“What are you smiling at?”
the man with a bag of cans
snarls at me
as I swoop by on my bicycle
to the door
of the grocery store
(Originally posted at Skundered!) I got hit with a double-dose of boxing disappointment last weekend: I missed the Finals of the Chicago Golden Gloves tournament, stood up by my usual partner in fandom — a retired suburban elementary school teacher who is the only other…
Memory is unpredictable. What stays and what goes lacks any rational processing.
From Dave Pagel’s Los Angeles Times review of Analia Saban‘s “Grayscale”:
The Argentina-born, Los Angeles-based painter’s second solo show, at Thomas Solomon Gallery, does not begin with grand notions, abstract ideas or idealized fictions. Instead, the 13 intimately scaled works that make up “Grayscale” start with stuff: physical substances that, in the right combination, become paintings you never tire of scrutinizing.
Note: This post provides additional information about a situation first written about on this site by Jimmy Gabacho back in October, and was originally posted at Skundered!. ************************************** I’m no fan of the Patriot Act, but there is one small section of it that even I…
This fall(ish) I have a new book coming out thanks to the good people at Red Giant Books. It is an illustrated novel(ish) and I am actually pretty proud of it. If you are interested in having me do a reading near you, know that my time and energies can be purchased for the small price of a place to expend my time and energies and a beer. And the beer is negotiable.
Due to technical difficulties, my satellite-based Internet was out of commission for about 10 days. The ordeal was perfectly timed to coincide with the joyous arrival of spring, which, here on the mountain, means the annual fisticuffs with nature have commenced.
why are you reading this
got to be something
you’ve got to do
yet here you are
frittering I’d say
After weeks of gibberish, he had finally given me something juicy for my conference paper. And, let’s face it, I was intrigued. It is not every day that Chicken Man walks into your office. Sigmund Freud had his Rat Man, an old Russian guy who fantasized about a rodent crawling up his anus, and that case made his career. I was thinking book contract, movie rights, lecture tours, the works. This was heavy stuff. It was much better than the stuff I was used to hearing: “I feel guilty for what I did to my father” or “my parents didn’t love me enough.” I could spin this into an endowed chair.
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Engineered and produced by Chris Nicholas at Popaholic Studios, Jackson, MS. Remastered by Bob Hate in Albuquerque, NM. All rights reserved.
I avoided an accident today. Maybe even a heart attack. At the very least, I managed to not get stuck in rush hour traffic on the Kennedy or the Tri-State. I need to pick up filters and a crush washer so I can change the…
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