For Immediate Release

The key is to invent ways to speak into the machine but not listening to what it has to say. That I have been learning within this immediate future.

To release our thoughts into the machine. It’s what we do. It’s what I’ve always done. It’s what you have become obsessed with doing. Your sounding board. Your deafening stick. You keep preaching to your own choirs.

For immediate release. You are ready for immediate release. You should release. Doesn’t that word all by itself sound so delicious? Release. It is becoming of so many things.

Release yourself from thinking that you have to fit in. Let yourself flounder in the steamy pools of insincerity that humanity has conjured. Release yourself into the flow of the universe. Speak into the machine. Do not listen to the machine. You speak to it, it does not speak back to you. DO NOT LISTEN TO THE MACHINE.

The art of releasing yourself from the fear of them vs. you. To pull your hands away from each other just because a stranger approaches. We wouldn’t have these problems if we all talked to each other. I want to see you do more than hold hands in public. Right in front of me. In public.

To release yourself from the employ of the Barons of Normalcy. To put down your fondle pad and remove the ear buds blocking your canals. To call in and say, “I’ve decided to not come in this month.”

May your hair not look the same every day. May you eat banana cream pie with a modified paper cup because you forgot to steal a spoon. May it taste even better because you had to create a spoon.

Engulf yourself with enlightenment by taking the trail which has not been beaten. Take the turn with the sign marking, “Danger – Do Not Enter.” Do not go down their paths. Make your own damned paths. The secret is not on the paved road with all of the people crowding your view. The secret is hidden after the weeds and the trees, up the steep cliff where few have thought to climb. If you are not stabbed by a cactus while getting there then you haven’t gotten anywhere. You have to bleed on your unbeaten path to make it yours. Release yourself. The javelina must circle you in the dark.

Release yourselves to the wild. Release your wiles to the rainbows. Talk to strangers and steal a moment of release with them. Dye, cut, crimp, and straighten. Ferment in the muddy gully until you bring the hypnagogic dreamscape into the known landscape. Release yourself immediately for immediate release.

The Artist D, November 2016

The Artist D, November 2016

For 15 Minutes

You have a new Follower. Someone would like to request to be your Friend. He has 137k Followers. She has 2,145 Friends and an empty photo album.

A longtime peeve of mine is the lack of people whom I would like to call Enjoyers. At one time they may have been labeled consumers, but that is no longer the case. Enjoyers are viewers and are happy with their lot in life. There does not seem to be a lot of Enjoyers out there anymore.

I get a lot of Friends requests on Facebook. I have several Follow requests on Twitter each day. I will approve anyone as long as they appear to be a valid Noun. That is a person, place, or thing actually existing for a reason. That is not a Spam Bot named Jessica Rabbit with nothing but phishing click bait on her feed.

But it’s such a disappointment that the majority, almost 98% of the requests, come from people who are Doers. A Doer is the opposite of an Enjoyer. A Doer wants to do things, get places, and be Famous. They think they have something to say. They are a Creator. They are a Maker. The last thing they do is Enjoy.

The Doers have thousands of followers. They post, they Tweet, and they reTweet in the name of networking. They have usually added me as they needed another number to add to their audience. They hope I will be another audience member or even better, a consumer!

I am a Doer to a certain extent. My Doer vs. Enjoyer ratios are probably different than other people’s. I do not Do for the soul purpose of Doing. I do not create to sell, but I do create with the hope of amusing the Enjoyers. I do want Followers and Friends, but I long for more Enjoyers than network hungry Doers.

Yet I do not see a lot of Enjoyers out there. When a Friend or Follower request comes in they are from fellow Doers. How I wish that I would click through to find Mary Jane, a small town housewife who thoroughly enjoys my writing. Mary Jane likes to read. Mary Jane has no ambition to write. Mary Jane doesn’t want to be famous. She just wants to enjoy the creations put out by another human. Mary completely understands that her talent is in the domestic and raising her little boy Johnny is what she wants to do.

