Ink linked Dreams

The crucial call of foot steps fleet over water and under bridges as my wishes click and buzz.

Stained laced lines consecutively intersect

picked and prodded skin.

An artist's arm is only as good as the hand it's attached to,

but too much of a good thing can only become greatness.

A day away from a dream seems a bit extreme as steam ships pipe.

A frozen hell lays looming over the horizon, but my sky lights only see crystal clear sunshine.

To teach a dream and live a mystery without misery

ever present failure pacing on the other side of that six foot iron gate.

Dragons call for my arm as buckeyes bloom on the backs of broken, swollen hands.

A monk's story told in urban prose versed without reason, but caught between a finger and click.

The buzzing of mechanical bees flutter with porous joy

as they drink from the dementia of triple black and relaxed nectar.

With every sting,

pinch,

and

bite

No pain.

No fight.

I always wanted to be purple when I grew up.

Who knew it was possible.

Roads aren't made to be traveled,

paths are made to be blazed.

Stars are made to shoot

and

rainbows built to fade away.

A new day

Under a veil of mystery UMC Studios is undergoing major changes that not even I, The Urban Monk, could have foreseen.

January 2011 will be the beginning of the a long and righteous journey to forever win the war against art. I will be declaring an official HQ for my battle. The ground will be broken in Columbus, Ohio in a place only suitable for such a declaration of creativity.

AFTER YEARS OF SEARCHING THERE IS NO MORE PERFECT A PLACE THAN THAT OF WHICH i HAVE FOUND. iT IS SUITED TO EVERY NEED.

The Need of my art is what propels me forward. It is my only faith. My only justification, my only logic, and the only reason for my existence. It is now time to put Post Modern Barbequeism on the map....

And so it starts....

UMC Studios new headquarters under renovations...

As of this last week I have made many moves towards my dreams, goals, and aspirations as an artist. I have finally found a home worthy of my ideas. Although it needs some major TLC I plan on investing at least three years into seeing where this goes. I have also began a tattoo apprenticeship which I will hope to make my career as it will fund my ambitious art projects in the future. These are big risks I am taking in uncharted personal territory as I hang it all on the line. It is either sink or swim and I prefer the later. My plan is for UMC Studios to begin to take shape as early as Spring 2011.

When aspirations turn real...

I am in a bit of a dilemma. I have always set goals outlandishly high and unobtainable... Or so I thought. I do this so that I may always continue to strive for perfection and keep the hunger to create ever present. Now, what happens when unexpectedly an unrealistic goal is not only obtainable, but with a stroke of good luck is achieved. That is the predicament I find myself in. I am happy to add that I don't mind this problem and quite frankly wish it would happen more often.

I guess either I didn't realize the potential of my true self or have greatly underestimated my ability to succeed. Either way this is an awesome spot to be. It is not often that I right about the subject of luck as it is my belief that there is no such thing. Generally luck can be broken down into the idea that it is made up of a consistent drive to succeed, hard work, opportunity, and the ability to realize that opportunity and take full advantage of it. Without any one of those my idea of luck does not exist. So, I believe in essence everyone can create their own luck. This is why although I feel extremely lucky I know also that 90 percent of it is actual my doing.

It's just a thought, but from now on in I am going to set my goals even loftier and more over-the-top... Let's see what happens.

Never stop dreaming.

Through those dreams and hard work is the only way a measure of success can truly be reached.

Shock art, Not my art...

A funny thing happened... Tonight I was going to watch disc 5 of A BAND OF BROTHERS, which I did. This had started out as a tribute to memorial day watching the box set, but had put off the last discs for some reason.

Today, I just finished my final draft of a screen play for one of my students in which we are going to make a film for... I decided to watch disc 5 because I wanted to see the relation to on-screen dialog and the character on screen... But, this is where it gets interesting...

The film is so engulfing that I forgot entirely why I was watching and just simply took in the story. This rarely happens for me, but tonight it did. After two episodes and the winning of the war. I turned off my TV and went to bed. As I lay there staring up at the ceiling at 2:38 in the morning I began to think about how much people take for granted. Not in a passive way, but actually thought about it.

After being reminded of the hardships that Jews went through in those concentration camps it is tough to emphasize the importance of say, "Getting a car" or A good job.

So, As I lay there I kept thinking how the art form of film making reminded me of life's fragile humanity and how that fragility can be easily broken. Through the beauty of story telling and art such an ugliness of human nature inspires beauty.

I began to think of my own art and some series that I have done that have tried to spread awareness through the shock of image. I have veered away from that for reasons other than I intended, but now I make what I consider "EYE CANDY". I have begun to re-involve concepts of what I hold as beliefs. Although, now I am beginning to see that through truth and beauty one can still show the injustices of the world while still maintaining one's own integrity. I am learning how to say what I want, about what I want. In a way that doesn't make the viewer defensive, but instead invites the viewer in for dialog.

I haven't begun to take on such bold and difficult subject matters as the atrocities of WWII, but I am starting on a smaller scale with issues that are effecting the world around me.

My narrative.

I believe as an artist it would be foolish and naive of me to waste my talent painting only pretty pictures. Why do that when I can paint the same pretty pictures, but have them mean something? It does not discredit their significants just because they are pretty. I have determined that there is enough ugliness in the world. What I am trying to do is elevate just a little bit of that ugliness to an idea of beauty by showing the world its' significants and why we should be looking deeper into such subject matters.

Many people make ugly things and some even make beautiful things ugly, but few take the ugliness of the world and pull from it elements of truth, integrity, and beauty...

Why? Because it is a difficult thing to look inside one's self and deal with subjects going on in the world that one cannot solve alone. It is an overwhelming feeling of helplessness and in that discouraging. So that is why people focus on that shiny new car, that long awaited cruise... To think of beautiful things is easy to make one motivated and hopeful, but to take the world's ugly and look at it with that same optimism and positivity is a much more difficult thing.

I guess what I am trying to say is...

That is what my job is as an artist in all works that I create and that is what my goal has always been I just did not know it.

To make the ugly beautiful.

-The Urban Monk

p.s. Now that I got that off my chest I will sleep much easier. What do you think about before you go to sleep?

Busy, busy, busy...

To catch everyone up to what is current in my life... Well, another of the twenty three goals for new years has been completed. I am now officially a licensed driver. Which is remarkable considering the previous week I failed horribly. So after sixteen years of putting it off I can be done with that.

Moving on. The show that I was supposed to do "Art in the City" was cancelled do to the unpredictability of people I will remain to keep nameless for both their integrity and mine as well. On the other hand my painting The zebras ate my new right shoe did make it into the juried professional exhibition at The Ohio State Fair. I consider this a momentous victory considering I got rejected two years ago and they only select three hundred works and there were over eight hundred entered. The opening reception will be July 27. I will let you know how the awards reception goes.

I have scrapped the series called "Fred's workshop" however, it is being transformed into another series in light of the Gulf oil disaster. This new series will be called BPGA (British Petroleum Gulf Art) a little play on the whole PGA thing. The first in that series is being completed, but it will not e finished until the Gulf leak is fixed... It could be a very, very long series.

In other news, the first part of my collaborative independent art film is wrapping up this week. I will be finishing the first hard edition of the screen play. After that there will be no major changes with regards to plot, characters, or concept. Everything else will still be subject to change as we have kept a very liquid approach to this whole project. Namely, because we have no idea what we're doing, but that is the fun part. Accomplishing the impossible. That has been an underlying theme of the current endeavors I have been taking on.

I think that should catch everyone up to what I have been doing over the last couple of weeks. I will try to check in more often, but projects are far out weighing blog-o-sphere time and quite honestly I would prefer it that way.

-The Urban Monk over and out...

