« Posts under Inspiration for Creation

Tonight!

Alright, folks . . . Just like the flyer says : This evening marks the official signing / release party for Incurable Disorder : The Art of Elizabeth McGrath [Last Gasp]. It’s a gorgeous book; good times are guaranteed to be had; I’m running really late, so you can either take my advice or sniffle in regret later. Not unlike me in the present tense, with the five loads of laundry I didn’t drop off. But hey! I’ve been waiting to use “soft grunge” as an excuse.

The Folly of St. Hubertus : 2012

The Hunger : Dedicated To Ivan X : 2012

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Elizabeth McGrath’s Incurable Disorder

I’m pleased to announce the release of Incurable Disorder : The Art of Elizabeth McGrath [Last Gasp], the second full-length monograph of this visionary artist’s works, including dioramas, mixed media paintings and three-dimensional sculptures produced from 2005 to 2012.

In addition to over 200 color images, the book includes introductory essays by filmmaker/producer Morgan SpurlockMcGrath’s art dealer Alix Sloan, and the artist herself.

Regarding the creative process of the “damaged anthropomorphized animals who would rather bite than be healed,” McGrath explains “The conception of these brainchildren is hard to pinpoint. They stem from the emotional encounters I have with humans, landscapes and objects, and are further shaped by the constant stream of words and images that survive my mind’s filter. Once I have the skeleton of an idea, the rest comes automatically, but staying on task through the many hours it takes to complete one of these works requires a heavy dose of news radio, stories, and audio books. For instance, the chapter titled ‘Altarwise by Owl Light’ started with a Dylan Thomas poem but grew during The Mists of Avalon by Marion Zimmer Bradley…”

She continues, “When I see the finished pieces it takes me back to the story or vice-versa, like memories from a vacation.”

As aforementioned, the tome is divided into sections — each paired with a passage from a poem or literary work that functions as a companion piece. The chapters are as follows :

Tears of The Crocodile
[ excerpt from the poem “What All The World Is Made Of” by Robert Southey ]

Altarwise by Owl-Light
[ with an excerpt from the Dylan Thomas poem of the same name ]

Incurable Disorder
[ accompanied by my poem Dead Letters : Twenty-Six Are in its entirety ]

American Animals
[ excerpt from Gods In Alabama by Joshilyn Jackson ]

Shadowless Summer
[ excerpt from Thomas Pynchon‘s novella The Crying of Lot 49 ]

With Tomorrow’s Scream
[ accompanied by a quote from Redmond King ]

Elizabeth — a.k.a. Liz, a.k.a. “Bloodbath” — McGrath is the only artist whose creations I collect, and without doubt, one of my favorite people on the planet. We met through a mutual friend in 2002, when I was asked to M.C. the Broken Dolls fashion show in January of the following year.

I’ve written about her numerous times between then and now : regarding the release of her first retrospective  Everything That Creeps in January of 2006, the premiere of Cecil B Feeder‘s documentary Bloodbath : The Movie, the main subject of which is — yep, you guessed it — in 2011.

I even modeled for CREEP Clothing, Miss McGrath’s collaboration with B.F.F. Winter Rosebudd : a feat which included strutting around Echo Park with an evil-horned creature [the duo’s slaughtered chupacabra stole] draped about my shoulders, the pièce de résistance complete with velvet cloven hooves and a poisoned arrow. And did I love it? Every fantastic click and tick of the clock.

In short, Liz is generous, genuine, a true talent, and a stead-fast friend. Her enthusiasm is infectious, and truly : I’m honored to be part of this chronicle of her creative outpourings.

Oh. And uh, in the event you might have been “skimming”? It’s as simple as this : Incurable Disorder = new book you need in your life. Me? New poem in book. Matter of fact, I’ll save you a click and leave a copy right here, even . . .

Cheers!

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Perception.

