my side of crazy

i have clearly gone crazy, dear friends, for you see i have crossed over to the crazy side of automobile ownership

for i now own a parts van~ yes that's right, a parts van

a matching 85 vanagon, with a stolen transmission and a rod stuck through the block, but a nearly perfectly flawless body and mostly together interior, and perfect glass~
i bought it because i needed the bumpers, front grills, windshield, but now~ the real crazy hits, maybe i'll look for an engine and tranny~ ahhh, the madness grows and spreads. . . get in~
more photos tomorrow with the sunlight~

just listed new photos over at my van site check it out, or i'll poke your eyes out

ping pong terrorists

i know we've been light on the ping pong action, but how's this ?

take it with a warning, never run into a burning ping pong factory~

we had a little tournament on Sunday in the rain, i lost the first game and none of the subsequent

textbook to neilwaukee

have you ever put a video camera in a mirror and watched the crazy feedback falling endlessly forward into tunnels of color and repetition
well now this blog has become it's own book, and now a blog post about a book about a blog

and it's wonderful, if you have a blog i highly recommend this path of uber belly gazing~

i sent a copy of this book to my mom for Christmas, 248 pages or more, every single post, from this blog in full color and hardcover, so it feels great in the hand, lap and eye

like a text book for crazy people~
for my birthday, my dear mother had a copy printed for me and the family and wow,
having something in real book form is so much better than this odd little glowing screen version,
imparting some kind of importance to all this finger flapping on keys
the book will never die~the screen can not and will not destroy the printed word, on paper between cardboard glossy spines~
i admit it now, i do, i love books
long live the books
destroy all the readers
now~ who's ready for a pop quiz ?
thanks again to Saint Josephine of the Moms


the tree and the dust 2

the ring of velveteen robots stared with perfect menace at the girl in tattered night cloths, torn bloody with mud, as she stepped toward them swung about by the incredibly old man, in the black and silver spacesuit,

behind this phalanx sitting on the horizon~inflamed lay the destroyed carcass of a spaceship, heaving in broiling fire, while the sickle like slice of moon shimmers

the girl holds her arms across her chest and breaths great plumes of steam, and gasps~

i can't breathe

what happened to the ship ?

the old man shakes the words out of his mouth, like dust, teeth, ice and gravel~

his back toward her, his shoulders dropped, facing the machines, who merely shrug and stand there,

they don't speak move aside,or lower their weapons and the girl in night cloths turns to run,

she doesn't want to see anymore horror,

runs into the arms of a robot, who holds her wrist and subdues her,

it's face a smooth ovoid of black, two bumps at the sides, as if it wore a mask pressing down on the ears, and sown into the void of a face sunk a few centimeters two glittery jewels in silver, blue and topaz

she is lead to the side of the old man~ shivering as the cold hits her, the air fails to fill her blood, she is dying~ this planet is not a home for feral humans

she coughs and drops to her knee, beside the man who stares at the corpses~ steaming in the night

the snow and the ice splashed in blood, droplets the size of fists, the bodies lay in crater, upon a mattress of cloaks,

twin uniformed women vivisected~splashed about,

holding the creche protectively where the pink fungus covered infant squirms and gurgles~ the umbilical laced up into a limbless burning torso

what happened to the mother ? the girl hears the old man cry, as he falls toward the baby, she doesn't hear anyone speak as in answer, but she knew~ the creature.


