Friday, August 28, 2009
Where do you go when you're digging your dig?
What is the sky and what is the sand?
What makes me stay in Popsicle Land?
Oh Oh The Runts on the Beach are killing the clams!
Oh the Runts on the Beach better head for dry land!
under thinking the obvious can be ambidextrous
the life of which panders to the unambitious
arrogantly the flowing life of which unrolled
around and around the cushioning cloud cover
never flung possible anteater man challenging
cosmic overload trash machines in France
can a man come into the woods in a boat?
can an electric semblance of reality reverberate?
a picture of a truck painted on a cigarette
where rain signifies elasticity of majesty
if orange strips of paper flip and flap, flop
and caustic pan-fried basketballs dribble
pink clouds darken, sun-stricken skies flying
streaks purple orange black and gray
and hammers fly, tragically at the end of day
in a dwindling stream the feet are throbbing
naive at best, confusing and dry, but swinging
make an emotional commitment to sacasm
while the continuous check is discontinued
and the international job listings riffle listlessly
guess about it for awhile while trinkets snowfall
clamps close about the checkering tweed hats
and furious at life the windows spenify
until every monstrous fountain dwindles
Monday, August 24, 2009
So the Seurat thing is starting to take over - I'm studying up, doing color experiments, inspections and sketches to get ready for this. I'm also figuring out the sequence of events to make this all happen.
For one thing, making the copy to actual size isn't making a lot of sense to me - its 6'6" by 10'10" or close to that. Putting together a nice flat surface that size is a difficult task in its own right. Do you piece canvas together on some sort of backing? How would that work? Not being an experienced, educated artist, this seems pretty difficult to me. However, working on a 6' x 4' hunk of clear 1/4" plywood makes quite a bit of sense. It maintains the 3:2 ratio of the painting and its figures while breaking things down to a manageable size (while still being suitably large: this thing wants to go on a wall in a house of 8' ceilings after all). This sizes the picture down just a bit while maintaining its monumentality, given the space it will inhabit.
But John, why bother with such a task? you might ask (or not, maybe to you this makes as much clear sense as it does to me). I have decided after living with my Big Idea for awhile, that I really want this picture as close to the original as I can possibly get it. You can't just buy a 10x6 copy of this, or a 6X4 copy, for that matter. All you can get is a picayune little copy. Not close enough. Also, I want to know how this guy did this thing by exploring as many of his techniques as possible. And what is the best way to explore these techniques? Yes, exactly.
So, yes it still may be that I go full size on this thing. I don't know. I guess I just need to figure it out, figure out the materials. How do I get a 10'10" x 6'6" flat surface that I can then frame and hang? Hm. I guess I will have to consult with some artists or art stores or something.
And what do the above photos have to do with Seurat? Hey, I don't know, but approximation of actual photography in digitized format strikes me as a parallel with approximation of a masterpiece. Both are for personal consumption, so why kvetch about approximation at all? Yeah, that's a good question.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Friday, July 31, 2009
Monday, July 27, 2009
Wham! There it go!
Mostly the spinning cylinders of transition spin before me like pinwheels of crumbling ambiance
Idiot packaging / smoothly irradiated / coils of satin steel and rock / my own perfect brainemptiness / happening silent smudges of laughter erupts simultaneous with spurting volcanic islands
"Senator, can you pass me that basket of large-denomination bills?" "Here, help yourselves, don't be shy! There's plenty more where that came from!"
the cascading bubbles of a forgotten multiverse ching together like cheap finger cymbals and I dream idly of Bonomo's Turkish Taffy, neither turkish, nor taffy but resolutely Bonomo's
The unruly centaur charges through the living rooms of the vapid, a TV strapped to his broad back as he watches "New Jersey Housewives" over his shoulder while running full tilt into the strobing gloom of reality, following the march of stupidity into the dense fog indoor atmosphere of the freely-associating moron union building
Monday, July 6, 2009
1. If you quit, no one can be disappointed with what you do (because you won't do it)
2. She's quitting to help Alaska and the US
3. "Caribou Barbie" pin-up posters anyone?