Joe Rees : Belief, 1974 / re-fabricated 2009

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National Poetry Month Continues : with Justin Chin

Back When I Knew Who I Was 

i was content to spend my afternoons
wondering what co-dependent meant
not realizing that those lazy
humid daylight hours was better  
spent figuring out the physics
of dependency and codeine dreams

back when i knew who i was
i was much better than i ever thought i was
i could conjugate fuck like nobody’s business
       fuck me, fuck you, fuck it, fuck him, fuck her
       fuck them, fuck yourself, holy fuck, goddamnfuckit

i could shovel dead pets off the driveway
     that my aunt ran over on her way to choir practice
     and not shed a single tear
i could choke down every family fight about money,
every caning that would come for no reason after those fights,
every time we were forced to go to my rich relatives for dinner and we’d
find ourselves in the kitchen cooking and doing the dishes.

i believed i knew the meaning of alcohol
i believed i knew how to get out of every scrap
i believed i wasn’t gonna make 25
i believed in 18 molecules of carbon
21 molecules of hydrogen
3 oxygen and one fab nitrogen
all in a sweet mixture enough to make me
feel like jennifer beals in flashdance
twirling my ass
in front of the snotty audition,
praying for a stinking place in 
the dance-a-thon of actuality

back when my balls were the size of brazil
and my ego was the size of the antarctica
and my courage was the size of phlegm
i learned to trust few people
learned to want little
and to need even less
i learned to say “FUCK IT”

with such ease and venom
the most cynical rattlesnake
would have its underbelly turn emerald
in two seconds flat.

you could wake to find yourself in some sweet danger,
in some piss-flavored version of addiction
designed to make up for lost time,
lost ideals, lost lovers, lost causes, lost saviours
but -shit- these days,
all i find is myself back when i was
back in the conga line of perpetual desire
the territory of an incessant need
i crave my one habit of a good man
and i want to secede from
the grip of addiction philosophy,
from the colony of “i should’ve known better”

fuck that 12-step thing, i say,
i like to keep my options open
and i like having the option
to get absolutely fucked up
when i feel like it,
and not feel like i fucked up, dammit.

do things change that much?
can some stupid sign from the almighty
whip you right around?
maybe i should be looking for visions of jesus
in billboards of spaghetti sauce,
visions of buddha in men’s semen,
maybe i’ll be a much better person
if i knew who i was when i knew who i was
but who the fuck do i think i am?
i can’t even piss straight into the bowl,
can’t even tell my lover that i want to cook him
breakfast for the rest of my life,
can’t even cross against the light,
     (ooh, walk to the light, walk to the light….)
can’t pay my bills on time nor balance my checkbook
can’t dance, can’t mosh,
can’t get fucked up like i used to, not that i want to anyway
can’t take it like a man, whatever that means.

all i can is kiss who i was
back when i knew who i was
goodbye, one great big tongue smooch
and wish him a good journey
as he walks to the light
and falls off the edge of the earth
and into a peaceful hell.

i’ll meet up with him later.

Justin Chin, from Bite Hard
     Manic D Press, 1997

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And Up Next, In Honor of National Poetry Month : Sparrow 13 Laughingwand

from the anthology Signs of Life [ Manic D Press : 1994 ]
as well as Hell Soup [ Manic D : 1996 ], Sparrow’s collected works, self-described as “ranging from Hillbilly childhood to savage sissy.”

