For Kathy, Upon Reading The Village Voice [ February 23, 1976 ]

Performance. The performative.
I need more performance art in my life.

Reading this clipping sped my pulse, made me feel
both as if I were a spectator and a participant in the event.
[ Each is the other, ultimately. ]

A nod to your ghost, Kathy Acker…

I never told you that several lifetimes ago, back when I lived
in a dry county in Nowheresville, Arkansas —
so eager to claw out of that place
the tips of my fingers ached

I stole a San Francisco telephone book from the local library
[ planning, as it were, my ’ great escape ’ ] and
was so stunned to see your name / number listed, I
had to call and confirm you were you.

Sorry I hung up, but not-so-sorry
Caller I.D. didn’t exist yet in that
ancient history

What…I don’t know what else
I could or would’ve said

My favorite writers, artists :
I guess I view them the way most people do “rock stars.”

Even the term ‘rock and roll’ induces eye-rolling on this end, but
I’d stomp my feet and raise a lighter
for an encore

of your life, for
your life cut short —

This world is a cancer : it eats everything
precious, everything
every thing

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D*Face: When Art & Vandalism Meet In A Cement Kiss

I’ve always been fond of artists who bomb urban landscapes, or ‘drop’ their works—even & especially when
the artists continue these guerilla interactions with the public after achieving success [ a subjective term, I
realize: though in this instance, let's skip the philosophical shit & stick with a more universal meaning...
namely, that of monetary success &/or a sense of notoriety ]. One example that immediately comes to
mind is Shepard Fairey. Late one night back in 2004, while I was in New York during a promo tour
for the Pills, Thrills, Chills, and Heartache: Adventures in the First Person anthology, I was out,
lurking the East Village, doing a bit of my own sticky-vinyl [Ahem!] ‘beautification.’ Speaking,
you know, theoretically. I tend to aim high when engaging in such endeavors—meant both
literally & metaphorically, Jay Ess Why Kay—so the sound of my palm slapping metal [ the
back-side of a sign ] followed by a louder sound: that of my landing, visibly startled a
man who, incidentally, looked over the shoulder from his own activity: sticker-
plastering a pole. It was Shepard, out in the same 3 A.M.—doing his part to
to spread the message, so to speak—& we shared a chuckle of recognition.

Not because I’m some big-shot artist, obviously, but rather because I was a contributing editor for
Swindle magazine [ R.I.P. ] at the time. & here’s this guy—well, my boss, essentially—
& he’s out…Oh, I’m rambling. [ Besides, YouGetIt anyway, right? You.Get.It ]

London-based artist D*Face lists Fairey among his influences, which—on the tip of phenomenology,
billboard re-appropriation, & the mutual interest in California’s skateboard subculture—could be
considered a ‘given.’  Nonetheless, neither the antics of, nor the artwork produced by, D*Face
is derivative…at least not directly [ or rather: singularly ].

& from that mention of art & antics, let us hone our focus on
this bitchen custom-made tombstone:

Not a work to be taken lightly, huh?  [ Cue the canned laughter here, kplzthnx ]
Well, the eve of “Going Nowhere Fast”—D*Face’s solo show at the Corey Helford Gallery—
he did a drop at  2728 N. La Cienega Boulevard in Century City.

All 400 pounds.

You’re following me, right? He left this amazing art piece for display, there on the street—knowing full well
that [ hello! Voice of Adult Reason on Line One] it would only be a matter of time until someone
came along, &…[ as far as I'm concerned ] ’got lucky‘?

As has been cited, he also did two drops the night prior.

★ ☆ ★ Hollywood Boulevard, Walk of Fame ★ ☆ ★

Here’s a shot as the infrastructure of GENIUS is assembled:

A tombstone

at the star of one ‘Charlie Sheen.’

†ꝉ†

Is that excellent, or is that friggin’ excellent?

The other grave-marker?

This beaut, at the Santa Monica pier:

I can’t help but wonder where they are,
who has them now…

Did any of the individuals who ‘liberated’ the tombstones realize what they were taking?

If not, in what ways do you think their attachment to the objects might change
upon learning they’re worth something more than cool points
among the neighborhood kids?

¤ O R ¤

If so—meaning, if whomever [ allegedly ] happened to find this piece of  ’found’ art is familiar with
the work of D*Face, do you think he/she was all “Jackpot!” about it?

