February 20, 2017

wet


I was the ocean
Full and wet.
I rose and fell.
I sustained life,
Took it away.
Made weather rollick,
Honeymooners undress,
Full and wet.

I'm dry now
Arid and putrid,
A bone picked clean.

But my eyes still close and open,
Squeeze tears from tired lids
To wet my waking world once more.

February 19, 2017

But Forever...

Us versus them,
the universal dialectic.
You and me,
the impartial magnetic.

Turn down the fun.
Hedonism can’t bring
Socialism.
Don’t trust lust.

But in the end,
we must.

In the end...
If there's really such a thing.
If the earth stops spinning,
The universe won't.

What else would we want to be?
But forever...

February 15, 2017

Alchy AdPock?

AdPock was fairly certain that both he and his wife could live without wine. But he was 100% positive they couldn't live together without it.

February 13, 2017

What If Love Doesn’t Win?


What if love doesn’t win?
If penance has nothing to do with sin?
If we’re destined to go backwards, within?

Walls we build up keep us down.
Danger, fear, hatred, rage,
What weight do they add to this tremulous age?
Should I go back to tuning it out?
It used to work, I swear it did,
Could go on with my life,
Assuming mine were all safely hid.
Now we're overexposed
Even in all this darkness.

How can I begin to shed light?
When all I am is noise?
Or worse yet, so far gone,
To believe my words more important than yours.
Does love make less noise than hate?
Or more?

Does spirit count for something?
Since spirit is all we are,
When blue states all bleed red.
We’ll find a new way, 
beyond.
Even those down below,
Drowning in the spew.


We’ll get higher, and keep reaching for love.

Group Therapy Terry


February 9, 2017

St. Francis With Boobies


This is "St. Francis with Boobies". It's a blown-out photo of a painting I'm nearly finished with, which I'm giving to my pops on the occasion of his 75th, which has already passed. I'm therefore late. Which is better than forgotten completely, as he knows all too well.

Aside from being paternal, in the patron saint sense, St Francis also has another relationship to my father. He used to collect St. Francis statues carved by a New Mexican artist named Ben Ortega. It may be odd for a Jewish guy to be collecting carvings of the Patron Saint of animals and Italians (I believe in that order) but Ortega carved beautiful ones, which my mom sold at the Southwestern art gallery she owned for my 10 most formative years. (Which is why I was raised by HBO.) Many a statue ended up in my parent's collection, seeing as Dad was Mom's best customer.

I guess this painting is my way of thanking Pops (and Ma!) for introducing me to Ortega's art. Not just Ben, but all of his kids, who all carved St. Francises, too. And little birdies to put on the Saints' shoulders. And not just the Ortegas. All the other artists who filled my home too, some quite literally during my Mom's semi-regular artist showings. 

Little did I know how much Southwestern folk art would affect my style today. It's the art I love. It's the art I love to make, though I'm lacking the proper credentials, other than exposure. Hopefully that at least counts on an instinctual level, though.

Indeed, the art of my youth left a mark. I'm more Technicolored for it. More resplendent. More open to magic. And more importantly, more open to other people's magic. Inspired as such, I hope Dad will appreciate his first painted St. Francis. And that you all do, as well.

August 10, 2016

Bless You Bill


Bill hated it when people said, "Bless you" to him. Couldn't the whole world go ahead and forget that germs just rocketed out of his insides and festered the air we all tentatively share? How is that a bless-able action? And what about when it's Bill's turn to say the words? Who is he to bless someone? The Pope? No, he's just Bill.  

April 27, 2016

The Dolphin's Savior



60 seconds, motherfuckers. Just hang on for 60-fucking ticks. Christ, this is dick-sandwich time.
Stop it. No bad thoughts. No bad juju, not now. Now is when the Fish need you most. It's now time. Hold the line.

"Hold it. Right here, baby! We hold them here and it's ball game! Sweet Jesus who art in heaven, please let them hold it right here!"
"Does baby Jesus root for the Dolphins too, Daddy?" asks Charlene, the yelling guy's precocious 6-year-old daughter.
"Ask your mother, Char, Daddy's focusing...”

The Dolphins don't hold.

"Fuck!"

April 21, 2016

Not-So-Dreamy Matt


Matt used to be a great sleeper, until he took a philosophy class and learned he might easily be dreaming his entire existence.

September 15, 2015

Has-Been Hank

Some 20 years later, that was the moment Hank realized he’d never been better at anything in his whole life than Sega Hockey '94.

July 22, 2015

Tough Luck Toby

Toby liked to start his day with a game of solitaire. It got the mind moving while his bowels did the same. And what else was there to do once he'd finished scanning five self-allotted minutes of Facebook?

