Thursday, September 17, 2009

wha qua

so yeah who knows it's like i am riding the fence between this and that and sure you're thinking oh look at this fella he's just mincing words and trying to keep himself and everyone else from the truth that basically everyone else knows already, except that's not quite it and asides it's nice to kind of throw a vague thing out there and see what you get back it's like psychic echolocation but actually kind of more self-absorbed than i feel comfortable with. like tacking on a disclaimer to everything you do just so that when shit hits the fan later you can kind of sit on your haunches and pull the 'hey i warned you i was bad news' flag out from under your shirt, a cheap move sure but given the circumstances and situation it's kind of difficult to run the whole righteousness thing where you're supposedly wiser or more urbane or witty or whatever kind of wealth of knowledge is the most fashionable at the moment. oh i am so over this

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

Saturday, July 25, 2009

portland zine symplosionum/ INK CARTRIDGE FUNERAL

or whatever.

sold all the stuff i had so i am making new stuff for tomorrow, you know, press the flesh and spread the word and get my hot shit all over the place
you know painting the town brown
ink cartridge funeral is right there with me and i'm taking it upon myself as some guy with the broken website to kind of take in all the readers that were totally pumped on the first issue and or their x-ray specs. uh in short [ink cartridge funeral -> here].

for updates or whatever.

but yeah if you'll know if you stopped by the table because we are SNAKE OIL SALESMEN. you will own our zines before you even open them and that's not because we are looking for a quick buck (although we kind of are or at least i am) but it is because we love you. we love you, and we know you are nervous about trying to quantify our creative endeavors into a monetary amount. we make this process as painless as possible. to the man we actually hussled: we love you, too.

yes sir here i am reporting for duty and this was a totally safe psa

Tuesday, July 14, 2009


the legend that precedes the person- knowing before knowing, really- "jamais vu". How would one be met, and how would said subject subject themselves to the inevitable- them- in a conversation?
to wit:

"Hello, I am a big follower of yours."

ranging from the simple (trite?) "thank you" to the total abstract- the fact that no reply could be ideal means any reply will suffice- "does that mean you'll come to my hotel room?", "fuck off", "i hope your mother approves", words, any and all. the full spectrum, even the colors invisible to the human eye. silence can even work, carried by a long, cool gaze.

"Hello, I am a big follower of yours."

"Thank you." (let's keep it simple)

So then what? Me- by which i mean you- know this person. you have witnessed what they can do, pored over interviews of them "baring it all", teeth included, and yet- jamais vu- you are talking to a stranger. which should be discouraging, or humbling, rather (preferably) but actually isn't, because you like this person. you want to know more about this person. you have not yet had the (dubious) honor of watching their mannerisms, their affectations (face it- both of you know you aren't in this just to ask the time) and so you plow forward, attempting to till that well-trod path of adoration and admiration with the seeds of wit (watch your parlance, they may be flattered but they ain't no fool) hoping that an ineffable (as in f--- this, f--- that immune) connection flowers between the two of you.
it might happen. "we are not so unlike each other, you and i" is what you think, feel. express.
but the barrier remains, they in one camp, you in another, not even existing before, but before was before you said hello.
more specifically, hello, this is me, and i like you, i follow your work, i follow you. can this be construed as a glancing blow from the hand that must be held? you follower, you.

you declare, hands up in that look-i-know-it-might-be-lame-but-i'm-being-honest-and-isn't-that-a-lot-like-being-passionate-and-true,-in-this-context? sort of way.

be that as it may, fawning is fawning. curry favor with curry flavor, as in they are human, so are you, and that fact is actually the Great Leveller that makes us all equal. let's present ourselves, gift ourselves, in our best bow and ribbon display. tada! data. people like to say 'no, no mirrors please, no smoke, it makes me cough, just give me you, plain old you, as you are. this is what i want to see.' which is well-intentioned but really. it's just what you think you want to see. you want to see smoke and mirrors- and what's the difference? because how we project ourselves is an extension of- or not even that, it actually is- who we are.

so in short when they see you and you see them you use your mirror and you reflect their thoughts- you are not so unlike each other- and peer into them, into their routine (it's been there all along, it's just that it's all you've ever seen- you've been duped) and know them as your brother or sister, and all that implies (infers?).

the Golden Rule has many ancillary applications- it's not all about kindness, you fucks- it's all about where you place yourself and where you place others, which need not be reflected in each other- the mirror is, after all, a metaphor- so when you practice it (or better yet, utilize it) don't make the rookie mistake of thinking that by denying this vagrant his greedy gulps of tobacco (he calls it charity) that you're entitling him reprisal. The hands that holds (remember?) the Golden Rule can deliver a glancing blow. so when that asshole with the hot wife that looks slightly boozy and slightly crazier cracks you a fat one in the face for gawping a moment too long, don't feel slighted. that's kismet. through this slight, we see the sleight of hand. from the hand that is held, to the hand that holds, to the hand that holds the sway in all things you do- yes, you- jamais vu. we see ourselves performing one action- kissing our loved ones before they leave for work- and think the world unfair when we drive into a tree four years later, and never making the connection all the while. this specific sleight of hand takes years for the reveal, and the flourish is that there is no flourish at all- so elegant and precise, that particular strain of music- it is immediately hidden beneath the blaring horns and tinny wails of our ware-hawking humanity. if you find the measure (use the Golden Rule) you will hear the clarion call.

so when you approach the person of your admiration, or are approached by an admirer, do not mire in that difficult and desolate terrain of compliments and erudite attitude- this is stating 'i follow your work', this is stating 'my hand needs to be held', this is stating 'i am hawking my wares', this is actually stating nothing. If you speak, you will be spoken to. attune yourself- we all have an affinity to some tune- and speak in that timbre.

