Tuesday 3 February 2009

Niikuni Seiichi was born and died on a blog for me today

((ob).serve.(it)) : makes me wanna embrace who?
half baked ignorant awareness
as the perfect state of
bitter happiness
from which to
sling meaningful
emptiness. i might be onto some nothing
with outting this and that.
validation cycle abyss gazer.

if yr a member you cant be,
if yr not yr a hack idiot.

Monday 2 February 2009


Hoof lung pie crust. In drywall horse tourniquets.
Irritating projects left undone. Do crop
the polar bear
opposites offal exchange offerings off of
...........................................................Tormented self-doubt
will it kick the cold toenails in worry?
Run the blue thread ................................through
a mask's failure to masticate.
Reserve impending tree failure,and of course
a first carnal toon self portrait.

While the microwave overheats bread,
and clouds puff within sides
your electric rake
makes conceptual sloppy hot.

Emotional, human foamy smiles.
So far out on this fool green circle.
Tradition ... again.
Ironic became sincere.

The lettuce charade & peering.
Figures mid-paranoid shadow excuses for A.D.D. What if "and" said
be a sucker.
Radial burnt black horizon page turner
classic blond ring bearer............ something wise guy cautious.

A squid filter barring quarrels with
purple crayons. and stale urine.
Longing's stream of who is failing- it stinks in the past.
New golden styles. Dabbler’s input click it
or contradiction's odyssey flowing by.

I'm an elderly accountant.
A dessert with too many sons.
Tentacle. Kitchen linoleum. An adding machine.

Wolf green knee buy,no. Sing bird. So far out
slain on this fool green circle.
In drywall horse tourniquets, pond scum.
And old inside ears grows zeit zone foes.
Glitter crickity,coming to wars you scales claws.
With hair & fire.

Crowned and brown human ache.
The center of hugged conceivability
the icey kitten larvae & inked pink thumb issues
in a sarcastic grey sky.
Trace sonic boom scrabble, fobs and orthodontists,
Blessing self deafening throbbers
of vain-bleached horns.

A cartoon puddle spreading stump. Filled with wet holes.

wait various amounts of time and have all of these playing at once

Eggtooth's Artist Survival Scheming, by eggtooth
classes will be held in my shed at midnight on most nights.
just come around back and close the gate quietly or you'll wake my dog.
payments can be made with writing.
1st class: the lie that told the truth
2nd class: how to be friends with artists who make great art that you think are a-holes
3rd class: clothing. this is everything people. gaaawsh.
4th class: your art doesnt matter and why
5th class: YOU are the new gallery
6th class: preassigned politically hot topics made for you and your style
7th class: fake your suicide (and pricing your soul)
8th class: (optional) the messianic paradigm
9th class: your art is everything and why
10th class: individuality and its existence
11th class: decorative art and sexuality
12th class: politics of the imagination

plastic waffle

Dear You,
> the man on the street stares at his lovely lovely city. building by
> building. and figures on reasons enough to climb the side of it.
> hang his self out over the scene. fingers dug into concrete, a
> little expert at nooks and crannies.. cranny? hair in the breeze an
> upside childhood swing at its max, blood rushing down his face .
> have a nice day, atlanta!
> He is a self Serving stage walker with a big circle of light
> guiding or following his tophat, double breasted tweed shagmohair
> human scalp black and white burlap jacket, in his stride.a tux with
> a painted face. a shadow of figures he pretends are there. a cane
> to twirl, made of brown thrasher bones tied together. an old tree
> with a strong limb. that knows some old stories.
> Introducing! The Civil Rights Museum of Co-cola company.With
> Special Guests! brought to you by home depot and a couple of big
> dumb fish.( lumber on some guy's head... aisle two.)
> yes thats right! taste our co-cola products in road deesh...er uum,
> i mean zimbabwe! come further...
> faith says them kittens in the oven is biscuits. trust us!
> logic says im goin ter git me a big sharp stick ann one day im
> gointer fix that pivot bass on my cannon. (overlooking his city).
> yes, yes. there are castles in atlanta. ancient old castles with
> mothballs and money stuffed away.we're like that old atari
> game...warlords? "where you from?" aint no country i know! this
> here country is gone.
> but my eyes are gone. jabbed with little things. from jabbing my
> mother with a bigger one. so this is my home now. atlanta. stagger
> stagger, drip drip. i stab you some more with my thing. make you drip.
> (overheard)but i like pretty stone mountain and its organ thing
> that echoes and stuff. six flags kicked eff-in "ass". scitrek used
> to be ...okay. fernbank was okay. the cyclorama was dumb.(big
> painting, yesyes). i liked the zoo. the museum was boring. Come See
> The North Georgia Mountains! (they sher are perty this time uh yeer.)
> so here it is . i rip my tummy open and out falls stuffing.
> its a poem: the opening act. The sharp stick and the loose
> cannon, by jeff d.
> the goal is to promote a sense of community amongst artists. hmmmm.
> we applaud ourselves. this is not the poem yet. so stop reading
> like it is:okay. now start reading, like you are reading a poem. it
> is easy. just tilt yr head a bit and make a slightly (this is
> subtle, now) more serious expression. on occassion, nod slowly.
> maybe shift the weight of yr buttcheeks from one to the other.
> poetry. loose cannons sharp sticks something like that...
> okay.
> A Gathering Mass of Strange Twine. Special Guests brought to you in
> part by our sponsor, special guest smiles,inc. a shimmering mass of
> text broken down into its fundamentals,little letters, different
> colors.red yellow and blue floatiing in the air. shimmering minds
> in a closed curcuit time. love like snakes and strange nods for
> sake a tombstone cradle, a cubicle capturing wake. a child
> laughing. listening as we age. Caring & Showing! We are Now
> Thinking! doing it for yrself makes you happy. knowing you dont
> belong to yr own greater goal is self awareness. success is
> radiating a comfort withyourself...being yrself. artistic success
> is when your vision transfers this. but no one asked you to go into
> public with it. that wasnt the poem.
> i want to invite you to an exhibit that is all about you.
> and i mean. you. Me?...you might be saying...yes "You".
> not me. you. yr whats important. atlanta artists. silly me.
> eggtooth ist rad.


I will end on a serious note: If we are a driven city and want to have "real sustaining" international status we need serious patrons and galleries and a true focused vision.

Ha! That won't happen.
nice convo. heres another way. its a poem i just made up
it is called: I Am Afraid I Am Nothing
i am afraid i am nothing more than you.
i am afraid i am nothing
more than you.
so there.
i wanted to say something about running into a room with a blindfold. swinging a knife.
doing nothing hitting nothing being nothing
will you join me?


one dollar and a compliment next time i see you, to those that read this whole thing:
bless your hearts.my friends. thanks for liking my work,work that doesn't even exist! as far a concerned anyways.
ive heard word there's a strange girl amongst us that is considered a great artist, having not the need to ever make a thing to validate this...to this i say.. will you marry me? you sexy phony you. i like yr feathers. what color are they? "further we go and older we grow the more we know the less we show."

sharing thoughts propagates creativity. pushes yr own. we mold each other. we are all a big 'self taught" blob. hah! a hovering cloud of genius arteests.
meeting people . i dont understand. are we making friends? why? because we enjoy art and...stuff. simple as that? artists can be inspiring to one another? and we find them, each other curious and fascinating? or is it more? are we wanting to get close to the glowing ones?
i keep coming back to the art itself.
do i want fellowship? would i lie to someone i liked, and say i liked their work?hmmmmmmm. is it a duty to be honest about work or would i not be attentive? friendly?whatever that means.whatever it matters! i mean, truly, befriending someone who knows someone who knows someone...isnt it irrelevant?even if you get into a show... the work speaks for itself in the end, yes?even if you get bobby to tell cindy to tell benny and they are talking about you for a month or two...so what? are you dealing with a potential patron, benefactor, or something, someone you feel you can directly influence..to what end? a sale? furthering a thought you have?a political statement? of course there is also just the fact that we enjoy and love art. simple as that. that is why we leave the house.we make out of something inside we dont know, we just do. that's fine. im with ya...i hear ya.and we leave the house and meet and greet. it is just gosh darn interesting. i guess i need to step back
and ask...
what's yr goal with SHOWING art?
that's the most important, first thing to get out of the way. for me...(yes yes i know pandra.)
is it to "push the language"? theory based, concepts, etc...wish that was me, but i aint that smart. obviously. right? (wanna buy a painting?) i done did been reading that thar fellar walter benjamin and i feel like morgan freeman in driving miss daisy. the stuff is a bunch of arrows flipped in on themselves, that flip out and point the other way. made outta words.along string of words. got me going...uuuh.. ow! siezure! blood spurts from nose in a fine mist.robert, yr a fargin brilliant creature. may i lick the soul of your shoe?

but oh yeah...you guys just simply enjoy art?
has it never occured to you to wonder why? if so, maybe that means yr honest.and im an idiot.. and yr happy? the end, right? but do you experience frustration from lack of attention? or sales? shit. im an idiot. what am i going on about here...will i post this? my imaginary audience? it's getting a bit long and redundant. prosaic, even. maybe? imagine the flop outta that. god, darn it.does this writing bare the traits of verisimlillitisistudedany? and a scratch of impericlahilariousicalisity. why cant i just paint? i wanna burn everything ive done, not for lack of feeling like i could sale the shit. hell, i'd do that chili stomp thing if they let me. sell them for nothing just to get them outta my fucking face. and the work is good, but damn it..it has no meaning. to me. TO ME. and yet..i value them, they're still my babies.my crowded house of conflicted thoughts. horse pucky. with chunks of gold nuggets embedded.

