Triptych Series order. Stage 5.5 and 6 of #II

Imposter!

Sometimes hunger is thirst in disguise.

Triptych Bind 1

I am finished for today. I do have to work and all... It's not always playing in the garden, this life. I am not finished with these pieces, and will return to mutilate the emotionless parts.

Working the Cat's Paw.

This is the point in my painting, where I have to be very careful. I know how I feel about these pieces individually and together. Getting my feelings across is not the hard part. Not destroying my feelings is the hard part.
And I want the viewer to get whatever they get out of it. If they get nothing. Okay. If they get more than I intended, that's okay. But I still have to give them something from me. Something that only I can give. I have to be careful not to make anything predictable. I want the viewer to own this painting with me. I want them to see new things in it every day, and for years to come. If they want to turn the pieces upside down or mix the triptychs.. I'm prepared for that too. And that is the challenge here. To truly give.

Maybe a couple more stages to go if I can keep my control and my vision in tact.






This is a cradle I found under the house I have been helping to renovate. Is it creepy?

What's going on.

I'm pretty tired I guess. I'm burning both ends. I'm not eating very much. I have no pride in my job because the recent management overhaul blows. I finished the memorial painting of PJ the dog for a friend. I worked on the triptychs some last night. Have at least another round to go before I would feel okay about sending them out of here.
Have been doing alot of work on the property we purchased. I will take some pictures (maybe tonight as I rip up floors) and share.

Are there animals who have internal organs on the outside so to speak? Like creatures who function inside out? Because that's how I feel.

Below is a picture of our superstore on the island.

red carpet

TT 1 and 2 VERT

There will need to be some muting and texturizing still. I think another three or four hours on them should do it. Plan to be finished by Monday.

Nemesis..... Emesis

All of the things that I think uncontrollably and involuntarily and don't share..
things that no one anywhere knows that I feel
are more important to me than you think they are.

I'm not gonna say, "It doesn't take anything to crack the case."
I'm not going to threaten you if you discover my fear.
I will say, that there is no case a man can make against me... that I have not already feared, if you follow me at all.


Here is Triptych I stage 3.



I will flip them all to a vertical position soon and also show a before and after process with each set.

Dear Buyer,

I haven't abandoned the assignment YET. You know how these things go by now.

Triptych Series order. Stage 3 of II

Inspirational Poster

Lately, I have been feeling... exposed.

But I have also been pretty productive.

Productive to me is:

killing mice and spiders.
feeding starving dogs.
slapping layers of neutral colors over the fluorescent insanity that bleeds from me like oxygen.

Productive to me is:

Keeping my tongue flat for longer than my hands are busy.
Hunting art and being compassionate about it.
Getting through a chapter before going to the next book.

Productive to me is:

Checking in on who the fuck it is that I think I am
and finding someone home who isn't fucking crazy or an invalid or angry, and raising them up to advance and never retreat.

For now, and then we work.

Triptych Series order. Stage two/ 2 sets.

I'm having issues with the assignment.

Triptych Series order. Stage one 2 sets.

Global Demolition

Demolition is so much fun.

Update, Bitches.

Where am I at right now?

For all of my masked indifference, I feel like all of my successful relationships with creatures and noncreatures on Earth are 100% the effect of being obsessively accommodating.

Recently, I awarded myself with a basic need. Interaction with people that I need.

On the off time from the physical demands of a Hell Shack renovation on the Bering Sea.... in the smallest village rounded out heavily with full blown "villagers" on the edge of the planet, I try to find music and art and philosophy that cranks my rusty chain. I feel it yanked alot, but it's nothing I can't handle. I still swim with the fish.

My family... my loved ones.. are all battling deep personal tragedy, and I am the finger tips of their current. I fuck the sky blindly when no one is watching, when no one that matters can bust me.

Lately, I think... I like the Commodores.

And my recent freak out with my ability to process Mark Rothko's work... Resolved. When I leave this seat, I will "express" my feelings for Disco as if I was endlessly terrified of my own politics.

There's more to me right now I suppose.

But I am dissolving the worst of it, and will return when I have something solid enough, yet soft enough to process, and I will seek one of your wise wise wise medicinal quips, that will no doubt set me straight, right, and thrust me back into the same fucking place in line that I curse out all of my verses from... at you... constantly oblivious... and I will sustain my hunger by eating my heart to spare my soul.


Shiver me timbers.

Fire is come. Fire is gone.

Number one.
Number fucking one.

Tonight's Photos

My Disclaimer. My First Aid Skills. Mona Lisa

I am going to use you. I am going to use you more than you may have ever been used. I am going to take and take and take.

And what I give in return may live in the shadows of your sacrifice to me until the end of days, but you should know that I can't breathe without you. I'll make it up one day. But for now, I hope you can swim with me in a panic.


A psycho personal tornado shreds the thousand thoughts that blink my eyes.