In fact, when I reach out to Mary Jane and thank her for her custom she is thrilled to hear from me. She is flattered that I appreciate her being an Enjoyer. That is the end of it. I am a Doer and she is an Enjoyer. We appreciate each other and continue on.

Reaching out to most people in the 21st Century usually reveals that the Enjoyer is also a Doer. You thank Mary Jane for reading and her response reveals that she actually has a side business. Mary Jane makes homemade candles in her kitchen. Here is Mary’s business card, website, Twitter feed, and Yahoo! Storefront. Mary asks that you please buy her products and Tweet them out to your “many Followers.” And by the way, is there any possibility of Mary getting some free advertisement on your artistic blogging website?

My frustration is not that you Do something, but the fact that it makes you less of a real person. When I arrived to the Internet in 1997 we were all artists and creators, but we were real people. Almost everyone online back then were Doers, but we also had a high quotient of Enjoyer. I wanted to come over to your house and you wanted me to. We wanted to hang out and not always talk about networking or becoming rich and famous. We shared struggles, stories, bottles of booze, and sometimes had a quick passing lust affair.

Today it seems that the 15 Minutes of fame has turned into an angry beast. I reach out to you, the Doer with 23k Followers, and you don’t get my message because you are too busy Doing. You are no longer yourself, but you have become what you Do. This is what makes me wish for more Enjoyers. Because the Doers have been consumed and no longer stop to say, “Hello.”

I was having a conversation with my phlebotomist the other day. She asked me what I Do and I told her all about it. I saw the photo of her three children on her work station and asked about her family. She told me a bit about them, but then said that she was a Mother. She said that was her lot in life. She is here to raise her children to be good people. She didn’t ask me to Follow her on Twitter. She didn’t ask me to buy her homemade candles. She has a talent. Everyone does! But she isn’t selling or networking it. She just does it. She wants to be the best mom. She wants to guide her children to be best people. There was no sales pitch. We were actually two people just talking, like friends.

Everyone does have a talent and everyone can Do. The problem is that is now all they Do. The 15 Minutes have consumed the majority. Everyone has an Etsy store and a Vistaprint Business Card. Everyone is so busy marketing themselves. I just want to talk to you. I do want to entertain you, but for heaven’s sake can’t we just talk?

The plight of the business owner is that they are working 24/7. That has always been the plight of the business owner. And today’s flavor makes everyone a business owner of their own Doer brand. It has consumed them. Which is ironic that the consumer consumes and the Doer has now been tricked into consuming themselves.

The Artist D, October 2016

The Artist D, October 2016

Monday Mourning

I awaken with the sadness. The somber cannot-shake-it dread.

Another weekend has left the building. Nothing interesting to note.

I could stare at a wall all day and it would be better than these Monday mornings.

I’m out for a walk trying to shake it off. It’s dark. It’s 4:30 AM. I just keep walking.

I’m walking and thinking. I’m talking to myself. I’m convincing myself to feel better.

I can’t talk myself out of it.

Thoughts of why it’s not bad at all. Thinking about the less fortunate. The people doing hard labor. The people doing hard time. The sick people. The damaged people.

I’m not damaged.

Keep telling yourself that. As you walk around in the dark on Monday morning.

I take an extra lap. I don’t want the dark morning calm to end. As people toddle to their cars and shoot me dirty looks. I know the sun is just over the horizon.

Sunshine always brings more people. Which I never understood because who keeps a schedule based on sunshine?

It’s Monday morning and I wouldn’t be up if I didn’t have to be up. Sunshine has nothing to do with my participation.

Another weekend drifts into the air with its weekend vapors. I keep exercising and talking to myself.

Forget about it.

Just forget about it.

But I hate when those vapors leave. They were so much fun. The weekend is over before it began!

After today there is only four days until the next reprieve. Just four days. I can busy myself until then. I can wait for it.

Forget about it.

It’s Monday morning.

I can’t seem to stop mourning. For absolutely no reason.

Martian Desert by The Artist D, July 2015

Martian Desert by The Artist D, July 2015

Now What?