Despite Obstacles

If there is one thing I have learned it is to appreciate Murphy's Law, but seriously... It sounds like me and this Murphy fellow have plenty in common. I don't know where I am exactly going with this. Let's just say, I stopped making plans a long time ago. I have determined that my path has been predetermined. I just happen to be the unlucky soul that has no idea what that line is that I travel. I am sure most feel the same way. I try to control circumstances that occur, but often times that makes the whole ordeal much more difficult to tolerate. My life is kind of like watching a high school fight. The tricky part is to know when to break it up so it doesn't go over the deep end, but there is always that other side that wants to see how far it will spiral. Then again, sometimes there is a whole bunch of commotion, but nothing really happens... Right now is not one of those times. Somebody needs to seriously intervene and show me the path or else I am about a split second from running away and joining the circus.

Despite my current list of obscenely long list of obstacles I have dusted of a formidable plan to get things back on track. One, I am getting my license in the next week or so... Hell or high water. Two, I have found a warehouse suitable of being able to create the lofty ambitions of my fantasy art world (now I just need a source of reliable income to procure it). Three, get a job as a house painter so as that I may get my warehouse.

Once I achieve all of these things the universes will be in alignment once again and I may go back to taking on projects that far exceed my ability... Thank you very much... Over and out.

Mmmm, my not so productive weeks...

Well, I haven't been sticking to my productivity plan once again. I keep straying off into the unproductive realm of video game playing. It is difficult to stay focused as I cannot keep a steady schedule of exercise. I have all, but given up on being physically fit. This is the longest duration I have gone without being physically active. It has been months since I have worked. I feel weak and unmotivated, but I neither have the room or proper diet to exercise... Hell, I don't even have suitable drinking water in my current place of habitat.

It's crazy that in the 21st century in the United States there would be a home that does not have water fit to drink. This is the least of my dilemmas, but that's for another day in another blog that isn't related to art... Anyway, back to productivity... It has been slow as I have fallen slack to my Mandarin lessons and creative writings.

Though, in the grand scheme of things I have been working. I am about to wrap up completion on my latest painting The Gospel according to Roy G. Biv. It is framed, the resin is setting, and all that is left is for me to acquire some of the MAGIC ink that I will use to create the eyeball. Then that piece will be complete and all is done for the show. For once I will be ahead of schedule. Tomorrow I head to Indianapolis to pick up two pieces and drop off another.

So I guess in hind sight I have been productive, but it could always be better. I have to be careful of the ever to bordering of burnout. As long as I keep a steady pace I will be alright. I have been putting in an average of I say 8-10 hours which isn't bad, but it could be better. I actually took time to shave today. A rarity for one who has no sink or mirror... Don't ask.

I will begin to document my workshop series tomorrow... I warn you though, from ugliness and darkness only true beauty can arise...

Workshop art...

Every couple of years I clean out whatever random work space I happen to call my studio and use my scraps to create little art treasures. For some reason people seem to love these little art treasures more than my regular work. Sooooo, to test a theory I have I am going to create these piece's called "The Fred's workshop series"and put them on Etsy.com to see the type of response they warrant. I have no idea how many pieces I will create, but my guess is it will be until I run out of scraps. This should get interesting as material dictates style. I am hoping to pull out about twenty pieces. If it is a success then I will create more. Only time will tell. I think the first pieces will be ready by monday...

Let the magic begin...

The Gospel according to Roy G. Biv...

Well, the painting is coming together nicely, except for the fact that I don't really like all that much. Every artist say that sort of thing, but as of these last couple of years I haven't. In general I have liked the work I have put out and it has for the most part looked as good or better than what I imagined. I guess at some point I am bound to have a disappointment.

With that being said... There is still time to pull this piece up to par. I haven't applied the MAGIC yet... I am hoping it will pull this piece together, but I think that it is asking alot.

I guess I am hoping the beauty is in the eye of the beholder and I am hoping Roy has one beautiful eye. That and my custom frame might just be this paintings saving grace. Oh, and the fact that it changes color...

The Monk of Columbus

Well, it looks like after two years of shows in Columbus I finally am entering the art scene. Only time will tell if this is to be a lucrative love affair of success and ambition, or ... Well, I won't even think of other options.

Two weeks from now I will debut my new Post Modern Barbequeism Pieces. When that day arrives expect to receive an ear full of the low down. We'll see if this town of my birth is ready for what they don't know is coming for them. Me and twenty other artist... This should be interesting.

Paint with Urgency

As I listened to classical music and worked on my latest painting I determined why my work has such movement and bold use of color. I now think it is my new motto... This motto you ask? Well, I will tell you. It is a bit aggressive, but then again so is my new view of my work.

Paint with a sense of urgency. Paint each stroke with intensity and purpose as if the gods were to strike both hands limp at any moment. Examine your work as though tomorrow you would be stricken blind. And last, be generous with color as if the world were swallowed by blackness and void of any color..

This is much cleaner than my original version that kept like a mantra in my head as I peacefully painted to Bach and Beethoven. My original thought went more along the lines of this.

Paint with Urgency, as if the gods were to stricken one hand-less and rip both eyes from the socket. Allow color to not only breathe, but sing from the canvas through the darkness of the world and echo through the blackness, illuminating the path. of worldly beauty and nature's true essence.

Hate it when a name don't stick...

Well, I thought I had decided on my current painting's name, but it had other opinions. I wanted thought it should be called The gospel according to Wilbur. However, WILBUR thought other wise. I am now changing it's name to The Gospel according to Roy G. Biv. A little less witty, but it is out of my hands. Kind of in a tricky spot with it. Roy's being a bit of a stubborn fool. Some paintings just float right into the way they are supposed to be. Then there are the ones like Roy that fight the process kicking and screaming. I don't like painting the forced way. Too much room for mistake. When a painting flows there are never mistakes. I have been lucky enough to have been on a streak. This is the first stubborn painting I have had in years. There are only two reasons for this. Either I was not pushing my skills hard enough OR... I was not pushing myself hard enough.

I think this painting is just a touch beyond my skill level which will make it all the more satisfying when I pull it off. Nothing better than doing something that you think is impossible. It does wonders for the self esteem. Now that I think about it, I have been accomplishing plenty of impossible goals lately. Failure is inevitable with the multitude of impossible tasks I have been taking on. Though Roy ain't going to be one of them... You hear that Roy... Tomorrow it's on.

Too much...

That's it, that's all.

Too many things and too little time.

Hurry this

and

Hurry that.

Check the time

and

rotate back,

but already behind.

Creatively master minding success...

There are many ways to succeed, but only one way to fail.

Urban Monkism Quarterly is progressing quite nicely. I think it shall meet it's completion deadline of late may, but the only question is... Will anybody care? Actually, that doesn't matter. It never has. It never will. It matters to me and that is all that matters.

My new painting is coming along swimmingly as well. Along with the many other various projects I have going on right now. The magazine will cost $10.00 I think. That seems a fair price. I aim to complete 2-3 pages a day in order to reach my goal of 75 by the end of may. So for these next couple of days I can kind of ease into it and then head full steam ahead next week...

So many plans, so little of me to go around. I need assistants, but all they would do is get in the way.

Announcing Urban Monkism Quarterly...

Yep, that's right. Heard it hear first... That is, if anybody is paying attention. In my effort to document my entire life as an artist I am developing something I have been putting off for a long time.

Coming this summer I am going to put out the first quarterly catalog, issue, publication, or whatever anyone wants to call it. It is going to be properly named " The Prototype". This first issue is going to be rough around the edges. Real rough, but as I figure out exactly where I am going with this each issue will improve upon the last.

Basically, it is a catalog of everything Urban Monk. My books, my thoughts, my poetry, my art, and completely my opinions on everything with a Post Modern Barbecue twist. It will strictly deal with all things creative. There will be absolutely no ads except for products produced by me.

Eventually, I hope to feature artists' work that I like and know. Also, maybe interviews and who knows what else. This is kind of a working idea, but I will put the first one out there in late may.

I don't know why I am doing this. It isn't like anybody is listening out there, but for some reason I feel that all of this work that I am producing is for a reason. I feel as though everything I do should be documented. There is something within my art and ideas that lay an important concept or fundamental essence. I am not sure what or why it is. I just know that there is something profound resting beneath the surface and I am slowly starting to scratch away the dirt like an archeologist uncovering ancient ruins.

