Wall Street

This Week the Dow Fluctuated My Glee


The Dow Jones Industrial Average, Jan 2, 1981 2018. Acrylic on canvas, 37 x 36″

National Public Radio thinks its status (the Dow) must be bull-horned every hour on the hour, else people will stop driving their cars and fall out of them onto the street. President Grump uses it to mark his triumph as a bootlicker to more successful imperialists. And everyday I pray to Pan that its average drops to the single digits, so mother earth can lick herself clean, and perhaps decide to give human beings another go at living on her back skin.

This week the Dow burped and lifted my spirits. I’ve been wanting to begin my series on the capitalist’s devil marker for some time, and it was a pleasant coincidence to start now, while the bubbles burst. I can only hope and pray to Pan that Monday brings a sharper decline—the kind that actually might set up a vena cava road block on Warren Buffet’s multiple potholed cardiac super highway, or find a frat boy pervert Zuckerburg tearing his own face off in the mirror. What a dream to finally see a steady stream of Chinese corporitos screaming off bridges, and my local Congressman losing all his crony capitalist funding quicker than a fly barf on a rotting pile of weapons industry CEO suicides.

That NPR announcement comes every hour to remind us that the dark forces are under control. If one likes horror stories, he can delve deeper into the blackness and measure individual company ups and downs on the Lifehate® meter, via CNN Money, Marketwatch, The New York Times, or his or her own secret hush money on-line portfolio (401K means “401,000 species closer to extinction”).

One can dream.

I dream a familial human economy (with access to antibiotics) close to the lifestyles of rabbits in their warrens, instead of all the rabbits dead and my portfolio achieving the best underwater condo in South Florida. It’s my dream. It can be as crazy as yours without the lace underwear.

I made another painting the next day, while the Dow was dropping satanically, 666 points:


The Dow Jones Industrial Average, Jan 5, 2018 2018. Acrylic on canvas, 37 x 36″

The two are of the same vista. The first is a sylvan scene in my memory when the Dow was reasonable and I was a boy dreaming of a just and fair society. God, I remember parents thinking the world was ending they had it so bad, and yet, in hindsight, the Dow was just a gleam in the eye of the total global domination monster it is today.

The second is of the Dow this year climbing to remarkable, unexplored heights of Chinese Plastic Crap Mountain. I made this scene more fuzzy because I believe that time and the repetition of status-keeping, money hoarding, and career-building makes adults so stupid and afraid of practically everything that they begin to see the strangest demons climbing out of rabbit warrens.

Privately, every dollar we keep in the Dow is just a reminder of death around the corner. Publicly, its existence is our human being account sheet delivered to Pan’s desk at quitting time.

Most of America ate dinner in 1981. Americans still eat dinner today. What has changed? Two generations of coddled babies in their cribs make for terrible activists of revolution that needs to happen. Too many parents are dreaming that arbitrary wealth acquisition is the best way to “make a living”.

So I hope and pray Pan makes the economy implode. Because no human thinks to knock the Dow Jones propagandist out of his chair, I must call providence to action. I still dream like the child, who never dreamt about money to appear and make the world go away.

Here they are together. See? The future is the past is the future, no matter what the numbers tell you.



NPR Is U.S. State Media, Which Makes Sense. Every State Needs a State Media. Even an Outlaw State.


“As a Leading Pretend Intellectual at NPR, I Know Privately That There are No Proportions in Death, But Publicly I Don’t Give a Crap Because I Am a Disgusting Opportunist” 2017. Acrylic on paper, 11 x 15″

There is no difference between the phony intellectual radio host at NPR and the phony “I am the common man bigot” radio host in “right” wing broadcasting. They’re both working the state’s angles. It must be so, for even the pretend Christian police and their talk radio aren’t espousing a moral code beyond that of “I am afraid of sex and good cooking culture”. Nor is “I Heart Radio” offering more morality than a Nicki Minaj ass crack to the world. So, if there is no moral bullhorn beyond the artist, and there is no artist community as far as I can see, then who or what dear reader is shaping yours and my deepest convictions? NPR? Fox News? The President? The Internet?

A test for members of a pretend free state. Begin advertising today for an assembly of morally like-minded peoples to meet in your living room for discussion. No Internet. No TV, radio. No politics. Just morals.

If you’re a practicing atheist, cite from your gut, as if you came into the world that afternoon.

If you’re an old Christian or Jew, you may begin the conversation with, let’s say, the Ten Commandments.

A Hindu? Ask what would Rama do? No, make that Sita, who was obviously morally superior.

An old Muslim, Buddhist, Zoroastrian? Find a good moral base in scripture and begin from there. If you have initial success and get popular, enough so that maybe over 20 people stop in every Tuesday night to talk morality, then count the hours before NPR begins its reporting on your terrorist cell that needed to be raided by the authorities, for the informant on the inside leaked the moral thoughts being exchanged. And as everyone privately knows, it is a kind of state sin to barter morality, especially in secret.

Try it. You might like it, or not. It will reveal that beautiful human feeling we were given as children, but lost or replaced from neglect over time…

A conscience.

Seek it. It’s yours.





The Murder of Banks By A Young Triangle Wearing Lemon-Colored Gloves


From Last Communion:

Headlines from NPR would have us assume that global warming just stopped, and that spring’s upstart is warm breeze and strawberry leaves and wild fauna nesting soundly in the sweet grass, swimming peacefully in pure and wild, wet waters, nibbling new growth off the endless lush produce of mother earth…
NPR is government propaganda. Someone at the top of their machine is having lunch with Goebbels.

We could stop to get our bearings, reassess our dependencies, head into the future with strong backs and determination, but will not move a millimeter until our dollar takes its final nose dive into oblivion.
Still, with minimal effort we can break out of surface denial by making atmosphere talk our first attempt at every conversation. We could become mindful once again and use our cleanliness and good health and swell science to imitate 14th century Japanese royalty. We could write poetry, take day walks, stab to death the Carnegie Steel and Rockefeller Oil Earth-hating drive-about we depend on more than our neighbors and families. We could naturalize our lives with creative job creation. That means we choose our local economies and dress them to our own survival tastes. Oil execs might have to be tortured gently. Fracking giants could have their heads politely lopped off. Military brass would get the picture after a sound fragging by its own sentient cannon fodder.

These punishing days will come. What’s unbelievable is that the majority of intelligent human beings refuse to articulate this with any regular pattern.
Geeze, even without a blog to help clear her fuzzier dreams, the woolly mammoth got smitten with bright yellow buttercups still digesting.
So, carpe diem, verdad?
Yes, of course. But let’s do it with some class. Let us witness some poetry crawl out of this Walmart funk hole we’ve born ourselves into. Use our liberal educations—read what the dead dogs wrote to become  living lions once again. Don’t let the consumer culture barons fool you any longer. The woolly mammoth was a blind consumer too. What was lost in non-acquisition of petroleum plastics, she made up for a thousand times by expressing her true nature.
Express your true nature. Become who you were before you were born. Focus your dreams toward creative survival. Yes, even with the weekly trade off of coins for Scott Tissue paper. Doom should be the only preoccupation of any species’ grown-up. Even the crazed mega-neuronopolis doom of the human being king.


Oh, for anyone interested… I am having a  stuck-at-home stuckist extravaganza from my hard chair for the next two weeks. Some paintings from this winter can be viewed and purchased as prints, greeting cards, etc.

Some Winter Work: February 28-March 14

Of course, all originals are available, for less even, if I can be convinced (I can). Just contact my secretary at this site.