Said another way:

This person wouldn’t technically be stealing, so shouldn’t we expect him or her to come forth?

In this city where it’s not just about Keeping-Up-With-The-Proverbial-Joneses
but rather eclipsing them, the ascent to superstardom [ in theory ] so incandescent…
Doesn’t  it seem incongruous for us not to have heard from a single one of these fortuitous beings?

AAAAAAAAAAH,   I T ‘S   A L L   G O T   M E   J U S T   S O

I’ve spent hours on-line today, click-&-scrolling my way through re-blog after re-blog after re-blog
regarding the [ so-called ] drop; ditto, same re: last night’s opening…opening… opening

& find it suspect that in all this media coverage,
there’s an irrefutable gap between what journalist Amy Duran [ via Juxtapoz digital, April 9th]
describes having taken place the eve of April 8th, in her statement

“Considering that both the Santa Monica Beach and the Charlie Sheen tombstone had been removed so
quickly I suggest making you[r] way out to see this piece in person before it’s gone.”

& coverage of the exhibition itself, which Jack In Shows [ via Daily Du Jour ] summates
“included a D*Face Oscar appearance, two of his new tombstone pieces,
three ‘dead’ celebrity impersonators…”

Mmm-hrmm.

I’ve been wrong before, yet still—I’m of the mind that more than one form of the ⟣faux⟢ went on
in this scenario.

Mr. Dean Stockton, a.k.a. D*Face?  Seems to me that what he schemed is the opposite
of a ‘drop’…as in: “catch” would be a more appropriate term.

My theory: he used two gravestones, not three, & just “happened” to conveniently bring a writer along
for the ride.  The result?  Insta-PR, no need to add water. Unless, of course, a person
wanted to scrub clean the carbon stains from the night before…

[ photo submission I received after posting a frustrated tweet ]

Apparently, this image was captured while waiting in line for the opening: April 9, 2011

For the sake of clarity, please allow me to reiterate:
What I’ve presented is a theory, based entirely on speculation.
I was not present for any of the aforementioned events; hence,
none of my conjecture should be treated as fact.

However, within the scope of this hypothesis, I’ve gotta say: the name of D*Face’s show
resonates with new meaning, all things considered.

But why wouldn’t it?

The gravestones—testaments to bad behavior, on which ”Going Nowhere Fast” was inscribed—went
[ well...] nowhere in this staged guerilla act, the [ theoretical ] Drop-Without-A-Drop.

I mean, when media is the medium an artist chooses to
make A Statement About The Media & A Celebrity-Obsessed Society—
yet that artist is playing the role of a guerilla artist; is “pretending to be” rather than being…

It’s fucking ‘meta’: yeah, sure

Yet at the core of it all?  Chicanery, being ‘on the grift’?
Is a material-obsessed society really being challenged,
or the challenge really how much monetary gain can be filched from it?

All I have are questions.

But after reading over a hundred blogs with the same regurgitated, rarely & barely re-worded praise
I wonder: Am I the only one?

Whatever your take, D*Face is a fascinating subject about whom
the following additional reading I recommend:

[ Liz Ohnasien's interview with D*Face : L.A. Weekly ]

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“I Do Things Which Are Non-Verbal So That I Can Return To Language With Excitement.” — Richard Wilbur

 

V I S U A L . S T I M U L I

[ Angela Grubich ]

[ Source ]

[ "Point of Origin" : Scott Treleaven ]

[ "Blue Witch" : Danger ]

[ "Amoun" : cthopper93 for I†† ]

[ "Seancing" : cthopper93 for I†† ]

[ " Love's Long Listen-In" : cthopper93, for I†† ]

[ Still From "♀∧gℜ∀あ ß∀あ ♍∀♄l∀あ♀": Kemikore Mediaworks for Ceremonial Dagger ]

[ "Vanitas" : Fernando Vincente ]

[ "Smoke" : Fernando Vincente ]

[ "Head Wound" : Joshua Petker ]

[ "Partying in Red" : Joshua Petker ]

[ Alison Scarpulla ]

[ Alison Scarpulla ]

[ Chris Weige, a.k.a. 'Reckon' ]

[ "Firestarter (2)" : Elizaveta Porodina ]

[ "Love Is Not A Victory March" : Elizaveta Porodina ]

[ NVRMNDUS ]

[ "Wisdom, Power, Courage" : Louise Leppard ]

[ Samantha Smith ]

[ Miyake Juin 米亞奇 ]

[ Yuri Pleskin : Nagi Sakai for The Contributing Editor ]

[ Nicolás Lamas ]

[ Scott Treleaven ]

[ Source ]

[ Video "Still," Harry Smith ]

[ "Early Abstractions" (1946-57), Pt. 4 : Harry Smith ]

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Salt Lake City: Beware!

