8

 Oh poooh... I am writing  the company exploring the relationship in relation to certain events going on with the company....my email has clipped everything out of order. It's never done that before, but I mean...well, when she knows too much. Maybe?  So I guess I'll just post it here in order instead, not all information but some of it.....


Wendy-to-Wendy....a last note

More of this eyes to the surface dynamic..among a particular network, like a...virgin (Shiny Apples, "SIN" City, stiack the bodies up), Rhea...Demeter, downward spiral, desiring to get to know me, yours/his...truly? and yet, never on the basis of process...This Matriarchy/Patriarchy dynamic...she bleeds, and he's clean hands...thinking of window "pains," and that origin, criss-crossing, to "live" by the "live" tonight, if it bleeds it leads, again, block by block...burrrr it's cold outside...but we are "here," "together," to be in his house...I mean, it's so warm and cozy inside, flesh-to-flesh, body-to-body, paychecks on deck, just look...amazing...

Nine Inch Nails - The Perfect Drug
ionnalee; SAMARITAN

These open arms...what they seem?



Again, considerations, among a particular ontological and epistemological relation with the language itself...

And I do look at this managerial porn and note these shocks to the system...It's like the perfect shiny apple...the irony, among matters never what they seem. When one sees the opening, oh my. These helping hands, into this world, into the labyrinth, and I mean if you happen to pass by a castle...good luck!  I think of taoism, to get to the good one goes through the bad, full-circle.  I think of the contortions of that circle, like a mobius strip. I think of mobius strip to mobius strip. I think of the interactivities between and that mobius strip paired among the mobius strip with opposite chirality.  

Step right up! 


#CastleClub

And that attachment...



Recall painting the roses red....


Recalling She bleeds and He's clean hands, red rose, white rose....and that time when it was white rose, red rose....



And I am having some tea as we tie things up...since we like photos, here's a picture....




It's Rich and Robust...think...

Swift Flavor....


Mechanical-Innovative Flash in the Pan, oh Peter, Wonders...




Real Doll Time Generator....White Rose to Red Rose, Red to White....and poof, all is so Blue....a partnership...maybe an ll see....a grand pipeline.....tubes, again and again....Shadow Show Generator....



That band, Justice, she had no eye(s)....prepping out the ones for the kill....closer - samaritan....again and again....open arms...a policy....This door could be yours...Dr. Zeus Dead Scene Irony..,.Sweet, like coke without the bubbles...synthetic spew...ironic bubblegum dog truth cake...rose on the birthday death bed...time to celebrate...egg shell desert centerfield...Marilyn's Best Friend....Die-Mounds petrifying...white like abandoned ancient statues...



It's like the school days....a lot of scales....get your EYE QUEUE today! 




Thinking of Hot Wax, Candle in the Wind, Killing Moon (sponsored by Alphaville Gorillaz)...It could be a renegade breakdown, typically though that usual break down....break dance...falling out of the sky type...here I come Constantinople....flyentology candidate....surfing on a rocket....carrying a few lightning strikes in the bag...It's all about the bag...Espresso Machiato..back on the ship, safe...and sound?...POP....she needed the color...be a rose...


"Personal Reflections" upon a watery surface (like water upon a window):
Now I'm just a lil' ol' Southern Bell(e) it would seem, though not by argument. To be among a crew, jet set, collegiate debate...Gorillaz and Mr. Bungle stickers...all eyes...I wonder what this could be...she's going down that path...should we warn her...what does she know....and that family unit that cares sooooooooo much (Ron English Angels, on that intelligence spin plan, plenty of paper to go all around) and letting everyone know who I am...the one with the tendencies treated to a variety of violent treatments...she's ready for her killing debut on this finely tuned stage all planned out...and she hasn't a clue....none at all....entirely...and that emerald castle play...SHOCKER.

And I go back to the days with a debate coach...nothing happened...but we'd hang out...no talking...watching TV sometimes...discussing imaginary publications from Pocatello and those tie-DIE shirts and Grateful Dead bears....no lightning strikes among the skull in sight....meanwhile she can always smell a war brewing....Don....Chicago....Doctor....I'm at the gay bar with moby dick in my hand...he was into a very different kind of dick that night...not even the Royal (Dick) veterinary study...lifeless meat seems to be all the rage....slave the slave masters master...Dualing Cobras....Ham-Stir wheel....pick your poison....boo-cocky....and that bartender...that Oxford sweater....and Don walking out the door with me....and this tender's concerned gaze to Don...attempting a subtle head shake (no dribble) of k(no)w.....does Don Key-ho-Pitz get it....Venus fly high traps....at her expense of course...oh my....Tea Party...but let's do get blond....not red? Oh the irony yet again....and again....open your books....read....clockwork blood orange...a renaissance...ti(c)k tok...stars....5-points & Crescents...look at that dichotomy....sand-whiched?....trust witch...switch...honor...roll system....center staged...tac toes (and hands)...table is set...on and on....Trivial Pursuits...A Loving New Kid on the Block Order...Hill Side Checkers...running UP....water flowing DOWN...bunny hole flyentology on the move....full-circle contortionists, moby(dick)-us strip ink....I really like the ones atop Arthur's seat....I'd always feed them on my run....Does Arthur like a bunny on his seat? And I miss those Cadbury curly whurlies I'd pick up at the end of my run at Scotmid. I think of Cornucopias, kind of like a tornado sweeping a home off of its foundation...I always imagined what would be in-store for all that excite over being among the chosen golden ticket HOLD-E.Rs.....Patron-age...All you have to do is step inside....know what you want...a chocolate factory...A bunny upon the seat, living the life? I suppose I could be missing out, no?


