Signal-Partition-Angel-Void

fig.5gross) I've had it...

"Hello, angel popper and again hello. There's blanket enough for you if your horse has swept its business. Let's be real. Let's be kind and orderly through this swamp. I'm a beast, so let's be beasts and never stop"

Warm socks, everyone had warm socks and there was a tidy slide presentation about a small and nameless boat. No one had an IPhone but everyone was encouraged to laugh at the dancing bear whenever it came around in the song. If I recall, then after that there were puzzles and brain teasers handed out. There were animal crackers too!!! Oh, when I suggested that Shia Lebeouf should host his own episodic television show, much like the Twilight Zone, they asked to hear more. When I told them that as host he would actually be a mime, a mime host that would introduce each episode from inside an invisible box. When I told them that, it blew their minds, poof. Just blown away, I didn't even have to explain that the show was going to be a whole half hour of Shia Lebeouf miming and doing mime stuff in all of the roles, whoa!!! Right?

YOGA, It's a step closer to realizing our end times, the return of Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior (not to be confused with the historical Jesus (sans Christ) it's uncertain that that fellow ever existed or even paid taxes) and it also reserves epic seats at Medieval Times, Nostradamus will be there with Putin. If they get the embassy locked down first then everyone gets to kick a leper or at least a contemporary equivalent. They'll buy rugs and be pretend happy until the oil runs out.

So yeah, the Santa Train and the Chicagoans. It was unintentional but we were lucky enough to get onto the train platform as the Santa Train rolled in. Oh wow, my son will love this. The long flat car with Santa rolls to a stop right next to him and he's trying to register what it is he's seeing. Then dozens of horrible adults with cell phones spring into action. They crowd the platform around the car and make it difficult for us to move anywhere. The cars fill up with more asshole commuters that don't want to make room for the 2 year old. Later, on our very mundane and normal Pink line ride Thomas asks why can't we take the Santa Train, I want to take the Santa Train mommy/daddy. The Santa Train's blinky. Can we take the Santa Train again, and so on for the next 40 minutes. So here's a shout out to all of you horrible Christmas trolls, you terrifying selfish assholes that are flaking off the walls of this bowel and making the few remaining pleasantries left to us as odious and noxious as you can, well thanks.

"My lawyers on holiday, the T-shirts just got made," so strap it to a donkey for ease of use and best ergonomy. So Stanley sings, He's the king of the kings of all of the things... That his father has laid before ya... He's set his table with dishes radishes and porridge... I'm working at Planet Jesus... I'm eating fried cheeses... I'm washing some dishes and wishing I was kissing... All of the girls I'm missing...

The apologist and the appraiser have decided to stay put

dashed wet and grim Oh now, Reagan of steel glitter in pants with which to shake them on down. Oh now, I shit you not for these are the things. Yes in any order you should choose these are the things to please please me, Oh Yeah. - Unmarked letter signed, A to A They'll say to me that it's safe to say so much for ubiquity, for disenfranchisement, and the terrorism of privilege. They'll say to me, With all of the effects from these profoundly toxic effects, is the project of our shared humanity effectively being dismantled. Are these the idle thoughts and sad tidings of despots and the tyrant kings inside of their comfortable towers of raised muck. As I've said before, They're not so far gone as to be gone for the good of all. This is plain to be seen in a world of bent backs and gross hyperbole. I'll sit in any unused doorway. I'll be beside myself while every door is locked. I'll dream of the halls and listen as the curtains, the drinking, an...

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 ...

Piles of leaves: Letters Campaign

Suddenly old but feeling perfect, my wet underwear is on the the floor. It's gathered round my ankle. Myko laughs, just as wet and full of piss as ever. The violence of our togethering already feels like more than something. I reach out, taking the back of her neck with my hand. She's stepping in as I lean over to write; Dear, Temperance, October, and Brine, You are more than a place to me. More than walls and simple chimes, but I'll write to you anyway. This you'll know as you read my words. From here beside the lark's buttered breast, from under the heavy lids and the bright side kettle where we'll hum. We'll hum together, Bunny. Dickens be damned, we're now brightly doomed. Soon enough we'll see, the forest within the trees. To you, Tigre PS. are more or only this bed, maybe the floor too. We spend the day in, ordering takeout and hiding under the sheets. I get up and pee while Katt is talking about Milton. Her mouth's open, it's as rou...

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