Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Ahh, sorry my friends for not being persistent wit dis. Been lssng to some ole fungyfung hopehiphop. If you could call Coolio (homeboy) 50 or Pac that. Yes, well, I am still here. One of the funniest things I ever heard (later) by someone who wanted me dead, was Mark's a survivor. YUH. Love to glory survivors who somehow take their lame ass jobs and make sweet music in their minds, and once in awhile do secretly good things. Just like a superhero. We love superhero's here. Henry Baum where the fuck are you kid? Hollywood ain't gonna ever embrace you cause you want it too bad, dude. Isn't life just like that though. The best are doing what they shouldn't be doing. The worst, well they know at least. Or in recent strange cases, they don't know what the fuck is going on. Okay, here it is everyone. I'm in love. ONCE AGAIN. WITH YOU.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
New Mexico-The Blue Domed Oven
Ahh. It's nice here now moved from the frying pan of quartzsite back to the home of Jodie's Revenge (my Winnebago).But we seem to be having a heat surge here in Jasperque, NM, figures, just after I watched the Al Gore movie about global warming. Sad and frightening but it really made him appear human for the first time in my mind, a funny warm person with heart. I would vote for him, although it will take some work converting this old Winny into electric. Maybe I can attach a big sail to her.
J is moved into her apartment in Albuquerque and I am going to stay as I am. Touring the country, painting my big canvases in my makeshift tent studio and living this life. Again thought of Steven Hoadley, the recently passed writer, with sadness. Wrote a poem, here it is:
The Death of Steven Hoadley
While searching for a story I found
Out he was dead
No sign of cause
Just dead
at 45
A late starter
He would have been among the great finishers
Had he survived
God damn I hope it wasn’t suicide
I wanted to meet him someday
And shake his hand
For really learning how to work
The line
And share a drink
Of anything
But tap water
The world doesn't even know to miss him. And as I watch dumbass movie after dumbass movie I realize how much the world needs guys like him. Let's face it, movies are the new literature, but all the directors with any amount of talent are so filled with themselves that they think they can write. See Terry Gilliam latest (Tideland), another along with Jarmusch and many others. Just because they have technique, an eye and lots of nifty tricks doesn't mean they can approach a keyboard and make the thing spit fire.
The end.
J is moved into her apartment in Albuquerque and I am going to stay as I am. Touring the country, painting my big canvases in my makeshift tent studio and living this life. Again thought of Steven Hoadley, the recently passed writer, with sadness. Wrote a poem, here it is:
The Death of Steven Hoadley
While searching for a story I found
Out he was dead
No sign of cause
Just dead
at 45
A late starter
He would have been among the great finishers
Had he survived
God damn I hope it wasn’t suicide
I wanted to meet him someday
And shake his hand
For really learning how to work
The line
And share a drink
Of anything
But tap water
The world doesn't even know to miss him. And as I watch dumbass movie after dumbass movie I realize how much the world needs guys like him. Let's face it, movies are the new literature, but all the directors with any amount of talent are so filled with themselves that they think they can write. See Terry Gilliam latest (Tideland), another along with Jarmusch and many others. Just because they have technique, an eye and lots of nifty tricks doesn't mean they can approach a keyboard and make the thing spit fire.
The end.