I’ve never lived life without thinking about what’s next. We’re programmed that way from the very beginning. Life is all about goals and setting your entire pathway up before it even begins. What do you want to be when you grow up? It’s a question that should never be taken too seriously.

Each morning when starting out on my journey I think about where I am going. Not really about where I’m going that day, but what I do within that day that is going to take me into the future. I’m very goal oriented. I like a good personal challenge. I will be somewhere by sometime and damn it if I’ll fail!

I have learned that without another “What’s next?” I’m not so sure what’s next. That’s a feeling that shows up after big life milestones. When you’ve really achieved something that brings you to a completely different part of your timeline. We could say that is when you buy your dream home or move across the country. It’s easy to assume that what’s next is obvious. You move to your dream place and then you begin living – again. But it is not that easy for those of us racing from milestone to milestone. Much like a good high, the next step always has to be more enjoyable than the last. One cannot arrive at their dream location and simply begin living. Oh no, they must start living fabulously. Then you have to be more fabulous after that step and so forth. It has at times driven me into hysterics.

As I walk around on this planet I find myself monitoring the tourists very closely. They are a great petri dish. These moments are it for them. They break away from the norm and take some silly pictures with their family. They have a good meal. Then they return to the norm. It’s just like Winston and Julia in 1984. They met in those disconnected places to make love and eat real chocolate. Then they fell back in step with a drab gray existence.

The 1984 existence works for most people. They live from one fleeting vacation to the other with all of this dead air in between. They save their pennies and work towards something. I can’t live like that. I don’t think anyone seeking to truly add pure character and depth into their lives would. We should never sacrifice days, weeks, and months in exchange for a snapshot of truth. Ever!

The key word was “truly.” It would appear from my observations that most people would be terrified if they were to break away every day and truly find their meaning. This could be attributed to the fact that acknowledging your true self can in the end make you unable to fall back into step with the norm. Winston and Julia would never be the same again.

If you are up for the challenge and can truly find the mental stability to face self I would tell you to take the time every day.  We should not wake up in the morning and go to bed in the evening not having done one thing that actually mattered to us. Besides breathing.  We should find the power of pause every day. To initiate a wagging finger towards all of the gray concrete bullshit and say, “No, no, I’m going to be taking a moment now.”

This existence can so easily get lost in the swampy concrete. Be brave enough … be mindful enough … to not lose your place within self.

The Artist D, October 2016

The Artist D, October 2016

Headlight Moon

You lured me to this space. It was early August 2006. We met at the casino. We had a coffee and talked. You seemed enchanted by my rebelliousness. I was intrigued that you were gay and yet had an extremely conservative mindset. There seemed to be a lot in your brain.

We watched The Descent in the movie theater after that coffee. It was a scary movie in that thrilling kind of way. You didn’t seem effected. I pretended not to be.

You stopped to have a burger on your way out of the theater. You really enjoyed that burger. I thoroughly enjoyed your Aryan good looks.

I dropped you off in the parking lot of your apartment. We stood around in that parking spot chatting for a little while longer. The moon was super full and as bright as a headlight. I didn’t know what you thought of me. I was looking for someone to cling to. You looked like a good candidate.

You didn’t invite me in. I went back to wherever I was staying that night. I went home the next day. Wherever that was in August of 2006. I really don’t remember.

Nothing ever came of us outside of a few more months worth of coffee and cigarettes.

It was astonishing to me that over ten years later I would accidentally rent a flat in the same complex as I had dropped you off at that night. Unwittingly not realizing I was in the same place until weeks after move in. I was taking a walk and realized I was standing near the same parking space under the same full moon.

It’s all about stepping out on a limb. It’s all about flowing into the synchronicity to get you in and out of situations. To learn from the situation and then to leave the situation when it is time. To flow.

The Aritst D, April 2014

The Aritst D, April 2014

Ego Addiction

I’ve always wanted to be the star. I grew up at the end of an era where people had to do things to be adored. Hollywood was built by people who worked hard to get to the top. Likewise artists created art before they could be called artists. Perhaps the biggest tail end of an era I caught was lead by the nauseating question, “Are you a published author?”

