RJB: More Egotism

Monday, February 14, 2005

Hualien Cord

pissin round photoshup

Tuesday, February 08, 2005

1957-1961

we know it it about about hormonally based deception,
truth, the truth be:EVerly fucked suzy: stretched suzy, wrecked suzy
forget
that shit, that liar’sstory, that lie
them “sleeping” yeah, drugged:
heads pulled down chin touch chestish mostly
, ah,
cuz “the movie didn’t have much of a plot”-claim,
is one of 12000 teenage deviating tactics
besideand milky Suzy would pay and pay later next February
trouble deep
oh-oh and lore tales tells tell:
she moved on
after dropping the softkid like a wetrock from her redder and wetter womb,
yes, she travelled filth-America and saw 20 beds
the nasty
sad men, and
one electric stood out:
unrecognized emotional might, his
he big-swigging eyes and mouthy letterer,
a tough Brooklyneer named DiMucci;
lovin, showing him love
then just noone knows cruelhappenstance
putting him down,
spitting on love,
innocent and faithless bitch to dothis
but she did like she felt,
against the world and it against her
like everyone, anybody, she ever met.
Leaving him warning
Singing,
warbling waning
“oh-oh-ohhhh”

Most Sweet it is: William Wordsworth

Most Sweet it is

Most sweet it is with unuplifted eyes
To pace the ground, if path be there or none,
While a fair region round the traveller lies
Which he forbears again to look upon;
Pleased rather with some soft ideal scene,
The work of Fancy, or some happy tone
Of meditation, slipping in between
The beauty coming and the beauty gone.
If Thought and Love desert us, from that day
Let us break off all commerce with the Muse:
With Thought and Love companions of our way,
Whate'er the senses take or may refuse,
The Mind's internal heaven shall shed her dews
Of inspiration on the humblest lay.

William Wordsworth

Monday, February 07, 2005

Kurt Browning and Friends: Demons

Earlier this evening I caught myself watching televised figure-skating, I mean, not for a really long time but too long, ya know? I was just sitting here being not entertained but I continued to sit, just staring, just being nothin’, brain-dead. I’m grateful that the landlord I named Harvey rang the door-bell that woke me from my coma. If he wouldn’ta rang I would’ve been stuck here, bin melted into a pool of skin, hair, fat and ugly cartoon letters. But good old Harvey saved me-- not soon enough though; not before 15 minutes of pseudo-sport/quasi-entertainment/legitimate torment had passed. OK, figure-skating, the Olympic variety isn’t great but you know if Elvis or Babushka or whoever can land a “Quad” or win a Gold medal or something difficult-- something that pushes them further or is always a challenge to them, then I can appreciate it-- I mean, not ‘'enjoy it'’ completely but you know, I can understand its merits and get behind it a bit more. But this, I'’m sitting here watching Kurt Browning, Elvis Stojko, and Brian Orser (Jesus, I know their names!) skate as “professionals”(Ugh, I can distinguish between figure-skating ‘pros’ or figure-skating ‘ams’!) doing some Dirty-Dancing, gay-assed skate-dance skit where they all act like 50’s Greasers or sum junk-- well, I don'’t know where I’m going here (further proof that its rotting me)... but it revolts me and makes me whine and laugh and punch the seat beside me and strains my already strained eyes. Seriously, I can barely imagine a more convincing Hell--- fuck, Michael Bolton(lost the locks) is singing “'Live'” on top of it all? As these bastards skate around, flirting with each other, totally ready to drop their pants-- all the while, draining me- mesmerizing me, making me fall in love with them I want tio kiss elvis sjdf ! Ok, not really but the truth is its making me fucking nuts! I guess the penalty is fitting though, I mean, I should kick that fucking budget tv in--its not mine though. Fuck, I wouldn'’t anyway, who’ am I kiddin’. I’'m really getting mad--really mad, really! Kill! Punch them in the head! Punch the seat again!

Saturday, February 05, 2005

next 7 pics: "Dihua Street" trip

This is a picture taken during an earthquake, its hard to believe but I remained perfectly level the whole time. Taipei near tipped.

A real character door in the part of town I like to call "Old Taipei" if you can believe it. 

Catton

(picture by Troy H.)

Wharf wall from bridge. 

L->R: Troy's daughter "Candy", Troy and money grubbin' weirdo.

Market at Dihua Street. Sea'o'black hair. Lots of treats and samples. I liked the whole minnows with sesame seeds and candy coating. Troy was partial to runts and "happy nuts". 

Trox looking super-imposed but he ain't. The bags are pumpkin seeds and "happy nuts" a.k.a. "pistachios".

next 7 pics: paintday

Fran's painting when we stopped (neither painting was "finished"). Fran wins. by a whole bunch. but she's got 'learnin' on her side.

franstone painting

franstone painting 1

Trox' painting when we stopped, he says, "those bananas are gonna haunt me, it bothers me so much, seriously maybe I should finish mine tomorrow; maybe it's cuz I'm comparing my bananas to Fran's bananas"

Trox painting 2

Trox painting. he says he painted it with his "left-foot while blind folded and it's a work in progress", but this picture--no blind fold.

we painted this day. this is the still-life Trox set-up.

I wouldn't finish my attempted still-life so I ripped it up and wipped out this sonova as my subsubmission; 30 seconds of work here is better than 1.5 hours of the water-color. Water-color is an art that requires patience and skill, in short, it's too hard. Troy's fucking still-life display was way too elaborate and...
Trox is responsible for this mess.

Thursday, February 03, 2005

Chance Imagery: George Brecht

http://www.ubu.com/historical/gb/brecht_chance.pdf

This is what I've been looking for; Art's other pole. The article/essay deal here is inspiring--probably won't reach my limbs though.

Harmless Monster

picture of a harmless monsteraaaand the sky is in the backaaaand in front of the sky are some sided-flowers

The Choice
by William Butler Yeats

The intellect of man is forced to choose
perfection of the life, or of the work,
And if it take the second must refuse
A heavenly mansion, raging in the dark.
When all that story's finished, what's the news?
In luck or out the toil has left its mark:
That old perplexity an empty purse,
Or the day's vanity, the night's remorse.

Monday, January 31, 2005

Taipei Sonnet

My farthest friends they’ll deliberately settle in this earthquake town.
Now-Now here for the cement hard sway, the runaway’s responsibility
But the ‘ascared’ me say “I’ve packed my bags and she-Indian gown
But not for the true knowing of half-commie waters or East China sea”

A meagre constellation of distance: Canada right here in Taiwan.
But they’ll Mandarin speak for duck-neck treats or rainwater soup,
I well envy their effort yet I can’t properly trace so cogent a plan,
For it’s the vague air I seek and it’s far below these Pinyin groups.

Two friends might easily dance to TV commercials in this Tiger hair bar,
While I sweat ugly with coy; feeling vain and failing near coquettish scenes.
Pals are able; still, the satisfaction of a lightshow win shines rarely too far.
The sacrifices for satiety are lies; one obtains through the falsest of means.

I’m truly confounded by peers; the solutions and qualities they maintain
I contrive and I consider what future, while all my lost certainties remain.

Sunday, January 30, 2005

Beetle-Nut Fisherman

Morning Market Near Our Place: This guy's a beetle-nut chewer, you can see the red juices slipping outta his mout. There's a stain on his arm, I think it's probably fish blood but it could be beetle-nut juice. He was an intense guy, II was afraid of him.