Tuesday, March 17, 2015

Fwd: Disturbing exhibit with profanity and a dildo in the gallery space, empty beer and wine bottles, exposed food

Got a wonderful email forward to me this morning. I am so thankful to be sharing studio space with such brave, powerful, "artists"! "Opened food"? I think I left 3 cookies and maybe a dozen cheese balls in a plastic bowl because I had to rush home with Gordy who was running a 104 fever with Coxsakie. I am the one who is offended! And I am certain that these children and parents and people she speaks of are the precise people that SHOULD see my art. GO COWARDS! Anyway, here it is! Enjoy!: "...Do you have Phil's email address and phone number? He set up an exhibit Saturday that he said would be up just for the weekend. I told him I teach children here and asked him if it would be down by Tuesday, which is when my first kids class is this week (I have a very conservative adult coming tonight for lessons ). He said yes. I am hopeful that he will take care of this within the next 24 hours, but I arrived today to no Phil, and empty beer cans and wine bottles, as well as opened food, left out in the gallery space, all art still up. We know there is a problem with mice. I teach children from ages 6 to 12 and know that many of them would be disturbed by this work. This is not a show their parents would choose to take them to. Some of the parents hang out in the gallery space to chat or get work done while their children have lessons with me. I am quite certain they will not be happy if this art, and the empty beer bottles, are still there come tomorrow. It is imperative that I get in touch with Phil to confirm that he cleans the space and also takes the offensive art down before my class tomorrow."

Sunday, December 14, 2014


Oh, I don't know. Lately, I've been hung up on Lawry's Seasoned Salt. I say it in my mind as I'm driving or walking down the street. "Lawry's Seasoned Salt". It's not that I'm even interested in it. It's just there, those words. I guess I briefly wondered who the hell Lawry was but that's about it. And I don't even use the shit. We have a big thing of it in the spice cabinet that's probably been there since we moved in here. It's probably filled with dead weevils. I can't listen to good music anymore. I listened to Elliot Smith last night with Jack Grace and he was way better than I remembered. That dude was John Lennon-good! But I don't need to listen to it. I don't need to listen to anything anymore. Everything gets in my way now. I have no desire to talk to hardly anyone anymore, even the people I enjoy talking to, unless they're able to make me laugh. I just want to laugh. Fuckin' make me laugh, motherfucker, or leave me the fuck alone! That's it, that's all I need from anyone. It's a lonely business, this life thing. But like I said, I think the painting is finally working. Something powerful is definitely starting to surface. And it's easy, calm. I'm even starting to gain a bit of control finally. I can take my time with it and not worry about it leaving me, vanishing. When I'm painting, I feel like I'm riding along in the mouth of a giant wale. But what does that even matter? It's just a way to pacify yourself. There's no difference between a great painter or musician and a really good office clerk. In the end, we all get cooked. Fried, steamed, stewed, roasted, baked, microwaved, bbq-d… Or hell, maybe you get eaten alive? But it's gonna happen. So then why do we even bother? What's another anything anymore at this point? Why write? Why paint? Why endure? Why is there the need for there to be anything more to it? Isn't whatever's already there in front of your eyes enough? Yeah, I don't know, man. Lawry's fucking Seasoned Salt baby! Why the hell not?

Monday, December 8, 2014


Dear Philly, Hey dude, you remember hearing about that Mexican girl who was 9 months pregnant being beheaded? I'll spare you the rest of what they did. It happened a few years back but I can't stop thinking about it again. The concept of there being a God that doesn't at least every now and then make an exception and intervene when it comes to something like this makes me hope to one day meet the sorry son of a bitch so I can disembowel him and stuff his severed cock right up his precious little rectum. I really don't know how any of us keep going anymore. I look back at everyone I've ever loved and it's like they're standing on some concrete platform on a foggy night, smiling, waving back at me. You know what I mean? It's like none of this is actually happening. I tell ya, man, it's a lonely fucking business, this life, a one way ticket to total annihilation… You ever watch Joel Osteen? Holy fucking shit, man! And people are afraid of ISIS? I enjoy the crowed shots the best. Blobs of fear and repression, nodding along, clapping, while this twinkly eyed little un-lived faggot siphons out more money than anyone could possibly know what to do with. It just gets to where you long for nothing but nothingness. I no longer even want what I want. You know what I'm saying? Oh, wait, shit, I almost forgot why I was even writing to you. Kerouac, man. What are your thoughts on Kerouac? I got into an argument with some little prick the other night about him. I think he's the most overrated writer that ever lived. Of course, he had some talent and energy, but he's just such a fucking pussy. He'd fit right in in your little bullshit town up there. Oh, I've been there. I went to the museum. I walked around for a couple of hours. There was only one artist that did anything for me- that Bruce Nauman dude. Everything else was just like everything else these days. But there was certainly some great little asses strolling around in there. I always get worked up in large, sterile environments like that. Airports are the fucking worst. I think I've jacked off at least once in every airport I've ever been to. Shit, I gotta go. I'm getting my eyes checked today. Been wearing the same pair of disposable contacts for 6 or 7 months now. Feels like I'm shoving a toenail in my eye when I put 'em on. So, yeah, Kerouac. Please tell me you don't like Jack Kerouac! Your boy, Stew…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………... Dear Stew, Yes, I agree, Kerouac is childish bullshit. The only thing he ever did like a real man was drink himself to death. But who the hell cares? Some people write books, some people drive a garbage truck. Nothing matters but children, but then children just become us. The whole goddamn thing is teetering at the very brink. And we haven't the information to do a single goddamn thing about it. It's over, brother. There's not a chance in hell for the human race to continue anymore. We got our shirt sleeve caught in the meat grinder a long long time ago. I think you'd better stock up on those contacts. I doubt you're going to be able to get 'em for much longer. Or hell, maybe you shouldn't even go? You might not want to see what exactly is going to be coming in for the kill. As for Bruce Nauman, I agree with you again. Joel Osteen? Are you fucking kidding me? I watch him every chance I get. It's mesmerizing. I'd give anything to hook up with that dude! Now THAT'S art! He's a goddamn fucking genius! There is no way in fucking hell the man believes in God. Not a chance. It's absolutely incredible. But now this pregnant Mexican girl getting beheaded! Is there a video of it? I've never heard a thing about this. Please get back to me on it! GO SOONERS!

