here it is so far

http://www.lulu.com/content/1225571

COMING SOON, but.....

Book soon (it's october, just) in the mean time, I enjoyed these (may way of saving them...)

wikipedia on...HANGING, very thorough:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hanging

and....Flipper and the memory of Will Shatter, 20th year aniversary of his death (I remember it well - my ex knew him from london or some such and it was a big drama...recomemnded, very thorough

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flipper_%28band%29

no more CBGB, now, no more Hilly Kristal

Well, there goes my misspent youth. I never met Hilly but I did stand near him a few times, going through the cbgb site (cbgb.com) I was surprised to see youthful pictures of, he looked old by the time I started hanging out around 1991, painting and showing at marsbar (marz bar?) around the corner though I was in a show at cbgb's 313 once, and went to shows plenty.

Picture I chose is from the Dictators files and their guitarist sitting on an old Volvo 122, chosen because I had one right around then. Apparently the whole are has been torn down and redon - was the bowery after all. Sort of amazing, they will gentrify anything.

The schizophrenic's notebook part 15

15 you know that's very funny, pony thing, sort of down the road from TV cars, like a flawless owl as your self-sequence ran down to your addiction for yourself. I try not to think about it myself. See...I don't own a car; see, what I need is a real and true 1/2 car...honest...I've been thinking about it like...car fragments, a corner with training wheels. I bet you have some horses too. You know what I'm gonna do, get a whole bunch of letters and scramble em - oh Christ...that screaming again...you know...you know what really impresses me about you all...you never mind the screaming; I had to do this before, the car thing like...I lost it and...you know what happens and...I had to watch TV for a while; I hate that. No car, lot's of words...almost got it mathed out.... They sort of stared at me: "sorry ... still working on a dart deal; have to inspire mom's duck tape lady and...all the excitement, murder just isn't gonna do it...you guys are so far ahead of me...like...those guys over their...really...it's a dart...light weight...yea...a hemi...who do I kill - it's ...that bad. We left it in Reno; got ourselves arrested on purpose so they’d take the car.

Schizophrenic's notebook (13) 14

13 no 1314: "voices...how long have you been hearing the voices..." "They change...for a long time I liked the voices I heard but...since George and wtc...they've been unpleasant and recently..." "Yea... “Like...clouds with a face drawn on, little bunnies with strange magical powers...a counter point to the little fringed box your car arrived in,. and their lovely arrogance" "Need new friends...new voices..." "She's too expensive...." "She's busy...car first..." "My rabbit friends don’t like it...they take command sometimes - they say: This is L5...I am a one inch tall bat bunny...I am in control...stand and stall...talk about anything but sports....take desired control of the self as though it could broken down into components; imagine your little friends as a slave to themselves; and then speak quietly and logically...we will do the rest. She's about 4 years old apparently...” "Quite some friends you have," "hey...they're in jersey hiding...research, sort of stuck actually, you see...like me...the don't have a used car....gloss blue light really pisses em off actually" "Pretty girl" he nodded toward the blond: - always a blond:" don’t you think?" and I looked at the couple beaming out: “Little moth eaten actually...hotel California thing again; they complain a lot I bet...disappointed - I swear, crazy old bitch down stairs from me right now...I don't care for her...seems to find solace occasionally...probably...mmm...she is pretty isn’t she; I'll set my watch...how log do you think disappointment will set in...? She's, you know...down stairs, kind of predictable...little names for the self like elves running around her skull...I dunnoI think she's got one of those...right there; want me to walk down stairs and discuss the used car problem...hold on...spot done checking out the visage. Vivian Leigh season don't you know."

The Schizophrenics Notebook part 12

12 ... round midnight: as she and her lover formed a perfect square; lovely for moon lit strolls; audience burning her image; finally distant hated lovers. "No car hu...pretty tough." "I dunno, maybe I do - they don't always tell me." Oh no, nails popped out, running as a self inflicted square emerged; how much she didn't love me and how her lack of desire would ignite a passion in my heart. Should give "mom" a call; think...something finally happened; think...miss duck tape made a mistake; another hovered on the green. Sorry you guys, no money, have to find a new agony, I do this semi-pro you know; a waif within as some final judgment, choking on my dreary soul, always so disappointed; dad's other kid, the one on the list ... I sort of do this on purpose; if you stare at me too long I'll find the zero… all those apartments, they couldn't bare; really, I'll give you a new personality, tenant in your own design, sort of, bounce around for awhile - see, hear the echo? They hate it.