The more I try and dissect what it is that drives my art, the better and more profound my art becomes. By seeing how elements and techniques can inter relate with other subjects that appear at first glance to have no correlation is really quite amazing. Who'd of thought that listening to physicist and molecular biologist give speeches would influence the way I think about the application of color and texture or that listening to a woman's view on the Theory of Darwin's Evolution would cause me to think about the evolution of my own art and perhaps it is not the way it is because of the way I thought it was.

These quarterly catalogs might just become my little pet project. I have no idea where they are headed, but then again I have no idea where I am headed. All I know is that I follow the flow of my creative energy. And right now my creative energy is telling me that I need to write this quarterly amongst other things.

The muse has spoken and I have listened...

Fresh Start

A Native American Samurai's morning.

Wells of freshness spray through rusty sprinklers.

A new beginning, but aren't they all.

The familiar recognition of consciousness

starts nagging again.

Like the rice harvesters of Vietnam

So does my day too start already behind.

The same things I did yesterday

need done today.

The meditations of a brush

sooth my anxious soul.

I plead with my mind like Vegas pleads with me.

What happens here, stays here.

Though that is never the case.

Another beginning.

Another day further behind.

Back to the present and focus on the now...

Well, I have been slacking in my priorities set forth on January first. I have produced another book although it wasn't on the list. Everything else I have been slacking off on.

So, with that being said. I am going to get back on track with poem of the day starting now...

And I will call it, "Stressed"

Slumped backs and slouched cadavers.

My lady of luck is slack.

I think thoughts of forgotten goals and worn torn souls.

A Poe frame of mind, but too dreary for me.

Give me a rainy day to make me shine like an unexpected package.

Please no more dreams of bullet riddled bodies

ravaged by lost packs of dogs.

Tormented teeth grind through tormented eyes.

Surviving is the easy part.

It's getting back to sleep that keeps me awake at night.

Overwhelming & Under Developed...

What best describes my plan towards life.

Pre-sleep art thoughts...

An artist must turn corners blind and take on challenges of the impossible. If an artist does not do such things then I consider them not to be an artist. Simple as that. There are hobbyist and excellent craftsmen, but artist I think not. I know very few artist in the fields of the fine arts, but I seem to know far more artist in other careers that do not consider themselves artists.

My journey is an interesting one. I do not know where my creative endeavors will take me or whether I will be successful or not. Some say it is all how one measures success. I have spoke upon my ideals of success many times so I will not go into that right now because quite frankly I am tired of blabbering about it.

I am more concerned about whether I should worry that my path of artistic evolution is so liquid that it seems to take on whatever vessel happens to be within reach of me... If I am near a workshop I begin to produce furniture... If my only access is a computer I will write. If it is paints, then I will paint. Some would call it being resourceful. I think of it as creature of habitat. This is why I am so hell bent on having a warehouse. I am interested to see the proportions to which my ideas will fill. Sure, I have a few ideas of large scale work, but I know it is only the beginning. I know that I cannot even begin to imagine the extremes to which my work will grow with unlimited size restraints.

This is something that has always restricted my concepts as an artist and I think now is the time to explore this new avenue of artistic growth. My ideas are becoming stifled because of the constraints of my environment. With greater space, comes more impactful work.

As an artist it is my duty to supply my creative mind with potential scenarios that are conducive to the production of original techniques. I know that by supplying certain elements in juxtaposed situations that I will bring about new ways of thinking. There by creating completely original ideas that I never planned on.

A shock to the system is what I am all about. To plan for the unexpected is what I do best... Actually, to provoke the unexpected is what I do best. Improvising techniques until they become craft is my second nature. That is my true art technique. Through the improvisational techniques of ordinary and extraordinary materials I develop new tools for my style... The style of Post Modern Barbequeism.

Creating work that has never been done before or even thought about is the goal with my art, but not just to create something new for the sake of creating something new... Art for art's sake...

I have never been down with that idea. The new work MUST conceptually hold some weight for its' use. There MUST be a significance for its' being. There are even reasons for accidents in my opinion. There are no accidents only unprovoked outcomes of random awesomeness.

Something I thought about while taking a dog on a poop walk...

An artist must first learn the elegance of line in order to master the technique of drawing, only to realize that true art holds no line at all.

Philosophy is out the window...

Deep thoughts are not best before sleepless days.

Bad movies are not to be wasted while productive dreams dance through finger tips.

Find time in another day to waste today's minutes while work should be done.

Already thoughts of lazy minutes lost on a clock that has not yet begun to be struck.

Everyday falling further behind with taunts of others egging on the mischief of fiddling appendages.

The beginnings of lost trains of consciousness slip through the clinched teeth of determination.

Maybe that's the sound that wakes my dreamless sleep with twists and turns of breathless sweat.

At some point in sometime, something will give way to the expression that correctly suit my creative thoughts.

Until that moment every one that precedes that moment I await.

Until that moment there is no clarity, but the clear fog of indecisive decisions that linger on dangerous ravines and on cliffs that sweet little lemmings edge ever closer to.

On that edge my ambition stands statuesque tilting towards greatness, but reluctant to pursue that one giant leap that is as much faith as it is righteous ego.

So I stand... Struck still with the sight of success bubbling my fears and honesty...

What is an artist to do once one realizes that there is a path to the road of acknowledgement, recognition, and success... All they have to do is what is naturally they have been doing.

This is the time when some fold and go home. Quit and face a life of regret... Or, others seize the moment, double down, throw caution to the wind, and create their own destiny.

These are the thoughts of an artist before bedtime...

Back on track for a bigger badder me....

Well, my first attempt at a table is coming along quite swimmingly and I must say all-in-all art in general has been kind to me this week. Opportunities are knocking. Long awaited ideas are again presenting themselves in the light of achieving possible accomplishment. Another book is on the rise of being a reality.

I would be lying if I said I weren't excited about the moves that I am making right now in the directions of art, but honestly, it feels kind of weird. I am never excited about art. At least not as much as I am now-a-days. Ever since a couple of weeks ago I decided to not hold my ambition back it seems as though things have been falling into place. Nothing significant. I just notice this new energy within myself. A renewed enthusiasm that was lost for many years.

I have always been enthusiastic about my art for the most part... Let me rephrase that... I have always been passionate when it came to my art whether it be negative or positive.

I feel something different about this new found energy. I am finding the will to push through new directions and towards ever increasing ambitious projects with complete recklessness. Ever since pushing to write that novel whether it be good or bad a new beginning has started where anything is possible. I think that Picasso's Marauders was my Everest.

I am now free from the shackles of self doubt at least when it comes to my creative exploits. My ability to multi-task creative projects is nearing an all time high, possibly even shattering previous personal bests.

In these last two weeks I have been cutting, sanding, burnishing zebra wood, solving the problems of constructing a wooden "U" that is 40 inches tall, carving a 18 inch table top, using drill presses, tablesaws, band saws, rasps, spray paint, wood glue, photoshop, and designing an alphabet book of all my work on the computer. This onslaught of creative energy is coming from places I have no idea along with co-writing a screen play.

These are all means to an end, but that end is what I am not sure of. All I know is that I am in desperate need of a warehouse to complete the upcoming projects that I have on my list that will be truly amazing. This top secret installation project I will only refer to as "The God Project". It is the only idea that I have never been able to visually imagine. Though earlier this week I stumbled upon a manufacturer that can supply the material I need to build this sculpture. After searching for ten years off and on I thought I'd give it another try two days ago and... BINGO! I found exactly what I was looking for. So now it is only a matter of time, money, and space before I can build it. That is fine with me because that now means it will be built. The only question is when... Not if.

My goal as an artist...

Today I realized as I am built a table, sand exotic wood from Africa for a painting, and carved my wooden table top that it is time to suck it up and do what I was meant to do....

That is to start blowing away the competition. As an artist it is my mission to set the bar unreasonably high for other artists. I want to come out of left field with ideas, materials, and techniques that they have never thought about. I want to destroy any and all competition.

