The Perfume of Money

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This is Dave Cambel singing on the roof of the Artflux show from two weeks ago… inspiration for my own roof party that weekend…. The man of wealth and taste muttering forgotten lines (wrongly I might add) is yours truly… who? WHO? There is more from this concert that I shot, but thiscomes off the Fluxart blog. On a night in a breathless weekend of never ending verbal yammering, this kid made me shut up and listen… Oh to be young and talented in New York City Motherfucker. Must be good to be the Prince. One fun trick is to play VDJ with the vid in the Roi V blog below, etc…. fun things to do with multiple players… brand new world kids.

Let It Be Victory Memorial

(with this player you might need to hit the volume wedge at the bottom right to hear the soundtrack which rocks)..

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Memorial day meets dying dog and filet Mingnon and brats and Frank’s wild years and The Royal Wylds live with the book art from Double You at The Library Project. Here’s the start of my Hell Money slide list that I just got back from Dadi Wirz in Switzerland. He had my slides for about seven years and showed them to all the galleries he liked in Basel, etc. No bites, but still nice of him to try and all this time later, it is a thrill to see a complete slide sheet from that era. I was pretty fucking good back then and as Allan Stone told me DeKooning used to say after a whiskey or two: “Those fucking bastards are going to pay… they are going to have to fucking pay and pay and pay… where were they when I needed them? Now they are going to have to pay.”
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The Lizard King Can Do Anything


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Sometimes you meet a poet with a pack of Italian wine and I suggest you follow him through the gray streets towards black and white and engage the minerals and acid to find the trick of the yellow submarine.

the poet is Sir Francis Kirk and the wine that matters is his too. Google and buy the book of poems… Later I will have the link. It’s called Mushmoon.

I married Isis on the fifth day of May, but I could not hold on to her very long…

Dudes

eat drink be merry….tomorrow Dylan may steal your gal…or wouldn’t you just let him dance with her and be honored?

The entorage had the notion to try all the best fried chicken in the city and have a Million Dollar Bash on sweet JUDY Judy judy’s roof…We had downtown, Korean, Mid Town and Uptown in the house….damn its hard to decide what’s best, but Dirty Bird rather rocks.

A Man Needs A Maid


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The West Indian/ Carribean Nannies and I had a picnic with their little charges and the sweet ice tea. They invited me to join with the stipulation that I tell them “A Truth”. I said, “Would you like to know the secret of a Good Life?”
“Tell me now mr. Alex,” says the Haitian with the patois and the perfect smile and the Pentacostal Jazz Hands.
“Joyce’s Cooking. This is happiness. If I’m sleeping don’t wake me up. If I’m dead, don’t do CPR, if I’m in Hell, who needs heaven… This is Heaven”…
Ladies Laughing at your jokes… Never a bad sound. So we talked about God and the Devil and tea and Drugs and Jesus and Food. As I said, the sweet spiced chicken was by Joyce…not James but about as profound… Died and woke up in Paradise: Sugar Mountain…. Later was drinks with I.T. guy and the Drunk Muses… so stay tuned for more loverly images of loverly city in loverly springtime of our years.
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Nows The Time

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The Video started as a vimeo project… follow the link and look for tag: merightnow to find what folks were doing when they shot themselves… with camera I mean. Funny but God bought a revolver and a bottle of Mad dog and went hound hunting. Bastard bitch. Above and below that is some images from a Spanish Surf and skate and ski and youth culture magazine called SPOT. I’m big in Spain. You didn’t know? Sure dudes, I’m a fucking Andalusian Rosebud…. how’s that going to save my dog’s life. It won’t is how…. ergo worthless.

Zarathustra's Secret Garden

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A vlog fooling with painting and Lou Reed and Bowie and thoughts on upcoming Royal Wylds music Video for Kimbo and some documentationof my work next to Crista Grauer’s at Artflux last week and just, you know, loving spring in Beautiful Sugar Mountain Brooklyn.

Pittsburgh Going Ashore – Pittsburgh Coming Aboard

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ABC is as easy as 1 2 3 as easy as Do Ray Me, you see?

Once I saw the changing of command on the USS Pittsburgh at Grotton, CT with my brother from a Bolex mother. When The Captain leaves the ship they blow a dog whistle and say: “Pittsburgh going Ashore.” It is as if the soul of the boat has left the boat. When The new Captain walks the gangplank, the dog whistle is blown in opposite progression and the Ensign speaks these magic jazz hand words: “Pittsburgh Coming Aboard!” and it is as if the boat is born again.