schizophrenic's notebook number 11

11 Coffee? Another happy customer; another voice , another faked death, (journey; princess avenue):"I never drink coffee" he said very oppressively; those girls, you know how it is: black guys and.. .there he was., and there she was, off the wall (or still theresome dream succeeded; further evidence I was a failure;; one dead pimp bleeding on the runway, other, male, finally, happy car deal.) They were the couple: drive and drive and drive; glossy and dangerous (too quiet down the hall; like I tried not to breath. They were staring at me so: "Yea...those girls...one up there, bad crew, cut their nerve endings, stop at nothing." "See the dog", and they were still standing around the airplane, waiting, suddenly bored; enough alloys for one day by golly - too much of a good thing. This is what happens when you spoil the waifs cadre express; long tunnel bringing in a new blond; ha ha...eat you right up. every time; and they started firing away round the fuselage again; waiting for the real plane - they'd fill the moat real fast: "Not goanna tell me that mutant mut story again...breeder of Mongoloid dogs, I swear you can be smart and pay your taxes...can't you.?" No ..they shook their head slowly...never...no...sorry....see...she keeps trying to steal l the jobs you won't take.; and then...her old friends.. .mischief...you're note feint are you?' "hu." "have to."

schizophrenic's notebook part 10

10: With the howling similar no doubt; after the crash (ie: crash!) another television appareled not hers or her eyes but.under another card game ( german they utttered forth time I guess - love the hat) like the next satellite, came up and... the joke was on me; honest...she planed the whole thing out. Sure . .nailed to the wall of a terminal cafe wall but none the less; bing ...you could see it in the sky, the next major talent; sigh of delight as the blue first floor exploded, the crashing noise - hate that - a faty skipping up the lane... oh no! Not back in time! Oh christ; some moron waiting for his spitfire was racing along in a stolen van (like actually...stolen, it happens); the show was on:" See...see the dog..." Oh yea; while the rectangle of light around the fuselage stopped as even they paused for a moment, cause, yea, sometimes they get angry. "got a lot of points on this car - sure you don't want to finish it off .. needs a little work...smoking a bit...See...we left it inside too long." "No ma - she'll have t pay for it herself, or her boyfriend .. really in a lotta of trouble this time..." He's still here; die that slow; she's another taunt so...yea the car went out; I repeated it to my dog on the wall and she hissed: " yea, they went out”, and under the satellite appeared the waif so, yea..the apartments were still empty. Might go for another coffee., have to be carefull; did get some art out though "no ten"

interlude........

first a plug:

http://www.custom-words.com/black.html


worth looking at; old newyorker now west, fist complete book of peotry very charming and entertaing.

WALDO SMITH NEGATION or The Schizophrenics note Book" comeing as my (mental) health allows; complete uncorected version can be found at:
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/newnovelclub/

part 9...........

9: The echo chamber behind me said:"she got the job"; Actually there was beating down stairs, that happens in novels; and I poured more coffee; white light outside while I saw blue because that must have been what was down stairs; like the wrong move would echo to "mom" while my duck tape girl existed only as a facet of the dart (Dodge Dart, my imagined drag race car), gone, gone for sure - I know - more devolving beauty . That hell guy, what's his name, he's to formal. Know what? I think he's making money; they'd get paid later, but I wouldn't. Actually, I think they killed her, the blond that is, the older one with the funny hair; one day when the plane didn't land on time. I tried barking at her, metaphorically that is, but she never complained, that rubber bat
mama, negated echo chamber of the whistle back. Nah:" he was some antichrist run amok - I was sure of it; probably had dates all the time".. "It's popping outside" I said; it worked; gonna leave you there, but, rest assured, we're filming it all - her...you know...she's a tv set..we have to catch it all."

The Schizophrenics note book part 8

8 Moaning but never begging; still outside; she already saw (because she was crazy) the image I was still waiting for - the plane exploding; passengers like red popcorn; opportunity(don't think about it) and, if I, as usual, were implicated (name on a list , it appeared) another used car I would never posses:"You sure..this is a rally nice car...fast...you sure...not available ... you might figure it out...have to be lucky if you know what I mean" while those damn germans sat like fours on chairs sipping in order; she was concerned; pimp of a pimp of a pimp; some are girls; if you stared at her you saw something else so I just moaned:"Is he gone? Has he left yet..."

