death

it comes.
its in the eyes,
they have the capacity to communicate the precise emotion of it, the way it is coming right then.
it can come quick or slow or in sleep and it has no knowing of anything
and it is impossible to communicate one thing to it,
fathom the deep pit,
look inside of it
and it is simply a nothing
abstracted upon.

when you see it come
and when its not for you
there is an awful sense of shame
and empathy,
the shame within yourself
as you cannot do more to help,
and empathy
because it is a common thing
between all things.

the most notable element
is how we run, how we coalesce through the darkness
it has nothing to do with what we make to define anything
its only driven
and it drives
the great universe is at its mercy, the cold halls of space
entertain this darkness too

i cannot swallow
my hearing is out
the storm is fast approaching
and my legs aren't holding
they shake,
and buckle
but my eyes are ready
time upon
let it in
because it was in you

entertain the reaper
flicker past its scythe
touch it like it was it and then
duck away, and smile, flirt

i know that its there
and it will not go away
so let us be friends of understanding
but not friends of overnight stays.

rockstar

i am the legend;
from the stories about being young and drunk fucked up
fucking, & lost,
all the world
with every head turning for a second
cause they almost know me
with long hair and shades
and not caring
so that they whisper about my daring
maybe i dove off a bridge intoxicated
crashed a car i borrowed through a wall
was leading a revolution
i die only in a glory
smoking cigarettes with the grim reaper
always doing my best
the mindkiller doesn't exist,

yesterday i saw him at the show with a girl
the insatiable
where nothing is enough
just the love of action and adventure
trouble and induction
and from that pours the makings
for the future creation
my friends are all the people
my education comes from all my doings
and that makes me the legend.

heart of darkness / oil & collage / canvas / 55 x 48 inches

i feel worn and defeated
i don't know where my invigoration is but its lapsed and i am
searching
i crave it
i crave tenderness
i crave a touch so gentle that it almost fades
as if it never was
i want to feel the sunshine
like when i was a child
i want to roam the earth
all smiles
the truth isn't elusive there's so much of it
and all its doing now is taking
me for a beating
like when i climb a mountain, except there is no end
yet, and then i'm still just climbing
and there hasn't been a rest
i keep watching
keep watching
no amount of lying, helps the matter
i need the real thing
whatever it will be
to get me back
into motion.

kindred of the dust
ride away with me,
faraway-
forgetting what we did wrong
& doing
everything we want.
i'm smiling right behind
feeling the warmth
of your life

with my hands around your stomach
with your blood rhyme
kindred cry
kindred hold

until our bodies,
become light,
so kindred hold
so we shine together
so we shine

edris showed me this and its pretty fucking awesome. merry xmas

I want to be alone

I don't care about the outside

right now,
the only thing to want
is to be alone;

to think about the ones that have passed
what happens when they go
to me and you
i want to think about the way
things move
and how that moves
and how the time around us moving
makes us go
me and you

i want to be alone
to know that i am here
to understand how
a flame flickers bright red
and then is black
and no more

there is something stirring
in my chest, from being alone
and it strikes me deep and strong
killing time, making me immortal

when im alone the summed up life
flashes and you focus and you
picking the most definite of moments
keep going, ride along
follow it until you are back to being alone

flowers / oil, acrylic / canvas / 50 x 66 inches

demonoid is back! : )

the land before time / oil / canvas / 49 x 52 inches

Somebody once told me i was weak, and the thought was so scary to me that i wouldn't even listen to what i was being told because it could mean that i am powerless in something. I don't fully understand my entire nature but i do know that inside of me is a driving force that if it decides to want something, it wants it completely because that would give me complete control and then i wouldn't be afraid of something beyond my control happening. i think i am like this because i lost something very dear when i was developing and in order to continue on this thing inside me grew and developed so that i either got as close as possible to either not needing something at all or if i had something i would try and gain as much control as possible over it so that nothing bad could happen to me. seeing the words like that in front of my face makes my whole body feel as if it were shaking so violently that the only way to silence it would be forcefully somehow. because of this way of dealing with things i think my state of being lives in dangerous extremities. now it feels that if i cannot somehow understand a way of allowing the world to exist within me emotionally where i take it for what it is and not try and hold it in some way that would make me safe and instead am able to experience deep emotion and commitment that relies on more than just myself. this is how i am weak and it paralyzes me.

the relationship / oil / canvas / 51 x 44 inches

her parents don't know but she's a punk rocker / oil / canvas / 19 x 25 inches

the breakup / oil / canvas / 15 x 18 inches

Outside was like a nightmare, where the faded yellow glow of the one lamp only extended to show an axe lying on the floor and half of an ashtray on the table near the door; it was cold out and there was a small light off in the distance but it was so quiet out that that didnt matter and the house might as well have been surrounded by an infinite darkness. It could be surmised that if the door were never again to open the nightmare would become real.

