Father's Day 2016

'Father's Day', Digital Type, 2016

666th Entry! Cats For Satan!

Talk About....The Past

Just a short entry on some of my creative shenanigans from the past.

 League of Sapphistry: An imaginary organization, started by Tasha, with a focus on a primarily lesbian-focused political agenda, with graphics by me. (see photo)

Border Patrol:  Fictitious design group; created to do larger projects where I roped other designers or technicians into the process for professional reasons. Still Working, technically.

KALX Commercials:  In 2004, I worked for 6 months as an intern, alongside Tasha, at KALX Radio Berkeley. While there, in additional to reshelving hundreds of records, I produced three airtime commercials for radio, political programming and event listings using the on-site pro-tools facilities at UC Berkeley. The ads aired roughly 12-15 times a week during peak hours.

Slideshow Test II

My Sister's big art deco jazz era mobster wedding!

Eric+Susan//Palm Event Center Wedding from Sandy Martinez on Vimeo.

A Face Forms In The Afterimage

It has been a while since I wrote.
too busy, too sad, too sick, too distracted.
too many reasons to write and not enough energy and focus
to gather my thoughts together.

Like a clock that winds down, I feel outside time.

Days pass. I cannot pick up a pencil to draw during any of them.
My brain alternatively turns on me or abandons me.
4 months of losing my heroes has taken a toll on me.
Not wallowing in it, but it is the truth.

Now I say goodbye to another hero.
Deaths come so thick and fast these days,
I barely have time to grieve for one
when the next domino falls.

Big names, small names, weird nobodies.
I'm supposed to be grown up
shrug it off
happens everyday
why should I care?
but then why care about anything?
throw in the towel of empathy
be one of those angry people
too angry to be sad
too angry to be anything else
but angry at everything.
Hoping my soul hangs in there
and doesn't let it get bad
and I wind up dreaming about black rabbits
and winding sheets
again.
one more day.
one more day.
one more day.
hang on
I say.

Back To The Spaceship

Your spaceship came
to pick you up
went back to the stars
to stir them all up
back to the stars
back to the spaceship
back to the galaxies and nebula that birthed the ages

too short to see it

too long to watch it happen

every dot aligns in the place it should be
everything is a conflagration to gasses
unleashed to run the gambit before ash and ashes
reveal the moonlight
on the dark side of the none-too-soon.
we're here
then we're not.
people die waiting on the phone
or during card games
holding hard on to secrets
running rum through old dreams
to keep it
intact
in fact
its nothing but truth eventually
old memories
eventually extinguish relvance in 100 years
we are old chords
sheet music from another age
"Look your Darling Girl!" in waltz time
with a hint of spilled soda water, silver polish; oysters
where old people sing and talk of their throat
imbeciles rail against guns and wheat
can you see what its done to me
to look back into through clocks into
those eyes for which in time there is no explanation?

(right here there is a burst of stars and nothingness)

standing on the rim of the sea
I never know how well I know the seam of the sky
there is no floating cabinet of shadows replicating
no rudderless complication
we're off on a dream
an occasional nightmare seam
a tangent, its plangent scattering evident
and everygreen
ever seen
like bugs on a glass  / autumn window in new york
polished with ash (the graves in chorus)
public and rubric
and stooped
in the valley
of explanation.

If I'm dreaming all my life

It started with Natalie Cole
then it was Lemmy
then it was the Tall Man
then it was David Bowie
then it was Alan Rickman.

before that it was Robin Williams.
before that it was Kirsty MacColl.
deaths that rocked me, gutted me and changed me.
Am I just too sensitive? Would I still give a damn if I wasn't?
Is it better to live in bliss but be torpid of mind or thin of desire?
Some days the choices seem to wobble.
would it be better to keep looking or decide on a bookend?
I'm getting past the point in my life where there are more stars dying
than there are new heroes being born.
I'm sort of torn.

I'm at the mouth of a bridge here.
I know it.

I'm seeing the end often enough to question my mistakes
I'm self critical enough to know I was made
to do something I'm not doing.
It wasn't enough to have my heart broken
or my spirit burnished but I'm still in it
for some stupid reason
I'm seeking
something.

