Month: February 2016

You’d Go Sit By the Ganges Too If Your Country Was Warping Into a Pharmaceutically-Induced, Armed Camp of Imbeciles


2016. Acrylic on canvas, 18 x 24″

Two choices in my kingdom for king or queen. The one on the right, Donald Trump, in a public rally last week said he wanted to “punch in the face” a man in the audience protesting his candidacy. He told the crowd of mentally prepubescent boys and girls on the playground that he wished for the “old days”, when someone like that (a brave nobody protesting insanity) was brought out of the house on a stretcher. There is an article about it here from a pretend newspaper that has helped bring our world to this tipping point via corporate boardroom editing and a pack of Hollywood dog reporters who could write well enough but never think for themselves.

I remember many years ago reading in, I believe the same newspaper, a short article about an old man who had the secret service arrest him in his home because he wrote to then President George Bush Senior that he wanted to “punch him in the nose”.

The local sherrif security should have slapped the cuffs on Trump at the rally, and dragged that cowardly mouth-flappin’ effeminate New York thug by his pedicure down the aisle out to the squad car. A man with that extension of angry people power must be stopped at every slur. History begs for it.

Trump is not a reaction to establishment politics as usual, as many would have us think. His rise is reactionary politics a lá Klu Klux Klan. To prove it. South Carolina, a backwards confederate country that just took down its worship of fear flag from the state capital, voted for a New York City billionaire to become President of nuclear annihilation. Politically, this translates as the rise of fearful white supremacist bigots voting their frightened ignorance to insure the right to more Walmart barbecue and stupid people thug-speak. The state voted for Nixon too. He was silently evil—igniting flesh melting gasoline on hundreds of thousands of people a half a world away. They looked different. America was tired, and truck stops on Interstate 95 were international enough for South Carolina, so all was okay cause their killer was in Washington.

At least Nixon had public tact, appearing more or less sane in a Presidential way. Watergate spooked him. To compare, Nixon’s contemporary  would laugh this little faux pas off and then toss some smart bombs into a North African city of brown people.

The problem with Trump and his army of violent-thinking morons, is that he is even more publicly reactionary before holding power than a private evil lunatic like Adolf Hitler ever was. We have ourselves to thank. While all this neato technology and endless chickens-in-the-pot have wooed us to oblivion, a rigged two-party system buffeted by oligarchs came into power.

So, one political party is imploding before our eyes and not even our head of CIA thug John Brennan knows what to do about it. The first time I heard the latter speak, I thought I blacked out and woke up in the back room of a smoky Irish mafia bar. That day I knew our country was dressed and ready to be cooked. Then last summer after the iPhone biker shoot-out in Texas, I saw that federally, the system was done, forked in its ass, and turned-over done. The Donald Trump army was ready, and all that crazy billionaire bird had to do to kick-start Armageddon was point at a Mexican and laugh. Or sponsor a Super Bowl commercial. Or say “Help! Single mothers are out to get me.” And his dedicated throng of bored bigots would give this bad man their precious vote just to see where the crazy chips fell.



Honestly, If I Tamed The Wild Phthalo Wolf, What Makes You Think I Can’t Put Down These Sterile Thermonuclear Puppies?


2016. Acrylic on canvas, 16 x 20″

Not much to say beyond the title. Men (mostly men, rarely women) my age are holding the earth hostage with 20th century mass death technology. Not one of them is made of more  virtue than I—Better bureaucrat, yes. Better fearer. Better mistruster. Better God or mother-hater. Better White supremacist. Better Chinese or Korean Supremacist. Better Indo-European, maybe even Dravidian supremacist, of course. But never a better man than me. Any military that holds these in arsenal is more than coward—it is degenerate evil. Logic for this kind of destruction is insane. So humanoids in or out of government who tacitly set aside madness for status begin their climb from a much lower level than I, and I hope, you too. Maybe they are what hell would be if it existed.

It truly is a world divided into us against them. Especially if “us” ever raised and loved a child. I tamed the phthalo wolf. I am better than all manufacturers and the combined militaries of nations that would serve this evil.

Kinetic mass annihilation is premeditated mass annihilation. People who are connected to these weapons need their noses forcefully pushed into their own Armageddon pile. Even our dear mother, uncle or son who collects a paycheck to perpetuate this madness. As a lowly painter I have become a higher human being than anyone who would allow a world to collect this much death power. There is a time to become arrogant in love and nurturing. I have arrived. I have more love for mankind than all nuclear nations combined.

And all I had to do was paint an imaginary green wolf.

I Went To The Guggenheim and All I Brought Back was Gnostic Insanity

Round Trip Stuckism


I just returned from New York after a couple days in the city that should go to sleep. A warm Saturday afternoon in New York stepping off the E train eager to take a stroll through the park with my family. Crossing the street to look at a map and immediately accosted by a thin thug pushing a ride in a dirty pedicab. For three dollars a minute one of his desperate coolies will pull human flesh and bone a few hundred yards to give the feeling of what it was like to be a nobody English snob of calcutta a hundred years ago. The company takes no care of the cabs and drivers. They look already chewed and washed last June. No dignity or devotion. Each might have been happy as a little boy licking snow 25 years ago. Now they survive on the street like cold pigeons with arms and their hands held…

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A Traveling Exhibition Brought To You By Humanity

Round Trip Stuckism


Last night (or early morning) a painting of mine was put back on a train in St. Petersburg heading to Moscow. It was one among several exceptional pieces by other painters who have gracefully invited me into their world of high art moves. “High” as in “spiritually deeper” in the traditional sense—something other which I have not experienced in a lifetime.

Until recently.

Locally, in America, I have had no luck in finding a group of painters who work together to achieve together. Very difficult to seek out when visual art among educated people in the U.S. is relegated to the experts to define in galleries and museums. There is no art market in a middle class that can afford something like a new coffee-maker just for aesthetic purposes. Oftentimes, painting seems such an unnecessarily lonely pursuit, as evidenced by websites such as Painter’s Table that archive contemporary painters. I used to go there to study and…

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Esteemed Painters Stepanov and Makarov Travel To St. Petersburg While I Go All George Grosz Inside

Round Trip Stuckism


I recall a story of about George Grosz leaving the Great War emancipated from humanity, years later dressing up as a rich dandy, strolling about Paris openly hostile to governments of all shapes and sizes. The small-minded, fat cat leaders, coddled by the cowardice, fear, and knee-jerk, boring reaction of military weak men, humiliated, starved and mutilated an entire generation of hopeful youth over teeny-tiny rich people problems—Grosz would never forgive them their psychotic trespass…

Likewise I, as nobody painter, wake up a hundred years later on a Saturday morning eager to see the story of this art odyssey to Russia’s northern capital, only to discover in a news feed that the government men of both countries haven’t studied their lesson on Grosz, paying more attention to the racist Woodrow Wilson and the misanthrope Nicholas II. They are small-eyed, unloved men, incapable of art appreciation beyond the “state of the art” gallery at a munitions factory.

I will not speak…

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