Out of almost every oil color and haven’t had the drive to go down and buy more but I do have money put aside for it so its not like im broke and cant afford the paint I just don’t know; its like when I go and buy the paint that the obligations toward it start again and I love to paint but the part of me that just wants to be this transient entity until im dead doesn’t really care about the painting. It’s the part of me that wants to love and make and build that wants to buy the paint but with it so cold outside and every morning the sky is grey and I shiver without any socks on or no one in my bed and the half light of 11 am pours through every little crack of my window until im up and showered and reading but that’s as far as it goes. And I love the work I really do but its just like im asleep inside only making things sporadically. I hate the idea of hibernation because it means no work and no work just means a closer look at the face of the end whatever that is. I’ve got about 3 bottles of red left and a bunch of different green and a smattering of blue if I decide to hammer it out of the bottle but its beginning to just be the tiniest amount. And I ran out of canvas on my last commission but I have so many half done paintings that ill just paint over I have no worry about surfaces. And surfaces are the easiest thing to come by you can just drive around and pick up anything flat that no one seems to want and paint over it and put a picture on it. It was strange after the gallery closed there was a clarity about pursuing that like a great veil was pushed aside and I no longer was muffled by that visage and could only see the point during the creation and the afterwards sort of disappeared. Ever since that vision I haven’t made any attempts to show anything anywhere and the drive to do so was gone like it mattered before and then something inside me changed so that it didn’t matter. The goals with the art stayed the same but suddenly there was a much lighter feeling inside of me afterwards like the joy of creation came back. But I suppose that’s a strange thing because that always comes and goes and its that thing you keep trying to get at, that immense joy that sometimes just is within every cell of your body so you start dancing around real funny alone in a dim room looking at your work and waving a brush in the air and it becomes alive with you so that its watching the joy and it knows what it has done and you know the joy but you still don’t know what its done which comes much later after the work has had time to sit and be what it is knowing that it wont be changed anymore. Sometimes the best moves seem to be those that are almost not moves at all but like an iceberg.

This is his new music
This is her new hair
They look & look away
as they circle round,
a pile of colored stuff
that they shared;

Its a complicated place
where its both sad & happy affairs,
Makes them hunger when its dark
And ache when no one's there.

antique / acrylic, oil / canvas / 22 x 23 inches

as i lay dying / oil, acrylic / canvas / 36 x 39 inches

privilege and rebellion / pencil, oil, pen / paper / 12 x 18 inches

back from nyc. dealing with a backlog of computer work / shipping art / and collecting myself to the grind. paintings to come.

leaving for nyc today, be back on the 26th.

http://filesharefreak.com/ is a good source of information for people who fileshare.

