Dove Poem

 I think that when the dove's eggs are eaten, by a vicious thing, the mother dove feels so sad. Purely sad, like a dream-emotion so pure.

Knowledge, or content (discrete entities), precedes creativity–creativity is thoroughly contextualized. My impulse is to read the Bible, and make paintings from the Bible, because this is the only worthy content, because it is religious. This is wrong, because if I make paintings from the Bible, my interest in and use of the Bible is historical, and not religious. Content is always historical. There is no religion in content. In this way, any content can be or become religious. 

These girls walked into the room and started laughing and saying how bad they were and taking photos of them as a joke and it made me cry in the room. Others walked in and walked out just as fast and people were yelling and scoffing and running away, and I felt so much better than them, and smarter than them, too. But it kept changing and the girls asked me to take a photo of them in the room and another girl walked in and said "I kinda like this." It was all the same and I was not better or smarter, but lucky to see them how I do, I guess. The content is everything and nothing, and it's all so personal. 

 

 https://cdn.contemporaryartlibrary.org/store/doc/10367/docfile/original-e73abb0294815d40f5cfcf2cbbea2747.pdf

Take Me To The Lehigh Valley

I love the Springtime, it is my favorite season, the Spring

 

I noticed this weird gap between my fingers on the train after being inside for so many hours and throwing up. Everyone's faces looked weird on the train. I was reminded of a new phrase I've been thinking, called 'you never know who your brother will marry.' It's about being nice to everyone, even the people that it's hardest to be nice to, because you never know when and how they will return into your life. 

 

 

I had a dream

in this hallway

And I wanted to shoot a music video in there

It was filled with light

And the small figurines with the lights on them

 

3st3rby

 

 

Comic

 

Yellow Light

 

Sean Thor Conroe

The Virginia Series: A House in Virginia and Glenn Youngkin

 

Virginia, USA

It is true,

What I said about Virginia.

I love Virginia.

After I Will I Can by the Karlssons

IKYRRGSF

 

 

I know it again, I know it's from the architect from six weeks in

 

 

Summer machines, like cars, go back to places like places with Italian benches

I’m so glad that we decided to go back the way we came, for if we did not, we might have missed the Italian benches 

Oh, the hot cars

Oh, the Italian benches 

 

Poo-keep-sey

Poo-kip-sea

It was disgusting

You asked to play the piano 

Analysis of Painting which, through analysis, reveals itself to be concerned mainly with Ghosts

This painting exists at Brisas Del Mar Spanish Restaurant at Rockaway beach in Queens, NY:

 I am struck by the depiction of the roadways. A confusing scale, and its lines are more suggestions than depictions of familiar symbols. These roads are unimportant, and can be streaked and lazy, as long as they communicate their being. A horse is a horse, with small legs. One driver asleep or inanimate, the other a ghost. And even more ghostly, the greenish glow, or being, separating upper and lower, or Heaven and Earth. In Heaven there is tower, radiant and illogical, like all heavenly things. Atop rests the figure of a man, but a man devoid of feature and agency, purely symbolic, like the industrial world created beneath him, because of him. He did not mean to do this, and he does not know that it's ugly. But the trees! The trees are not ugly, though formulaic and calculated. Fundamentally opposed, however, to the man-made roads in their kind of calculation. Nature's calculation breeds beauty, while man's calculation breeds only embarrassment; the silliness of resting, naked and featureless, on a glorious pillar. The pillar is glorious because it is framed to be, but the framer's perspective reveals itself to be just as fallible and cringe as the golden tower and the man upon it. 

Most mysteriously, rests our subtle, true focal point: the red and white swath. A child's dress, a suggestion of a plastic bed of roses, this can only be created by God, beyond Heaven, helping us along by confronting us with that which we do not and cannot understand. In the face of this false picture of industrial certainty and illusory heavenly bliss, He saves us. After the initial humiliation, there remains only faith, which blows through the curtains of our tower, like a Ghost. 

 

 

Christmas Painting

The Hudson River

BUS POEM

I am going to Indiana

Have you ever been to Indiana?

Indiana is a country

All you can see is trees

Influences

 

sketches for a cartoon about how it would be a lot more difficult to drive if vehicles were sliced into pieces, vertically, with passages of space between sections of vehicle, because when you are stopped, people may take advantage of the passages in order to cross the street, and it would be hard to be certain that all passages are clear before beginning to move, again.

Comic

Piano Score

 

Song For Ed, Who Lives In My Old Room*

 

I wrote a poem about Texas and it began, "The stars in my eyes look like Texas..."

7 White Russians,

I dreamt that my friend, Karla, crafted an elaborate and beautiful installation. It was a circular shrine, decorated with with drawings, candles, and other ornaments. At the head was a black, wooden throne. The presentation included a compelling performance of poetry, theater, and dance. Selfishly, the performance slowly drew me into a deep depression, as I came to realize that I would never possess an artistic vision as strong and as thorough as Karla's.

April 15, 100 Sutton Street

I found this on the sidewalk yesterday

The beginnings of proof that there are more chairs in this world than there are people