cute problems

American death poems

i go to the mall when i want to commit suicide

with beauty and plastics and a faceless love of color behind glass as a zoo of things i don't want, can't afford, can't stop looking at

when the trees whisper my name at six thirty i have to leave and walk to my stairs

the one thing that i will miss about this neighbor hood is the wonderful smell of baking bread, every morning, but not wonder bread, that factory was razed to build empty condos, the bakery down the street is Franz~still making raisin bread and rolls and they still have an outlet store with free loafs and brilliant yellow and navy blue trucks ~ and the smell when the wind is blowing right is like a strangers kiss

the second before dawn

gutter fascination

for things squished

and useless but to the lens

the Fremont troll

now home to Fremont hobos, you can see a dready example in the background

yes, a real VW bug

hubcap eye and the kids drink here and pee on his shoulders, if you come, don't touch, or use your nose

everything free to the eye

i don't even know what to say~ this much perfect beauty is hard to look at

i wish someone could make a real life doll version of me,

we are crafting perfect beauty talismans in plastic, coping the Romans, who copied the Greeks, in fetish art, in idealized form, in perfecting, in a much smaller scale, huge in the hands of their future owners

if they made the eyes more realistic, could you imagine how frightening she would be with those frosted lips and unstoppable hair

they've come out with a nice city girl doll in the simple black dress, so elegant

but i want this one~

who waits for me while i take pictures that make people uncomfortable

a tattoo star one for every year she'll spend in grubby hands

i never played

the only thing i ever wanted to be in my whole life, was an cosmonaut, but i didn't want to join the air force and shot aliens in the face so i became. . .whatever this is that i have become, a vehicle for three boys to ride into the future

what i meant and don't think i quiet said was that neither the Romans nor the Greeks sculpted representations of what their own actual people looked like, but of some highly refined ideal, their fantasy of men as gods, and gods as women, who wants to play with a fat dough boy doll, who really cares for classical statues but for the crazy perfection carved into the marble, right down to the microphallus

but what is up with the hair commander B ?

dolls are a very odd concept ~ this desire to hold a small version of big things, very weird, but i guess i like it, i had action figure dolls when i was a kid,i didn't shave off my pecker and hair and try to emulate them though~

then this guy shows up and. . . wow, man, wow maybe i will cut it off.

and then somebody made these two ~