where i've been, where we'll go / oil, pastel / canvas / 23 x 28 inches

after everything / oil, pastel / canvas / 24 x 30 inches

from cws

Started writing in my composition book but I wanted to feel the keys and its cold outside and im wearing a shirt with holes in it. Fall came about a week ago and then in a day the weather dropped to winter status so now during the day the light is sharp instead of thick and the wind is like daggers instead of a heavy blanket; the cold makes things precise and the pain is vivid and clear, even in depression the way the mind works in the winter is cleaner and without the haze of the heat so that one can think and make good grounds forward in who they are as a person. It was a couple years ago now that I first started to be a painter ( a painter is someone who paints like a writer is someone who writes) and I knew that it didn’t matter where the paintings would go or what would happen to them after they were finished, the important part was that the paintings got finished and that they were made, anything further seemed like ego or a need to prove something that didn’t need proving. A really good picture never needs any help, its like a confident person it just exists and there’s no tricks to it nothing that moves the eye away from the exact nature of what it is. That’s where I am trying to get with the artwork and im not sure if ill ever make it there because its very easy to use tricks and its easy to just let things slide with the picture. You tell yourself that its better than most things so that makes it good enough but that’s not real; whats real is if that picture has everything you could possibly do to make it as true as possible, there can be no shirking away from the duty you owe to it because you started it.
I think its been about a week now since I did any serious painting. I may have picked up a brush and put something down five minutes here or there but I haven’t been serious, real serious and I don’t know where that went and if it will come back. I assume that its not gone because making the picture is something I love and if you love it it should be there somewhere inside of you until you aren’t around anymore. Sometimes right before I sleep and my eyes are closed I think about what it means to die, what it means to stop existing in the way that you are now and not just some change in how you deal with the world or with yourself but that you aren’t even where you were and if you are somewhere else that doesn’t matter because the only implication that you can draw is the non existence of what you know and the fact that even knowing if its false is gone. It scares the shit out of me and once I start thinking like that I try to stop and go somewhere else but its hard and its like being on a rollercoaster and wanting off right before you plunge down the steepest part but its impossible and you just have to go down screaming. Sometimes though sleep is very pleasant because my mind wanders to all sorts of beautiful things like lying naked with a woman you find beautiful or being wrapped so warm in a blanket that every soreness in your body suddenly disappears and all that’s left is this soothing feeling of comfort and then sleep just comes in an instant where the mind shuts off and you are waking up the next day feeling completely rested and good. The real problem with not painting for a week isn’t that the motivation isn’t there but the reason why because its in the why that the cause exists and the symptom is merely a reaction which cant be helped. I feel very at peace and not so sad and not extremely tired and worn. Today I looked through a lot of Francis Bacon’s catalog of paintings and there is a great disparity between good art and the things that survive as images for hundreds of years. Some artists make things and they have lasted so long their greatness or whatever it is you want to call it is hard to challenge. Its frustrating to see a painting and just be blown away, its beautiful but its also maddening trying to get to the same place; and the crazy thing about it is that there is no trying to get there, it simply happens and comes or it wont its not about force at all and so in that way these great works of art teach the new artist to be patient and to work hard and diligently but one must realize that failure is very possible if trying to get to that point of greatness is the goal. I believe that having lofty goals like that help make the pains of life bearable because the richness of the dream applies meaning to all actions even idle ones.
So now its come to the point where the picture is more than just getting it done, the first two years felt like a practice in learning patience in that this way of life is a long marathon and that breaks are needed to keep the mind healthy and it also lets the artist evaluate closely what they are making. Now its become about layers and time and applying the idea in steps rather than all at once. Im not sure if either way is better if doing it all at once in one flourish makes a better picture or if that’s the inherent way that I should work but I do know that one must explore and develop constantly to get to newer places. Plying the self so that it develops to become that greatness so that working one normal day and just an accident occurs that was completely unconscious, there it is it finally grew and now its come out and shown what it is and that will be another step. That’s why people go to school because for those who take advantage of educating themselves they get to understand the many steps it takes to reach a higher place than where they started. It kind of reminds me of this pyramid they used to show us in school when I was younger about how a person goes about fulfilling their needs, food and shelter being foremost, things like wealth, comfort, love, creativity being higher up on that list people only reaching those points if they are able because they don’t have to worry about feeding themselves or having a safe place to sleep. As a society in whole maybe we are trying to reach that plateau so people can put their endeavors not into farming but into exploring the galaxy and finding new ways to make pictures or write stories, or ways to love, good ways of being idle and having time to appreciate existence rather than struggle with it; you know time spent developing the meaning of humanity rather than struggling with the survival of it. Survival can be easy in its straight forwardness but I doubt it helps in the longevity of life because if you are just surviving part of you isn’t in love with life and loving your existence is a key aspect in being able to make life meaningful. Survival is necessary but there is much more beyond that, so much more. And im not knocking on those who must survive as being wrong because in all of us there comes a time where it is all we can do and we cannot be blamed for it in the slightest but what im saying is there exists much more outside of that and it can be the most beautiful of things.

if you are looking for a Paint program or a free photo editing program very much like photoshop that is free and open source download GIMP. It does a lot of what photoshop will do but free. There is also a version for windows if you are so inclined.

okay this is about torrents and keeping yourself protected. if you are running a Mac with OS X and use transmission as your torrent program, goto preferences with it open, then tab over to peers, there is near the bottom a button that says update, click that and it will download a huge list of fake / bad / watchdog peers; check the box that says update automatically each week, and also check prevent known bad peers from connecting. what this does is prevent copyright groups and advertising companies, RIAA, etc from hooking up to your computer and seeing what you are downloading torrent wise.

Dragonslayer / oil, acrylic, charcoal, pastel / paper / 19 x 24 inches

back in las vegas. back to the grind

two lovers that passed lost / oil, pastel / canvas / 20 x 23 inches

offering / acrylic, oil / canvas / 12 x 15 inches

fragile
as snow
as the morning light
on eyes
as waking in the night with
bad dreams
as feeling the touch of fire
broken
like when we die
and gifted
by the curse of caring
for life.

party girl 1 / pastel, pencil, sharpie, pen / paper / 12 x 18 inches

party girl 2 / pastel, pencil, sharpie, pen / paper / 12 x 18 inches

untitled / oil, acrylic / canvas / 13 x 16 inches

vs. / charcoal, oil stick, pastel, acrylic, tape, turpenoid / paper / 58.5 x 36 inches

come after me / oil / canvas / 12 x 12 inches

there was this man who still thought of himself as a little kid in his mind but his mind was sharp and full of knowledge so that in front of anyone else he was an old man full of wits but he still saw himself as twelve years old and liked to drink chocolate milk with whiskey and to get drunk and play the piano at night so soft so no one would hear him play. he watched television very low with it almost muted and the colors and moving images of cartoons made him still, still enough that he would stop shaking so he could smoke cigarettes without ashing too early and the cigarette would pile ash at the tip until it was a shaky edifice of gray soft ash. outside the poplar trees moved shakingly in the wind like when he watched a movie too long; he would sit on the driveway and think about how he wanted love to obliterate him but it never came and nothing was ever stronger than he was and nothing was fast enough either, not that he cared for speed, but it counted for a lot when he thought quicker than someone else. he would satisfy for someone slower but just as intelligent but it didnt matter because it never came. there was a bigger world but that didn't matter either because it was so large that it could only be taken as what was in front of him and he knew that to be one of the great truths he had solved so there was only the trees in the wind, the night, and everything else that rushed toward him like an inescapable wave. there was not enough time for life because he knew you could take something and make it last forever just stretching it to its finest point because he believed in a sort of infinity.

