TMi

I was doing some paper collaging recently and in the moment wondered why it felt so appropriate to have a workspace strewn with paper cuttings. Then I remembered my mom would have a pile of papers at the table. She went through them, carefully select something that was meaningful, and tear or cut it out and place it in another pile of papers to be later traded in for discounts on goods or services. As many others in the US, my mom clipped coupons out of newspapers, flyers, magazines, wherever. This was another activity that became added to the list of things that one did as a good house wife on a tight budget. My mom did this exercise. As if it could save the family… Something. If one put in the time to hunt through advertising for the right scrap of paper and turned it in at the right store, within the right time frame, one could exchange a coupon for something of much greater value. Like magic. Apart from coupon clipping, my mom also made these reinforced, cut out paper dolls for me....

Some very well cared for human beings flew around the moon this month. I was right there with live-stream of the astronauts as much as I could be enjoying the glitchy feeds, relating hard with the cramped living quarters and... waste management issues. When people go camping they don’t think much about where to put all the shit. It’s natural. It can go in the Nature. Or in the vacuum of space. But what do you do when you have limited resources and are camping out in an urban environment that is all pavement, security cameras, limited privacy, and limited toilet usage? And what ever nature that is available is precious and will be protected from being used as a toilet– I should add. This was one of my logistics nightmares when I was one of the unhoused, living in a van in Williamsburg, Brooklyn back in the Hipster days. Solid waste was by far easier to deal with. One can evacuate into a bag and drop that off in a trash can as one does with dog waste. Liquid waste was more interesting to...

[~glitch me daddy eight to the bit\]   Opening a box that’s been shipped to you from the other side of another country and finding it full of objects from your childhood– Objects that made up your immediate world as far back as forty years ago and were part of your day-to-day for years, that you haven't seen for years. And now they are with you again far outside of their initial context. How do you express the meaning of these things when meanings were never defined in words because these objects were with you before you had full grasp of language? Are things only really valuable if you can condemn them to be recreated inside a mesh of language? Then, even then, neither the language nor the things gain much value because they are mine. And what am I? What authority backs my words to give them weight and validation that would convince anyone else agree to give them greater value? Nostalgia has been a hot word these days, but I do not long for my past. Nostalg...

"Great men are not born great, they grow great." - Don Vito Corleon This is some crazy auspicious month this year with so many overlapping holiday observances– and an eclipse– With a sprinkling of social unrest in Mexico. I'm writing from Mexico. When they kind of do hits on cartel bosses it does kind of does ripple out to people who aren't directly involved.  (Fun fact! I used to bank with Wachovia. Look them up. They were accused of money laundering for Mexican drug cartels. So... I have been involved.) Taking it back down from a global scale, the month is dedicated self-love. And nothing says sexy good times more than dental work! We must keep a Cronenberg / Clive Barker perspective on sensuality, no? Ok, if that is too much for you, then just think of it as self-care and maintenance. I continue my healing journey with a discomfiting jaunt to the dentists chair to have cavities addressed, crowns replaced, and best / worst of all three posts inserted int...

  W elpy-welp. I’ve officially arrived at the ass end of the snake year. The boulevard outside my door was soaked in pooling sewer filth from the 27th of December to about January 20th. The snake has incontinence in it’s old age. Or it is terrified of the coming hooves of the next year. I remember once being at a picnic with my family on some bright New England day. I don't know who spotted it, but we– us kids got excited about finding a snake nearby. I believe I was the quickest one and was able to catch the garter snake with my hands. I did not keep hold of it for very long. It was terrified of being snatched up out of the grass by a child and it wet me in defense. And it 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝓀 . I remember the talk turn immediately to best practices for nullifying strong animal odors, skunk smells especially. Tomato juice seemed to be top of the list. We did not have that available– and perhaps orange juice was used instead? I have trouble remembering if it was me who actually caught a wild...

artist: Peter Halley At the top of this month I went to Art Basel Miami. Not the whole Miami art week extra satellite show whateverness, but the Art Basel Miami fair itself. There were over 280 booths full of eye candy to match that vase you have or that vice you have. Oh, OK, it wasn't all vacuous. I remember seeing a large circular wall hanging that caught my attention because it was made out of hammered bullet casings arranged to look like scales on a shield– the offensive killing thing made into a beautiful defensive thing. I liked that. I needed to carry that beautiful defense with me to block out the dog and donkey shows in the “new media” section though. I am sure you can guess the dog reference. It was all over the new outlets stealing undeserved attention. Unfortunately, there was another exhibit that was even more... 'adding to the problem.'  Just imagine being too poor to live in your own country, and this artless cryptobrosephus billionaire is standing next to...

That I have been depressed and bitter for the past few months is understating.  Perhaps I should have remained silent for having nothing nice to say, but no. I have to go on being that wretched thing trying to express itself; a thing all determined to make monthly posts to prove that it is steadfast in a... craft. And if it's trash, then it's trash. That was my best at the time. Everyone has to take a shit. I too will be forgiven for stinking up a room?  These days have been brighter and I can share what my dopamine depression distraction was this time. My hormonal state was balanced enough for me to nudge back toward educational amusement; which got me to where my goring complaints about existence could lose their brute force, and the knife throwing more nerfed than dodgeball. Heh, my complaints would have sparkling  brut  force then? Languages are fascinating. I can and do get caught up in thinking about the way people attach sounds to objects, ideas, acti...