4. Stop the "Politics of Personal Destruction", Palin wasn't "Pallin' around with terrorists", after all.
5. No more "gotcha" journalism, she's no got.
Man were these boss!
1. Glowing Turban of Fire
2. Sidesnorkel Sizzle Blaster
3. Recombinant Twirling Arc Monster
4. Contraboom fidelity cannister
5. Puzzle Flower of Destruction
6. Mayhem Accelerator of Death
7. Smoke Chisel Face Warmer
and thats just a few of the spectacular fireworks blown off in Flemington for the Fourth of July. Dude, I know: I was there!
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Now, you know, I usually don't go out on a limb and shill for a presidential candidate - well, I did go for Donald Duck back at the time of Bill Lewinsky's second term, but here is a compelling candidate. Imagine him working "Thufferin' Thuckatash!" into a State of the Union Address. ADMIRABLE.
After all, this candidate does have the best vice presidential candidate, Bugs Bunny, up his sleeve. Imagine the freaking drama at the national presidential nominating convention when our intrepid candidate announces, "Now, ladies and germs, my Vice Presidential choice, Missther BUGS BUNNY!" The place would literally go up for grabs.
VOTE FOR DAFFY AND BUGS, MAKE AMERICA PROUD AGAIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Idiopathically, they disassociate Jack Dupree Reality in legions of
Little Fellers’ ambidextrate Sarcophagi
As the dumbification planks down before their fleet feet ensquadroned indecipherably
While cantankerous commands through the shifting ambiguity
Ranges inadvertent to the plagues of the strange, home on the range
Them Little fellers little feet little known little less else throttling forces of ragged time
Bestich them disconsolate in their rummaged snafus as down up they go a sidewise slope
Confusion rapidly moving through the shards of a reality turned stem-wise upon
The plant of all things. But “Wait, don’t shut the door until the little fellers git in!”
The airflow clogged the splintered pillow filled w/ rock and rubble the upwardly thrusting landform opposed by its own volcanic origin the humble massive creature lumbering up by the stool holding the optical trance machine
Sun offering a sunset sunsetting over suns settling
As the rabid trash aches its discovery against
The pilgrim daylight while the little fellers ramble by
Shook, the shaken tree at the breach of time!
Outerly fitted in somnolent silence
Goofily the little farmer found the little fellers flagging by
Ever ranging the flaming fields.
Monday, June 29, 2009
It was quite the unusual event. Bears are fairly rare in Bucks County, I think and its not often that you see a bear outside complete wilderness areas out here. I was shocked, to say the least, but have to say - these critters are pretty impressive. He was very powerful looking and fairly big. I was glad he kept moving, too.
a dead beat down by the escheat
beat down the dead with dead meat
meet you at the borderline in a dead heat
the dead beat the beat dead
and the dead dread the dead beat meat head
meat the dead beat in dead beat dreadlocks
the beat goes on but funny you said dead seriously
that the dead beat in the track meet with two feet
compete in the catbird seat and all is meet, aw-reet
there is nothin' funnier than a dead beat in retreat
did you meet the dead beat when in came the fleet?
sleet on the sheet sprayed with deet up the street
keep the mesquite, it seems replete with sakrete
don't cheat the dead beat with the reaper's sheep
nothin' funnier than a dead beat who can't keep the beat
thank yew verrrrrrrrrrrrrmush
Yes, the things that fill this world are wondrous indeed. Walking or writing, you needn't be hindered by a lack of complete lunacy. As you can see, I am not. Picture yourself attending a business meeting wearing lovely footware much as such and sporting a pencil with a keen pencil topper such as much. You will not regret yourself for having been dud so.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Thursday, June 25, 2009
re: "The Vagaries
of The Hideous Sun Beast"
applies to all
so LISTEN UP!
The Hideous Sun Beast
occupies a place
betwixt Life and Death
has transitive emotions
his Tomorrow is Yesterday
I bid you: Think On Him.
Listening to the music of time
he neither erodes
he is Whirling In A Vortex of Pain
experiencing all in short bursts of sight
like pulses of electricity
rumbling in his mind
note to self: this poem isn't as glorious as it seemed while I was writing it. Still, is that reason to give upon on a strong concept like this? Nah, just push it out there.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Friday, June 19, 2009
Monday, June 15, 2009
Guess, I'm a little obsessed with this - but that's not necessarily a bad thing.
