Anatomy Of A…

collage on paper.
  I’m lost on the spectrum of socio-political ideology in this country, except for the fact that I know exactly where I am. But where that is won’t neatly fit where others would like it to be. In our last episode I outraged the “social justice warrior” (in which social justice mainly boils down to nitpicking over semantics) contingent by having the audacity to speak up and say I’ve heard the word “bossy” applied to men as well as women, and was not about to be silenced by it. (Not that I get called bossy, really. Plenty of other things, including “spicy” and “fiery” more than that. But who gives a fuck?) Going by what my stats page says, some of ‘em are still hate-reading over here. Nice to know my hiatus didn’t deter them.
  Tonight? I’ve bothered a bunch of rich white transplants, friends of a friend, or clientele, can I really say? Hear hear to the small independent shop owners. I stated that I’d most certainly experienced harassment on the street from upper class white men, so much as any other kind, while they were all trying to maintain that this is only done by poor brown people. They didn’t take kindly to hearing that yes, it happens. I noticed an interesting defense being invoked repeatedly by the rich white kids though — well, if you find projection and speculation interesting. They kept insisting that rich white men were all good and above perving on women, but other men weren’t, and kept insisting that anyone who didn’t agree was simply “afraid” to say so. Ultimately, in this very solipsistic defense, there was nobody that disagreed with their worldview. Only people who were afraid to admit it. So there you go. Racists who claim to be mind-readers. Both types, the SJW’s and the reactionaries who talk as though their racism/classism is something new and daring, are two unaware sides of the same shiny, high-market value coin. But only one side seems to need to believe that their view is the only one so badly, that they’ll try to convince us all that any dissenters are just lying out of fear.
Or maybe they just know that fear is such a powerful control mechanism for so many people, it’s hard to imagine life without it?
Pencil drawing of a plague doctor mask done today in art therapy group. Would like to do a whole art series revolving around modern plagues, Eric is thinking possibly as an Astral Knife project.

Hallucination vs. Vision (I Really Don’t Care)

 Today I was finally able to get a scanner that is compatible with Linux, and configure it in just two hours. I don’t know why it looks soft focus though. I scanned this at 1200 resolution. I’m sure you’re riveted to know that. So here you have it, another “hallucination”/vision-based image, another pandrogyne figure, but so much more than that. On the other hand, “hallucination” implies things aren’t really real because they’re not perceived by everyone in Assiah-level, hard world reality. Ultimately though, I just like the way “hallucination” sounds, a roller coaster word that makes me think of “imagination” “hallowed” “lucere” “lux” “luz” “lucious” “sin”.

Mailer Daemon

#inktober, plus trying to get the idea flow going for this piece…it’ll be mixed media, ad it’s for a book cover…but I want the piece strong, overall. No, those postage-stamp sized Gunter Brus images aren’t part of it. I just glued them in my journal.

I try to be productive. I try to be productive. I try to be productive.

Is the sin wasting time or the shame tied in

with this incessant need for self-validation

in proving I got something done, not

a couch potato mouth breather

fallen back into fugue state

depression hours days

weeks lost before you

know it self care stacked

against programmed disdain?

I know in part I’m compulsively making up for lost time, due to my mother/stepfather’s non-artistically-oriented life decision making processes when I was a child, and later in my life, my own self-sabotaging self-medicating self-destructive dysfunction. Which is only an “artistic temperament” when it’s backed up with talent and vision.

I sank into a pit of despair, a sense of failure the other day when I didn’t hear back either way from a gallery I’d gotten an open submission call message from. Beating myself up that because I need to wait for my next check to get a scanner that works with this new Linux thing, I sent my submission as a digital snapshot, it was that or nothing, so unprofessional. such unprofessionalism didn’t merit a simple yes or no answer. About 2:30 in the morning after the registration deadline, I got one of those “mailer deamon” emails saying the thing had bounced back from their system, never even been seen. I really need to chill the fuck out. Take a pill. No really I do need to take a pill, it’s time for my nightly medication. Here’s something I saw today:



(howls of rage at moon’s reflective



(a dogcatcher swathed in velvet and



(whore in white starch knifes whore

in stilettoes; )


(she’s buried somewhere near the

edge of page 11. an 8 lined



(just the ones in the streets who are self-

aware; the rest all think the game brings

them theirs.)(someday.)


