don't point

If not for love or adventure, family or cause

what would be the point?

That is the point...that having one doesn’t matter,

defending one doesn’t protect it,

protection isn't necessary

nor is the point

because there is none.

Social Studies No.4

top editor

this is an ad for copy editing training, designed to help publishing professionals put their imprint on books. and it's even affordable! can you imagine? if you ask me, it's a scary proposition. it's like a writer taking an affordable training course. good f--king luck!









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BlackPrintsSeriesNo.27

when process is a luxury

i don't know about all you artists and writers, but i'm getting the feeling that "the man" (i'm not imposing gender here - it's just an expression) is closing in. soon art, the creative pursuit, a work-in-progress will be considered a luxury. you know you hit bottom when this occurs. it's all about work, concept, spontaneity, accidents, and after enough years, a certain lack of intention. it is not about art as investment. we can't expect too many people to understand this, i guess. it's the imperfect storm. time to step back, reassess and then let go!

unable to resist

"Instincts don’t fail you, honey." His mother’s refrain, as if she’d observed what transpired and is once again offering too much advice. These instincts spell trouble, what kind of trouble he isn’t sure but all the same he knows if he doesn’t protect himself no telling what will happen. A cackling seagull distracts him, circling the rooftops, dipping and diving as if silvery fish flicker in and out of the surf. As he reaches the next intersection he sees a heaping pile of paper, plastic and spilled Chinese takeout where more gulls have gathered to pick through the refuse. Prix fixe. Unable to resist, he approaches the next bin like a hungry account executive on his way to a power lunch. Nothing like a half eaten perfectly encased sandwich of mozzarella, arugula and sun dried tomatoes. He can’t help noticing the contenders, meals barely touched, the ones he would rescue from the garbage before they’re shipped off to the landfill, ones which rejuvenated his undernourished body when he has nothing but a cardboard box, holey tennis shoes and too much time on his hands. He has to stop looking through the trash.

fall from grace

The snap and crackle of the bacon grease doesn’t capture her attention but when Brian drops the jar of mayonnaise on the kitchen floor Gracie wakes up.

“What the fuck!”

He turns around and waves before unraveling paper towels to clean up the mess. She protests the disturbance of a good night’s sleep even though it’s 4:30 in the afternoon and she has the look of a street urchin after a two day bender.

love like you never loved before

a friend lost her daughter in a car accident. how did we survive all these years? how did i not lose a sister, a brother, a lover? losing a loved one, young, unexpected, in an accident, how can this be reconciled? you get older and think you've gone through it all and just when you think you've nailed it, the longest journey, the most arduous, insurmountable experience comes knocking on your door unannounced. how to help each other through this... that is the question. how to love like you never loved before.

SuperTuesday 08

I snuck my camera into the voting both today and took
a 16 multi shot.......

Blackprint Series No.22

relieve yo'self

there's some noxious fumes out there with the smell of politics in the
air. so take a break from art life. time is running out.
goodbye edwards. hello obama. hillary, give the phones a rest.
you lost my vote when you passed all those right wing bills in the senate.
pining away for kucinich, the raging liberal who doesn't have a chance.
as always, compromise in the air...but we can only go up from here.

in my right mind

Blown away by the read through, crippled after sitting for three days at my desk. SEPTEMBER 10TH is everything I hoped for, imagination at work- my raison d'etre, family as unpredictable as it is, love, true love and all its traps and trappings, compassion for our place in the world as precarious as it is, clinging at once to individuality, that thing that defines us and defies genetic imprints and to our collective identity, that singular force that encompasses everything, more than our individual consciousness affords. No escape. It's that big beautiful velvet stew of life on the edge. Of what? Time, meaning, existence. Even history can be false.

Tank or not

I have to read through my novel tomorrow. Okay. I don't have to but I do. I'm dreading it. It's the big kahuna. It's the road to nowhere, to nothingness and then and then... I want to believe it's going to work out. I have to admit I feel this way every time.

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