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Friday, March 17th, 2006
7:35 am - on the state of turning at large
After a hiatus from flat art work, the world of wood beckoned me to join the fold of creative dealings once more. I felt it was a fresh art form, unscathed by the buffoons and charlatans that make up the majority of "relevant" flat art today. The work I was first exposed to was finely crafted and beautiful, devoid of slop work and emotional ""expressions", a field full of talent and long standing traditions of doing everything with the highest degree of care and skill. The benchmark of benchmarks.

Sadly any place where high standards and quality work find homes to deep pockets, some salesman with a gimmick comes in to trick people into buying his refuse, all in the name of art. These hucksters come in all walks of life and are mostly all verbose, pretentious, untalented thieves. They love themselves and their money, and their artwork is more of a lubricant than a goal in life. These are the true artists of the day.

I have learned to hate the word clever in reference to anything artistic. It puts all importance on the notion and none on the execution of a given piece. A clever piece is a poop in a can, a clever piece is a cow cut in half. To be clever and to do good work is a treat to be savored, while to make just a clever piece is more than likely better left as trash. Certainly once the artist's spell is broken and he rots while his words on the piece are slowly forgotten it will be considered as such.

I saw a bowl made of glue. This is a necessity once all the dishes have been broken from a drunken skeet competition and then some weird stew is found in the back of a cabinet. This should not be a piece of art. I saw a large beautiful piece of wood that had irregular table saw cuts running through it. This is a test piece to make sure your blade is at a proper height for your rabbit cut, or maybe with a little more work it could be turned into varying lengths of push-sticks. This should not be artwork. I have seen a bent street sign in a wood working gallery, that bears repeating, I have seen a bent street sign in a wood working gallery. If given 5 dollars I would have to think about toting it outside to the nearest dumpster, and make sure I wasn't loosing out on the deal.

I have learned to accept today's artist. The pompous pervert who thinks his life is interesting enough to have artistic value, the emotional salesman who spends his talent selling his art rather than making it, the untalented visionary whose ideas clearly rival the sun in brilliance, even the prodigy wildlife that were forced into putting paint onto a canvas. The collectors are equally at fault. I have no interest in these dealings, and I am not an artist. I want to be a craftsmen and don't plan on ever looking back.

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Saturday, March 11th, 2006
7:48 pm - I wish they had eyes
It is a neat feeling having art I have made travel more than I ever have. One piece traveled from Kentucky, to one of the Dakotas, to North Carolina and it is planned to hit a final venue in Oregon until the end of the summer of 2007. It will have been gone for over two years.

I also just got selected for an exibition in Hay-on-Wye, England so my pieces will be crossing the pond, although I may have to tag along with them.

I will also be applying for a residency with the Woodturning Center, and if that all goes well I will get to do some traveling for free along with my work, all while getting paid for it, on top of an allowance for materials. Hopefully my work measures up, becuase that would be eight great weeks.

Girl, knight, denizess, humanity, avian reaper are my goals this year.

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Wednesday, December 21st, 2005
2:55 pm - recorded for my future humor
"Show yourselves, Mars Volta! I hear you hiding out there in the bushes, waiting to attack with more god-awful song!"

"It’s easy to see why Pearl Jam chose to cover it; judging by all their music, they seem to believe in something like the opposite of utilitarianism. They just want to make as many people feel like crap as possible. Fred Durst may be a twat, but at least he didn’t write what I can officially decree to be the least enjoyable song of all time."

" ...the Yeah Yeah Yeahs can pretty much go fuck themselves. The lead singer, Karen O, is a histrionic morlock who dresses like she’s headed for a haunted middle school dance in 1985."

"Korn - Greatest Hits Volume One
Volume One? Give me a break. "

"Smash Mouth, always keen to whore themselves out as soundtrack filler with worthless rehashes of bubblegum pop hits of the past."

"Radiohead, the kings nerdy, boring, tuneless rock music, are on top of the world. They’ve proven time and time again that they can piss directly into your open mouths, and you’ll frolic and gargle in the yellow stream like God himself was giving you a nectar-bath."