i suppose we all want to be noticed... if we leave the house with it.
id go even one further from noticed, to say...fame. recognition. to have the "shit" that banksy refers to.
ive attempted to compartmentalize and believe i have lost myself and am in some sort of grey agony. im full of shit. backed up. a bunch of wind. ive become so focused on realizing i, personally, despise work that is just for sale. does that resonate, or is that a silly thing to say?
happy painters, happy artists:i understand it, 'fine...but im attached to a notion that these days, things seem drained. 'no point of relevance anymore. wahtever? does it just come down to doiing....i should just shut up, but i cant. i could leave this list alone, maybe. why do i require this b.s...is it networking?is it a distraction?i know..im lonely, yeah thats it. im lonely. am i "getting mileage out of it" duane?...i say what the fuck ever, doo wayne. nice shades ya got there. jeez us. mileage?...where am i going?
anyways...i need a penpal. that's all.yeah, thats it. maybe some other fundamentals. i mean you dont go to a whorehouse and order up a prostitute to have a baby do you?like that? its a play on the banksy quote my faithful wormwood. do they even still have whorehouses? ive never been to a prostitute. at least a sexual prostitute, you bunch of artwhores.but yeah...where is one? like, ya know, with wood balconies and garderbelts and a piano floating on the air..maybe a brawl or two in the street. a baby crying. big redheaded bertha waving to you from the rooftop. eesh. gimme some of that. wanna send her my ear par avian.
i think i just figured it out. it kept on raining in e gulliver and the levee done broke.
i just read my own words, nevermind ya'll. im gonna lay it down. layer by layer.
bye c ya.
now im even more scared, but that's good right?better than lazy talkin b..s
good morning.welcome to the end.
i would like comments. propagate thoughts...creativity.i need it. cant you see? i still love you.


visual gibblets drip on my face. alphabits in space.should i attempt to reenter our atmosphere? did i ever leave? a run on dream pulls my unmarked wishes my thoughts into ellipses. a tongue untied behind my bumper one night. a counter top with two local deities and demigods, im a nerd you see, draped out of context with smile and words. a white boy adroit mixer spins his face all covered in text. a dog tail
tongue happy for paint laps up words like water. water likes it. laps me up...a laptop dog that looks like a little boy full of notions. without motions.

metalgristle in my skull, a subtlefist vrexbose cheats him into seeing a panel top of guessed lessons.lined with winged chatterheads that want their hands bitten. repitition paints a broke down emulsion dehazing me, a solvent made of that yucky word Love.an arm returns with some more words. and then there is hate in between what it makes and those that it breaks, a ripple storm off shoot a half baked journey down the fountain of youth becomes another ellipse...mows my thoughts down.

an image out of context. a floating enter key inside a gallery door. moves with yr waves. death becomes her march. a meeting of the minds in basements ticking times. building to a point. building. to a point. did you see that building?...to a point. i did. a backwash returns brick by brick a photo click. floating on its own. out of context. i will con yr text into a wish. i will turn yr structure into an (...)

(: stolen) (& in my hand) (* bastard kicks)..okay thats cheesy, but its a visual, and its words. so kiss my but.
until i find the righteous one, computer blue.
marsha, im not just saying this to be nasty...
andy warhol made a lot of prints.
until 1987 and dreams happened in 1999...didnt they. (an) i bet u wanna, you wanna c.
U... i would die 4 u. stupid look on my face. scratch that...all of this shit about a guy whose name became a symbol...a graphic. how do you pronounce that?
maybe if we collaborate we can finger it.
push someone to the edge.push the language forward. was reminded of all the previous shows warhol had before and (building himself,) the rejection the rejection, the experimenting...did ya'll know that jasper johns was born in augusta? like james brown. but Prince is from Minnesota. like paul westerberg and winona ryder .
he built himself until he disappeared, merged like a blur into the scene, he filmed one for hours. pointed at it REAL hard. shoot, i gotta go.
eggjeff and the morning coffee, brought to you by Brillo.

hey...i love you.


Oglethorpe University opened an exhibition this past evening. On the wall is mounted a MANIFESTO by a group of New Realist painters.The exhibition is titled, Slow Painting: A deliberate Renaissance.The paintings themselves are very well executed. Incredibly executed.If Ken Noland was the "fastest" painter alive, I suppose these are pretty slow. I'm thinking perhaps that is part of the suggested point. To ask you to think further about whether or not you have "gotten it".One is supposed to bear in mind the pace of life in our times.
The paintings themselves have an immediacy to their aesthetic beauty, for certain.It is always fascinating to see something made with such whispers of touch. Many of the themes, while having returned to ideals and techniques born in the 15th century, carry forward to now with modern references. Subtle references. They are beautiful pieces of work, but I could not shake from my mind the bold claim that this is a new movement.

it's pretty interesting.

There are 22 painters in the show, featuring close to 50 paintings and drawings. They are calling it Slow Painting and are declaring that it is a New Movement. The curator of Oglethorpe's museum was proud to present the work, giving a nice speech and presenting a book titled, In Praise of Slowness:Challenging the Cult of Speed by Carl Honore. He made references to the Futurist Manifesto and movements of the sixties, wanting to compare and contrast what was happening before our eyes.. He declared with deep respect, the honor it was to have such an opening, such a movement, take place at Oglethorpe. This was delivered to a crowd of what Appeared to be mostly rich octogenarians.Perfunctory smiles and nods of approval were de rigeur.

After the show credits and manifesto references,mrs kathy koger won a Lufthansa trip from a raffle drawn from a big glass container! Let us say Yippee! for Mrs Kruger!.Koger?woohoo to manifestos and free vacations!

The book (In Praise of Slowness) evidently carries much of the same philosophy towards life, or at least serves to reinforce many of the points that these slow painters are attempting to make.You can purchase this book in the gallery store. I was unable to get a print out of the previously mentioned MANIFESTO. rats, i say. not that i asked. how silly that would have been! I could have dropped 15 bucks on the show catalogue, but i figured i could find the MANIFESTO on the internet. I was wrong. guess they showed me.
I'd say go.if you like paintings and art and all that stuff.


here's yr artist statement right heeyah...

Wallace B. Wallace III
it is my goal as an atlanta artist to not only be the most hip in tone and talent, but to also be the most erudite socialite respectable cat of them all. i fully embrace the fact that atlanta has a big something. this something is various sects of artists, either using ...what? their clothes or their skin to march around town as if a cameras on them? nobody is watching, folks. in fact, look. look at old bennet street.remember bennet street? with its demon lurking in the far back called what.... PC??know wonder their spin off is a bunch of circus clowns. soulless technic grinders.fucking barf. look in buckhead.im even feelin a little betrayed by my beloved solomon projects. i have done a double head shake and looked again.they still got a sorta IT, yes yes. eggtooth waves his hand and looks away. you can stay....i GUESS.
look at decatur.HOW CUTESIE. HOw dead.ITS A SMILE AND A HANDFUL OF FECES SMEARED IN MY FACE.a big yellow daisy on a piece of wood.and i eat it.daily. why? cuz i aint got shite either. but im bettin some young cocky smart little bastard out there does....save us.where are you? bet it'll have something to do with technology when it happens.but anyways....
look in any magazine with reviews of our art...fucking golden piss.but hey, life gives you lemons..you make lemonade. hey chris w....hows it goin? evr gonna get any more artists to show?look at ..well... anywhere? fuckers. its ourselves we gotta embrace. god damn it. whose the king cat we all respect, is there anyone from atlanta That we can ALL unanimously say has done IT? is it kojo griffin? naaah. is it some artist from the west end ..you hard core mf'er you. is it some buckhead cockhole covering photos of tigers in tar? how bout some acrylic portraits of famous people and some empasto flowers. jesus somebody save me!..or some big glossy photographs, hey atlanta ..lets celebrate photography? WHAT? WHO? scramble for yr big opportunity photographers..ooh boy! whose watchin?hey angela! hey sara! wow! can i be you! where ya gonna be a year from now? FAMOUS?naaah. opening a fastfood franchise with yr boyfriend?is it some yo boy photoshop wanna be graffiti street cred
cracker asshole poppin off from "da hood" im dirty, yo look at me. whatever. yr dead. yr stillborn. yr a salesMAN. you are THE MAN.battle with monsters. nope.THANKS TRY AGAIN. how bout east side? i dont see shit. am i just ignorant? somebody PLEASE call me out. fucking cowards. fuck all of you. please. tell me. whose the man? whose doing it? jerry...shit, man. change yr name to cullumberg,as in clement, leo, all them ya know....MAYBE THAT WILL HELP maybe you can help us create our myth, poor galleries, its not yr faults. POOR POOR GALLERIES.oooh i know it was the plane crash in orly, thats the problem.... i pity yr position.poor galleries. with yr plastered on expressions. hold it tight. oh i know, yr happy yr doing it for the LOVE right? whatever..you and yr fucking shelves of knick knacks next to something you STILL wanna call ART? do us a favor . yr NOT A GALLERY. yr a STORE. so close yr doors, you perpetuate the problem. OKAY??? but yes...im sorry.EXCUSE ME. its
still these fucking shitty artists.churning out dead uninspired shite.just wanting to sell, got it backwards. too scared too actually stop and painfully saturate(THATS ME.but im stuck, im a liar.. a phony with a keyboard),
you technic creeps, just rather watch what comes out their blessed little fingertips and say,my oh my look at me! LOOK AT MY HONED SKILL! turn yr soul back on if you ever had one.THINK. oh but no...Lets us make some slides, send these to be framed, mitch!, these will sell...to somebody. fuck it. look theres my name in PRINT. im an artist. look at my review in the ajc. oooh aaah. YR NOTHING NUH THING. NUHTHING NUHTHING..

