there are 50 kinds of people in the world:

1) People that do fuck all
2) People that do too much at the same time
3) Short people
4) Dumb people
5) Pretty people with no taste
6) Gorgeous, sensible, tasteful people with perfect noses and matching nose rings
7) People that plan their evening
8) People that like sandwiches without crust
9) Dieticians
10) People that own too many credit cards
11) Taxidermists
12) People that never read the newspaper
13) Idiots
14) Hot-dog salesmen
15) People that party a lot and start looking old when they’re still really young
16) People that love the Earth but don’t really (faux hippies)
17) Animal-lovers
18) Pussy-lovers
19) Thrill-chasers
20) Pussy-lickers (sorry!) – I meant to say cock-suckers
21) Criminals with a soft heart
22) People that spend their whole lives opposing to something, when in reality they embody the very thing they hate
23) People that get stuck in a career they hate because they were too lazy to do anything else
24) People that have blind confidence, blind ambition and a bulldozer willpower (actors mostly)
25) People that give and feel rich
26) People that get rich and then give
27) People that give and get poor
28) Rich assholes
29) Terry Richardson
30) People that go against the grain
31) People that critique people that go against the grain
32) People that have no idea what the grain is
33) “Artists”
34) People that aren’t people, rather infiltrated aliens
35) People that pick their scabs
36) People that not only pick their scabs, but eat their scabs
37) Really REALLY fat people
38) Name-droppers
39) Name-shamers
40) Media whores
41) Jack White
42) Conor Oberst
43) John Keats
44) Rocket scientists (brain surgeons get no mention)
45) People that really do deserve a second chance
46) The people that created Photoshop
47) People that really do lead amazing lives, and yet still manage to be earnest
48) People that don’t care
49) People that care too much
50) Jesus



It was rich, the walk into the caramel house
The carpet and the wood pen-sketch hung on the wall
And the beautiful little stall
by the kitchen-window.
I looked at his direction
With the far-side of the eye
trying to muster
The most unrichly face of affection.

And sadly
Everything I ever wanted
Surfacing in the glass and the berry-staining wine
that in my lips and in my finger, corrosive it stained fine
Everything I ever wanted - yes - I saw it splendid and reflected
Purposeful, ressurected
In his palms, in his specle-frame
And not least
in the fireplace's tortured flame.

His friend, flicking cards,
countenant, counting conversation-yard
left to find a beer by the dispenser.
And if I look like a New Yorker cartoon
you belong in a 60's decorated saloon
playing piano like Ben Folds
And calling me your tiny dancer.


the ideal workplace:

(for art and general doings)

A big white table
Dozens of ashtrays
Dozens of never ending cigarette papers
Big stereo system (no boom box)
A toilet
Subway down the road
A thinking chair (leather preferable)
Domenic Bartlett-Roylance (as male muse)


avi buffalo - the most awkward, geeky, talented... weirdos

While I'm going down the Sub Pop little yellow brick road, listen to this!

(And don't get me started with, Uhhh, my music taste is far superior to yours, I hate-chuuu...)

jaill - the stroller

These guys are only the most amazing Milwaukee band-turned-OMG!-act-to-watch-for (this video showcases why, clearly), and I am lucky enough to be interviewing them tomorrow for my local newsfly.


art guilt

"Every day is a typical workday, whether I work or not. Living in the same space that I work in, there is art in progress and recently finished things all around. When I get up and turn on the radio, my cat joins me to sit and look at the new stuff. We have breakfast (2 p.m.), read magazines, paper, nonfiction something. Turn on People's Court and turn on the computer, screw with a milion different things online, all along building up 'art guilt'. Sometime after Jeopardy! I think about artwork but instead play sax and burn a ten-minute music track. Maybe after mid-night I start art work, maybe not. More 'art guilt', done by 3 a.m. Make supper, watch a movie while I eat. Go to bed at 7 a.m. Get up at 2, look at new art (a week old), a pang of 'art guilt'. Plan to make art today... maybe."

- Interview with Jerry Moriarty, author of paint-comic strip Jack Survives

jack's advice

"Artists are the original multitaskers. Art is a right-brain activity, the hemisphere that has no mouth. The judgemental words come from the left brain; it has a mouth and is conservative. It says to you while you are making art: 'The nose is too big, the ears are too small, the arms are too long,' etc. Listening to music neutralizes pushy Left Brain because it is now busy with music judgement or bliss."

- Interview with Jerry Moriarty, author of paint-comic strip Jack Survives

100th post

YAY for me!

To the rest of you, thanks for reading, you are angels, etc.


must be french

be calm

our deal


don't take it personally

We are all glossy and kind of the same.

We all go to the same music festivals, we all spend evenings on Facebook speaking to people that disinterest us.

We are all the same brand of canned soup, warholians. We come from the same cereal box I suspect. Culture defined by country, money, status, lack-there-of.

We stare at these glossy images in magazines that were printed for our own very eyes, wishing for these things. Hey! Hey! This stuff, these "whimsical images" we fall in love with, they are here to get us spending our hard-earned wad of cash. (Note: there's no wad of cash. It's more like a short stack.) Perhaps not as dramatically so as I paint it, okay. I believe in art.

We all want the same things, it seems, in this new culture where the Internet makes things accessible to a point of pattern. The lateral thinkers (there are still plenty of them, but they are obscure as hell and usually have no credit to text back) will seek other places, create the "new indie", open ground to the underground, to some mishapen idea, buy old children Encyclopedias, touch things we haven't touched in years. They trendset - mainly, I suspect, because they're bored as hell. Until this new stuff becomes common ground and kitsch. And once it's been used, restored into the commonplace, it becomes bland and pastiche again. But I suspect there's a use to pop as much as there is a place to subvert it. It's a cycle. Being self-conscious about it probably just makes things a hell of a lot worse.

But still. We all listen to the same music, and we are all becoming more or less branded, bland, the same. Everyone knows where to go; it's a democratic concept but one that opens ground to becoming complacent with whatever the latest fad. If people would at least contribute! If people would stop absorbing like dry sponges. The goal is to be moist, as gross as that may sound. Retain some kind of brain-water - brainwave!

But no. There's this thing, and it's called life ethic (or something else no one will be ever bothered to assign a name), a kind of view on life. And I have realised, from two weeks spent with a hard-worker - a detached, introspective, hilarious kind-of guy - that what I think is the absolute truth is very far from the absolute truth. And really, dreamers never live indeed: they just dream and float and forget, awash in the current like water itself, unaware that they are in fact sponges, and not the substance that permeates them.


tu tu tu tu tu

I lost my job
I miss my mum
I wish my cat could talk

Best Coast, Goodbye