at last the call came and he could sort himself out. he pried open the bottle and took long deep swigs of the delicious whiskey, its rough and then burning flavor which would mellow out after a minute to a soft glow of calm and peace and smile. he favored it over everything else but that favor changed each day as if the ability for variety in his own destruction gave it all the colors a painter has to choose from; and then don't forget that it could be mixed with anything so that it took on various depths and shapes. he knew there was something bad about it but didn't care because it truly was only bad if you cared about the bad things that it did, but if you were able to think it all out to what was truly going on around you it wasn't a bad thing just a very nice thing like having a woman or very close friends or a job that paid well and killed you worse than the liquor but bought you time which was the only thing worth buying if you wanted to know as much as possible about everything. the goal was to get so much information that at the cusp of this gathering there would be some awesome epiphany about what to do and how to go about with everything in the future. it required a lot of interaction with both the real and unreal and it also required a lot of building and taking down and looking at everything from every possible angle.

he looked himself over in the mirror while arranging his pockets and his mind for the coming rush of interaction and for the quiet to quickly spill into an array of rides that took him up and down, upside down, and around and through; he was prepared and knew only that it would soon be better than the oncoming deeper darkness of the beginning of morning, which was only good if you had spent yourself amongst people that you loved or were making to have them love you which wasnt impossible because he was very talented with people and knew how to move them. he called out to himself in the mirror and smiled testing the smile out working it amongst his lips and bones and his nose and eyes and forehead. he ran his fingers through his hair, he knew that smiling was a powerful tool and it conveyed a lot of what he felt for people much like his hands would when he was drunk enough to give them life of their own away of his mind.

i keep meaning to write this about loss, and understanding loss, and my personality having experienced a great loss, and it happening at a time when there is an innocence to yourself so that when something profound happens to you, you experience it in this way, like this falling feeling and then it stops and there is a pit around you and it has nothing in it. my mind looks at the feeling as if it were remote and dark but its right there in your heart. and that feeling becomes an unavoidable thing, there is no leaving it and if it was gone it would reshape the entirety of your self. a new thing. my chest hurts a little thinking about this sense. sometimes i won't look at a person because thats how little i want to be incorporated with them because i know that deep loss. like its a privilege to truly know a person in an honest way and it is because you are both taking a little bit of each other and that person can leave at any minute and be gone forever. i like when people honestly talk about the reasons for why they do things because it allows one the opportunity to witness life in a varied way.

will be going to dana point later this week once i have some work squared away. open party time for whoever wants.

because knowing alone / acrylic, oil, collage / paper / 36 x 32.5 inches

oasis / oil / canvas / 13 x 10.5 inches

dear

i had this dream and i know you hate it when i start talking to you about my dreams but this one was important because it was about my birthday, and in it a woman who i find very attractive sat me down at a table and i was bleeding a little from one arm because i had a dual with bob saget over a letter i wrote where the punchline was in the beginning and it said dear wife who i love, i dont fuck you the way i fuck my whores; what i do isnt what we do. he got mad and his wife left him by making the house fly away so he fought me with swords and he lost. but the woman told me that what i was doing was being consumed by something that shouldnt be consuming me. now in the dream it wasn't so vague and it was actually rather clear that she meant i should be looking towards new horizons.

the grass outside has taken hold durning the waning month of august as i read somewhere that watering it once a week for an extended period of time saturates the roots with water and allows them to grow deeper and healthier. the last time i smiled was outside of the hamburger stand making jokes with a close friend and we looked off to the sky to witness the weather.

usually the need for not being as clear as possible with words, using words to drape themselves over the truth in a way that makes the truth possible but difficult, which means there are enough clues to start asking questions but its hard to infer because it could be more than one thing and those things could be all important so one doesnt want to infer but is spurred to ask more questions; but what i was getting at is that i wish i stopped caring so much about controlling the influence i can have over people and decided to stop draping words over what is really going on so that it simply exists. sometimes i do it when it is very deep and personal and is only an inward condition, then there will be a moment where it will all be laid bare and the meaning is clear.

the next part is deeply personal. i have almost become fully acclimated with my profession because now i have less pangs about doing and become more and more clear as to the process of my mind and how it likes to create. however that doesnt mean i am any better off in my mind about what i am doing. ive got these manilla folders full of white paper written on front to back about how to go about thinking and sorting thoughts and approaching people and getting what you want and using power and influence (charm) to achieve those things, what morals are, how morals can be structured, they talk about making decisions, and continue to everything else i think anyway; its been a long time since i looked at any of that but thats how i would spend a lot of my time in classes just waiting until the time was up and i moved on to the next class and more writing.

outside it must be getting hot and the dog will be wanting in. ill have to adjust the air conditioner so that it doesnt blow as much during the day; since its just me and 75 degrees is a strain on the energy consumption. i think our bill last month was 300 dollars with two people living in a house. when i am here in a place so comfortable i have a hard time enjoying the unknown as that can be a wonderful and worthwhile part of life. the idea that the next day is unknown and what it can bring could be anything is worth more than gold. maybe thats the crutch with money is that it can bring about routine so easy, however it can be said that money can help foster the unknown. i just like those times when everything is new and exciting and all the world is there. here, now, i feel more like i am waiting than as if i am living. and that is no way to live.