The original of this is indeed about as big as my copy wants to be. It dominates a fair sized gallery at the art institute and I have probably visited it 100 times or more. I used to go regularly at lunch when I worked in Chicago and when I was a student in Chicago. In High School, I was always getting together and driving down to go to the Art Institute to see this thing. It put like a big ? into people's heads. I'd be blase, like "Oh, yeah, look at this thing." and watch as faces turned into rubber.
We went to this Storm King Art Center just over the Jersey Line somewhere in New York and it was pretty happening. Its like this big rolling park of 100 Acres or something with enormous sculpture all over the place. Its so big you have to take a tram, like DisneyWorld or something and listening to annoying people yammer about how they can't figure out what sculpture was done by who.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Monday, June 1, 2009
sitting in the garden eating her lunch
with mantis-like precision, is echidna,
her dark black eyes are shining through
the mist and dust forming a swirl of mud around her
as the wind calls "Echidna, Echindna"
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Sorry, I didn't get around to this in my previous, self-absorbed post on this topic, but one of the main reasons for maintaining a healthy hard-copy book world is what Mr Orwell was illuminating in 1984: governments are constitutionally incapable of keeping their filthy hands out of tampering with written truths. (I'll let that statement stand alone, it works for me as stated.)
The fact is, electronically stored text is easier to "revise" than hardcopy, paper text. As we have seen, the Soviet Union (and other criminal governments, and we have had a few of those) was quite successful at altering paper text to suit their needs, removing dudes from pictures, blacking out text, altering text, controlling what was printed. All of this is perhaps even simpler in electronic format. You know, Change All.
"Just give me some truth, all I need is the truth" as Mr Lennon said.
Friday, May 29, 2009
This dog of a dream was sort of stupid. No, make that really stupid and low-resolution. In the dream there is a gigantic Batman flying around in outer space, killing monsters. The background is sort of that purplish-blue ink they used to use in the old Batman comics. The dream went on for quite a while, but it wasn't very clear what kind of monsters Batman was killing or why he could survive in the vacuum of outer space or why he was gigantic or how he got there or why he was fighting monsters and actually killing them, rather than simply vanquishing them like he does in the comics.
The dream became boring in its murkiness and I woke up. My thoughts about the dream seemed more entertaining than the dream itself, you know - really poetic thoughts, none of which I can remember. Ah, that's the ticket. A really blurry, poor quality Batman dream, poorly remembered. And you know, I don't even think there was any Batman theme music playing. What a cheap-ass dream. It could have maybe used some Prince music played on a Fisher-Price xylophone, at least.
"C'mon Mom, what gives? You call that piece of shit a Unicorn! I'm so embarrassed!"
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Friday, May 22, 2009
Slipping between ribs and fabric gaps into soldiers’ organ meat
While birds chirped nearby in sylvan woodlands uninterrupted by battle
Corpses thumped quietly to the turf, eyes staring emptily into the woods
Another day, loud bombardments heard for hundreds of miles cracked the sky
While still the birds chirped, somewhat put off by the percussive ironworks
Soldiers, splattered by raining cannon balls and sprays of shrapnel
Flew through the air, landed on the turf and screamed in horror, splintered
Then, one fine day, perfected aerial attacks vaporized whole cities into dust
The birds disintegrated, burned and melted in mid-air as forests blazed
Soldiers and civilians alike were consumed in supersonic horizontal ash blazes
Their remains unfound, their shadows burned into the ground where they stood
You just can’t think like this any more.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Showgirls, of course, is a tried and true bad movie night staple - a real jawdropper of a movie gone very, very wrong - but its funny, campy and willfully wrongheaded. We have been debating whether Elizabeth Barkley, the "star" of Showgirls was shtupping the director when this movie was made, which would account for why she was allowed more than enough leash to hang herself about 90 times in 90 minutes. Lets say her "acting" isn't exactly finely nuanced. She musta went to the Psychotic Episode School of Acting, I would say. And the sex scenes with Kyle Maclachlan: Huh? What? Eh?