I just go back to that time as a small kid, not even four, and the matriarch who would jerk my hair back when she would hug me...at least she didn't have me screw my sister like she did to my aunt and uncles...that abortion...that legal case...for a network you know...so NICE....something like, born into a torture garden...it looks nice though...and my tendencies...there was to be a plan...granted when it's other voices other rooms...how could she possibly follow these matters? Not on the map?

I go further, in relation to my best friend growing up (a network handled him). We loved listening to the Beatles, and not because they sounded pretty. We even had a picture taken with the Beatles theme. This was 8th grade, around the time a teacher, hell bent on, you know, forewarning us and having us all memorize Oh Captain, My Captain...and of course to hear it post University of Edinburgh, 5th Ave, New York...there was humor. I guess she doesn't get it. Let's go with it. Jordan, Nathan and Myself at the family playhouse...to swim with grecian statues...I was thrown in the pool...and that favorite word, prestidigitation...brown-tan paisley-floral linoleum shower room floor...Colin Powell was there, lol....that angular pool outdoors...the mom hiding above the living room area, Sleepy Hollow times, listening in on her father's meetings...It was cute (that building, that roll the credits song, the lyric, world upon shoulders, atlas, the one who is mapping it out...). We had whiskey and cigars. Upon arrival, I can tell Jordan has his concerns. It's not ill-will toward him or his wife. They aren't at the surface. Nathan, I worry about, but that's just how I am. It's not a matter of clinging, it's just...how I am? Still, the mirror and the shadow show could have been a thrill like living next to a castle. And when there is a constant hum of dread?  Not simply for me, but everyone...fading to grey among the sand...it will never make sense to most...

Roll the credits (Roll Tide) strike up the tamborine, if not Dylan, then someone...by the numbers, pay to play, cover songs galore...there something extinct about that...to connect takes quite a bit of work, and yet everything can be fast-tracked and easy, the mirror saves all, to live in his image...just put on a Happy face...blue paint for blue skies...like someone who called himself that while beating the women in the family.....no need to acknowledge where people have been...these matters of process, not in the mirror, at all...seeing is believing so be the scene today, on the rise...she can be your stepping stone...

And there is this ancient order...I mean, when you forget...they will know how to handle the business...no lifting of a finger required, the hands were on the levers the entire time...and the hell that emerges...I mean when you need to rise up and break out without following...just an image away from looking the part that props one up....when it's a lesson for the great pretenders all over again....I think we can question these promotions for incessant happiness, no? I think we can remember. Who would be at the helm of all of this...what was the experience?  Do we even care?  I mean, when you can be on the rise...the table is set, just for you..It's gotta feel great to be reminded of the ancient hell from which you emerged...

Am I fighting for myself? Fire with Fire, not Fire, could portray these matters....and away we go...gone with the wind...like a candle, no?

And I return back to that childhood, and that need for my treatments. A lot of smiles. No interaction. Hugs while pulling the hair. Oh, and let's not forget the sister figure introducing my nieces to me for the second, maybe third time, taking an innocent trip to Chik-Fil-A, that just so happens to involve a strategic underhanded photo op because you know, she's the sister figure, even though we have no relationship! How lovely!! Even upon adulthood, and considering the tradition of easy-to-do matters under the table and spinning the intelligence. I am guaranteed to lose...I'm the granual for the box, sand, no?  The lost cost, and no one out there, at least on the map, to help me out...It's like an ancient tradition...when this world offers an underhanded network the opportunity to win...by all means... Who am I to you?  My tendencies? My rigor? You have the mirror, so by all means be the alpha and omega. Shine in the way that you shine. I want no part. I will take on a different relation, something that doesn't aim to shine in a family portrait. And this is a true story, to be held by my grandfather, both of us unenthused for the family picture day, both with sad cat faces, loving each other, while the family smiles. I think of my brother-in-law experiencing the loving wifey aiming to catch him up into a money-laundering scheme, though the smiling face by design would never disclose....and the grandfather who seemed to be all caught up with the wits of a matriarch who just loved her Shakespeare when the money upon money upon money was never enough. To live among this type of day. A niece, who I observe, upon a photo, unenthused to have their picture taken...I wonder?  I mean, when everyone on the map is so much smarter...Eye Queue. When the win establishes the needed terms that the winner can't even follow....SAND BOX, oh my! You got me winners. You got me entirely...SMILE. Let this joke be on me, not you, of course, like a kingdom for a horse! She doesn't exist at all, does she? And the way you know, how could you possibly know? Get it? No. I know, you know. At a loss?  I tell you what, in the world of ITAL-CAP-ISM, by some albums...Drab Majesty...a good start....you know these matters, not in the mirror, and yet you need the mirror. It's not hate, it's just this need, considering what happened, the ancient hell and what it means to forget...it's never okay...Drop the smiles, please...Put in the effort, please. But, in the effort to please...oh these winners...larger than life...the bravery that spells fear...we get you! Take our blood today...

