Adam Blog Ciresi

3 new jams.

2011-07-14T01:00:00.001-07:00

This first painting is a collab I did with Heidi Elise Wirz and my lady, Zeyneb Akel. The other 2 are new pieces and the collab are for a show that opens this week at People's Gallery in Pioneer Square Mall called "Sum of all of Parts".

Seasonal transitions

2011-05-20T05:11:00.001-07:00

Summer can't keep frontin' for long. It's so damned close, and I can tell just by the grapevine on our porch... it's leaves have burst from the vine's buds and are growing ever so rapidly. I got a couple weeks of school left and then I'ma be a free wild man. I got a job which is cake and actually enjoyable (at least thus far), and equally important, will allow allow me to not only make rent but as well have plenty of free time. And I am grateful for the shift hours, where I work throughout the night. While the majority of the people I know, if not all, retire one by one to their slumber, I am up cooking food for the restless and the inebriated. When I arrive home, they are on their last legs of sleep. When I give into delirium and submit to a demanding rest, they are beginning their day. And when I awake, I awake into the pinnacle of the day, where the sun is high and so are people. The last time I truly had this type of lifestyle, where not only could I stay up extremely late every night for my own personal enjoyment, but to fulfill my financial responsibilities, I too could be mindfully active until damn near morning. Back when I was in NYC living in Manhattan, working at bars, running on opposite hours from everyone else. This is where I am able to really get involved into art, and I can't fucking wait. I already have been working my way to this lunar schedule, and have been getting a taste of what's to come. To work with passion and haste from the day into the night, through the night, and maybe even into the sunrise, is a feeling like no other. I feel alone, and I enjoy being lonesome. Being lonesome easily puts boredom into question, and rather be consumed by it, it becomes easy to be distracted with anything but boredom. That's where I like to be. I believe people should be able to define time for themselves, so even though we run and function on some determined structure and impetus, we should as well not forget that we have what we tend to call "free time." Ha! FREE! It shouldn't be called "Free" time at all. It should be called bought time. Because the majority of society makes their money to buy a little bit of free time for themselves. But that free time is already set out like a picnic full of food and drinks for 2, but without the hassle and prep! A friend shared a link to this artist who spent 35 fucking years building a beautifully functioning diorama of San Francisco solely out of toothpicks. It works on gravity and kinetics. One can tour this 35 years of brilliance, but really it's more than that. It's timeless.
Anyway, couple of new pieces I made for some projects for school. The Obama one was done for a class, but more so for a small group show I am in at the Peoples Art Gallery of Portland, which will be up for the month in Pioneer Mall. I am curious, and excited... especially because I will be involved again with this gallery space in 2 months, but this time in more of a feature show. And we are given the opportunity to work collectively and collaboratively on an installation. Hoooo wee!

This was the other project I did for class, which is made out of two 2 dozen buckets of KFC chicken. Purchasing the chicken sucked. Touching the chicken sucked. Removing the meat from the bones sucked. Smelling the chicken sucked. KFC is like a sauna of dead chicken air and grease. Making art with it sucked. I had nothing but angst the whole time, having to touch the shit. But I ignored the angst, and just made a flag... There are no stars because we are no longer united as states of citizens... we are united as consumers through capitalism. And the food that KFC makes and sells, the spectacle it is a part of, from factory farm to marginalized families fingers, symbolizes the the type of oppressiveness we are unified by. So I took the meat, and offered it to a homeless man who was socially deranged and most likely mentally sick. And I had him eat it... I watched him eat this food within this social climate, there on the filthy side of Martin Luther King JR Blvd, seeing him savagely lace into the disgusting industrial meat, the passing cars spewing their exhaust all over us, all the while I am bummed that I spent 20 dollars on chicken that I couldn't afford to spend on anything but healthy food for myself, all to make a stupid little flag. That stupid little flag embodies all of that.

These past few days I have been trying to figure out which I like better; Indica or Sativa. I think, even though Indica is supposed to make you sleepy, I kind of enjoy the effects. Tomorrow I'll how well Sativa and I jive.

Here comes the sun.

2011-05-10T01:04:00.000-07:00

I just received a new job today, the first which I have applied to. I haven't had a legitimate job in almost 3 years, aside from weird freelances and such. Student financial aid has helped to keep me afloat, but I am no longer making all of my rent and bills with room to spare. I am to be a pizza maker at the newly renown pizzeria, Sizzle Pie. I can't say I am stoked to regress in my area of expertise, for my first legit job (at 14) aside from working an apple orchard and a paper boy was working pizzerias, but the owner of the joint seems pretty awesome, as does the whole operation itself. They make the best pizza in town, and have a great popularity with good reason. Maybe I can finally save up to purchase a small vehicle. I recently had to do an assignment for a conceptual art class where I went on a derive, and I just finished writing about it. I am deciding to share it with the blogosphere.

It began quite spontaneously. I’d been drawing anatomical muscle structures for a life drawing class for hours now and I needed a break. I stepped away from my drawing desk and looked out my window. The rain had given up and the grey clouds eerily sat against an evening sun. That moment I decided this is where I will wander for an hour. One hour to roam, to get out of my house, to see and be. I grabbed nothing but a small journal, a jacket, and I head to the door. I swung open the front door, and before I set my feet down on the porch, I receded back into the house and grabbed my skateboard. There is something beautiful about riding around a city with aimlessness. Just as one may hop a train across the US and see the countryside like never before, the same exists with a skateboard. You invite trees with their gargantuan roots which push up the sidewalk like mangled teeth, for trip over it you will not. Instead, you jump over the crooked slabs of concrete and ride the decline on your front two wheels. You can skate full speed in the street, or skate with more observation on the sidewalks. The best is to jump from one to the other with fluid motions. You make of the concrete world what its intention was never meant, an oppressive dimension that says “you walk here, you park here, you don’t trespass here, and you sit here.” Skateboarding subverts and transgresses this.
Riding down Rosa Parks I skated into a small courtyard of a nearby church which I have never gone near before. I pass this slightly metro looking church on the daily, be it on foot, bicycle, or skateboard. I’ve noticed from passing by so many times that the demographic seems largely Latin American and Mexican. At this time on a late Sunday evening, no one is around. I skate around the church, through all of its sections. There one a small little garden I stumbled upon, where a statue of Jesus Christ with a bleeding hole at his ribs and Mary weeping sits nestled in lush greenery. I think to myself, this statue has beauty to it. I care not for its dogmatism, but I am enamored by the decency of the artist’s hand. It seems the work is unsigned, or at least there is no obvious signature. I would love to make a statue like this, but instead of common people, or people who have made some sort of tangible impact within civilization. I’d love to study sculpture, apply my knowledge of anatomy, my observations of contemporary culture, and create a piece like this, but with real substance- not some hollow figment of a failed imagination. Maybe I should even come late at night and switch at the statues! I’d remove the dying Jesus Christ and replace it with a living and youthful African American child making do with this plighted urban suburbia; something that could make you smile. I skate on, past the school’s section of this religious commune, where the sports field and playground rest lonely behind a tightly locked fence. The park feels like a virgin crying to be tainted, and even though I skirt the idea of climbing the fence, I skate to Peninsula Park to see if the roses are almost ready to bloom instead. The sky is beginning to glow with golden hues and I know dusk is falling upon us.
I arrive at the park, and sit down on a bench which overlooks the enormous garden of roses surrounded a monumental fountain. This garden is a completely communal effort, where every fall neighbors in the area clip off the roses and prep them for the winter, and in the spring they again prep them for the explosive season of color and warmth. At first glance it would seem the park is still and silent, but as you pay closer attention there are cacophonies and symphonies going on all at once. I immediately grab my moleskin from my back pocket and hastily write on its pages:
Here I am at Peninsula Park. Roughly 100 feet from me sits a pair of homeless people on a bench, adjacent from my view of the spewing central fountain. They’ve a large shopping cart full of junk shrink-wrapped in filthy plastic grocery bags and they’re hacking up death. At the foot of the fountain stands a young couple, fancily dressed in black and are well-groomed. Chivalrously, the man courts the female upon the concrete pond’s ledge and they close in to one another. As they begin to embrace the female raises her arm and turns a digital camera facing inward and snaps a photo as they pose. She steps down with his diligent hand, they again embrace, and she takes another photo just as they begin to really press themselves against one another. They look and reflect on this photo, kiss, take one another’s hand, and skirt across the courtyard back towards the weeping trees. A small black child is bicycling around them and the bums roll cigarettes from discarded butts while talking aimlessly. They blather, choke and cough, blather, choke, and cough.
I came here to see how the rose bushes are doing. There must be several hundred of them. Their leaves now stand courageously erect from their skinny trunks, and there are numerous red buds protruding from the stems. Beneath the gazebo the couple now chases each other like squirrels in slow motion. Their interaction is quite curious and seems as almost artificial, where the laughs sound rehearsed and their movements are like stumbling toddlers. Along the path of rock and dirt surrounding the park is the black child on his bicycle, humming to himself and intentionally wobbling his handlebars like a mayfly in the wind. A few oak trees down from the gazebo along the dirt path are the bums, now standing at the foot of a gargantuan trunk. The bum standing closer to the path folds his arms and obscures the view of his partner, where, from my vantage point, I can see him squatting behind this human shield, and begins to defecate among the tree’s roots. A passerby stares straight ahead, fully aware of this lewd display, and the standing bum stares off to the road without a wince. Now they are back on the bench, sipping from enormous Super-Size Taco Bell cups, which could be soda, water, or hell, maybe even their own urine. I walk from the bench I was sitting upon, down the long and gradual brick staircase, and into the vast courtyard. It’s a small maze of bricks and roses. I walk to the fountain and stand on its ledge. I lean out with my weight against my skateboard and stare straight into the surging water. The lapping sound of water falling from dancing streams creates a steady meditation, like heavy rain against your roof at night. Staring straight through fountain at me from the other side is the small black child who is sucking on a lollypop and his feet planted firmly on either side of his bicycle. Above him is a grayish blue sky with voluminous clouds on fire. The last few moments of light are casting a rainbow throughout the synthetic geyser, transposed directly over the black child’s gaze towards me. The whiteness of the spraying water with its prism of spectral light surrounds me, and then engulfs me. The couple is still prancing around beneath deciduous and evergreen trees, the female snapping photos of the chasing male. A dog seemingly from nowhere runs off into the grassy park beyond my view and the cloud’s flames within seconds extinguish. I step down on my board and skate back towards my home. Just as I reach the sidewalk, the black child bicycles up to me, looks me in the eye, and says “sup,” and rides off before I even have a chance to respond.