Many say art is not a competitive contest and to those my only answer is, "good luck with that." because there are going to be artist out there like me who's sole mission is to be better than everyone else. Art is subjective, but quality and uniqueness is still quality and uniqueness. I am no longer going to bother myself with looking for shows. From now on my focus is creating. That is what I do best and that is what I am going to strive towards with never ending pursuit.

My work is growing in leaps and bounds, but it has not begun to start. I am going large... I am going real larger. Both in the physical, concrete realm, and the conceptual one as well. I am going to revisit some old ideas that have been sitting on the back burner for years. This collection of work that I will start undertaking is going to require a warehouse... So, with that being said, by late September UMC Studios will be relocating to a warehouse somewhere in the greater Central Ohio area. Mark my words... That's a promise.

I cannot go into detail as to what my works are going to be, but I will say this, "Nobody is ready." I have been waiting a long time and have quit thinking of alot of ideas I thought were out of my ability with space restraints. So, I am going to get the space and start back up with the art I want to do. Not worrying about where I will display it. I will just start building. All work will stay in the warehouse unless somebody shows interest. This means I will not have to worry or stress about making room. I will just build...

Build,

and build

and build

and build some more...

Basically, UMC Studios is going off the grid for awhile because this work is going to have to be debuted at the same time. I might release some teasers like at the May 6th show in Columbus T.B.A.

This new work is going to be unlike any I have shown in the last decade. If people witnessed some of my earlier works back at 321 then you will know where I am headed. This new work is going to be ambitious beyond any scope that I have tried before. It has been a long time in the coming and I think I am finally ready to take it on.

I swore to myself a long, long time ago that I would never let any of my good art ideas go to waste even if they were experimental and unthought out at the time. I have had years to let concepts digest in my cerebellum and cerebral cortex.

I think, therefore I can.

I feel kind of bad for artist out there that don't know what's about to hit them. They really don't know. Oblivious. It is not my job to push them that should lay on their own creative shoulders. Artist need to step up their game and are going to be scurrying like roaches when the lights come on when they see my new stuff.

I am not tooting my horn or being over zealous. I have been to New York. I have been to Chicago. I have been to San Francisco. I have been to Austin. I have been to Savannah and you know what? I am unimpressed.

Yes, there is some good stuff out there, but great? Nope.... Overrated? Yes! Have I seen anything recently in the field of art that has completely blown me away... Besides Dutch artist Theo Jansen I have not been too impressed. Even he though was not an artist originally but a physicist who became a painter then sculptor.

I think artist have gotten lazy, unoriginal, and a feeling of complacency has crept over the minds of the creative. If it takes me to give the system a jolt and resuscitate art then that's just what I will do, but it will take me some time. Not much time, just a year or so. Even if artist emulate, copy, steal, borrow, or are inspired by my style, oh well. That is kind of the point I am going after.

I am tired of the same ol', same ol'. Artist need to start taking bolder chances. Putting their egos on the line and getting close to that edge of failure/success. I prefer to fail miserably then have mediocre success. At least if I fail outright then there is no question as to what needs to be done differently. EVERYTHING. Plus, with great failure comes even greater success. It is these ideas that propel the truly genius ahead in the world and that is what I want.

Goals are for people that have this idealized few of the world and a step-by-step mentality. I have a MANtality and I am on a mission.

A mission of art...

Brain freeze, frozen, going going, and gone...

Brain freeze,

frozen with anticipation

as I wait.

Hesitating situations

lick palpable palettes

of granulating verbal laxatives.

Living for genuine moments of silence

and

expressed measures of peace.

Still I wait.

No clarity.

No peace.

Nothing.

The chaos of a mind stuck in the gridlocks of thought. Poetic prose intertwined with literary outburst of unorganized thought structure delineate the mind state of this confused artist. Run-ons bleed dry the ancestors of a bloody imagination. The civil war of unrests rages in between waking dreams of new ideas. These concepts were not taught, but learned and burned into my retina from sights hidden to the naked eye. Knowing not how I write or why I, only that I must. Art, be it the same culprit that induces me into a secure state in which I let go of the material and bring in the unthought, prolific mind fat that I swore to never intellectualize.

This is why my head hurts... There is no form or consistency except for that it has no form or consistency makes it all completely consistent unto itself. Such weird thoughts mean I am trying to figure out too much... Maybe I'll stick with poetry... It flows much better through my steady streams and rivers of consciousness.

Shutting abstract doors

and

opening concrete locks.

On a silent sun

expires the tension between strokes of sandpaper to zebra wood.

Spring is new

fresh

and my step had become rusty.

Where there is form.

There is none.

Broken jigsaw thoughts parade in a Pow-Wow of tribal anarchy. I am learning everything again from subjects I never knew I could learn. Smarter than I was told to be and more humble in the face of those less than intelligent, but it keeps slipping out. This nagging intellectual. "Why? I ask" Never any answers, only more questions.

Subjects beyond my realm of understanding are the tasks I constantly investigate. What man seeks questions knowing the answers he will never comprehend. Delusions of genius, but then again maybe not. IQ is an abstract philosophy built on the concepts of others to gauge one's intelligence in accordance with their own standards.

Measuring intelligence is a measurement of soul. There is no true tool that can account for all dimensions of one's thought. Every muscle gets stronger with exercise. The brain is a muscle. Free thought is it's exercise.

Simply thinking is not enough. Challenging thought is true exercise. To seek answers which one cannot understand is to strength the brain. Thought. Ideas. Creativity. The ability to solve problems that plague the mind of the creative. These exercises are essential to an artist of any sort... Why?

In essence an artist job is to create a problem which has no finite solution. There is no absolute. There is no end all, be all. Though through this self created problem an artist must then ask themselves what the correct answer is to solve this problem in accordance with their own specific individual set of learned skills.

Before answering a problem one must first have a question to answer. In order to create a solution to the problem. This is why a painter can often times be stumped by the "WHITE" of canvas or a writer by the blankness of a page. Most would say that these situations occur out of fear and lack of thought. I believe it to be the exact opposite. I believe during these situations one has complete and utter clarity. A profound sense of depth at a deeper understanding than even they them self cannot comprehend on a conscious level.

The artist or writer is actually realizing at that exact moment is that there are infinite possibilities. An entire universe lay on the tip of their brush, or the stroke of their finger tips. At that particular moment the creative realizes their God-like power in a world in which they can create and will reflect their inner most thoughts and emotions whether they want it to or not. The creative cannot hide this. They cannot under a falsity, say, create something that is not them. The mere act of creating is a part of their being. If they create dishonesty of their craft, it only reinforces the inner dishonesty that lay in their soul. Although truth no matter it good or bad is at the soul of all works. There are no lies in the arts.

The arts can be misinterpreted, misleading, unbelievable, fictional, but they can never be wrong. That is the power of art. In all it's righteousness and downfalls art is ALWAYS honest. The question is can people see what honesty and truths about humanity that particular piece of art is speaking about?

This is the question that artist need to answer. This is why some artist cannot move passed that blank page or white canvas.

I have never had a problem with a white canvas or blank page. It is not because I am the most creative person in the world, nor a genius. The reason is very simple...

I have never asked "The Question".

I only give infinite answers of ambiguity.

-Marcus R. Thomas

(just trying to figure out art... That's all)

Another book... Why not?

Okay, so I'm still thinking about creativity honestly. I have been watching a great deal of lectures on the web from very smart people on subjects ranging from everything to disputes in Darwin's theory of evolution to a mathematician's examination of organically grown fractal society structures based in Africa.

My mind has become a sponge and I realize I may be smarter than I think I am. I was never any good at academically learning, but I am beginning to realize that maybe I just never truly felt the credentials of my teacher's were note worthy enough to teach me anything. When people have an unending passion for their area of expertise and apply that passion to a creative solution or pose an interesting question... No matter what subject or how off center it is from art I feel myself propelled toward listening further. Plus, not only do I want to know more, but I want to figure out a way to incorporate this new found knowledge into my art.