No More ::BRIDGE::

 

It's time to crossover to drabcoyle. The wendy post, and the successive posts, that reflect on why I am not doing pretty little things is a good stopping point, which there are some clear influences for me, like Ron English, and Kara Walker. Not the aesthetic stuff, but rather, the mentality, of a willingness to not pretend. I mean, when you hear from an artists how much America loves racism for example, coupled with forms that connect slavery to disneyfied productions. Ron, obviously, feeds into the disneyfied stuff as well, which I connect that to Stephen King's IT, POP, POP, POP. This psychological play that prefers minds at the surface, no decay, no elements within a work that would reference nature. Red Bubble, and the overemphasis on digital design, I think does this as well. It's not so much art, of orienting minds toward processes, but rather pushing minds further into the mirror, towards a basis of reactions in relation to iconographies. It's that mentality toward the process. And sure, there are a lot of influences for me, in relation, but I just don't see there being much sense running down a laundry list of influences. I think Ron and Kara are major pillars. Granted this work above isn't offering matters of distinct process that would reach an audience, like reflecting on the Piss Christ artwork. It's a beautiful piece, but the process involved has offended people, and that is ART, to emphasize a process that draws an audience in ,and the responses are often impactful. I'd like to do that in some capacity, likely using this aesthetic. I have some mixed and digital aesthetics as well that I could use, but I do think the digital is overemphasized now. I think when matters are new, it is interesting to explore, but when these matters become a worn path, it's not about exploring but playing it by the numbers, of a decor approach; of what I can make to score the numbers type of thing. So...I'll do some decor stuff, but this is art. It's not pretty, much like life isn't easy, and yes, we are all fucked. I do not really take anyone promising all the hope in the world seriously. I think too, there is this arrogance, where someone offering a sobering honesty, with actual experience and travels to back that matter up, there is this arrogance that frames the deficite, among a flatline of optimism, that adults in their upper middles to oldies, in a variety lots in life, can follow, it's a sugary death, that mentality, and some can't take a bitter pill, so they just devolve into a lifeless mechanic to get by. I can't say I'm exactly a fountain of anything, but I'm not willing to pretend. There is no hope. There is this indifference existing among our environment that I find the embrace comforting. I don't need a popaganda ending to this world. It's fine the way it is, which would involve that sobering lens...far removed from any rose tints a happy gang would intend. And the difference, to me isn't ill intent. Most of it is good intent, and I'm not here to tell someone how they should or shouldn't be, but at some point, the glass will break, and there will be a souring of life, regardless of how matters appear in the mirror. It's unavoidable. I think good artists start from there, and I'm not here to be a good artist. I like being a groupie. Still, like the good artists I connect with, yes, I think I've reached that mentality that is unwilling to partake in the absurdities of hope. It's a waste. It's a whore. It's a pretty hate suck like sugar on a dick. It's confounding, that's all. 

And in these posts post-drab wendy, it's not this thumbing my nose at anyone. I think the people I am around get this. It's not this hate session on people working to achieve certain matters. Rather, it's this embrace of a needed, sobering, lens to this life. We are all entirely fucked and those with experience can find some relief in that. It really does ease that notion of not falling off...and yet if you are fucked, on or off, it really doesn't matter. Meaning, one can simply ground and accept this is their path, the parameters as to how this all came about wouldn't be so reductive and dimensionless. There's a lot that was involved, layered, complex, so who needs to give that energy when that is just how it is. The all fucked is just that sobering honesty, of this life, where there is nothing to prove, and the trajectory is just the trajectory, and the measuring a forcefitting relation to satiate forms of insecurity. I think we all have them obviously, but it's something we all have to get over, and when we can sober up from the propaganda machines, and even discover the difference between art and decor, and learn to think in terms of process rather than mere visual responses on the basis of sentiment, trajectories don't matter so much, but rather connections matter more. I think though connections aren't inherent, in that, connections would involve these cultural processes, like painting, cooking, gardening, mechanics, crochet, sport, etc...I think connections just aren't given, and hollow conversations even if they pull strings don't really get it. Connection, bridging, in a way that pulls people together articulates a cultural way, not a conversational way. It's a way of connecting that requires a level of care to create in some kind of cultural way. A lot of countries around the world emphasize this as the very basis of their way of life. Here, the popaganda machine seems intent on replacing such cultural connections...I can't say what anyone should do to make these types of connections, as a cultural way is among an uncontrollable aggregate activity. It happens naturally, like matters between animals in nature happen, if it isn't impeded. I think it is impeded in the US. At best, there are simply floating cultures without full connections out and about. I think I am now one of these floating cultures. I'm not sure what people should or should not do, but among those willing to sober up to being entirely fucked, I would say a trajectory, the mirroring lot, is an obvious secondary, if one is to even follow who they are. If it's a literal can that has determined who you are, then I do think one is walking death. There are conscious and subconscious factors to who we are, and the literal is too conscious to ever figure matters out. Music, art, sculpture, mechanics possibly, gardening, cooking, acrobatics, the weirder the better, etc...I think, activities among layerings, forces people to explore these unexpected attractions as they sift through and curate techniques to understand their distinct layering and why something resoantes with them, not so literal, but in relation to a complex backdrop of experience...the literal language can't offer this type of matter. The literal language is the espresso machiato paper bag play, and unless you are playing it up, say, with informatic methods, it will certainly play you into a living death.  It's why when I hear the words about who someone is without any active play of hobby, though I'm not judging, I follow, you are fucking lost. I've been there from time to time, especially when I'm transitioning into some other endeavor...You fall back on a literal understanding, and yet, again, it's a paper bag. Shoot away with it all day, it's simply there to gut you out into a hollow nothing of marketable shit. This language was never ours, so your thoughts were never yours to begin with. We have actual life with dimensions of complex experiences, and we have activities, hobbies, in various forms, with options that as we curate, they are often connecting to these various layers that make us so complex. It's actual living. It's a production where no one has to figure you out, and no one has to read these words forever, as there are forms that emerge, to which someone can sense these layers of experience that they could never witness. It's the same for everyone, even as we are all getting tarred and feathered, as the sobering artist lens would have it. We have these layers and layers...none of us can directly experience or follow these layers, and the language is total shit in terms of highlighting these backdrops...but activities can get into that...even sport. It might seem like simply game, but people have techniques, accolades, memories of times when, and the people around supporting, who have recollections of previous events. It's more literal, but there is both that literal and non-literal dynamic. Art I gravitate toward, because it's heavy on the non-literals and a lot can be said, layers upon layers, with various approaches. It's also something that, seems to fuck with the plastic pyramid play, of time suck competition, where the activity is treated as the pure standard that simply serves to erase cultural interactivity. I think competition once upon a time was something desirable to bring people together, but the cultural happenings were the event, and the competition was the matter that facilitated the cultural happenings. Now, competition more and more seems like a skeletal demon...as the alpha and omega to a lifeless gathering,,,where it's the polished pucker on the rise, who isn't the kid down the street, realizing their gifts, of which everyone can appreciate, but the saint vapor elevation that all are to both praise and resent. It's why I stopped going to a lot of sporting events. A lot to me has changed and not for the better.  The cultural, of orienting toward the processes of our activities, of our dimensions, seems like the better option these days. I am happy that everyone is getting their career or family life options in, but it's the mechanics, it's the basis that can offer cultural happenings, even if popaganda would rather you insulate with the sugar dicking life. Why culturally connect when you can watch a simulation of this on the television, only to return to the mechanics of your life, realizing it's a life of robotic skeletal demons veneered with popaganda. It's all Ron English. Everyone and everything is fucked. There is no hope. It's sobriety, and yet, that wouldn't preclude cultural connection, which doesn't require hope to live or exist. It doesn't even require an awareness to understand. Again, it's something that throughout the world, is the priority for most societies, not popaganda. 