More new paintings

2011-05-06T21:44:00.001-07:00

Some newish stuff and new stuff. Job interview tomorrow... hoping I get it, but hoping I don't as well. Fuhhhh.
Just got word today that Forever Escaping Boredom and Bear Records are going to jointly put out the new Carrion Spring full length on cassette tape! Now we just need to get another label to release it on vinyl. I am so fucking stoked for tapes... the only portable music playing device I have is an inexhaustible amount of cassette players. I guess I have been obsessed with tapes since I am a kid... so even though vinyl is super legit and all, for me, tapes are going to be the big kahuna. Surfs up.

New painting

2011-05-01T22:30:00.000-07:00

New painting. More to come in the near future. Been working on a lot of new stuff for school, as well to get some art shows this summer and score a scholarship.. I hope.

Day 1 of temp mural

2011-04-06T01:08:00.001-07:00

Spent roughly 4-5 hours today working on this. S'bout a third to half done. Hopefully can put in another 4 or 5 tomorrow. And then finish her up Thursday. Pretty stoked about it. I won't explain what's going on, in a couple of days it'll all be there... good grief, the suspense!

The flu is still shredding me life to bits, but I powered through it today. I couldn't take another minute lying like a salted slug in my bed. In my room. In my house. Indoors. I swear to god I've been watching the walls move.
I have some new plants, which I should photograph sometime soon. I guess that sometime is whenever I can afford a new camera, for my fucking digital broke at the Godspeed You Black Emperor show. Those bastards sucked the soul out of my Cannon. Fuck it. I forgive them.
But these god damned plants in my window sill. They are all beautiful, but one of the bastards has some small little fly infestation and every 30-40 minutes I end up clapping one as it tries to enter any one of the orifices on my face.
Ok. Time to go watch the coolest series I've ever seen called Carlos. If I last 20 minutes I'll be surprised.

sickness

2011-04-02T22:56:00.000-07:00

I am sick. Again. The frequency of unfortunate health conditions for me is preposterous at this point. I have the flu, which is nothing to fuck with. I've never had the flu, but figured it to be something like the common cold. I didn't realize how fucked up you can get from a 103 fever and what type of muscular pain ensues from head to toe. My body is constantly in a frenzy, either sweating profusely or bone chillingly freezing. There is no respite, even with ibuprofen. The ibuprofen actually helps to bring on the heat. Needless to say, this has fucked up my weekend. I was supposed to have worked and made hella cash, and made a mural. Instead I lie pathetically in my own sweat watching documentaries or the walls breathe. I did play 2 shows back to back, and I wasn't feeling all that great either of those days, so maybe this is payback. Both of the shows were worth it though. The first was a solo acoustic set with Des Ark, Pygmy Lush, and local greats, Slow Teeth. All were awesome, but Pygmy Lush fucked my whole night up. An amazing band. The day after was with Carrion Spring, Hang the Old Year and Lumber Lung. That show was fuckin awesome.
But I was an idiot that night. I knew I was getting sick, so I did what I used to do when I was a teenager. I drank a bunch of booze and thought it'd kill whatever was writhing inside of me... which worked countless times in my youthful past. But the flu don't give a fuck.
And this sickness comes only a couple of weeks after our tour, which I unsurprisingly (somehow) ended up in an Oakland hospital for 2 nights. I am guessing I worked myself to exhaustion the last 2 weeks before we left for tour, and through exorbitant deprivation, put myself into the hospital. We had played one of the best shows of Carrion Spring's existence that night at the Yellow Room, with such rad bands like Calculator and Matsuri, and then went off to continue the party. The partying was pretty tame and eventually by 2 am or so laid myself down on one of the bench seats in the van. Within minutes I realized my heart was racing at some unfathomable pace, and noticed I was going white and blue. I began shaking uncontrollably and could hardly breath. I thought I was somehow about to die... that was it, this was death. I hadn't ever felt anything like this before, and it felt incredibly wrong. So luckily, Thom was in the van as well and he drove me to the ER. After a lot of bad interactions with the ER unit, they finally found that I was possibly having what's called atrial flutter, or something of the like. My heart rate was recorded over 180 beats per minute. My typical sitting heart rate is usually in the low 50s!!! So I was administered 100 volts to the heart through defibrillators. I don't remember too much after I arrived at the hospital, but it was pretty insane.
And now I lie all phlegm and sweat in my bed, fevered and useless. It's just not fair!
So I just had to send an email of my "artist bio" for this upcoming mural, which ain't anything to flip over, but is nevertheless a rad little opportunity to work big. At a time, and for the most part still do hate writing artist bios. But I've come to realize that doing this can function as a moment to reflect on how far you may have come along since the last time you wrote one. I think an artist bio is like that of product packaging. In only so many words you have to convince the viewer of the content's legitimacy... because there are so many of the same product, just a different label slapped on it. I think an artist needn't an explanation of the ingredients. But, the people still demand to see what's behind the mask. So it's fun to work with that. This was the bio-
My name is Adam Brock Ciresi and I am from NY. I've lived in Portland for 4 years now, and am entering my final year studying at PSU. I am 27 years old, and will probably live to see 28. I make music of varying styles in varying projects, just as I enjoy doing the same in painting and other forms of art. If there is anything I've ever truly related with, it is punk. But I find this interesting to use, because I feel if someone reads this they may immediately think of some preformed person, covered with safety pin piercings, studded leather,a 4 foot green mohawk, a CBGB's shirt, a torn up pair of Converse, so on and so forth. For such a large majority of people, this is probably and sadly the case. And this is capitalist consumerism, where an image is rendered into a commodity, and then spewed back into society for all to place on themselves like a mask. People pay good money for this! For me, I see my formative years as an "artist" as a means to resist this type of life.