SIGH. i could say its just the end, its the times. THE WORLD IS FUCKED. right? or im just not deep or smart or knowledgable enough to see IT happening..but i cry bullshit. bullshit bullshit bullshit. its the artists.oh look im concerned about current issue!, natural disasters, the media, the president..NOOOO. YOU JUST DONT HAVE AN ORIGINAL THOUGHT IN ONE SCATCH OF YR BEING.what exactly is "an original thought" anyways? SHOW ME. please.
we're oh bliv eee us. to us. to ourselves. IF its all a fucking hyPe machine, fuck it, lets create the myth then.lets build a functioning hype machine for ATL. JEEEZUZ. THIS MEANS IT HAS TO BE BUILT RIGHT THE FUCK ON TOP OF ALL THE OTHER DEAD SHITE.lets live a lie..fuck it. its better than this transparent lie of a lie.cant even fake it, can we? that's sad. we're like the watered down version muzak copy of a hit song that no one will even acknowledge is happening, cuz its embarrassing and RUDE, good god, dont be RUDE!
lets pick an artist. how bout a ,oh ..i know..a POET. YEAH. lets use a poet. ATLANTA'S PREMIER ARTIST IS A POET, says the big booming voice. christ. SAVE US ALL.
look here's the deal, kids. i liked a recently read quote. you dont go to a restaurant to order a meal cuz you wanna have a shit. okay. i admit, thats sorta me.but its not. god damn it. this is just an internet list serve im typing clickity click, right? show us the money, right?shut up already. well, yr reading it. shut me down. tell me im wrong. PLEASE. well its a judgment call im making., YOU can tell ME when someone is doing it. fuck. situation is hopeleslly fucked. cant ask yr kitty kat painters and yr quasi impressionist red smear trees in a beige sunset to stop showing in atl, now can i? something always means soomething to somebody! aint dat sweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet! WHO AM I TO JUDGE WHETHER SOMEONE IS HONEST? like, oliver stone honest...ya know.
muchless.... can i waltz over to the non-profiteers and start saying whats what...good god, ive no clue. my hats off to you. i admit, id have no clue how to do what you do.
look at me dig a hole. pardon me. im clueless. nevermind. as you were,people.
see you at yr next opening!
with a little honesty and moment of clarity, forever more and repititiously you will here the cries"BULLSHIT!" at openings...why? who am i to judge? how can i explain it? with what words do i defend this positioN?. the same ones you do. you have no reason, no foundation..not truly. seriously....who does?you presume when you walk out the door with yr dead baby, SOOOO...SO DO I.
where does it come from? lets have a little solidarity. aint that the irony of this spit i spit from a fucking keyboard. who am i to judge? here it echo across our pretty little city horizon line. pretty trees. pretty south. pretty ignored.


In Irwin McGrather's lastest novel, The Haunting Bees, one is commanded into a strange delectable plase at the very begunnning. c
The central character, Joe High, is thrown into a bush maze filled with naked women and buildings made entirely of candy. he runs and runs and we, as the reader are trying to decide if this is all a dream. His feet sticking in molasses, yellow jackets swarming in his goateeee, High can't shake his fixation on a pair of identical buildings in the distance. One can't help but feel this is an allusion to something in real life.
Real life, we ask ourselves again..is this a dream?
The first chapter is without remorse, arduous and somehow fluid. I'm reminded of Burroughs. but the innocence of it all is too much like a little golden book. or tales of a fourth grade nothing. In this instance a stack of turtles come tumbling out of the sky. Intertwined with art reviews and some strange offal material. Like a bean stalk in reverse. with midgets slithering down the length, riding veins. a slalom. shalom. salome. off with yr head!
John High does wake up to find himself chained to a computer by the thin tissue that is his eyelids. his fingertips have been replaced with gumdrops and jujubees. his eyebrows are now and laters. chest hair is pixie stix dust. elbows are made of salt water taffy from an oceanic place, the real stufff. not some fake stuff.
artnews is an internet witch. a sandal made of teeth. a target that sticks up. a torn up book, an intern with a hair net from the 80's. a soup line martyr wanting a paycheck.
oh yeah...
irwin Mcgrather's latest book didnt really hold my attention. i wouldnt buy it. i'd go to an art opening instead.
Joe High manages to turn your page for you at certain points. the pages seem wet and you wonder if some hallucinogenic material has seeped into our blood stream throgh your gumdrops. you taste the page. it has no taste, but a strange self induced tingle sizzles your tongue anyways. you are reminded of bastian and atreyu. a dumpster with your name on it. dont look in that mirror! aaaaaaaagh! who is da man? eh?
irwin Mcgrather's novel, The Haunting Bees has stayed with me. id say its the best thing since sliced bread. go out and buy it. it is great.

Artnews is an art review in reverse.


Point: one
It was without provocation, that the human mind entered into and made love, a grappled complex of reflection.
To this very day, we make and make and from which angle we look, is entirely new. Today, tomorrow, knows not and it doesn't really matter. The reflection that falls off the wall and shatters. The tent that we bought and sold our souls next to snacks and familial chatter.The art street that gleems while we stare and blame those that do not matter. If Removed, presume there is such a thing, the wall would appear flat and deep, something to dip our fingers into and smear. Unending, wraps around us and soaks us. we run in circles making patterns like children, aged we run into ourselves..trying not to think. Constantly looking for another, another to stand up and roar.
Even if we do not, a simple puppy tail wiggle caught forever and preserved for you to admire.Timeless. It is not due to out rapid perspectives, our pace does not blur what should be a blur. Plugged in and Determined.
A person utilized by technology becomes an artist. a shifting foetus with text strung from a mother's cord. only given so much length, but connected. hardwired into society. Listening, some absorb what they already know. some regurgitate and look back at eyes, look back with a fatal politeness. Now is removed.
If removed, we would be able to see the myriad cords.Mother's blood. the fluid of our times slipping flat, on the surface. The new gallery is not a holy place. it is not! the new gallery exists when we are not looking. it is part of the pace, the steps on our path of communication. the unreachable undescribed width. it is not written on a screen or on an announcement card. stillborn is unavoidable. Alive and writhing hands of an auto-erotic clock. get yourself off all over someone else. rolled over and woke up to another dream. where you stuck yourself. In yet another room with white walls.

High theory. You become inspired by the times and past publications. A walk in the park or the coffee shop, another opening, another dance, waiting for they that look to look in on you. from every angle. all at once. the reactions slip through. Wasted on human problems, we still revolve around... like color. so peculiar. Issues specific are just that and fall flat at birth. the new experience cries to happen. like advertising will have to, when it can not reach us through patience. new experience does not cost anything in the physical, it is an unavoidable experience.a reaction, the unbelievable Now.
it is not a thirty second spot. it is not a pop up. it is not a holding pattern, or a billboard. in fact, it is not even a solid building to compartmentalize you. There are no streets to take it to. you standing in front of who are just as real as the cords connected to you by now. with fingers and hands, you are still real. the reaction is against pace. the movement is just that. a movement.

Book review: ( or should i say, short story.)
By Jeff Dahlgren
What Men Live By
by Leo Tolstoy
The use of an Angel to describe the nature of Man's existence. tHree lessons.
man lives by God. Love, says the story, is God, and it dwells within us and does reveal itself.
Man does not know where he's goin' to, dont know his "bodily needs". could die tomorrow while planning for today. it is about what ALL men need. alone is an illusion. there's no such thing as "you gotta be doing it for yourself". we are connected. dagnabit.
it is not selfish and can not be so. it is by Love, so it says.
Love! Love! Love!
and in so doing all deeds done are done by this. what we do, what we make, lives by this. an Angel illustrates this. the idea of an Angel, to my stoney heart.
so... i guess I Love you guys. and I go forward with this in mind.


okay, for this next piece...i need everyone to stand up at their computers. Now ,when i count to three..
okay one two three..(move through space with that at yr own pace.)
so okay. is everyone standing up?
place the birdy finger of your left hand on the as closest to center spot on yr keyboard as possible. if yrs is near the o and k, it's o.k.
where r u?
its kinda near the colon. isn't it?
so what i want you to do now, is remove your finger from your colon ... stay standing!...turn..walk away from your computer and make some art.

and thus concludes my internet performance piece.
thank you for those that participated.
im going to assume you all did, since this is just one reality.
it was great. i love me. but i couldn't have done this without you.

for t-shirts and coffee mugs of this event visit:
just write eggtooth a non-linear journal remark and you'll get a FREE estimate!


im thinkin ol max was deep in the bottle when he wrote his response.
" who did you study with"???........um...okay. what the heck. what's a freakin percheron? im gonna have to go look that one up. first thing i see is a bird of prey wearing a helmet, then i see a big golden chariot pulled by some dead thing through the sky. speaking of gold dead things, has anyone read the sept/oct issue of art papers? it has an article, section, review about golden blizzard, as im sure many of you know very well.. someone told me it was "fashionable" to be doing what they(GB) are doing. its all the rage..i dunno. all ive ever seen are some of their collaborative drawings. i missed the show. man, i need to get in the loop.
im curious about this "slow painting" thing robert posted. when was or is it opening? its at oglethorpe.this rich old lady shaped like a silk hay stack, gobs of shiny stuff all over her, told me that Oglethorpe's space is a "hidden gem" suppose she should know.her tone and mannerisms suggested infinite wisdom. probably had a ruby the size of my thumb hidden in her tookus.we were discussing the word "culture" and she turned it into "culch-ured", but i didnt say anything. cuz im shy and ignorant.she was old atlanta money. my family comes from the Cofers in Tucker.

(a degree doesnt matter....not to me. )

a lot of people have degrees AND passion, i have to play fair witness...
a percheron is a french draft horse. or at least having its origins in FRANCE. i did not know this. but now i do. did i teach myself this?
yes yes, i am the authority on Percherons now..uuh hum excuse me excuse me...Percheron Specialist coming through. im in public with my essays on, about, even one written by a particularly randy Percheron i am friends with. would you like to buy a copy? he died from thrush last fall, i have signed copies. they smell like molasses and a cold sky full of stars.
ive decided to start reading this book i bought the other night. i actually bought two.
they are good.one is selected writings by that walter benjamin guy and the other is poetry for a new millenium or something. gonna give it some time and space, approach it from the side. for fun. it scares me, so maybe ill just flip it open on occassion.
is there another word for "poetry" ? i hate that word. can we all agree to call it something else, like, i dunno..."vrexose" or something...
somebody please repost the "slow painting" thing. im gonna go.

first, id like to say congrats to aaron at pd.org on his use of the word "eschewing". very nice. I'd also like to congrat him on his hovering I.Q. Many appreciative notions and nods in your direction. i raise my coffee mug to you! cheers! I understand christopher's dilemma and desire to throw this one in the air. so, with that said, i will take the defense of the "self taught" just for the hell of it.
(labor over it? what the heck?)

