carlos

prince of the paupers, street. 

w/ a land 104 & fuji peel film. 

blake

god keep you and me from the divinity of yes and no too - the yea, nay, creeping jesus- from supposing up and down to be the same thing. i listen to one of my tongues take the reins. outside a siren whines leadin me down another line i jump but get sidetracked by clunkin footsteps down the street it is as though my mind aint mine to make up anymore. fear, the emotion that stiffens and  inhibits the minds of most men causing them to be incapable of acting in their defense at the moment of trial, is totally lackin in me. detached and unconcerned, the payment for life is death. a silver peace reigns and becomes the nerves of morning and i stand up and yawn hot with jumpin pulse never tired never sad never guilty for i am runnin in a fair race with no racetrack but the night and no competition but the dawn. 

the underground's gone deeper
says the old chimney sweeper
the underground's outa work
sing the bells of New York
the underground's more dangerous
ring the bells of Los Angeles
the underground's gone
cry the bells of San Juan

basquiat tag SAMO on clean

liberty fight with buddha

featuring the ows puppetry guild & The Tax Dodgers 

recession city parade come thru town

in underground

mama

Lord lord they cut George Jackson down, lord lord they laid him in the ground. oh i know this whole wide world is one big prison yard. some of us are prisoners and the rest of us are guards. All my life I pretended with my folks, it was the thing in the street that was real. I was certainly just pretending with the nuns and priests, I served mass so that I could be in a position to steal altar wine, sang in the choir because they made me. When we went on tour of the rich white catholic schools we were always treated very well — fed — rewarded with gifts. It always starts with Mama, mine loved me. As testimony of her love, and her fear for the fate of the man-child all slave mothers hold, she attempted to press, hide, push, capture me in the womb. The conflicts and contradictions that will follow me to the tomb started right there in the womb. The feeling of being captured . . . this slave can never adjust to it, it's a thing that I just don't favor, then, now, never. he wouldn't take shit from no one. he wouldn't bow down or kneel. authorities, they hated him because he was too real. prison guards they cursed him as they watched him from above. but they were frightened of his power. they were scared of his love.

georgia

okeeffe tried to inure herself to critical opinion, maintaing that she had, as she wrote to the critic henry mcbride, "a strange oily skin" that protected her. In 1922 Hutchins Hapgood said that critics were writing not about her art, but "their own autobiography." She explained, "it really wasn't about me at all."

thorough screen

 

works in progress -  man with big mouth becomes digital artist

2nd photo - by gabriel gall 

3rd photo - my work by michael george

FaceCrate.Bliz!

After that, you can sign-up to download the passcode for the "like" app, which will give you 1 free download of my new single, "My Single is Dropping!", which is dropping NOW on FaceCrate.Bliz! The .bliz domain is really blowing up. If you signed the lease and the lease has NOT expired, neither your roommates nor your landlord can ask you to leave. This would be an illegal eviction. The only way they could force you from the apartment would be to file an eviction action in housing court. Hey guys! Make sure you "like" my page! All of you! I'm trying to get to 1 million "likes" by the end of the year. Free mouse traps by calling 925-305-035944-0. Giving away 7 pizzas if you can help my son with his stop motion. Starving artists eat for a week! FREE! 

purple velvet relic by suze rotolo

picasso left eye

kandinsky blue organ piano made from wood and fabric 

butter sculpt

look you asshole- tho i might be nothing but a butter sculptor, i refuse to go on working with the idea of your praising as my reward- like what are your credentials anyway? except for talking about all us butter sculptors, what else do you do? do you know what it feels like to make some butter sculpture? do you know what it feels like to actually ooze that butter around & create something of fantastic worth? you said that my last year's work "The King's Odor" was great & then you say i havent done anything as great since - just who the hell are you talking to anyway? you must have something to do in your real life- i understand that you praised the piece you saw yesterday entitled "The monkey Taster" about which you said meant "a nice work of butter carved into the shape of a young man who likes only african women" you are an idiot - it doesnt mean that at all... I hereby want nothing to do with your hangups- i really don't care what you think of my work as i now know you don't understand it anyway... i must go now... i have this new hunk of margarine waiting in the bathtub- yes i said MARGARINE & next week i just might decide to use cream cheese - & i really don't care what you think of my experimenting - you take yourself too seriously - youre going to get an ulcer & go into the hospital - they'll put you in a ward where you cant have any visitors - you'll go right off your nut - i really don't care anymore - i am so bored with your rules & regulations that i might not even talk to you again - just remember tho, when you evaluate a piece of butter - you are talking about yourself, so you'd just better sign your name...see, you, if youre lucky at mrs. keeler's cake festival

Act 1

machete

great spirit

now listen

oedipus went looking for the truth
and when he found it
it ruined him
cruel horror of a joke

so much for the truth
i was gonna talk out of both sides of my mouth
and what you heard depended on which side you were standing.

if i ever did stumble on any truth
i was gonna sit on it and keep it down.

but truth was the last thing on my mind
and even if there was such a thing,
i didn't want it in my house.

condemn in the schoolhouse

he possessing all religion

he denouncing brick

he building empires kingdoms pyramids palaces

tosses matches to them watch 'em blaze

he who knows it does not matter what you build 

or how far you drag body through dirt

but how much dirt are you trekking into the castle

how dirty is the kings gown how loud will you shout

fraud

our mighty fraud leader. 

queen of the underdogs prince of the paupers

brother of a lineage bulldogs prowling through city slickers

bobcats easing through jungles 

losing legs and arms and limbs like nothin'

he's headin down to the african continent. 

trail blazin boyscout how i feel you

roaming eternal roaming

wounds through the heart at outcast extremes

exiled from your country by your own design

your art put on hitler's display, "degenerate degenerate degenerate"

they taunted you. 

you gave glory

and they tossed it in the river. 

how they praise you and do not heed your words

how they admire your rebellion and 

conform,  miming historians

how guilty i feel to read you in warm piss swimming pool

i wish to read you in the egyptian desert 

walkin like an egyptian

with odetta jack dan

or on the hunt 

or on the road

but 

artificial cave canned holy sprayed on wall masking tape duct tape 

whole 9 yards of it

you of deepest blue wrongful colors mixed in

pure by that which has dirtied you

an untouchable youth on fire 

disobeying genius

the kind they condemn in the schoolhouse

the kind they envy

your freedom 

your demise, 

they wish for it all