I took this picture. Its probably painted over by now...

I took this picture. It's probably painted over by now...

I’m not doing much.

I have an Acrylic On Canvas I want to get framed. I have not painted it yet but I know it needs to get framed. It will be a recreation of the painting described in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, of the painting of the actual Dawn Treader. I hope that sentence made sense.

I’ve been thinking about graffiti more and more. About the concept at least. Going out, and, in the defiance of rules, creating art.

Anywhere a concrete structure is, it’s part  of it’s environment. So, when a graffiti artist sprays a stencil or draws on concrete of=r any structure they are not  simply adding art to something pre-existing. It’s not like hanging a canvas on the wall. The canvas can be moved, picked up. The canvas is it’s own object. Separate from the other. The canvas is unrelated to the wall.

But it’s different when a graffiti artist bombs a wall. Here the word bomb means “the act of writing a grafitti tag in a highly visible public place.” ( They are not just putting something onto something else, they are changing the object in question.

They create transformative art rather than additive (yes, here the word “create” can be argued against, as one does not (usually) build the structure one bombs). This is pro-active rather than passive and therefor a logical artistic extension of the city-dwelling attitute.

There is something else. If art is about saying something, then the real primal human beauty of graffiti is in it’s recklessness, because the artist has something to say and he or she refuses to acknowledge society’s laws and taboos.  They want people to see and to read and too know. And this is, if nothing else in the world is, art.

I’m not comparing graffiti to any other art; and I’m am definitely not saying that it is more noble, or more true, or that one is better than another.

I’m merely choosing to celebrate this reckless abandonment and brutal public exposition. I want to learn from it. I want my own art to be more active, more forceful, more like whatever essence of harsh, messy expression that graffiti artists seem to possess.

In reality, all of the arts are vital; theater, dance, film, literature, poetry, doodling on napkins, oil painting, drip painting, finger painting, screen printing,  LED tagging, tatoos and a trillion other things.

Little bits of human souls and feelings locked in images. It’s pretty and it says things and all that. But,in the end, it’s the only way we can really show ourselves to others.

I celebrate myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.

Walt Whitman

from Song of Myself

Duckie Nightstand
February 23, 2009, 9:54 pm
Filed under: Mysteries | Tags: , , , ,

I need to get a mask.


No spray painting untill then.

February 21, 2009, 1:05 pm
Filed under: Blogging, Mysteries | Tags: , , ,

February 18, 2009, 4:26 pm
Filed under: Mysteries | Tags: , , ,

February 17, 2009, 2:03 pm
Filed under: Blogging | Tags: , , , , , ,

I was excied about the car. I left.

I went here:

I saw these things:

I love those wind chimes.

I full grocery store. Just smaller and without the eye dissolving florecent lights or the gigantic ads everywhere.

Coolest toy store ever. It's all wooden and handmade.

Pretty proud of this one actually.

Nothing says Germanic authenticity like tarantulas.

*Shrugg* "I don't know where your children are."

This is actually outside of town, but, whatever.

This is actually outside of town, but, whatever.

so that was ok. i eated funnel cake and bratwurst. yay.

The Silver Turtle
February 15, 2009, 11:16 am
Filed under: Blogging, Mysteries

The ’97 Ford Taurus.

A material cacophony of steal and silver, of curves and reflection. A machine of my own blood; a mechanical wonderland of speed and oil and dreams.

I has one.

Giddy up

The Caboose

The Caboose

Faded, but full of love.

Faded, but full of love.

Seperate but equal. Well, only seperate during that time of the month. You know what I mean.

Seperate but equal. Well, only seperate during "that time of the month." You know what I mean.

Yes we did.

Yes we did.

What my knee did while I was taking the Obama photo.

What my knee did while I was taking the photo of the Obama/ Biden sticker.

Sory for the blur. But still, time for some sweet penultimate technology!

Sorry for the blur. But still, time for some sweet penultimate technology!

I’m very happy. That is all.


love yourself.
February 11, 2009, 12:24 am
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags:

To-morrow is Saint Valentine’s day,
All in the morning betime,
And I a maid at your window,
To be your Valentine.
Then up he rose, and donn’d his clothes,
And dupp’d the chamber-door;
Let in the maid, that out a maid
Never departed more.
(William Shakespeare, Hamlet, Act IV, Scene 5)

Eggs In a Basket yyyEAAhh
February 7, 2009, 10:19 am
Filed under: Mysteries | Tags: , , ,

Step 1! You cut a hole in the bread

Step 2! You stick your egg in the bread

Step 3! You cook the egg and the bread

And that’s the way you do it…


Egg in a basssket, giiirrrrl!

Stone Table System
February 3, 2009, 8:33 pm
Filed under: Blogging, Mysteries | Tags: , ,

Break. Heal. Scar. Strengthen. Break. Heal. Scare. Strengthen. Break. Heal. Scar. Strengthen.

I need a more interesting life. I mean, no. Yeah. No.

I smell the skin of someone who sits near me and it drives me to lonesomeness. A warmth that I will not know and if I know it I’ll never feel safe with it. I’ve been trained by stories and experience to not feel safe in anything resembling a relationship. I just want to hug, to hold hands. I don’t want fuckin’. I’m pretty sure I never really did.

Hullo Valentine’s Day. You don’t mean anything. You’re like water skiing, I just always assumed we would never have anything to do with each other. I’ve been right about this assumption seventeen times already. So, the eighteenth one should pass quietly enough. It doesn’t bother me. Holidays are weird like that. I always feel like they belong to someone else. Like a strange car in the parking lot. I’m not going to go up and touch it, and I have no inclination to. I see it, I’m aware of it. But I just flow on.

River water does not stop to feel lonely for the scent of the flowers it passes on its way, it just goes on it’s way. So will I not tarry is in bitter stillness.

Quickly river wind
Channel benign turbulence
Picking at my scarf.

Glass wall. Electrons.
The Net gives, no questions asked
The Net takes away.

And the words won’t come
For the one unselfish want:
Skin can feel skin felt.


An Abundance of Katherines
February 1, 2009, 12:11 am
Filed under: Uncategorized

my my. how good.