Because I needed it today

Pictures With Friends

Best Buddies / Happy Fourth of July

Best Friends

(lifeforms) The Number You Have Reached Has Been Disconnected

perfectly painted
my pained reflection
noticing names
fanning old flames
in the garden of imperfections

Amongst the mold, old stories
and historic lines
my mind rolls back,
dirt floors
shacks
the wooden forms
that formed
the bristles
in the attacks

is it my name
or the other name
is my face in the same place
or is it smashed in again
your alleyway drunk
vagrant's demise
the bag of mystery
in the he must have been sad
for some reason
you know, don't you know
don't you quiet now, leaf-less, lifeless
lifeform, formless, before the storm,
raining non-stop,
soda laid over playbills fizzing into the gutter of the sunday mornings
of eternal nowheres
the last few bubbles
erupting and bursting
into the dank
drunk tank
darkness.

-------

In the void, cement tastes the same as rainbows

-------

What wasted words will I share with someone who won't want to remember me?

-------

...

-------

...and then?

Page From The Past (Popol Vuh Dream)

the sound of every car
going by with their radio
on with their window
down to chase away wolves
ring through the bells
and small devices

to challenge envy
remember what gentleness
was like
before you watched the guy with the wheelchair
get kicked over by girls
on scooters
with tattoos

and the cars go by
the wind is blowing still
like be bop
and wild dances
in the evening skies
it smiles, in the cloud lines
like azure, like sunset, like champagne
spilled into the Van Ellen belt
for dreams to bounce off of,
all those hands and sans serifs
waving like a bonfire sunset
full of pages of the *Book of Community
fiery ideals and victory
cast into the standards of past ideas
then forgotten.

Self(ish) Portraits On The Verge Of Boplicity

You know you're from Fremont if you grew up in a town full of small minded, inbred bigots and anti-intellectuals

I was over Fremont 25+ years ago.

I think I just realized I am equally over the people on FB from Fremont as well. Its the same old problem of the mentality. The boorish, anti-intellectual, pull yourself up by your bootstraps, salt of the earth folks who think anyone rocking their boat, calling them on their bullshit and otherwise asking them to behave like reasonable people is a 'bully'.

Oh, if they only knew how little bullying they've gotten from me.

I've always known the place was riddled with homophobia, with racism, with heaping spoonfulls of hate. I think the lure of nostalgia, of feeling like perhaps there was enough strong memory to keep my interest up, was a hollow notion. Recently, I made the mistake of trying to get involved with what I thought would be a helathy debate about a public art piece-el mistako grande. The term pearls before swine comes to mind. Not only were they not interested in making a dialogue happen, but soon it turned into inane questions about topics totally unrelated, false analogies, false equivilencies, straw man arguments and just outright "stupid poopy head" grade school insults, It just didn't seem like bothering. Well thought out points were treated with disdain over differences in political affiliation, not the issues raised in the statements themselves. The last straw was being constantly attacked by a NIMBY republican whose only book listed as reading(a single book) was "How to drive liberals crazy" by some Breitbart quack-hack. They wanted to whine all day about not liking something being a reason it shouldn't exist. and hey we have potholes to fix and our school need that money! why do we even need public art?

Why did I even bother? Why do I bother trying to hold on to good memories from a place that continues to produce bad ones?

So, with that in mind I decided to leave the group. I didn't say anything or flame war my way out in a blaze of glory full of nasty insults, even though I was certainly getting quite a bit directed at me. No, I just went up to the box marked "notifications" and clicked 'leave group'. Done. I felt mad, like I was walking away from a fight someone else had picked. I was angry. I am still angry! But I knew that what was causing the anger because I had let myself get wrapped up in caring about something, and trying to engage others to do the same with what were my best, most inclusive statements. Why art was important. why public art installations are not cheap-why the $200,000 they spent on this very large site specific piece was actually quite cheap compared to some pieces out there. When I pointed out that people shouldn't complain if they weren't willing to get involved or pay for anything themselves, they finally went over the edge and called me a bully. They said I was 'too educated for my own good' I guess I must have threatened them too much or pressed their 'you're not a special snowflake' buttons too hard. The hen party harpies and homophobia came out, then the personal attacks began. I started realizing my pulse and stress level were so high my forehead felt hot. Why was I doing this again? Because I wanted public art to be taken seriously? In my hometown?