The sad, but true thing I am beginning to realize is that I do not know too many bright people in my life.

Yes, I know smart people and intellectual people, and people so full of themselves that I don't know how they get their shirts over their over inflated egos, but I have rarely met a person so intellectually intriguing that they inspire new ideas and applications in the way I use and view my art.

I am guessing this could be considered the same for many out there. I just never realized that there were so many other people out there in the world that could be filled with such passion and creativity that were not in the arts.

Smart people do not interest me. Or even people that know THEY have a high I.Q. I don't know mine, but it is safe to say that I am not the smartest person in the world, but I can definitely say with all confidence nor am I the stupidest.

I have never been able to find myself in a circle of extremely bright people and innovators in their respective fields. I think this would open up ground breaking thoughts to hear their perspectives on anything so as by osmosis I it may become my art. I am after all an absorber. Art is my medium.

Back to the subject at hand, a new book. I am thinking of writing an art book. Not of pictures, but of philosophy, analysis, and my thoughts on the subject. I have been having ideas boiling about all types of things bubbling in my head all generally orbiting the world of art. Not to be mistaken with "THE ART WORLD".

I have read a few books on art, but I have noticed there haven't been many books as of recent written by artist explaining their ideas on art. Artist will give interviews or try and explain their style. I believe this to be a lazy and an egomaniacal way of going about things.

Sure, I want to explain Post Modern Barbequeism, but that is only one short chapter in my life as an artist. To me, it is not the most significant part. At least not yet ( but you never know). There are aspects of art that I want to write about and examine. One biggie is creativity...

Creativity: I want to explore where it comes from. How to create it. How to apply it. Why people avoid it.

This book will be solely based off of my own brain. My own ideas. I want something that I can stand by without question and let it be my convictions on art, no matter how controversial. There is plenty I do not agree with in Art and I want to write an art book that goes beyond the realm of art to the idea of the general creative. Something that would push the bounds of individual expressionism no matter what field.

Right now, this idea is sitting in my head like a big bowl of gumbo with all the fix'ins just floatin' around. I don't know what I want to say, but I know it's something... Got to go watch a movie... Pick this up tomorrow... MAybe.

Creativity...

I like the word. Although it's meaning raises intriguing questions. I wonder now more than ever where I get mine from, but not really. I have always been lucky enough to just have it. Natural, an ability that is as common to me as breathing. I have never had to question it, I can always depend on it, and I have never been in fear of it.

I have always embraced my creativity and if anything... I always ask for more, push harder. I want to know just how far my ideas can go. How far they will go. Sometimes due to limitations I must reign in my ideas, but this is a practice I always reluctantly fight. At most, when near sleep. To wonder about all things seems natural. Although I have come to learn that this mostly is true only in children. Where might I have learned this? Well, from children.

With maturity and age comes understood wisdom, but at what cost? The cost of ideas? The cost of creativity? I have seen it happen to friends. I have seen it happen to strangers, but I have never seen it happen to children.

Just because something is fact does not me it is true. The truth may not always be fact. The truly creative people I have come to admire I do not admire for their wisdom, intellectualness, or skill of craft. What I truly admire about these people is there inventiveness at solving problems. Their abilities to ask questions that many have answered before with fact, but they are quick to not only un-assume these understood facts. Instead, raising a new solution through unorthodox trials to an already proven method. People like this amaze me.

This applies directly to me as an artist, or rather art in general. I do not simply want to be a good artist, or a great artist, or even the best artist. What I want is for ART to be pushed forward.

Now, it may not me that presses it toward some all empowering place, but as long as I keep the creative inertia of Art going that is what I want. I believe it has been stagnant for sometime and it is taking everything I got to get it going.

I am not saying I am God of art, or that it is only on my shoulders, but if all artist took a confrontational stance toward art we as artist could get this thing going somewhere. I don't know where it needs to go, but I sure as hell know I cannot move it all by myself. Although I am trying.

In my search to push my creative energy I am now attacking from all angles through battle fronts of literature, visual, philosophical, and the intellectual. I want to know what are my boundaries. At some point there has to be something that cannot emote an idea from me. The harder I try to push myself. The further away I seem from my true limits. Thus, raising my ideals that I have yet to even hold a match to my true potential.

Problems: I don't know where I need to go, how I am going to get there, and what to do when I reach there. Besides these questions many more confront me, but that is for another time.

The only true battle my creativity has is with sleep... And that is only because I do not dream.

Nothing major, nothing deep...

In a life filled with stress, worry, and eagerness today just wasn't one of those days. A lazy day of accomplishment where everything just seemed to fit into place. Every once in awhile a person is bound to have a day such as this. Apparently for me it is on "The Day of the Fool."

I don't mind. Finished my play which I think is better than I expected. Three acts. Quality material. I think I reached the demographic audience it has been requested for. I am beginning to think there isn't anything I can't do. Within reason, of course. Something amazing has happened to my mind where in that I can achieve astonishing amounts of creativity almost without effort. During my research today for my play I happened upon an intriguing fact. Pluto happens to break into Neptune's orbit once every 248 years. Nothing significant right. Well, it just so happened to do this ten days after I was born on January 23rd, 1979. What are the chances that I would be drawn to a subject matter of a planet, but now only a distant dwarf planet. One in which I make it become a supernova out of spite. Maybe on some scale of the universe there is something that relates me to Pluto. Who knows? Not I... Just something to think about. I guess more for me than you though.

Where do these idea come from...

Recently my words of the written have been flinging off my fingertips with relative easy. Free verse cursed with a theme that I have no control over. My writing appear as if written by someone else of a much brighter intellect. The wisdom of the words brings brightened ideas even to me as I reread what I have written. Or, apparently someone else has written. Poetic essays pick apart my thoughts and dissect them into digestable ideas that I can manipulate into constructive theories that enable me to better navigate through the perfect storm of life. My brain vein pulsates out one after another, word after word. I just sit, watch, read, and with a slight revise enjoy the parade of prose. Thoughts stop for others, but not me. It would be a relief if they did and I can't imagine they will. I give in to the creative only because there is no alternative. Others will argue differently, but they are wrong. Obviously people with few ideas and fewer validated opinions that I won't waste my time on highlighting. Not to say that I am any sort of intellectual. Although, the more I write, the more repugnant the pretentious I smell. My own writings at times are over my own head. I try to understand what I write, but it would be arrogant and pig headed of me to say that I understand everything that I have written. I prefer simple talk, with complex people. A way where I can listen and learn without the pitfalls of my own stupidity to get in the way.

Inner Discovery....

I have found the true meaning of my art. Or rather the art. To erase the personal and find what justifies the afore mentioned. It took a little digging and honesty, but I found it. This makes no sense, I know and I wish I could explain it to you (the reader), but I cannot. This discovery was for myself to learn. I recommend every artist do this search, but only when in the correct frame of brain. To reduce the ego and ask truly honest questions as to why one creates. The world is full of contrasting ideas and opposing values. An artist must be honest with what one is in search of. Once discovering that, erase it. That is only the surface. To truly find the aspirations and inspirations of what one considers the muse behind art. It is usually far deeper than that. Some, if not most, do not want to dig so deep as to discover the meanings of why they do what they do. I like the ugliness behind beauty. The raw behind the polished. The dirt swept under the rug. This is where the essence of an object really is. Eye candy is alright, but truth is enlightenment. Not in the religious sense, just in the human sense.

Early Worms...

Quick, attack while the day is young and the people are unaware of the true potential of one's talent, drive, and ambition. This is my goal. I am slowly learning that by mid day people become bitter and aware on any attempt to enlighten their lives and refuse this pleasure at all turns.

