Scalping Holiday Cheer : There Are Millions of People In the World, Go Ask Someone Else to Come Over for Christmas.

Tired of trudging through the longest night of your life with drunk retards projecting the fancy glaze of christmas grease onto your stubborn reality? Wish that the world would forget your pulse while it marched it's merry manglers into a colorful oblivion? Having a hard time morally getting out of work related holiday gatherings? 

Just remember, nothing guts a glutton harder than dumping malice onto the spiritual end of a JC birthday : "Well, since I don't believe in God, why the fuck would you expect me to celebrate his son's birthday with you?". I am pretty sure that will make the well wishers of the world scratch you from their burdened Christmas thoughts.

I like the Xmas season because it's a haunted house of dark wood, low light attic smells and mess mashes of multi-colored electricity . So, it is appreciated because it retains an aesthetic as an absolute aromatically lit killing ground. That being said, it should be of no surprise that a rotten fucker like me isn't all jumped about getting caught in doing something he "really ought" to do for the holiday season. 

Night Lips Live On Xmas Hopes.

Minced to a flat level, this moist bundle of christmas joy is EVERYTHING that is scary to me about the holiday season. A discolored, wet night terror of roadkill; I want to only send this as my Xmas greeting for as long as I breath & make sweat. 

NIGHTMARES ARE CHATTERING TEETH.

Les cauchemars naissent la nuit is phrased to wear : deeply slipped dryly into your subconscious' wet tissue, dribbling a subtle impulse or a mega-memory from the boredom of your waking life. Feverish bouts of slumberic travel, severed from a walking reality but boiling over in grisly, surreal accounts that the body cannot deny happened, even if it did not happen in real time. Or something hyperbolic and way above the carny line.

Real Nightmare : Being in the nose bleed section of a Bruins game with 2 foot versions of the Universal Monsters. The element that drives it into being horrific, terrifying and night sweaty is not the sawed off horror icons, but the fact that I was sitting at a sporting event and not completely mad about it. A line I will draw in the sand with anyone : sports, sports employees and sport patronage is/are the true toilet seats for breathing. Gastrointestinal finger food seeped through a funnel of ocular excitement.

Barebacking in Mud with Mary

Little Milton once sang in a gender defying tone : "grits ain't grocery, pig's ain't poultry & Mona Lisa was a man".

What They Do Is Secret. Fact.

Early Corpsepaint.

Malcolm X Cries White Tears.

HAWKS DIE IN MIAMI. NO BIG DEAL.

"You Are My Nintendo"

DUSTY FEMALE.

Dusty Springfield "Twenty Four Hours from Tulsa"

THE WORLD'S SMALLEST MONKEES FOOTAGE.

It's Nice That (August 2007)

In August, I was asked by the UK art blog, It's Nice That, to contribute some color commentary about some of my favorite artists working currently, or not so currently, maybe more briefly in some of these folks cases, but regardless & due to flooding in my apartment, I wasn't able to go full blast for the whole month. Below is what I was able to complete.

When you are at the It's Nice That site, make sure to bookmark that thing, as it is updated (thoroughly) daily with tons of links for artists & creative explosions you more than likely would never run into on your own internet art adventures. Preference is that wide of a playing field.

GARY PANTER
ELIZABETH HUEY
MARK MCCOY
GREEDY HEN
GREG MARTIN
PAYSAGE D'HIVER
BRENT WADDEN
HEATHER HANNOURA
CSDIV
QUINTRON
SERIPOP

I WAS ROBBED BY TWO MEN!

In the context of delicate nights, this instructional video for learning English is over the bar, under the radar and totally irregular in the contribution to global understanding, eternal peace & all that other pro-person junk.

Also and as a side note, the pink, slightly pig nose English bandanna robber guy is.......transcendent in his racial profiling.