So I am stoked for this term at PSU... for a change! I am taking a life drawing class again, with a teacher I love. I am taking a painting class with a cool teacher who is letting me making 8 paintings all together for the term. This will be good, I right now need the discipline for sure. The other class, a 100 level theory based class seems like it will be ok, mainly because the teacher seems pretty rad.
I am glad to know I will be doing nothing but producing art work for the next 10 weeks. And then I will need to find a way to survive this summer in Portland. Gulp.

Carrion Spring tour and new album

2011-03-08T03:09:00.000-08:00

Mother fuck it's 3:10 in the morning and I have to be up at 8 am for a class and I don't know how that is going to ever really happen. I've probably slept all of 6 hours over the last 3 days. Tour is just another 3 days away. It's finals week. I still need to send the album off to get mastered and I still can't stop mixing the thing. Tomorrow I am going to make some linoleum cuts of the album covers and then hand print 100 copies. And then hand sew them shut. We are playing on the radio show Revolution Summer at KPSU from 7-9 this Thursday. I hope anyone hears. The next day we leave with New York's finest, Dead Channels, on our short voyage throughout California. Jason Romero booked our shows, and I love him... just get us that last confirmation brothaman and all is gravy. On Friday we play in San Jose, at the Texas Toast house, I think? I dunno, holler at me Jason. Saturday we play at his house, the Yellow Room, with Calculator and Matsuri. Pretty stoked on that. Sunday we play Santa Barbara at the foundation press with buncha bands... I'm amped to play with Lumber Lung.
Our new (and first) full length album has been underway since the very last days of 2010. Eventually Carl Saff will master the damned thing, but for now we are just gonna get a cheapo master to have with us for this extended weekend tour. I think I've still got some patches lying about my room somewhere. We are too frequently unprepared for everything.
I should finish my final paper for that Street Art class I have to be up for in 4 hours. Yes, that's right... a class on street art. I too thought it contradictory. Still can't tell how stoked I am on the class itself, or that its just a lot cooler to talk about vandals than doing math problems. Banksy will someday soon be the new Chomsky. Right? I guess one recognizable benefit has been my growing lack of interest for institutionalized contemporary fine arts, even though I've never really given a shit regardless. Studying many of my favorite prolific and profound artists is inspiring but it ultimately is just a class, not some radically pivotal shift in academia. I mean, shit, it's not even recognized within the art department.
Somewhere in the distance of this city, I hear a car horn going off. It has been going off for close to 5 minutes now. I wonder if it's because of an attempted thievery. Or maybe a terrible accident and no one has arrived yet to the scene. Strangely curious.

old gods, new masters.

2011-01-06T01:19:00.000-08:00

waited all these years
for a second coming
given up dreams and denied reality

So pretend now we lived in a world where
within communication
there existed no such ideologies
of God
and an ultimate judgment
of all your attempts at living
beyond any capability you've known before
before this moment
that exists in between flickers of the flame
upon the pale wall of a dark night
any moment
execution can be infamous
but not as profoundly beautiful
than the experience known by its creator

Now for everyone else
compensation is the next best thing
and the shot is heard around the world
it is amplified through myriad institutions
through oppression
through manipulation
through distortion
through divinity
but as well
through art
through the dissenters

and for anyone
for everyone
this shot can ring as loud as the crack
of a bullet to the back of the head
deafening
but not as lucky as deafness
because you still hear the ringing
and you'll lose so fucking quick
the ability to know
that you'll even hit the ground

but you've hit the ground
and you feel at the back of your head
and it hurts like you've never known
and you look at your hand
and there is no blood

and now you you know what it is to be alive.

Well, here's a good point to pick up.

2010-11-08T21:33:00.000-08:00

Gosh I haven't used this thing really since I got facebook. And whether or not I am going to delete it remains undetermined, though highly possible, I realize that if I am going to spend extra time everyday primping and priming myself as portrayed on the internet, I should at least use it more for something like this than Facebook. You know, EVERY SINGLE THING... not most things, but everything; every single word, picture, bit of information, and so on, is held within the memory of a super computer directly feeding from that website. There is no complete privacy... maybe from other users like yourself... but as for the owners of the companies and those who pay good money and invest quite well into this arena, including the sick bastards who run our country..well, they have full access to that shit just as they can tap our phones and records.

So anyway, I've spent the past week in the OHSU hospital.. and a good deal of time doing nothing but writing. I will have a lot to put into this blog over the next week... but in the mean time, I'd actually just like to post an assignment I did for an art class... it follows the same format of a famous poem called "I am for an Art."

I did this assignment under the direct pretense of this unfortunate condition. When you're writhing in pain for a week straight from a cave of a hospital room with dying people all about you in a half school/half medical facility full of contradictions on top of a mountain away from your loved ones and the true (and/or illusory) societal realities, it's hard not to seriously and honestly think about that which is most important to not only you, but your own health, and even the health of a public and it's consciousness.

I am for art which attempts to destroy anything against the pureness of expression.

I am for art that doesn’t limit the potential for communication; to go beyond the boundaries of language.

I am for art which grants me the time and space to observe my surroundings, environments (both static and tangible), and under a realistic pretense; not under the hyper-reality created by mankind.

I am for art that remains out of filthy and corrupted hands.

I am for art as lived experience.

I am for art that deviates from the naturalization of perception.

I am for art that keeps me thinking beyond the expectations of banalities and societal norms.

I am for art that can give grounds to revolution.

I am for art that attempts to dismantle the convolution s of everyday life.

I am for art that can sing you to sleep.

I am for art that can sing you awake.

I am for art that provokes the skepticism for all reason and truth.

I am for art that keeps me safe from my sane self and insane to others.

I am for art that teaches what words cannot.

I am for art that can be insurrectionary.

I am for art that can make disorder out of imposed order.

I am for art that exudes blood and guts.

I am for art that gives me the means to reflect on the evolution of a conscious person.

I am for art that can portray the absurd while exposing the falsity of the real.

I am for art largely as a contribution to my own social survival.

I am for art that may possibly reach even a single other person, even if I never physically do.

I am for art as an extension of one’s own consciousness.

I am for art that does not adhere to any systematic belief system or any system of strict governance.

I am for art that defines existence for an individual.

I am for art that can speak to a person, like a conversation with a stranger of whom you’ll never forget and may never meet again, and becomes an influential memory on the creation of that individual’s future existence yet to be unfolded.

I am for art as a weapon, not a commodity.

I am for art which sits in harmony with all of the beauty of nature and all of the wreckage of corruption.

I am for art that does not have a face, but has a soul.

I am for art that remains detached from its creator.

I am for art that can take on myriad meanings depending on the settings of which it is placed.

I am for art that disregards imperfections in a deliberate regards to disregard.

I am for art that does not completely take itself seriously while taking its potentiality with the utmost seriousness.

I am for art that is of the artists and not of the cogs of capitalism.

I am for art that has no beginning and no end, but may suggest a certain experience within the definitions of time and existence.

I am for art that can move mountains.

I am for art that has the strength of a million humans.

I am for art that is as fragile as human existence.

I am for art that scoffs in the face of the fear of the look-in-the-other.

I am for art that is as ethereal as the last breath upon the rattle of death.

I am for art that is not obvious and has the potential to stop or slow time, if even for a fraction of a second.

I am for art that does not fear nor protect itself from destruction.

I am for art that never fully defines itself.

I am for art that helps me learn about myself, from myself, about others, and from others.

I am for art that won’t let anything ever stand in its way.

I am for art that contributes to my willingness to stay alive.

