quick, have to post up a bomb before i collapse and need to take a nap- must. . . get. . . to . . . keypad - tonight's the big costume ball over at scribble, the going away party- we are all moving on- must get over there for the goodbye- then it's off to work, argh. . . 3rd shift, so sleepy-
anyhow- this is me driving my van, while taking pictures of my favorite Filipino treat, Karoka- so good and gooey, thick sweet dough fried and soaked in honey and skewered- yumm

my family hates them, so i eat them alone in the van

country gingham pie painting- looking to paint me a logo-

i'm a human fly and i don't know why, i gotta 96 tears and 96 eyes, such a great cramps song- this is not a song, but a little postcard

a nude witch painting for all you tricky treaters

the parable of never knowing which god you'll end up with~

a really old painting about mitten's-

a really new painting about oven mitts and flame- from a shit load of logo studies~

cyclops with cyclops boob too- funny ? not so funny ?

rasta bum all upset because he kicked over this wine and his invisible socks and shoes got wet

favorite painting of the month- the parable of why god looks in the mirror with his eyes closed

spider web i saw in a hole with dew and . . . i'm so sensitive. . .

this painting is from the 90's- titled five- i used a lot of black back then

this thing was titled hey, there he is talking about himself again- and now i guess it could be about me and this blog and it's huge belly gazing teenage pomp- i suck- look at me- boo hoo- i have to work late in the rain in freezing cold dark Washington- i paint pictures- tears ~cry~ bitch

a wonderful hardcore song- by Minor treat

warning ! i did not paint this painting- but it is a masterpiece found over at Regretsy~

i don't often send people packing out on long finger trips to other websites but you've just gotta check this out- especially because the Etsy administrators forbid it's name to be mentioned

i haven't been able to stop looking and laughing-

until i see my art anyway- oh crap !

scribble shack

some boring white people will probably buy this building /renovate and build a huge kitchen with stupid giant appliances and a mud room with bright red stackable washer /dryers in spinning tumble form and i~ i will never again have a place to run to- when the family kicks me out for being too hardcore~too nu-wave~too fruity- never be able to see a tranarchist band play two chord magic in a soupy smelling steam filled room illuminated by candles

xx-yy xx-yy

tran !

everybody scream

archy !

i wish

push me~

the house had been set on fire twice and Cyrus had resurrected it like a great wounded Phoenix- covered the walls with art and objects of free found wonder

the fire department hacked off the electrical feed but left the water and the gas so there was a kitchen and bath

no walls, no sheet rock- creating one huge living space with ribbed ceiling to a fly away sky with chalky lines explaining the stars above wood stove warmth nap nests


featured in the coffee table book - Punk House

Dashiell really liked the front door and all the knobs

hello, my name is-

these matching gems will be chucked out to the curb with pinned on signage -free and other people will plant their asses upon them like hobo princess's pea-ing for change

bling a free lunch

travelling bands played here and i broke my number one rule- leave the kids alone- and went to shows here, in my defense usually with Jake, and we'd stand in the kitchen and eat gluten free muffins with flavors like leaf pile and twig

i wonder what flag that is- Free Cascadia ? Eugene United ? I've seen it a million times and shrugged-

i just wish MDC would play an acoustic show here- before people with careers and mortgages move in with their cute record collections and their poesy turntables and Etsy shops~ oh wait~that's me- I'm the reason Scribbles will move on into dreams

but there is some hope and if not~ one last show at the end of the month and we can all drink tea in space suit armour and watch with amazement as life on earth ends- in for sale signs-Realtors stalking- and credit scores

or a black tornado sweeps thru town and lifts this marvelous building with Henry and Cyrus inside and drops them into the heartland of some place wonderful and delicious, without the squished witches, though, and all Technicolor dreamy with berries on top~

why we are all going to commit suicide this winter in seattle, WA

the ship who wears a bun

hello ? hello ? super frightening little girl in old grandma dress with matching blue lips- Hello ?*

huge stuffed brown bear and boy with cowlick and fucked up walleye reading a book- bomb making porno

oops, my mistake, no blue lips- a blue moustache in celebratory spirit of the all month long uber holiday stashtober

hello ? Henry Darger ? where's my penis ? hello ? hello ? that thing certainly looks like a bun to me- and speaking of buns-

