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