dear sharon

Dear Sharon - At first I thought to myself Sombrero?. I couldn't really understand why of all things would you think I'd be interested in one. I have nothing to do with any hot mexican jazz.

good times with weapons

There is something in the air. I can taste it on my unintended tongue. Something like a sodium cocoyl isethionate... stearic acid, something like a coconut. Sodium tallowate, sodium isethionate, sodium stearate. Aqua. There's a cocamidopropyl betaine cocoate or kernelate, parfum of some kind, sodium chloride? Tertrasodium! Tetrasodium etidronate.

Dissects of oneself on a steady day by day basis. Yourself teetering between some pretty terrifying and depressive evenings where sleep is slowly but surely a long distance away. This past week I’d like to tell you about things. Unfortunately they didn’t happen. I spent most of my time in bed for the better part of the week. My dependence on this website and for it to be running as something more functional is a struggle. If you're familiar with keeping websites up to date, you may know of the constant tapping on the head. The endless lack of concentration. That especially if you're me. After finishing an entry... honestly, I couldn’t see myself the next day doing the same as last, I couldn’t see myself later that same day.

And then, one night in October like today, I have a few beers and climbed the stairs to the tiny room that housed my bed and my ancient cpu. I had taken a few moments to check my e-mail and facebook, both are covered in cob webs. To tell you the truth, instead of blogging I'd rather be sorting out my priorities instead of having the echo inside of me began to grow louder and louder.

The other night I remember having this very lucid dream. To say the least, it was a nightmare unfolding with realizations of my self destructive behaviour. Stubbornly I told my disheveled self, despite the fact that you're suffering from an ever growing deterioration of a mental state and sheer exhaustion it's best if you continue to exhibit your talent in art no matter how despicable, or unhappy you may be. You play on it, man.

dear chris

Dear Chris - Some people are more dignified when getting a taste of their own medicine. It happened so simply. Right before my body gives out I gave a speech that I imagined most people with guns love so much. I mean, talk about humility. To tell you the truth I would probably still be upset over the whole incident if it hadn't been for the immense reaction.

scorched earth

There is a place where time doesn't move the same way as it does here. Giving all the details about it is frustrating but I'll pick up somewhere. The other night I went out with my ol'friend, Mooky. I thought it best to go out for a movie and let him fill me in on his life. You see, him and I have been friends for as long as I can remember. I was in early grade school, attending a birthday celebration at his house for his younger brother at the time when we had first met.

I can remember it was hard to talk to people. I felt the opposite of something I wasn't in any hurry to get to. When I got really lost on my way to the bathroom, I found myself somewhere really gone far astray from the rest of the party. I had walked into a room with a mouth full of whatevers, observing a two-deminsional land that seemed to wobble. I being the neighbourhood action figure junkie and him being all things computer games you can say we became very familiar with one another. It was a match made in all forms of combat entertainment.

"What is this?" I asked. "Scorched Earth" he replied with a fierce concentration remaining on the game, the slightest miscalculation meaning oblivion. "...This ain't too bad, actually." I said. How I miss those things I used to have, the little things we all used to have. To be able to make small talk, to joke, to go through the mud or sand instead of the mines or traps.

Haven't all the pressures, I can say that the familiarity is what makes me more comfortable. Yet as I sit here with everything bored, suffering from a severe pain within my left arm as I type this with only my right hand, I can say that even thanksgiving day, no matter how quiet or bitterroot the cherry pepper with betel nut is, it is a lot less accommodating.

Sometimes days off like these are often filled more than we care to think, which I’m not a fan of as it tends to detract from the ability to relax. But for the most part they pass pretty quickly. You sort of fall into an unconscious state of mind given how busy things are otherwise.

bewildering charm

What a crying shame, it has been over a few days and there's nothing I can say or do but crawl to a halt at times. A life in painting can be sometimes comparable to molasses. That's very unfortunate especially if your days are determined by a exterior motif. Would you think it reasonable to blame speed and stability or time and effort for such indignation?