An aside on Showgirls: we can't figure out why the black "boyfriend" sub-plot is even in the movie. Its functionless, unless you count the "Bitch, get me a beer!" line as ghetto comedy. I'm not sure about this character. Is he squatting in that warehouse or can you actually rent something like that in Vegas? Why is it all smoky?
On the other hand, Repo is almost too bad for words. The plot is hopeless, the songs are horrendous, the acting execrable, the dialog unintelligible.
It reeks, people.
Talk about show-stoppers - this movie is one long "What the F?" scene after another (and not in a good way.) And its way way way way way way too long. Mike kept time-checking - "Oh shit, we got 55 more minutes of this!" "Oh no! Still 35 minutes left - its seems like we've been watching this for four hours!"
Its an opera that mixes rap (I think that was rap), sing-songy narration, graphic novel segments, shrieking pop opera (think Meatloaf on crack writing music for an Evanescence video featuring people who can't really sing with gratuitous cameos - like Joan Jett = ka-ching, payday Joan?)
Paul Sorvino seriously should have his Actor's Guild membership shredded for his performance. Sure, maybe you need a pay-day, but come on! Is he doing penance of some sort?
And oh, here you go: Effing Sarah Brightman is featured in this mess near the end, but fortunately is impaled on an iron pike fence after ripping her own eyes out just when you KNOW you can't take any more of her. Hey, I think I just identified the movie's high point, except any scene featuring Sarah Brightman by definition cannot count as a high point.
This is the first bad movie night movie we actually had to stop in the middle and take an hour break to get through. Now, that's bad. We sat through the interminable "Gerry" without a break and its basically just a movie with two guys walking in the desert for two hours. Repo made Showgirls look like fine art.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Friday, May 15, 2009
Thursday, May 14, 2009
( some one ) is sinister foot music somewhere in a tungsten-carbide-atmosphere cabaret
an insect being can't dance properly, upset that the full screech quartet is unamplified
abrasive winds howl the outlines of the forgotten, saturating all attending entities
inching past the diocese footmark as a repast numerates displaced ascetic chewers
hatefully be-cupped, enhanced-impulse pilgrims recharge the up-unified who seek noise
in a negative window, unwinding negation, where the winsome rioters circulate chaotically
progressing forward angrily, invisibly, a game-changer advances in rotting elastic time-steps 'her proudly ample cankerroot-tinged nagger tango is rewarded egress,
as aspirating chants reverberate endlessly through the ruined fields of eruptive and clandestine laughter
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
They is right as usual you think by three smash landings of the residence. It just shook, lay dead, roared in fury at the dead immediately stumbling statues around the two deputies and followed suit the robots with his powercar when they rounded the garage and to the command post of the beastsput on gas.
“I screeched with goats, but was shaped more like the broad spas across the street in the garage from a zoo or something,” said the Tyrol Fief Anklet-wearing Clown. Chief Brown Poltshikadoll and two Chief Hills burrowing out of the steaming corpse decided to take action immediately and began emptying serpent evolvers at whoever screamed and the deputies suiting up prog-rock all night. “No! No! Yes!”
“ Mm..mmight have their brains splattered about maybe we been a threat or something”, chanted the random Ape Man. “We did the appraising-their-situation thing & returned fluorescent soon enough with the five beastly beasts who were too unusual and were seen departing in masks and head in heads and said no they their stinking filth on site.
”Thanks for the mainstream reading! As usual, I will try the dinosaur, the five beasts and the remaining scimitars! As night approached, Chiasms macerate nylon templates piddled with filch stews and lack of insight.
My advice to you is go north with your sautéed fiancé to woo denuded take-ups, call the fire department to burn the remains to bring you all of the news that. “Where are the five stroking tangelo nasals the size of rocketships and what about that should have had escort turret hoops else things for like slime reporters with the buzzing, covered, demonic dark green skin?”
What they saw approaching, scissoring diehards into the stinking hulk surprised them.