My momma raised me on the outer banks of the mississippi in the depression. we had a granny apple tree that was so barren, that even the buzzards were scaired of it. she'd boil them twisted black branches down to make soup, tea,au jus and pigments for us. life was simple.you see, daddy had fallen into "the machine" at work some years back. after that,I had beecom real close with the family pig, Bubbers, and we'd run through the mud patches, chasin frogs anna hollerin all day long.
one day i tripped an fell. it was my granny apple tree. it had done gone an died. upon trapping my foot betwixt a branch and a rather large chunk of plagioclase feldspar, it acted as a fulcrum,not unlike the reverse of the old rake in the face trick one sees in the cartoons.I had a vision that day. from between my blood smeared eyes, i saw a bunch oh wires. stringy electric wires just a swingin around the world. shooting blue beams blue streaks everywhere.i looked at Bubbers, she was talkin. she said to me:
"eggtooth, take up thy knife made of stone and carve from my side a canvas. with this you shall design "the internet". you will sell it to them aeroplane folks up in the pentagon. you will eschew your previous ways"
I wish i hadda done that. but i dih unt listen. i was ohb sessed witht my "self taught" categorization. I decided to use bubbers as a living canvas instead. i love Bubbers. in many ways he an i are lak one. Bubbers makes my bed. bubbers operates my morter and pest ole with his sqwiggly tail an his teefusis. Some credit me with having invented the color known in georgia as "georgia red clay" color. I like color. I especially like green. the color.
Voices still speak to me. even affer momma died, This maan inna suit told me she should be drug off andburied somewhars, but i like her in her chair there. she looks cumfortable.this man inna suit gives me food an things. he gave me this computer im sittin at. he told me i was a famous artist. i dont believe him.

so you see folks. this is a perfect example of self taught. what brilliance, what sublime acts, channeled through god. so powerful, it pushed the teeth out of his face. so poweful, it gifted him with a work ethic, many consider him very erudite, and many take many a knee to his (many) paedagogical ways. he quotes religious tomes in reverse. he knows not of your ways, ..in fact he started a school called, How to be A Self Taught" this institiution does not have walls as part of its prerequisite, a common site around campus are woody guthrie types, vegetarians, failed communal blokes, ex rave partiers, and strangely enough, little old ladies. they are prolific and self taught.

self taught is silly. in no other profession( i said profession..but its a "quote" so forgive) is one more responsible for their own development than in the arts. the very act of using that phrase"self taught" seems to be part of the game. it is an attempt to establish an approach.yr approach to them but, ya never know, as a self taught, they may not know that it is a thing to say" I am self taught", and in so doing, show how totally ignorant they are, which will make you suddenly say, "wow! this isnt a piece of stinkies! this is amazing work" look at poor ignunt Bubbers. Meandering around town with scripture on his hind legs.
..."and he's self taught, too!"
oh my...how much is it?
so yeah...dig it. go be somebody's benefactor "discover" somebody..YOU call them self taught. i personally have grown to prefer the phrase, "without formal training" but in the end...who cares? unless yr concerned i didnt use the fat over lean technique properly and the dang things gonna fall apart or premature alligator action will occur. haziness. boy, will yr friends laugh at yr ignorant butt. shoulda gone to school and studied art before looking at it.
so whose side am i on? i guess im on everybody's side, since we're all one big happy family here,right? one big community! distributing our knowledge fairly and evenly.yeah, that's it! aint life great! i love you all! and i feel yr love.



poor little monkies. maybe they should try the south beach diet on them. come up with an exercise program "primal-ahteeze" or sumthin. or maybe just give me a straight razor blade and let em loose in major cities.
what about empty carbs?maybe Coke is it. wonder how Co-cola would treat em. make em watch coke commercials for unspecified consecutive numbers of hours, play video games, read poetry, drink coke,discuss coke, discuss monkey diets, throw poo at each other...hey..throw poo at each other. maybe they could be taught to
E-Poo each other. gorillas in the List. i just had eggs and chicken and im feeling pretty passive. loving. Scope Me Over.
sex.. sex is like a crosswalk parade.
speaking of crosswalk parades.
some of you may be asking yrselves. "what's the point?"
and guess what?
what? this is a focus on the positive. this is a sales pitch. this crosswalk parade is...when you get down to it, simply for the fun of it. to me. please understand i am just a follower. just like any of you amazing people. amazing artists. if yr in it for sales...this could be yr big network, where yr power tie. make hand drawn signs, bring art.
there is no grand march against the pigs mentality to this. this IS point-less.to me! can i stress that...to me!(that sure sounds positive)BUT AAAH... it is a pointless fun act. and there's nothing wrong with it. some could argue that it is like... SEX in that regard. you never know...if you come to this crosswalk parade, you might burn off that extra calorie that gets you, well, ...sexed. you might meet a future sex partner. never know!
you might be there to save a puppy from getting run over, a poor wittle puppy. all because you were you not there...he dies. can you see him? what color is his fur? walking obliviously into traffic,tail swingin, his happy tongue hangin' hes dreamin about a bug he almost caught and then....WHAAAMO! we hear a lady scream.puppy entrails boist out, caught and wrapping around the axle on a pt cruiser. fuzzy bloody hair .bones crunched. his last painful baby yelp. puppy makes eye contact with a little girl on a school bus going by.Panting clear-ish fluid from his lungs. dark blood slowly oozes across the pavement. his sides heave. slowly. slower slow-er.slo w er.
he dies. dead puppy.a piece of poo sticking out his little exploded bum. a final autonomic hind leg spasm.
YES. all because you were not at a cross walk parade.
so when is this cross walk parade? where? sign me up, you MUST be saying! you must be so sold now! please dont hold me back! i must be part of this, THIS...
if you don't it could be a human baby in a stroller. an abandoned stroller, drifting away towards zoom zoom zoom (does that make you think of a corporate tune).?
well if it does...you need to have more fun. eschew yr television.(heh)
come walk and talk and wave at atlanta. for no reason. bring some art. this means you darn it. unless yr scared or lazy. gotta wash socks that day, yr thinkin'. but what would this do for my image? probably nothing. but maybe, just maybe......naaah.
its just for fun.aint no "too cool" about it.
and oh yeah...this isn't my idea. im a follower. just one of the guys, gals..peeps on the street.meetin and greetin'. a lesser person than you.
i dont know when its gonna be. or where. im just havin fun with this one.
so whens it gonna be folks? iyabo? where? i dunno.
do i LOOK like i work here? sheesh.( i could dress up and culture jam and say that)
but seriously folks.
im thinkin at oh...around 6:45.yesterday. start meeting at the clermont lounge.
no no.
start meeting at ....someone help me out here. im open to time date, where, unless it's in east bumduck. iyabo...hey, IYABO!....i will follow. tell me (us) when and where..i believe in you .just not THIS wednesday.
"another place where art is happening", huh?...that only means one place to me.

near food. food brings em out. yuuum. foooooood.


speaking of coke. has anyone here been to the international artists alliance guild cubicle farm space things...jesus.
talk about sacharrin. talk about robot sweat. talk about "shut up" .id rather run an empty mouth than an empty paint brush. (obviously)
no one said it was easy. can't make a SINGLE WEAK CHOICE.NOT ONE. or you've cheapened it. you've smeared shit over the surface. let's put some lipstick on this pig, bobby! theres not enough oxygen for this journey. my, that turd sure has a nice patina! where's it from?
why i got this turd in miami circle!
my what i nice turd!
but anyways....congrats on yr "technique" huff in puffers....now what?
look at me i can type! oh oh, but there's no content!
congrats you can paint....now what? sculpt? write? act? ...what? sing? sing for me then. go get a mystical neu age dick wash massage in a purple room with fairies and gentle aroma cd's. good god. damn. it. this ACTUALLYexists at the artist interspacial allegiance to saccharin studios. well. i dunno about the dick wash, but spa sydell will do it for a hundred bucks.
oh look at me im concerned with disappearing buildings! make that fucking building on huff road disappear, dear god. put yrselve's in a container somewhere else, call a taxi and drive it off into lake pontchartrain. go lick timmy's gold belt buckle.
guess i gotta be supportive of something eventually...right?
International artists guild, alliance...whatever.fucking slaves. why why why? place should have the stench of mothballs and plastic covered couches to add to the ambiance.couple copies of the "living bible" maybe a pump around back to fill yr face with prune juice. one of those END TABLE DECOR lite up stringy things with gooey beads glistening down its stream. track lighting. steely dan muzak.maybe some lawrence welk bubbles. some guy with an accent you can't finger asking you for money...
what the fuck is this.? coke is it.?
erkle voice: "egregious freewill of the subterfuge of the serum in the specimen of the eeeeeeeeeeevil carbonated beverage , in the advert that subverts and coexists in the subterannean blah blah blah yadda yadda stiff as a goddamn board reactionary same old same old played out horse shit.whats yr keyboard made out of? giant metal levers and big red buttons? ....offender of human rights of the big corporate entity that stifled the stiff dick in yr nose while you write your stodgy plodding writing, for the love of gawd. im so passionate! im so.....liberal! i care about the people, im outraged.ooooooooh aaaaaaaaaaah. the manufacturing co. plant churns little babies fingers into shoe laces while americans eat the remnants like a biggie fry snack after their 8pm dinner and their commiserating with the reality on their i-pod why fi! coffee shop trite talk so concerned flakes of shit. loook at me im an activist! look at me im in atlanta! you aint doin shit. nobody's watching. or
reacting....throttle me. COME ON GODDAMN IT. THROTTLE ME! wanna keep the gallery doors open....sacrifice yr bishop idiots. OR.... we can continue in this lazy laughable circle. oh look another bottle tree inspired exhibit.hi! ! oh look a folksie guy with his neat-o glazed over seen before environment ,but when it comes down to it...why did he drive here? he probably asks himself the same question. nice guy, he is.(.the receipts were funny)... FROM ALABAMA. oh look racial riots. fuck that. im over it. i just hear you. AS AN INDIVIDUAL. and have been since the early fucking 90's. that's me, tho. thats when i woke up. me.....so scratch that. atlanta needs that shit. sadly true.
shit. i just went and took a shit. pulled my pants down sat down on the seat and alowed feces to spill forth from my white ass..some pee pee action. i then wiped and stood up. pulled my pants up. washed my hands..oh shit...did i wash my hands? hold on.