And of course, back to the finality of this ::BRIDGE::: like casting a spell, we tap out of the Gemini Feed sand trap...Wendy to Wendy, splintering, that axe, an ontology like a Heideggerian hammer, this being, among the Shining Twins (Alexa, Alexie), no longer in close relation to uses among nature but in relation to uses among something else...dance magic dance...goblin baby...sound the gong...


Two, the end, never seems to ever ever (elle-s, have it eh, eh) get us to the end, so maybe that is the end? 


Redrum....Redrum...Finger I Down....Finger I Down ...Finger Eye Down ...eyes have to the symbologies in the mirror, I saw it on the candle, HE IS, embracing the universal (that struggle, color swatches to the water-check board), hollowing out, making a wish on that truth cake...123)...Meanwhile, she's making a Swish...Candles Out...What just happened here? Can we map it out?

Those who don't create, consume...Shadows evade light...

Two, the end never got us to the end, so maybe that is the end?

50/50, and this is art to Art, not ART, yet

 Upon revealing an initial project, half were like leave it as it is...others were like, let me know when you finish. Which, a lot of people aren't going to even get elegant decay. It's like living in NOLA, and serving, and I remember serving a lady from Boston. She hated NOLA and it was her first day. She said it was so dirty and unkempt. I found a lot of humor in that. Meaning, the issues were dirty brick, vines and vegetation growing out of the buildings, and yet, that is part of the charm of the city. In fact, a lot of people from all over the world come to be around a place that embraces elegant decay, and it's not simply a term I coined. It's a known matter, and yet, there are few places that appreciate that kind of thing. So when I get a half split on it, I'm happy with that. It's a divided audience, which reads much better than the sugary pretty little impression thing, that people enjoy and yet, it's a valueless type of thing. It's pretty, but it doesn't have a voice. I'll still do some of that, but it's something that I don't take so seriously, even if it looks so...impressive for the visual at the surface. I'm not interested in the surface. I'd much rather have grime and decay. It's why I did some post after the art post...to kind of delve into why I'd prefer to be Drab. The surface is purely fucking evil. If I'm signing off on something physical, I'd much rather have it in relation to something that gets the mind to open up...so okay, it's unfinished it seems. In what way does one assume it is unfinished. Maybe it isn't polished, like a brutalist form of architecture?  Maybe the walls need more paint, rather than offering something a bit more sobering, why?  What is being satisfied with all that gloss and perfection. It's where I get into Ron English and Kara Walker, and there play on this Disneyfied aesthetic system. Much like commercial juxtaposed with decay, of something always presented with these sterilized presentations, encountering formations found in nature. A lot of presentations I grew up with had aspects of elegant decay, and it was something always appreciated. I think there are people who just don't get it, and others who do. I'll take that kind of response. No sense in being everything to everyone. It's to be DRAB, not HAPPY, or PRETTY PRETTY. I have decor projects that can be pretty, but again, it's not Art, it's at the surface, and most often, voiceless by design. Even among ART, the stuff I gravitate toward, is frictional in some way, where it is far removed from safe acceptable convention and offers elements that wouldn't play into notions of ease. I think of Piss Christ for example, where it is beautiful, and yet, the process finds people having strong responses, and yet that response is in relation to the process. To me that's always been a good example, of what makes artistry effective. It's more likely the form will have people responding to the visual at the surface. That's not so effective. That is my elegant decay work. The process isn't so interesting, in relation to the visual. The visual, seems interesting enough, but the process, is simply what one would expect, to paint, and that's that. Granted I will do informatic stuff in the future and that changes. Still, this is what I consider of at least offering some friction in some type of way, if not the process, at least the visual. Something to disrupt that safe and sound, at the surface mentality, that tends to predominate when we even mention the terms art, Art, ART. Damien Hirst, when there is a dissection involved does this, as I have seen these works in-person, and unlike a lot of works, the responses are strongly impacted. It's not eyes, but to see the innards on display, of this internality, when culturally, the West, emphasizes this comfort and almost exclusive desire for the externality. Even fucking isn't commonly involving large public bath houses, but rather anything to do with bodily fluids or internals is often residing within heightened layers of spaces private/away from a shared view. No other pieces in the area where his work was being displayed in New York were doing that. Piss Christ I think would be a good pairing, simply to note how people would reflect in relation.  What I remember, was viewers quickly surprised, quickly moving back to matters of externality...which I think gets back into the works of Kara Walker and Ron English and how that cultural conditioning plays into a safehouse for violence. 

