White Rose System burgers offer the sensation that you're eating trash. New Jersey, be warned.


The lead-in to the holidays has been nothing but hectic. Tons of running around. Tons of plain working. A bit of spaced-out, unproductive sitting. Some anxiety. Not a lot of food and then a lot of food. You know.

Smoother sailing, from here. Consider this post me trying to kiss and make up for lost time with no real posting. Soak it in, mmm. So, this is Christmas, WAR IS OVER, etc.


Another day of combating, ferociously, the onset of winter by painting scenes of little relevance, when dealing with the thought of snow. Another day off gone by. Projects getting done. Work tomorrow morning. Christmas soon.



Here are a couple to make up for the past days - some work I'm doing for Ron. Work at the store is mighty fine. I cut my hair again and look something like a butthead.



A man crouches down on the street in the circle drop of a flickering streetlamp, as another man approaches him from the sidewalk.

"What are you looking for?"

"My keys. I dropped them on the other side of the street."

"Well, why are you looking here?"

"This is where the light is."



"A world that dreams
Is a world where things grow;

And for every tossed out schmuck in the kitchen,
watching silver tea pots screaming with steam,

There is a happy child far off in the fields
Wondering the time and tending to seeds."

I start work, tomorrow, and that is exciting. Happy birthday to my Dad, tomorrow - that is also exciting.


Played around with ink. Brought the products into photoshop. Now they just look like I just drew them on the computer.



Hemingwaytime. Also, website creation.


The rampaged intent to burn my skin in the sun,
and to press my shoulder into the hard side of a heavy, plywood greenhouse that NEEDS to be moved.
The hands and fingers in the dirt.
The sweat stinging the eyes.
The action, the action, the action, the action!

The spikes and horns on all spitwords shouted at other drivers,
and the loudness of drumsets and piano soundboards.
The genuine feeling implanted in one's mind
that what was once feared to be the whimpering, remaining outline of a failed firework,
is actually a long-since distracted dervish of solar energy
about to roar with the throat of a wind tunnel.

(April, 2009)


I'm not entirely sure if we got snow today, here in Rhode Island. If we did, it wasn't for any noticeable amount of time; and I was only outside for parts of the morning.

Just as soon as I say this I might change my mind, but I can't wait for the snow. Can't wait for it. I want to have intense walks through crispy, cold, white landscapes.

You need to appreciate the misery of the winter, or it'll eat you with a hoary chomp.


Working on a painting for Jon B. Interview at Utrecht, tomorrow. Yesss. Here come the holidays.