sincerely

jungle artifact / oil / canvas / 18 x 24 inches

so Josh and I are going to NYC to attend the CMJ festival this year Oct. 20-24 and I'll be leaving the 19th and coming back the 26th. Roundtrip tickets are super cheap we paid 239 total, direct flight. I also just picked up a What.cd account and will be trying to build my goodwill with them to get some invites. more work coming soon.

my gallery is closing. friday is the last reception and ill go get my art on saturday.

i dont know what to tell myself to make anything better. i like going to the movies alone. its always a spur of the moment thing. something will shake me or just mess me up in my head and i need a way to escape so i check the listings on fandango real quick and pick something i want to see. i bring some whiskey with me in a flask and buy a matinee ticket. i usually always try and go to the suncoast because its older than most of the places up in summerlin and it lets me avoid the red rock casino which sucks and is always packed and full of teenagers from palo verde and i just hate the vibes there. the suncoast is old and smelly and low key and the only people inside are all the retirees from sun city. so i get my ticket, walk awkwardly up to the ticket taker cause there is a bulge in my pants from the hidden flask. the guy is either disabled or mentally handicap and once he tears my stub i walk through. if i go to the left when i enter the actual theater room i go to the right because i think most people will stick to the left since they were conditioned in the beginning to go to the left and then vice versa if i am going to the right. i sit down far up high where no one is usually sitting and i watch the movie. since i am alone i am never thinking about anyone else or worrying about what they might be thinking or thinking about what i might have to do or considering anything outside of myself because i dont have to since no one is there and then its just media coma and a kind of static bliss watching the screen and the movies are usually pretty good and i sip a little here and there and when its over i think for a minute, duck out, walk quick to my car, drive the couple of minutes back to my house since the suncoast is right down the street and i usually get to painting. sets me pretty okay most of the time.

ward / acrylic, oil / canvas / 24 x 36 inches

So Perry has done Restaurant Week before here in Vegas and he said it was awesome, anyway its coming up again and the website below has the menus and prices for all the places that are doing it. Seems pretty legit. It goes August 31 - September 6

Link

watering / acrylic / canvas diptych / 19 x 20 inches each panel

everything has been replaced by a blank numbness inside. i think its what not caring means. staring out on the veranda watching the heat roll, nothing inside of me stirs as if my feelings have decided to hibernate. there are no words for me to travel with in my mind and there is a lackadaisical sense of motion about going anywhere with anything. the desk sits with dust, the clocks all rest at hours i find terrifying or surprising. hearing the sound of wind is just as pleasurable as a movie or a beer. the just of the universe, its chaos, my gain seems dumb as all gain-and i ask myself why i feel like this and i dont care to decide that either. talking to myself eventuates into a series of small murmurs, drones, half mutters and then back to silence and staring at the world. pleasure from looking is something i like very much.

new website / portfolio is up.

www.julianlabounty.com

kid / oil / canvas

he had walked by and dropped a piece of paper on the coffee table parallel to the couch as she was lying there reading a magazine. she found him in the kitchen drinking scotch out of a tumbler with some ice and he grimaced everytime he drank some down. she held the piece of paper in her hand half out as if she was presenting it to him:

well, whats this all about. and he shrugged, drank a little bit more and looked at her very seriously.

we've been robbed, he said. he drank again. we've been taken by a con artist. he shrugged. could happen to anyone. the clock in the kitchen read five thirty and she had already exercised and painted her nails and gone down to the library to return some books. she had been looking forward to dinner. and now they were done. just done. her mind frantically ran to her mother. but she was gone. passed away a little over a year ago and now she was by herself. it felt like that anyway. she tucked the piece of paper in her pocket and gave him a cool look. she looked at his glass, at the half empty bottle of scotch. she looked very hard at what he was wearing and she made a mental note of all of it. it made sense.

what do you want me to do, he asked. he took another drink and this time he made no face. he looked at her with deep eyes and she opened her mouth ready to say something.

they just stood around silently until the clock had moved almost ten minutes. he had filled his glass once in that time and the room was a bit cooler than before. her magazine was outside on the couch. what about all of it and her mind was moving too fast, with too much worry, and with a coming calm. it was always like this. she was used to being broken and picking it up. she knew how and knew that time was the way. she never knew how much but she could feel the solution, the picking up the pieces, as it approached. there was a small amount of anger and she was figuring the best way to use it. he had to get back what he had lost. without it life would be difficult and she would have more than her fill. she didn't want that.

i'm having a hard time with this. i hope you understand. i mean, i know you know. i just needed to say it, and he became hard and silent and looked both to the ground and up but not at her and drank slowly and it was slow enough to notice the ice slowly melting in the tumbler.

