how i learned not to be an artist

all i want for christmass

jasper johns "Decoy"

sup slobberknockers

so jury duty blows drilldoes hard. just another reaffirmation that any kind of positive expatiation will just cum in your face wen you tell it you dont want to suck its dick anymore. yeah all human cattle love rachel ray at 8:45 in the morning. oh its my civic duty to drink coke products, Go America! offer me something not just what is to be expected, there is no pride in anything in the modern world. where's the fucking culture! oh that? you want culture? thats much less money to get but its not the lowest common denominator so we cant show it any more. youre going to have realize that it exists on your own then seek it out constantly, and we'll be sure to follow you where ever you find it so that we can make it for cheep and feed it to grey mush masses that occupy the middle who came from it but cant remember. and so continues the upward spiral to the bottom of the significance heap.

idea for art: get a job to raise money, when enough money is acquired, buy baby lamb, raise it till strong and grown, bring it outside into the open air, pummel it with my bare hands into tiny pieces, pound the quivering remnants of its mussels into the stained earth, continue to clobber cracked wet lamb bones until the distinction between earth, lamb blood, and own blood is undecipherable, then have wine and cheese party on same spot. get grant and do abstract paintings about the crisis in darfur to raise awareness.

copper unioun reject

current things

how do you measure a year?

like rent?
























































































no fucking photobooth photos dur

never ever

i can't possibly ever get tired of riding the bike around philly at quarter to four in the morning. there is nothing quite like crossing eight lanes of dead-still red lights with no hand and not a feeling at all of the hundred of cars that will clog the streets in just a few hours or the ones that freshly scurried away.
going through the heart of center city the wrong way on the smoothest streets i've ever felt, no i'll never get tired of it. in the humid lukewarm early summer air that fills you and sticks to you no matter how fast you're moving. its a ghost town, nobody is awake makes you think you're the only one around, nothing to think about but whats around on a sunday night. wholly consumed with pedaling and seeing.