The engine of my past aggression, sputters nonsense, incoherent thoughts. Cold sparks penetrating my skin with little force, my skin like paper today. The engine moans and strains as it pulls thoughts out of thick air.

I watched the girl walk away, fallowed by transparent swans, floating, as was she, above the ground a few inches. My eyes were fixed on her, watching her walk away again. I've done this a thousand times, watched her walk, this is the first time I saw the swans. The engine must be what makes me see, it turns my past aggression into something else.

She stopped, turned around and looked at me through the swans. Her eyes pierced me like nails in wood. I don't know why she did that, I just watch. I'm sure she was going to say something, but she didn't. Her lips parted and then she turned and left.

I own a jeep. Not just any kind of jeep, a dj-5c dispatch vehicle, or as it's more commonly known, a postal jeep. For some time now, it's been in a coma in the garage, waiting for the day it will see the open road again. It needs tons of work, a new floor, exhaust, some gas tank issues and new windshield. And about a thousand little things to make it run.

There is nothing like driving a right hand drive car down the open road with the sliding doors locked in the open position, the only thing separating you from the speeding pavement a little strap of nylon that is the seatbelt.

Every year I say it's going to run, and I get slightly closer to that promise, this year, or at least this summer, I want to drive the big metal box down the road. So if you see a slightly strange black and white jeep barreling down the road with a driver reciting the "alas poor uric" scene from hamlet with a chrome skull, I suggest that you get out of the way.

Picture time. Purple like a long moon from some whispering vast sky that lies after a gorgeous picture symphony sun.
Together yet beating.

Always easy and with diamond hair, she must manipulate an urge to chain every red laugh.
Size with a trusting shine.

I haven't worked on paintings much of late. I haven't been in the mood. I am struggling with the themes that I work with, the deconstruction and reconstruction of memory. I am not sure it that relates to my paintings as much as it does to the photographs and sculptures. The paintings use many of the same ideas, the torn paper and books, combining elements to make some sort of background, but then the imagery seemingly has nothing to do with the rest of the stuff I do. Maybe I just need to work it out, work through the block I'm having. Even if the paintings don't really relate to the rest of the stuff I do, I still think they are cool.

This is the painting in question. Not a great photo, but what can you do.

The other day some friends and I were talking about old cassette tapes, two in particular, "Placenta Margaritas" the attack of melba and I like myself and I want to live! these were songs written and performed by some friends when they were in high school back in the day, I think around ninety-two. It was sort of a backlash against the grunge movement and the angry teen angst of the day. With songs such as Sam and Ella, omelet, with a side of toast(the industrial remix of omelet) and some others I can't remember at this moment in time, they were a bright beckon of hope in an era of dirty grunge kids. I still have my tapes, and I think it's time I put them on CD so the world, or at least some of my other friends can enjoy the soothing sounds of suburban teen angst.

So, anyway, I am tired. I haven't been sleeping well for some time; I think it is having an adverse affect on my head, a slight tinge for lengthy periods of time. It goes away, I forget about it, then I go to bed and it starts all over again. I just want to sleep for three days straight.

I had an idea for a performance piece/ installation about sleep, called "the great big nap." A room, large room filled with mattresses on the floor, making one giant bed, a sheet over the entire thing, with two pillows each half the width of the bed. The performer, me, was to sleep on said bed for an undisclosed period of time. Throughout the performance, the performer is video taped and the image is to be projected onto the large bed, at about life size to the large bed. When the performer is absent, the video will be run on a loop for an undisclosed period of time. I guess I have a thing for beds.



And then there was "the dirt nap."

I have been thinking more and more about painting. I started to work on some stuff, stretching canvases and working on preliminary drawings, but it seems that I hit a block, not unlike the block I've been having when it comes to writing a blog. I guess I should just work through the block, make a bunch of little things that won't waste many materials. I think that's the thing that I worry about the most, wasting materials; I hate to do something really big just to find out that it isn't working. I did get positive feedback at the diy show about my paintings, so I guess that's a good sign, all I need to do is work on some more stuff.

As for the standard Christmas gift, I've started working on that, it will be cool, if I can finish it on time.