Back in the day you actually had to achieve something before you could be officially branded into the category. You weren’t an author unless an actual publisher picked you up. You were not a poet until a cheap rag accepted your poetry and printed it. Artists have always been subjective to an extent, but you were a “real” artist if your painting hung somewhere for people to see.

With the dawning of the Internet came a loosening of the rules. I remember the original turmoil and divide with authors. Those who had worked so hard to be published were being shown up by new writers self publishing through the Internet. They were furious. No one knew how to take this, because some of the self published works were just as good as anything out of the old stuffy publishing system. I may remember it better than any other divide as I was one of those new writers. I was thrilled to be able to put out a real printed and bound book all by myself for pocket change.

Likewise, anyone in the music industry can tell you about that cultural divide. Today we can talk to anyone on stage and screen to hear about the Internet making their light just a little less bright.

The Internet has shone a light on every system of elite hierarchy there is. Every industry we have known with kings and queens has been shattered. The Internet has allowed the peasants to immediately hold court if they can attract the right audience.

I am in between those divides. I come from a time where I was taught I had to do something to be anything. All the while I grew up in a world where you could scream anything on a webcam “just being yourself” and suddenly make a six digit income if you stuck to it.

Think of that guy in the 90’s who put webcams throughout his home and setup a subscription service for people to just watch him. He didn’t do anything unique. He walked around his home, ate bowls of cereal, wrote HTML code, and very occasionally had sex with his girlfriend under the sheets. He didn’t exploit his life. He didn’t record porn films. He was simply being monitored and he was a big hit for it.

Those days of webcam novelty have long come to an end, yet now much to Mr. Warhol’s prediction everyone is a star for at least 15 minutes. Today we are wobbling with a society longing for substance, yet being more and more addicted to the art of being. That addictive digital needle is filled with a substance called Social Media. The longing to go viral or get just a few more followers and Likes.

I knew the digital addiction to ego before most anyone else. I had my website and I had my own liking system. Back in that day we used to have to set those up for ourselves! It was far more difficult to get our fix as we did not have computers in our pockets. We had to rush home to check web site statistics, guestbook entries, and open up our email programs to download the latest batch of love letters. But we did it! We were addicted to it. We became hooked further in with every present from our wishlist and next guestbook entry.

The Internet ego formula and platforms have changed to accommodate everyone. After all, the Sheeple absolutely needed it for themselves once they saw what we had. It’s easy now. It’s in your pocket, it streams through thin air, and it’s everywhere. You can get online while hiking mountain trails or taking a shit in the local Starbucks. They have honed the ego machine to please everyone. They have made it an addiction for all because now everybody can get Likes and follows. We can all go viral. The Internet has turned into one big circle jerk.

In a way the Internet had elite just like Hollywood had elite. We started it and they took it over. They take everything over. They make all of the screens smaller. I am the Norma Desmond of the Internet.

For people like me it has been a maddening ride going from the difficulty of receiving Likes to being able to easily obtain an overabundance of them! I used to have to pay hundreds of dollars for my own server space in order to spend two months writing my own code, in order to finally publish my work and get a few dozen feedback messages of Like. The transition from HTML 2.0 to today was like an overdose. They made it so easy. It’s so easy to build your website or your “page” now. It’s so easy to program in the posts to fire 24/7 while I’m out doing more work to create more content. Finally, it is so easy to check the results everywhere from anywhere.

Instead of going home, opening my office door, “firing up” the CPU, I was suddenly able to get my Likes wherever I was. I can check them while sitting on the couch. I can check them from bed before I get up in the morning. I can scroll my wall while eating breakfast. I can catch up straight out of the shower. I post from mountain trails. I can be plugged in all of the time to receive my constant stream of Likes and it was absolutely overtaxing my ego.

Much like drugs the same goes for the Internet’s ego machine. I have been a lifelong addict to anything I get involved with. My genes must be extensively programmed to the Junkie mentality. Throughout the years I have overdosed on food, beverage, drugs, smokey treats, lust, love, and I would likely overdose on air if possible. There is nothing in this life that I have enjoyed in moderation. I have had to learn to moderate every single thing. I have now had to do the same with the ego and the Internet.