My Brain vs. The Brain

I find it ironic right now that I am battling the thoughts in my head as to what I should be doing now. I constantly am thinking of one thing while I know I should be focusing on another. I have decided right now, right this very second that I am no longer going to worry about why I am not doing something else and am doing something completely different. As long as I am being productive one way or another it is all beneficial. Just in different departments. Sometimes it's good to just turn off the control switch and let the brain go on cruise control (creatively speaking)

The ironic part is I am having this conflict with my inner brain , all the while I am trying to finish a play that is having a dilemma because the disembodied omniscient brain doesn't believe in Pluto as a planet.

A brain that doesn't believe in Pluto as a planet is no brain of mine. That being said, it is a fictional brain. I have been trying to stay focused on the ideas of success that I had created as my new year's resolution, but as I am quickly finding out my own brain has other plans. I cannot work fast enough, write fast enough, paint fast enough, sleep fast enough, wake fast enough. Everything seems to be slowing down except for time which constantly seems the fastest of all.

No time for Chinese or exercise. These are my thoughts as soon as I wake. As I work on one thing a million ideas flow into another thing. One thing after another thing makes things begin to get confusing. No time for perfect words to describe perfect actions. Just type, fast. Words hurl out of my finger tips clicking and clacking off the keyboards' keys.

Ridiculous rhythm keeps my tempo'd flow at a frantic rate. No time for spell check get back to that later. An art meeting tomorrow that will unfold any which way, but the way I expect it. The only consistent set is that the inconsistency of reason and non logic walk hand and hand as anything but superb normalcy awakens.

I apologize for the free verse words of nothing, but my mind is onto something that my brain can't distinguish.

A perfect storm riddled with creativity. In order to write a monologue so illogical as a disenfranchised Pluto personified by shame, jealousy, anger, and a need to belong. Soon a thrust of pride rattles it's essence and brings about the quasar of a super nova exploding into red hot plasma streaks of an inferno. With such confidants it can only become the solar sun and nothing more. This is its' true identity. Its' original sin. The birth of a solar system with all others in its' own orbit. From matter comes anti-matter. Complex concepts consume intellectual Q & A's, but between those highly charged electrons and protons bounce a nuclei within that only expands... Brain hurts... Must stop... Tomorrow I will write the third act... Tomorrow I will write Pluto in all its' insecurities and greatness. Tomorrow will be another day of new ideas and unmet goals, but it's okay. Even Pluto has bad days...

To be, or not to be....

My question is this... Is it the idea of an artist that is of value or their product? Is concept or material most important? Is the search for beauty and the definition of ugliness why I continue to create eye candy? I do not know. All I do know is that I am searching for something profound through my art, but I cannot annunciate what rests on the tip of my brush, pen, or mind. Whatever it is I search for through my art lay just below the surface and just above true enlightenment. This is a tricky time as it seems everything I explore seems to develop without effort or work. The creativity that I have comes with ridiculous ease.

So I continue to push onward in search of something I find truly impossible to achieve. Once I find this goal in my art I will know that I have truly found why I have chosen art as my calling. Whether it be through the written word, image, or the abstract. I will find the right question so that I may pursue the purest answer.

In my writing over the last month or so I have stayed on the lighter side of things. It is now time to dive back into the questions of art and why I am an artist. After all that is the true search I am after. The productivity will follow, but I must concern myself with the real questions and not just the the superficial ones that drive the rat race.

URBAN MONK vs. ART

DING!

Round 1...

I will fix my routine....

After a distracting trip to Savannah, Georgia I am back. I will fix my routine. I will correct my sleep schedule, and most important of all... I will step back up my production level. I have deterred in my path to success only to stray back. Every once in awhile every body loses their. The key is to when this happens before it becomes a pattern of habit. Once the edge is over the fall comes next. I have fallen, only to pick myself back up again. Sleep deprived and hot now is a time when I must write.

Whether this is clear or not, is not what matters. What matters as any writer will tell you is to write.... And so, I write. I write this blog, that blog, this comment, that comment, here a few pages of a play, and there a few pages of a play. And like a crack in a pipe the words of water begin to poor through the facets of my fingertips.

By Friday I will have written my first draft of my first play. Not bad for three days worth of writing and 2 months worth of researching. Something new to cross of my new list of writing goals. I have determined it is not that writing is difficult. That is the rather easy part. It is the rewriting, revision, and editing that I simply don't have the patience for.

I don't know what it is, but there is something intrinsic about the click , clacking of keys off the finger tips that begin to build a pulsating pattern of beats and rhythms. And with that my song is over. The dance of word with sentence fails to deliver an encore. So with that I call tonight a good night and early morning.

P.S. My writings will be changing soon... Something weighs on my subconscious and I will write through it if I have to.

Aaarrrghhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Frustrations drops like a ton of bricks upon my head. Ideas I can't articulate. Concepts I can't execute. Goals I can't reach. Not because of drive, ambition, or effort. One or two simple reasons neither the connections, nor the right support. The plans sit in my head gathering dust and displeasure. At times it can be overwhelming because I know what needs to be done and it is almost within my reach except for minor details. One patron, one donor, one believer in my ability to succeed and this artist, that is I, would take off to the stars. Soar incredibly high with works that would transform both viewer and community. It is sooooo frustrating. I have never felt so much passion and eagerness for something so uncontrollably unobtainable. Much like my bold and innovative ideas, my art sits in storage, alone and in the dark. Times like these I remember why I quit art every now and again. It is so tough to keep a dream alive that gets kicked, shoved, and dismissed as non relevant. In no other profession that one invests so much time, money, and talent are people quick to disregard it as a non career. Something that one chooses to do because it makes one happy. This is one of the few professions that chooses the person, not the other way around. Others rarely understand THAT ( jealousy, I guess). It cannot be quit. There are no other options. It is either succeed, or... Well, succeed. There is no alternative. There is not a switch that can be flicked off. There is no way to not think of art... Trust me, I have tried. Tried to drown the ideas out every known way and they only come back with a vengeance. Bigger, bolder, better, and more beautiful than the last. Some say it is a gift to have such talent, but the curse lay at the truth of it. A gift that doesn't give back, but only takes is but no gift at all. The constant torment an artist must deal with is at times fun, but always tiring. The mind never stops. The ideas never slow. The passion never sways. It is unrelenting and always looming even when dormant. At any moment, any time, any where inspiration can strike and consume all that is artist. a creative sickness that has only one cure, to create. To release the ideas that stay in the cortex of the creative mind of the abstract and make a reality. No sleep, eat when must, and only clear thoughts are during the act of art. The only true time I never think about art is when I am creating it... How ironic is that? Art is everywhere and the ideas just keep on coming. Done, done, and done...

I'm going to bed! Good night! ARRRggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhh!

The zebras ate my new right shoe... DONE!

Yes, it is true... After 10 days, my new piece is done. Thrusting me back into the world of art and all its' comings. Hope it goes better than the last 25 years... Out of retirement after only 3 months, but that is longer than I have ever oone before in my life without doing art.

Diabetes of the mind

Psychosomatic

With attractive disasters,

Dyer consequences,

And unforeseen dilemmas.

Theories of onset genetics.

Slushie lifestyles.

Drug addicted

Diagnosis definite

And

Finite.

The youth.

The elderly.

Men.

Women.

Race,

But

Predisposed urban and suburban.

White, Black, and Latino.

Poor, rich, and middle-class

Solutions...

Art the insulin.

Culture,

creativity,

and free thinking

The Cure.

Ninety-nine percent success,

Lost causes

And

stubborn primates.

Creatures of habit.

Walking eye sores of a reverse Darwin.

Just call them Dwayne for short.

(Excerpt from 3rd Shift Epiphanies: Chronicles of a gas attendant.)

- Today's Daily Poetry Selection.

The zebras ate my new right shoe...

Well, it's been almost two weeks and the most beautiful painting I have does is almost finished and ready to go to Indianapolis. I think it is time for me to admit what I am best at and go with it. Eye candy. I did it in high school. I was the best at it. Not much for making a statement, unless one considers, "Hey! Look at how awesome I am at color! A statement, but it sells." So I guess maybe I will give it a try.

