Ohhh oooo ooohhh … you don’t have to hurt me…. wa waaaah!

That is one of my favorite Sandburg poems… and it is real important to hear him read it, because it is a song and one of the great things about Sandburg like Dylan Thomas, was his ability to read poems and travel with a guitar and a jug of wine and create a bohemian scene that leads quite directly to the beats in my opinion. Above that is Bailey Zuzu pretending to be my dead dad. We got her around the time we lost him and some small part of me thinks she’s like my Clarence in Wonderful Life… just making sure I don’t jump off that bridge. I’ve finally figured out what has been bugging me and it has been right infront of my face for days. I’ve been working on a painting made on the stretched sweat pants my dad was wearing when he died and all during his morphine dream illness. I stiched up the seems and left a hole at the crotch which I patched with an American flag from Green-Wood and somehow I’ve turned the whole thing into a heart/cunt/uterous…. Truly odd. So I’ve got some issues…. fuck you… like you’re perfect?!

I left the pockets there too… I’ll probably stuff them with balls painted red, or covered in red velvet like those old Sound Shore Gallery paintings… hard to know when to say when:

Now if all that weren’t enough, I’ve been reading up in the New Yorker about Iran and Rumsfeld’s unchecked secret ops that circumvents senate controls on the CIA by just shutting the CIA out of loop and doing everything through the Pentagon. Some one pointed out in the face of Bush’s constant claim that democracies don’t go to war with their neighbors, that Hitler was elected. Gives one pause and Charles sends this photo collage of the big Dick as Jabba the large intestine right in time for Star Wars mania:

©Mingus III designs 2005

Well it all has me listing to my Chicago Blues compilation and howling like a wolf….Lord I’m blue, but I won’t be always, the sun gonna shine in my back door some day… let’s hope later rather than sooner. Boy that Cheney thing is so gross you almost need a rose as relief and if that doesn’t work, maybe the green fairie would help:


This is a Comedy:

It was funny how I made this Grand Army Arch and this Skull and when you pile them up it looks like a dead Abe Lincoln and I have been reading Carl Sandburg again in my found Modern Poetry book.









As American business sheds all filial piety and unloads your parent’s pension plan and we are left with the greatest broke generation… and Bush augers Social Security into the ground: Make a Whish.

Someone has been pasting up a few book pages… I’m not crazy about the image, but the medium and the message seem sound.



So I’m feeling like dummy, like a failure/fuck up/freeloader/fraud…. and whatever other words that start with F: Fake. Which reminds me that todays is Wednesday is Sunday (or sacred cow day) on TCM…. in other words all Orson Welles and F is for Fake is on at 10, I think. Othello the geen eyed monster starts the show off at seven or eight. You know, check your local listings. In other movie land news, David Conrad’s T.V. show pilot got picked up by CBS. So its just him and Jennifer Love Hewitt… a lot of people hate her, but I’ve always harbored fantasies of doing terrible things to her with a can of Redi Whip and a sable brush… guilty pleasures abound. I think it’s called Ghost Talker, or something… it’s always about Love and ghosts. So this brings up my ghost story and now I am hoping he ain’t shooting during Fasnacht again this year…. worries. When in doubt, put up a Salon de Refusés. So these are all images from the last few weeks that didn’t quite make the blog. They show a slightly funkier side of things and there’s Jimmy Dean on the T.V. He’d be sort of old now… Ghost Whispers, in deed.

I’m in a terrible mood. Maybe it is the Late fees we owe on Hotel Rawanda, or maybe it’s the fact that I finally watched it. Cheadle is really great, but these things always come off a bit like a T.V. movie… very ernest and all…. I highly recommend the documentary made with the Canadian Colonel who led the U.N. troops and who stayed at the hotel… The name is escaping me, but it is on Sundance from time to time. There you see the real news footage and meet many of the characters depicted in Hotel Rawanda. The Colonel is given to crying jags and speeks openly of suicidal depression and survivor’s guilt, etc. It’s the oddest thing to see from a military man… even if it is the Canadian military (hell my cousin works for the Canadian military, and he’s more or less a hippy I think). Still, the world sucks and I feel like Public Enemy Number One….. Lampin’, cold cold Lampin’

All these people that you mention, yes I know them, they are quite lame…

Well I’m listening to the The Boss’ new album Devils and Dust and the cool thing is that it is a dual disc… so it can be experienced as a dvd or cd and this is what I’ve been trying to explain the movie folk… the revolution is here, now jump on board… I think if omEGG as a sort of Ktel currated album first… and then a novel and then a movie and then a t.v. show and then a comic book, etc. We are so close and I love that Bruce, like Todd Rungren before him… are at the front of the interactive pack.



