spicy-brown mustard as babyfood

I was caught in rain last night and bugged out of a slumber party.

I woke up today with an exploding mind and too much latent suds.

Light-headed treks up and down two flights of stairs rendered thoughts of Tuesday runoffs impossible.

Broad strokes of paint on my walls also proved to be difficult.

All in all, today was not a productive day. There's still an old mattress leaning up against the wall to my right. Clean folded laundry remains in my hamper. As papers fly everywhere, I feel that clutter is starting to fly towards me at every angle due to some magnetic attraction unbeknown to me, and at a time when I'm trying to limit all my material possessions. I fall prey to self-induced anxiety and pace around the apartment only to find that I haven't done a thing all day. Soon, I realize that the rain has cleared and pigeons have once again started defecating on my windowsills, invoking the urge to hunt.

The latest travel/food show on TV explains how pigeon tastes sweet and isn't at all gamy. I always imagined a greasy texture much like that of guinea pig. I'll settle for randomly donated pieces of pheasant from the Italian diamond polisher my father sometimes sees at the local bar.

Staple Approach

DREW PAVELCHAK
Staple Approach (2009)
mixed media

"A stapler and sheets of paper flutter and vibrate as they approach the moment of their intended unification. Never quite making it though, the time before that moment is instead emphasized: slowing it down, reversing it, and drawing it out into an infinitely long state of anticipation."

The Mattress Factory Art Museum

mausoleum

Never give up.


Always be prepared for anything, from anybody.



Venerate authority.

Dreye-balls

I'm pissed. I lost my super-cool shades (that I found on a bench in the park) and now I must ask Satan to bring unto me the gnomes responsible for thieving. My shades will be returned and the perpetrators' souls will be vanquished to oblivion.

(What? No, ma, I'm just kidding. OK...I'll make a peace sign next....or an anarchy symbol)

Cave Paintings

A solo show by Elliot Sperber exhibits numerous acrylic paintings of the artist.








Some samples of his work:


detail of E & P, acrylic on canvas, 2008


detail of Awa, acrylic on canvas, 2008

chashama has a gallery in Harlem at 2016 Adam Clayton Powell Blvd. (7th Ave.)

Calm after the storm

just in case y'all missed the amazing skies the other day in NYC

Prelude to Zombie Apocalypse

Three years ago, I was at the height of my academic years. I had already completed the well-rounded primer that is a BS in geology, and was readying myself for the pursuit of a masters degree in a field which few know what’s actually studied. Bidding my time, I decided to take easy classes that seemed stimulating. Back to the studio with J** who still looked like Jamie Hyneman from the show Mythbusters; drawing glass is still hard as fuck. There was also the time spent with K***** meditating on Nazi propaganda and Mel Gibson films. From these discussions, it was suggested I read some philosophical essays and excerpts of dissertations that questioned the meaning of symbols and images in our present times. After admitting that I thought Susan Sontag was basically envious of Leni Riefenstahl’s craft, K***** suggested that I read Baudrillard’s “Simulacra and Simulation” in order to understand the “hyperreality” of our present age. It was after a short trip to the copy room that I received a Xeroxed copy of Baudrillard’s treatise on the symbols throughout society.

I remember being rendered numb after I’d finished Baudrillard’s philosophical discourse. I understood how this postmodern theory applied to my own ideas of stylized cinematography, yet the impact hit deeper. Practically overnight I became fascinated with all philosophical theories. Prior, themost interesting ideas I’d read were those of Turing. Baudrillard took the Turing Machine and abstracted it down to something that appeared to lack any traditional meaning. I began asking myself questions to which there were no answers. “Isthe profession I choose reality or fantasy? How much can something be corrected before it is perfect? IfI were to play a song on the radio, how many alien receptors would pick it up, dig it and then re-broadcast it over their airwaves? Do I have a genuine personality?” I realized that thetheory of simulacra could be supported through past conversations with friendsand family; thinking back to previous discussions.

Three months prior:

“I swear, I’ve never met anyone quite like A****.

“Oh really? Well, to tell you the truth, I’ve met someone just like him not so long ago. I used to think that I’d never meet the same type of person as such and such, but that’s not true. You’re bound to meet someone who fills the place of a former friend.

Two years prior:

“What do you think Norman Mailer thinks of the Village Voice now? I bet he’s against the things they publish.”

“I don’t know about that, but I’m certain he’s happy that there’s always another overweight shut-in filling the gap of counterculture commentary to be found on the Internet. Maybe the Voice will devolve to something like the comments section of amazon.com.”

One week prior:

“Why do hipsters constantly want to reprise things from the Reagan era? It’s as if Reagan’s ghost haunts the minds of kids with a horrible fashion sense.”

Later that night:

“I swear you can turn the Chase logo into a swastika.”

This all really means nothing if you, the reader, don’t know of Baudrillard or what simulacra are. And if you disagree with him, then this is all false. Then again, if there’s a reference to his discourse in The Matrix, maybe you’ll be convinced with kick-ass fighting scenes picked fresh from Hong Kong.