Schizophrenics note book part 7

7 Towards the little Main street I didn't quite flee, just his energy making me walk a little faster than I might have. Honest, Duncan Donuts; reliable; coffee and a cruller; cops with the new ford with the little grill under the bumper; then like some pod person in a yellow plastic car, gleaming, so I trudged forward slowly resigning; I was waiting. So, my drama; I knew enough to know that my duck tape lady was moving up if not forward, something like eels would emerge, all her disconnected relationships - worked if they were in love with her; I'd been to jfk - who needs a marlin; stilted, like I complained while waiting, their coffee watery compared to Duncan's: German, German, German; mom would have been proud; people you never usual see like; why I'd been fixed up, really just for the ride...like that's all they did: fly and fly and fly, and they did but I figured, the venitions rustling, the light out side getting wild, almost blond, that it had been blown apart, dark dark blue, and through the scene slowly would call all my ex's to complain, because they'd never done it for love just for some revenge; pick the fattest one and nail her to the Wall: start talking - I don't budge till the designer of that yellow car shows up.

schizophrenics note book part 6

6 Vertigo encouraged; cult of the gang, as bad as it looked, 8 out of 10 for me; moment of dispersion, off and waiting for the anti-godot. I think she was (many of them) still waiting for the accident; bike still locked up. Actually we, or I would have been happy to try again while some idiot figure, still in the void, like those old tv sets, switch off and down to a dot of light the exploded into nothing: and bing...a guy in a tie; in the mean time the old copa-cabana problem loom as I chased my own thoughts not sure in they were my own, vision of some characters in glasses meticulously cuing a 45 over and over again while times himself came to mind; a clump of bodies was all I perceived out of the periphery; damn, that was punk. Hadn't quite crossed the dart with the right band of silver; already got what they wanted; girl walking in a square and then a tie swinging in; not too much traffic; got my smokes while this figure, a persona in my pocket, just in case, apexed not to tightly with a secret agent of not good but another fallen sun king; looked down the alley: I let my mind wander; bad memories - all I had. "I guess this one is for you." he said. "how much?" "Nah... my uncle gave it to me." "Run?" "nah...sure you don't want it?" "How much? "Not for sale...keeping it ..still sort of belongs to him - sure you don't want..." I let a cigarette and walked off thinking of a way to write to or around what I guess was miss x, one of mom's finest, even helped her out once as they said in the detective novels; tempting to think big, drifting through my mind went a disaster film...a torn up runway and a lounge and a mounted talking dog; I hoped I hadn't actually met that guy before for none the less; threads for the car deal I had stumbled into; trail of the visage of the waif appearing as she had above the alphabet apartment building in the morning seemed to emit now from the proud pick up owner, some customized dodge, too long in the rear.

schizophrenic's note book part 5

5: Pausing, the anti-thief loomed as the fringe of some cuffed cake lost in the imprint of the shows or ankles; think ahead, aunt...X; nope; never met a singe one of her lovers; not even their names, and "mom" was so hopeful. Nope; profile, identity,persona, cliche, nope, she dated ghosts for all he new; and then lit a cigarette and went for walk like, something might happen; cars he wouldn't steal. he loved just handing em back; all these things followed him like a madness, quet little town; a 7 11 and this and that. He was pretty sure he's finally blown it..