Something Awful is killing me slowly. They run a tight ship on that site, of that you can be sure.

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Wednesday, September 7th, 2005
4:39 am
(this is not my story but telling it from first person is easier, it is embellished but true nonetheless) A high value pick up guy crept into the truck while I was loading it. He looked around for his valuable bagged goods, noted none where in sight, and slumped against the wall of the truck. He was quiet so I just continued on robotically with my task.
I peer back over my shoulder and there he stands, distantly watching goings-ons that no one will ever see, with his head lolling slowly from side to side.
"I am in some shit" he says.
What I took for apathy on his part was distraction, bordering on torment. His trance broken, his mental train derailed as the blood of his dying thoughts burn his lips, I take one look at him and hope I can help ease his mind.
"...would you like to talk about it?", I ask, afraid of what horror story was sure to come.
He stands again in silence, his eyes glaze over, taking him back to his troubled thoughts, the scab in his mind he can't stop picking.
"I am thinking about going to Dorney Park next weekend". he opens up with.
I sit quietly waiting for him to continue.
"Yeah, I am thinking about going there with my ex-girlfriend".
"So problems with your ex huh?"
No we still hang out, it won't be akward or anything".
At this point I am perplexed as to the full dillema, but before digging figure he will surely clear up the problem in moments, he must be trying to compose himself.
"I just don't know what to do, I am really in some shit, you have any advice?"
I stop for a second and realize the true significance of his question. The true depth of his shit is deeper than I first imagined. He was uncertain whether or not he should go to Dorney Park, and this was the sole cause of said shit.
Uncertain what to say," well do you have the money for it?"
"Yeah", he was going distant again, watching those going-ons, probobly of ferris wheels and hot dog stands, it deafening his mind, bordering on obseession.
"Do you like roller coasters?"
"Yeah," he said blandly," they are great".
I don't know, I think Dorney is a fun place, maybe you should just go."
"Yeah, I just don't know,I am going to have to think about it some more"
It gets quiet again and eventually he leaves in silence.

This poor soul, what most people take for granted he had the bravery to look deep within himself and ask himself questions, some unsettling for you or I to hear. Do I like amusement parks? Are they fun? Should I go if it looks to be a good time? Hard questions, ones that may change his life forever.

The good than can come of it is a true conicopia of life experiences:
for example
Ride roller coasters
Hang out with people he enjoys the company of
Go to a place meant for amusement

While the bad is a maw of death, waiting to comsume him, :
for example

Terryfying. I wish him all the luck.

(ask Randy, he was the loader talking to this guy)

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Wednesday, August 10th, 2005
10:12 pm
I have a piece in this book http://www.woodturner.org/products/spcl_pubs/#cat , the book is titled "reTURN to the Land of Oz". I consider that pretty bitchin'.

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Monday, February 21st, 2005
4:50 pm
It is strange to have only one living blood elder left.

On this gray winter day, let the light shrine bright for you, Joel Weidman, Poppy, to guide and embrace you to a place you earned. You will be missed, but you have children, grand children, and great grand children to carry on your memory, your presence and honor.

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Sunday, February 13th, 2005
10:56 pm - The Big Push
I have so much to learn, the depth of my new persuits has really opened up mental doors. I decided for one to stop going to gun fights with a knife and teach myself to draw academically. My biggest perk artistically was my biggest vice. I tought myself to draw early via comic book art, and then refused to learn how to draw academically. My work is stylized and intense, but the subtle beauty of refinement wholy missing, so now I strive for reivention, and hopefully, when I am done, my knife will be a bayonette and my gun a precisely calibrated boom-stick. All is going well so far and improvement visible by each study. I will then be able to more acuratly depict the things that don't exist, while giving them weight in a world they will never see.