Didja notice how the previous blog post (“Mark Your Calendars…”)
Began with the phrase

✷ EVENT ONE  of  TWO ✷ ?
Well, it just so happens that

✷ EVENT TWO of TWO ✷

is an “out-of-town”er, which I’m stoked about:

S A L T †    L A K E   †   C I T Y

∞ ∞ ∞

Oh, SLC—you sizzling center of the DI ♡
Over the course of the last decade, I’ve descended upon you as a spoken word performer, actor,
M.C.—for Black Chandelier/Jared Gold, as well as for the Dark Arts Festival—but never,
never this:

∞ ∞ ∞

∞ ∞ ∞

(Dare we venture use so audacious a phrase as ‘performance artist’?)

Well, considering I just referred to myself by the Royal “We” (Pluralis Majestatis)—
a nosism employed by a person of high office, like a monarch, earl or pope—I figure
I’m already dallying around with dangerous territory
as it is…

∞ ∞ ∞

And speaking of dangerous territory:

This collaboration with comrades Paris Sadonis

:: who didn’t give me a recent photo, so hee² ::

∞ ∞ ∞

∞ ∞ ∞

& the lovely Zoetica Ebb

Is breakneck behavior at its most unpredictably brilliant (and vice-versa).

∞ ∞ ∞

∞ ∞ ∞

I’ve got mad admiration for both of these multi-talented artists, and
collaborated a few times with Paris back in the haze of my ‘S.F. daze’

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New Short Story/Anthology Exclusive Out Now!

In the premiere release from Little Episodes, an international collaborative art project:

(Click Image Above To Order)

:: information about ::

“Depression, addiction and mental illness are common problems in the modern world, with one in four people likely to experience a mental health problem every year. Established in 2009, Little Episodes is a not-for-profit organization consisting of professional writers, artists, musicians and actors with two prongs to its mission statement. The first, to destigmatize depression, addiction and mental illness, whilst raising awareness and providing empathy. The second is to provide a platform for talented, emerging and established writers/artists to find community and recognition. We combine the two by giving our participating writers and artists the first statement as their theme.”

Founded in the U.K., Little Episodes also curates ‘Late Night Episodes,’ a recurring event featuring spoken word, performance, music and visual art.  Late Night Episodes is held at the Novas Contemporary Urban Centre (London) on the last Saturday of every month.

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Fantasy And Obsession—Wonderland, A Roving Beast

At Royal/T Café, Store and Artspace

8910 Washington Blvd, Culver City CA

The evening of February 4th, 2010

was a hare-y sitch for photographer Dirk Mai, as captured by Polite In Public.

har, a hardy-har har—Umm, YEAH.  (How ’bout I spare you guys the slab of  Velveeta?  Sound like a plan?)

That’s what I thought…

Chubby Bunny (L) and Yume Ninja (R) of Bubble Punch brought cosplay Correctness for us to look upon,

Whereas Lenora Claire —another ‘repeat offender’ on this humble Dot Com—fully LET US HAVE IT with a mind-melding, retinal-shattering, hot hot hottt hairstyle!

Oh! But what have we here? An adorable  Kat Lee , per chance?

As a matter of fact, yes: yes it is, indeed… and in the haus with her band mate and business partner, the multi-talented Kaila Yu (L)!

Our exploration of Correct Culture continues

with burlesque beauty Courtney Cruz sandwiched between an Alice duo… ♥

(while pssst! Here’s a little “JSYK,” if by chance you’re in the No instead of know):

The estimable Miss Cruz presents “tassle-twirling with a spin” at her once-a-month installment of The Devil’s Playground at Bordello bar. Described by journalist Erin Broadley as “Beyond traditional fan dancing and martini bathing,” the Devil’s Playground “integrates pop culture and niche fan favorites with the classic art of the striptease, modernizing burlesque with cleverly themed, character-driven performances like Video Game Girls, Comic Book Vixens and…Tails From the Crypt.” Known most recently for creating a disturbance in The Force for her Star Wars-themed bump-and-grind, it’s no wonder the L.A. Weekly deemed this Busty Storm Trooper’s resident troupe as Best Burlesque Club of 2009.