Monday, June 22, 2009

so okay

SO YEAH i decided yesterday to sit my ass down and find a photo of the occasion. incident. event? whatever. i'm the fella in the grey sweatshirt (hoodie? hoody?). apparently i am telling some entertaining story to my friend and the guy i was tabled with. sorry guy. you are not my friend. yet! he made a comic about vegans and it sold well. i made a comic about nothing and it sold terribly. well, i don't know. what are good sales for this sort of thing? so ANYHOWZERS i took this photo off of some other dudes' website (see if you can find them in the photo!) and this pretty much is all the evidence i have for even being there.

uh my website is still broken raw deal i am so over the internet

Thursday, June 11, 2009


so now it's twelve forty and my real cool website done broke on me so i guess this is what i'll have to use until i fix it. which will be months from now, i'm sure.
uh yeah so i am going to the OCF and i am going to try to trick some people into buying my stuff maybe i will even make enough money for a sixer now wouldn't that be something.

Tuesday, June 2, 2009

rob robotic tics

to be frank what is there to be frank about. hold that gait. did i say single-signifier engines are simpler and therefore less complex? you have to live with seemingly contradictory conclusions in life. understanding doubly so, and avoiding all tangles of wire along the way. sure maybe i cloud my sincereisms in metaphor but it seems to be the only vehicle fit for transport. at least it's something everyone recognizes, anyway. is this the only possible way to distribute information? through disassembly towards dissembly, from point to point. hotdogs -> mustard-> color -> pigment -> color spectrum of visible light. the need to map out information to digest it. you're never in a new place? that's possible. everything links. the futility of expressing a point of view. all tools of expression are tainted with personal experience and doing so, erased permanently the potential to decontextualize a noun. so the only way to attain pure expression is through wholly new expression. which is impossible, because everything is made in relief from everything else. is a golf club really a golf club, or is it a golf club simply because everything else on the planet isn't a golf club. which is well-tread territory.

Thursday, May 21, 2009

you know, blogging. the blogging thing. it's a journal thing, a me talking to the planet kind of thing. like stonehenge? it's possible.
humans and humanity. the ending of things, cycles. epochs. which i haven't ever felt before but i can now sit at the midpoint of time and watch the past cascade into its conclusion and see the future ebb into its vanishing point, and frankly, it makes me melancholy. melancholic? perhaps.
well yeah of course there's a point to all this and that anything evers gets done at all, really. so. do i write enough? is the question that i asked myself. and the response: well probably not so i guess i better do something about it. do i write about the routine? my phone is broken, there is something wrong with it, before it was the memory card and now that this is happening i am beginning to think it might be corrupt and how much is a new card anyhow? i should get a new phone. a camera phone. i should get a higher paying job. ETC. ETC. or should i write the fantastic and otherwordly? Of dragons and dragon government and dragon taxes and dragon gerrymandering? Many choices and would think that if my aim here was to record memory that i should probably better go with writing my day down, but that's too easy, right? everyone gets hassled by bums, everyone buys new pants, eats dinner, take naps, drink. fuck. So the abstract, serving as a map of the mind, would be the vehicle you should drive into the core of your soul. Unfortunately for the abstract, it has no context. it's the most honest protrayal, and the most dense- subject to all matter of interpretation, giving nothing, taking nothing.
so yeah writing is pretty simple if you're just shooting the shit you know talking about nothing in particular but if you want to get to the real good stuff you got to take your time. maybe. it's different for everyone i guess but the important thing is flow and visualization what wait what okay. so i'm not the advice giving guy. i've got no degree of Success to back those claims up, so yours truly is backing up and clamming up. well no that i'm kind of warmed up i have to email my grammy, wotta lady

Thursday, April 30, 2009



For many people, the idea of drinking more than four times a month is considered bad behavior. Drinking more than four times a week is cause for great concern, and drinking every night might as well be pinning a little white sign on your lapel stating 'Social Leper'. While these rules aren't arbitrary, and are probably based somewhere on some crackpot medical lecture, people have got to be more understanding when it comes to liquor, and hopefully some perspective can be finally gained on your garden variety lot of domestic drugs/drug use.

For example:
One of the many mundane objects that litter our bedroom floors, socks a just a note in the elevator music melody that ekes out the soundtrack to our lives. In short, socks are fucking boring. Save for the 5 minute fanfare they get when someone asks me what I would do if I Became Wealthy (wear new socks every day), I give socks absolutely no thought whatsoever. However! As droll as they may be, I have to deal with them every single day. This is where Controlled Substances comes into play, riding valiantly out from all the Trees on his White Stallion, his Black Dart arrows resting comfortably in his quiver. Sweet vehicles to new perspectives. Perhaps because of our Puritan ancestry, it has become some kind of noble penance to stretch our lives twice their perceived length so that every day becomes a vast swathe of Time in which we are forced to Deal With The Mundane Mundanely. This is insane, and I call for a stop to it right now. Drinking at 9 in the morning has got naught to do with one's Moral Fibre or Steadfastness. I think that anyone, anyone at all, has got a perfect right to Wake and then Bake. Because honestly? Brushing your teeth, putting on deodorant, picking out socks, making the bed, all these activities more or less make up the bulk of our day; let us find comfort and solace from these habits. At some point during our gory transcendence from bloodletting and human sacrifice and making nuns drink boiling pitch (see: RED TERROR) into our current Domestic Glory, we have lost all distinction between the people who like to have a drink or eight every night and, well, the fucking miserable other half who always start conversations in bars but ironically are the worst ones to talk to- everyone gets lumped into the Bad Citizens pile. To adopt a phrase, it is "weak shit".