T-minus 20 Days

 20 days until my solo show opens at Gallery 138.

Today was a mixed bag, like cashews mixed in with little balls of feces. Dicey at best.

I’ve been applying for MFA programs in NY. Columbia and Hunter. Got the first letter back today. ‘Twas a no-no from Hunter. Wanted to torch that school to the fucking ground when I read it.
Man name Tom Weaver sent me a letter saying, sorry buddy.

If you’d like to get a hold of Tom and call bullshit on that
here’s his info:

Email: tom.weaver@hunter.cuny.edu
Phone: 212-650-3724

Put the kibosh on any art making today.
Hard not to be bitter.
Makes me think that Columbia is a negatory as well.
We shall see… might have to buy two cans of gasoline.

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Let the punks at him! Look out Tom!

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On the upswing for today,  I got to see my old friend Doniece and her 1 and a half year old child. That child is a diamond bullet straight from god. Doniece lives with her husband in Juneau, Alaska and they are down in San Francisco for some “Apple Training” or some such.

Sometimes seeing an old friend can touch you in a way a new friend never can. They give you perspective on your entire life. I’ve known Doniece since I was 12 years old. She’s seen me through a lot of shit, phases and phases and phases. Long hair, shaved tight, dyed blue, black, blond, now gray, fauxhawk, conservative, you name it.

In a single phrase she can reference my entire history and it all comes back like a brick through my  windshield. Today it was nothing short of totally fucking charming. Strolling the city, 70 degrees, sunny, everything seemed as if it was carved out of ice cream and waiting for me to spoon it up. Made me happy to be alive. Screw grad school, screw Tom, screw art, screw frigid ass NY, I’m talking about right here, right now, watching an amazing child take in their first experience of what a city is, that’s the stuff.

That’s the magic.
That’s the moment
and everything else falls away like cheap chatter in the face of honesty.
That kind of focus on the immediate is invaluable.
I wouldn’t trade that moment for a million Hunters and Columbias.

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Maisy Grace Messing and yours truly. Now that’s love.

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Serbian Chill Time (SCT), ain’t goin nowhere bitch.

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Does she look like she’s enjoying that man flesh?
Terror!