Me and Pat call melady Young Pas (or green onion in Korean, or Sly to the Midwesterners or Sylvie to you… etc.): Pittsburgh. She is the Captain my Captain. She is the queen of that little steel Swiss, but rusting Town in the middle of the Eastern Sea Board. I was throwing out all my old clothes yesterday and getting rid of all the wire and plastic hangers… nothing but wood is good quoath Pittsburgh and I concurred while wearing the buddhist Stettson and the silk guns and the Star Wars blasters still in the a tiny casket to be burried by the IRA somwhere beside the river Liffey. I tripped and fell upon a Bazooka shell full of old memories of Pittsburgh’s youth and there were steller shots of her as Stella amongst the stars and my street car named desire and some calling cards from old beaux and a shot of her leaning away from a dire wolf… him stealling kisses and trying to eat her heart out and I realize it is good to walk with pax but always have silk guns in a silk casket somewhere… the silent big stick as the Church on the Hill said, or was it The Mac daddy Author, or Ike? Yes Ike who I like if only because he said, “Beware the military industrial complex”… The king can speak the truth, but the wolves are still there… stealing kisses, and hearts, and gold, and souls.

I became quite green with jealousy looking at the explosive contents of the shell… and then I found a receipt for the first futon we ever shared and a letter I wrote to fair Pittsburgh in Pittsburgh when I was in the Tower of Pain and hats and song. It was not the most regal of things… a manic all night scrawl on yellow legal paper… but you know what? It was really a very romantic letter. It brought a single tear to my eye that dropped into the vast Atlantic… How can a shell hold such wealth I thought? For in that moment I realized that this was a contract signed thirteen years ago… So Why has it taken me so long to honor it and honor fair Pittsburgh?

… Because you see, I have been hiding in plain sight, playing the fool on the hill. Now it is time to wear the purple robes and take the crown that is mine. Today Pittsburgh. Tomorrow the world. It is my job to be her knight in shining armor coming to her emotional rescue on a fine Arab charger. It is my job to keep the dire wolves at bay. Hail Pittsburgh hail the Queen.
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I was at Freddy’s the night Sly Fox left for Las Vegas and I gave two guys my moleskin and said, “Make me a drawing, buy me a beer…sort of as a joke…and I went outside to smoke… when I got back they had drawn this and bought me a magic hat #9… it is names of the superbowl champion (two years in a row) Steelers from the seventies when I used to wear the black and gold slicker to protect me from the hard rain…. Coin see dances coincidences…. They were Pittsburgher… friends from many moons ago… reunited in the city on a drunkes Spree… fiddle di di.

The Prettiest Star


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The prettiest by far and the glow of her meaning outshines every star. I feel part of every ocean sea and star and I can see from near and far, a world I’ve never seen before… because it’s withcraft, that wicked witchcraft and though I know it’s strictly taboo, when she arouses the need in me, my heart says, “Yes indeed” in me, because I have got her under my skin…. That prettiest star.
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Like Sinatra live at The Sands of time and desert with the Count of Basie and the Nelson of Riddles. Most photos removed due to mangement.
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Drunken Boat


freeworld.jpgOh the honey and the wine and women and song did pour fourth from the mouth of a yellow whale, where I crashed upon the shore of some magnificent island populated by circe and her two sisters yin and yang. It was like the crystal noise from Zimmerman’s lyre and moaning of monica. There were the hebrews and the Romans and Celtic tribe as well, but I walked with silk guns and white arab charger to unite the world on one great drunken boat

or: I went eating and wine tasting at Tribecca festival. If you want to be treated well in life, I suggest you roll with beautiful Korean women, you’d be surprised what people will give you for free, just because of those lovely smiling eyes. Then off to the temple on the mount for Noahs Barmitzvah… havanagela and MORE wine and food and dancing of the horah and on and on. You cant make this sort of stuff up. It is just wild eyed JOY…. Be Attitude and Beat Less.
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This is Harry Twep… an Id character that I drew on a retreat when I was maybe thirteen years old, or so… ironic…. My mom scanned it for a my fortieth birthday card. She’s some kind of witch or something… I mean that in a good way.