While wood carving is a whole other ball game. I am taking my un-refined talent(or drive as I would rather put it) and just exploring a new medium. Each piece just a conceived idea brought to life. It has been almost a year now since I picked up the craft and has been rewarding on all levels. I suppose having an internatially recognized father in the field doesn't hurt for a teacher, either. I wouldn't be half as prepared to execute my mind's creations without his guidance and support. Being in the hub of wood turning/wood art right here in PA doesn't hurt either. Taking further turning lessons from another sage as far a wood working goes, via a suedo apprenticeship is just the icing on the cake. As far as my age there are probobly very few as emersed as I am fortunate enough to be.
I am submiting two pieces into the next international juried AAW symposium down in Kansas and hopefully atleast one gets chosen. I was already accepted to rub elbows and work beside some of the best local, as well as some international artists at a three day workshop coming up in June that rounds out into an auction. And finally I have a small show coming up in May, that will be a three day show featuring all woodturning/wood art and considering there are people coming from a few different states it should be a fun time. It is good to feel recognized and I am anxious to see what I will be able to do in a few years.

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Thursday, February 10th, 2005
5:49 am - personal note
In the process of decision making I try to function under these contexts:

Soul-The most important. This is the trump to all other choices. If a decision will morally or spiritually deprive me regardless of other wants, the soul can set my decision right.

Brain-The mind is more rational than feelings, hence it placing in second most important. A logical choice can be make, the mind is open to weighing in different situations and on anything too unclear whether I should or shouldn't the soul may be consulted.

Heart-Feelings are fickle but still important to happiness. The heart however knows little of right or wrong, better or worse and that is why I feel endulging the heart without using any other way of making decisions will leave you unhappy at best, but if you follow the heart when the soul and mind are in agreement, the heart will find contentment.

Flesh- The needs of the body are base and unfulfilling if just impulsively chased after. If a human only eats, shits, fucks and sleeps then they might as well not be living. To leave behind just shit when you die, or worse yet, shit and children who will only leave more shit is truly depressing. The wants of the body if in alignment with the rest of a human will be an active miracle instead of just more wasted life.

This order is subject to change, but in theory it shouldn't. For example if I were starving to death, my body's needs would be pulling the most, however ideally I could think why steal food, or worse kill a person for food to keep a theif or murderer alive?

This may also be flawed, but this is how I would like to try and live.

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Monday, January 31st, 2005
12:47 pm - Love and Hate(brief)
I have noticed in my idle moments that a plain untouched piece of the world is something that to some basic degree I loathe. Loathe may not be the proper emotion, however there is a certain need to change whatever is around me. I could call this being figety, or some other anxiety based dillema but it appears to go much deeper. If there is empty space I wish to fll it, if there is something untouched I wish to reanrange and tamper with it. If I just allow myself to do what I would naturally, I will tear, cut, scratch, draw, scribble, but never just sit and appreciate. In a quite literal way I naturally have a need to leave my mark.
In down times in conversation, say at a diner, I will shread a napkin, or mangle a piece of left over food, all very diliberatly, albeit to reach no certain goal. This is something I simply cannot help. In such times I get nothing out of it, just a fix to something much more pressing. In a sculpture, I start with a peice of wood that to me is nothing more that a medium to change something. It needs to be changed, so I start shaping it with a number or roughing tools I have including a large lathe and a band saw. Now I have changed this piece of wood. It is in this time period where my real hate for this piece starts to bubble up. I started with a plain peice of wood, pretty in a natural way, but now it is crude, poorly worked and changed into something ugly. I hate the work at this point.
I start working many hours at this point, without many pauses, like an adict, trying to escape from life, while planning on getting somewhere better. I hate and hate and hate, digging and grinding, until I find something that I love. I see a certain curve or a small hollow, and interaction of a few shapes and my whole process changes. I am no longer trying to fix something that is broken, I am nuturing something that I find beautiful. In these times when I stop working, I have trouble putting it down, it is like my child, and it is hard parting with it. I often, before I leave the workshop at my Dad's for the night, walk back down with my piece just for one last look, hold that image of beauty and look forward to working on it again the next day. The nuturing process talks a long time, often with hours upon hours of fine sanding, a lover's embrace, and I begin to understand these works of love. I think Alexis is safe knowing my only mistress next to her that I will ever have is art.