this fucking book is like a tall cool glass of acid thrown in my face- but i should have known when i saw this cover and laughed out loud at a yard sale- where some maniac was selling thousands of brand new paper back trash- because he is a recent Kindler- and is all into it- because he reads about a million pulpy novels a week- and i bought all the titles i never buy new- all the books I've seen for years or have heard of on the street

the gist is that a bunch of vikings live on this planet, full of magic left to them from the predictable old ones, they fly around in easy chairs fighting each other and enslaving the indigenous people and exploiting the environment

the ship who won is some dumb old lady in a shawl and bun who hires a burly weight lifter with greco roman skills and caveman good looks to search the Galaxy for therapy and aliens- great- and the ship paints oil paintings to make a little cash for fuel and her partner Kirks the young ladies inhabiting the universe of bad s-f novels

there's all sorts of contrived romance novel love scenes guaranteed to leave a horrible flaccid stain right behind my eyes- but the cover art is wonderful- maybe these books should just be comic books instead of wasting all this valuable print and paper ~

you'all might like to visit CatMask's newest blog called Tape Hiss- catmask is some kid named Jake living in Seattle- Love the blog name and the band name and he writes some crazy blurbs-he makes musical noise and drives us all crazy
p.s. the banner stash is the infamously beautiful Cyrus'- thnx~
* my wife collects vintage material and makes pillows and all my outfits


Hugo paintings

i was cleaning out my sister's haunted attic because i have a ton of crap up there still- you see when i moved to Seattle ten years ago i filled the glove compartment of my truck up and that's how i packed- when i came across a box of paintings- like Christmas only not as cold-
all of these wonderful/freighting Rorschacked house paint marvels- painted by the incredible

Hugh Joseph James Brown Kathmandu Nepal O'Boyle is the artist- now exiled in France

these master works are all thick with high gloss enamel paints and shocking

love the blood red nude seated reaching for the- what is that-?

this painting has travelled thru time from the Mildred on e 5 th st. from a time when Hugo and i had a kitchen full of bicycles and rats and warm sweaters from a different time vault- could this be a painting of my old favorite- Miami cruiser ?

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
updates on yesterdays blog-
inside of dust jacket from the book The family- dune buggy death battalion- so great-
Thrift Score fanzine was made by
Al Hoff who wrote the book Thrift Score: the book, 1997 or so-

life's stuff on the side of the road

on the floor- feeding the cats at The house
have i reviewed this book yet ? well if i haven't here's the short version anyway- not only is this book wrapped in one of the greatest dust jacketed pieces of art of all time but on the inside is a legal document stating that this book will no longer be printed- Charles Manson is in the news a whole lot these days- one of his ladies recently died in prison and one of the gals was released -
i guess the back story is- is that back in the seventies when this story went down the counter culture wasn't sure if the family actually did any of these crimes/ or if Nixon and Reagan the Governor of California at the time was framing these poor hippies and their little family of nuts-
so Ed Saunders*/who had shit loads of counter culture street cred- flew to California and disguised as a wandering mystic and acid fried lunatic infiltrated the Church of the Process and the remnants of the family to find out the real story- this book is the real story and it is insane and wonderfully written and so captivating- but you'll have to find a used copy from the seventies- it is sadly out of print
and so good- i read it twice

this little zine used to be so great- before the Internet and all you e-bay sellers ruined the thrift shops with/ pickers and sellers and dealers racing to yard sales at 7 am, but back in the old days this fanzine was all there was espousing the beauty of thrift stores run by old ladies and whacked& wigged out church basements, capturing the smells and the stains with a hand plucked charm i will forever miss and cherish- plus she used to print my panty and bra manikin photos-
the author later wrote a book and made it big- i wonder if she's on etsy ?