(the dogs lap at poisoned meat in the alley,

the crustaceans yearn to crawl back to

the sea.)


(dogcatcher licks hisher lips in anticipation

clutching a blinding veil a snare)


(or even if they are, the populus too

ensnared can’t remember how to see

it. )


(Dogcatcher-saboteur to memories of this


Cult Of Youth interview

Here is a Vice interview with Sean Ragon of Cult Of Youth about their forthcoming album “Final Days”, which will be released stateside in November. Eric is one of an additional ritualistic percussion ensemble that created sounds on the record.

Eric and Sean have also played together in Future Blondes and Missing Foundation.

Annnnnd…I’m Back

…on a new computer. (Which is actually an old computer that someone more tech-savvy than I has tricked out with Linux). I’ll probably continue to use both my Blogspot account and here, because I have friends who use both platforms. Hell, I have friends that still use LiveJournal. But now that I’m able to actually work with the new WordPress, I’m realizing I’ve missed the community here, especially the mental health blogring.

Anyway, here’s an Astral Knife track we completed in the past months:

We’ve actually completed a number of them, not just what’s on the Soundcloud. More on that later.

Dear WordPress

Your new editor is too glitchy on my ancient computer. So rather than hijack a laptop everytime I want to post something I’ll be at

“Alarm” – Astral Knife

Me and Eric experimenting with some oscillaters & other gear we haven’t tried before. A perfect way to spend a Sunday afternoon. Thanks to VauxFlores & Audible Disease for creating some unique one of a kind noisemakers!

Also another reminder (probably not the last) that Eric will be playing again with Future Blondes this Wednesday at Nothing Changes, 131 Chrystie Street.

Blood Birds

Done after a 2:30 AM self-injury episode. But creating art from it takes away that little twinge of shame that follows the blessed, blessed release. I’ve decided to become an alchemist of injury.

Despite the gloom one might expect from a self-injury inspired art piece, what emerged was a fairly tranquil scene of some birds and a fish in a lake. Which is kind of how I vascillate in coping with my mood. The internet is filled with dime-store platitudes on how to achieve happiness. Many of them strike me as sort-of victim blaming, as many of you know. Anything that implies that people are as happy or unhappy as the “decide” to be, in particular, will fill me with “happily” stabby thoughts. Despite all that,and after testing my theory with the help of, I have to say, these days I’m happy or at least at ease as much of the time as I’m feeling more negative emotions. What made me happier? Not “deciding” to be or thinking positive or any of that. Weirdly enough it was accepting that I’m not going to be happy all the time. No one is. It’s a little like what my Dad’s girlfriend taught me back as a teenager about having a bad trip when you’re on acid – remind yourself “Hey, I dropped acid. I’m having a trip.” It’s sort of the same premise. Not that I’ve dropped acid in years, but more like “Hey, I have depression, anxiety, and PTSD issues. And furthermore, this is life, and sometimes stuff that sucks will happen, and it will be upsetting. It makes sense that there will be times I won’t be happy.” So when I’m in a mood I just kind of roll with it and do whatever I need to do in that moment. And I’ve been finding with that approach, instead of going “Why am I not happy? How do I fix it and become happy? I’m a big failure emo whiner because I’m NOT happy!”…the bad moods don’t linger as long, and I’m also more appreciative of the good moods when I’m experiencing them.

Awakening From A Dying World

collage on paper, 9″ x 12″

I think I like playing with texture.

I also think this was in part inspired by recently reading Crowley’s “The Wake World” in Konx Om Pax. The title of it, no doubt. The rest? Well, maybe not literally. But it was somewhere in the recesses of my mind. Either way, the fires of duende burst up through the desert and the owl & peregrine falcon keep watch.


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