Wednesday, January 20, 2010


I opened the door and almost stepped on a dead, naked, 2-foot-tall hooker lying on my bedroom floor.


But then I realized that the "My Size Barbie" I painted to look like a tropical sacrifice and draped a feather boa on had only fallen over.


Monday, January 11, 2010

who will be in my neighborhood?

CHICAGO!? Thousands of Anton Laveys millin around, free and easy- they got no hair to muss. Black women on the train with purple lipstick, glitter bamboo shards strapped onto the tips of their fingers, sinking those suckers into newly bought Rice Krispie Treats.

NEW YORK!? Tourists from some Norwegian country. Maybe just retarded Minnesotans, squealing and gurgling as they catch the sights. If an angry New Yorker got in their way they'd just plop on the ground- rotund gelatinous spheres, bouncing and chortling down 5th Ave.

Tuesday, January 5, 2010

I'm trying to set it all out ordinally, phantasmagorically..

When I was 14 I discovered agoraphobia in Spain, seeking sanctuary in a mansion governed by a 5-foot-tall man. But reality was seeking me, and I uncomfortably realized that his livelihood was powered by the elevator that ran up all 4 floors, so that his small army of workers wouldn't waste their strength lifting luggage and packages, instead devoting their time to dinners filled with serrano ham and soft-boiled eggs.

When I was 15 I tried my hand at Delphic esteem, feeling like the baby renegade amongst my slightly older peers. They were the idols of art school babylon: pale flesh squeezed into denim and lace, talking about Leonard Cohen and running away to Argentina. Screw adolescence, they wanted to gut it all, drag the entrails across a sky-high canvas. Say it was "inspired."

When I was 16 I lined the tops of my eyelids with gold glitter and decked myself out like some 1980's call girl. But I spat on irony...My flesh and ego were too unruffled for any of that. Then I traveled through the Inferno, and wasn't able to discern the actual human beings from the fiery demigods, the friend from the foe. So I gave up that stint and pledged allegiance to Alva and distortion, hoping that my reverence would end up being fulfilled with some sort of urbanite glory.

When I was 17 I was part of an epic battle- My brain is a perennial abode...NAW man! It's perched on top of some godforsaken cactus in the backyard of some poet/mystic in Arizona, tinted a turquoise shade, serving as a vulture's foothold - but I stuck it out. Read a lot. Wrote some more...Words stuck to me like Lilliputians, insistent little bastards piercing my skin and squeezing out swollen drops of my essence - melted PVC - claiming their function was to cleanse my soul. I wasn't always so sure.

When I was 18.....