Broken Kaleidoscope

spray paint+glass+hammer

The Thinker.

Robot urinating on a wall after a bar fight with a dinosaur.

Playdough

The world is a place
A place of many places
Here I am
There you are.
Go
Going
Near
Far
Where ever it is
You Are

And the buzzing bee
is being
Being a bee
To be a bee
Would probably be
quite different
Than being
You or Me

World Vomit

Fragments

A short play

Scene: A Bar. 2 people talking

X: Do you ever suddenly get overwhelmed with the feeling that you’re dead inside? 

Y: What?

X: Ya know…just random moments throughout the day when you’re bored at work, or driving or taking a shit….do you ever just become acutely aware of a vast emptiness within yourself?

Y: No.

X: Sorry....I don’t have much to talk about. Nothing really happens in my life anymore. 

Y: It's okay, nothing happens in mine either.

...silence....

Y: I got this new toothpaste the other day, the flavor is awesome, it’s changed my life.

X:: Oh yeah?

Y: That's an overstatement, but really, it’s good shit.

X: Well if you’re a person who follows the rules and brushes your teeth twice daily, it might be life-atlering to begin and end your day with a delightful taste in your mouth. 

Barnacle Scars

The Moon, it glows, it glows, The Moon.

Ramona and the Movie Flicks.

Where does the pit go after you spit it out? the pit in my stomach gets swallowed up into the underground dumpster abyss, an endless filled-up hole. Where does it end…it’s endless. You’re not. You’re just another impala in the mouth of the lioness. Fuck you. I want to fuck you. Primal. I hate it. I hate the need to copulate. Little baby hyenas laughing at me and my withering innards. Like vultures pecking at my scabs. Buzzards. They’re ugly, ugly little fuckers. They’re bigger than hawks and dumber. And they fly in numbers, masses waiting to eat the work of better hunters. I can't even stomp on a fucking spider. I’m so sensitive. So goddamn sentimental. The bearer of gifts wild gifts. Foreign objects from no where. where the fuck are they all from? I don’t know and I don’t even wonder. No where is the location for everything. ultimately. 

But I could stare at a blue butterfly for hours. 

This morning I woke up with a bad case of melancholy. I tried completely zeroing in my focus on the softness of my cat. That regal pussy. But it didn’t really work. To distract me. From whatever the feeling is that keeps me distracted from everything else. And I just think, think, think about this feeling, without being able to place it anywhere except where it’s located. Deep within my gut. 

My best friend said that I make her nervous. Then I thought “you make me nervous too” defensively. Then I thought “we make ourselves nervous” I’m always nervous. I’m never nervous. Not anymore really. Just clouded by the shroud of contentment. 

5:34 pm. I think I’ve accomplished something, I think I can go to bed now. 

Sentimentalism

ate

my brain. 

It hurts so good. That I’m sad. No happy. No sad. No happy. No sad. No happy. No sad. Know happy. Know sad. Stupid. Know stupid. No, stupid

Clog on a Clog on a Blog

Dance, Petunia, Dance.

Gender Bender

Plastic Whiskers

One evening in the very recent past I sat on the floor and pet my Siamese cat Ramona for a while. She repeatedly rubbed her face against the exterior side of hand, as she often does....she was more or less petting me. As she did this, one of her whiskers fell out and I caught it between my fingers. In all of my years of pet ownership (for lack of a better word,  I've never really felt like we have the ability to own another living thing, and one most certainly cannot own a cat...cat owners know what I mean) I have never knowingly been present for the shedding of whiskers. I'd never even seen a whisker detached from the body of a cat. I twirled it between my fingers and realized that I'd never once considered that whiskers are a type of a hair. To me they've always been their own thing, long tickling extensions of the cat, and extensions of their identities, a key detail on a simplistic cat drawing or a halloween costume; A defining factor...opening up all sorts of epistemological questions regarding appearance and identity. As I twirled it up and down the upper digits of my middle finger and thumb,  I thought back to a family trip to Hawaii. I was probably twelve or so. For some reason, the souvenir shops all carried those porcelain lucky money cats that act as generic decor in most Chinese restaurants. They're usually gold or white and have a raised, curved paw that is mobile in some like a bobbing head. I was obsessed with them, I had to have one.  As a kid I was always drawn to objects that were foreign to me, things I didn't understand, my ignorance gave them a stronger allure. Their aesthetic quality symbolized something to me, something I only really explored through my ability to occasionally possess these goods, if my parents were willing. I think I just liked what was "other" to me, objects from faraway lands that I idealized in a way that's probably very far from contemporary political correctness.  It didn't matter that these cats were mass produced in factories with terrible work conditions, I didn't know that. I just wanted one. I was a little, thirsty consumer drawn to the primary colors of these lucky cats.  I got one. It was probably 8 or 9 inches tall and white with long plastic whiskers. I remember one or two of these whiskers fell out early on. I couldn't stand the asymmetry nor the imperfection that this left on my cat, so I neurotically plucked them all out.