Maybe at some point I will go from Art to ART. I already think that will be given, in that the informatic, I want to run, with the slogans, painted in this elegant decay fashion, where there is this rustic, folk, aesthetic with a subject matter that is more institutional in terms of the processes used. I haven't seen that, and it's something that is entirely me. Growing up on a dirt road...and then somehow attending school in Scotland, living next to a castle, studying in relation to a degree, and experimenting with this new type of affair, academically, termed as informatics...and no, it's not computer science, which focuses on categories, but rather, a differing emphasis of information arrangements, and that split makes sense, just like in chemistry and physics. These fundamental ways of adhering to a particular conceptualization, and building up from that notion. Information as a single scientific discipline doesn't make much sense, consider we can work from different fundamental conceptualizations of information itself. So yes, there will be multiple disciplines and informatics, the studies that emphasize the newer ways information can be arranged, would differ from information as categorical splits. There is likely disagreement and debates, as usual. I'm not seeking to focus on winning any kind of debate, rather it's simply using the informatic arrangement, to develop folk art signage with in-depth works, such as the works of Baudrillard, Focault, Derrida, etc... Imagine that. This Howard Finster, art fair type of aesthetic with signage working among an informatic method with sayings that are entirely institutional. It is me. It's not this desire to be unique moment. No, it is simply adhering to what i grew up with, and my process, all the way through graduate school in Scotland. It will be unique, but it's not to be unique, it's just be, as I am, which is indeed going to be distinctively unique. Again, I grew up on a dirt road...I would eat boiled peanuts every Sunday. It wasn't wholesome. It was kind of drab, but the folk art was cool, the fruit stand(s) were interesting, considering the products were often random, like tomatoes with Mr. T Whoopee Cusions, strange fruit drinks from the phillipines, cracklin and cornbread, boiled peanuts, no name candies, with the common affair, like bazooka, wrigleys, mars candies, etc...there was very little around, not even a McDonalds. It's not like that now, the area is less than an hour away from the world's busiest airport, so I wouldn't really say I'm "small town." By middle school all my friends changed entirely from being local, to being from all around the country primarily, and some around the world, UK primarily. I think this makes me a hybrid of some sort, like an AmeriScoodle. I did live in Scotland enough...and the primarily influences I have are international, even thought he first decade was absolutely southern and highly isolated. It just doesn't make sense growing up in that way. I don't recommend it, but the whole oddity of that kind of influence I think does hold interest, for some at least.  It's a schizoid backdrop, like a novel written by W. Faulkner and C. Barker. Maybe? A disjointed cultural clashing of sorts, not immersed entirely in but outside to the inside, of both, wondering type of matter...only not as an adult, but rather as someone growing up.  We go from dirt roads, fruit stands, very little around in terms of shopping and food, to olympics, airports, unis, travel around the country, living in Europe, living around the US, music, academics, art...it's off-beat and jarring, much like my preferred aesthetic, Howard Finster speaks the same language, in terms of aesthetic presenation, but the ideas I work from, including informatic methods...again off-beat. Institutional oddity at best, but it is the design reasonating in relation to these influences. I will be unapologetic about this. These are simply the influences I had. It might be weird. It might be unifinished to some. I can't care about this. I'm not here to be everything to everyone. Some will get it, others will not. It's just how it is for all of us.  And the words can't really get to the aesthetic approach. It's just something we can hang on the wall that does a better job at articuling this process....more stuff, on the way.