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Friday, December 17th, 2004
4:34 am - List of Shit
abortions are love
brought to you by the isLove Generator

Show piece for May
rework pheonix
modern art display
envio-art display
super self portrait
bone sculpture self
organ bike
tree project

get a big ass portfolio with lots of plastic sleeves

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4:07 am - Her Purpose
She is a pile of over-picked scabs, wasting away, as the latex-coated maggots feed deep.

That is all you are, and all you are worth, know your place.

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Wednesday, December 1st, 2004
4:21 am
Hi, to all that still have me on their friends list, it has been a while. Excuse any boring intro, I will get to something interesting in a minute, I just need to dip my feet in this writing pool for a minute before I jump in. I have all but dismissed this journal as the proliferation of humanity's continuous masturbation of their own drama in utter disregard to anyone else. I wished to exclude myself from such practice and hence have not indulged in this public forum in a long while. However, there are a few things that simply need to de documented, and in my following posts revealed triumphantly to the public. I may try to be a moral, do-right individual, however certain wretches in my past sagas of life need to at the very least be brought to the attention of this small reading public for the simple knowledge that I may help someone, somewhere from the disgusting worthless beings I once let into my life.

Before any of that however(in a later but soon installment), I will address(drunkenly unfortunately) two people in my life that I hope to any divinity willing to listen to be able to forgive. Both of them I met in 11th grade. After my mother died, I had problems letting people into my life. I feel this was because of a idea based on 'the more people I grow to care about, the more chances I have of being hurt'. This system seamed reasonable for a time however these two people I met in 11th grade stayed with me until my most recent chapter of life. To me they were my fold, my family, the void-fillers of a chasm of holes in my being that had been left unfilled for quite literally half a decade. Even if I always wasn't the perfect friend, I can swear that it was always my intent. For any shortcomings in this department I do apologize.

To the one, your admission was tonight, and your guilt was thrown openly on the table, with your heart nailed to it, bleeding sincerely.

To the other, Happy Thanksgiving, you are missed, however on the issue that has been unsaid I simply cannot just forget. I wish things right, but from the knowledge I have unfortunately gathered it is not mine to right.

"The first man to compare the cheeks of a young woman to a rose was obviously a poet; the first to repeat it was possibly an idiot."
Salvador Dali

"Mistakes are almost always of a sacred nature. Never try to correct them. On the contrary: rationalize them, understand them thoroughly. After that, it will be possible for you to sublimate them. "
Salvador Dali

current mood: drunk

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Sunday, September 28th, 2003
11:35 pm - Sympathy
caught in the light of the moth-slayers
a white spec in the night then transformed into nothing,
a forced waste of fluid
a funny comment of a child
an obstruction of progress
a life so small as to never see the sun rise and set
given all my sympathy

aging in a home of unfamiliar faces
reaching out to God or nihilism
both becoming easy when chatting at Death with a twelve inch voice
spending all of his time reminiscing about reminiscing
having forgotten everything worth keeping track of
the old routine
the names of family
the two owner's of the ring on his finger
the reason for living
given all my sympathy

the shit on all the angels
for trying to help wretch after wretch
the blood of the martyrs
that get siphoned into drugs, silicon, and latex
the tears of the pure-at-heart
who try only to fail, die or be let down
given all my sympathy

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Tuesday, September 2nd, 2003
7:31 pm - Fairy Tales
"Repunzul, Repunzul, let down your hair"
she slowly arches her head back and down lofts her long flowing hair
as the shining prince wishes to greet her with ignorant undying love
he climbs the silken hair, brimming with tender thoughts of devoution
reaching the window, he finds Repunzul, his flawless princess
fucking Romeo, while St. George and Lancelot leaning by the wall wait their turn
extasy pills and empty bottles of hard liquor scatter the heart shaped room
the sun begins to set
and the two famed silouettes are missing on the horizon
the prince takes a step back, he had wanted to save this beautiful flower
only to find rotting decadent animals, feasting on maggots and blood
one more step, backwards and falling now
regretting only what he had seen
not leaving this place so wholey barren

leaving his dreams of beauty
he hears her moan
leaving his dreams of love
she signs loudly
leaving his dreams of forever and always
she screams of elation

his heads splits on the bouquet or roses he was unable to climb with
the sun finishes setting while the four in the tower are
too far gone to notice or

it's dark out now
it's dark out

girl(alexis), this poem has nothing to do with you, but i think you know that. i just didn't want it to upset you, becuase in you, the sun is still shining.