In August 2016 I went on a break from Social Media and most portions of the Internet. Indeed we cannot live without the Internet in the current 21st century life. If you have already acclimated your world to it then you cannot go without it. We make money through these circuits. We pay bills through here. We order food, set appointments, and communicate with “the folks back home” through here. Just about ten years ago I could have shut off my cell phone and Internet for 30 days and no one would have noticed. If I did that today I would have been declared dead.

My goal with taking the break was to see what happened when I didn’t have to check on my Facebook or Twitter accounts. I continued to view Instagram and YouTube for my personal entertainment, but I told myself to only do it once or twice a day. At certain times I was so driven to post a thought that I broke my rules and did so, but for the most part I stayed away. The important step was to not go back and look for comments or Likes.

I stayed far away from Facebook and found a lot more time in my day. I was 20 minutes early every morning and my evenings were filled with finding things to entertain Me with. That was when I discovered the key and the point. The Social Media platforms have reprogrammed everyone to entertain each other. There are so many people now doing what they do for others to see that they have lost track of what they might want to do for themselves.

Much like myself, other people have become so busy thinking of what to post and then check for Likes that it’s all they are doing. Look at me! Like me! Follow me! Then just like drugs you have to find a larger dose for the next time. What’s the next post going to be and will it trump the previous? Do I post now to get more Likes or is 2 PM better? Finally, why doesn’t everyone Like me? Because we’ve always wondered that. Social Media has held a mirror up to the caveman traits inside and allowed them to come out. It’s helped people act like spoiled children. It has convinced them to be Liked just by being, instead of doing.

I want to be Liked for what I’m doing. We have too many folks thinking they are simply special snowflakes. They do not need to do great things to be treated greatly. We are deceiving our children into thinking that “just being” is totally OK. That mentality where everyone wins First Place because they don’t want to admit anyone is less than. You should not be able to make it in this world without creating something and showing your skills.

I’m old enough to realize that everything is a farce, nobody gets it, and the last thing we should care about is what everybody thinks. I might as well do what entertains me. This brief Social Media break has shown me that what others think does not entertain me.

My new rules are to post what I do. To post what I think. To share my life as a live it. I am happy to setup all of my posts, pictures, tweets, twerks, and tumbles to propagate to your walls, readers, and devices. But I do not want to be bound into daily checking for Likes, Loves, and critiques. I have to take that needle full of Facebook Likes out of my arm now. It’s holding me back creatively. It depresses me to read other posts and see how lost everyone has become. It makes me sad to see that the content creators have become drowned out by the pictures of dinner and the latest manicure. Something that may be most disappointing is the absolute struggle I see some go through when they do yearn to express themselves but realize it’s no longer the in thing.

If you want to come along for the ride and enjoy the things that amuse me, then you are more than welcome to watch. If you would like to talk to me and have a real conversation (something else that has gone away), then by all means send the message. It’s time to realize that another underground has been unearthed. It’s time to find the next underground. It’s time to go underground again. My people … my people …

IMG_20160730_181909_01

The Artist D, September 2016

Trailhead

When it’s quiet. Like Blair Witch Project quiet. You have walked and walked out into the middle of nowhere and finally found nowhere. Silence. Pure silence. I am in the desert. I am surrounded by dead trees, burnt weeds, and red rock piles. It’s quiet out here in the desert. I piss on the side of a tree and realize that is the only noise.

Really alone. Where you’d probably have to run back through the paths to get anywhere quick, if you had to. I am out here in the middle of nowhere. I have walked for two hours. To be truly disconnected. There is no one here. There is no one to help. You realize this only when it is that quiet. To know that no one is near, anywhere, to help you if something happened.

True silence. And then you feel your vulnerability. That is the loudest thing there. Your own momentary paranoia. But you keep walking. Then it begins to get dark. You think you may come to the other side of the trail, the other side of the forest, the desert, the whatever. Surely it will be soon, but the sun is setting.