4 am sleep-writing

2010-08-15T15:22:00.000-07:00

An artist is a person who hones acute skills and abilities of perception and acts upon them in such a manner that they themselves become a watermark upon a period of human existence. The purpose is not to create a grand masterpiece, but to render and produce with such a frequency that the art becomes larger than the life of the artist... that then becomes the masterpiece.

bleh

2010-08-14T23:27:00.000-07:00

Uncontrollable mood swings. Lots of them. I can't fight them. And with them comes the crippling lack of creativity. Self-loathe and lethargy. Too much time on my hands can capsize self imposed structure and ambition. And most of what I have produced lately seems to me a failure, or a faint voice at best. Days and nights are quick. I shower every morning, and under the teeming water I feel as if I was just there. The shower has always been a time for me to sort out my thoughts, plan my day, and reflect on my past-doings. Lately I just feel a premeditated defeat for the day... I know I will come up empty handed before I retire for the night. I'm wading in stagnancy. I am not necessarily pessimistic for my future both near and far, but I'm bereft of any enthralling optimism at the moment. I mull over plans to work on many different projects, but I hardly find the motivation to act upon them. I feel trapped. I look at the stray cat I have recently been taking care of. And I relate all too well with him. He yearns to be outside, to roam and chase everything boundlessly at free will. He sits at the window, he sleeps too much, and he meows every here and there at the door. I want to let him loose, but he comes back after a day with hunger and curiosity. And then he gets stuck with us again. This cycle of banal predictability just feels all too familiar and I need to pull myself from this incapacitating flypaper. It should be a simple mind shift from introverted self-pity back to confidence and being constructively focused. It's always easier said than done, as they say. But I think I just need more time to myself, to really figure out how I've derailed and how easy it really is to step back into full swing.

2010-07-28T14:06:00.001-07:00

The ebb and flow of recent productivity has been very temperamental, to say the least. Some days I've written song after song, made painting after painting, and some days I've just loafed like a drunken sloth. Regardless, a couple of things I have had to focus on is writing lyrics for songs; both for my band Carrion Spring, and my own solo material. My solo material was also fleshed out with my brother and some other good friends, Lee (who also plays in Carrion Spring) and Richard. We've played 2 shows as a band, and seems to have had a surprisingly decent response. Last Thursday's Alberta Art Walk is tomorrow, and now, of course, as usual, am madly trying to produce a couple of more pieces of art. I'm completely broke, and though my parents are considering lending me this month's rent, I still would rather sell some work and do it myself. So, looks like I now embark on a frantic all-nighter.
Which, I should no longer procrastinate. So, without any further ado, here are some recent Carrion Spring lyrics, follow by some of my solo lyrics. I am starting to not completely hate what I write... I think.

Carrion Spring lyrics.

Hemhorrage
All this murk we're drownin in
a hemhorrage from leeches rotting on the wounds of cankered institutions.
so futile a tourniquet.
Become decrepit, every sinew.
every cog is rusting.
seams are ripping.
artificial selection
natural retaliation.

abandoning all stations
won't ever stop the bleed of these machines

acutely distort imminent disasters
to keep us calm before the storm.

Year of the Carrion
Glowing display radiates existence
to cleanse the mind
give life to dead time.
Still so lost, and getting worse with every minute
but we won't see it
through our own
reflections
so pathetic
to see that we are
locked up from the outside in
This womb is a graveyard
under a ton
of napalm
set ourselves ablaze

bring some light to an age so dark.
set ourselves
ablaze.

Troll's Toll
Fallen all the faculties, a pile on the floor
the death of an accomplice.
The shame if he knew of the blood on his hands
hung weary and limply
like flesh on a hook
and not even a soul glances at all.
Memories of stillborn inceptions
are burning at the stake.

Dancing around
choking on the ashes
Stumbling, falling
choking down the ashes
Collapsing
sow in the soil.

and here are some lyrics for my own solo material.

At Home
Oh this city is a wreck
but under the filthy haze
I tend to find myself at home

Trapped by the weight of an empty gun
waiting on a train
that hasn't run for years and years
the coal has all been burned
said she won't ever return
the rust is way too much for her to bear

In someways it's comforting to know
these covered tracks remain unknown
This blanket of ashes keeps me warm
Or so I tell myself she said.

The letters I write pile up
cause I haven't got a stamp
but they help make me feel
at home.

The dogs keep scratching at the door
and the lock ain't holdin up
The radio has lost all but one
station that plays the same
songs every night and day
the rust is way too much for me to care

In someways it's comforting to know
these covered tracks remain unknown
This blanket of ashes keeps me warm
Or so I tell myself, I know.

The wounded bird that's taken in
won't ever fly again.
won't ever fight again.

These Bloody Days
I'm tryin to be
as best as I can
even with these blood soaked sheets
but baby I swear I've enough to spare

So let these guts spill out all over the tile floor
it's enough to build a whole new man

I know it takes sometime to find how lost we really are
but I don't mind the trip as long as you know

how fucked we really are
maybe now's the time for me to mention to you
That I don't fear no death
and I don't fear no love
keeps it so damned hard to make these promises.

But even though sometimes my words are better than my actions
and the more you give the less I'll make of myself

I can not say the sober life is always best for me
but sometimes things fall into place in spite of

How fucked we really are
maybe now's the time for me to mention to you
That I don't fear no death
and I don't fear no love
keeps it so damned hard to make these promises
that i am hoping I will hold
i'm stickin to my guns
even though i'm running out of shells
And every now and then i feel
trapped between the past
and the times that I may still have
but for now
what we got will stay with me for good.

The Flood
I hear the wind scrapin' along the fence.
I seen better men than I left in the dust
ashes to rust.
The sun has been pouring rain for days and days.

Here comes the flood.
Stay afloat.

Says "soon there'll be change..."
it keeps them up on the fence.
Says "their used to it..."
as their singin' along
casual songs
songs for killing time
not the kind that will move mountains.

Here comes the flood.
Stay afloat.

Oh, our broken hearts can sing us back to life.

Glow
When the tide breaks low
I will cut the line.
Hangin off the moon
swingin' side to side.
Drowinin' in the glow
among the fire flies.

Don't go to far down now
the pressure could be all too much
for this air so thin.

Only half awake
far from piece of mind.
Sending up the flares
budding in the sky.
Staying hard to find
left me high and dry.

Don't go to far down now
the pressure could be all too much
for this air so thin.

Thats my nutz!

2010-07-21T18:00:00.001-07:00

NBD

2010-07-16T01:04:00.000-07:00

'nother new one. S'ok, I guess.

WTF!?

2010-07-15T00:30:00.000-07:00

New piece of a small series, exploring the use of acronyms created by socializing through digital technology. more to come.

Perfect weather hits Portland again. Today was a good balance of chillaxing while being simultaneously productive. into it. Went down to the waterfront with the lady during sunset and watched fish jump out of the water. And lately the air around the neighborhood where my studio is has been hella dank with fumes of hops and barley from the nearby brewery. I am developing a palette for the smell. I am sure someday it'll end up being quite a nostalgic smell.

Current mindstate: Ice cream coma

2010-07-13T23:22:00.000-07:00

I haven't even the excuse of a sweltering summer to justify my lethargy and neglect of updating my artwork online. Been busy, in a way... making music and art. Nothing that brings home the blocks of cheddar, of course. Rent has been a struggle, and actually I been hardly scraping by. I feel like I am stuck in the summer of 2002 again. Hopefully I can hang on until student financial aid disbursement.
The first half of summer has been pretty outrageous... there have been quite a number of house shows, mainly of friends and such. There have been several shorter road trips, many parties, my birthday, many guest couch surfers, among many other eventful things worth mentioning, but just not in this post. I'll do that within the next day or so. Until then, I'll just post a few freshly new, and some fairly new pieces of art. Bueno.

Medicate. Manipulate. Annihilate.

Sardines

Entropics of Love

Title Bout

Copy of a Rembrandt drawing for a class

Boat on the Columbia River
The Columbia River

Hippie bum with Devil Sticks on the waterfront

Unframed

2010-02-23T11:49:00.000-08:00

I have not written a song with just me and my acoustic guitar in a really long time... since September, I believe. Maybe playing with my band Carrion Spring had me satisfied for a while... i guess. Anyway, I wrote a new song, and am excited to write more. The lyrics ain't nothing special, just stoked to have something new.