current mood: touched

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Tuesday, August 19th, 2003
10:19 pm - and another thing that allows me a non-written post

The ULTIMATE personality test
brought to you by Quizilla

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Friday, August 15th, 2003
4:53 am - phew
LiveJournal Haiku!
Your name:corpseus
Your haiku:time passes as i numb
i am in with being alone
and let down.i must
Created by Grahame

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Tuesday, August 12th, 2003
6:54 pm - sounds about right

There's a 0 - 25% Chance You'll Cheat!

Sound about right?

You know the deal. Everyone gets tempted...

And the key to maintaining your relationship is not giving in.

You even go as far as staying away from anything close to cheating.

But everyone's human, so don't over do it.

You might come to resent your pure ways - and get a little too crazy to compensate.

Sound completely wrong?

So you're a cheater!

Either you're really prone to cheat (you find sex in any situation)

Or on the way to recovery.

With answers like yours, you know what it takes to shape up.

Are You Likely to Cheat?

More Great Quizzes from Quiz Diva

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Tuesday, July 8th, 2003
3:59 am
i am fashionably sensitive but too cool to care. these foolish games will tear you apart.

i like this song now becuase i made new piece with it.

beyond that:

strapped to the operating table, my close friend Sidharta begins to squirm and twist as a heated argument between he and I could go terribly wrong for him and his entrails. i hold the knife and can not get it through his head that we should suffer, each and everyone of us. he lectures me in that damn cold pacifist tone that fatlers not for a second about how without a self a person could function almost sinlessly and therfore not only achieve salvation from suffering, but deserve that state of peaceful existance becuase he or she on some basic level earned it. he then went on about how i am too judgemental and far too attached to myself to ever get any sort of reprieve from suffering, blah blah blah, and in anycase the guy was really pushing my buttons. those that are close know how best to hurt. so i stuck him one in the left thigh and feverishly sawed the sergical scalpal until it worked its way out the outher side of his leg. he acted like it felt like flower petals and gum drops, and that he was above human pain but i saw it in his eyes, I SEEN IT. so this went on for hours. He continualy trashing my ways of conduct, even though generally moral myself, holding those of lessor morals with less worth than the same amount of fecal matter that it would take to displace the same amount of air. i would then stab him in that gut of his and work his intestines out eye-size incisions. in anycase we got no where.

i still think we all deserve to suffer.....Buddha, you might be wasting your time.

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Sunday, June 15th, 2003
5:38 am - weird
a calm before the storm. i feel like water on a pond, rippleless and unatural. i want to forgive and seek refuge in memories. i want to make better with my forgotten places and past. i want to feel peace entirely and secure it before the deluge comes and the pages of my new life splatter, churn and wash up to a new self.

i want to open up a blackened heart, and watch the stone crumble off, i want to see the doves fly again and not forget every other time they flew around my head. i want to remember the butterflies, and forget the blood on a bitten finger.

forgive,forget, remember

i want to dethorn what i have destroyed. i want to clear my head.

i want to watch the pages of my new life splatter, churn and wash up to a new self.

it is going to be a weird summer

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Monday, June 9th, 2003
12:39 am - empty
falling like a bloody dove
i let my denial slowly dissapate into the cold air
i begin to embrace this wound of actual feeling for a brief second
before i hit
these feather-feelings may have been enough to fly
but instead i sat and counted them
as they ammassed around my grave
to fly again is such a scary thing
but i believe now is too late to try again
let them blow away
please let them blow away
i tried so hard to be right
be good
for nothing more than a forgotten wish
cut out eyes that had stopped the search
that should have stayed in dreams
not pretty, or cute
regrets of opening books
so easily replaced
mr smiling distance

i am a fucking dolt. i don't know what is right anymore.

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