the absinthe drinker

here's another picasso. he's my favorite painter by far. "picasso gives you things which bulge:grunting lungs pumped full of sharp thick mind" -- ee cummings

my writing leans much onto his painting. and it's still learning "to break up the white light of objective realism into the secret glories which it contains." he was one of the few painters who used humor too.

but the whore in this painting... there's something strangely sexy about her. she's got madness in her eyes. something completely sick, like an open nerve ending touched by a slight breeze (slighted by a touched breeze). i understand how she feels. and that's where picasso's genius comes in.
-----

Night Shift

see: decomP ~ April '09

ri-tooral-ooral-addy

i don't think i have what it takes to be an official blogger yet. i just don't have the ambition or self-love or whatever it is. something about there being precisely twomenandamidget reading this doesn't help much either... but i will try to dredge up my voice. drinking beers (or blue nun qualitatswein-kudos-bottle cost $4.50) helps. the fact that i'm a slow typist (and reader and talker) doesn't.

**** by the way, i heard kerouac was an incredibly fast and proficient typer. that's great. what a gift the sonofabitch had to be able to do that. some people are just marvelously gifted and ya know...,THE STUPIDASS SHOULD'VE BEEN A GODDAMNEDSECRETARY... HE COULDN'T WRITE HIS WAY OUT OF A PROPER

nut(sac)k

here's a political conversation i overheard today:

person #1. "i just have a problem with people who are so adamant about saving the life of a two week young fetus (which is basically almost a tadpole), but don't give a shit about a twentyyearold vet who is maimed for life, or the family of any dead soldier... don't give a shit... yet the same fuckers have the gall to traipse around in camouflage hunter's garb, because they think there's nothing wrong with murdering animals (or wounding them for life) because it's a socalled known fact animals have neither feelings nor souls..."
person#2: "i know, i hate christians.
#1: i was actually talking about republicans.
#2: there's a difference?
#1: there's republicans who aren't christians, but not the other way around.
#2: well the christians are the worst of the bunch. the born agains.
1: i call 'em born again phonies..hypocrites.introduce me to one who isn't and we'll talk.
2: forget the hypocrite thing. they're sociopaths. they just know how to hide their monstrous souls well. with them, everything's about them & feeding the goat within.don't be misguided.
1: i won't

Alone in a Libyan desert...

i have a hard time keeping up a blog. i am not interested in telling people about the mundane things that happen in my life, and i don't think they are interested in them either. i write one or two peoms a week. i am not writing any stories anymore. i will write a novel in about 7-11 years (after i come back from germany, where I plan on going in about 1.5-2 years). and switch gears. until then it's drinking and poetry. and working. and trying to be by myself as much as I can. i don't take too many phone calls anymore. i don't have too many friends, and i want to keep it that way. to be an artist, to truly harness your genius (if you have it...or think you do) is a sad and painful thing. and oh so lonely. and oh so maddening. and I can tell you it has nothing to do with happiness, that's for sure. except when the magic comes, then it's real. and life doesn't seem like such torment. but the magic only comes to go, like everything else in the world. And then you're left living some more. your 3rd rate life. is it worth it? it's probably not, but for me... there's someone out there i'm trying to impress. another me. who probably hasn't even been born yet, but needs me the same way I needed... dostoyevsky, turgenev, e.e. cummings, bukowski, montaigne, schopenhauer, voltaire, jeffers... the ones who put the line down with blood. i am putting my whole life on the line (in unseen ways) for this... the trial muse, and the wine of my incantations. for the next line that may come to me, as i walk out into death any evening. i'm dead serious about this, and it all makes perfect sense to me.