Friday, December 5, 2014


It was spectacular and then it wasn't, but sometimes it was again.

Friday, August 22, 2014


But they will merely bring the truth in closer to the lie. As the fear runs like a rat through your brain. As your enemies become innocent, as we all become one. A humanity condemned to confusion, our love engulfed by the sun.

Wednesday, August 13, 2014


I have to share this with you all, with the world. The most amazing thing happened to me last night. It was probably around 12:30, 1:00. Sarah had gone to bed. We had watched a movie, The Source Family, an amazing documentary about this crazy 60s cult. You should really watch it. Then we watched the last episode of Louie which was okay, not great, but okay. I haven't been able to deal with his friend who's now become his new girlfriend. She bugs the hell out of me. But I gotta say, she really pulled it off on this last episode. Anyway, after that, Sarah went to bed and I poured myself another glass of wine. I flipped it to channel 13. For years, I've been trying to watch those late night English television shows. I can tell they're really great, I want to watch them, but for some reason I just can't get into them. I don't know what it is. It's like I go cross-eyed or something. I can never tell what the hell's going on. And the character's voices all sort of blend together. It sounds like I'm at Grand Central or at a busy bar or something. I don't know, maybe it's because I always try to watch them after I've been drinking for a few hours? So, anyway, I tried to watch one of those and gave up. Then I flipped open my computer to see if Ogrish or Liveleak had any videos yet of ISIS beheading children. Nothing. I'm starting to think it might be bullshit. The world has just gone completely fucking insane. That's really why I go on here. I like seeing pictures and reading posts by people who are still trying to pretend it's not. They are so frightened, they simply block it out. But we all know it's happening, it's coming. You can't honestly think anything's going to right itself in our lifetime. No, trust me, we're about to face some of the darkest days humanity has ever known. Many of you, if not most, hell, maybe all of us, are about to suffer immensely. Soon, it will be nothing to see bloated corpses in the middle of the street. It's the children that kill me. I can't even look at my sweet little boys without biting my lip anymore. I know it's coming and I have no idea what to do for them. It crushes me. I want to die a million horrible deaths to save them from it. Anyway, I know I know, this is getting too long. So here's what happened. I watched a couple horrendous car crashes in Russia and then I closed the computer and when I looked up, I shit you not, there he was! I'm serious! He looked exactly like in the pictures. He was just sort of hovering there at the doorway, smiling in this beautiful, warm light. "Is that you?" I asked. He bowed his head. "What are… I mean, why?" Again, he just bowed his head, smiling peacefully. "Am I right about what I'm seeing? I mean, with the world. Is it really as bad as I think?" He nodded again, but his expression had changed. A bit of sadness had taken over. "Hey, let me ask you something. If you were me, you know, living in the now, would make art or write a novel?" He only shrugged his shoulder's to that one. "Yeah, it's just so fucked up. I don't know how anyone knows what the fuck to do. Everything's just so fucking meaningless… Hey, do you think it was wrong of me to fuck up my mother's rug like that? Turning it into art like that?" He was no longer looking at me at this point. "Jesus?" I said. He still wasn't looking at me. He was sort of looking up with his eyes halfway closed. Then his head started to sort of wobble around a bit. A long stream of saliva snuck out of the corner of his mouth. That's when I looked down and saw what he was doing. The fucker had his hand inside the crotch of his robe and he was going to town. "JESUS CHRIST!" I yelled. He kept going at it. "Hey, man, what the fuck? Stop that shit!" That's when he came, erupting in a shivering spasm. "Awe, man," I said. He took a couple deep breathes and then he smiled and put his hands together and nodded to me as if he was thanking me. "Fuck you, man! That was fucking bullshit!" He shrugged his shoulders and then I watched him drift backwards and fade until he was gone. "Fucking hell, man!" I said. I sat there for minute in disbelief. Then I laughed. "That figures," I thought. "There's no way anyone's ever going to believe me." I knocked back the rest of my wine and I went upstairs to bed.

Sunday, August 3, 2014


In homage to the rain about to come. His socks were too tight and his family was gone. Not for long, maybe a week. And now he had no idea what to do with himself. Waking up in strange silence, the stillness of their clothes and toys all around. "Hey, that's it!" he thought. "That's what it is, that's what it has always been all along- everything floats. No wonder I have never found a way to be human that has ever not felt wrong! Or who knows, maybe this isn't our life yet at all?" and just then a friend he hadn't seen in some time came up. They went right into it. It turns out his father had killed himself. He was only 3. And then only recently, he had found out that it was he and his uncle who had found him. He had no memory of it. But he had other memories of that time. Blisters on his feet from shitty shoes. Going to that barn, the same barn where they had found him. He said he remembered being the first to run down to see the new piglets, but now he thinks maybe there were no piglets. That maybe it was finding his father, and there had been some sort of protective reprogramming involved. But he had no interest in the subject. He had always been content to keep moving on. But there was another memory- one of their chickens had been bitten in half by their dog. "It just kept pecking away," he said, sort of laughing, "and the corn meal just spilled right out." Like