I

don't

care,

and she moved out of the kitchen and went back to the couch and to her magazine and to dinner. he had better fix it.

ninja /oil / wood panel

host / oil / wood panel

out into the night he stood facing the dark way, until so much time had passed that he grew more nervous and clutched his fingers in his palm leaving red finger marks on his skin; the moon was shadowed by thick clouds and it was warm and there was no sweat on his face or arms or chest. he moved into it. it was bleary, it was mush, the way was clouded by something thick and like eyeballs that had cried so much everything looked different. this was difficult and he would sometimes grind his teeth a little bit as he kept on moving, but that was the key, to be relentless and persistent sacrificing even the thought of preserving your life. he was afraid but the idea was stronger than the fear and so he was able to move forward.

there was a shrill song of bird as it lashed through the air and then again and again it dipped; the sound of screams inside, the beating drum faraway, the dull sound of fans that had been spinning forever from cause of the heat and toxic fumes. there was nowhere to turn and it was a bad feeling. something must be done to combat it, but what. endless lists were made in mind and they were almost solutions; but each thing was weak or not attractive enough, the desire for perfection was too great. it was a way of battle, and often times there was only losing. it was the chance for a perfect win though that made striving all the more maddening and relentless. like a gambler on a heater, knowing deep inside themselves that in any moment all would be lost. the human chance at greatness for some is unavoidable even in failure. some fall prey to it early, some seek it when time seems shorter. it is all the same. it is always the same. what good is there, what bad is there when it all becomes blurred when time is the best judge and sometimes there isn't enough life to see the outcome.

the morning started clear with kisses on the cheek on the left side of her face as she slept near the corner; the validity of this claim came that it produced a sense of ease and safeness. for one he had slept there before she had slept there and now she clutched the pillow and woke with big eyes moving along his own studying them for love. this was accrued and stored safely somewhere deep for when the nightmares were at their worst and in a dream she would hold out what she found powerful to defeat whatever there was threatening her. as the day followed it was spent in the production of art. smoke would curl out of the window at times, intervals of thought and kissing, the play of sunlight wound from one window to the next, feeding all the plants and at the end where we are not yet, it dipped below the mountains. there were intense moments of sex as she was languid and touched in all places with a great smile, content and pleased and he was able to become calm and painterly in each touch on soft skin then she would bite and claw in lust and they would move madly with resonance of each other; the pile of art grew in corners, on the floor there were spills from paint and water and oil that made the paint more liquid and it accrued on the bottom of their feets, and hands. the temples of her head were made to look like native american marks. they wore underwear and barely left the room. food was brought up on white plates: noodles, pineapple, bacon, eggs, toast, quesadillas, salads, and cheese sandwiches. beers collected on the desk, on the bookshelf, on the window ledge. the great way became apparent to him at least, and as he could never know for sure, he assumed she saw it as well. on the bed in places where love was not being made where neither would lay naked and it was a big bed there were magazines and cut outs and scraps of image. these were idea machines of the present time, and they were sorted to delight by the maker, her / him. in the evening the sound of music penetrated the rows of houses, street, grass & trees because the window was always open, and she made art and he made art and together they lapsed time with each other so that the anxiety of dying was gone and it was replaced by a beautiful calm that he had never known. there are points that mark life, and in these as time passes comes the slow realization that these things are important, that life can be marked by moments rather than what comes ahead or with what may come or a manipulation of how something will come. each moment to be cherished as much as possible. over time it may become immortal to whoever had experienced it and it may writhe and find new shape and new things. this play is intoxicating before sleep in the late of night especially alone and staring at nothing but the thoughts of the mind. when it finally came that they looked at each other and wanted each other the day had vanished and it was now them dreaming in sleep. but the art and what was made was all still there. they brought tears and so much.

the silence that follows is great. the books of the world show it well, and they are good tools in showing the power of silence. weaving between noise and quiet are the fingers. the taste of another human's lips and of their skin, and the way each one feels unique and different, and each smell and each way of looking and the way each one sips and gets drunk, and speaks; and their way is great.

in the dark at night amongst the bushes and wire grass strands and pots, the thrush sleeping in a tree, a stone carved demon idol vacantly muses on its condition. it stands upright until wind or a foot or tail knocks it down and then it gets to gaze at the sky and trees and at the color blue and maybe a tempest and sunlight beats into all its facets hammering on it.

wild thing / oil & acrylic / canvas

skull / oil / canvas

Brendan lott

universes / oil / canvas

sometimes you really want a word that's strong enough to encompass everything all at once. to represent the enormous complexity of what is going on with you so that anyone would be able to understand and then some sort of real communication would be going, communication that makes you feel like you are making some sort of headway into life. its a huge desire to make yourself less alone. most of the time finding what that would be is nigh impossible, and the complexity of what you are will always out shadow the ability of anyone else to ever understand. so then it becomes this awful visage of fumbling animals in the dark. its truly remarkable the tenacity of us as people, whatever is ingrained into our minds to propel us forward through this darkness.