Schisophrenics note book part 4

4 Damn ghosts; somebody sent therm around, sometimes an erased smudge, sometimes clearer than the tv that took up too much space, an aroma even.. Grey; cheap room inhabited without thought; you say something that dumb and then maybe you really do like it ; an alphabet block building out the window, across the avenue in the remarkable early bright morning light (as he had nothing to dob at night for the moment) brought an uncalled for paranoia. Sort of waiting on too many things; really, he was done and he new it but a little pang and the messages from mom, then the telegram, then the messages he left unanswered then a letter; he never liked her; lot of trouble. No used car - he didn't get the car; finagled some weird loner just to get out of there, and thus, no babes, actually a companion to watch him like...we'll Just keep waldo here a while, but the alphabet building condos I guess, stainless steal, a visage of a waif flew up behind them cause they would arrange something like that. He had with deep paranoia,almost as a practicality, concluded that his leaving had in fact been the thing that held her back- good luck; and...she'd found the mun so, almost a fact, either that or dead but he needed to be prepared; they were drug addicts, they might suddenly get some yen; leaving he'd almost engineered by lashing but he hoped that hadn't helped to a little too much cash.. Her little friends danced through his mind. Swindle, lost in a swindle, she was a walking swindle machine actually, so he had a bad rep for complaining so , now, no rep, sand he sat like engulfed in some over sized tulip, you go used to it, and onward it went to the avenues, as he fitted into his mind a few facts, a few possibilities; where that girl was now if she was lucky and he had a boy friend in mind for her, not all persona, but beyond that it didn't fit as he couldn't find a connection like:"Hi, how are you."; clouds around his head; draw a face on,voila - a ghost but he still had clarity to reenact once again one of his few accomplishments, something that always engaged the propeller of his own soul, rage he might focus for a second here or there, or did before he really did realize which money she wanted, like some how she had moved up , and that was:"You can come out now Billy" and , given the way things were going, it might be a good one.

Shizophrenic notebook part 3

3. "Thus the reflections didn't exist, little angels or some other false self flattery", as though the originally laid within that black oily self constructed diamond that they insisted, perfectly stolen, laid within some soul as they called it: drug addicts. "I've got it - I've got it." Some scream from down stairs, The little soldiers, striped of their hardware ran back to reignite the image, never sure what they really looked like, instead locking it in like bailbondsmans deposits, which are, after all, sometimes, suddenly returned. More or less. Sometimes they even rely upon someone like me to affirm their beauty, not ugly, but clever, and further that there was also goodness and genius implied, both actually impossible ( a fact sort of) and I had become unreliable as I had started telling the truth ; skip a beat and a negation, something implied in the naked quatrolgy that lacked the physical diamond they kept claiming. I told em it just was and, your ugly when they were cliched and always stupid, stupid, stupid, when I guess they were cute sometime and so narrowly geniuses in milliseconds that could only caused me discomfort or, to be polite, milliseconds being the theme. Like discharges in my brain - it crackled. . Oh well. Plus there were emissions, like they were combustable, and, ungratefully, the old concept that is (ungrateful I'm sure) towards some seduction, a succulence that at once revealed a lure that, in retrospect, I couldn't not resist .

The Schizophrenics note book part2

2 Some obsession with disaster movies as tough god checked in conflict with a guest equal to pretty cellophane, more repellent than bleak signs, never torched. replicated in some double back wing persona so horrible that it could bare lost time considered infinite as apparently he thought he would run out eventually. Dead before it was solved. They had never thought it out further, she was her who her who was her who was her who was somehow perfect and I was sure she was a bitch but then I wasn't pretty enough, plus I was someone's son so I just watched while they enjoyed what ever it was they enjoyed, I perceived everything as a perversity at that point. and really, I just couldn't find it,, hiding only for stray hints, the wing of the bigger machine they constructed to enjoy this ill thought immortality.

The Schizophrenics Notebook

Between June 2006 and March 2007 I was stoped by the police 7 times while screaming. I could calm down and I would insist I was fine, but I'm schizophrenic with advanced touret's syndrome, and eventually, the seventh time, they took my into the hospital. I'm schizophrenic, delusional, aural and visual hallucinations, and was by that point borderline, meaning psychotic. During this period, starting June 6, 2006 (666) I had decided to write a novela by writing one paragraph a day. I managed a little over 200, deteriorating noticeably after day 190 or so, and I will now included an edited version.
1, June 6,06

I stared into his new void ; someone was nibleing, still nibeling, emoting and iritating but this new failure had beeen passed to me with the season: down and down and down , towards an intersection that crossed with the last entrants nemisus, some black personality of death not aquired; the essence behind all that screeming; some of it was mine, So I concentrated while someoneises pawns moved forward again; the paranoia of failure.

to be posted daily or:

(rough draft)

http://www.newflippertexts.com/negated.html

narator murdered

That was on answer to the impasse in WALDO SMITH NEGATED (full rough draft text at:

http://notbugatti.8m.com/ Actually, the author is schizophrenic and, this happens every times he's tried to write a book, the narrative slides off into a cornfield, failure, and then madness; as seem in the intallments below (last 4 or 5) shoudn't all there was to talk about was the haldol experience, his whole world exploding towards the psychworld (worse that shizo-culture, just...schizo).