the back of this photo says- My buck - found while trash picking with El Mutante who taught me a great junk picking trick- here it is, never go through the bags and boxes on the side of the road- throw them all in the truck and sort it all out later- fast and efficient - at home

same trash pile - i love this Kodachrome moment- so blue and white and red and captured- the tree the boys jacket, the ridiculously small hill- the blades of grass in the foreground

mom or grandma dressed up for Halloween- but fuck that- look at the living room- the couch the table that thing on the coffee table /the matching lamps /the wedding photo tucked in the back/ the blue carpet- and she is completely RED WHITE AND BLUE outrageous- does anyone else remember that the whole country went bicentennial mad in 1976- the whole county was fake federal/early American furniture and tri-colors over massively bad hair/ 1976 was a piece of shit
two other blogs also- or not- father & son art work east coast cars and a dodge rampage

* the Fugs

the Neil Nash blog

Sep 24, 2009Cornelius Nash, 48 Surrounded by family and friends, Cornelius C. Nash died at home in New York City on Sept. 9. Mr. Nash, who was 48, had been diagnosed with brain cancer in 1993.
“Being a father” was his most heartfelt achievement, his family said. Jedadiah and Campbell C. Nash are his 9-year-old son and 7-year-old daughter.
He is also survived by his wife, Martha Brophy of New York City, his sister, Juliana Nash Stenerson of Amagansett, his mother, Juliana van der Vloed Nash of New York City and Amagansett, and by a niece and a nephew.
Although he was a consummate New Yorker, Mr. Nash had spent summers in Amagansett since his early teens and “loved Indian Wells Beach more than anything.” As an adolescent he enjoyed surfing and “hanging out with his herd of friends” there.
Around that time he helped his parents renovate Moose Brown’s old house next to the American Legion Hall on Montauk Highway, which they had bought in 1976. He also spent a couple of years in Miami Beach, where he worked as a partner in a fine-cabinetry company.
Mr. Nash went on to become a project manager for D.B.I., overseeing a wide array of endeavors in New York City and throughout the United States. He helped manage large institutional restoration projects after Hurricane Katrina and worked on luxury residential projects in New York City.
He had also been an event planner for James McNabb Associates; his last job with that company involved doing work during the 1992 Olympic Games in Barcelona, Spain.
He was born on May 1, 1961, in New York City. His father was James C. Nash, who died in 1998. He attended Stuy­vesant High School in Manhattan as well as the University of Rhode Island, where he was on the crew team, and the City University of New York at Hunter College.
He and Martha Brophy were married on Oct. 17, 1992, the year before his cancer, a pineal blastoma, was diagnosed. His doctor did not expect him to live even a few months, but his condition was stabilized for 10 years.
“Neil was like a tall oak — sturdy, strong, upright, resilient,” his family said, as well as “intelligent, rational, egalitarian.”
Funeral arrangements were private. Donations have been suggested to the pediatric brain tumor unit at Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center, P.O. Box 27106, New York 10087-7106.
the previous obituary was from the new york times September 16 th and no i didn't' get a paper copy either- this is the long island version-
did i ever tell you about the time Neil and i were down by the old swimming hole and had found a big old raft and we started pulling it around the cliffs, Neil tied it to his belt and then i stepped on a yellow jackets nest and we were both instantly engulfed with stingers and insanity-
at which point i ran away as fast as i could and poor Neil was stuck tied to the raft-while yellow jackets destroyed him
then we proceeded to run from room to room at grandma's house until it too was full of wasps-
good times- Screaming !


wow- i just drove across the whole USA, in two and a half days, a new record, and i just drove across the USA with my father- no, let that sink in for a second, yeah, i just drove across the whole USA with my father-2500 miles and horrible weather the whole country was socked in with a 2000 mile wide cold front, with wind and rain unrelenting- so the old man and myself couldn't even get out of the truck all we could do was drive and drive-and complain-

i had to go east to read at Neil Nash's memorial and it was wonderful- the kids - the words - all the friends and family, so great to see everyone- all the crying and hugs- i really love you all-

the rest of the time back east i spent walking in the woods alone- wishing i was a rambler- and there were no real roads, but dirt and hardscrabble- this is what i see- and how i live- when you people don't see me-

this building used to be called the studio-back in the 90's when i painted huge violent paintings within it's hundred year old walls, when Brian and Anne moved in it was called - the barn but this Autumn I've named it the cabin to give it a more desirable name

Joe Fellner signed the house in 1910 after he had built it with is own hands, his family had a saw mill on the property- which was razed after his death

this is my old house-where my sister and El Mutante, Joliet and Dutch live today-