Unfortunately, Toby also allotted himself exactly one solitaire victory. How else could he move on with the day if the game didn't finish to its proper completion?

Unfortunately, this day, Toby never won that game.

So he never left the toilet. 

May 7, 2015

Grateful George

Like he did most Mondays, George spent the better part of an hour washing nearly every knife in the house. Granted, most of these knives were used by his wife to cook his lucky-ass dinner, but still, it was a lot of knives. It never used to be this many knives when George and Melinda were just living together. But now they had wedding-knives. And wedding-steak-knives. And that meant washing by hand. Every Monday. Hundreds of them.

April 30, 2015

Daring Don

Don had promised his wife he wouldn't eat the whole pint, but the Chocolate Fudge Brownie had almost reached that perfect consistency – no longer frozen, not quite soupy, little chunks of brownie beginning to soften. And if Don didn't know whether his cholesterol would allow him to see the bottom of another pint anyway, why shouldn't he take a stab at perfection? 

April 27, 2015

Evil Laugh Matt


Self-Help Harry

Harry understood that he was the only one getting in the way of his own happiness, but he was a big scary guy with a black belt and a temper.

April 17, 2015

Luddite Lou

Lou was getting awfully tired of advertisers making him want more stuff he didn't need and wouldn't be able to figure out how to use.

April 14, 2015

April 9, 2015

PC Paul

Paul hoped his Wii wasn't being racist, but it definitely rewarded him for having a black avatar. 

April 3, 2015

Changing It Up Chet

Chet just had a random memory from back when Darcy was crushing his soul, when he was visiting for her graduation, all those years ago. When she was off getting it on with Toby Fucking James. 

All the while Chet searched on and off campus for her, stumbling around like a sad sap. 

As he looked, he ended up at a buddy's house. They needed a drummer. So Chet sat in. But he couldn't find the groove. 

These many years later, that’s why Chet remains just slightly bitter. Cause he couldn’t keep up with a jam. Cause he was wrecked by a woman. 

And now he was mad at himself again for letting the time slip a half step. 

March 30, 2015

Out Ten Bucks


Jason spotted him from the bottom of the hill. Well, the bottom of the hill from where he had started.

Is that the same fucking guy? Yup. Same fucking guy. Same fucking corner. Same pleading look on his face.

And no recognition of Jason.

"Hey man, you got a dollar or two for bus fare? My car broke down and I gotta get my moms to the hospital."

"You said that to me last time, Man," Jason said.

"Sorry Man, I ain't got no job."

"Well, neither do I." Well, not full-time.

Jason’s wife’s job, combined with his steady part-time work allowed Jason to use that super expensive MFA, which no one actually paid him to use.

Still, Jason wasn’t going to give the guy another ten bucks, regardless of what kind of asshole he felt like.

Jason stormed off towards home, the dog barking in time with his raised blood pressure, neuroses… perhaps fear.

Jason let him bark; he did just tell off a homeless guy.  

Who probably didn’t have a wife. 

Maybe she left him.

Maybe she died.

Either way, it looked like the streets were winning.

Jason walked his ridiculously well-fed dog back to a warm house to eat a lovingly cooked dinner.  

And he knew he was the asshole again. 

Guilty.

But at least he wasn’t out another ten bucks. 

March 25, 2015

A Boy and His Dog and Simon & Garfunkel

Once upon a time there was a boy who sang as if God we're his ventriloquist.

But along the open road, the boy lost his heavenly voice, he couldn't even be sure where. 

One day, the boy found a dog who barked like a hurricane, like the Scorpions kind of hurricane. The rocking kind.

So the boy took the dog in. Unfortunately, the boy was homeless. 

The boy and the dog hit the street, the only home that would have them. But it bonded them tighter than any roof could, and they made themselves a home without walls. 

Though both had been self-described lone wolves before, now, neither could see the logic in that. They were pack now; forever.

Though the boy's divine voice still escaped him, he felt the air in his lungs getting stronger with each packspent day. Until one day, out of the heavenly blue, it was as if God, the puppet master of fate, reached out once again and put his hand up the boy's butt. And the spirit so powerfully moved the boy, he became compelled to sing gleefully to the wind. 

Upon hearing his master's soulful song, the dog joined in too, with a sublime ear for harmony, and just the slightest hint of a German accent.

It took a while, but eventually the dog and the boy came together, and by listening to each other, as pack members, they easily became one harmonious whole. They started a duet, loosely influenced by Simon & Garfunkel and Extreme. 

Like heaven and hell never parted, together, the boy and the dog created harmony so expansive it floated upon the summer wind of change, and the wings of angels, for all the world to hear.