Think of editing down the poetic writing donelast year ( a paragraph a day no matter, and I really was nuts) http://www.newflippertexts.com/negated.html as The Schizophrenics note book" and self publish...something do. Currently (lithium, clonodine and zyprexia) - if I owned a gun, I'd be dead by now.

First madness, then suicide

Waldo had little to say in the hospital. He hadn't admitted or realised how crazy he was. City engulfed in flames while he walked in smaller and smaller circles Turrets syndrome; jack knifing and screaming and then hospital and Holdall. Really, he might as well have stayed there for the rest of his life, but that realisation came after. He was entranced with his vision, that they could be so obscenely elaborate. He sat there getting skinnier and skinnier in a panic , that his life was ruined. His father visited for a few hours from Maine. He had a mixture of anger, how could you do this to me, and relief. There were people in the ward who had been there for six months - they didn't what to do with them. He felt he had been pulled up by the roots, but he was still crazy, still manic and unrealistic. He had to admit, new york city thing, that was just your basic crazy person all of a sudden, unable to care for himself or work; he tried to think further and further back, but even that was like a braid that would abduct him back into madness. His brain had broken, all he could remember: everything.

He picked his way through the images, text, memories, his mind as some sort of dictionary or accounting maze. Time, he had a problem with time, the intake worker at the shelter where his spend a night said playfully on giving the date of his birth:"Just about the big five-o hu" and he was shocked as he had lost all sense of time; some bad habit to go back in his mind to new york, punk rock days, painting and drinking, trying to play the big shot and the start sneering and explaining as, well, other's didn't see it. Bottom feeder society. Some wound or argument and then, madness, not that he was George Normal, there were symptoms, drinking, and then flat out madness so his life became looking at a a river of ice, which he did some, cracking and break, this part of life went so far, then madness; started over, that part when not quite as far, and he'd write, novel or novella and it was never finished as he cracked each time, some apogee, story over.

above left, Bush home on a drive with my case manager

more Waldo in the hospitol

Waldo had a feeling horror. He felt his life was over he was locked in the hospital and had no idea how long it would last. His whole life had vanished. It was hot outside, that new york hot, and there was little his friends could do for him

Mean while, he would remember how dramatic the experience had been, locked in his kitchen with the world exploding around him. It was a dramatic experience, surreal in the extreme, better than a movie, and he had wondered the streets for days dogs faced having no real idea what was happening while cartoon characters appeared before, smoke billowed from his head, light shows exploding and, finally, the police came to his door and took him away screaming.

Mercdes connection

When Waldo had his "breaks" he became obsessed with conspiracy theories, gambling, nickle bags (anything pyramid) proto-naziz and fast cars. He was particularly obsessed with Porsche's, thinking they were some signe of german neo-nazi tendencies. Eventually he found himself running around with an Instamatic taking pictures of offending cars. The Mercedes 300 sl shown was a particularly big catch; something there was a strange shadow in the image, that would prove some carbon pyramid (as he conceived them) or bandwidth, radio and waves and magnets.

psychotic break

So far, he was oblivious to his paranoia, other that being abducted, as it were , for visits to the hospital ( a two month long visit.) In fact, his thinking, all things considered, maybe even was rational; what was not rational were his visions, more elaborate than even drugs like lsd had provided in his limited experience, complete with lazer fights and strange beings, the sky turning pail pail blue, and strange attaches (he wasn't sure: telexes to his head? lazer beams? radio waves aimed at him)? but as he sat there day after day he realised he was threw. A complete disaster, he was insane apparently, and he would learn in the years to come, he wasn't going to get better. It was a permanent condition.

sick, forever sick

They were allowed cigarettes three times a day and he was sitting there with smoke still in the air, fans running, as it gnawed at him that he was so sick,and that his life was forever ruined. He was pschizophrenic. A new catagory for his life.

They wouldn't let him out of the hospitol for another month, so he sat there, cigarette break over, watching the news, anchor people and the blast with the room strangly empty except for him and the smoke. He was impassive but on the whole felt like killing himself.