Here, Cruz exercised control with chanteuse Jessicka Addams and Mia Vixen, one of The Devil’s Playground performers.

Wait a minute.  I mentioned this was an art opening; didn’t I?

Oh-Kay.

Unfortunately, the gallery ran out of catalogs—so I can’t even credit the Kunstler responsible for the creation pictured above.  That being said, please allow me to segueway back to other deep and meaningful content, such as

the photo booth fun I had myself…ditto, Ela Darling and The Dirkulous Maximus.

Caught here on the other side of the camera is “Nightranger’s intrepid reporter Lina Lecaro,

whose years of  fearless ventures—from immersing herself deep in the trenches of trannies werkin’ the merkin to ravers wielding glow-sticks as if they were num chucks—have garnered her quite The Reputation.

Incidentally, Lecaro “dipped into the population” this eve not only for the sake of a newspaper word count, but also to celebrate the completion of her first full-length manuscript. (No, people: I didn’t say script. Leave those to your dental hygenist, who’ll likely have “something for you to look over” before the luxury of another kind of script gets written.  Oy.)

By manuscript, I mean book—of which her debut is titled
Los Angeles’s Best Dive Bars: Drinking and Diving in the City of Angels.  Its release date is May 1st, 2010

but why not go ahead and pre-order the betch?  Assuming you remembered to close out your tab at the bar last night, that is!   Such a hassle, retrieving one’s 16-digits on plastic The Day After.  Isn’t it?  [AHEM!]  I mean: So I’ve Heard.

“Besides: it’s not like I had a hang-over or anything!  It was more like…a lean-over.”   Yeah.  That was it—

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The Visual/The Verbal: Speaking In Hieroglyphics (Grabbing Language By The Throat)

Though your MySpace page tells us “all we need to know,” Mia—your photography exposes a vulnerable intensity. The beauty inherent is that which remains unspoken: those subtle nuances, the vocabulary of the heart that extends beyond logic & its parameters. It’s none of what a viewer “need[s] to know,” yet it’s everything.

The ability to send the blood rushing—to thaw hearts as impenetrable and cold as marble—through a glacial striptease?

This is what it is to cast spells: not of the premeditated chanting from a back-room magick book, none of the hackneyed “add this herb; follow these directions; do it THIS WAY, no THIS WAY, no THIS WAY.” There is no guide book for psyche-penetration, no recipe by which one can be taught how to affect the human condition effectively.

It just it what it is: a medium that for some, is a camera lens; for others, a paint brush & a canvas stretched to its limits; others still, a pen hungry for pages on which it can conduct, gather all the energy from the soil on which we stand to mustering up the truth tucked deep inside us, an honesty of whom we really are versus how we present ourselves or what others perceive us to be—and it’s in the marrowbones, the core of our beings.

And what it is?

Something raw and real and imperfect.  Something greater than I can assign nomenclature—let alone fully comprehend. It’s a force that travels through us yet belongs not to us; it’s those “accidents” that happen when we don’t set out To Create but seem to create themselves for us all the same…those inexplicable pieces of perfection for which we somehow feel we weren’t responsible, or perhaps can’t pinpoint with specificity. Can’t name a technique or place in this space, a state of being I won’t pretend to understand though have heard referred to as La Duende, the spirit of evocation, a state of possession : vox popula. Vox populi—a sense of I can’t tell you ‘How I Did It’ when it feels as if I wasn’t even at the wheel

yet

what we see, what we discover is credited as ‘ours,’ what we feel equal parts distant from as well as intimately involved—it’s when our limbs jangle and that four-chambered metronome pounds against our sternum, and the eyes and voices and fingertips of others respond, pounding sentences out in a quicksilver frenzy.  It’s when an image you took has the power to peel back the ribs of a stranger, or near-stranger, or incite the syllables and consonants that come rushing out at 1:31 a.m. to be ‘strange’ enough, strange enough;

