the torsos have begun

I picked up .030" thick clear peta, no not the PETA you are thinking of, a thermoplastic from advanced extrusion to begin testing on achieving a shell of a torso. after a few tests I see my issues are not enough vacuum pressure, (likely need 30-60 inches per mercury), need uniform heat applied to the plastic sheet, and a lower temperature, i.e. a tempurature near tg but not too high to degrade. this i can obtain from the advanced extrusion company, but the other issues likely require access to a vacuum drapeforming machine. For this it seems my only option is to return to Hennepin Technical College and enlist the help of instructor Dan Ralph along with his plastics department. I was able to produce two front shells which are viewable on my facebook page the end results were excellent mixed media pieces I'm really pleased with. 



in your moon

I fell into you like a fever

The moon fell on my shoulders

There was a tertiary stone buried in our stomachs

-a synchronous vibrancy in waves

My heart sweats

My palms are pulsing from your blood

You hid me inside of you

There I was

 beside you

You were beside me…

Your thighs tucked closely to mine.

I was beside you

You were beside me

I fell into you

You were beside me like verses 

of Shakespeare mirroring a dance

I fell into you like a fever

As the salt earth waned between

The oceans of your elegies

 I love the costumes you wear

And I can taste them on your lips;

The ones who die beside you

While your lapel keeps these records of love

I turn beside you

You turn beside me

I turn to share the night

And your voice runs through my throat


a splash of paint


a splash of paint

the caps of your knees shown through.

you had a palette on your black jeans.

your black jeans barely staying on. polka dots underneath.

a tank top with stripes in pastel. 

this image of you lingers in my voice.

i couldn't have loved you more.

the minute you came in you had paint on your hand.

it was enamel from the piece I had just finished but

how the marks had gotten there we will never know.

I liked it. I sang famous blue raincoat with a shake in my voice. 

it was sophomoric and juvenile

but you said you liked it.

I sensed I would love you forever.

you asked if i was the conquistador.

you are the conquistador's eternal chase.



what is balance

I've been told by many and thought to believe in balance all my life: personal balance and global balance. now I begin to question the methodology supporting this. realistically i probably always have because it is my nature; though now what i begin to believe is that the universe is in constant balance and constant change and vibration. i always love the quote; "nicholas tesla perceived the earth as a conductor of acoustical harmony." I know some people think this sound could somehow get out of tune, that we could put it out of balance. But I just dont know if that is true, or righteous, arrogant, or misguided. I believe in stewardship of the earth and respect of all its creatures, but when a rabbit collides with my tire i will give tobacco, i will give thanks, and i will accept the journey and the change in energy. 

it is a constant flow....

balance is synonymous with existence. it is a non qualitative term. the perceptions we subscribe to are being infiltrated by the world around us and the world around us is our model for what is the polymorphic social status-quo.

the artist is a contradiction to this convention. i am not in balance but i am in harmony, as we all are.... perfect in our imperfect selves. the cloth of a dream wrapped within a dream.



the sway

in secret i whisper, "my lover."

of course by the transmission i send in my eyes

you already found me out

                 yes, i am yours.

i regress to a schoolboy.

these bones have taken harvests

and yet thank you for giving me my youth again -

it is not a time but rather a form of existence.

i see you in the mirror as i look at myself

and i sense the muse you've created in me.

of course the paint i apply as it dries is also

a rendition of your masquerade.

you are a dragonfly suddenly on the water -

so you take on my rivers,

you take on the heat of my blood,

and you took my breath as i exhaled this adorable verse.

i've never met a goddess who could match my desperate heart. 

but here you are. finally. thank god.



the pursuasion

absorbed by fire and ice

      pane of glass as frost climbs over the sill

  crystal web punctured by daybreak

                the fractured eye evaporates its peaks and valleys

 ----a clear vision -----

a rod of heat, spiking the chest, piercing the sternum


someone enters


    a horse spirit with her unbridled grace

splashes color about the room

                            a mane wetted by rainbows


something enters


a drop of water on the silent pool

a child without glasses riding paint



pretty words

I have use for pretty words.

I can eat pretty words like a chocolate mousse.

they will feed a part of me that is 

as vital as the meal set before me.

