Automatic Drawing & the 3AM Death Energy Network

Experiment with automatic drawing. Just keep a pen and colored pencils in the meditation spot, cuz sometimes my hand is guided to color.


Speaking of which, a friend of mine shared this article by a friend of his on doodling (unfocused drawing), the unconscious, and the daemonic. Fun stuff.


3:14 AM a few nights/mornings ago. There’s a guy on the radio talking about the DEATH ENERGY NETWORK of BLOOD DRINKING WIZARDS that has long practiced HUMAN SACRIFICE. These days, they use cell phone towers to implant fear rays into while you sleep.

                             FUCK YES

                                 THIS WILL BE GOOD

But sadly, after this hilarious teaser, Radio Guy switches his tirade  to a tedious list of of seafood export prices, which he is somehow tying in to climate change denialism which means we should all cheer up cuz things aren’t as bad as THEY want you to think!

Don’t let the Blood Drinking Wizards grind you down.

Drawing From Reality

Sketching from life after the whitewash apocalypse, drawing from reality inevitably turns into drawing what I really see it for.

This is reality.


So was this, last Saturday after an artists-with-AIDS memorial in a heat wave.


No, the girls who looked like Penny were not at the memorial. But they were enjoying $5 frozen margaritas as much as I was. We had gone to the memorial, even missed Boss Hog’s reunion thing, because Valerie was one of the artists being honored in this. This was put up outside of ABC No Rio, which I could only get a so-so picture of cuz heat wave. God Damn The Sun.


Clean Specimens

Yesterday Eric was at a rehearsal for a quick set he’s playing with Sewage NYC at the Tompkins Square Park Riot Anniversary today (the one in 88). Sort of a last minute addition. I was wandering through a street fair, looking through a tray of $5 articulated spiked full finger rings. They’re like Axel’s designs, on;y not as detailed or well crafted. A sudden heavy rain explodes from the sky and the canopies threaten to not be strong enough. I take shelter under a construction girder near the bus terminal. A man next to me holds a piece of paper with faint blue ballpoint writing on it. It’s barely visible, but no need to bust out my glasses, because “BLOOD, URINE SAMPLES! GUARANTEED CLEAN!!” he barks like an old school carny, eyes scouring the streets for takers. I laugh to myself. His chant and the rain feel like a “Lesser Banishing Ritual of the GENTRY-gram”, if that were a thing.



Monday Aug. 8th – Punx In Recovery Readings


I’ll be reading publicly, Eric will be reading publicly. The themes are recovery and mental health from those of us for whom being well doesn’t necessarily equate to being normal.And before anyone says “there’s no such thing as normal” you know what the fuck I mean. Plus that’s a really normal boring thing to say.😉

Aeon the rat seems to have gotten hold of a Victoria’s Secret bag that I think is full of Crank Sturgeon contact mikes and Eric is watching some crime show where the murder weapon was a Damascus steel knife laminated in silver and now I’m obsessing WTF?????? Damascus steel is the most beautiful knife ever was that ever even a thing??? Please tell me no one ever covered Damascus steel in…anything.





This is a mini canvas I created as an offering for Genesis Breyer P-Orridge’s “Try To Altar Everything” show at the Rubin Museum, which Eric and I were finally able to get out and see in it’s last week. It’s loteria cards, some of Abuelita’s beads, and a piece of my tooth that chipped the day after she died. I felt since a small part of my own bone fell off within the first 72 hours of her transition, I should offer it into this installation about the sacred and transitory. Which was a beautiful show. Altar everything because everything has some sacredness in it.

Sure, I’ve read that philosophy, heard it, abstractly understood it. Animism. Namaste. Thou Art God. Every Man And Every Woman Is A Star. But it’s only been in recent times that I’ve really really been thinking about it. That even people who’ve hurt/abused me have a spark of Divine in them even if I can’t see it. (Doesn’t mean I’m gonna waste time looking for it though. Just that it must be there.)

Pill Hooky

Chaos morning and a lot of work to get done today and it completely slips my mind to take my medications, one of the aspects of the diligent mental hygiene I must employ to navigate your world. It doesn’t occur to me until about 5 PM during a dust devil of kinetic energy from troubled humans on 8th Ave.

“I knew something seemed different…like before…” Eric says. “Do you need me to help you remember?” Maybe. Probably. Do they have an app for that?

And did the woman in the hall really mutter “little bitch” to me earlier or did she skipped-my-meds mutter it? (Meaning it’s something else’s idea of a prank?)