art zombies

There seems to be a lack of interest or criticism online for Chicago art and artists. How boring, to have so much art all around, with no one brave enough to comment upon it, or willing to exchange in dialogue. I've been looking for this for some time but can't seem to find much of interest. Perhaps, no one really cares anymore, or wants to sound ignorant discussing trends and innovations in the artworld. Through my activities with exhibiting artwork I've noticed plenty of good art and artisans but not usually in museums or galleries, these cronies seem to be in concensus with who they want to celebrate each year, and to hell with the rest. It's a damn shame really, with so much interesting work being overlooked and so much crap being trumpeted as some kind of new masterpiece. Maybe this is all indicative of society in general which is consumed with celebrity news and blind to a self-defeating war which is destroying our nation on nearly every level. Maybe art really is dead, just some zombie of the past they just can't kill, like they did with writing and theater. It's all some sham, somehow. I'd just like to find some enlightened souls to discuss these art ideas with maybe change the world. At least have some kinda dialogue about art that's not trite.

In Between

The phantom image materializes through the ether, like static on the screen. Suddenly, nothing is what it seems. It is difficult to surmise the possibility of such circumstance, when the likelihood is happenstance. However, now the time awaits to realize our fates, in this chilling time, when the possibilities run through our minds. There are too many questions to ask, for the answers to make any sense, making it seem like nonsense. We can give tribute to the phantom machine, which comes so close and in between the obstacles of our present view, whose work will stop before we do. There should be no questions asked if we can't forget about our past, " Let it go," the phantom says, " I always live and win in the end," I say " What the hell does that mean?" "The answers are found in between, this and that, where two bodies meet, between surface and deceit." Still, I don't really understand what he said, and I can't get this image out of my head.

New Evolution

A certain kind of love and acceptance prevails. This is our new evolution, how we are beginning to change our consciousness, and become more spiritual beings. This is the way our society is in the process of becoming; transcending to another higher level of jouissance. Our collective reasoning is a sort of litmus test for our chances at survival. As this trend continues, it may be possible to unravel the entire web of deceit which surrounds us and threatens our very existence. We don't want war; we all want to be loved, so let's send these leaders and warhawks to the front lines, and keep our land for lovers and freedom. Learning how to love and be loved that may be the most essential key to our future. The alternative is self- destuction, in a kind of annihilation of the entire planet sort of way.

Vanquished

O yes there are trials and tribulations in this life sometimes, but these are the things which separate the weak from the strong. These struggles, and the victories and defeat they bring, must be embraced, and inevitably, released. We all don't want to cry or hurt anymore; we must surrender and keep moving on. These mindfucks will do exactly that if we cannot learn to walk away. Tomorrow, next week, sooner or later there will be another war waged, another battle to be had, but living in constant preparation for these moments will wear you down. Look on the brightside, live in the moment of ecstatic mania and discover that these wars are only of the mind, most of these battles are your own. Stop killing yourself slowly with these contemptuous thoughts, for they will invariably become the physical cancer which eats and decays your body in much the same way.
Variety is the spice of life, and I like mine extra spicy, if you know what I mean. May the mindfucks be vanqiushed.

Unveiled

Sometimes it seems that anythimg is possible. Why doesn't it feel lke that all the time? In every situation there are a plethora of possibilities and opportunities, even if unlikely. Why not choose the absurd? Instead of choosing what's safe or an easily predictable outcome, assume that the more adventurous route is the path less chosen. It may be the most adventageous.
Imagine a world where more people you knew did this. Especially, those whom make these kind of default judgments all the time , without reservation, those who struggle most seeing outside of the box. This box, the walls, fear- these are manmade constructs that exist only inside the mind. The universe is infinite, should not the mind be as well? Of course, it is, however, one must be open to the range of possibilities in order to be aware of them. Nothing kills creativity like negativity. As we all know, our creativity and innovation as humans is really the main thing that separates us from the rest of the animal kingdom.
We like to think of society as a group or community, something, an object, vague-mass culture, for example. Is this society not an intricate web of actual individuals, just like you and me? Well, imagine the possibility of spreading this idea simply to yourself and the majority of people you know, and those who understood passed it on, and then this cycle kept repeating itself until it reached nearly everyone on the planet. Now, what we would have is a certain type of evolution, actually a global change of consciousness. And this my friend has already begun, it's called 2012. The wheels have already been set in motion. This is the secret of the Mayan calendar. Everyone's head is going to explode with our limitless range of possibilities. Our dreams become reality. The veil has been lifted.

thank you

Thank you. Its been a wild ride but its all over now. Good bye.
Maybe we can try again later.
OK nevermind.
Alright whatever, I'm back.

BLOG BLOG BLOG

blog blog blog
blah blah blah
fragments
wasted words
waste of space
the internet is full of this stuff, but what is it? Why?
Fuck the words, build more bombs!
BOMBS BOMBS BOMBS!

Day blog 02

there seems little reason to go on and on and on about some ridiculous bullshit that no one even cares about anyways.
All of these "issues", politics, the environment, the sham that is contemporary "art"; who fucking cares???
Hollywood! Now that's important! I need some fantasyland stories to talk about because who wants to talk about anything meaningful or personable? Who needs personality when TV has more than I can handle?
Aw crap.
The machine is gonna get ya, that matrix shit is real. We are about 5 years away from turning to dust. Those men on the moon or on mars will have no home to return to. Stranded in space until all of the provisions run out. We are those men on the moon.
The ghost in the machine. Maybe the ghosts will finally get some rest.

Blog day 01

Right into the heart of the mind's eye there is a door. Opening this door reveals a short hallway with a long spiral staircase which resembles an opulent sea snail glistening in the salty ocean shore. Upon ascending this passage the entire space is filled with flashing lights in vibrant yellow, red, and blue. The colors are spinning and gliding around all visible matter. Everything is bathed in a wondrous symphony of color before abruptly dissipating.
The room goes to complete blackness. The air is cold. Subtlety, new shapes emerge in subdued hues of gold and amber. There are sudden bright flashes of light, They are repeating and flaring faster and faster. As if on a twirling carousel or a kaleidoscope spinning out of control; the contours and shapes blur and distort all vision.
There it is. A giant gaping bloody wound. We kicked a hole in the sky. We fall in, through space, stars, parallel universes, other dimensions, galaxies, a black hole, and beyond into

Then I started to paint in a frenzied daze, images I could not express, translate to words. It was as if I wasn't painting at all, these pictures painting themselves using my hand and palette like I was some kind of marionette. This happened for some time and I forgot I was still painting when I heard a voice. It said, "

The unspeakable, the words weren't really heard as much as absorbed as if some more intelligent being was talking to me telepathically. I'll never forget those words it said,"