SCIZOID

Schizoid; sick and terrible; new start; waldo sat in the psych ward of st. lukes hospital as the plane broke up over long island sound. He had alreardy been in the ward, just sitting, for a month and he had no idea when he would be let out. Apparently, he'd had his troubles before, he was schizophrenic and every thing he's ever thought was wrong.

otherwsie at http://www.newflippertexts.com

he thought: I envy the sane - I have no idea how they do it.

schizoid

I am and very depressed; no one liked my novel and now I'm done; don't in the walk of post-punk. Done in suicidal thoughts; done in the effort it takes to do the web for free, always free.

I refer all to

http://newflippertexts.com/

new work and links to rough drafts of waldo. Saturday, first day I've slightly out of the grip of suicide in days...

WALDO SMITH NEGATED...latter

today poetry

So now,
in the crash and boom,
so now
so now,
in the crash and boom so now, yours
(as they hand me and beyound))
I will
(as some handle dolls)
as some love the vortex of television
(some quatro and silver)
as I started this journey
(it had a start,
some attack:
their fiction, not mine and
I eloped; even lied)
as famouse cliches jumped out
(with aggression)
(a smudge in the floating mirror above;
in the paranoia of lost freinds;
voices finding a home)
find these smudges as personas
and place them around me
the most embaressing:
yes I am a criminal
yes I am a major drug trader
yes I do have an office in so-ho
yes I am a liar.
Yes I am envious.
Some broken guilt as I admit
Yes I was screeming,
Some long loss now remembered
So sitting at the curb insisting I was fine
Till finaly
They took me in.

Gas and france

mine was the little town featured on All Things Considered with low gas prices.


I don't own a car.

Instead, I bring to you the Situationist International and plug their offerings:

http://www.bopsecrets.org/cat.htm

to wit:
In 1957 a few European avant-garde groups came together to form the Situationist International. Picking up where the dadaists and surrealists had left off, the situationists challenged people’s passive conditioning with carefully calculated scandals and the playful tactic of détournement. Seeking a more extreme social revolution than was dreamed of by most leftists, they developed an incisive critique of the global spectacle-commodity system and of its “Communist” pseudo-opposition, and their new methods of agitation helped trigger the May 1968 revolt in France. Since then — although the SI itself was dissolved in 1972 — situationist theories and tactics have continued to inspire radical currents all over the world.

good luck to all of us...

Desolation

Long walk to the library to day; something I fear as I'm manic depressive (bi-poler, as they say)and sudenly all can seem lost, slower and I'm saving my poetry till monday while still searching ebay for a mini mac.

Someone wrote in from my yahoo club:

Question: if you don't drink, how come you like jackson pollock, marc rothco and charles bukowski?by the way for paintings i really have only one hero:goya.i do think madonna and basquiat are the artists of our time, that is for five years ago, the best we can do so far.

Apparently true, when Basquiat died we all thou hgt we were next in line. Apparently not - the last art star...

and...a negation (poetry)

it's tenuous,
so sad as the say, some cult of the repeat,
always starting over and notes to some sequence of pseudonyms, aliases,
all the lost identities and recoupling with some other essence
and on to nothingness,(nothingness defined) as there is a spot, ethereal
but also in greed or longevity, someone elses family tree, and their things
and the dream of their life and I'm still here, so alone
and behind me (apparently, behind me; Oklahoma) the place for that fantasy
(and the music that caries them there is some math sequence not sound towards
meaning , aesthetic or form) so, you, apparently, Hollywood, California, and
I'm actually stuck here till you stop trying to go there to document that life, a
little box, to sit there and dream, and I stare at the incidentals in the air.

nearby; little guy with a rifle there; drugstores missed half the shot.

So, today's question (war still on_

Can I, negate a negation:

naively

authentically.

Does authenticity lead to situationism:

http://www.bopsecrets.org/.

Is there an art equivalent?

Is incompetence accounted for or

(in my case) schizophrenia.

Once again ( the good and bad)

punk, n/punk or post punk.

What was punk (rock and role, energy - art?) Does punk lead to anything else (schizophrenia); is post punk something else.

my post punk statement: now, part 1 (30 pages or so, plenty of misspellings) of my novel in progress WALDO SMITH NEGATED - a surrealist murder mystery: http://notbugatti.8m.com/

coming soon: schizophrenia and negation and authenticity ( can sickness lead to in authenticity.