'cause in my head it's all been said
I feel I'm lost, my dues ain't paid
i can't break the guilt, the shame
that I may remain here.

stuck between these doors, I fold
never try to kick them open
what lies behind the mask
oh, a disgrace.

I don't want to play the camera
just want to be without a frame.

Held my words and all my sins
and killed a man, it's all the same
One to the heart one to the brain
forever remain here.

Broken shelves crushed under all
of 20-something years I've drawn
never drew myself out from
underneath this shell.

And I was right that you wrong
what's the use anymore.

'cause in my head it's all been said
I feel I'm lost, my dues ain't paid
and i can't break the guilt, the shame
that I will remain here.

I don't want to play the camera
just want to be without a frame.

So my current drawing teacher has had me study old masters by drawing their work... specifically the last few weeks, Rembrandt. It is actually quite fun and I feel like I am learning a lot from it. Maybe I'll post some photos of them in the future.
K I have a shit ton of work to catch up on.

Chongo sad...

2010-02-10T10:19:00.001-08:00

Piece for the Love show.
xo

New shits

2010-02-09T00:30:00.001-08:00

Two new paintings which are currently hung along with a grip of other works at a downtown gallery space called Slinde Nelson.
I been having this problem lately where I stupidly fall asleep around 8 or 9 and wake up 11 pm. And can't go back to sleep. And now I am wired. How ridiculous.

Cleanly boys don't misbehave.

2010-01-27T00:40:00.000-08:00

Power lines and bird flocks. Powerful.
New art studio rules so hard. I love being in there more than anywhere else right now. Or being outside of it. Ever 20 minutes or so trains barge on by. Sometimes they are super long and full of the dopest graffichi. Off in the distance, no matter what time day or not, there is always the clanking and electric humming of machines near the water front. The feeling of being down in that crazy industrial park is awesomely interesting. It reminds me of industrial Brooklyn, but more isolated.
Next week is mid-term week and apparently I don't give a shit. Am I losing my shine as a sterling student? I sure hope not. I just hope I don't reach that level of desperation where one seeks Adderall. Shiieeeeeeeeeeeeet.

Oooh wah oooh wah oooh wah...

2010-01-21T00:47:00.000-08:00

In the brilliant words of the infamous Ice Cube, "I could'a said, today was a good day." I signed the lease of an art studio I am sharing with a friend of mine. The studio is right by the water front, nestled in an industrial area right off Interstate. The studio is shared with a wonderful carpenter, who uses the space for nothing more than storage for his wood shop gear. It is all set up and ready to use... I was even given permission to use his equipment, for real! I swear, he wrote it in the lease! It is in a warehouse, full of 60 creative studios. So fucking stoked.
Couple of weeks ago I hung some work at The Nest. I was told that the bartenders have been receiving lots of compliments about the work. What a pleasant thing to hear.
In 2 weeks I hang new work at another solo show downtown, some place called Slinde Nelson. I haven't seen the joint yet, but I am told it is huge and draws promising crowds. Movin' on upp!!
I am not the type of person to really ever show off some bull shit purchases I have recently made, but I somehow cannot resist.
First off, these bad boys should be coming in the mail tomorrow. Thems dudes is made from Bocote wood from Mexico. I dunno what Bocote is, but I like the looks of it.

I also just bought a Papasan chair. It like cuddling in an angel's womb. That desk I scored at the Goodwill bins for 7 bean, and the BRAND NEW Brother sewing machine sitting on top of it was a Christmas present from my brother... how about that.

Another Goodwill score was this sick little 90's stereo, and a dope, perfectly good Walkman with Auto-Reverse(!) which sits atop it. Also, there was a Ren and Stimpy sountrack, Sleater-Kinney, and Chet Baker cd find as well.

Last week I got 2 new tattoos... one big one, and one little one. The tattoos are pretty dry and slightly scabby. Excuse my current human condition.

Little one (Just the man-face in the moon; Horse and crossed arrows I got a year or 2 ago).

Big one.
The second one, is taken from the cover of Stop It!!'s album "Self Made Maps." D'Lacie, the artist at Optic Nerve who gave it to me, did a rad job on capturing it.

Today I drew a naked man for 3 hours in my Life Drawing class...which is completely typical. But, I arrived an hour later to my other drawing class, and we spent the next 3 hours drawing.. the same exact, naked man. Que fantastico...

The last photo was just some fuck around. They all suck anyway. But I am still excited about studying the human figure. I just found out today that the Life Drawing class I am in is 1 of 3 sequential classes. I had no idea it was 3 terms long! Excited.

I have lots of new sketches for paintings. I move all my art stuff tomorrow to the new studio and then I will make them paintings. Haven't been this fuckin amped in who knows the hell how long. It's like being 16 and my parents giving me my own car, but even more of a hedonistic dream come true.

Oh, last week, my band, Carrion Spring, added a new member, good friend Lee Ellis. We played at Rotture on Wednesday with Kid Crash, Total Bros, and Girlfriends. Everyone was cripplingly good. Lee makes us sound like a sick band now. I have a video of a new song from the show... I just need to learn how to re-format it. And then I'll post it on the world wide boards.

K I'ma go return fetal to my new papasan chair and watch the rest of Che.
Cosas son buenas hoy.

Ahora hace nieve mucho!!

2009-12-29T15:35:00.000-08:00

First real snowfall I have seen this season. The snowflakes are enormous, and everything seems pleasantly quiet. Gosh, how I've yearned for the snow. I love the nostalgia that comes with sitting in my window sill, playing guitar while watching the rooftops and asphalt turn from black to a glowing white. Things seems to come to a complacent hum when it snows for me. The traffic is hardly stirring. The body aches from my overexertion during rock climbing the other day is hardly a pain. The stress from finishing an enormous painting by tomorrow morning has dissipated. I want to finish this painting now, standing next to my window, listening to something like the Rachels. The grandeur of nature's beauty renders me incredibly grateful.

Aqui viene el invierno.

2009-12-13T00:45:00.000-08:00

Lately I have been listening to only a select few bands, one of which is the spankin' new album by The Mercury Program, called Chez Viking, which is a beautiful album. Save for the first song, every song is absolutely amazing. Dudes ain't put out an album in over 5 years. The wait is worth it, no doubt. And lots of Ampere. And Born Against. That's bout it.

So last night I had been part of the Big 100 gallery here is Portland. It was a show with some big sponsorship and 100 artists. Each artist was given up to 20 free, donated canvases, each 8 x 8 inches. The evening was co-sponsored by one of the major Radio Stations, KBOO. A lot of fuckin people went. I got good and drunk. I then went to a sick house show party. Just after, I found that my room mate John Gee's car had been broken into and my book bag, along with his as well, were among the only things to have been lifted from the vehicle. That bag had my mole skin journal, my vinyl bag full of almost all my art pencils and pens, a Pendleton flannel (which was hand woven right here in Portland, Oregon), a can of Police grade mace, a Hardcore mop marker, pair of gloves, my favorite hat, a water bottle w/carabeener handle, and bottle of my medication (for my intestinal illness). Losing the journal definitely sucks. The other shit, for the most part, is somewhat dispensable. I've pretty much accepted the loss. I have no choice but to convince myself it ain't that big of a deal. Humph. Here some photos of the paintings I did for the show.

Last week I had another show for Portland's First Thursday art walk. I contributed 3 pieces to a group show at the Anka Gallery of the Everett St. lofts. Only 2 made it on the wall. I think the owner is probably a cunt rag from LA and she thinks she can depict good art from bad art. Reality check; the show was a benefit with over half of the sales of profit going straight to a benefit group, called Pear. What gall to not be grateful for the contribution of a ton of art to raise money. This ain't your superficial scene of floozy elites, honey. Here are the 3 paintings I made for this show.