Before getting inextricably tanlged, tomorrow evening I'm eliminating any strange gain on a new art piece in favour for the bewildering charm of drunk mindless people. None to worry. Given what I spend the majority of my time on, and elsewhere, you’d think it a possibility that I might bring something else up other than making art. And yet I am always surprised when people find it shocking when I say, in the wriest smile, that doesn't really exist in the world... I'm painting the town red. Later on I may reflect on this and offer a new observation but until then I just gotta remain cognizant of the fact that the bare essentials i.e: a pair of lungs and spine, amongst other things, will somehow keep me able to record another reaction to my surroundings.

As a side note for viewers and artists alike, it’s important for you to remember that there are events to attend this October. The following local art shows that will capture both your attention and imagination. Having said that, I'm not a part of the presentations myself (lest to my knowledge) but if you're interested in the attending along with, drop me a line.

The Heatskores" - Zaphod Beeblebrox
Sunday, October 21, 2007 at 8:00pm
Blend of music and art with Toronto band "The Heatskores", Ottawa bands, "Hell Bros" and Vanier Shank and Goddamn Goddamns. Aswell, you'll have the pleasure of seeing several artists and photographers.

Vernissage - The Buzz Restaurant
Sunday, October 14, 2007 at 6:00pm
Mix and mingle with three emerging local artists.

bitter orange

Cheer up. I’ve been telling myself that for years with thoughts of how that might help intergrate myself back into the public realm of society. At times I've wanted to spell that as - FutureShop. But we all know that is not a good idea if I wish to remain sufficient in my own development. An interesting and 'new' computer? A surround sound system, perhaps? Maybe even, dare I dream, my very own apartment? Let me tell you, I don't do well with large purchase commitments. I'm without the economic background. I'm in a deep seeded need to stockpile my savings, pay off my debts, and live as modestly as I can before something say terrible happens. But like anyone, I make exceptions for certain things and that my friends, is extremely detrimental. You need to register with PayPal, I tell myself. You need to allow that thing to happen, man. You need to have a productive state.


It has always been about the productive state. But if you call quality time with loved ones (i.e: a walk in the park with the girlfriend or a game of golf with the brother) counter productive then your rigor is by far unbelievable. Yes, besides that, there are a lot of other things that do go on behind the scenes that result in what others will not get to see or read about on the net. But it comes with the territory, man. I make impractical decisions based on those factors.

Last night I experimented with a new art piece and tried a few different techniques but had a insufficient outcome that continued to allude me. My work has been very slippery and almost a elusive quality in the hours spent on it during my frustration. There were many details I had squeezed together, most were happening so fast it's as though they were as frequent flashes from Britney Spears getting out of a limo.

Within the confines of my own room I yelled incoherently and screamed overwhelmingly. That kind of thing you can expect to happen with someone carrying a higher disposition in regards of their art. There are days where all I'm doing is sliding across my room long and searchingly. Sometimes my mind wonders if the complex and travelling ideas of mine are the same roads that people will visit during it's conveyance.

For anyone who knows me well, I'm someone who doesn't like to spend much time talking as opposed to doing. You can attest to that especially outside of my blog. As a workable archetype, I do trust that most I've met do their best to judge people by what they do instead of what they say. I think we can all agree to that, how people spend far too much time pointing anonymous fingers, talking about the lives of other people just as they do art and knowing nothing about it far too often enough. I have always found it odd that so much time is spent both admiring and admonishing the completely strange. Either way, be it love or hate, people are still focusing on someone or something they really don't know. That is how it has always been. That is always how it's going to happen. Far too much emphasis on the importance of nothing we could grasp to begin with. Creating the frenzied state in which we now voyeuristically live.

Somehow, on some level, I sense a subtle distinction made between double standards and hypocrisy... when, come to think of it, one such as myself has a facebook account along with a weblog that you are now visiting... I've gotta go.