Somehow we bought a cheese that smells like amonia and feet… but with a nice rosé tastes like heaven. If you need proof of the duality of life… well there it is… you can’t smell it, but you must eat it. Bizarre.

It was one of those spring mornings when you awake with seagulls singing in from the harbor and you have the infantile belief that you can lift the lid of this world and crawl all the way through to where it is nearly Summer In Siam. In short: it was the 5th Avenue Street Fair Sunday. I awoke early to see the midget Macy’s inflation of balloons ceremony.







The Rabbi just finished law school, so he and the pregnant partial bed rest wife were out and about. It was somewhat like sighting Big Foot to have their overshedualed selves and our overschedualed selves all on the same street, taking in the sights and smells and sounds of suddenly almost summer fair.





Food and drink were the order of the day: Blue Ribbon makes great sushi for this thing, tradtitional Lucy’s Italian saussage and peppers, duck empinadas from Besso, Mozzarepas, and you wash it all down with a Weissebeer at The Gate. Delicious.


Kate stopped by later for wine and cheese and watcing Life Aquatic, but my momento of the funny sunny day will be The Pougues disc I found for 2 bucks at a stoop sale….I’ve been hunting Pougues since seeing the docmentary about Shane MacGowan, If I Should Fall From Grace. Facinating. Also, Summer in Siam is the sort of denoument song in Basquiat… where he’s sort of flying in the jeep with Benicio of the Bulls.




Rind of cheese from the moon in the next entry….

The better half has a running joke all day about my gut which is growing along with the blog and she is calling it the cheese beer baby… or Greer…. a combination of Gruyere and beer… Ha ha ha…. but I do have a feeling that I know what made Orson Welles and Francis Ford Coppola and Marlon Brando get fat… the energy of creation wants lots of fuel, it would seem. Seeing the infinite reflection of things will make you eat and drink: for tomorrow, you may be dead…. and you certainly will be some day… enjoy the now layed before you like a spill of blue velvet ribbon on the orange Oriental carpet.







The Loki Lounge looks like a place where VanGogh might commit a crime, or chop off his ear and the confusing red unfolds like the petals of a rose and the only alternative sometimes seems the innocence of children. This little neighbor of British descent was out saying Cheerio to all passersby He was not using coloquial British slang, he was offering you a Cheerio from his sunny orange bowl… which I ate with joy.

This little neighbor has taken to fashion like a fish to water and ended up matching the better half perfectly today… not to mention the fading cherry blossoms.

Her mother was explaining that this clothes obsession is all her own and she is very particular… i had been thinking she was just the best dressed baby in town, but little did I know that she was doing it all on her own. Her parents are beautiful folk, but relatively causual in the accepted Park Slope Manner… not her! Things must match…. sort of like my better half… which begs the question, is fashion nature or nurture? Am I genetically a slob? It would certainly explain a thing or two.



Who can answer these puzzels? Instead, we went out to Blue Ribbon for an early breaklunchinner and ate steak and fish and I will need to get my clothes altered on this 55 mannequin… oy!

Then night came with its Cezanne sald bowl moon hanging empty in the gathering indigo blue twilight. It called for a Carvel banna split for the sweety and a Royal Tokaji wine for dessert. Not in an icecream mood yet, I had some American Gruyere style cheese out of Wisconsin, which was delicious, but strangely, the rind smelled like my dogs lips…. which isn’t very good at all…. but good cheese doesn’t usually smell so pleasant, unless you are foot fetishist, or something