okay. breathe. relax. focus.gotta eventually be supportive.
"he's just angry and confused" NOOOOOOO. maybe im missing the target, but at least im keeping myself aware the mother fucker is out there. liars. what is it i wanna see happen? the same thing you guys do. i want non profiteers to survive.i want them to be the big burly scuzzy muscle of brilliance. the cess pool of weirdness, newness, the generalized voice of now. i want the image and ideal of art in atlanta to shift from empty decor to thinking man town. neither l.a or new york. atlanta. a strange hybrid ...dirty dumb soil growing genius weeds. look at us. pay attention or we'll bite yr ass. turn yr back on me again. I dare you. want the voice of now? yr sitting at yr computer reading it. at yr computer at yr computer at yr computer at y r comp uter at your cpmoter at yr gattccaacca ttgcc a gaatt acc gattac gttaaacc aaaaaccttgtccag000001011100101010101010101010111100001101010101

you shut up. have some patience and shut up.listen. think.feel.
ive got nothINg to lose.
( a need for the use explitives is a sign of ignorance)


highway braided turn on the hamlight tonight's fright is big text written in white and im the guy slinging the tar. no cold beer for me you sons of bitches. blast the furnace on me in the august sun. i see patterns and faces line my site sneek up from behind and it looks like you. my eyes sting because im a real person. burning down my face, inmy mind. because im a man and therefore, an idiot. cant ever know myself so i operate oblivious to it while the female in me writhes and spits with a loss for words. who knows what is right anymore why am i here i exercise and laugh and the rush it gives me i imagine im alone or i imagine im on a throne, being flushed down the shitter chuckle but fuck you. and yr empty reflection yr hip jerk reactions (hypocrite idiot) who are you. what the hell is all this stuff floating in the air around me, my hair is falling out digging my chewed nails into my stained pale face imagining this christian bitch from my teenage years school bus
retreat to hard labor creek, god save me, fuckinjg sanctimonious cunt(pardon), i could go back in time i swear i'd pull yr entrails out and wrap them around a cross and set you on fire in front of the whole congregation. how sweet the sound you back stabbing whore. fuck you. and fuck all of you too.telling everyone i was beaten and abused you fucking whore ripple effect here i sit clackity click who gives ashit i cant focus on shit and i hear her...i over hear her..imnot actually listenig to petra in those headphones. i hear you. telling them to "be nice" to jeff. fuck you. if you ever decide to have a child dont step near me. ill rip it out 8 months in with a shovel and toss into a frozen lake little fucker come out spoutin yr lies,mendacious liar. i hate you and i hate you too on the otherextreme empty lazy blamer of the conservatives, waaaaah. idiots. give me a fucking break. im crying because i ve come to a resolution. you don't exist to me. i exist to serve this giant
conglomerate in whatever way i can. whats this attention pleading shite i drivel drip on my audience, my lovely droogs, fuck you. this is crap this isnt even worthy of the emporers new clothes. jesus wept i wish i believed in something but everythng i see....adult thoughts the weight of it all so dirty so ugly so much lies so much i wanna consume and rule. twist this up and stick it somewhere golden glitter hair world spinning i dont care i cant stare into your eyes for too long because i hate you. there he is this is him.do you see the nature in it? hater. im not evil but i wish i was im just this guy that is torn and open and laughing at the brutality of apathy because what is it i want?
ill tell you?
1st: i presume to know what good is. it is no longer subjective. come ask me. i will tell you.
2nd: if you are doing shit, that's fine. simple as that.im not concerned. there are galleries for you and your still born trite. fuck politically correct shit.
3rd: if you have an honest reaction to something: tell them. loudly and with passion. if yr creative do it creatively, cuz chances are you aint got no money.(irony)
4th if someone tells you they like what you do...take it to heart.open up to them.see where they are comng from. if they suck. fuck em. if several people tell you yr great, become a bloated ego maniac. you deserve it. elevate yrself and play the part.expect weird idiotic fans.like me.
5th this is what cant be forced. slow application of this state of mind will find bodies merging. things happening. many of you are great goddam it. id kill to have half yr fucking talent.
6th sixth is to show this whole number thing dont mean shit
7th: forget money. there are no big ideas only doing. something i cant seem to do?. yes i am telling you what to do. find yrself surrounded by people doing, eschewing those that arent relevant with no compunction whatsoever. react to those that matter.open up and be open. say stupid shit and admit that its stupid shit.laugh goddamit. freeflow.these arent yr friends. this is a responsiblity. it has not to do wit h money i swear it . meet in the streets.meet other artists. weed out the irrelevant keep the good. dont try to fuck them you slave to your basic instincts. work with them.

8 these arent your friends. this is for the city. this is for mankind...i presume to dig into your intentions. good can emerge from anywhere i know i know,, but my soul says that it can be nipped at the bud by something from the get go.and so often it is. maybe you just are who you are. but maybe yr...not? yeah. that's it.
fuck yr sales and yr pretty slick maggot ridden pretty things, you know n yr heart the difference. if you dont. thats fine, ilove you just the same, but yr useless as tits on a boar. yr the twelth kitty in my ten titty litter.. the ones that glow. . go cut your nipples off and feed them to a salamander. enlightened ones. i envy you. just please stay here in atlanta goddamn it.

fuck this sux. im an idiot. i tried to put it in words, and so there you have it... fuck it.
ill do it myself. like my posts?
buncha fuckin idiots.
EGGTOOTH (the village clown, great if you have a sense of humor (schadenfreud type) but if you dont, dont.

how would she say it?
to you is a fuck, fuck fuck for you. to you i say fuck you. to you.twice.
im empty of content.
no. thats not right
so this is how i go about urging a loving sense of community amongst artists. pretty great, huh? urging...supporting...whatever. pissing on it. its all fake anyways, and we dont even hav ethe material to have a fake seen. thats the hilarious thing of it. lemme hand pick some of you dick holes and tell you what to do. fuck you.

gosh my writing is so great.

whatever. i know the truth.
i wish i could be yr servant, instead im yerchambermaid.
ill take the job gladly if i may. u can see ive nothingbetter to do.
Luddite Machine is a slow quickening
a blurred singleword is the universe
(am( i) a million pages in one novel) tonight.
scattered about from different angles
smart strange old sights
it's all the same
a twisting strand pattern
(as who i am: i see a gallery wall's white)

in 1887
when walking home hammer in hand
1987: hair is bigger "it's always the same"
broken plates street beats a dead wig's echo of second hand repitition
a premonition
now it's faces known like a pop up ad
but not tonight. touch faces with thoughts
put a wiggling fake brain in an old apple cart
a thousand wires from the future
a cyber mule pulls the cart
and the shriveled lady with the switch
hooked on laudnum delivering art
chews her gums her wings spread ...apart
(Jesus hates rhyme schemes)

ideas from a friend in tangiers i see on my screen
my best friend next door can share a glass of usb port
standing in front of who and look right through
lack the language taken by our own choice
blind and screaming responding to our own voice
it is an evil thing that brings everyone together
words on a screen
think & punch the google plex engine.
atlanta image: 1st hand 1st person last prison
our 10th wave of derision
dodges sharp tongues with self righteous division
decorate houses with naive decisions

this house of hen's reeks of the end
old geld sold her
balls for manless art
tie THIS scene together so scattered apart

write words jam cultured hate this list's givens

heresay heresy secondary market
space apple doesn't even fall from the cart
in the mirrorlessart market
Engaging and with Grace.
We've figured it all out for you.
...so come out with questions.

Youngblood Artist Talk
Mandie Turner Mitchell
Maxwell Sebastian
Jeff Dahlgren
Jenny Levine
Young Blood Gallery
Saturday July 1st 8pm

so u c...never happened did it? huh ya punk bitch? huh?
the cowardice of eggtooth prevails......(8/15/06)
im still the monster at the end of this book. loveable furry old me.
flannery o connor reading...jesus wept. somebody cut my head off. with a broken ostrich eggshell. i can barely read much less comprehend
PARIAH...NERD. tactless bufoon.
artnews barometric pressure transparently dependant on others feelings. im such a thin film of spit.
i guess im back.

you either are or you aren't. is there a middle ground? is there time left for judgement?

this shade, this haze that is a shifting fun techno wobble cloud of forms and figures with eyes like knives. my peers. strangers. people with an agenda. people-love on a fundamental level. But as individuals..what does patience mean? with who? relative to what? who am i to judge? I'm me. so why half step it. Does using some sort of ethical tactical open friendly manner exist, allowing others to decide...it's layers and luck.watch out for that fresh pile of poop there, buddy.
whats the goal artist? exposure? of what? why?to what end? sales? does the front end of your brain twitch only for something...something that has long since presumed all the "deep stuff" is included. is this so elementary of me?
Ladies and gentlemen, watch as i chew the ends of my fingers off worrying about anyone else but myself.