That’s when you realize the sun sets fast. It never seems to want to go down when you want it to, but at this moment in total disconnect you begin to miss it. Because you realize that darkness is dark. The only thing to light your way is a starry sky, if it isn’t cloudy. But it’s cloudy. And you didn’t bring a flashlight. This moment into the empty paths was spontaneous. No food, no water, no flashlight, no backpack with provisions. You’d feel better right now if you had provisions. Suddenly you aren’t sure how far away the other side of this space is. You begin to think of night creatures. You start to hear night creatures.

For the first time you realize what all those dumb people back at the trailhead feared. The thing that kept them in the parking lot was that nobody was out here in the middle of nothing. Out where you now are. They were scared. If they were not scared then they were lazy. They didn’t want to hike several miles into oblivion at this time of day. They wanted to go home and eat dinner while watching Wheel of Fortune. In fact that’s where they are right now. The people have folded in their Selfie Sticks and returned to their homes. While I’m out here with the snakes and wild bores. There are desert pigs out here just waiting to trample in snorting packs, I’m sure of it.

I get to the corner of a very large mountain and realize how much farther there is to go. I know this mountain. I’ve seen it before on a map. I know where I am and I’m nowhere near the other end of this thing! It would take at least another hour and the sun has almost completely gone down already. It’s past the peaks of the mountains on the horizon and is sinking faster with every excited hoofing sound my sneakers make. Then I begin thinking about the trail ahead for the next hour. The trail which is getting harder to see. The trail which seems to be more overgrown here than ever before. Is it darkness making it worse or am I really losing my way? I’ve never lost my way. I have an uncanny ability when it comes to finding my way back from whence I came. But I don’t know if that uncanny ability works in the opposite direction. Because I just realized at this juncture that I’ve never done this trail before and I have no idea where it leads. How am I supposed to get to where I’m going if I have no idea where any of it is actually going?

The trail seems covered and the trees seem taller now. The darkness is creeping. The animals are all around me. I need to go back. I have to get back quickly. I begin to run. I turn and run realizing that I had just hiked for two hours. Would it have been smarter to go forward for an hour or back for two? I take the way I know. I run back. I jump over puddles and leap back up rock formations. I run across the ridges and back, back, farther back closer to the setting sun. I am literally chasing the sunset that was just behind me. It’s still slipping away but at least I’m running towards it instead of away from it.

I have no idea how quiet it is anymore. I hear nothing but my breathing and clomping, my rushing through two hours worth of what was once a calm adventure. If I could just see someone else out there hiking and having a grand ol’ time. If I could just run into some people. I’ve never wanted to run into people before, but this time it would just be so nice to see that I’m not the only one. I look around and listen carefully for people to prove that I am not alone. I hear no one. I am alone.

My heart is racing. I just want to get back. I failed in going the full trail. I chickened out for fear of spending the evening lost in darkness without a flashlight and a granola bar. My blood pressure must be through the roof. I feel funny. I don’t like this. Everything hurts. I leap and I run until I find a very familiar space. I come over a ridge to a flatly familiar mountainside rock. I’m a few miles away from where I started, but I’m back to where I know and the rest of the way will be just fine. My pace slows while my heart cools. Darkness sets in as I near civilization again. In the distance some idiot is flying a drone that looks like a UFO. I’m happy to see signs of people again. Signs of idiocy. Warm comforting stupid people doing stupid things, again.

The parking lot is completely empty by the time I reach the trailhead and the night is pitch black. There were many clouds. There were no stars. I stand at my car looking out into zero visibility and think about being out there in this. For a moment I wish I had stayed out there to find out. I chase off the regret that I’m getting back in my car when I could have been out there adventuring through the darkness. I could have still been hoofing it, surviving it, overcoming the unknown conclusions. But adventures like that always look good in theory. It’s another thing when in practice.

By The Artist D, August 2016

By The Artist D, August 2016

Temple

Whenever I take a vacation or remove myself from the workplace I am reminded of what has become of me. If I take a few steps back and observe my actions I am a kin to a shipwrecked person whom has now been rescued.