It’s when all the odds are stacked against your viewer, yet he throws every ounce of his being down along with his better judgment. All bets are off in moments like these, in a moment like this, when your brow is furrowed & mouth hangs open in disbelief and the little voice nestled in your skull asserts “This is insane!” in a whisper, the words scalpels…

And yeah: insane it is. Would you opt for the blandular instead, the khaki-clad with lips pursed for air kisses and ass kissing? Would you rather have the safe-yet-soggy response that’s the verbal equivalent of a microwave pizza box lining?  Because in three minutes I may splash faucet water on my face, feel the shock as I regain physicality and shrug off this rant of a reaction.  In three minutes I may very well glance back with a deep-throated laugh and ask myself “Seriously, What. The. Fuck?”

But three minutes is a long time. Don’t believe me?  Set your alarm; then hold your breath.

What the fuck?  Seriously: because I live for this madness, I live for the spine-snap urgency to bound down the staircase and haunt my neighborhood streets—Micheltorena, Sunset Blvd., Alvarado—to dig my fingernails into the raw evening, to tear down the sky and polish the stars. I live. I live for.

I live for these unforeseen moments of inspiration in which I feel alive alive alive…

They’re how I know I exist: the flames lapping at the backside of my corneas like the backlash of a furnace blast.  The sensory overload.  The feral fervor. I live for this severity that destroys any sense of severity, no matter if when or how much I feel it siphoning the life force out of me.

While you may not be poisoned with the same ‘unnamed ‘which wears me down to an angry frazzle, I’m drawn to some irrational spirit of artistry  I intuit is chambertombed to you, to your need to search and to see and to leave something lasting, some body of work that no longer has to be searched for, as it’s already found; as it’s already found you; it’s found you,

found it’s you.

Clint Catalyst Interview In Imago Magazine, The “Fables Issue”

Issue Four (summer/fall 2009)

Imago is distributed in Canada at Chapters and other fine booksellers.

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Retail Bliss (Oh No, But I *Insist*…)

And here it is, December 26th. The Day After.

First and foremost, Congratulations! If you’re reading this, chances are you survived. However, for those of you whom “survival” just ain’t cuttin’ it, and you’re feeling less-than-satisfied with this year’s swag?  While wild women descend upon shopping malls in the ultimate Quest To Find A Good Bargain, Damnit, please allow me to provide suggestions by a more civilized approach: The “F it—this one’s for me, and I’m packin’ plastic.”  In the comfort of your own home, even!

That being said,

* From the Impeccably Curated A+R Store, LOOK UPON:

TOY ME’S

SILVER SCISSOR CUFF

It’s rare I wear dangly-spangly things on my wrist, but I would rock the shit outta this cuff…

:: GO AHEAD—INDULGE! :: WITH A SNIP, :: CLIP :: & CLICKITY-CLICK ::

* From the Cosmonomad Herself, ACQUIRE A PRINT by the multi-talented Zoetica Ebb.

Available now: “Inkdrops 007: The Endless Commission”

another option on —sumptuous velvet photo rag paper—

is

entitled “Cumulous Confection,” and

:: AVAILABLE FROM THE BIOREQUIEM SHOP :: (CLICK HERE!) ::

*Because sometimes the faux is infinitely more fascinating than what you already know:

by Shawna Kenney and photographer James Knoblauch (whose site seems to be down at the moment) chronicles Hollywood Blvd.’s “infamous nobodies” impersonating Somebodies or -things

:: FOR THE ‘REAL DEAL’ VIA AMAZON, :: CLICK HERE ::

or, support indie booksellers

and

:: CLICK HERE :: FOR SKYLIGHT BOOKS ::

Whew! There are several other goodies I intended to share for your retail/retinal pleasure, but truth is: I’m technologically-challenged, and this whole “HTML” thing? Takes me muuuuch longer than one would think. (Seriously? It’s pretty sad, guys.) I’ll have to post more suggestions later… As for now?

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“Flouncing About” — Spoken Word Text by Clint Catalyst; Narration by Pauley Perrette

with the aural fixations/visual manipulations of

P. Emerson Williams (from Veil Of Thorns)

the artwork of—and special appearance by— Joshua Petker

as well as portrayals by Dirk Mai and Julia Romanenko.

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