The 3rd wasn't put up. Granted, it ain't that good, but that chick still sucks. The 2nd one is a portrait of Henry Miller.
Painting has been good. Sometimes it is good and goes all day and night, but sometimes it's a little slow coming along. Not so much as of recently. I have a solo show opening the last Thursday, New Year's Eve, at the Nest. I don't think it is anything to do backflips over, but I have some new stuff I am working on this week and if it all goes to plan, I may be pretty happy with the results.

Shit man, I've had a hell of a cough lately. It's dry, but it also feels like there is a bunch of penny tasting moisture in my chest as well. I don't like it. I've hardly even been smoking cigarettes as of the past few weeks, and it seems the problem may be beyond the effects of smoking. OR maybe not and I am losing my mind.
I've also been sleeping like crap lately. I fallen terribly into old habits of staying up till early morning, but waking up only a few hours later. Much of my day is a fog and I don't like that either.

So this morning I was taken to breakfast, ate a green chile breakfast, and was then taken to Columbia art store. A lady friend, whom I have been spending some time with as of late, had kindly brought me to the art store. To some extent, insisted on fronting me money for the purchase of most of the drawing supplies which had just been lost last night. She's recently taken me out for many breakfasts and dinners. Total sweetheart.
School ended early this week. Really, it was just the end of a Spanish class for me, which I think I did fairly well in. An independent study class was hardly any work at all. I just learned of a couple of artists that a teacher had shown to me, and he gave me a grade on those 10 little paintings I did. I totally ditched a printmaking class, and am now slightly regretful. I plan on writing the teacher an email tomorrow, and I plan on taking printmaking a little more seriously in the coming terms.
I may or may not be taking Spanish this coming winter term. I should, for this would be the beginning of 300 level. I shouldn't risk losing what I've learned this term, even if I haven't the greatest grasp on the language at the moment.
I got like a week to decide.
I want snow so fucking bad. Just to see it for a few minutes even seems but only a fair exchange to me for this weather. It's been slightly colder-than-normal temperatures, which isn't anything that unbearable, it's just that my room is so very poorly insulated, so I rely considerably on a little space heater. I wish I wasn't such a wuss because I'd deal with it, but drawing with cold, stiff fingers is quite a discouraging task.
I dream of someone renting me my own small, inexpensive studio. I'd cook them meals at least once a day, for the duration of the tenancy.
I've been reading a thick ass novel by Thomas Clayton Wolf, Look homeward, Angel. I had to put it down for a few weeks, especially during finals week, but I am picking it up again and it's a slow, but pretty good book. It's a pleasant reading, as is he a pleasant writer, to say the least.
Past few days I been mixing the Logs full length, a band a played drums in during my first year of living here. I recorded it over a year ago and have been totally irresponsible in mixing it. It's going to be such an unbelievable relief to send it off and out of my life, finally. I am getting a lot done and only have a little bit more to go.
Immediately after I have to finishing recording vocals and then mix my current band Carrion Spring's first release.
And then I should finish a better mix for my brother's band's recording.
And then I want to do a lot of 4-track tape recordings of the acoustic songs I wrote throughout this passed year. Why I let shit pile up I'll never know... I never really get to the opportunity to completely relax and worry about nothing at all during my school breaks. Maybe I am not the only one.
I've also just made an ode, than the next decently warm day I am going to put up few wheat pastes. And maybe dust off my camera and use it for once.
Oh, the close draws near of another year. Why must I always use new year's resolutions as an excuse to clean up my pathetic, procrastinated messes.

2009-11-07T21:34:00.000-08:00

I am going to have to quit smoking cigarettes extremely soon. I've decided that if I haven't by the end of this year, I will have no choice but to face a New Year's resolution of ending my habit. It's not going to be easy either, not just because of the addictive qualities cigarettes have, but because of the damned illnesses I have, Ulcerative Colitis and Crohn's Disease. Cigarettes, for some reason, give momentary relief to the intestinal pains and such. I don't what I am going to do as a substitute... I know for the anxiety and nerves I'll just chew gum or Tea Tree Oil toothpicks. I am hoping that with the end of smoking, comes the beginning of more exercise and healthier habits. I already do some small exercises quite frequently, but nothing that really benefits my entire body, mental health, and stamina. Nothing more than simple push ups and sit ups, or riding my bicycle and/or skateboard. But since I was a kid I have always done those things fairly frequently, so it's really nothing new. Maybe if I am able to implement healthier ethics and routines in my life my guts will feel better and I won't have to rely on filthy cigarettes for fleeting moment of mild relief.

I've been putting 2 paintings off for the past few days. I started the backgrounds but haven't actually begun the meat and potatoes yet. I told myself I'd start at 9. It's now 9:45. I'll start it at 10... ok, good.

I feel like I've been in a weird state lately. I've been pretty fairly productive, at least more productive than usual, yet, I still haven't been as productive as I know I want to be. I have so much free time now since I changed my major and classes... I haven't been working, and I shouldn't be going out because I don't have much money. I have to finish mixing 2 full albums worth of music ASAP, I have tons of acoustic songs I haven't recorded, I haven't picked up my 35mm camera in at least a fucking year, along with plenty of other undone things. I think instead of living in a house with 4 of my best friends, I need to invest in getting my own place. Not like I don't love living with them, it's just that I need my own studio/live space to get this all done. I can easily create the ideal environment for myself... I don't need much, just the freedom to move around and not have to see people at any given moment of the day. Maybe I'd even get better at painting during the hours of sunlight. I think I am going to aspire to getting my own place by the end of this lease, which is July of 2010.

I have 7 minutes until I start my painting. No, 6 now. I don't know what I can rattle off in so few minutes. I've had a lot on my mind lately and I need hours and hours to sift and shed even a decent chunk of it all. If I get my work done tonight and tomorrow, maybe I can allot myself a few hours to get stoned and just write. I wish I could find some generous rich person with a beach house on the Oregon Coast who will let me spend a month or 2 in their house this winter for a small fee or trade. I'd write a book, record an album, and paint awesome series of paintings. I need to hit up craigslist with such an offer... who knows, there are some very extraordinary people in this city.

Halloween'over

2009-11-01T12:40:00.000-08:00

Blehck. I have been feebly grappling a painful hangover all morning. I don't think the booze and pills have completely wore off yet... in fact, I am almost positive they haven't wore off yet. My head throbs like an exploding bomb under the deepest depths of the ocean and I've been too nauseas to eat, but not nauseas enough to barf. Two hours working at a small bowl of oatmeal and I've hardly made it through half of the slop. I got stoned hoping I'd work up an appetite, but all it's done now is make me feel absolutely insane.
I was Pee-Wee Herman last night. I did a pretty great job, considering I found the necessary attire and sewed myself a red bow tie all within a few hours time.
The past few days have been slightly more productive than earlier in the week. As mentioned in the last blog, I was descending into a depressive pit, void of any creativity and self-worth. I lost it pretty hard on Friday and broke down to a friend. The venting gave me enough to reflect on, and her dealing with my pathetic bickering was just enough for me to realize I was just over-thinking things far too much, and that I was having too many over-expectations for myself. Which is not always a bad thing, at least not until it gets to the point of despair. I had also recalled a mission statement I wrote back in July for the Manor of Art gallery, which really helped to elucidate my convictions. This was what I wrote, which I feel well-represents much of my political leanings and beliefs.

The betrayal of industry and its products have undeniably brought the detachment of resource, and ultimately the biosphere. Mainstream Western culture has successfully naturalized the urgency of material existence, creating a mirage of idols, heroes, enemies, and miracles. The persistent batter of corporate interest is no longer just through advertising, and has far succeeded the suggestion of over-consumption. It has surmounted a contrived dictation of survival, re-defining standards and methods of living. As natural process becomes more and more hybridized, industry transforms and degrades many of the earth’s landscapes. Technology digs us to the other side of the world, all the while the plight of communal relationships run rampant. The opposite is also true; the machine develops so ubiquitously that the lack of ability to discern between human nature and actual nature becomes more and more frequent. The constant loss of many important traditions that have been learned , evaluated, and re-learned throughout history, are giving way to the instability of deceitful institutions. And with this deception, is a tenuous acculturation that is begging for inevitable disasters.