I don't think they're ready for this. It'll be a slaughter of the competition. I am honestly one of the hands down, best at this when it comes to make art that simply wows and when I think about it, maybe that is exactly what the world needs right now. Enough people are saying how bad everything is. And look at this, or fix that, or social injustice this. Nobody is saying simply look at how beautiful the world still is. IT is not destroyed the beauty has just been pushed to the side to make room for every one's personal greed, egos, and fanatical worship of all things tragic. Within nature there is still a majesty. An orchestra of colors, harmony, and music. Van Goghe saw it before he went crazy, or maybe it drove him to craziness. Matisse saw it... So did Monet, Seurat, Kandinsky, Okeefe, Stella. Maybe not so much Warhol, Duschampe, and Picasso, but still there is an understanding of beauty and natural rhythm that resides in their work whether they admit it or not. So, with that, my new phase as artist salutes them. Post Modern Barbequeism gives homage to that, that is "EYE CANDY".

Back on schedule

This morning I am finally getting back on routine after a month or so of erratic discipline. My 12-16 hours of productivity must continue if I am to be as successful as I need to be. Many things are in the works and more and more just keep piling themselves upon my back in exponential amounts. I can't complain though, the harder the job, the more I feel up to the task. Many of the things I need to do have risen that are not on my ultimate list for 2010, but no matter I will still gets to accomplishing them. So without further ado... Let's start first with my poem of the day from my book 3rd Shift Epiphanies: Chronicles of a gas attendant.

After the month long blizzard this year it is appropriate for this month...

First Snow

Snow, sleet, and dreams of a slow night.

Glows of white

Pass and flicker,

The buzz of the sweet gas lot.

Winds blow frigid cold.

Fast and gnarly.

My thoughts the same.

Playwright, poet, and painter.

I just don't know.

On this,

The first snow.

Autumn is upon us. A president of new discretion awaits.

There looms an eagerness

in the eagle's nest.

Are the eggs of ideals fertile?

Or,

Are we in the state of Denmark...

Somethings are effortless for some, while impossible for others...

An example of this comes to mind as I finally motivate to achieve the same goal as many 16 year olds. That of a driver's license. Only difference... I really don't care to learn, oh, and I am also 31.

However, I have decided to embark on this perilous journey not for my own satisfaction, but to stop the nagging and disbelief of society that I could survive and exist without such a bare necessity. I have. And I wish I could continue to do so.

My plan was to just wait until I could afford to pay a chauffeur and buy an old cool car and be driven around. Unlike many, a car does not define me, nor will it ever... Unless I get a fire truck. That would be sweet...

Onto another subject, while that mission is proving to be difficult during the storm of the century, another mission I can do in my sleep practically. I decided to start painting again as it has been 3 months (which has been the longest I have ever not done art since I was 5. What has come out in approximately little short of a week is nothing less than amazing. Nobody will probably buy it, but it is still one of the greatest paintings I have seen around, and I ain't begun to finish it yet.

Inspired by my Uncle's suggestion to create a partner for my original painting My Left Shoe. I finally agreed. And I am glad that I did. What is being created is quickly becoming one of my personal favorites. I might be on the edge of a new style in my work. It is a combination of all that I like in painters. Each layer is done in a style I truly admire and in the end a whole new style is created. Post Modern Barbequeism.

Food for thought

Snickers bar targets.

Popcorn parades,

Hotdog bombs,

And Post Pardon

Cheeto,

Frito,

Lay's.

Beef-Jerked

Turkey,

And

Peanut gallery serenades.

Sweet molasses,

Politically motivated,

And just as slow.

incoherent debates,

Between

Coke,

Pepsi.

All the same beast,

But

Two different faces.

Bottled water

And

Flavored oxygen. Savor the taste.

Scams of the damned.

Hungry and wired

with preprocessed,

pasteurized,

naturally,

unleaded,

for his or her pleasure,

zero grams,

trans fat free,

and filtered.

It's your choice...

And,

I choose...

No choice at all.

Give me the blueberry bagel.

At least,

I see

its' hollow from here.

(Excerpt from 3rd Shift Epiphanies: Chronicles of a gas attendant.)

-Today's Daily Poem

Channel Duh?!

I find my comfort zone

quite uncomfortable.

And

This box

that everyone keeps thinking outside of...

Just curious,

inside what's so bad?

There's nothing more sobering

to the mind of mine.

Buzz words.

The backlash of false enthusiasm.

Reality.

Now a television concept.

Diabetes of the mind

causing blindness of ideas.

Lack of creativity,

fake idolizations.

A Babylonianistic outcome inevitable.

Warhol's fifteen minutes of fame

Are spin-off's of a falsified famousness.

Nobodies who think they're somebodies

And

Somebodies as dishwashers,

Waiters and janitor,

Clerks and cooks.

Why?

Because

Suzy Q

And Bobby John

Want to be famous,

And find love on television.

Entitled to pride,

But

Not a sense of self,

Or

a job.

(Excerpt from 3rd Shift Epiphanies: Chronicles of a gas attendant.)

- Today's Daily Poetry

Classifieds: WANTED "NEW BRAIN"

Pimp y mind.

w/ Digital High Definition Thought.

So I can TiVo my memories

And

Fast forward my nightmares.

Blue tooth my brain

w/ a hundred gigs of RAM.

In case it crashes.

A lifetime warranty

And

Free upgrades.

Hassle-Free checking for my mind.

Instant withdrawals

w/ no delays.

Or

Hidden fees.

Limitless deposits.

And

An easy access thought process.

Thoughts per gallon must be good.

30 thought highway mileage a must!

w/ decent stop

and

go

traffic...

A family reunion of sorts

Sleep.

The cousin of Death.

I guess...

Naps are nieces,

And Insomnia...

Must be,

the red-headed

step child

nobody liked

called Life.

Grandmother Dreams

With her soft spoken words,

And

giggling plate full of cookies,

Grandfather Time

keeps watch of us all.

Those nephews of nightmare

stay up all night,

even past last call.

While the drunken uncle,

My mind,

Makes no Sense

of

it

all.

Smoke Break

Smoke breaks.

Jokes take

too much time.

Life's a comedian

with a rarity for the median.

Swerve left.

Interrupted through process.

Pardon my French.

Thirst quenching sleep.

An aphrodesiac

to cardiac arrest.

One has the right

to remain silenced by death.

So why not live life loud?

Asking this,

is it too much?

All do in fair time.

Nickel and dimed for

chump change.

The chimp am I.

Darwin am I not.

Question or statement.

Who knows right now?

How much can one man say?

I never understood

those without ideas.

How can one

"NOT"

Think?

An idea to me

is a breath

of fresh air.

Without either,

suffocation occurs.

The brain needs both.

To adequately survive.

Oxygen

and

Ideas.

Corner the market.

Ideas for sale.

By the book.

By the ton.

By the kilogram.

By the boat load.

One for ten.

Two for fifteen.

Three for twenty.

Good one's.

Bad one's.

Old one's.

New one's.

What'cha want?

I got it all!

I just got another idea.

I'll sell you your idea.

Confused?

Exactly.

Think outside the box.

Around the box.

Under,

Over,

Even as the box.

Metaphorically,

Let's make the box a sphere.

No more corners to cut.

Just circular thinking.

Around and around we go.

Where we stop,

No one knows.

No idea.

Except me,

Because I got them for sale.

One for ten.

Two for fifteen.

Three for twenty.

Buy the bucket full.

Mop up the competition.

Too many ideas.

Not enough time.

Clone those ideas

Into other people's minds.

No need for greed.

One time trial.

First one's on me.

Strike you a bargain

And

Let's make a deal.

Free thinking spirits

are one in a few,

far and between.

An artist and playwright,

Poet and monk.

Too many hats

And

Not enough heads.

Could wear one,

But

Where's the fun in that?

Sculptor.

Painter.

Publisher.

Sure, why not?

I'll make books of ideas

for people to read.

Put them for sale.

For all to see.

It means nothing to me.

I'll just have more,

Before I sleep.

And after I wake.

A disease I deal with.

I live everyday.

Afflicting my actions,

And even my day.

