retreat / mixed media / wood board

there is nothing to lose

except life, which is lost

as it began-

everything is growing

take it all as it comes

if its painful,

bear the pain-

this is everything

until its lost,

when its gone

impossible to know,

this is beautiful

when you fail

the utmost

to learn from that,

bear it all

for that is life

whisper aloud

what you know

in the dark

and your heart & mind

will be clear and calm

okay.

terrace / mixed media / canvas

hear the plea

of time / 

keep on living,

that's the plea.

affecting
to the silence
cold in a sweat
up at 3
up at 4
up at 5
up at 6
passed out
at 6-
to tired
to affect
the phone, asleep
my affected head
where you smile
outside, & you
outside, & the luminant
hollow plea
of this,
now taken back
from the dream
to the silence
without affect
where is this place
but here
how much
the sweat leaves a blank
impression
on my face
on my pillow
on my dreams
swallowed in
everything that was before-
it comes now
as the affect,
praying softly
under breath,
take me to when
you were biting my back.

ive opened up my own gallery in my house / i already have a lot hanging up and plenty of space to show paintings that are rolled up or in storage. people can make an appointment and stop on by. the site has a comprehensive list that i'll work on keeping updated detailing what is available. enjoy.

casket / mixed media / paper

demigod / mixed media / paper

clap hands / mixed media / paper

A body hungry

clean & safe

can pass away,

in a riotous flare

burning piety.

there's no hand holding

here. cross the street,

with the sound /

of humming /

cars,

dangerous play

mass shivering

exaltations,

the river full of

ice & fear,

floating lazy

memes, 

all the drowning swimmers

can't see / the beauty-

besotted by

clean & safe / things

all's quiet

in this tremor

waking

coughing spit,

a body hungry-

for the real.

instead &

jackets

kong,

don't meal out.

drunk enough on

multi-course banquets

its only better

to An Australian 

Snow.

revolt the songbird,

she's Stuck /

let her cry to the empty pool

her drowned lips /

in a red cup,

interiors / mixed media / paper

sweater - k.i.a.

sake bottle - k.i.a.

cowboy killers - k.i.a.

the drug dealer was interrupting

my napkin art with bad proposals

k.i.a

matisse

gauguin

van gogh

i'll find it all,

in valhalla

empty banana box

in the landscape

beside a cold chase tree

crumpled beaten

folded & stretched taught,

wordless-gratifying in

winter sun.

fortune / mixed media / canvas

spam

thousands of oil paintings for sale:

water lilies
bridges
steam engines
trains
nudes
musicians
cars
bugs
dogs
players
deceased
war
clouds
sun
shine
rain
fair-weather
faces
light
color

pears

an empty session of midnight
walking the alien world, symbols have become broken
the closing hour awakened by an endless closing hour
so thankful that i have gotten
back to the road, to the line, life a nice path.
each sigh
is a breath
decency measured only by the words and actions
belief
broken chorus music, all the same, a tired
wobbling. prepare battlements and
luster. never feeling better
but agonized and passive
throw me into the wild water and let me swim.
i can.

what hour troubled by

the dream's demise

a desire broken

in shining fragments

of untold things,

born from what

dearth in an

aching heart,

waiting

by a black pool

watching snow-
fall,

A residue
of untold desire

running far
from A
pursuing
cry

walked home past all the houses and the dry leaves crunching underfoot, hearing the whiskey bottle jig. walked past an old car where inside kids were smoking marijuana hiding. i gave them a look that must have put terror in their bellies, i could imagine the nagging paranoia and the strange delusion of a dream that it may seem; 3 in the morning with nothing but the sound of wind and then all of a sudden hearing the madness pulling up the sidewalk, eyes all bright, the muffled sound of despair trying to escape from out of my chest, a world of noise descending from the pits of the dying night. i could already feel the air changing. i cannot remove their faces from my own, & i can only wonder if they feel the same. inside the house was quiet and removed from the world.

i made a sandwich, watched exactly 5 minutes of television constantly flipping through the channels and my dog underneath begging incessantly. sometimes i imagine his cries of pain as he fell from the stool, wriggling unable in the flash of an instant to jump as he used to. a dull pain sits in my head and will not go away. i pile the dishes and drink a glass of water as fast as i can. i want nothing. there is nothing in this world for me at this hour; i climb into bed and stare off towards tomorrow. i hate thinking about tomorrow. when i turn the light off i remark to myself that its better without the light. somehow everything has eased off, like going down a slide. maybe the dreams will be good. i know when i close my eyes that i won't remember the instant of conscious realization in its last breath, that thought however illuminating will cease to exist because i won't remember. sometimes i edge my mind at this point hovering for the epiphany and then when it comes i turn the light back on and scramble for some paper and a pen to write it down. the problem is that when you do this it fails to hold together as wonderfully as it did in your mind. so in writing it down it becomes the same exercise as living; never quite what you considered it to be in your mind. these fractured visions pollute the serenity of an ignorance. its not something to want, only an aspiration of a weary mind and body that simply want to exist without having to consider anything. let it be, & another sleep comes on, another move in my transport towards the end.