Jo Fellner built the wall out front in '31- probably when cars started racing down Hardscrabble road and Oxford depot toward

newburgh 14 miles away- down kings highway- Joe fellner incorporated this 1840's brownstone road marker into his wall, to save it from poachers- i had a bush growing in front of it- these signs are easy to steal and very sought after

during the cold war a us pilot had to make an emergency landing in the town of Monroe- this F-86 Sabre is still where he ditched it- when i was a kid the cockpit was still open and we could sit there and shoot missiles and .50 caliber bullets into the old A&P

the jet intake was also open back in the old days- fat kids used to get trapped in here- with all the stoner kids sniff'n glue

the beer can pile out behind our house, six feet deep and crazy- Mrs, Jordan's family who had moved into the house after Joe Fellners death, owned a Hungarian restaurant and bar in town and refused to pay for garbage pickup, instead they'd load up the station wagon and dump the beer can, bottles and jars out in the woods

super soft top- for all you girly boys who break a nail every time you use a church key-

these things used to be everywhere- and would stick in your feet and cut your fingers

beer can pile gold

have a sip

the walnuts were very small this year

the walnut tree at Goose Pond State Park where we all used to hike, Lazy Hill Road- is where i became a rambler

this leaf made me gay-

my favorite tree collapsed - and turned into a bridge to magical fairy world-

right above the little rocks i used to sit on and listen to the little creek

large trees in larger fields- the only trees left with any history behind them are the remnants of some farmers whimsy two-hundred years ago, a place to eat a break fast- dream

rocks wearing camo

goose pond mountain park is basically just a bunch of old farms linked by an old road and millions of bike, and motorcycle trials, beaver ponds and destroyed/ burned down homes, a cemetery- one of the trails leads up that hill and up above those shale cliffs-
an old dam crossing the creek

the fall colors- had started to pop when i left
an old maple dying in the woods

stickbugs attack
these things looked yummy, didn't have a book with me-
gentle sunlight falling across late Autumn and my long chestnut hair

the ubiquitous party spots along the Adirondack trail-
Devil's Falls- name changed by metal kids in the seventies- i guess- everything was changed to satanic colloquial - the real name is- Fitzgerald Falls

trail art is a new thing in orange county NY - but heart blazes ?- follow your heart- i get it
mossy balls- alive

Highland Trail blaze and pinnacle registry box, which is very funny. On the way to Mombasha Highpoint and Prospect Mt. and the confluence of three different trails- very confusing

mushroom season

so many acorns i could hardly walk

a very rocky trail to follow- hard on the ankles

lowland forest canopy and perfect weather to be alone in the woods

trail registry trash shoved in the box-

only the first few yards of the trail get the fancy stuff- swampy raised walkways

giant glacier erratic rock trying to hide in the trees-
birches leaning into a pond

hold me

this is the wildlife i was able to see

traily Moses mossless

you could see NYC- 40 miles to the south of here, but it was too smoggy for a pix

all i got to see was some guy i went to high school with praying with an attack dog

really bad graffiti up in the woods and a dump of colvert pipe washed out from under the service road
favorite tree in orange county, Sycamore/ Plane tree, in a parking lot outside of Goshen,NY
the blade that shattered and cut off Joe Fellnor's leg-

now his ghost haunts the house- but don't tell the kids

is the one beer to have when your having more than one- was their old jingle- fucked

nice can graphics don't you think ?

she prays for incense

best mushroom of the trip - it looks to be about six foot proud

Elm- near my Mom and Dad's house on mine road- built over a civil war iron ore mine- with sink holes and rock piles everywhere
christmas present house- deer haven- where i grew up in the woods-

sunrise over Assawomen canal, Delaware
the back yard boat drive way in Oceanview- stinky too
up-in-the-air-house with big dodge pick-ups
very glassy and quiet
Delaware flatty, drove down to check it for the next days dawn patrol and laughed- beautiful though, empty and a cold offshore breeze-

the Neil Nash obituary is from the New York times- no matter what the oldsters say, i love the photo that goes with it- will try to post it up soon along with Jamie Carse's speech- very lovely

low land forests all third or fourth growth, overgrown feilds

Highland trail peak- Mombasha High Point

i'm on the west coast now- Home !

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