I've been mostly listening to 10,000 Days

In my head the matinee starts at 11:00AM. Right about the same time you realize that your half-full coffee cup has turned into two empty wine glasses and a fresh margarita. I look seriously and hard into the eyes of many wait-and-service people and request a Sunquist and Sudafed with a shot of espresso. I've gotten co-workers into loud verbal debates about heterosexual anal sex at inappropriate hours in front of families and what-not. I got all riled up by a couple of punk-ass nine year olds. They got lippy with me, and when I asked them if they'd ever gotten their asses kicked by a grown man, they tried to play it off like everything was "all good". But it wasn't. It wasn't all good. I hope they skin their knees and break their hostile little bones on curbs.

My new favorite photographer:



His photos look like a cross between an Aphex Twin video and some uber-hot gay porn about Cuban school boys (he is 28 and everyone in every picture is him). I can respect a man who makes awkward crowd scene self-portraits about himself.

Check out his site. It's got a lot of work up for your eyeball-tickling pleasure.
Anthony Goicolea

Yeah, I still play with dolls.

I was the biggest, fattest kid on the playground. I did whatever the hell I wanted to and nobody gave me shit for it. That's probably why I played with dolls for an absurdly long amount of time for a boy. As a matter of fact, I believe I went right from dolls to girls (hmmmm . . . makes ya think, huh?).

So I'm in the middle of one now. In the shit. This is the point of my existence. By tonight it will be done and it won't matter anymore. On to the next thing. But right now it relies on my concentration, my commitment, my version of a vision.

And now a little taste of the Q & A that runs through my head constantly for hours in a row as I work:

Q:Should he have goat's legs?
A:Why wouldn't he.

Q:Do cloven hooves needs cloven shoes?
A:Why wouldn't they.

Q:Should I assume he's allergic to gold and the fancy shoes gave him a venereal slug infection?
A:Why wouldn't you?

Q:Should we assume these slugs will be trialing slime across his body?
A:Yes.

Q:Will they be heading straight for his mouth?

Q:Is he dripping slime from his festering bathing-suit area?

Q:Is he somebodies abandoned pet?

Q:How'd he loose his arm?

So keep in mind, none of these fotos have the sluggy ooze trials yet, I just really needed some shots of the process:



(Notice my daring use of a complimentary color scheme to bring out the yellow in the creepers.)



Yeah, the slimes gonna rock! swirly maps of clear nail-polish to show the slow path from groin to mouth. Carving the cloven horse-shoe design into the bottom the shoes will be nice. Then drilling them into the hooves with real hardware and painting it all gold.

And now it's off to take electric tools to it and make it be finished and complete.

(Later)

the slugs are getting shiney.


And the golden, cloven, allergin-clad shoes are all carved and nailed in (Of course a cloven shoe takes six nails per hoof, versus the usual eight used on non-enchanted entities).


(Notice the turn-buckle roped to the entertainment center in the background. That's for when the cats can get rowdy . . . we throw them up against the turn-buckle and do wrestling moves on them).

Not too shabby for two days of work . . . and by nightfall, this guy's done.

Here's the synopsis I've concocted:

The Huge golden shoes are a status symbol to us. This dude's either wealthy enough to indulge in expensive shoes or exists outside the realm of our understanding of economic value. Either way, the shoes are an indulgence. They are heavy. They hurt. . . but, damn, do they look good. So the only problem is whether or not the golden-allergy that manifests itself as a swollen groin, riddled with sliming, yellow slugs is worth the emotional reward of finely-cobbled/smithed footwear.

Seemingly so.

His shoes do look good. . .

. . . and the stump-arm? Lawn-mower? House cat? Ritual scarification? Self-inflicted guilt control? Folding-couch accident?

Maybe he was born that way.

(Even later yet . . . )

The shoes are gold now.



I gold-leafed them. They don't look gold or seem gold, they're fucking gold. This is the technique the Old Masters used to illustrate manuscripts and detail scrolls. I'm sure the smoothness of their motions and skill was hypnotizing. I, on the other hand, kinda just stabbed it on and swore a lot.

*Had a dream last night about meeting a group of friends in Vegas. It was one of those impossible combinations of friends from all over and I was mostly nervous about the large amount of cash on my person. Somewhere along the way I picked up a package of gum with a cartoon Crispin Glover for a mascot. I was surprising people by throwing handfulls of the chicklet-sized gum at their asses from behind and shouting "Gum Salad".

*I'm tossing around an idea. It's the story of an old Southern plantation type named Venereal Sanders who raises the prizest chickens around and gets all sorts of hilarious diseases from his slaves. Is really well-made, hand-crafted hate literature too much? I can't shake the image of some burnt-out, white trash fucker 20 years from now recalling the fine illustrations of his youth.

*Had this conversation with a couple of my gay co-workers:
"Why is the rainbow the queer logo? Is it diversity? Is it really more diverse to fuck only men than it is to fuck only women? Maybe the diverse sex movement would progress better if it was spun as the Movement of People who Don't Care Who You Fuck as opposed to turning their currently taboo habits into an exclusive club for homosexuals. In my experience, the Christian Right(Reich?) tends to picture themselves as the only exclusive club around and since they're in power and all . . .

*Ad from the new ACME Novelty Library:
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No.3532. Exploding Pooches. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .per dozen, 69(and then I realize most modern computers don't even have a "cents" sign on the keyboard).