Others live disease free.

Pity on them.

My curse is a blessing.

It's the life for me.

(Excerpt from 3rd Shift Epiphanies: Chronicles of a gas attendant.)

-Today's Daily Poetry

Caffeinated Nightmares

Sugar fiend dreams,

Crystallized bloodstreams,

Metaphysic districts of perpendicular thought.

Stop thinking such thoughts

And

Worry about your 401(k)

I chose an abstract frame of mind

To wrap around paintings of the future.

Others use robo-routines.

Bird people

Chirp down coffee.

On daily commutes.

All day, all night.

No more play.

Work, work, work.

My way around it?

I found it.

Deep in a 3rd shift epiphany.

No material needs.

A view of different ways to succeed.

Consume to consume is what ruins most.

Excess is the beast of greed.

Taking everything for self.

Plus, more than you need.

Wearing gloves of self sufficiency,

I am efficiently careful not to exceed my means.

By any means necessary,

But

Not necessarily all the time.

Travels are in need.

Even for the most discipline of minds.

My treats just happen to coincide

With what I truly need.

Books.

Shoes.

Art supplies.

I consider my true luxuries.

(excerpt from 3rd shift Epiphanies: Chronicles of a gas attendant.)

-Today's daily poem

The Commute

Whistle while I work.

Think while I drink.

A brisk walk

Thru midnight lights.

Parking lot farmlands.

Fields of concrete

And

Shopping carts.

This my daily walk.

Night silence.

Peace of mind.

My thoughts

My music.

I walk.

A new night.

A new idea.

(excerpt from 3rd Shift Epiphanies: Chronicles of a gas attendant)

-Todays' daily poem

To start a movement or not to start a movement that is the question...

So, I have been thinking alot while I take down wall paper. I am wondering if this world needs a new art movement. Not that I alone could do it, but I was thinking everyone is so caught up in their own individualism that no one wants to be part of a larger whole... Especially in the Fine Arts. Everyone has to be so damn unique.

Well, it got me to thinking, I don't much care for any artists that are alive with exception of those I know and I just happen to know a ton of artist. We all work in different media and styles, but our work carries a common thread. A personality. Maybe it's the influence of Savannah on us, or maybe it's something else. All I know is that I wouldn't mind getting everybody successful if for no other reason than to try and combat the idiotic, uncreative Pop culture that is ruining America's coolness at an alarming rate.

In general, people just aren't that original, funny, or cool anymore. Well, except for the people I know and I am not saying that in a condescending view, or maybe I am. I don't give a damn. Somebody has to say it. The reason these people are so damn cool. THESE ARTIST rather isn't because they try to be or try not to be. They are simply strong, confident personality that are unapologetic in their bold approach to life and that is what America is lacking. They are trend setters. Creatives that don't gether their styles from MTV or other mass produced consumption. Ideas are formed through their art and carried out through their being. Thus, making them awesome and this is what needs to be captured and exposed to the world. Cool people, making cool art, for no other reason than that's what they are best at. And maybe along the way people will buy their work as well they should making me happy, them happy, and the buyer happy.

A perfect circle of happiness.

So in summing up... I think it is time for me to create an underground magazine exposing the new movement that has been growing and nobody is aware of it, but every one knows it's there...

That is all.

Thought you'd like to know what I think about while peeling wall paper from a bathroom wall.

Nickel & Dimed

Even Earth has

A.

D.

D.

Autumn,

Much like my college years

Ended as aburptly as it began.

A decade.

Really?

Seemed more like a day.

A new one begins.

On the other side of the glass.

Looking out.

I'm used to looking in.

Sucked it up,

Spit it out,

And shook it off.

The

J.

O.

B.

That's what defines me.

I had my wonder years.

My Golden Age.

And somehow I'm still left wandering.

So now is my age of enlightenment.

These frigid winter winds rattle my cage.

Creative animals stir,

Restless,

Pacing,

It's time...

A penny for my thoughts?

Hope,

You got the keys to Fort Knox.

(excerpt from 3rd Shift Epiphanies: Chronicles of a gas attendant.)

Today's Daily Poem

An Old Soul

Forgotten thoughts I can't remember.

Remembering things I haven't done.

Wanting what I already own.

A broken body

Rich with soul.

Invested in myself,

What I love my only luxury.

A deluxe lifestyle,

Skin and bones,

Worn and torn,

Past my prime.

A youthful state-of-mind,

With a cynical,

cyanide suicide

Of the mind.

Down through the spine.

Tingling pins

And

Giggling needles.

The brain swallows itself.

With so much time on the shelf.

Relaxed, taxed, and no kick back.

The future ahead.

The past behind.

The present?

A gift.

Just depends on youth.

(excerpt from 3rd Shift Epiphanies: Chronicles of a gas attendant)

-Today's daily poem

3rd Shift Epiphanies

Through my looking glass

Reflections of my self.

An alter ego,

Or lack there of.

My id.

My ego.

My self.

Or is it not my self,

But someone else?

Me, in a different light?

Harsher.

Reality.

With age comes wisdom,

Cynicism,

Sarcasm,

And winds of change.

Like aged wine,

Yet not refined,

Just more distinctively potent.

A flavor to Savior.

Rinse.Spit.

And let the ambiance linger.

Summer blows by

As winter begins.

Transitions are for losers.

New Daily Poetry

Recently I have been slacking off on my commitment to writing everyday. So, in order to make sure I update this blog every day I will be posting excerpts from my poetry collection 3rd Shift Epiphanies: Chronicles of a gas attendant. If one should happen to like these poems it is available in it's entirety in the book store section of this blog. The first poem is aptly titled 3rd Shift Epiphanies.

Terms of success, a recluse in the making...

Among other priorities in life I have been trying to come to grips with what I deem "success". Family and friends would and probably will continue to argue that I am a successful artist. They say this whenever I say that I have been an utter failure. They always argue that it depends on how a measure success.

To this I say, "If I can't afford the life necessities, and a few creature comforts along with shelter, food, and clothing along with supplies to keep on creating... Well, than I am a failure and thus, unsuccessful."

Although recently I have been pondering the idea of success in general. I have been thinking that maybe I am just not meant for success, or, rather maybe I should just throw the idea of success to the wind like I did with caution so many years ago. It is a difficult notion to erase the idea of success. How else does one measure one's own life, but through achievements and failures. Whether it be personal, professional, or in the abstract. One way or another the measure of success equates the entirety of our lives.

People want better cars, nicer homes, a closer family, healthier lives, promotions, a more fulfilled everything. All of this is the measure of success. One cannot wander aimlessly through life without seeking success of any kind. For the few that lead this lifestyle are the homeless, hopeless, and insane.

I think my goal is to no longer worry about when or how my success as an artist will be measured. I no longer care. That pretentiousness and ego driven side of me has been systematically erased and humbled. Success in art... Don't really care. I honestly, a Big Bacon Classic from Wendy's with a Biggie Coca Cola sounds more fulfilling.

My thinking is that maybe to be a great artist one must longer be concerned with being great. My old frame of mind would have been to be the best one has to put on an air of being the best. Now, I no longer care. Anybody can talk and impress. I will just produce work that I am confident in and hang it on a wall. I will not concern myself with the emptied hollow pretentiousness of finding "Galleries" or "Where's my market" I will make my art the way I want to. The way I think it should be done and if it fits into someone's event and they want it so be it, but until that moment (if it ever comes) I will make art only for myself, or of lucky patrons that have found out about me.

I guess what I am saying is that I am withdrawing from the HUSTLE of the art world which I used to find so intriguing. Now it bores me and I would much rather be left to my own devices in seclusion away from the rest of the known world, in my little neck of the woods creating possibly the most ground breaking, contemporary art that no one may ever see... That sounds just fine to me.

I'll make my pictures, do my sculptures, write my poetry, produce plays, create screen plays, and hide away in the world that is my own. Being a man of absurd rationale and logic, me thinks this to be the most rational conclusion to an irrational path.

That of an artist.