Saturday, July 28, 2012
Incredulous client can't believe that she has to read "six novels...and three William Shakespeare plays" for a class over the next 9 months. First up: James Frey's Million Little Pieces.  Client wonders: Can they make me do that?  Our man wonders: James Frey? On a post-secondary reading list?
"Both women started crying.  Ms. Ruffolo said, 'John is dead, he overdosed, we didn’t know he did heroin.'  They told Mr. Johnson John was over by the car.  The women wanted him to help put the body in the car and hide it.  Mr. Johnson wondered why they needed him, if they had already gotten the body out to the driveway.  Neither said how the body got to the driveway."


"Mr. Murray and Ms. Kirkland tried to load the body into the back seat of the red car, but encountered difficulties as a result of its stiffness.  Since they were unable to bend the legs, Mr. Murray rolled down the driver’s side window and put the legs through."

"[T]he effort to remain complex in the face of the decohering and literalising forces of the universe."  (M. John Harrison, Empty Space: A Haunting)

Photograph: Abandoned Airstream, Salton Sea, CA via flickr's slworking2
Thursday, July 26, 2012
8am Thursday, dusty pre-August sky. Sun rising through enamel haze.  The flat light picks out imperfections in the world: gum globs; sidewalk cracks; a scar on the face of a woman waiting at the light, troweled over with foundation and half-hidden beneath the thick black arm of her D&G glasses.

Last night's dream: looking in the fridge, among the bagged spinach, blueberry tubs and wrapped cheeses, for a letter.

The cats' reproachful black eyes.
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
Brother Dru, recently engaged, busts out some Zen wisdom over on

"If who you are is single, and you want to change that, then there is something wrong with being yourself that needs to be changed.

The Navajo, for instance, didn't try to change the world to make it what they wanted. They tried to change themselves to be in harmony with the world.

If being single is a reflection of who you presently are, and you are sure you are awesome the way you are, then you better get used to being single.

Take Kevin Bacon, for instance. He is an actor, so he can pretend to be anyone. His name is Bacon. He has been married since 1988. Clear correlation between bacon, changing yourself, and not being single."

Work photograph, shot to show a client what "VG+ slipcase, light edgewear noted to slipcase fabric" looks like.  Not art.  But I like this one.
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Donald Fagen, Sunken Condos, 16 October 2012
Monday, July 23, 2012

I Am in Blood Stepped in So Far That Should I Wade No More

"Any push for meaningful restrictions on the gun trade will demand the full and vigorous support of the President. Rather than refusing to say 'James Holmes,' Obama would surely be doing the victims’ families, and the rest of us, a much greater service if he seized upon this terrible story and used it to educate Americans about the consequences of statutes that allowed a twenty-four-year-old graduate-school dropout to order, online, some three thousand rounds of ammunition for his Bushmaster AR 15 assault rifle, another three thousand rounds for his handgun, and three hundred and fifty shells for his shotgun. Such an exercise on Obama’s part would befit the word 'Presidential.'"

Naturally the cowards over at the National Rifle Association have no comment on Mr. Holmes, perhaps correctly intuiting that their hands are as bloody as his own.

Farewell Herbert Vogel, husband; cat owner; postal clerk; contemporary art collector.

More than any other living collector(s), Herbert and Dorothy Vogel's fine example not only encouraged me to buy difficult works by artists I admired, but also served as a useful counterpoint to the sometimes widely disseminated notion that contemporary art collecting is a activity only pursued by the 1%.

The Vogels, along with other idiosyncratic autodidacts like Donald Judd, Ian Wallace, and Dan Graham, convinced me early on that contemporary art is a field in which one can participate in multiple ways, sometimes simultaneously, however much that might confuse or upset people used to more straightforward labor/class divisions.  Thus, multiple hyphenation, eg., critic/curator/bookseller/photographer.  And as Ed Ruscha might add, & etc.
A Full and True Account of a Terrible & Bloody Fight Between Tom. Brown, the Poet, and a Bookseller (via J. LattaPlus ca change, & etc.)

"On Tueſday laſt Tom Brown’s paſſive Valour being rais’d above its ordinary pitch by a large Doſs of Brandy, and meditating a dire and bloody Revenge againſt a Bookſellor that had ſpoke a few Words to his diſadvantage: In all haſt he runs to a Cane-ſhop for an Oakenplant, but for want of Two-pence to purchaſe that dead-doing Weapon, or ſo much Credit as to be truſted for it, for he was forced to leave it behind him. Non habit quo Reſtim emat ad Suſpendium. However this diſappointment of a Weapon was no abatement to his Fury. He immadiately marches to the Bookſeller’s Shop. Charges him with ſlandering and diſſhonouring a Perſon of his Quality, and Swagers about the Shop like a Bully in a Brandy-Cellar. The Bookſeller juſtifies himſelf; ſays, ’twas no Injury to call a Spade, a Spade, nor Tom. Brown a Rake-hell, that had Trickt him of Three Guineas, in palming a falſe Copy upon him for a true one. Theſe bitter Words put Brown, and the Bookſeller to Logger-heads helter-skelter. To Brown’s immortal praiſe be it ſpoken, he gave the firſt Blow, and ſtrated back with ſo much Celerity and Conduct, that the Bookſeller, who was immur’d behind the Counter, was not able to reach him a Rowland for his Oliver. Whilſt daring Tom. made uſe of this Stratagem, and fought at a diſtance, the Fate of War enclin’d to the Poet’s ſide; but at the beſt form’d Deſigns are liable to Accidents and Mutabilities, ſo the Bookſeller by ſurprize, catching hold on the Poet’s Sleeve with one hand, ſo Batter’d his Chops with the other, that quite turn’d the Scales, and ’twas Whether for a Groat which would have the Victory. A Gentleman in the Shop taking away the Poet’s Sword, gave the Bookſeller the advantage of leaping over the Counter; which amaz’d the Poet perceiving, he Scours off into the Back-ſhop, in hopes of a Reinforcement. The Enemy with all ſpeed purſues him, and renews the Engagement. Brown, like a Gib-Cat, fighting upon his back, and the Itch, or his Fears, rendring him unable to clinch his Fiſts, he faught open-handed, and claw’d and ſcratch’d the Bookſeller’s Face, till the Blood run down his Fingers, and forc’d our Poet to wink hard, or he had Sounded at the Fight thereof.

This, with the Loſs of a Old Cravat, was all the damage the Bookſeller ſuſtain’d in a bloody Rencounter, that laſted thirteen Minuits, and twenty Seconds. Tom. Brown, of the two, was the greater Sufferer; for wanting Eyes to ward off the Blows, the Bookſeller ſo unmercifully belabour’d the Poet’s Lockram Jaws, that put his Phiz quite out of Countenance, and his Face was ſo ſwell’d and begrim’d with a mixture of Blood, Sweat, Snot, and Tears, that wou’d have pierc’d a Heart of Stone, to ſee what a frightful Figure he troop’d off in.    

This is inſerted in Vindication of Tom. Brown’s Honour, and to prove, tho’ he is not fond of Fighting without great Advantage, he can Claw and Scratch like a Tyger upon occaſion; tho’ ſome have been ſo bold to affirm, he does neither."

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