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In Celebration of National Poetry Month : Gazpacho by Michelle Tea

1:30 a.m. gazpacho in my room
red and green and tasting
like tucson like too much
parsley and cocktails on
the porch, mezcal, tastes
like tequila someone played
a trick on we bought it cheap
in mexico two bottles per gringo
over the border gazpacho and
burritos enough to feed the
neighborhood and i did because
the neighborhood was crashing
at my house showing up at sunset
to eat at my cinderblock table but
it was cool i could afford it could
afford to pay rent buy groceries buy
jugs of red wine to get them all drunk
bongs of pot to keep them all stoned and
gas tank full for road trips i
was making lots of cash and we were all
cool liberal fuck liberal we were
radical, anarchist cookbook beside
the moosewood cookbook on our bookshelf we
knew all about things like the
distribution of wealth and like i said i
was making tons of money and they weren’t
making any they were unemployed because
finding work is hard or they’re students of
in the emergency stage of the sexual abuse thing or
some other piece of laziness doctored up as
politics you know capitalism blah blah blah so
i was supporting an ever-changing band of lethargic
sunbathing potheads because i was making so much
money and yeah i was making it by leaving my body
so that strange men could fill it like a kind of
demon spirit but fuck it was my choice no gun
to my head no linda lovelace scene here and
i was really into communal living and we were all
such free spirits, crossing the country we were
nomads and artists and no one ever stopped
to think about how the one working class housemate
was whoring to support a gang of upper middle class
deadheads with trust fund safety nets and connecticut
childhoods, everyone was too busy processing their
isms to deal with non-issues like class
and besides,
you don’t think rich families have problems
you don’t think rich families have secret rapes and
alcoholic dads and feed their kids bad food with
sugar and preservatives i mean when you
get right down to it we’re all just humans,
all on the same path to destruction because
our mother earth is being raped (is it ok
if we borrow that term from your
oppression, it’s reall powerful) anyway,
the class trip is just divide and conquer,
blood money is just a redundant phrase and all work
is prostitution, right? and it’s just so cool
how none of them have hang-ups about
sex work they’re all real
open-minded real
revolutionary you know
the legal definition of pimp is
one who lives off the earnings of
a prostitute, one or five or
eight and i’d love to stay and
eat some of the stir fry i’ve been cooking
for y’all but i’ve got to go fuck
this guy so we can all get stoned and
go for smoothies tomorrow, save me
some rice, ok?

Michelle Tea

from the anthology Signs of Life [ Manic D Press : 1994 ]
as well as The Beautiful [ Manic D : 2003 ], a collection of Tea’s poetry

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It’s National Poetry Month . . . Shake The Dust.

“This is for the hard men
Who want love
But know that it won’t come
For the ones
Who are forgotten
The ones for whom the Amendments do not stand up for
For the ones who are told to speak
Only when you are spoken to
And they’re never spoken to
Speak
Everytime you stand
So you do not forget yourself…”

 

Anis Mojgani

 

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Addams Family Anaglyphs

These. Make me very happy . . .  

[ Corners edited : Stereoscopic / Anaglyph 3D creations by rrrrob66 : View with 3D glasses ]

" Artists are always ready to sacrifice for art . . . if the price is right " — Gomez Addams

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More Ouija, Woncha?


[ Rebecca Caldwell‘s ‘Witchmobile’ ]


[ Ouija Board Beaded Necklace : Gilliauna ]

Dario Robleto :
Hippies And A Ouija Board (Everyone Needs To Cling To Something), 2003-2004

Suitcase: Cast and carved dehydrated bone calcium and bone dust from every bone in the body, microcrystalline cellulose, cold cast iron and brass, rust, antique syringe, crushed velvet, leather, thread, water extendable resin, typeset Bottles, medicines, and Ouija board: cast and carved dehydrated bone calcium and bone dust from every bone in the body, typeset, home-brewed moonshine (potato derived alcohol), wine health tonics (water, sugar, fermented black cherries, yeast, gelatin, tartaric acid, pectinase, sulfur dioxide, oak flavoring, fortified with 100-year-old hemlock oil, Devil’s Claw, witch hazel bark, swamp root, powdered rhubarb, pleurisy root, belladonna root, white pine tar, coal tar, dandelion, sarsaparilla, mandrake, mullein, scullcap, cramp bark, elder, ginseng, horny goat weed, tansy, sugar of lead, mercury with chalk and tin-oxide; calcium potassium, creatine, zinc, iron, nickel, copper, boron, vitamin k, crushed amino acids, home-cultured antibiotics, chromium, magnesium, colostrum, ironized yeast, ground pituitary gland, ground wisdom teeth, ground sea horse, shark cartilage, coral calcium, iodine & castor oil) Records: various 1960’s 45 rpm records cast in prehistoric whale bone dust, typeset, 42 x 23 x 19 inches