I met a dog named Peanut. and he was the nicest living creature i'd met in a couple weeks. He seems like he's a happy dog.a nice dog.He was once a strange puppy painter, or so he claimed..all covered in his palette. His name is ...I've already forgotten. He's an artist. and he just smiles at everything. i know he's not my friend, i barely even know him, but he sure is cute sometimes.he pushes his nose against mine and looks me in the eyes. Ears like radars, bouncing with his trot, collecting data.
Sometimes there's this space. a skull with the inside walls black, an expansive open space. with roads, littered with shadows, people that i have to wonder if are real or not. They speak to me. I have even held their hands. I've lied to them, prepared parts of sentences in my head for them..even while they speak. I'm so rude.

of course they matter. in certain sectors, continuity and expectations can be fulfilled. yr safe there. no surprises.lifestyles and perceptions of what is right. watching it move somebody or something's mouth . and the by product. a living human being that you can talk to and hang out with. share a moment with.
Art. or loss.
should i show what i do anymore...go into hiding with it? is there such thing as "ready"? or a point? that's kind of the beauty of it, so heck yes show it. i say include everything. automotive mechanics subverts wantons...all of em. ever gotten mud out of mixing yr palette? welcome to america. land of no figure or ground. loss of contrast. we're so thoughtful of everyone, so much that that no one exists. here's a dollar. shut up.
what do i want? oh....that.
im thinking it's my youth back, and a palm tree and a large body of water.
-------------- next part --------------


Horse: A series.
Horse: B a triptych using walls as panels
Horse: C collaborative
The theme of the Horse is about Ritual.

Maxwell Sebastian and Jeff Dahlgren have found a commonality in the Horse.
Their artistic styles could not differ more. Joined together with an underlying theme, their driven passion proclaims something new.

Maxwell's respect and ethics have their heart in what some could recognize as Classical tradition. His attention to the importance of line, composition, and technique pervade. This has shown itself in styles ranging from illustrative indications comparable to Ingres, to contemporary comics and graphic design. As a painter, he has been compared to the likes of Jenny Saville and Lucian Freud.
Throughout this, the artist has maintained the self awareness to allow how he sees people and the world to show through. There are times when his utilization of this strength can be unsettling. Maxwell's personal aesthetic is highly individuated. His sense of beauty carries through all that he does. The same applies to his examinations of the Horse's skull. His ritual shows.

While jeff, simply put...sux. what the fuck is maxwell thinking? off with yr head! did anyone see the sky last night at about 830...rose tint my world.
designer of covers monster who r you?
anton le wother direct speech poker
yr link didnt work ther. i know not of that spice ther.
i sin and stir in my words a new painter
catalogue toker wareleo joker
an evening im mixed sensations
this can't be my thinly veiled sheet
lie can throw up chill a bear toe step
cant tauch this.
space eyes roam a signal top knot alone
all i c of yr son is a space for rent to catch some zzz's
sunshine spelled backwards has a phone number
you should call him
i should call him
that strange eyed being that speaks. and speaks some more.
is still speaking. and im nodding.
so i was speaking to these two blokes. ya know? aaaaaaaaand....
i says to them....you guys go to many art openings? and one speaks saying something about military photos at jackson and mentions ballet as becoming big...so im , like...oh gosh..i like, LOVE ballet. and we just talked for hours. so i m thinking shoot. ballet is art. fudge! fudge! fudge! puppetry. snake handling. dog shows, hell.
I dont know anything! Maybe Bill Nigut is right! maybe im on crack, jesus.
yaknow what...farg it all. im just gonna be a benefactor. these people are brilliant. im an asshole...pardon me. im the artintellectualsocialfbro magillia osis xydo mycotta blood enters the heart through the superior an dinferior vena cava and my god......
maybe we could get Timothy Belt Buckles to hold an auction of some of his shoes. to benefit the loud publicizing of a small cultural institution. how bout' the center for puppetry arts or its neighbor across the street: The Patriotism Hall er ummm nORTH aMERICANvisitor's center,Gallery... thing. or
eyedrum. yeah. that's it. eyedrum. or youngblood....or or ...maybe we should ask slavoj schneider.or nugut philbot. or that old guy that collects ab the flag man. dude can rock. bee tee double you. got the energy of The Boss i tell ya.im gonna make the folk art rounds this weekend it looks like.
Hell...lets just open up a store in gwinnett place mall or shoot, lenox... that literally sells Shit. On shelves. piles of it.mounted, splattered. fragrance bottles. shirts."This Poo is on loan from the archives of Bobby Artschlob of Eyedrum"
to hell with 'em...(put art next to restaurants....jeeeezus. am i living in a fargin movie?i can see it, its a lovely night, im slightly buzzed and well dressed with two women and we are laughing.we leave our dining experience in search of culture. not atl culture bee tee double you, to be "cultured"oh look. a hot opening! i know all of you! wow!)
man. how much does one of those mall places cost? im gettin one dammit.

oh yeah... got some dude from alabama that has a color blind rock n roll twin showing @ The EyeDruM.this weekend. same weekend as the Slatan Folk Seance. it's off "indian trail" on oakbrook parkway.eeeesh. metropolitan, delowe, candler, euclid, glenwood...there. i feel better.
ya know...maybe we could have a backroom reading from a children's book as an opening prayer. maybe we could look at each other and say nothing for 60 seconds.
Im not too into ballet. is anyone here into ballet very much? i bet i know a few of you who are. has anyone seen a performance in the concert hall at emory? i'd like to.i think. ive been blaring Grieg's "In the Hall of the Mountain King". man, and i thought stairway to heaven built to an amazing ending.cresecendo? contrapasto or that toool song "pushit". or ken vandermarks "electric bugaloo".scherzando schizo. faaaar out, man.
oh yeah. atlanta art scene:
Opens a snicker and takes a bite.thoughtful expression. "I love it"

but seriously folks. what section of the paper should art happenings be in? what paper should it be in? what do you see happening? like, i mean...if you could have some cuuuuuh raaaazy business happen, and it warranted front page news. what would it be?
Allison Rentz Decapitates John Lowther In Search of his True Defintion of Word: "HATE"
no..too many words.
yeah....bit maudlin, though.
TEWEY DEFEATS schuuuman? aaah. forget it.
if you read this all the way...you get an eggclick.
love eggtoof


Multi Level Marketing by jefftooth, for whom the small creatures waiting in the wings refer to as "rad" . sells the idea of ideas out respect. inspite of an overwhelming vaccuum in what is not the far corner of his mind, but the rest of it. a squirming grey pulse with a smooth child's face.wriggles. a storm about to erupt. flow my tears, the poet said. kiss my arse.i'm illiterate.

Multi level artekting:see these Nagle prints on the wall over my plastic flowers, my flow chart?see our artline carving its zig zag way across communities? It is! its happening, and this applies to YOU! give us five years my precious. things have changed this time. if it is for the people, then intentions are a tricky double edged blade. it can come from anywhars...yes?Intentions, one would like to believe in those that glow, are everything. but aaah. ive decided the only thing you can use is some sort of peripheral vision of yr soul. plaY, BUT DON'T LOOK.this is all beneath you...see! look at what i've read...i will prove it!and........ACTION!
(do they think im suicidal?) sheesh.

this is sorta from my journal. what wonders.
If it is for the people.
"it has to identify with them" Naay! I Say!
the duty to the people is to the self
i am the monster at the end of this book(see sesame st.featuring Grover)
the duty is to recognize our strengths
towards a common goal
but aaah. specifics by nature subjugate themselves
to the need of the whole. this is even larger than politics
and if im coming at you from a sideways lack backed up and thin tired scheme...go make something you wanna sell and be happy. i might see you there sooner than later.
the individual has to believe
the individual has to give
as well as carry with them (WITH FEELING) what they receive
This does not create itself
this is not for the weak . playing risks the loss of yourself.
losing your language. to remember the original rules
man made needs. sprung from lies.
meant as well as you do!
wink at them but dont stare make eye contact be compliant and fluid with yr center.
Our Center.
so basically what im saying is.....i don't care about many of you. you and what you do Don't Not exist. it is not born. it walks. it lays there on a wall, defying gravity. held not by nails and wire, but by blackened tubes plugged into the walls. sucking draining like a baby evil whatsit thing...succubi or sumthin. atl's opening is in the infrastructure. atl is in need more than ever...compounding the sanctimony of it. a city filled with tubes. which way does it flow? NEED. and good intentions.aint that the bugger of it.well... at least it isn't apathy, right?
love for you all as human beings.

eggtooth ist lazy!
love eggtooth
cute joke. harp seals. they're so cute.
ever read their thoughts,though? little white bastards.
but anyways....
the nekked albino manatee shot could have just as easily been juxtaposed with a headless nick berg shot (did u hear what he said before his head was sawed off like a deer?)or perhaps hieronymous bosch or some W. blake type shite depicting froliicking hedonism etc...
but seurat...? the composition was in a park.the end. ok. cool. damn cool. i guess. pretty damn cool, even. hell. id go so far as to use the "f" word and say its really fargin coool. if ya like? there. it's cool.
but i wouldnt want it on a coffee mug or have a puzzle made out of it. that's reserved for Art.

oh and by the way steve. you are now french. congrats.

hey there fuzzer buzzards inna grocery store aisle, there's no overhead music for you today. nore is der grub. Just yourself and the hunger.Their hunger.grid pattern aisles little windows wide. Better than a Bar filled with ideas.look back at you. you look glanced it feeds you squares of you, in repitition. The glossy pictures about who, next- to- you -wait.for your turn on the conveyor belt cover story.return to your airport hangar on even ground. dead center. a shot from a kubrick flick words read voices spoke.translated together.in one big super melon for our heads. because you aren't selling your death.I care about you.20 dollars buys a piece of yr soul in this market. but your not dead.you've been born cold and hit the ground slimey. a small wiggle. spiraling out from your center
"this is Key
how bout that!is that right?...at the end of the day thanks for all you do everyday

[ARTNEWS] poem 8.5.07to be multiple internal relations are asymmetrical. not a unity, not determined by the name but by extending.after, anyone can see how far i came, and none make out what was struggled toward. inside but not mine, made of whatis not of me, and yet is a part of me, internal daily, necessary and affective -- this is key.a landing's lift-off is said only 'never.'but i live the always that never can not.a singularity inside, but not mine, made of what is not me, and yet
coming to rest just as it persists in taking flight. i propose,that any perpetual motion machine shares in asymmetry in just this way.
im gonna have to say nope to this. it wants to seem like it has recognized a pattern, when in fact, it is looking for something and (holy smoke!)...Look what It found! the whole logic....it's reversed.
ever learned a word and then suddenly..wow this word is suddenly everywhere! wow!. nope. it isnt some mystical synchronicity, some bizarre "these things come in threes" thing. none of that. one could argue that all of those topics share in common the theme of Purging. But... there isnt even really a pattern in those themes.
what exactly is a "non-art world factor"? Perhaps a continuity is the preconceived idea of what art is. When i am in the art world and when i am not. When am i having an artistic experience? or better...really:
when am i not? hmmm. when im asleep? im sure there's some lucid dream castle argument or some space crystal r.e.m. thing to debunk that. dreaming is an artistic experience, i guess. go buy some hemp products, maaaaan.
when im at home staring at a blank wall in a blank square room? nope..i dont do that anyways
"artists making art about things falling apart"...maybe his vision is the thing that's degenerating , cuz if that's a theme that sticks in his head...what didn't? a bunch.

