Not All That Is Moons / 830 (reflects in starlight)

Not All That Is Moons (reflects in starlight) / 17 x 6 / Cut Paper + Pencil

Untitled #439 / the edge of the known universe

In a moment

the grass was cool

I heard your heart beating

Just me and you and the moths

in the darkness

our thick hands held fast

in the lack of light

ill-defined movements released chlorophyll

clouded thoughts of the view on the hill

couldn’t see over the mountain

for the sunsets contained therein

wrong or right in the fading light

the glass separates 

and dissipates

even in this

faded place

painted on nothingness.

Everything you’ve left alone

will find you in the trees, all things with wings and this,

this sphere as quiet as a ridge in an abandoned in another time

A hundred thousand leaves will cover it

and the majesty of memory will smudge the rings

of its edges, and like all things

you will come to rest…someday

because.

 Finally signing in....let's see if this test works.

My Gay Agenda

 'My Gay Agenda' - by Steve Paige Davis

I just want to pull my weeds,

and have some 'grass'

And fix my gate(no hate),

take out the trash.

Pay my fair share.

Fix up my brakes.

Donate to the park system,

And break out my skates.

I just want to scritch my cats,

Cut saturated fats,

Watch my Sinners DVD,

and sip martinis on tap.

But I'll be damn fired up

If I have to be liable

For the crap you keep spoutin'

From that BS bible.

Your children aren't you,

They're brand new people.

Let them be free from the hate

That comes from your steeple.

(alt verse)

Even trans people know

this guy is wrong

Couldn't even get a decent bridge

For his hateful little song.

Copyright 2026

*inspired by the dillweed that got up and 'sang' the anti-trans song during the Kid Rock halftime idiot fest.

Dream Diaries / Waking Diaries

 everything is redeemable if you are able to let it go,

the days are short. 

Medicare Summary Notice(s) still come in my dead husband's name.

Tax Bills. Detritus. Existential paperwork about death and dying. 

The year starts over and starts over again, longer than before.

I thought about Europe ...in the sloppy way Americans think about getting away 

from it all, BUT 

don't and

Then 

A (billy?)

A father sends his sons into battle

fore...a ball sp(9)ns 

without protections surely a f a ll will constrain the gathering falls

long so lord go feel the gathering sighs 

mother who

mother you

fall over this cliff into:

to everything/ powerful/potentialful/ bribe the future and break your fall 

Mother who - imitation (be yerself)

Whooooooooooooooooo-hooooooo-heeeeeeeyyyyyy! (call out )

*branches crash*

Branches Crash

crackles for the faraway dip on in leave the bones and the skin and sufferings and stars for the craft for the stuttering of this blind heart / Away / Sunday Morning / Pythons / Pythagorean Pithy / Pity

We're all 'gone' now...

I've got a feeling I Don't want to go down streets watch out behind you you you / nothing at all. (awake from a dream about ants, for some reason soundtracked by Velvet underground)

Winter, 1854 but no details

 light a candle for the remorse

and a house of course

a better for the belter of romance 

a danger dance at the shelter

of romance of another chance 

singing helter skelter

Miracles

"Pin-striped, collar-appropriating  / 

danger / 

during these gnashing times /

where judges, snakes and salesman faint to be aware /

before the water and fire bathe the floor."

Blast off 

Bass / Off

tremble / terrible / treble

Control control control control control 

stomach feels like shit. Back hurts worse. Cold weather not helping. 

And then....

*Double self portrait / 35 years apart / 10.31.25

So loaded with technical mistakes and yet, in retrospect, it is remarkably great as a document of my life. Where I was at. What I looked like. How I saw myself. What I had around me. The soda cozy with a face I had since high school. The ceramic castle I made in junior high school, my first ceramic object ever. I still still have it. A very early attempt at self portraiture, using a mirror like Rembrandt and Rockwell had taught me. There is little technique. It's stiff and without style. I am painfully out of my league. It's why I kept it all these years. I see how hard I was trying. I see how that stiffness eventually gave wave to confidence in releasing control to the chaos. that is when I really entered a deeper relationship with my work.

 

For Bob....

 

We had a long talk before anyone got there. Just Bob and me. I told him what was happening. Not to be mad, and that of course I still loved him. thanked him for being such a warm loving presence in my life for so many years even though we of course wanted more. Neither of us knew how long a piece of string we were handed, but we made it last. No idea how I am supposed to do this without you, but like everything else about you and me....I'll figure it out as I go.

Everyone spoke / His childhood friend who was his best man, and people who met him only once.

He picked his stone and wrote the text. The rocks tie the spirit's connection to those on earth.

Bob is buried in a beautiful jewish cemetery in Colma. 

Memento Mori

Yahrzeit / Bob Gutterman

 The rains will come and save you

You saw clouds approaching…

Let their water confront your rightness

Be happier…than you’ve been been been…

You know? Float on?

Find the right place on a ‘New’ cloud. 

You weren’t born 100 years ago. That then isn’t now. You’re tasked with handling this one. This reality. This ‘now’. 

Don’t feel hopeless. Don’t feel helpless. Float on. 

It doesn’t matter what is next. It doesn’t matter what is left. There is still now.

FLOAT on….

Two crazies, NYC / 2018

Getting hammered at my sister's wedding 2016

In the rotunda at Westfield Center 2013

Robert "Bob" Bruce Gutterman 

Today is Bob's yahrzeit. The one year anniversary of his death.

A lot has happened in that time. I'd like to say it was mostly good, but that would be untrue. The fact is that I spent the last year barely keeping my head above water, dealing with nightmarish legal issues around the estate that cratered my health, and barely preventing my eviction from a house Bob paid off in 2018. The estate executor felt generous in letting me stay if I paid market rate rent, which would have been $8,300 a month. Such a deal!

Some people need to kick a grieving widow out of the house four days after their husband (who paid for it) died in it. I didn't realize 'fiduciary responsibility' meant you gave up having a soul. I also just found out yesterday that the thousands of Bob's CDs I was forced to leave behind because they were part of 'the estate' are now being 'disposed of'.  

Are you mad yet? Did you know I had to pay more than $50,000 in legal fees to be subjected to this? I'm working with a brilliant writer friend who is going to help me tell this story with Bob's blessing. More on that in the fall. That part of the story isn't over yet.

All of this is to say that in jewish culture the year following the death of a loved one is mean to focus on the change and the absence that person's life force has left in the world. Instead, I got to play the legal hokey pokey for an entire year. The bile I have built up can't be measured. I'm trying ti find some way to write something less hostile for Facebook but its really taking all day and all night to try and write something clearly. I'm going to leave this here for now. Not sure if my thoughts are cogent enough or not for mass consumption. 

In other news The 27 pieces Bob donated to the Crocker Museum in Sacramento have been sorted and some are already on display as part of their current shows. One is a still life show, which includes the Jeanne Duval and Pamela Carroll pieces, and a separate print exhibition which includes Hockney's 'Table Flowable' print. 

He would be so happy they are there, being enjoyed. He said he was only ever a 'caretaker' of the art he had. 

God I fucking miss him. Grief is awful, starless and bible black. The void. going on forever and ever and into nothingness.

I guess that's where I'll find him.