Summary: Uncomfortable with nostrils the size of rock and roller coasters, the yolkier electro-negative heifers situated on aeroliths in kabanas latch and retune their variety ukeleles and what to my eyes may have seemed toy boat but was shaped more like the approaching sizzling pouring suit-suit falling the grange into the broad vistas across the street in the things for like business otters with the catatomic dark reasons asked what they saw the robots with his powercar when they rounded chink by chink the wall was and to the command post of the garage beasts’ zoo said the per force troops of indolence, I think by three and many thousands of Chief Hills borrowing the streaming hulk named Whitey is right as usual you learn of the residence.
It just shook, lay dead, roared in fury at the deadly crumbling fortress of solitude around which the burning tires and smelled a hidden bomb in the salad when they spied the rounded shape inside the floating garage and to the reticule I screeched with goats but was shaped more like the the street in the garage from a zoo or something broad across the spa said the mutant and two Chief “The Gravity Has Us!” Hills burrowing out of the steaming corpse decided to take action immediately and began emptying derived surface involvers at whoever screamed “deputies!” and the smoldering surfing usa saga filtered majestically up to approach the site
Jim Flores came home from his job as a freeway ad clown to find a dead dinosaur in his back yard. “I smelled something funny right away and followed my nose to the back yard and there it was!” he told reporters. “I don’t know how it got there, but it’s a mess and it mashed in the side of my garage something fierce.”
The beast, identified by a local Boy Scout as either a “Gigantosaurus or a Really Giganto Saurus” was estimated by butcher Ted Wright as weighing between 300 and 350 tons. “Its more meat than I’ve ever seen in one place,” he opined. “And I have seen some pretty big stockyards, including Stockyard Channing.”
To complicate matters, the dinosaur was observed to have ice crystals clinging to it, leading to speculation that it had been held in a refrigerator-freezer since the Jurassic Age. “Perhaps someone was saving it for a fiesta or party and never got around to thawing it out and now they decided to get rid of it,” said Chief of Police Bill “Run of the Mill” Hill. “Anyway, I never realized they had freezers back in the Jurassic Era. I don’t even think they had electrical power back then.”
By the next morning after discovering the beast, Flores , the homeowner was forced from his home by a couple of resulting environmental problems caused by the large, rotting carcass.
First, the smell had become unbelievable. “It’s like comparing a minnow to a whale, the smell of this compared to a dead deer by the roadside,” said Flores . The smell carried for some 5 miles and was causing nearby motorists to hallucinate, puke and crash their vehicles.
Secondly, a river of dinosaur waste from the beast’s carcass was flowing down the driveway and into the street, blocking traffic. Wild animals were seen to be running up, lapping up the filth and dying on the spot. “This might be some kind of health hazard,” said Flores . “I don’t know.”
Thirdly, the avian scavengers such as buzzards and crows were flocking to the site, drawn by the putrescence and smell and were squawking like hell and ripping dead flesh off and flying around the neighborhood wreaking havoc while flies buzzed loudly in clouds around and on the carcass.
“I guess we might as well let time take its toll,” said Police Chief Hill. When a team of dinosaur scientist arrived on the scene in breathing masks and sealed suits, Hill directed them not to remove any of the filth from the scene, but to study it “in situ”. The scientists were incensed, but agreed and waded into the degenerating mess.
“What a mess!” summarized Chief Hill.
“This is an unexpected development,” said Chief Hill. “I’m afraid we might have to do something now.”
Monday, May 11, 2009
Actually, it's not new to the universe, just to human eyes. It's thought to have existed ten millionths of a second after the Big Bang at the dawn of the universe. It may also exist in the cores of very dense stars called neutron stars.
This form of matter is called mud-wrestling matter or MWM. Like its name suggests, MWM is a "soup", or plasma, of quarks and gluons.
Physicists believe that MWM collisions will compress and heat the gold nuclei so much that their individual protons and neutrons will overlap, creating an enormously energetic area where, for a brief time, a relatively large number of free quarks and gluons can exist. This is the mud-wrestling matter!
Above, you can see this phase transition up close. The red, green and blue circles are quarks, connected by black lines representing gluons. At the beginning, trios of quarks and gluons are packaged in protons and neutrons, which are held together in the nucleus of an atom. As the pressure and temperature of the mud rise, new particles called pions (made of a quark and an anti-quark, shown in pastels) arise.