"single non art world factor influencing art made today....."
darn it. the temptation to lacerate this question, flip its words inside out on itself...but i know what it means. i think.
if i had to answer it would be either the ol' stand by" Technology (internet cell phones etc...)
or..id say an increase in people's belief in their ability to become famous or rich or some proximity of it.(very n.american view i reckon) that they CAN matter (to the world). if they just try. that their AGENDA, their observation.IS WORTH SOMETHING. the world does care. they just need to listen. and consequently no one is listening to anyone but themselves. there's no unity. no way for anyone to feel like they belong anywhere, especially AGAINST anything. if need be, if unity was needed. we stand united, man. yeah...as consumers. of ourselves. wait... is that degenerative? crap. oh well. nevermind.
my whole idea just fell apart.

PARDON ME WHILE I CLAW A BIT MORE: (he's a tenacious little begger, that eggtooth)
im still thinkin we need to cover everything in black paint. all our art, that is. for just one month. everything. why? for peace, maaaan.
just kidding.
actually, to show ourselves what The Blur is doing,The Melting Pot. what THE MAN is slowly doing to us, maaan. everything is true, nothing is permissable..yeah yeah yeah...is anyone buying this?no?
wait til we're all wearing beige factory suits.(not literally, of course) wait til everything is equal and fair and we all have equal fair time to be. wont it just be..great? a big happy community hug for all ! bless yr hearts.
it's no real pleasure in life.


I drive a mini-van. My children are in soccer and football travel leagues.
I need to have a yard sale so i can pay off the Avon lady. My husband doesn't pay any attention to me. shit i want some chocolate. would you guys hold it down? WHAT IS THIS NOISE WE ARE LISTENING TO? i also hear voices.

why are we pulling over, mom?
my soccer ball needs air....
oh did you see that...

i waddle over to an angle iron black framed 18x 24 sign stuck in the ground at the entrance to a neighborhood. it happily reads:
CONGRATULATIONS CINDY! GRADUATING CLASS OF 2005 purple block type face on an curve.yellow corrogated fluted plastic.
for half a sec, i think "who the "f" is Cindy?"quick look around, no one sees me and a tug. darn thing is stuck.push weight into it a bit, adjust grip and yank. oh its dirty...oh well. the boys have their cleats and pads in the back, it'll just have to add more dirt.... i need to stop by the store for.....

okay people.THE SOCCER MOM.
is she you?
who will the soccer mom confide in?
a list serve?
a television character?
the family dog?
no...she'll take it out on a poor little sign. she'll take it to the sign man, and say..."will you re-letter this for me?" that wont cost much will it(swags her old ring squeezed hand)...when can i have it, can i pay you then?

what a freakin "b" word. a lonely stench of perfume lingers


THIS IS AN ADVERT. (stay with me folks)

Hey Schmucks.I hate you. i tell yr secrets one person at a time. got some art gossip? got some art that's gonna blow me off my feet?
gotta notion that's just burstin out yr face?

i do.
im freakin great and yr not.
im the atlanta individual.

the blond headed fool that passed yr notes in class
i got some gossip. whos doin who etc...who's hot/ who's not.
i got some half baked notions that expose some rotten attempt at The Truth
with abstract paintings?
heck no. those are "just paintings" they wont hurt ya. or even cause an emotional reaction. i promise. i wouldnt poop you, yr my favorite poop.
im just me. perpetuatin' the Myth
tappin the back end bottom of this listserve with a straw,suckin outloud. im so noisy and rude. a tree falling on my cake.

i hate you. come out and support me.

im figurin im gonna go out to Youngblood at 8 this friday and im gonna hang out for an hour.on the bench. or the beautiful picnic table. i dont even know whats goin on there, but i bet its freakin HIP. probably too hip for me, but not you.
but yeah...that's until 9 for those of you who suck at math. which is probably most of you liberal wackos. until 9 o'clock jerk neck turkey legs. got it? i might do an encore.

got any questions? gossip? smack talk? art talk? new music you wanna be hip and drop ? im down. i wanna hang and tell it how it is.
reckon mandie and maxwell and jenny (she's so freakin Hot!) are invited, but if its just me...screw em. ill read a book. cuz im literate. i even do a reading of "a good man is hard to find" by flannery o connor if so provoked. im the misfit mother f'ers.
yr invited. bring beer if you want.



i have this sea turtle in my backyard, we go riding and stuff, right, well..he's 108. his name is stanley. anyways...i was on his shell and we were makin a hard right around a tree the other night ((filming a movie in my backyard) and he broke his toe!
was wondering...can he have medical coverage?could the AAP help me? the movie was an art project. filmed in slow mo, to be sped up to illustrate the passage of declining bru hah hah in the suburban dwell of urban reformed mechanized social strata, the unmitigated audacity exorcised by those in the position to do so. its for a good cause. all the proceeds would go towards a not for profit feform feform um treatment plant for treatment of..uum. plants in need of reform.

he knew charles darwin, does that help?

he died in 1882. far out. wish i was alive then.
somebody is lying here.either stanley is olderthan he says..which would be bad news on a health insurance application
1Have you ever been on medicine for mental health/substance abuse?
2. how old are you?
3. any family members that were/are artists?
4. did you vote?
5. have you ever ruined someone's dinner with political topics?
6.do you ride turtles in your backyard?
7. do you talk to yourself?
7.5 online?
8.do you "hunt & peck" or can you actually type?
how many words? and dont say "all of them"...heard it.
9.finish this Skynyrd song title: "The ballad of________."
10.what do you think of Social Darwinism?
-------------- next part --------------
I drop a hand drawn business card to the floor, while YOU watch. Its a puzzle piece shaped like you.
"thank you very much...i appreciate your interest." He's not seeing things.
this is not a pkd book. look at the camera for a second,please.
i dont assume to write like The Man.
Twinge for a moment because i am not insane.(not one soul said you were, nerd) An artist skin over my lie of a boring paranoid life. i do know.
i decide that it is only ten thirty in the evening and that i have just woke up with the call from Intellegence. to give a speech to the masses. the idea of the forerunner. A blueprint of the prototype, sketched by a machine i designed. The front end of a ship full of sugar and black rotten tongues . giant flies. a cowcatcher covered in dead maidenheads. other people's fragments, their souls smeared like KY on my surface.
your context and extension of your keyboard. you dont know me. but better than i know myself. you are flesh and blood. a name on a screen. the planet is 2 dimensional again. cubism is a relevant install in that corner. with wires and ideas. walking into walls.
i lack the words but hear it differently, a lucid dream with ten get out of jail free cars.
ten paintings...did i do those?
pretty good...what the flip are they?
who cares.
i answer to your delving questions. with yet another mask, another beard...excuse me while i check your inventory for thoughts of me. i observe myself and have to say.."oops"
but its just the internet with voices in the background. people i know. because of you.
so why should i care....it's not real. whys it gotta be all that. its about bein happy aint it?

hey you! yes you...you the porch that looks like christmas
i read that article. had to print it out and read and reread it, wipe idiots drool away...grab thesaurus, elements of style, shake my melon... read from back to front. was easier somehow in reverse..
this is a subject of discussion in the form of my angle on it. or my ignance on it.
like jeopardy. with a capital "J" and an exclamation mark after it.


Grey Flippers with an issue of artpapers and an i pod. Ivory tusks and a
he was trying to give a polar bear a hug.
a polar bear a hug.
but the polar bear was on his laptop and on the phone
a cell phone. shaped like an ancient bone. with a can of peas drawn on it.
one of those things on his head, stuck to his ear. an ear shaped like an ice hole.
he was yellow and white and fuzzy like he was
On The Go!
Big wrinkled flipper all red from pressing his inbox key, the walrus smiled at the polar bear. "i have a friend!"
"i know the feeling bobby!" said the walrus, as he waved at the bus and all the lovely people.
its wednesday...you know what that is? asked bobby the polar bear with yellow and white hair.
what? anything can happen day? snipped the walrus and made his ears round for a second.
"yep! "
So what you up to?
"Im going to an opening in the basement of the Ga. Aquarium.. some octupi bros of mine are doin this performance piece during feeding time, kind of an improv/ happening thing..."
"really?", the walrus looked up at the sky looking for a way to duck out. a hawk circled in the sky somewhere over buckhead. he wished it was a vulture for a second.
he hit his delete key and turned into a billboard with a big red circle swoosh thing, dropping a single tear. a dogwood bloomed.shaped like a dollar bill.

somebody post something amazing.
uh may zing.