So, as soon as I brushed those feelings off, I was able to begin the sketches of a few new paintings. I did not start the paintings, but at least I have the ideas down. That's the other thing I need to get better at... quickening my process... I am prone to lallygag frequently. It takes the first half of the night and/or day to bust through the loafing, and then once everyone in the house and the outside world are snoring away, I ceaselessly paint until at least the early hue of the morrow.
I was reading some stupid "14 things an artist should always do" blog online the other day, and though most of it was totally cheesy, I felt the lump of guilt in my guts when I read the "start early and start right away on projects" section. The only time I can achieve that is when I am in a class and I have no choice... well, if I am outside of my bedroom I think I can achieve an early start on painting. My bedroom, to quote Rob Crow, unfortunately bums me out. Maybe one day I'll be lucky enough to get a studio.
On Thursday, the Barn Raising radio collective for the first time met since, I believe, July. This was an idea I had back in the spring, a radical collective, with the goal of making monthly hour-long radio shows, set no further than just simple podcasts. The few of us, including an old teacher/current friend of mine, my brother, Lee, and a fellow student friend of mine, Jennifer, were so close to beginning our first show recording. But then we all became busy with whatever we had going in our lives. On Thursday's meeting, there was maybe 3 times the amount of people who showed up interested than before... people I didn't even remotely know. And it felt awesomely motivating. I hope we continue with this project... I'd love to see us record a show. I think it may actually happen. Oh, and the opening for the Vinyl Killers show was also on Thursday, which I not only missed but also have 2 pieces of work up.
I haven't touched my Spanish homework, not to mention I didn't even go to class on Thursday. I am pretty behind, but I plan on catching up. I think I am losing the motivation with studying the language because I dropped my major in International Development Studies. It is no longer required, so I obviously have become slightly disinterested... which is totally fucked up, because I halfway through the last semester of my 2nd year. Either today or tomorrow I shall devote several hours to nothing but catching up on my Spanish class.
God damn I am fucking brain dead right now. I don't even feel like I have been typing this. Such a daft fog I have to fight through to even write a simple journal entry. Guh...woe is me. Maybe I can take a nap right now and when I awake, get on that early start.

Unshowered

2009-10-29T01:23:00.000-07:00

I just arrived home from seeing Propagandhi. Shit was tight. I must have the sweat of a hundred men all over me. There was nothing that wasn't rad about that show.
I have been spending the past days drawing pathetic sketches and striving to come up with something... I really don't know what the fuck it is. It's only been a week or 2 since I have made my switch to majoring in Art, and already I've been introduced to such a multitude of artists, that I am beginning to feel lost. I shouldn't whatsoever, for these should be considered my years of study... but fuck, I am a capable human being. I am fairly attuned to the world around me... I know a little of the current societal conditions, I see the state of human beings everyday around me... I know, if only a minuscule amount, of larger events and problems happening throughout other parts of the world... and for some reason, I sit blank. The sketches aren't blank, but to me are as good as such.
Someone recently told me that I maybe desire to stand out from others and that is why I am so overly-skeptical of what I do,taking more time than necessary to make my work... but after full consideration, I don't think that is true at all. I don't care to boast some pretension, but rather exude something which exists, and compose it in such a way that relates to someone...anyone. And just relate. That is it. I don't care how good or bad. But I don't want to make something that is boring, a knock of, or lacks substance. And it doesn't need some sort of profundity.. I just want it to be true.
Ok. Enough bickering, I'll just try my best.
Halloween in 2 days. I haven't even put a single thought into my plans for the day of celebration. I may head to a Goodwill and see if I can muster up enough thrifted clothes to comprise a Pee-Wee Herman costume. I'd like to, it just depends on how common light gray suits and red bow-ties still are.
I also thought of something I want to do this weekend. I want to walk around with some mix tapes and my head phones and camera, and take photos of this city. I lack so many photos of the place I live in. And not only that, I think it would be a positive influence on gathering ideas for some new art work. Ok good. One day this weekend I am going to get high and take photos of the city. Oh fuck, it is 2 am and I still gotta wake up early and do a lot of Spanish homework before class at noon.
Buenos noche.

Foody food food

2009-10-22T10:58:00.000-07:00

I have acquired some new food habits. For instance, the past few years have brought the second coming of my undying love for banana and peanut butter. This is my breakfast at least half of the week. But recently I got wind of maybe putting a whole banana and some peanut butter in a bowl with some oatmeal. Voila! The creamiest, tastiest oatmeal I ever done had.
I've also developed some sort of addiction to coconut water. I can sometimes drink 5 servings in a day. Every time I finish the drink, I feel as if I've been born again.
This passed weekend was Garagefest in Portland. I saw a bunch of bands, but the only one I really cared about and truly shredded were the Strange Boys. Bunch of little shit heads who make the most timeless music. They are incredibly legit. The singer lost some marbles on a noisy solo, and ripped some part of his hand open. Blood was everywhere. He just rubbed the blood up top each cheek, wiped the blood from his guitar pick, and resumed through the rest of the set without really every showing heed to his wound. A bad mother fucker.
Carrion Spring play's tomorrow with some friends bands. Exciting.
I started my first printmaking class yesterday. I am learning etching. This is even more exciting.
Ok, time to go to Spanish class.

2009-10-16T00:59:00.000-07:00

It's only one in the a.m. this very early Friday morning. Half-asleep, I winced awake and my heart thumped erratic. I've been putting off a lot of important work, ignoring it with excuses. It's easy to excuse these things when you can harmlessly lay the blame on others, and other things. The repetition becomes habitual. The further you tilt your head back, the faster it goes down, and the faster you'll forget about it.
I've let some things dig it's way inside of me. I usually keep a strong defense directly above my feet below. But lately I've wandered ill-postured to places where time can blindly burn, and when you finally end up back where you wanted to be, the ashes blow across the floor and into the growing piles of the room's corners.
The days I've been spending in large classrooms for a few hours, a few days a week, may feel good and momentarily full-filling, but I know if I really had that time with a good head on that day's shoulders, I could truly learn something. I'm lost, and I wait for anyone of these people to tell me I'm finally there.
But it never happens, because I know it's impossible to trust the direction someone else.
I dropped my major in International Development Studies, and declared I am going to just continue towards a Bachelors degree in Fine Arts. I plan on painting, but I am very open to any medium and any method. Someone from the head of the art department spoke with me earlier today... or rather, yesterday afternoon. When I asked him how it is I shall learn painting and how I'll study art at PSU, he explained that 'it's not so much the instruction, but that it's the exploration and experimentation which the environment is meant for.' His answer was far more fumbled than that, and sometimes I even doubted his explanations of the program... but in all, realized I will have far more freedom as a student in the Art program than I will in any other academic program. I am hoping this goes for both inside and outside of the school.
My suddenly impetuous decision may be possibly outrageous, but really is the only justifiable endeavor I can confidently muster. There are myriad reasons as to why I made this transfer, but I care not to expand on them.
So the future seems a bit clearer for me now, clearer at least than it did as of no more than a day ago. I think studying the world and the societies with governments and classes and families and populations and religions and sects and economies and currencies and problems and infrastructures and policies and markets and industries and institutions and agreements and barriers and jails and corporations and civilizations and movements and disasters and the rest of it all.. I think studying it all is very important. And I believe someday I'll have done some part, some kind of positive contribution. The part will be little, so little that it will disappear no sooner than all who may have known me have as well disappeared. But it will be beautiful, if not anything but for me.
All of those things aforementioned are taught by a teacher, whom of which are well-learned from other, more well-written people. They are explained, discussed, compared, contrasted, and tested on.
I know where to look for all of this information. I can easily expose myself to plenty of it everyday, be it some form of literature... or in the least, a kind of morning alarm clock to wake up to as I lay staring at the slanted ceiling above my bed for an hour. That's the same length of Democracy Now!, which I haven't listened to in almost a month.
I still have a couple of more years in this university, and I'll graduate with some Bachelor's degree, and I'll face the music, and I'll accept the even more monstrous lending that'll inevitably turn into a life-long debt, and it will then be the defeat which becomes my means to gain the credentials to be a... a teacher, is the most I can fathom. A simple Point A to Point B model. Point A marks right now, this very second, where all of my options stand and all of dreams continue to keep me focused, and Point B is the final moment I know it's over and I submit to a job which I must apply for and plan on keeping for a few decades, because I will then have no other choice.
It's the course most of us take. I too as well, though I'm still stubborn. I'm apprehensive, and quite frankly, scared shitless of the whole she-bang.
I've still got a Mom and a Dad whom I've fortunately got time to make proud. I've got a brother and some close friends whom I can turn to, and I've got myself to look after.
The days have been flashing by like a thumb flipping the pages of a lame book. I need to get better at remembering that.
I need to force the bones of any and all girls out of my head. I only seem to get myself either caught up, or caught up in trouble. I can't bother myself with something as gargantuan as romance, at least not until it finally trips me without warning, and I go headfirst into the thing. I'm sure it will knock me out... and well, when I wake up, I'll deal with it then... maybe then it'll finally work.
2 a.m. now. The few whiskies I drank earlier at my brother's show have ran clear through and rendered me exhausted. I still have time to get 6 full hours of sleep, wake up, and convince the Petition Board of PSU to accept my proposal of switching classes in the middle of the fall term. Necesito todo del suerte puedo conseguir.