I jump manically from one thing to another trying desperately to fulfill parts of me that have been completely barren for weeks, months, sometimes years! Just like that starving ship wrecked person will luxuriate in taking a shower or devour several hamburgers, milk shakes, and a side of chicken nuggets. I do the same with my starving mind.

There is a stack of books next to my bed and anywhere else I may sit in my home. I am reading all of those books. Removing myself from the workplace sees my true longing to fulfill the dead zones of my body, mind, and spirit.

It does not take long to realize I am philosophically starving. I will have mad passionate sex for days, with others or myself. I will eat cheeseburgers, French fries, and have Chinese food delivered to my home. I will binge on bottles of wine. I will write in my notebook. I will type in my blog. I will start to read one book and then get so excited by the words that I must immediately move to another. I will then start to think ideas of my own thanks to the ideas that I am reading and I will need to start writing in my notebook. While I am writing in my notebook I will start to think of how epic it would be to share my thoughts with the world. I then rush inside to my laptop and begin preparing a blog.

All the while living out this obsessive starving-man literary display I begin to think of how much I must get to the mountains and walk. I think about meditating on rocks and maybe it will rain down on me while I am there. But I haven’t taken a shower in three days and that would be nice too. I’ll do that next! Then I’ll go to the local cafe and get a coffee. A real coffee, not some watered down Folders Tasters House bullshittery with fake cow puss to lighten it. No! Strong black coffee with saccharin. That’s it, that’s all. I’ll get a muffin too. Baked right there. Not some shipped in stupid organic piece of shit that was stale and unloaded from the truck last night.

Then another blog hits me. Then more notebook writing. Finally I’m in the shower and the windows are wide open. I’m thinking it might rain, so I really need to get going. But the pile of books! I can’t wait to return to the pile of books.

This is a demonstration in the School of Unlearning. This is a true memory of youth before social conditioning. Do what thou wilt and so much more. I stuff my brain with the knowledge of my psychic ancestors. I desperately grab at handfuls of truth like it was a cherry pie and I was a refugee. I fight the sadness of knowing that this is what life is supposed to be and all of that which left me dry must be shucked. But how? I must figure that out. I must buck the system. I must succeed so I can have the handfuls of knowledge, lust, love, poetry, deviation, on the daily. To not would be the worst denial of self one could ever submit to.

Sledgehammer, The Artist D, August 2016

Sledgehammer, The Artist D, August 2016

Pamphlet

My young eyes looked out into a world of graffiti and solid gold dancing. My young mind interpreted things differently, with a surreal naiveté yet a bizarre realness. I saw the subways of New York City 1980 and thought that was the place to be. Then again I was too young to be.

I found my New York City subway on the Internet in the late 1990’s. It was just like those spray painted and tagged trains of the 80’s, but in digital format. It was the new underground after Rudy had Giulianified the harsh reality of the real NYC. On the Internet we became punks to the matrix and ran our cyber street corners like artists. That’s not the artist who wants to be an artist, but the artist who is born artistic. Art today is confused with a four year college course. You have to be careful these days when you run into an artist. They may have been trained to be that way, instead of born that way. Be careful! They are nothing but wolves in sheep’s clothing wearing a stylish faux wolf coat.

Pamphlets were always a requirement of my underground. I always wanted to create a pamphlet. It would be a simple message from me to the world. I wanted to tell everyone en masse my extremely simple views of how society was such a terrible mask that they were all being forced to wear. I wanted to hold up the mirror for a quick glance and let everyone know they didn’t have to do it. They didn’t need to contribute to that faux world with family values and Sunday confessionals. It was all a sham. It was a hoax. The underground bubbled with the truth. The back rooms seethed with the dirty truth. The things that happened behind each white picket fence made everything moot on Main St.

The digital age took over the terrestrial underground street-smart living that I had always dreamed of finding. I abandoned it. I became one with my computer. I crawled inside the Internet’s circuits and became the artistic Max Headroom to anyone who would listen to me shouting down from my digital soapbox.

