You Know Why I Left You For So Long






I took this entire trip to be around honest people who I care about and who care about me and to that extent it was a phenomenal success. Like a fucked up winter sequel to Ferris Bueller, I saw priceless works of art and ate strange foods and hung out with excellent midwesterners. Simple things like watching episodes of Broad City on a cold night in Cleveland or held hands for hours on end with commiserating broken souls.

And now it’s time to pick myself up off the mat. I tried and failed at winning a heart over but that can’t be a reason to stop; in fact, now it’ll be the opposite.

Vacation is over. It’s time to work. The new site is already designed and coded; I have finished two mini-books and am in the middle of two more. I have four paintings in progress and two installations in planned stages. I am getting in to designing wearable art and have a few exciting collaborations to finish up. It’s going to be a hard fall and when life hits you, you hit the fuck back.

All of this will be made public in 2015. For now the blog will remain mostly iPhone photos and random recounts of the horrific nightmares I have between the despair-filled days we can do nothing but make the most of.

These Things Happened






Somehow I managed to be in Cleveland for the two days Goodbye To Language is playing, and holy fuck what a visual experience that is. I don’t even think it’s played in California yet, and somehow it manages to show in Ohio. Either way, quite worth the experience of donning a set of 3-D glasses during a film (something I rarely, if ever, will allow for).


This has been one of my favorite songs all year and now there’s a video that somehow manages to be just as beautiful and holy shit.

Not Even The Rain


And then suddenly you wake up on a floor in Cleveland with two great cats who have gained a bit of weight since the last time you were in Ohio and you’re reading requirements documents for the next thing on the list to do in life to keep you from going crazy and you still want everything you’re running away from but that’s just not how life goes so until someone is willing to hold your hand you just keep drawing and taking pictures and writing bad poetry and hoping one of these days anything makes sense because it’s been a shit year and you’ve got a broken heart but it’s not the first time and it won’t be the last but there’s a world to explore and even though she didn’t want to be there for it the clouds will always be forgiving in their indifference and hope got you this far so keep dreaming and keep running and keep breathing and don’t forget her smile but don’t let its absence ruin the view because even when it’s just 20 degrees outside it’s a goddamn beautiful day wherever you are when you’re on the move.

Chicago Scenes in Black and White

Art Institute

The El

Eating Out


Rauschenberg and Rothko


Rauchenberg and Warhol

The AIC has a giant Mao, an entire room for abstract expressionism and currently a full gallery for Gerhard Richter. Nobody would let me know how much rent was to live there.

The Past Two


Chicago From The Pier

The Voice of A Generation

Self Portrait (As Lena Dunham)

Life Ring

Life Ring In The Snowfall

Heidi Satellite

Heidi & Satellite



I’ve been posting quite frequently to Instagram, but here are some that didn’t make the cut. I will say I am impressed by the new iPhone’s camera, even if I have scruples about automated systems running things like when the shutter fires.



The Lake at Night · Chicago

“Are you okay?”

It was a long train ride from Bill’s house back to the north side of Logan Square and I’d been gazing at the typography choices on the transit map which was illuminated above the door. It was after midnight, terribly cold and Heidi was resting her head on my shoulder while I debated why I was carrying around the second half of a chicken parmesan sandwich I started at a cop joint in the south side. I instinctively answered a quick, “Yes.”

The white lie wouldn’t have been worthy of half a second of consideration had it not been for how I responded. In speaking, I abbreviated the word into an abrupt two consonant Yzzz. It’s a stupid mannerism I picked up and used in my last relationship; one of those things that only exists between two people. I’d never said the word yes like that to anyone else, ever.

Small exclusive linguistic mannerisms are one of the ways I create meaning with people. Sometimes they know it, sometimes not. I’ve only been ever able to call two women beautiful, and that was ten years apart. It’s not that nobody else has ever struck me in that way, but more I don’t like the idea that my words would be so meaningless as to be re-hashed in the future. I don’t have much to traditionally offer; I’m generally broke, emotionally chaotic and self-righteously honest to a fault. The little things are the best I have.

In another life, today would have been the start of the rest of it. I wouldn’t be caught off guard by who I say what to, or confused about, well, nearly everything. But that’s another life. In this one, it’s the same as it ever was; broken-hearted and waking up on random couches, observing the indifferent and unforgiving weather toss and turn the confused and lost.

But that’s the thing about mannerisms and anniversaries. The little things that kill. They never leave, no matter who or what else does. And now I just have a growing list of words I associate with people no longer around, once go-to replies to simple questions I can’t answer anymore.

To Be Without

I generally consider weather conditions when I take trips, and so the cold snap Chicago is having right now as I sit in a coffee shop procrastinating is actually quite perfect. Best way to make sure your heart can still function is requiring it to keep the blood flowing to stave off frostbite, I suppose.

I was at a pretty sweet quarter arcade with Heidi last night when I saw it at the bar; Malort. Now, I don’t have any photos offhand to show a reaction to drinking this beverage, but needless to say all are about the same combination of shock, disgust and confusion. It had become a tradition in that the few times I have visited the midwest, among all the whiskey would be shots of Malort.

Drinking can become a tradition like anything else; like the way that, on each 13th I think about how another month has passed without drinking.

I guess like any tradition, their importance can fade and soon time just erases whatever stigma was originally used to associate pride with an occasion. There will always be things we miss, no matter what road we take. I am fine without a shot of Malort this time around in Chicago.

Other things are not so fine to be without, other traditions are harder to let go of. I’ll never understand how people seem so finite about truths and greater goods while all this narrative gets focused on celebrity and passive judgments. I guess, maybe, it’s just that some times it gets so cold outside that latching to anything is better than nothing. Who knows.

Escapism As An Artform

The Ladies

Some Change


La Policia

I’m on the road again; flashbacks from the last trip, the fucked up roll of film from Madrid. Posts from the current one as my time and mind allows for. More prevalent updates via Instagram.