not so gritty

the roughest times make the best art. sometimes i think that when my life was at it's lowest point was when my art had a real visceral feel. anything but fluffy, it cut, it burned, it really spoke for itself. now that things are going well for me, i find that feeling in my art is gone. i find it's harder to be passionate about "good times" LOL! i guess it's time to discover how to get that gritty realism into the seedy underbelly of joy! 

are you an artist with a change in perspective? comment! 

new again

after several failed attempts at blogging i have finally resolved to try again. admittedly i used to blog quite frequently as a youngster when i really had nothing worth saying. those were also the days when i knew everything...
today i sat in the waiting room at the doctor's office, not for me, but for someone else, and i started drawing pictures of my dogs doing stupid things. they are sort of known for this. in particular, pesto is known for flopping around on things such as, but not limited to, dead birds, bird poo, vomit, assorted animal poo, dead frogs (aka froggy buddy). the other day she body-slammed maggoty poop. wonderful. thankfully my girlfriend cleaned pesto.... ahhh pets. so i illustrated this fine work. drawing of pesto's roll in the maggots and pesto's tips for dogs

short tea

symbiotic hypnotic tonic
inhaled for a moment
bringing clarity, lemon tea.
so simple to you. or me. chewing gum, carefree.

indigestion

torn between the earth and sky
icy indigestion transports sweet words gummed by unfaithful lips
what color are your eyes as mine burn through?
liquid muse, fill your empty bottle with sunrise

so close

a wet towel. a hand on my face.
was it so far away from this watery purgatory and yet so close to hell
that i stole a moment of time and crystalized it into an idea, a monumental mistake

cycle of nothing

you are of the nothing
so nothing is returned to me
not breath not the warmpth of the sun or the light of the moon
and the light beats me down onto my knees
helpless to see my thoughts of wrath.

of mountains

where earth and sky collide,
rosy stains on a mountain side.
compression, there was no question.
that doubt's cloak bundled them tightly during winter dreams.
an ocean of streams