this is not a fairly tale

this is blood

the tree and the dust

the very incredibly old man walked across the plate glass frozen face of the lake with perfect form~

while the world around him hummed and whispered with winters worry, the movements below his boots caught his eye, bubbling in tear

a frog just barley alive, a newt, a red stripped turtle a silver knife of a fish, a current, an eddy, a dusty snow globe turning end over end forever

snow blown pillows, mounds rippled, the unharnessed wind billowing his cape, in black with silver pipping a knife, a gun. silver and chrome, his white beard blown to caress his throat, his helmet held under arm pressed to his side, an auxiliary head, in black and silver, an embossed tree within an acorn, the visor reflecting a pure winter white, on white spoiled ~a spot of blood, a star

an old man's face torn to shreds by time and punctuated with deep purple pinpoint pox of astrology

the eyes watch the fish so slow in the thick waters below the ice, a frog pinned to the ceiling of clear. . .life. . .postponed

a crack, pings, echos,reverbs out in the thin air like artillery, the world lurches and almost stops, gravity releases him from it's grip and he leaps into the flash frozen air like a dark monstrous moth against the grey dusky sky, sprinkled with snowflakes the size of plates which slice at his body, uniform cape and helmet, his gloved hand pulls the helmet up to cover his head, as he lands on the shore, in the blackberry brambles, where he runs~as the lake behind him explodes up into the sky to extinguish the very stars,

he curses

and runs through the thicket, as the ice in clear blocks of lead crash into the ground, expanding craters of snow and bright red stalk, and crystallized black soil, hail, snow, shrapnel rips at his back and the girl he drags behind him-

screams !

little mee mee told me that she would only read my blog if it was about vampires, so, here you go baby, a brand new serial, BLOGNOV, only it's going to be a s-f vampire novel set in the way distant future with robots and Nazis of course, now lets see if she reads this crappola, one chapter a week, i guess, i was going to make this a cellphone novel, but those are just too trendy right now, and i don't have a keypad type celly, and Mee-mee doesnt' have a phone anyway, now we can all start writing blog novels, BLOGNOV, love that word, blognov, say it.

sunday in the park with vanagons or what we do to trees

first of all let me state for the record that i do not believe in the zoo~ i can't stand seeing all these endangered wild animals put on display for our children's distraction~ and creating this false hope that we as masters of the world are somehow working hard to save our furry/feathered friends from this massive genocide we have committed~ thank you~
so i don't go to the zoo with my children {they should be in the cages} and wife who is the warden, i drop them off at the gates and park the van and go for a hike~ i saw ten vanagons in one hour~ a new record~ this battle wagon rallies that parking spot
somebody likes to paint things

what we do to trees~ multi~ amputee

the Fremont area is where i hiked around, down the hill from the zoo~near the ship canal~in the rain~ people crack me up

walking about the city with an open eye, you get to see so much more than the automobile allows
this mural takes up the whole warehouse wall and at what first appears so cute with little animals cohabiting

gets pretty dark~ thematically

a barn burning~looting~

a hanging ? in public ? i wish i knew the story behind this thing~ but don't want the answers~either

love the raccoon behind bars

going to start a feature~
the backs of things

caged tea garden

ship canal dug by hand to connect lake Washington to lake union to the Puget sound and the ocean, dropping the lakes level by twenty feet

what we do to trees

Aurora Bridge or Washington memorial bridge where 13 people a year jump to their deaths

way too cute

watch out trees

if i just stare at this ~ it'll become so obvious

a two post bed~pine headboard cardboard comforter

this is the first bum nest i have ever seen occupied~ he didn't move~ i should have checked

this is an actual home [ish] right in the heart of Fremont water front

stairway to dogs~check out the owner in the trash can, as her beasts run at me barking

this one is for my father who builds stuff like this

this fucking glove is scary !

forced to grow into a fence and give birth to convenient fruit

raised in slavery, chopped down for pennies, displayed to celebrate the completion of the trinity, and kicked to the curb, trash to trip over~
i climbed a wall to take this picture fell down in front of a metro bus and laughed, sixty people pointing at some bum covered in needles and bark climbing a wall to jump to some gods birth celebration
while my wife and children play at swingsets and slides and behave as part of society
i pick them up late because they are always late and they are early

