Out of Year...

And ...here...we...go!

I am interested in ideas, not merely in visual products.

Calmer than you

That terrible mood of depression of whether it’s any good or not is what is known as The Artist’s Reward.
Ernest Hemingway

Andrew or a Joseph

This dapper gentleman is Andrew Carruth Cahoon. My great-great grandfather. His father was Reynolds Cahoon,1790. One of the first to join Joseph Smiths merry band of men who started the Church of Latter Day Saints. Andrew was born in 1824. His son Joseph was born in 1858. He had two boys named Andrew,1895, and Joseph,1905. Joseph died in 1933. I don't know of what. He is buried in Salt Lake City. Andrew had a son named Joseph Clifford Cahoon,1942. Presumably,named after his uncle. Joseph Sr., had me,Joseph Jr., in 1965. He died in 1990.I have two sons. That's right, Joseph III and Andrew. That's six generations of having a Joseph or Andrew. Glorious.

moved in a social circle which was a center of vice

"They talk of my drinking but never my thirst." — Scottish proverb

First,you must last...

Drinking is a way of ending the day.

Who Is Bozo Texino

"Well,Dude,We Just Don't Know"

"Driver of genuine 'Kill yourself Kits' .... Seeks employment."

"Never let the truth stand in the way of a good story."

Ride On...

Happy 66th,Dad.

All Right Then

The Medium is the Message

Pain'nt

Do It Yourself

"I always preferred to employ autodidacts"
-Joshua Slocum

RAGE ON SUN

"PALS SLAP"

Field Notes

http://www.draplin.com/

http://www.flickr.com/photos/timlahan/

http://www.trackosaurusrex.com

http://fieldnotesbrand.com/

Bluebird

Charles Bukowski

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I'm not going
to let anybody see
you.

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pur whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the whores and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he's
in there.

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say,
stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to screw up the
works?
you want to blow my book sales in
Europe?

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody's asleep.
I say, I know that you're there,
so don't be
sad.
then I put him back,
but he's singing a little
in there, I haven't quite let him
die
and we sleep together like
that
with our
secret pact
and it's nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don't
weep, do
you?

Current Member of the Council of Experts

Post Something - Durango SSWC09

SSWC09 DURANGO SEE YOU THERE

Ambition and laziness get in each others way

Like a bird on the wire Like a drunk in a midnight choir I have tried in my way to be free Like a worm on a hook Like a knight from some old-fashioned book I have saved all my ribbons for thee If I have been unkind I hope that you can just let it go by If I have been untrue I hope you know it was never to you Like a baby stillborn, Like a beast with his horn I have torn everyone who reached out for me But I swear by this song And by all that I have done wrong I will make it all up to thee I saw a beggar leaning on his wooden crutch He said to me "You must not ask for so much" And a pretty woman leaning in her darkened door She cried to me "Hey, why not ask for more?" Like a bird on the wire Like a drunk in a midnight choir I have tried in my way to be free

Still Learning

Refrain from throwing your bicycle in public. It shows poor upbringing.
-Jacquie Phelan

Fatti Con Le Mani

SOLO ART SHOW - THIS MONTH

LEVEL AS A LEVEL

Castle Rock Pinot,Chargers/Colts mourning is over,BuzBlurr request in, rode the fixie/DEUCE on the nooner/rode the fixie home/Chimay,not in that order,yes I am forklift certified,stickers ordered,Charlie Parker,Queens of the Stone Age,songs for the deaf, R.L.Burnside,and rock on with my main man Marcus Greber.

RIDE YOUR BIKE

“The bicycle, the bicycle surely, should always be the vehicle of novelists and poets”

Rode the fixie in. Rode the Deuce on the nooner,Day Rd.Rode the fixie home.

Whose motorcycle is this?
It's a chopper, baby.
Whose chopper is this?
It's Zed's.
Who's Zed?
Zed's dead, baby. Zed's dead.

Caboom

MOTICOS - m O.D. eration

True,

“He neither drank, smoked, nor rode a bicycle. Living frugally, saving his money, he died early, surrounded by greedy relatives. It was a great lesson to me.”

MtotheF Monday. I rode the fixie to work. Rode the DEUCE on the nooner,Day Rd. backwards. Rode the fixie home.