And it seems there is this prove yourself type of attitude, but I already have. Let me know what you've done in terms of process, and the levels you have taken matters, if that's the attitude. People who follow where I have been, already know, he doesn't have to prove himself at all. Additionally, in terms of art and design, I have demonstrated a range, that can go from detailed and commercial to something that is rustic and non-commercial. So I do find intrigue, when certain personalities, not even knowing my range, will run with the rustic approach in a way that serves ill intent. It's not a lot, but it's there. I just can't relate to that type of energy, especially when one hasn't done the first thing in terms of process at any rigorous level. I'm realizing that's insecurity, and it's something that considering where I have been, I don't need to create barriers, as it is simply a waste of energy. Rather, if anything, maybe find ways of encouraging, or at the very least, empathizing with the attitude. I think that aspect to an audience will always be there for everyone. And maybe someone just has a different approach to life. That's not what I mean, by insecurity. People who simply want to enjoy something aren't going in that direction. It seems, people who want something in terms of process, and yet, they haven't but that work in, seem to be the culprits. Not all, but just certain personalities where no, it's not intended to be anything other than a parochial, closed-off, mentality, tinged with resentment and insecurity. Again, it's there for everyone I think. It's just something you take in with the good. I guess. I just don't really know what the approach would be, but being an asshole doesn't make much sense. People are free to think whatever they like. People are free to be assholes. They are not the focus of my process. 


 

Universals? Questioning? Why bother when we can pretend!




...Puzzling evidence...


Like pin the tail...Espresso machiato, turn, turn, turn...here's the task....here's the wall...stand tall...easy to feel good this way...with so many shiny things surrounding...there's little time...lights, camera, action...I am ready for my close-up Mr. Demille...a world of selective togetherness...holding everything together...Russia vs Ukraine...Palestine vs Israel...nothing in-between...Just watch the news...the area hitlist preplanned, among the in-between all caught up in the cross-hairs, poor dears, bleeding hearts, into the hell yet again, dichotomy sandwich serving poor dear meat....This side, that side, in-between....shhhh...there's uh...no in-between....um....just a clean cut dichotomy....no one is caught in-between, we promise....poor dears were toward the process...2 sides arm and arm, embodying the superior performance weren't having it....spin the intelligence, take some pictures, run the good word...blood hits the soil....they will be back to the supremacy of allure in the mirror...dead or alive...as living death or death living...Mr. Demille! ...and we were kids. We were given these puzzles...it was fun... puzzle after puzzle...a game of sorts...fitting everything together...it had an impact...then we were offered an opportunity to fly overseas...maybe hangout in places like Moscow...make some plans...select some areas...then fire up the news rotation....go back to a pew...see the other cute little kids....playing with puzzles....bored among the laundering joys...Dearly beloved, we are gathered here...the world, it's such a terrible, violent world...and here we are, like herbie, invisible driver, finger never lifted, basking in the light of these fine offerings...as for what floats the laundering machines...as for how all the money is being made....like pin the tale, tall or small...Espresso Machiato hasn't the time, and when all those roses are to be red...it's a lot of work...and the kingdom is pretty and shiny...POP....POP.....POP....Sugared up, Hollowed out, Off the cobb...This just in, making the head...lines....laundering be fly...blood under a 9 lives rug...fat cat purrs for a venus in fur...red rose...wolves in sheeps' clothing, dressing sheep in wolves' clothing...on that soul train rise...spritzing the red away...pink sands...la playa's inc...come out...the water is warmed up...nice and cozy...no lightning strikes in sight...forget the full-circle...come on, come on...don't be shy...enjoy...these pretty little things...no cost, just enjoyment...let this be your celebration....to realize who you are, in this moment...no one will follow you at the surface...all will be there with you. after all, that is what you see...sea foam, mouth foam...it's all the same...come on!  The table is set! Let's get to know one another. We are all just the same, don't you want to play?  It's the summer of love, love, love.   Shiny happy people....arm and arm....come fly with us.  Come on.  Have some flowers for those bee stings.  Be honey like us.  It will make you feel better....we promise....fingers hidden, crosses bearing all.  All is well that looks well.  Follow our lead.  No shock to the system at all.  Come on...you got this!   

Meanwhile, we are all fucked! Running the show, getting played...the fuck us running routine...rinse and repeat...no hope....but I am sure a smiling face with all the hope they can muster....will be just around the corner, working the block....solving the puzzle....getting the in-road to the entrails...something that reads like....in the beginning we were fucked....in the end, we were fucked...see the garden of eden....it was a mispelling...it was the garden of eating....yes kids...that's right....the garden was a gang bang.....and all will be fucked. The serpent was a double sided dildo....the apple was an ancient muzzle....no one was kicked out of the gang session...just 2 adventurous ones wanting to play in the sand...Who knew that sand in the snatch could open up other desires....when the motion in the ocean burns all parties....it is the kind of fucked that unfucks the fucking, but still fucked...again, all will be fucked... Including you little miss susy Q....those insightful questions...and your ability to solve those puzzzles....and those scores....you are on your way...to being fucked....you didn't make the grade....on that institutional hit list....not to worry, you'll be fucked too.  And fuck the fucking fucker who didn't get fucked....we fucked him too....we don't know how but look at this shit.  It's fucked. Even the glory holes in the pews...fucked....sure everyone is facing forward....a gaze from the leadership....no missionary in sight....all is safe, all is sound....the faces toward the pulpit....all good...it might be a hymnal in one hand and a hand job on the side.....it looks good.  That is what counts.  I get it.  Suburban life, the car, the cute little kids.....fucked.   But give hope a chance....just keep striving for that little whore that swings this hell into motion....no hope.  I promise.  That can be our little secret.  Fucked.  Basking in the light, 2 fucks for how it all goes down....POP, POP, POP, fucked....

