Stream of Textual Nectar

Hi Friends,

I have more stream-of-con and inexcusably bad art for you! 

I hope you are all doing great! I'm doing half-great. Mostly I am as freaked out as ever at this whole "human condition thing."

My mind is being mauled by two junkyard dogs named Venus and Mars, and my ethylene levels are dangerously low...

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TO DO LIST 9/24: Wake in my comfortable skin. Declare myself President. Run 2 miles on hamster wheel. Fondle myself in the shower. Catch up on correspondence. Eat more ketchup. Call Vladmir Putin and become best friends. Nuke Kim Jung Un because he has better hair than me. Pack for my golfing tour of China. China, China, China. Call Kanye with Fantasy Football picks and hot investment tips. Fly to refugee camp in Texas and weed out ugly ones. [Stand firm by my decision to make America beautiful (& great.)] Do interview with Vanity Fair and take a bejeweled shit. Sneeze a Hitler-moustache into existence. Spew charismatic gibberish at the the minds and hearts of unattractive americans who are making us look bad in front of the world.  Smack my daughter's ass and board the crappy plane that comes with the Presidency. Fly to China to examine their Wall. Know in my heart I can build a better one. [Losers] Die of massive brain fart. 9-24-15

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Friday stream of disillusionment--where are you?--where can I find the ears that burrow into big dark open minds?--where to find hearts pieced together with black tar and molten gold? --where to find that in this crowd of 7 billion who all know empty beehive syndrome and drone on?--where are the ears?--where will this irony deficiency refill its prescription?--I have your meds--I put them in my fuzzy black & yellow backpack and climbed to the top of the tree--You just have to listen for me, softly laughing--Then bursting into a cloud of cumulative despair--come on, you can't miss it 9-25-15

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Willow figurine c. 2006

Am I to trust that there is balance in the world when my meds make me so dizzy? Am I to trust that gravity will hold me down when I want to jump into the soundproof clouds and never have to hear the voices of those who are so sure of themselves? How do I compete with the ones who were blessed by the stars, fortified with earth or hardened by flames? Today I am full of questions, not punchlines. Today my dots are not connected but my doubts are. I can only dig and dig into the deep blue sky for proof of the universe's equity. 9-27-15

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Take my image off the wall and tweak it with your tools. You think I can't feel it. That molesting a photo with digital dicks and a garden of pubic abundance is karma punching up. Mounted by a tarantula, my expression never changes which makes it even funnier. Drowning in files of bananafish, I gasp in my sleep at your lack of originality. Manipulating what you see in me instead of seeing you. Have you ever asked why I resisted? Your atonal lullabies? Your attempts to shill with a throat full of sludge and eggshell? Have you ever wondered why I plugged my ears with tampons and learned to fight in writing? 9-29-15

Self-portrait at sunset. From this summer's daily drawing challenge--this quick watercolor was a big failure.

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Psychiatrist Parking Lot v. Housing and Urban Development: child left alone, crying in car. A 21st century felony. I look around for witnesses, ABC's 'What Would YOU Do?' cameras. No one sees my brief consternation, my decision covered in skullbone--leave it alone. None of my business. How many hot cars did I sit in, sweat beading on minor hide, and survive? This personlet had open windows for its screams. So I chose deafness of character and drove away. Are we there yet? Road rage so far from highway euphoria--we will never get there. 9-30-15

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Bye Friends…I'll talk to you soon (in writing). 

Pixel & Eloise not caring