Collection of the Jack S. Blanton Museum of Art

University of Texas : Austin, Texas

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Oui, Ouija

“ Ouija Board
Would you work for me?
I have got to say
‘Hello’ to an old friend

ouija board, gif

Ouija Board, Ouija Board, Ouija Board
Would you work for me?
I have got to get through
To a good friend

Well she has now gone
From this unhappy planet
With all the carnivores
And the destructors on it

ouija, occult

Ouija Board, Ouija Board, Ouija Board
Would you help me?
Because I still do feel
So horribly lonely

Would you, Ouija Board
Would you, Ouija Board
Would you help me?
And I just can’t find
My place in this world

Well she has now gone
From this unhappy planet
With all the carnivores
And the destructors on it

Oh hear my voice
(Hear my voice)
Oh hear my voice
(Hear my voice)

Hear my voice
(Hear my voice, my voice)
Hear my voice
(Voice)
Table is rumbling

The table is rumbling
The glass is moving
No I was not pushing that time, it spells
S T E V E N

ouija board

The table is rumbling
The glass is moving
No I was not pushing that time
P U S H O double F

ouija

Well she has now gone
From this unhappy planet
With all the carnivores
And the destructors on it ”

ouija

A D D I T I O N A L    R E S O U R C E S

Ouija Board, Ouija Board” : Music Video

True To YouA Morrissey ‘Zine

Official Website of  William Fuld , Creator of the Ouija Board

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On Criticism

“ It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again; because there is not effort without error and shortcomings; but who does actually strive to do the deed; who knows the great enthusiasm, the great devotion, who spends himself in a worthy cause, who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement and who at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly. So that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat. ”

Theodore Roosevelt

« © »

And another thing: his work is completely devoid any sense of gravitas. In fact, it’s just…void. Only style — or attempts thereof, rather. Neither substance, nor emotional complexity one finds inherent in a truly genuine talent, like J.T. Leroy. Now there…mark my words: there —

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Goth Done Right [ via Steven Meisel ]

“Here, its drama is spellbinding,
& its darkness is palpable…”

Gothic, Steven Meisel

Gemma Ward † Caroline Trentini † Iselin Steiro † Lily Donaldson † Agyness Deyn † Sasha Pivovarova

A moment worth re-visiting, from the “In My Tribe” editorial
Fashion Rocks MagazineFashion Rocks , 2007

[ VIEW FULL SIZE ]

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There’s A Term For Anyone Who Gets My Work/Resemblance/Words/Whatever Tattooed

[ & that ‘phrase that pays’ is ]
“V.I.P., For Life

pictured above :
about as obvious a reference can get
to Cottonmouth Kissescottonmouth kisses, clint catalyst

[ If you don’t own a copy by now?
I don’t even know what’s wrong with you… ]

Massive Thanks
to
ßite Me ßlair ♥ !

Honored :: & :: Appreciated

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One Post, Two Editorials, Three Dark Beauties…& You

Excerpts from “The Emperor’s Black Rose” by Gilles Et Dada

ENEMIES TURN TO LOVERS

LOVE ONES BECOME EXCUSES

DISTANCES SEEM LIKE REASONS

AND SNAKES CHANGE THEIR MASK FOR THE HUNTING SEASON

INTERPRETATIONS ARE MY NEW NIGHTMARE

STILL YOUR IMAGINATION MAKES ME MORE THAN JUST A MAN

I WON’T STOP, AND I WILL SAY IT ONCE AGAIN

FOR AS LONG AS YOU GIVE ME YOUR DREAMS

I WILL CONTINUE FILLING THE BLANKS

— Federico Cabrera

[ Initial Discovery via Fucking Young! ]

fire,hot

Photography & Post: Federico Cabrera

Styling: Jasmin Mishima

Hair & Make-Up: Marii Sadrak

Models: Anette M. & Eetu at Paparazzi

Assistance: Emma Hedenborg & Udi

fire,hot

& Next :