When die-mo(u)nds are your very best "friend"

...the slave has always been the slave master's master....posing on that dollar, aspire to be the slave master of all slave masters...law of averages, numbers got your back....big "dog" warrior, right? Like IG-KNEE-OUS rock, paper, scissors rock! Buy the numbers, in the mirror, fucking shine...it gets you closer to those running the show, and yet what you aspire to be...let's layer it back to ancient times...you got the numbers, you doing a good job...you're friends with the folks running this game...get your fucking ticket to Jerusalem (remembering salem and the witches drowned, not as important of course, less money) and tour that fucker, be in THAT kind of good...you got IT all figured out...this just in...not a fucking clue. By all means though, smile big for the camera baby. Be good, like folks running the show can't figure you out...Like sleeping with the enemy was never a thing? Here, let me help you glue those angel wings on, evervescent to the sky, like a rocket, heavenly nothing. BIG money hustler, #bullshitonparade...Take your last breath of this life, may the "word" save you on that get IT don't get it plan. Just ride your bullshit all the way out, as for these families tied to the ancient hell...put on the act like they can't read. Get it...not likely...always...fucking....smile. It's easier that way, right? WIN SO FUCKING BIG...HUSSSSSSS....LER! FROM SLAVE TO SLAVE MASTER....NOT A SLAVE....TOTALLY....WE PROMISE...NOT A SLAVE AT ALL...REALZIED...ALIVE....WINNING...ABSOLUTELY....OUR LITTLE SECRET! You "WINNING" that paper. The most compet...IT...TIVE? On the dollar bill next year! Crossing the FINISHED line...applause is entirely there for you. You smile, we smile, we all smile for ICE-SCREAM...Just one big, HAPPY fucking family. No hell in-sight. America, this really is FREEDOM...shhhhh, don't question, just fuck off with EVERYTHING. Larger than life, like WALKING the dead....Imaginary paper friends that buy the love that you need today...same bracket, understanding each other, in the mirror...that's LOVE baby...Acquisitions inc, rotting away, no, floating into a heavenly fuzzy love nothing abyss...after all, you worked so hard to finally meat your hollywood love in the mirror. You got it...you fuck every night in that perfect bedroom...Like laura ingles sucking a good wholesome cock...the community supports you and your love...as for the homeless...fuck it...love is in the Mansion, like Manson...like Dionysus leading up to that Bacchae campaign. The grapes are wine...and so many to be mine...let the kids mop the blood off the floor. Fuck it. For now, we smiling, like heaven is a place called earth...get this bullshit today. No one following your bullshit...just you in this life, realizing your best. Smiling. Loving all. Pretending. Hustling it up with the best of the best of the best, best, best. Nothing slave at all. Master design, even if we can't follow the ancient forumla...born to synthesize, oh no, born to thrive. Born to live it up in that mirror, to reach beyon the insecurity and to lead one shackle at a time...shhh....banked on paychecks, while banking, but no clue as to what it all means..again, just fucking SMILE...Smile bigger than the biggest of all SMILES....make it love, so the ancients can take it straight to the needed hell that you represent. But you are so sweet? Like the good witch of the north fucking dorothy over...like a persimon before the bitter...you are all that is the very shine of humanity leaving all of those, just as human as the next, with something a little less on the rise, because that's how good of a being you are...to roll like that, and all without question...That kind of leader. We got you! Again...there's the camera, there's your fine ambition...fucking smile...you got it all night long...brain blast til distorition...til the end....this, at best, is merely an obliterative on the rise, like a cock on a hot tin roof, on the blance beam routine, not out of inspiration, but rather desperation...when the feet simply desire the coolness of the air...take a picture...enjoy the action...sense the moment in time as being just for you...as for the misery....doesn't workout well for flash photography. Heat up the tin, and carry this goosestep on. To overwhelm the senses and to push that trajectory....to command the allegiance upon the manipulation...to hold friends in that manner....among the layers and layers of hardship, that few would ever follow...it's truly a feel-good moment this world. To see the beauty before you, displaying upon a mirror, only hoping to wittness a brutal death, bloody hell on the screen like a tarnetino film...to hold to one's manners, moving the levers without lifting a finger...tensions rise, the oblivious thrive for a short-breath, until...this price among all the pretty-pretty little things. Marilyn had her day...she's dead. Have your day as well. Let me know how it works out for you. That dirt empire? You got paradise? Bring that energy to remind us...You got us, we got it, nothing over your head at all? You closer with the running the show, and yet...what did I say? Elevating with s-ain't vapor...feeling good...roll tide...like an origin unknown....didn't put the work in, but you got this work out routine don't you? WIN IT! Mirror-to-Mirror...Embrace your birds of a feather-tether ball...round and round...striving outward until the bullshit pull you right back in...shit smeared all over that smiling, Mickey, face. You were a leader, but you weren't. How we feeling? Like shit? Oh, no. Like a player, player, straight from the in-denial book. Rinse and repeat...smiling face among the mirror saves...no one will ever follow, just pure bravado, to deliver that kind of strength...oh my! Evolved!! Sure...fucking...thing. Slave master on the stage, surely not being played....Get the upgrade today!

Dr. Feel Good Congrats to all. Your absolutely making it. Just slap a cross on it and fuck off with everything. You got the formula. Get it today.





White face has got the numbers baby...

We are all, mutherfukn' free baby...