Because I live in two worlds,

and possibly more.

without these pretty words I will perish.



driven by the moon

1))) (in the lorca form)

a subconsciousness.

                  i am connected to the waves in the ocean.

you will be paradox. you will be weightless with a gravity that consumes me.

            im aware that i am a lover... lovers like this cannot be suspended.

they fall into the ocean; become greater than the sum of the whole.

so i will follow you while you will follow me

while butterflies are breaking from the chrysalis

you will follow me

i will die for you. i will die for you

you will die for me in symmetrical migration




at the edges of my perception
i feel the shearing forces of my heart
break against the force of your reality.
i cannot own you
you cannot own me
i collapse into this idea which never existed.
i wanted to believe in
the imagery kundera painted in my mind
when he said, “Two people in love, alone, isolated from the world, that's beautiful,”
but you never embraced the oceans of possibility
and i understand why.
i can’t blame you.
but you can blame me.
we both were hostile in embrace
i would nod off when you talked of pleasantries and trifles
and when the dishes were stacked and your voice was calling
to my inattentive heart
i could hear the native spirits of the plains drumming
and crying there powwow songs
was it possible for love to be decided by the cleanliness of dishware and silver?
you gorged on my excuses
to distract me from the possibility that they were actually my choices.
and so in truth, I am guilty, as a man.
My crimes are sloth and fury.
And in that desolate flower
i thirsted for poison to quench my heart,
because I was weak but a child afraid of losing you.
there is a vacant space that passes through me
because i am bound to the physicists reduction to all things being matter
i find a place in my stomach where the gravity persists.
this is where i assign its location...
in truth, this is only one center in a vacancy
a circumference-
i conjure polarities
who will we be when we are not one?
who will we be?
and will you call me,
will i call you,
will i hear your voice the same? …...................
had i never known rilke, i might not know what this is,
but the pain in my heart, i know it....
it is such beauty i’m still just able to bear.




Postlude: A poetic recollection with a manifestic subform you may find amusing. :)Fuckisms and the plastic revolution - this was christened with the burning of two pairs of underpants over the Mississippi river on a train bridge in South Minneapolis... the underwear were flung towards the river but caught a gust of wind and were placed into a mature oak tree instead. It was the fall of 2002. Myself and a dear compatriot of the arts began to form the fuckist movement. Fuckisms represents the distracting rhetoric within a paradigm so utterly broken and devoid of the means by which to break free from its current universal consciousness and reality we exist within. Our collective unconscious is being polluted with the disease of capital-ISM, industrial-ISM, and other ISMS. Capitalism consumes all, by its polarity to commodify or discard. When something worthwhile and good is corrupted by its identified “need” it is destroyed through commodification. We are humans; we simply want to eat, breathe, make love, exist in the beautiful splendour of our amazing world. This want is born from our infancy and corrupted through our upbringing.  The moment we enter this world, we begin to be shaped by it.

In a capitalist society anything which cannot be given value is tossed aside. Thus, it is also said that value creates relationship and classification. As there are somebodies and nobodies, there are also the haves and have nots. When we place value on some things more than others do we not always invite the potential for exploitation? Is this not what capitalism is founded upon? The exploitation of a need? Yet how much need is manufactured? Is humanity to forever define itself by the pursuits of a select few with the means and motive? Can the paradigm of commodification and consumption be reformed or gotten rid of altogether? If this is the system we have dispersed globally (the system of consumption), will there come a time when the value of health, justice, and equality, spiritual wellness, etc could also be “sold” and profited by? Today we sell happiness in the form of property, possessions and fiscal wealth. Maybe tomorrow we could see the profitability of sustainability, equity and unification? Why haven’t we started this? Because all great spiritual and transformative growth arises out of pain. When it becomes painful enough, it is necessary to change. Unfortunately, it may be, that our event horizon is already upon us, and the time for change has already passed. If you are American, and you are reading this, it may be you’ve done little to change because you would encounter great sacrifice to make due on this promise. The rewards of the few come by the sacrifice of the many. I will never submit to the ideology that hard work and perseverance will bring success and prosperity.... this fallacy is being smashed every single day. The veil of the individualists grows thinner each day. It will of course be the masses who again overturn this edifice... but to what extent will history once again repeat itself? Will the era of man made out of corn be able to change his selfish ways and transcend to a higher conscious (mayan prophecy), or will his time come to an end?