i dont want to sound defeatist or lost or in some bad way, i just feel the need to emphasize the huge gap that exists between all of us. it just hurts when it feels like it is impossible to say what you feel because of the complexity of the feeling. this strange shifting thing like a color that wont stay just any color or the jungle; some mutating thing that transpires to move. and how terrible we can be with our forms of language. suggestive hand motions, eye movement, tone, mumbling / yelling, the distinct impression that someone isn't listening. i can't recall what the percentage of communication is body language but its high and so then if you are in a bad way even what you say will be corrupted by your state, the truth of your affairs almost impossible to hide with what you are spilling out. i get tired of hurting anything and in the same way i get tired of helping anything because neither actually seems to make a difference but thats despair creeping along my words and i know it all makes an impact its just hard in the void that is you and you alone. all i ever want to do is help; the flow of time is a dirty raging monster consuming. i feel the painful loss at night staring into whatever place i see, the loss of friendships the loss of love and none of it seems to mean as much as it did because of the monster, its way of slowly dimming what was there. how can all of this be said to anyone else, how can understanding be accomplished. what exactly is the goal of wanting to be understood. god it all just hurts so damn much sometimes that i have to close my eyes. i dont want to understand loss anymore.

i want there to be a successful mechanism that allows for all the anger & resentment and sadness and whatever else sits deep within the heart to spill out. if it were possible to really see what those things are manifested outside of the self then maybe it would be possible to better know them and make good headway to making yourself better. i dont know why i think that they need to be removed from the self but it seems impossible otherwise to be able to deal with them. but thats really not the case or the truth of the matter. the things have to exist within the self in order for them to hold any resonance. their power lies in the fact that they must be acknowledged as being part of you and only then can solution exist.

but it all gets mixed up with the complexity of being, of all your past and then everything happening at the present moment of your life. is it harder to deal as we get older, it seems that everything becomes more catastrophic, fragile, and being cut is not on anyone's order. i have witnessed the withdrawal of more than one beautiful mind, encamped in some space of safeness, away from the harm that it fears and it itself admonishes what lies out beyond the scope of this retreat. what happened to the will of great things and the desire to pursue them at whatever cost to you. we are children raised in a society that puts the wrong value on everything; we have become lost in what we find to want, and only know the fake price of everything. i do not understand why people sit in such frustration expecting the world to revolve in some new manner that will save them. there is nothing to be saved; it would mean that we are entitled and because of our transgressions i do not believe we deserve much of anything. we are cruel animals with moments of clarity grace and beauty but we have lost the will to evolve beyond such cruelty that sits deep in our minds and lashes out. and maybe i only see it in such light because of the ability to do very bad things is inside of me. to stop such things would mean a level of control i have yet to witness in any person. chaos is the enemy but there is too much scrambling of want to fight it effectively. and anyway chaos makes things interesting, a common strand among humanity, one of the key characteristics that allows us to continue our lives because we have the capacity to know and to know more, discovery being an all important device in satiating the lack of meaning that can surround us.

i really dont claim to know any of that what i have said, it only pours out and i have to see it to understand it more. like i was saying if it wasn't put down then it would only be vaguer in the mind because i can be lazy like anyone and this laziness can exist in thought and without the force of will to examine outside real movement cannot be made. the tendency to involve yourself in the idea that you dont know something is dangerous and good at the same time. it is very true that very little is actually known in a world where most things are not hard and true. i know that i am going to die and thats about it, but i do know that i can form ideas about what i know so that i can move forward to more knowing; even if these steps aren't actually real it allows me a greater area of movement and discovery than if i simply decree that i dont know and give up. that's where the danger and laziness lies in relativity because assuming that frame point your mind can automatically recoil at the will to discovery because it believes that its inherently not possible. i remember being much younger and having a hard time starting anything because it was never what it was when it left my head. when i tried drawing something it never appeared as i wished it, when i wrote something i got lost in tangents and daydreams. the same went for manual labor which would either intensify or require a new order of tools that were before unknown. it was the very nature of nature that required a will to do battle.

i get wary writing all of this down because it starts to become philosophizing or theorizing and i dont suggest that i have much of a balanced framework to make wide swept or even small claims as to the nature of what we live in, how we work as individuals and as a greater whole, morals, dictates, and whatever other words exist that mean to say what something is and whether it is true or not. usually i hate all that sort of thing. i really most often claim to know nothing, and that will almost always be the case. but in that same light i know quite a bit, it is only that i know it for myself and beyond it becomes weak and insubstantial or that is how it can appear. i just need a place to order thoughts and ideas. i am in a bad way. i love being in a good way, but it seems that most of what happens lately morphs into something that hurts and becomes lost in the damage that it did, and because of pain clarity in the reason for the action is never found even though it exists. i lack the understanding of why. very few people like to speak about themselves deeply and about what is going on with them. and then even fewer are able in any way to accurately describe it. even fewer are able to do it and are able to remove any prejudices they may have towards you that would corrupt the explanation. most people don't even care to get to the very basic steps of having a dialogue that includes a substantial amount of bridging the very large gap that is between each of us. and we cannot blame anyone for anything really, only hold very dearly to the small candle flame the has an urgency to extinguish itself that people can be hurting a lot and simply can't do what needs to be done to bridge the gap, or they aren't for you, or you for them, and the complexities keep rising. so much is going on within each individual human being and we lack the knowing of all that is going on with them that being mad or resenting them or hating them or anything that separates you and them further is a terrible thing to do because it only makes more gaps and more loneliness in a world that can be rife with pain and cold. you have to include the fact that entropy is going on as well and that's not really helping matters, not for us as humans anyway. but i doubt you can throw much fuss at this stage of technological matters towards one of the governing laws of the universe.