Get your mirror today baby. Roll with it, origins unclear, live it up like la vida "local" baby, like a tambourine. You ain't Universal? You ain't Worldwide?  Bitch who are you? Thriving! Like force-fitted manners. Got it. Keep smiling with that shit...Like you gettin' somewhere.  Paycheck in the bank, while banked. Why even fucking pretend? High energy for the stringed. Say a little prayer, that sinful melody. That dance move, like a lightning strike? Be that paycheck on strings. Be America's Mirror. Fight without the guns and bombs, cause you a warrior, right!?!?!? Strive! Mirror, Mirror. I mean, smile, fuck! Selling THAT cup! Arise... Dead bodies smiling on the escalator. 1 plus 1. Heart bleeding on that thick as water plan. Baptizz-dismal plan. Nothing, in-between. Get your fake shit today. Smile BIG, baby.  Emerald City Lights, got folks on the coloured plan, but we can pretend! P.R.E.T.E.N.D. Rise up in that fucked up kinda way. We got you! No process, just in the mirror, face on paper, in the image of, safe and sound. Oh CAP..tain. Tainted love. The marketable. Pennywise SUGAR & CIGARS, Cigarillos, like brillo, like a briar patch hatch, Br'er Rabbit. Gossamer Girls. Can't kick the habit? Science to the rabbit. Down the hole. In what way, that way, let's sleigh! Let's warm up to what can happen, again, and again, and again.  Why should matters be so serious? Who cares where one has been and what they have done. Just listen to the sweet songs in the mirror, and fuck off with the rest. The love fuzz fuck fest will save, like Camus as a killer. To be THE stranger. Never, never, for the clever. Smile. 

He's so fresh and so clean. She burning. Go for the win!

 Keep it white face, and it's all good baby (This kingdom awaits):

 

The sky backdrop saves. Cherry blossoms and on the way to language...oh my. 

Meanwhile...

Drab Wendy

 


Reference: Derek Erdman
Reference Method: Digital Copy, Hand Drawn
Substrate: Wood
Medium: Acrlyic, Oil, Wax
Theme: Elegant Decay

Considering this is a copy, it is clear, I am not here to sell the image, nor would I even give permission for someone else to do that. Rather, it is here for journalistic purposes, to consider shaking hands with beef, that is, Wendy's hamburgers over time. I opted to select this piece of iconology because I was a bit thrown off at seeing the full figure of Wendy. Growing up I simply understood Wendy from the shoulder's up, encapsulated into some globular form. I liked that. I also liked the idea, of rather than distorting the form, which I can do either with digital or hand methods, of distoring the shape in such a way where there is recognition of the icon, and yet, the form isn't the icon. However, I didn't want to open up with that. I think taking something that has such a sharp, commercial, universal appeal, it is a great brand, and then applying methods of decay and at some point applying other methods that would indicate faded memory (future methods to make matters my "own"), this would be a good test I think, if I would be satisfied with the impact of the approach. Can a folk art approach pull a brand back toward something a bit more rustic and approachable for the art fair? I am satistified. Note as well there are no digital edits with this post at all. This is entirely by hand and without any color touch-up. Nothing. Just a scan to the computer and an upload. What you see is what you get! That is another focus of mine, is to use mediums in a way that the scanners can handle better. It seems good! No photoshop. No blender. No tricks of the commercial design trade. Just all by hand with acrylic, oil, and wax, of this is what you get kind of matter, like the stuff I was around growing up. Computers, even though I do enjoy playing around with On-the-Line culture, need not apply for this activity, though I will post obviously. 

About Wendy's
The Wendy's Company is an American fast-food corporation that serves as the holding company for Wendy's and First Kitchen. Originating as the Deisel-Wemmer Company in 1884, it is headquartered in Dublin, Ohio. The company has evolved significantly from its roots in the cigar industry to become a major player in the fast-food sector.

Ghost sign for the Deisel-Wemmer Company, corner of South Sandusky Avenue and East Johnson Street, Upper Sandusky, Ohio. The Deisel-Wemmer Company manufactured cigars here under the San Felice and El Verso names. Deisel-Wemmer was founded 1884 in Lima, Ohio, and eventually had 17 factories across Ohio with over 4,000 employees.

When I worked as an auditor at Cedar Point, it's a stone that was turned. It's what I do. And there are a lot of layers involving elegant decay, not always a mere visual presentation.  Sometimes, yes. Not always.  

Once upon a time, people used to tell stories (among a genuine sense, not a market grab sense). People used to unfold the layers of a time once when. That has all stopped. It's more about what's in the mirror, and who can copy it the fastest. It's a mindless play, but it looks good. That money! It's living it up, never noting there was a time when people did the same, and as for what they were left with?  Sometimes, it's good to dig a little deeper. (Then there is the tar and feather play for the one who wasn't that, but when one of a relation has the opportunity to gun in that way, and of course, that heart, and that angelic presentation in the mirror, and the money under the table, it's glory to the be, honey for stings, the mighty, the deepest of all deeps, the highest of all highs, there, to support...Hush, Hush, Sweet Charlotte). Then there's that sky backdrop.  Why be good when you can look good? The seats are empty, the theater is dark, so why do you keep dancing, oh yeah!  

So size it up on the basis of replication. By all means, do whatever it is you need to thrive in that way. I can create whatever, and yet, that need always ensues. Does she always need to learn a lesson to bask in your manufactured light?  I wonder...and wander....adventure...which naturally means, she's lost...she's just a mirror away from being discovered and yet...not happening. 
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