Human Terror,” Featuring Mateusz—a.k.a. Matthew Budziak

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Because We Ain’t Simple And Love Ain’t Simple

TWO FREAKS IN A MEAN GOD’S SWEATY FIST

next morning over grits and aspirin
i remembered          jack oh shit honey
i can’t believe i fuckin did that
convulsive recall cut through whiskey obscurity
like the knife
my knife in my hand and jack grinnin it off       just us
friday night drunk again except i was pitbull furied
about a blank spot
i was holdin’ up steel to my lover
i was serious
what do you mean he asked me at the table
so i had to say before god and my coffee
i threatened to cut you last night didn’t i man
more sorries and panicky lovetalk started runnin out of me
until the grin came back        he said oh
that’s right    i’d forgotten all about it      he held that little smile
so long i wanted to scream motherfucker but  i started cryin
instead
he’d been as loaded as me        didn’t know what issue
brought together me and him and the knife and something mad
enough to shank eight years of us
somethin that backed down when he just said
you know sparrow if i felt like it
i could get really pissed of about this            the movie stopped
there for both of us
he was holdin me while i came apart again
me and him know each other clear
to the marrowbones and black mirrors by now
me and him go on anyway
eight years or twenty thousand
sparrow and jack is the road we’re goin down
without a simple love poem in sight
because we ain’t simple and
love ain’t simple
love has vicious motherfucker midnights curled up waitin in it
like when we were naked makin war words
about how if
ordinary common people are shit and i hate everyone
i must hate him too
right then i did but he was the one
who said i hate you first and got up to leave
i gave him my back like the finger      told him thanks
for tellin me one piece of truth tonight anyway
and i would have said more but he kicked me off the bed
before i could and if love was somethin simple
it would have busted like a wine bottle right there
it took us two days to cry about it together
but that man has hands that make me forget sometimes
how much i hate my body
that man can keep tellin’ me after the first thousand
times i told him that was a
goddamn lie
that man is as smart as me and too weird to ever be boring
with his head full of politics and priestcraft and philosophical
terrors
he can tell me about because i’ve got em too
me and him know each other all right
it’s our damnation to
it’s our damnation to know that hate walks beside love
like a shadow that has teeth
it’s our damnation each to live in the other’s
valley of flames
because our demons are crazy drunk
on love for each other
the same way we are
two freaks in a mean god’s sweaty fist
it’s our damnation practiced to perfection
we’ve done it for years
we’ve done it for lifetimes and some of ‘em ended like this
could have
but we keep comin’ back
we’ve got stuff that ruins us for anyone else
we need each other’s weirdness and rage like dope
it ain’t simple           it’s got thorns
it’s got roots that wrap around bones and boulders
all the way to the heart of the earth
sparrow and jack is the road we’re goin’ down
together in this poem
this car with the back seat full of monsters
that were always driving drunk
the hit of murder keeps us awake for the ride
sparrow and jack it the road that starts and ends
in the worlds we have where the other one is the only man alive
and those are worlds
big enough for all the pain we throw around
because we’re men and we can’t help it
all we can do is wrap our arms around love
even and especially when it smells like shit and looks like
the black sponge soaked in blood at
the center of trust’s shattered bones
and around each other after the storms die down

—Sparrow 13 Laughingwand

from Hell Soup: The Collected Writings [ Manic D ]

*Please note: some line breaks “auto-corrected” by WordPress.
[ Apologies, Apologies ]

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