i want to sound more hopeful somehow. a recent memory of a friend who on the street after i told him i hated making promises i couldn't keep said it didnt matter and kissed my pinky finger saying that enjoyed false hope is better than none at all. i like that romantic idea, its dramatic nature in that if what was promised actually does come true, the strength of it is so much more. thats really the enticing nature about romance. it can but most often does not, be the ultimate weapon in a despairing mortal universe.

new friend / oil & acrylic / canvas

phalanx general / oil / panel

leviathan / oil, acrylic, oil pastel / canvas

smoke signal / oil, oil pastel / canvas

i hear the sound of wind. i am born. i hear the sound of rain and storm and i am born. gingerly with dexterity each log is placed in the fire and as it burns it is slowly turned. the greener branches boil on the inside and the smattering hiss of water delights dripping to the ground; when all hope is lost water can be gathered by placing a bucket at the end of the branch and letting the water drip into that. the coals collect like a tire mound and here across the vision where light extends out a flying bug goes past and then disappears again into the darkness. grab hold and be moved until the fire is extinguished.

midsummer / oil, pastel, oil stick / canvas

teardrop / oil & acrylic / wood board

burrow / oil & acrylic / wood board

target / oil & sharpie & pastel / canvas

hold hands / oil, acrylic / canvas

trader / oil / canvas

THIS website called As Found has some interesting exhibitions.

11:11 / oil, oil pastel / canvas

life is a communication problem to be overcome. 

lantern nature / oil, oil pastel, acrylic / canvas

edge / oil, acrylic / canvas

looking up / oil, charcoal, oil pastel / wood panel

Saw THIS article over at Engadget. Its a picture of the path a ROOMBA takes cleaning an area.

eye of the enemy / oil, turpenoid, acrylic, sharpie / canvas

the only thing given is life

the only thing to give is life

the only thing you're given is life

i was born / oil & acrylic / wood board / 2ft x 4ft 

monarchies / oil / wood panel

sometimes art is a lot of tiny little decisions. rules are usually in place to provide a certain outcome to a situation, but if you can understand the situation and what is going on breaking rules isnt much of a problem. in the background the fan is turned to high, its most maximum setting. at least i've heard a new summer band with a perfect summer name. crocodiles. the time is slowly going on all around and words and thoughts are just spilling around, with there being this collection in the universe which is all extra.

peruvian pipes

endless summer / oil & acrylic / wood board

peru

old man in cusco

fire / heater system in eatery

writing on the mountains in cusco

wraps

square in cusco

incan woman with llama

hills of cusco

monastery hotel courtyard

front lobby at the monastery

courtyard of the monastery

bar at the monastery

lion heads

cloud and flower in jar 

eatery at sanctuary

top of machu pichu

me at the top of machu pichu

hut at the top of machu pichu

steps to the top of machu pichu

millipede 

hiking up machu pichu

all covered in clouds

steps up to the top of machu pichu

path up machu pichu

beginning of cloud capture

terrace system

cuyo

sun temple

passageways

aunt and cousin

sunstone

singing

houses

me in machu pichu

machu pichu city

machu pichu city

machu pichu ruins

me in machu pichu

machu pichu

room at sanctuary lodge in machu pichu

going up to machu pichu

bus from aguas calientes

aguas calientes

people hiking the inca trail

dinner on the hiram bingham (aunt and cousin)

beginning of meal on train

passing country on train

bar on hiram bingham

train moving

observation car

guitar player on hiram bingham

back of the train

countryside

countryside

incan band plays as we depart on train

boarding the train

champagne before boarding train

fireplace at casa andina

some paintings

courtyard

courtyard

fire sitting area at casa andina

courtyard at casa andina

jesus on the cross

bar at the marriott

lit up cross for the fishermen in lima

sunset in lima

ricardo's meal

my meal 

susana and anas' meal (ceviche)

eatery in lima

personal car and driver 

ricardo and susana

little park overlooking ocean in lima

gold museum armor weapon collection

swords

samurai armor

rifles

weapon collection

gold museum in lima

pigeons at the catacombs

peruvian standing

slums in the hills

ice cream carts

catacombs

apc

selling peruvian equivalent of starburst

guards

incense burning

jesus on the cross

easter week celebrations

roof of cathedral

easter week celebrations in lima

plaza in lima

cathedral in lima

streets in lima, french apartments in the distance

house in lima

house for sale in lima

house in lima

in the gift shop at the marriott

room at the marriott, ricardo

view of lima from marriott