An Invitation to Violence

I had watching him for some time around town.
He had the calm collected countenance of a
person who was always in and on the know
of all the best happenings. He traveled in all
the creative circles but would slum it with
musicians every now and then. I'll be honest,
he's not the kind of person I would ever have
an normal interest in. But if someone fucks
with one of your close friends then taking
an interest in someone like him is no longer
so strange. Especially after what he had done.
I had seen him at a few of her shows and he
never lingered too long, just long enough for
her to know he was there and make her
uncomfortable. I maintained my distance at
all these gigs but I always had to make sure
to not let my emotions get the best of me.
Who was he? He was an art world taste
maker who believed himself to be above
reproach. He curated galleries in LA, NYC,
and some overseas. If you were in art then
you had to know who he was. Power. Abuse.
Drugs. Coercion. Entitlement. What a piece
of shit human being. I won't tell you exactly
what happened but it was enough for me
to begin to slowly take action. Creating a
web one thread at a time. Our desire for
retribution when there is no recourse for
judicial action is strong. It is like an ancient
need for primal justice against those we
love who had been wronged. I had no desire
to take life, only to inspire fear and terror.
To maim him, to let him know that there
are those who don't care who he is, that
not all of us are cowed by the fleeting whims
of popularity and influence. That all these
things are hollow when your life is in the
hands of someone willing to end you if
it came down to it. I want him to know
there are those of us willing to act on an
invitation to violence.

Art

If you make Art
do not wait
for the World
to accept it
or accept you

If you make Art
then make your Art
as often as you can
Let nothing deter you
in this pursuit

If you make Art
then you will know
what it means
to struggle in search
of what others
deem to be foolish

If you make Art
then you will grow
your heart and spirit
in ways others
can only imagine

If you make Art
you are always
reaching for connection
and you will find it
and others will find you

If you make Art
then you will live on
in brief immortality
until all memory of us
is erased

If you make Art
press forward
relentlessly
until at last
only Death itself
can put your
hands to rest

Reality Not Myth

You wake up sober
because you haven't been drinking
and you begin to feel bad
for all the writers and artists
over time immemorial
who have fallen to the false
promise of drink
and built their myths
on the power
of this escapism
Fuck forever
Fuck immortality
Give me a good nights sleep
and feeling alive
at the hour of my waking
each day

Reasons

How much sense do my reasons make 
if I were to tell you why I write, why
I make music? 

They may not make sense to you, or 
even seem justifiable. It doesn't matter
much to me, really. 

I have to. I cannot let this part of me die.
I give it life as often as I can in order to
give myself life. 

It is both blood and water. It is inspiration
and heartache. It is rapture and catharsis.
It is to be as fully human as possible. 

I Who Searches

Seek Wisdom in All Forms

Truth through Love
Truth through Nature
Truth through History
Truth through Selflessness
Truth through Art

If one cannot sleep one must wake.
If one wakes one must create.

Who Will Replace the Old Gods?

Dedicated to Mary

She makes beauty appear by erasing words from the page

Act of subtraction
                                    Simplification
An existing form

Rendering fat from bones

Innocuous censorship

                                    Such an appalling word

Meaning drawn from mutilation

                                    New life

Requires transformation

Demands S A C R I F I C E

                                    What are you

Willing to give?

One of the highest functions of art 
is to elevate our shared humanity. 

If everything is free
then nothing is for sale

The Eraser

I began to erase the words from books because
I could not stand the lines falling flat and dead upon the page.

Gradually, I began to see the remaining words coalesce
into thoughts I had never before considered.

They began to speak freely as though they were unbound
from the constraints of which they had been born.

Pages upon pages I filled with black sharpie or the
imprecise brush stroke of whiteout.

I began to draw, colour, cut and paste images
into these books. I began to reshape them

into representations of my thought process.
Beautiful. Scattered. Old. Revelatory. Blasphemous.

In this way, I found my joy. It had merely been hidden
all along, in those dusty old books hidden in forgotten rooms.

The voice will emerge if the mind is opened.

RE: The Muse

When the Muse finds you 
you better be ready 
to take her out on a date.

Notebook Dump #14

How long can we draw from
this well of sorrow?


Can we ever truly forgive
or is forgiveness a word
as malleable as truth?

canvas

the canvas is drunk with possibility

her words are slurred

     i listen closely

only the drunk

are honest to a fault

Worn Down Paths

Uninspire me

Retread muddied paths

I will criticize

everything as a result

of my own thwarted ambition

I am fine with this

until I realize

I need this too

I need the salvation

we're all striving for

Support the art you love.

Finding The Root

We attempt to capture moments
because of how fleeting they are.

Ultimately, we are afraid of death.
We wish to triumph over it

by taking photos, painting,
beautifully arranging words,

in order to prove to that It
has no hold over us.

If we were unafraid
we would cease our attempts.

Art continues forever.
Meanwhile, It waits and marvels.

The Art you cannot own.

A Concise Philosophy on Writing/Art

It doesn't matter if it's good,


is it honest?