Deep in the Brain of the Mind

make us your own and we shall sing together

It's good to know your way around. This is your sextant. The yardarm is there and that's the mizzenmast behind the fore-mast. You don't want to get them confused, one day it'll all be buckets and flaming pants. You'll need to know who knows what and who's just got your toes. Now, did you bring the rope like I asked? I'm Vaulting to Victory, from the old Sailor Moon outtakes on the second disc.

BWAHAHAHAhaha Viking is like the best band ever so insurance, sure. Aren't those the little yellow ones? I remember liking those a lot. I've been meaning to ask you about them.
Goodbye Yellow Brick Road, Goodbye, Goodbye-eee-eye, She's singing the Goodbye song to him from the small closet at the foot of the bed. Davy is thinking about the last time they did it in here and he chuckles, The glossy map, the tacks that went everywhere, and all of that fat cotton thread that still can't spell chicken. Yes she has these worn out gym socks in the bathroom and some some of her other shorts are buried in a pile of his shirts. That's okay it's like he's even more right here. He's deep in time reading an overdue book with her feet on the desk that they share. She reaches over and rubs the lump of his IPhone. Then suddenly it's nowhere near the end and Davy feels like he's loosing her the whole way down.
It's all right here and these are the only things that he can say and they're all he remembers. Davy fixates on her ass hanging out of the closet and begins to cry. A growing pink pile of underwear is sitting in the open suitcase. It's other half is filled with old mail and his waterproof vibrator, What?
He openly snortles back a giantsized wad of a snotball. This pill of luxury isn't wise nor should not it be consumed by the quick or the dumb, He stops. Karen stop, He squats in the doorway holding his knees. Just stop there please. I didn't know about the yellow ones, not all of them. I made most up most of that in my head so it shouldn't count. Even it's right it shouldn't count, so stop. I meant it when I said, You're on Candid Camera.
Karen stands up. Without turning to face him she says, BWAHAHAHAhaha Viking is playing the Crown tonight with the Wet Tips. I'm going without you Davy.

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The apologist and the appraiser have decided to stay put

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Piles of leaves: Letters Campaign

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Not the Willem DeKooning Retrospective (Not Even Close)

Willem DeKooning, Excavation (1950) oil on canvas Yesterday at work I bumped into this piece by Donald Kuspit on DeKooning's retrospective over at Artnet . Then this morning I bumped into this one on L Magazine's site, by Paddy Johnson . I don't know that Paddy Johnson demystifies DeKooning as much as she takes issue with his pallet, declaring it repetitive and boorish en masse. By contrast, Donald Kuspit writes an article painting DeKooning as a sadistic brute inextricably tied to the modern tradition in general and Picasso specifically. Together they make for some interesting reading, particularly as Kuspit never addresses the show itself in favor of drawing his conclusions from individual works. While Johnson seems to wear the show like an imaginary wool shawl, noting it's uncomfortable, out of style, and the zipper is broken. But she doesn't seem to get to a place that addresses what was actually there either, only what she felt was missing or to her mind ...

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