xo

Estoy cansado un poco.

2009-09-15T21:17:00.000-07:00

The past few days and nights have been gorgeous. This morning I smoked a cigarette on the porch while the sun rose and the paperboy did his route down my street. I finished my last painting for the upcoming gallery at The Goodfoot, "I am, therefore I think." Lately, I am enjoying ink more than any other medium. I finished the painting around 8 am, and finally gave in to sleep not much after. I slept until 12, and have been pretty exhausted for the day, but my brain still seems to be running at a commendable pace.
I recorded vocals for the 2nd to last Carrion Spring song earlier today (for our first full length album), which is called "Scum Fuck Angelz." I wrote those lyrics really late 2 nights ago. Thom requested that I write about "Our wavering faith in the punk/hardcore culture, and how capitalism has been successfully coopting off of the scene for profits... and also our possible optimism in the future of the culture." I settled with this:

this sinking ship
wasn't ever meant
to hold such weight
lead astray
such dead weight.

These corpses
ain't no angelz
The motive's a poisoned well
a stye, a blinding cell.

Rapacious incentives
program sedation
we've been robbed,
The fight has not been lost
it's just been stolen.
The fight has not been lost
it's just been stolen.
We've been robbed...
while turning our own against us
while turning our own against us!

These hands may appear to be
folded and dormant...
Well, these hands will soon appear
around your fucking necks

This year's model has been breaking ground,
while last year's heroes are buried, still breathing.
So let the bodies pile high
we're bringin out our dead
to begin again.

I mean shit, it's a little cheesy... oh well. It is indeed punk.
I am surprised I had not lost my voice recording the vocals... I gotta scream like a motherfucker to have them sound the way I want. Last time I recorded some of the other songs, I not only lost my voice, but somehow lost feeling in most of my left hand, and some of my right. I think I pinched a nerve in my neck, which seems to be attatched to my hand... or something along those lines. It takes almost months to regain feeling. I am very grateful that did not happen this time around.
I am almost counting the damn seconds until financial aid disbursement... 3 days left. I think I have 25 dollars remaining until that awaited day. Which is a bummer because Phil just called me and said he just arrived to visit from New York, and they are at the bar Mashtun. But it is apparently 8 dollar pitchers. I'll probably skate on down there in a minute. Just after I finish coming up with names for these paintings. I already fucked over the owner of the gallery today... I was running so irresponsibly late that I wasn't able to drop them off today. I promised I'd drop them off first thing tomorrow, so I got to get it all labeled and ready to be hung before I go out and get my drink on... and hopefully I don't crash at the bar. Or, I'll take a caffeine pill and remain terribly delirious and fucked up until the bars close. Ok, it's settled.

Ok I'll blog now.

2009-09-13T19:56:00.000-07:00

This is where I currently live. I have lived here, on NE Garfield Ave. and Rosa Parks, one block east of MLK Blvd, since July of this year. Up until last week, we had a flourishing green grape vine covering most of the porch, but the fruits grew far too big, tore the damned gutter down, and the bastards at the rental agency cut that shit down. I wish them all a horrible case of diarrhea for a full week. Only what looks like a twisted spine remains hanging on the porch... it is quite sad, a stump from one of the bigger limbs continually leaks a sort of saltyish liquid that looks like sobbing. Poor grape vine. People say it'll grow back next year... I have faith in the lil' guy.
That top room is mine. There is a ledge along the window where I play guitar and read and doodle sometimes. When no one is home, I play guitar in the stair well... it sounds like I am inside

instrument. We have wood floors and huge basement where I set up my studio and our band equipment. I live with 4 of my good friends, Paul, Thom, Phil, and Johnny. It's sad not living with girls anymore.

That is Carrion Spring, who is Phil, Thom, and myself. We've been playing since last November, and are in the process of finishing our first full length album. We've played some shows, and most of them have been wonderful. I scream very loudly in the band, and love every second I get to play with them.

That's a room I recently accomplished for a gallery called The Manor of Art, at this artist community, MilePost5, up on 82nd and Oregon. Most of the installations were made by my friend Ashley Costa, and she did a radical job on them. I have other galleries and live murals coming up, and am incredibly grateful and excited for these opportunities. The 2+ weeks of working day and night, subsisting on PBR, pack after pack of cigarettes, trail mix, energy drinks and mild drugs, shall remain unforgettable. Hundreds of artists had rooms, and being around them for those weeks cannot be put into words... everyone constantly remarked how it was like summer camp for crazy people with out any rules but to make art, and lots of it, by any means possible. The mayor of Portland came up to me one of the last days of the exhibition, shook my hand and said I was one of his favorite rooms... I blushed.

I took 2 summer courses, Spanish 202 and Radical & Revolutionary Social Movements. Spanish was 5 days a week for 2 weeks. It was like getting a Flu shot, minus all the itchiness following the injection. The Radical Social Movements class was pretty tight, I read a lot of good literature and essays. I highly recommend Gustav Landauer. I received an A in both classes, considering my lack of involvement the last week, for that was the start of the gallery.

As soon as these paintings are finished for the upcoming galleries, I want to go with James up to Seattle and wander the city for a few days. I also want to go camping before the 28th, which starts the fall term. I hope I do at least one of the 2.

I've been taking way too many Vivarin pills, and feel sort of white trash when I think about my current dependency on them. But it's the only thing that is helping me finish these projects right now. I'll kick the habit soon enough.. and hopefully cigarettes with them as well. I doubt the latter will be successful anytime soon though, American Spirit mediums are just too good...guh.

My favorite music right now is European screamo and depressing folk. I recently got hold of the new Propagandhi and I have been pretty into that as well.

I don't sleep well since the beginning of August. I sometimes don't sleep a single wink and crash the following night around midnight, but even then sleep less than 8 hours. I hope I can put an end to that when I start the fall term. Maybe if I discontinue eating Vivarin pills i'll find the answer to that problem.

My bicycle is a wreck as of lately, so I skateboard much more now. For my birthday, back in July, my mom bought me a new one, and I made sure to get super fast bearings and softer wheels. I ride dangerously fast and enjoy skating in the closed down Payless Shoe Store parking lot right by my house. There are these gnarly banks you can ride on, and it reminds me of skating in Brooklyn.

I haven't had much pocket cash as of lately, so I have been eating quite simple and meals aren't always that incredible. Financial aid disbursement is in 1 week, just in time for the Music Fest North West festival. I just got word that I can volunteer for Corey's bandmate's record label and receive free admission now. I hear Sunny Day Real Estate sold out... but I still may have a chance now with this wrist band. I'll kill a man if I don't see them.

Ok I return to my painting now.