Other than one or two dissenting voices who showed support, it was a chorus of "I don't know much(or anything) about art, but I know I don't want any of that hippy faggot shit in my town!"

You know what? Fuck them. Fuck their willfully ignorant stance. and I don't mean book smarts, I just mean basic willingness to tolerate other people's desires without demonizes them. I don't want a drag strip in town, but I wouldn't object to one if they were to go through the proper channels. I don't like broccoli either but I don't go out of my way to hate on those who do. Well, I learned Fremont California doesn't work that way. If you don't like broccoli there you hate freedom. Hell, someone, with zero sarcasm, even called me a commie-pinko! Simply because I thought public art was worthwhile. So I didn't call them out with fluffy puppy, cotton-ball gentleness, which they neither deserved or were showing me. Often times when this had happened with others, there was a lot of public nastiness, cursing and big public announcements that "I AM LEAVING THIS GROUP!" followed by lame 'don't let the door hit you on the way asshole' comments. I'm taking the high road, and just leaving quietly. Fremont doesn't, nor has it ever deserved my attention or consideration. It was and is still a cultural wasteland. I don't miss it, and now I have even less need to interact with the assholes from within it today. So long Fremont FB group. Won't be missing you.

Make a wish. Count to ten. Time to dream again...

Self Portraits / May 2015

Random Bits Of Words On A Theme

tears 

sadness 

the passing of time like rain drying 

on fog-less morning streets

crisp, cold

cutting as razors

though silk

in slo-mo

daft

mind teetering 

as waves lap

my last inkling lapses

and the twinkle 

fizzles out

the street is here

it says nothing

the sparkle and shine 

are jackhammered away

and it is quiet again

until the next ruin

runs aground

struggling against frost

citrusy bitterness to cloud the 

dreams I pulled the shroud over

without counting the cost.

_______

He learned the 

lashing of legends

like the last lingering

rays of manhood bursting

through an unbuttoned shirt.

_______

the last 15 seconds 

are nothing but rain

the last final seconds before the crash

when I move the needle back again

to the first groove

my last love

the first few seconds of crackle

before it starts 

all over again

a kind,balmy storm in the soaring nights

pain shield in place of armor for the four-hundred thousanth time

when the voices came

you knew my name

flashing over

time repeats with a fury of mosses

delicate caresses

and daffodils

Wilde, Quentin, Tin Tin

falling in love again

lest you need reminders

its you.

---

Icebergs crash into deserts

eyes close amongst power drills,

confectioner's sugar

and interesting drugs

a lifetime of ideas fades into azure. 

bad people surround us

inhumane ideals hound us

let the sky call us names

they designed the 

microsecond

we have no reason to fight them

ashamed of the name and of the nameless rain

we cannot be blamed.

Let The Adventure Begin / For Jesse

For you Jesse 

my wish of good fortune

for you to live long

and be full of life,

to be as happy

as you can be

bearing the weight of 

whatever world 

is yours to splendor in,

to bring joy to others

whenever possible,

to not fear difference,

of opinion,

or fear love.

 and to not fear late nights

studying for finals

or a doctorate in some smarty-pants field,

something you'll casually 

get a nobel prize for

later, cause you're awesome

that we can toast over Champagne in Switzerland.

possibly with your 'Guncle' Steve?

no pressure or anything. 

<3 p="">

for Jesse Robert Lenzen 3/28/2015

"Let the adventure begin!"

In The Meme-time

Icebergs / Civil Unrest

How many times around the sun

and still

I am

the one

still floating

for every bright 

eye

there are unrealized 

seasons in the 

sun

withering dreams where death's henchmen 

ride

and a rusting cart 

drags behind

a million bones

on broadway.

they say iceberg's dangers lies

in what's beneath

like flames underfoot

like the knife unsheathed

glimmers,

glances

glaciers

rapture

raptors

vapor.

gone.