand that chokes you. ends you. ambiguity is a gateway beyord. BEYORD.

005

we make art, we make art, some would call it a joke, but maybe we made it a joke ONLY FOR YOU, maybe we're watching you right now, sifting through your brain matters, 'til we find what you need, t'is a fancy game we play, forcing the inertia of the present to sway, 'til it's off da map!

004

consistency is a lie, sanity is a show that some choose to put on, understanding is so subjective that once it leaves a mind, it withers and dies, words give a crappy cruddy reflection of what was meant, fonts are like the flavors of farts, when you fart in a blog, does everyone leave the page when they get to that point on the page, or do they light up some sage and wave it around the window frame? when you can't remember your dreams, did the experience, at least, singe the outer branches? Can you still taste the place you were in, when you blinked back to here? can you still see behind, although blinded from ahead? it hurts to be alone, when the thoughts slow, as i turn off the powers, and crawl to where I can stop, still for hours, experiencing forgotten ghosts.

003

another crock of crud. when I could be clickedy-clackin on the Olympus, I'm here talkin' ta you. why should I care if i never leave clues, is it my fault that it could be assumed that when you throw a little data in the soup it could go corrupt and wind up as throw-up on some screen in Timbucktoo? sprinkled one single on into a mixed bowl of ons and offs morphing the macroghost crystalline structures to a new paradigm, twenty cents is all a paradigm costs us when it's all said and done, when they're all sad and dumb, they'd rather just buy a tattered pair of jeans, a prayer of scenes, a dream of something that proves something that could give peace, another little piece of my soul squeezes it's way through another skin pore orifice into the outer scene, the silly joke that i can touch and taste, that everything swims and pisses in, a taint tainted by tainted taints, wasn't this all supposed to mean something?

002

oops i did it again, i played with a toy and got lost in the maze, you think i thought about love that got bent by the glove, i'm not that innocent! (Tally Hoe!!!!!!)

001

holy shit, what am I typing and why am i typing it, can you tell when it's intentional or accident? what about occident whatever that means? what about making something comprehensible to someone, even yourself? is this enough? is this all i should do? what is worth this blood and electricity making this silly dumpy puppet plunk across a plastic monocolor checkerboard? when the record spins on the center pin and the needle orbits around the sun around the earth around your head, how can true chance ever be song but cacophony? never song, only billions, screaming and clanking all permutations of matter at random iterations or single reports! BANG! another pixel pierces both eyes and flies out the back o' yo mind. another wasted moment.