a happy holidays to all

Will I drink vodka out of your belly button? Hmm? I’m relatively a newbie at his current place of employment within the federal governments department of justice. I was expecting to get a special kind of shaft for the holidays. In this business, there are certain suppliers and such who unashamedly shower their clients with presents of liquor, gift certificates, food, cool knickknacks, and etc I’m sure every year at Xmas. In the past year I believe I’ve done quite well – but when it comes to gift giving and receiving I must say I have been left out of all of the swaglists.

The following morning I will have opened my present; that of flannel pajamas. I may even lose my nerve and throw out the radio playing the oldies station of Christmas songs. Songs like James Browns’ funky Christmas, or whatever it’s called, where he’s not really singing but just kind of rhyming. Songs like Don Henley and then David Bowie. Johnny Mathis. Motown to the Jackson Five can all go out the window. I will rest tomorrow because I’m ready to go off the edge. Feelings or not. I will wonder how it feels to return full circle to the mountains and to the vagaries of my assumptions about familiar, natural sights. I will take off my clothes when it suits me best and stare at what I have always laughed at all day. Naked bodies. I stare at them in the mirror or in the shower or in the bed with a lover. I think I know what nakedness is. But conventions change. They are fluid, like taste. And convention is another word for habit, which is also a word for routine. There are of course many kinds of routines when it comes to the art of life. One is a way of seeing, which shifts over time along with the rest of human culture. I’ll hasten alterations in natural habit of looking. Another kind of routine is a way of working, which most good artists practice because it helps one see more clearly where they are actually leading.

In this candy coating of life there’s experience meant fully for the here and now, which is always right before your eyes, but fleeting. As an artist in a laboratory of spontaneity, abstract expressionism shifts with scrutiny. As I stay awake staring long enough it’ll seem to me we move and change before these eyes. As a model in first entry unable to help the one foot in front of another. Poses change slightly hour after hour, week after week. Like a realist wrestling unruly visions into cogent shapes. In a challenge of tweaked routine of lucky, we are the ones who hook into a problem beyond solution. To watch me stumble into your variations of theme, to all those things I’ll do as an old man, where I just can’t pull it off alone. I’m desperately looking for novelty, turning art history into a crazy comic book of Merry, to all a goodnight.

Lastly, in response, I have been drinking. No, art's not a new thing, it's an old thing. Actually I spent a lot of my time painting when I lived in the forest. But after leaving I decided that the art world was too fickle and sought a job in goverment work. I haven't painted since I left, but I hear there's some pieces floating around out there. Ask the animals, they might know.

My New Years Resolution: work harder, quicker deadlines, play more guitar. Try to record some silly songs that have been festering in my brain. One word: Motivation.