192 lbs. Sheeee-it!. Keep moving.

Watch, HOW TO DRAW A BUNNY. Ray Johnson IS the MOTICO MAN.

Listen to the BLACK KEYS.

Goals: Art,Bike,and Consistency.

Call me out.

Caboom

PALS SLAP - RAGE ON SUN

"Correspondence art consists of compression of ideas and images into envelopes. And I spent my entire life condensing, in a conceptual art to fashion, fitting things to fit envelope sizes and folding things to fold into envelopes. I have gone through this ritual day after day, year after year for many, many years. That's my working process when I'm my studio. I'm not static at all. I'm completely fluid. I just go from one idea to the next. It's a complete flow of the imagination. I deal with things that are constantly being chopped up and shuffled and moved around. 'Cause I'm not a painter, I'm a collagist. But it gets to some point where what can you do with it after you've done it? That's why I began putting everything into envelopes. I had this stockpile of material, so I put them into envelopes and mailed them off to everybody everywhere. I'm very fond of the idea of the message in the bottle... and the chance of it being found or never being... That's pure romance. But, once again, that was a dilemma as to what does one do with one's sculptures or one's paintings or one's drawings. So I solved that problem by chopping them up all into little pieces and mailing them to people."

Ray Johnson (1928-1995)

Federico Garcia Lorca - Duende

Figuring it out,

I like art, I like bikes, and I try to make sense of both when doing the other. When I paint I think of life and racing bikes, and riding. When I ride I relax and let my mind wander. I think about work, family, art, life, and ideas and on and on. Here is some random that happened recently.

Duende popped into my brain and I didn’t know where this word came from. I thought of an old pair of yellow cycling shoes, Duegi. Two brothers I thought? Duplicity. I let it go. Such is the way of Zen on the fly. Wear a helmet. Look both ways. Roll the stop sign. Into focus, blurry, next thought. Breathe, pedal. More thoughts. Wind. Dogs bark. Wind blows. Pedal, more thoughts. In. out. Duende? What is this word?

So later on I read, many times before, a poem by Hank Bukowski titled;” Style”. A dark lament at best.

Some of the lines; when Hemingway put his brains to the wall with a shotgun that was style.
For sometimes people give you style.
Joan of Arc had style.
John the Baptist.
Jesus.
Socrates.
Caesar.
Garcia Lorca.
I have met men in jail with style.
I have met more men in jail with style than men out of jail.
Style is a difference, a way of doing, and a way of being done

Garcia Lorca. Who was this cat? I look it up. Duende. There is that word

"In all countries death is an end. It comes, and the curtains are closed. Not in Spain. In Spain, they are raised...A dead person in Spain is more alive dead than anywhere else in the world."

Garcia Lorca had style. More so now. 110 years after his death.

Any man - any artist, as Nietzsche would say - climbs the stairway in the tower of his perfection at the cost of a struggle with a duende - not with an angel, as some have maintained, or with his muse. This fundamental distinction must be kept in mind if the root of a work of art is to be grasped.

This is going somewhere. Keep riding

Rust never rests,

Caboom

EVERY DAY DADAIST...

A picture is worth a thousand words...

New Logo

From 15th century.




C-Note

Long Dark Shiny and Black...

"God drives a dreamless highway in a black sedan. Picking up survivors, preaching to the motel man"

Lost Highway,
C-Diddy

Back in the day

Mitt Romneys' great-great grandfather, Parley P. Pratt, baptised my great-great-great
grandfater,Reynolds Cahoon.

I'm still chewing on the duende of that.

Over,
C-Bomb

Tilted

In the pinball game of life, his flippers were a little farther apart
than most.

Unconcerned, but not indifferent.

SSWC08-Hit it!.

Did a good deed. Registered for the SSWC08 Extrava-gonzo. 7-10 days, allright then.

Hitting It

Hit the alarm. Hit the shower. Hit the java. Hit the john. Hit the road. Hit the office. Hit the ol’ grindstone. Hit a snag. Hit the wall. Hit your limit. Hit the boss. Hit the door. Hit the booze. Hit the highway. Hit the sheets. Hit the floor. Hit the streets. Hit rock bottom.

From the 55words story website.Google it. It's in there.

Time is the best teacher. Really?. Evidently it kills all it's students.

Out,
Caboom