Punk was authentic; what is now authentic (is our war authentic

Is negation an adiction Waldo 2.1

WALDO SMITH PART 2


At home it was very quiet, for a number of days, like I should throw the I ching or something, which, perhaps is not to have told the story correctly. Bad breath or bad personality, none of my old friend were particularly enamored of me and I suddenly had no new friends. So I didn’t call. I just sat there in one of the charming chairs I’d found in the street, a New York perk as it were, they were charming. What to do? Leave town, back to school? Hide forever. Temptations of the temp.

Waldo Negated 2

Waldo is the narrator of my work in progress Waldo Smith Negates - a surrealist murder mystery, sort of life and hard times in New York. Right through the Lower East Side sounds like high society, and I can't afford it see: http://artforum.com/
At left is what happened when I give up- I paint race cars ( a bugatti as it happens); but Part 2 of Waldo, the novel is in the works.

New York sounds very haughty, though one old friend in a brief conversation said all the loonies were still on the street. Still a big city. Dinner Parties during a war - I don't know but I wasn't invited anyway.

Waldo couldn't make i t

actually, first section of my novella WALDO SMITH NEGATED is done in rough draft,so, a poetic interlude

Basement aloft to math of the world radiation of soul and desire.Apparently, a dream world, a set of images that go with it but, no tvhere, just the obscure object of someone else pick pocket bookand city. Vegas. La; black ribbon unfolded and some white car thatbright, when it was basic (and always out of business ),new york, poetry and art. Those were the dies; nice tight aesthete, nomoney in it, but always in Communion with the greats as she pours anotherdrink for miss x and, even we knew it would be pretty bad (pretty bad,as they say) little gift as, swear, used car mania and hookers andhookers and hookers (I was crazy; paranoia and sin)
and, we really don't rate; sending mine always asthough to catch in the air as their agenda demands so much
(really, we sit here bored to death) and now the new loop (you, mail: getFriends, become a crumpled paper bag) so the obscure (here withoutobject of desire) some insult, now, you are
(and run though game and cell phone and pc)
you must be too
(she did as well to confuse, while I draw)
miss x; oh that one, little wink; lining the guys up but,
not a pro,fine sin in your sick eye,
come back latter; hang with the guys; so now I am (postfiction; vortex of, no north, not rerun with consuler’s goods heading northand west and south, almost remainders: no used car, no used car)insult him as miss x whould, is probably how I knew her in the firstplace.

Michale Carter

I met Michale a few times but, what's to say: Colt 45 malt liquor in his hand and lots of malt liquor jokes; he did do REDTAPE, which I read through as remainders, we sat on the street trying to sell them and other odds and sods, this after their prime; while surfing found that they are all now, and all archived , part of the NYU library collection; I tried submitting but he wouldn't let me...I was significant enough: that's me at left...

http://www.nyu.edu/library/bobst/research/fales/exhibits/downtown/ev/evzines/documents/redtape.html

Contributors have included Peter Cherches, Constance DeJong, Ron Kolm, Richard Hambledon, Patrick McGrath, Miguel Pinero, and David Wojnarowicz. Shown is the last issue. The cover depicts the funeral of David Wojnarowicz. The Redtape Archive is a part of the Downtown Collection.

Waldo Smith Negated part 24.4

sometime and so narrowly geniuses in milliseconds that could only caused me discomfort or, to be polite, milliseconds being the theme. Apparently I had lied, she and Wayne had done this before, lure everyone in and then, wammo, bar slut, bar slut as theater, they forced one that one utterance I didn't care about. Oh well. Plus there were emissions. like they wre combustible, and, ungratefully, the old concept that is (ungrateful I'm sure) towards some seduction, a succulence that at once revealed a lure that, in retrospect, I couldn't not resist . Always prepared. The profits apparently were larger than I usually guessed at so I missed the value of the car (not really mine, I knew that) and the money, and the money came from a job I wouldn't have had otherwise, though still a stupid job, temp, temp temp, like...they were clever. I like fast cars, I just, apparently, didn't pay full attention as some anti-shylock took hold of the the shadow of the car god as in their world there was always only one. In the mean time, which is really some nether world of contemplation which slides with the value of the whole thing (like, I could still actually win), the theme was still car and the image not a tattoo on the arm, which wouldn't be completely inappropriate, but a tv set set to channel 13 all night long, which was something I did sometimes.