What keeps me calm is knowing that your turn to batter me within inches of my life... to keep your head above water... may be coming. And I wouldn't miss that for anything. That's real gold, and everything else called gold is ash.

grave

Let me preface this entry by saying that sometimes I come across harshly. As if I didn't care about the people I talk about. Recently, I told a friend that I was too self involved to really care.. IN retrospect that was venting to someone I think understood me. And understanding me, you would also understand that I probably don't mean it. But the truth is, I don't know what I mean. WHen trying to personally process pain or grief (which this village has been drowned by) I have removed myself from telling anyone who asks what I think about our dreary summer. Our summer of death. What I have ultimately realized is that it doesnt matter at all what I think about all this death. The person asking (usually an outsider) is just waiting to tell me what they think. Some gram of wisdom meant to sooth me. Meant to prop me up. Meant to turn my frown upside down. I am not saying I don't like interaction with the human race. In this case, I am saying... Just shut the fuck up. Just listen. Just watch. Don't replay your own personal tragedy from ten years ago to make mine look less dismal. And don't wrap it up in a fucking pat on the hand and a sympathetic practiced flash in your eye.

Today we had another funeral. It was Russian Orthodox in nature like all the rest. You don't get buried in the cemetery here if you aren't Russian Orthodox. That's right. You get buried outside of the gate. Even if you choked to death. Even if you were one of the 30 graves of unmarked victims from the Flu Epidemic in the 20's. Even if you hadn't even learned to walk yet. Anyways.

I didn't go to the funeral. I did prepare the space today though, like I always do.. alone.. for some reason... I cover all the children's art with cheap white sheets and a stapler. I take down signs that say "no running". I pull out the podium and the skinny white candles. I line up enough chairs for the immediate family, because everyone else has to stand for the service.

The service is done by a priest or lesser who is flown out to the village. He typically wears a long black dress, is unshaven... looks like Nick Nolte and seems giddy when you hand him cash for his efforts... A donation. The same guy has been coming for the past few services.

After some words about life and all that, everyone is invited to kiss the corpse. So, I stay home. Some people go just for that... I truly believe that. Not many... But even three drama queens in an island population of 25 is enough to make you sick. So.. I stayed home and children came to be with me instead of the services. We made three pizzas that I had prepped the dough for the night before, just like Alton Brown.

There is always a feast after the body has been lowered into the ground. You can see the grave from the window as we line up to take food from all the families who prepared it. A 15 foot long countertop usually holds it all. 5 fold out tables, 30 chairs...

I give my hugs. Show my respect. Put spoons in everyone's dish. Make coffee. Make jokes. Make myself up in presentation. Terrified that I will have to say something I couldn't plan and just fuck it up lousy, in the face of someone who lost their mother. Lost their grandmother. Someone I knew too, but not enough to want to invade their goodbye.

I look over during the meal, and see the priest chug a coca cola and the whole prop of religion just fell through the floor and I laughed out loud. It was probably listening to "We Care Alot" as I mopped the floor before the memorial that got me through the day. Now... I am looking for songs I haven't heard to get me through tomorrow.

I think I tried to say initially, that I am not cold even though I present events like a newscaster sometimes. That's my way. If you really did know me, you would read my candid and flip comments as they were truly inspired.

I AM devastated but the recovery is instant when I have to take care of you.

How old do you have to be

I feel like I understand something now.

I have the same pain in my heart. I have the same obstacle in my speech. I have the same monster in my dreams.
I have the same cramp in my style.
The same flinch in my response.
The same anger in my compassion.

I have the same hunger in my rage.
The same sadness in my resignation.
The same confusion in my seeking.
The same aggression in my judgement.
The same weakness in my flexibility.
The same fucking alphabet to give license to my terror on worlds.

You tell me. I've already told you. But I'll rephrase it until my every inch is destroyed by the antagonists we run from.

new shit... only, its old after seconds.

dave matthews slits his pasty throat.

..I feel like sometimes, I am
this machine that bashes and fillets wildlife. Every screw and cable
and beltway of me is embedded with sinew and the guts of each minute
launches into this judgmental and shallow header, that hangs
like a hole at my gate, my unholy entrance, and it doesn't stand a chance in my whiz of a meat grinder... I try to shove aside and save every piece of soul before it enters me. I am a mess of my own job at being me.



I drank whiskey tonight. If I had drank Vodka, I wouldn't be sitting at a computer. I would be off punching elders and stabbing delinquents. True stories. Doctor me.

There's something wrong with me. It's not obvious. I mean, yeah... there's obvious shit wrong with me, but here's what isn't wrong with me...

I hate Hootie and the Blowfish.
I hate The Dave Matthews band.
I hate Blind Melon.
I hate Creed.
There's a shitload of other music I hate, but there isn't enough invisible paper to house the listing. That's what I get for being too lazy to change satellite stations while vomiting up 9 midnight paintings.

Back to what's wrong with me.

Where do I begin?

I must be obsessive.
I must be compulsive.

True. You got me. I've faced it. Nurse me.

But I wasn't those things before I melted down. Before I melted down, I was stable, and I could want things whenever it fell into my every day function. I am no longer functioning. I am careening. I am back to bouncing off of the walls of my own stable. I feel fine. I can mother my child. I can answer phones. I can make a 5 star dinner with cabbage and will. I am stressed. I am working my hands like mad to fill in for my mind. It can only last so long, and I fear my heart.

Maybe it isn't fair to say I was stable. I was resting. And I don't fear my heart. I re-introduce myself.