Heating up. still up from the night before. all warm and fuxxy, like a conversation had with a musician i met last night at Young Blood Gallery.Makes you feel one step beside yourself if you really listen. a bit woozy in backroom bar in tangiers.
They (YBG) have the most comfortable picnic table, by the way.It is green.
Jenny Lavine photography, intimate work, clearly communicated moments of human normality. Myself, as a human male harboring my particular sexual persuasion found some of the photography to be, what's that journalism word, i learned while studying "what is obscene?" all that "i dont know..but i know it when i see it" business? darn it. Oh well. her work was cool. not obscene. Prurient! jeez, i thought i was gonna die for a second there. it just jumped in my head, like a sexual thought. not that i have sexual thoughts, for i am a Man Of God. and men of god dont fck. as you know.
The Critic arrives:
He's wearing Rockports, target brand socks, target brand shorts with 78 pockets and an old black t-shirt from The Gap. his sexy (theres that word again) blonde hair seems to guide and command the wind towards and away from his bald spot. what muscles. what art. what jeh nuh say qua. He has paint spatters, he MUST be an artist himself...how subtle, how indicative of The Creative Life. Why Can't I be You?
I am confronted by a wall, the back wall, like trees in a shakespeare play. is it moving towards me? perhaps not. Where's the wine for my friend here? my old swimming Q.er.
Then thars this This is Mandie Turner Mitchell.Her displacer wall, causing depth perception dilemmas. can i just say this? what a weirdo. she's got this laugh and this smile and these writhing grinding networks of color. they undulate. did he say undulate? my goodness.we dont need any of that around here. Undulating..heavens! this is the proper south yung man, we dont undulate here.I dont care if it is a patchwork of densly(sp) balanced color.
the back wall was not moving, as it turned out. It was my sweet tea going to my head.My roommmate made it.mandies paintings are something else.
Then there this other wall.Maxwell "Cadillac Deville Jones"Sebastian. maxwell sebastian former hood mobster, street hustler, draftsman of the Gods...what can i say ya ODB? naked . stripped bare by her Bones. Descend into a tilted corner and hide behind death.sweat the details out. tight little intricacies(sp) and the floorboards. i touched a painting and got a fargin splinter. that'll learn me. Seems he has no problem showing women how he sees them. which is interesting, if you consider someone elses perspective instead of yr own, my lecherous audience and devoted reader. fare thee well.
Eggtooth"s Icons shimmer from thisother wall.The left handed wall. I, knowing the creed did not look directly at the echo icons. I didnt want to see myself. (imagine that)Stark Abstractions. Almost like a design element rather than design, something leaves me feeling a mood. this large black tangential meme. the right amount left out. truth be told, im haunted. a lesser possession, a grunt smart ass traffic cop of the demon kind. to sassy. too loosey goosie and gooey. vibrating shifts of decorative drips.logic grabs emotion by the bells and ends up covered like a tar baby, ha ha mf'er. please dont throw me in the briar patch. an orange virus speckled dendrite climbs through one image.Here's your sentencing. not unlike humans, it s beautiful inspite of its tragic flaws. its soft underbelly exposed. an attempt at honesty. fractured frames,,,,again logic vs. emotion. how it happens isnt different.

thanks for yr time. thanks Mackenzie for the racecar and the puzzle pieces. I love you all. especially you brian. and you duane. oh and ernesto, you big sexy mug, you. where you at dog? did you get yr show hung well last night? Kisses to the two doggies meandering. tanks to kelly, the patient person and selfless giver. i learn as i go. exponetially. and lastly..thank you Atlanta. I love you, you dang freak.
jeff d.


Joy! There's no other city like Atlanta!
Come to Atlanta!
Do you know the history of this Emerald?
This green growing city!
Approach a neighbor today Atlantan!
We want to know you!
You Atlantan you!
You're the Atlanta Individual!
Put on that Atlanta Smile I know so well!
Atlanta sizzles with excitement!
Atlanta is the soil!
Atlanta is the sky!
Atlanta is its history!
Atlanta is tomorrow!
The city filled with pride!
Come to Atlanta!
Eclectic Atlanta!
You'll never want to leave!
Growing Green Atlanta!

I love you Atlanta, my home, my familiarity...my changing face, Our children's future...spreading, spreading Atlanta. you will see what takes root out where...in Atlanta. A vast corner of light for the country, a firey green horizon all the way to its oceanic coast...
These are the times..the blueprint days, the grafting growth of A New Culture...a new producer of families, freedom and expression! Atlanta! Come be part of it!

eggtoofus bean
who are some of the exceptions, in your honest opinion?
and what traits do they have that make them such?
in fact, you dont even have to name them....im just curious about their traits, if you can generalize these characteristics without having to address specifics.

i have recently decided that work is either decorative or "means something" i mean..im a painter.. what's a painting?
brian holcombe once made reference to some of my knock off wanna be cubist stuff as not "relevant to now". i like that phrase.
e.k huckaby once told me that "intentions mean nothing" also a good one.
and lastly, Karin S used to drill me with "you gotta be doing it for yourself"
little cliches, if you want. i know. but hey... doing it for love is all you got anywhere. i mean, you can be miserable if you want, i dont care. I dont believe a person can declare themselves a martyr. perhaps they can be scientific about what they do.
but like pandra has smacked me with "what do you want white boy?" all the same. i got what i got and nobody can take my way, my gig,my technique, my training.can't be taken away from me. if i wanna sell, ill stick with coffee shops and festivals.
hell, ill go so far as to say that if i REALLY wanted to, i could research just about any gallery in this city and take the time to cater to their needs. but i do it from the reverse, starting with me and remembering that..to a point of eating myself sometimes?but...i believe thats the way to be. make undeniable stuff for myself.

i know i dont identify with certain people's WORDS to describe why they do what they do. i look at the work.
sometimes the CONTEXT i receive it in clouds my judgment and makes me a victim of my own judgement. thats me, though. im getting better. greatness can pop up anywhere.im interested in NEW in general. not current issues. i guess to me this topic is more about the human condition.

does GREAT WORK need a scene or a city's sense of self image to perpetuate it?to what extent is the hustle a percentageof its life? opinions? cuz to me that starts to get into the whole veneer of it..the necessity of it and all the things that go with leaving your house with what you do from the get go... is it evil?

How to Pick Pockets (in galleries & festivals)
by mr.lowercase
5th edition edited by pg.paint

*in accordance with right of way laws in L.A., the latest edition has subtracted significant seconds off of your escape route.

Chapters still include great classics like:

Buy your own art with their money.
buy a billboard and a sattelllitte with the booty.
pay someone to make undeniably good stuff for you
pay someone to give you a checklist of "taste"
pay someone for common sense
spend more time reading and less time making
fret for your future less
feel understood
feel appreciated
publish your own history book ahead of time!(see fret for future less)
make lots of money
validate yourself with power
influence culture NOW!
learn the "i told you so" silent smirk that doesn't burn bridges
learn to differentiate between culture and cultured
10 convenient expressions for conversing with the rich and how to make them ignore your shoes!
all for 49.99
howdy all. what's for SALE? today....
touch me im sick, my band is bigger than your band, sing it.pigs like getting covered in mud. its very COMMON practice.

so how's the community doing? we happy? goin to shows? participating in thought provoking conversations? injuring ourselves for the sake of life and living and art? hangin' out, observing?

would ya'll like an inspirational poem from EGGTOOTH?

tHE sILENT wALL OF Love and Life
Oh life i hear you
oh i hear you life
in my heart i am strong life
like a love of a pumping heart i am me
an indivdual in life i am
from my family
my mother's breast oh love
i stand proud of life i love
my heart does pump for you
....Love. I am me!

Cheers everyone. just found that poem(on the back of my skull) it was funny, it was wrapped around the outside and i was trying to picture it reversed from the inside and couldn't gather a perspective. i felt, i dunno confronted. but then i realized it was like a wheel, a path there is no starting point. but there are always the basics. the blank slate.
so i ended up using three mirrors and two packs of cheap razors to read the thing in reverse.
it was worth it though!
i felt so inspired to create and love life and remember who i am and to be proud of that. i am a lion! GRRRRRRRRRRRR!
(clawed hands at you etc....)
so what do ya'll think bout having a society constructed based on the influx of the ever shifting dichotomy of interests that meet, with the intent purpose (purportedly) that the need was dispersal of to (an) society in the form of a mass media, a medium that covers everything. from the grass and the clouds to the air over the top back of yr head.
-------------- next part --------------
somebody please validate a pressing need for art.

can someone describe a world, an atlanta, without it...
what would it look like?
i bet it would be a sanserif type face in black and white. visible from space.

did you know serif comes from seraphim...angels. wings etc...? lack of wings.

artists should boycott work this coming june 1st..wadda ya say?

who wants to come over and play on that day?
went to michael c carlos last night for part two of a tim tew show. duane georges invited me cuz he was in the show. had fun. felt cultured and oggled. my wrist is sore from signing so much and im still seeing spots from flashes, but its all good. my personal trainer had me on a sesna for the beach for a few miles of jogging and now im back and the spots are gone.
what a day people...gotta go to utrecht for some rubber gloves and stencils.
by eggtooth and Fay Lynx
"Let's take it to the streets!" she said.
the city that never woke up. once there was a city. full of itself and wanted so badly to be, that it decided to evaluate itself.
who cares about objects? stationary objects? oh...those people? who cares about those people?
oh...those bank accounts? i see.
who cares about the people? that nonprofit heart string bean?
who are they there for? themselves? or the little people? mankind? whatever.
im a cowardly prophet no more fay. ignorant as the length of my tongue and as jammed up and circular as 285.
i will take it to the streets and i will do it entirely for myself.
in ternet no one hears you scream
in ternet no one herds you
in real life.
i wanna say that again
in real life.
yr art is shallow and cant escape it.
make a buck you sack of maggots
deliver me a list of rules to follow and tell me they aren't man made.


If you think you think you should heed the warning of your mother and sister and not risk uncertain sorcery,turn to page 25


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