more vanagon photos over here~

chuck taylor

if one image can be burned into your memories these shoes hanging over the wire in front of our home will shape who Forest grows up to be~ he used to point up there constantly, from the front window, from the yard the steps, from the window driving down streets, he'd be pointing before language~ pointing and whispering shoes, in his native language, while we looked about confused and dumb
little flag poems~ click to find

the darkness of winter mornings and town homes shadows

when we were children, the sounds of trash can lids crashing to sidewalks surface echoed across the streets of Queens, NY where i grew up~ i did not bring this thing with me, but it follows

i really love it when i do the dishes and look out the window at 1963 parked on my sidewalk

i think the greatest thing in the world you can do is to send someone a real piece of mail, in painting form can only be more wonderful

the kids wouldn't model form me today, so i used the table, love the mankini, Jay, love

the man has summed up my whole shtick in one simple elegant drawing~ now i can retire, you know all that you need to know, there will be no growth

the U.S. mail rumpled this piece unmercifully

family trip to the parking lot, full of poor people living in vans and trying to survive from within flat black Chevy's on black top, riddled puddles and mean drunks waving flags, we should all plan ahead now, what if our prez said fuck it and pulled all of our troops out of everywhere and raced to Haiti and rebuilt the fucking place and turned our armed forces into an humanitarian strike force and our Navy into thousands of floating hospitals and relief vessels mobilized these wasted efforts for something good in the world~ ahhh, dreams. . .
click on the above photo to see the poor girl i did not kidnap~waiting for baby to awaken

my lovely mother called this week, to tell me that she had read this whole blog, beginning to end, 228 pages~ for Christmas i had had it printed for her, the whole thing, crazy, and hard cover, it looks like a freaking text book~ but i don't know what class this could be~ so she read the whole thing
greatest mom ever !
She loved it~ and i hope you do too~


this is not a real post, but at work yesterday i snapped this with my crappy phone, over by the hospital area of town, where all the old buildings get swallowed by huge new medical towers ~ and somehow this little cubic entrance way has been spared~
i would take more pictures and shots from work but Boeing doesn't allow photos or video,
but if they did~ i could show you guys riding bikes in circles, and playing solitaire on computers, or sleeping in chairs
or really cool old cold war computers in green filthy paint, or giant millicron machines eating aluminium and spitting out wings and chips
or some funny drawing graffiti from up on the cat walks of buildings sized in millions of square feet
my days are dull and hot and not photogenic

romantic sunsets

Toby and Suzanne make little books and really great hosts~ oops sorry i have to interrupt this blog with a beautiful sunset~ one second~ sorry Toby
this is the sunset today from our little hill
don't you just want to cuddle in the z~bed of my van with a hot coco, a a couple girls from jersey~ now back to books~

Toby and Suzanne make little books~ this is their newest and a gift, the cover is made from their actual waterproof map of Chile~ they spent a few months hiking, surfing and riding buses in South America~ and this little book is the baby

with little drawings and waves and story, thumb not included

Suzanne also makes little book earrings and pendants~Toby is my fitness guru and mentor~

one of my now famous kitchen table photos~ i do a lot of work at that table~ but i love the color~and love this book, thank you

sorry about the chewed up thumb, yucky~

buy more books! make more books! put more things in your pockets, draw more waves, wave more drawings.

on a side note~

standing outside of the line at the library waiting for the screaming to subside~ thinking stupid thoughts daydreaming watching the kinda guy who's too chubby to be sporting a beard, and a vintage white print button down shirt, a long hair dough boy with his girlfriend /mom who's a bit too old to be in such tight pants, uggs, make-up highlights, their both too old, hipster hasbeens, you know, and i look at myself just then, just as cruelly, shit, when do we get to retire, when can i put on tan slacks and a blue shirt, navy jacket with gold buttons, when am i allowed to walk away from it all, turn in my city boy union card, without any finger pointing heckles of irony~ i want out.

let the oldsters retire !


hipster dipshits is what their called over at regretsy~

i just want to go surfing sleep in my van and throw some rocks at other rocks around a head high fire~
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