They always told me to do more. They always said I should add more production value to the things I created. They wanted me to try harder, pay for more advertisements, network with fellow people of the Digital Tubes, and play the game more. They wanted podcasts and insisted I add substance. Before I knew it they had taken over the Internet. You know, the They from out there. They were now in here. The same people who dripped Disneyfication over the terrestrial streets of New York and Los Angeles had now invaded the Internet and were whispering directly in my ear.

My pamphlet was out the window before it ever was created. People don’t want the truth! People want to hide inside with the blinds drawn. The people of planet Earth want to look straight ahead and proceed to their air conditioned vehicle, so it may take them to an air conditioned building. Rinse, repeat, and flutter your little wings in joy that life has been swept conveniently under the extraterrestrial rug.

When I found myself at the business end of the gun known as They I was no more pleased than ever before. I had worked so hard to create the pamphlet up in lights, the one backed and sponsored by Them, that I had completely forgotten I just wanted to hand out photocopied leaflets letting everyone know it was a charade.

Now I’m back to pamphlets. Because the best ideas that never were will always be just as good when you come all the way back around to them. We sweep the fact away about who we really are, who we really love, who we really want to Fuck, and what we really want to be doing with our days. We keep sweeping until the dust bunnies gang up on us and eventually all of that swept away truth regurgitates back up all over until we accept it was what we should have been doing all along.

You should have been you all along. I should have been handing you this pamphlet all along. Don’t mind me. This is just the underground. It’s nothing special, just the birthplace of every truth the universe has ever dilated and brought forth.

The Artist D, August 2016

The Artist D, August 2016

Restrictive Bedfellows

There is no logic behind being shy and intimidated when it comes to the nature of flesh. I never let how I look(ed) stop me from pursuing what I want. The mindset for it is easy, but it depends on your intentions.

The people will say that they were intimidated to approach a “cute” person because they think themselves to be the opposite. They go about their lives not talking to people and never going after what they want. They never give it a go and yet never seem to realize that by not trying they have chosen their own fate. You aren’t alone because no one likes you. You’re alone because you never asked everyone you wanted to be with you.

I always saw that I could be turned down. I still kept asking. People are so afraid to be rejected. Yet if you don’t continuously put yourself out there, then how will you ever find any connections? It’s a lot like getting the right job. If you apply to one job per month you’ll never find what you’re looking for. Even worse, you’ll end up with something lousy. You’ve got to apply to dozens of jobs per week and go on hundreds of interviews before you might click with the right business. You’ve got to approach hundreds of people before you find one who will date you, sleep with you, or tie you to a bondage cross and whip you silly. You know, whatever you’re looking for.

That reminds me of intention. Everybody always thinks they’re looking for love. They want to bake pies and paint the baby’s room a shit shade of yellow. I wish more people understood what they wanted. Most of the time I was looking for sex. I misunderstood my desire to nest with my need to be sexually and psychologically released via intimacy. Unfortunately for most, they never discover their true intentions and end up wondering why they’re so unhappy when they finally do achieve “The Happy Couple” nesting moment. Love and nesting is good. It’s something I eventually found too, but it was certainly far after I had exhausted my blindingly psychological sexual desires to be accepted via going at it like rabbits with complete strangers.

Our problem as people of this time and place is that we do not know who we are. We are so distracted by constant distraction that there’s no time to find ourselves. So, we jump to find ourselves by gaining the acceptance of other people. Other people who can’t find themselves. The blind leading the blind into oblivion.

Know what you want and who you want. Do not be afraid to place yourself in the path of those you desire. Take these words and apply them to everything in your life. Do not be afraid to place yourself in the path of what you desire. Whether it’s a person, a thing, a place, an adventure. If you don’t, then you’ve already made up your mind to not have it. Do not be afraid to ask.  Do not be discouraged by rejection. So one ambitious goal didn’t work out, try a couple thousand more. It’s not like you have anything better to do.

Artist D in Summer, 2016

Artist D in Summer, 2016