I snapped back into the present and realized Ramona's whisker was still in my fingers and that it wasn't plastic. I think since the purchase of that Hawaiian lucky money cat, I'd always thought all cat whiskers were made of plastic, without ever considering it or being conscious of this bizarre assumption. All the sudden I became aware that  I'd always passively assumed cat whiskers were plastic. Assumptions turn into beliefs, beliefs turn into assumptions, and all of it just get stored in our brains as accepted interpretations of reality, never to really be questioned. I would've been fine going on believing forever that cat whiskers were plastic without ever really acknowledging or being conscious of this belief.  They're whiskers regardless.

Soooo exciting

Miley 4 President

"Upcycled" Thrift Store Album Covers

Birthday Card for my friend Todd

I love 5 cent pictures of strangers from the thrift store. I always wonder what they're lives are (or were) like, and how the pictures ended up at the Scrap Exchange in North Carolina.

Cat Piss Melodramas

Always laugh when you're taking yourself seriously. 

When the cat pees on my artwork, I go through a time warp back into the existential angst of earlier days when I read Camus and Dostoevsky...that time of melancholic passion before I grew cynical, then jaded and then completely apathetic...Through the smell of feline piss on watercolors, I am reminded that everything is temporary and only matters if we feel that it matters, and even then it doesn't actually matter....So long urine soaked daffodils! Spring is over anyway.

Woody Allen + Willie Nelson =

Woody Nelson

Helilobster

Quality time with the Fam

Praying Mantis

Slang.

I am so behind the times. I like to pretend it's the 90's and Bill Clinton is still getting outside mouthgina while running the country super well.

So the other day I spent an hour or two or a whole day reading up on pop culture semantics in order to better acquaint myself with "reality".

I've grown fond of the expression "I can't even" ever since.

1. Can't even : Can't deal or can't handle it/you."I can't even right now."

Scotty Commando

Turn Up.

Baby Chickens

....

Found some random photos of strangers in a big pile at the thrift store.

Hippos on an Escalator

Porcupine&Opossum

Horses

I bought some horse pictures at the thrift store and turned one into a poster for my friend Kat's band, and the other into a joke for my manager at the grocery store....His mom is black and his dad is white, which I guess is fairly unique because he said he feels like a unicorn. 

2 days off

I rarely have consecutive days off. This weekend I did though, and I was bummin' it so hard around my house that by the evening on Sunday I decided it was time to put on a dress and some make up....to go buy cheap wine at the grocery store and come back home and drink it alone....with my cat beside me and Broad City reruns playing on Hulu.

fuck yes. The crazy cat lady life is good shit.

I got dressed today. It's all about the small victories in life.

new stuff

Tea Set

I'm currently trying to make shit that people might actually pay money for.

Backyard pics

I was doing my version of yoga in the backyard...which mostly just consists of laying on a mat and staring blankly upward.

I decided to take some pictures...and not do yoga.

Making the Peace

Drew this for my frat boy neighbors. I called the cops on them a couple times a while back, and it made me feel like an old maid/ bitch/ crazy person, so I'm hoping to make a mends. I don't know though, this drawing might make things worse...

New and a little different.

some stuff.

More art

hipster art for etsy, gotta start up a page...even though I don't especially want to. #brokeashell

For a cartoon contest in Slovakia themed "beer"

Ernest Hemingway

For a caricature contest in Portugal. Just mailed it in the other day.

Recent Work

My New Kitty Ramona

A Month in the Life of a Human Vagina