Two or three things I know about her

A famous Godard film; Paris during a construction boom; ditto The American Friend by Wim Wenders. The new New Museum of contemporary Art Will be south of Houston on the west side, a notorious rats nest. I presume the just swept the whole place clean after WTC. Actually, late seventies, early eighties, there were still Hippies and lsd and one day, the all left. Waldo Smith negated ( a rough draft, first part: http://notbugatti.8m.com/ is before that, but there were weird building fires and the lot; first street is now an apartment block (it was a lot, some used cars) and the New Museum asks for submissions on CDs, no more slides (sounds good to me...)

more, more or less

worth noting - looks nice: morte LES news (so rare)

Ho do you like my rotisserie duchamp.

ALso, beware, maine site now: http://www.newflippertexts.com

links to my recent work, marsbar memorial page very interesting links to si (situationist international) Jaques Lacan, and so on.

Still quite sparce actualy (everything knee jerk goes here.

http://www.newmuseum.org/now_new_initiatives.php

death to bohemia

new york report from an old friend:

i can confirm that mars bar is still there forsome reason. it looks especially lonely among the giant glassbuildings going up all around it. i doubt the new tenants will standfor such a thing. or, you never know, they may go for it. or, morelikely, they will "fix" it - the saddest of all. anyway, it's theretoday & so is vayzac on tomkins square & so is the egg-cream shop & sois odessa (though "fixed"). the artists are not all gone but mostlythey are - minimally to washington heights or brooklyn but i thinkmostly no where near here any more. maybe i should get a tv too, atleast for a while.

within punk:waldosmith negated-my novel

Heating upandat left,fornogood reason,myducati250 which willrun for about minutes

Maybe it was obsession with disaster movies as tough god checked in conflict with a guest equal to pretty cellophane, more repellent than bleak signs, never torched. replicated in some double back wing persona so horrible that it could be lost time considered infinite as apparently she thought she would run out eventualy. Dead before it was solved. They had never thought it out further, she was her who her who was her who was her who was somehow perfect and I was sure she was a bitch but then I wasn't pretty enough, plus I was someone's son so I just watched while they enjoyed what ever it was they enjoyed, I perceived everything as a perversity at that point. and really, I just couldn't find it, hiding only for stray hints, the wing of the bigger machine they constructed to enjoy this ill thought immortality.

not not punk

congressional hearingstday;girl in a camaro at left

What was art in the ninties.....

Was it somehow pre-negated; there never was a clear "star" in the nineties; movies perhaps (pulp fiction) and technology taking precedence. Basquiat and others dead; there never was one to pose impossible questions or grab the eye of the Media with the abtucness or Pollack or Andy. Maybe, there was no art?
WALSO SMITH 23

Wayne and Babet were at the end of the bar working on something; each had a little Dutch boy cap on so they looked like he famous Fiarucci decal from back when punk was high fashion. I said so but they weren’t impressed; I got a drink from Eleanor. The wall was covered with a menagerie of art – open call. Some one took bent rusty nails seriously; a later body bursing in red on canvas. Discarded architectural drawing with a giant Pollack like scrawl over them a neo-renaissance s&m drawing in primary colors that I knew was Bobbie’s, the drummer’s work. Finally a little cartoon 2 year old in diapers standing year old in a frame of golden repeating arrows. “That one your’s Wayne.” “Uh-hu” he said with disinterest:” I call it birth of knowledge.” He’d sort of moved some other art out of the way. And, without missing a beat:”Babet and her room mate are having a party” he slid over an invitation: a heart with a devils tail and a king’s crown.” “Where is it?” “A loft on Stanton street…gonna have a show of Bobbie's art.” “Uh-hu” she said. “oh.”

RAINSTORM TODAY

Searching now (as I have before) for some other concept (and label) for art; post-punk, n/punk, n/art. Post expressionist? Post pop; post pop impressionist:

WALDO SMITH NEGATED #22

22

I really did stay at home all week drinking coffee, shuffling around, avoiding things, but finally took the train down after work. Got off at Fourteenth Street. I think I liked the escalators, like a giant toy. Escalators up, and then walked south, always girls all over the place, outside cars with dents, on the corner 3 hell’s angels in colors kibitzing, one of at been at that show. Closing in on First Street, punks and old bohemians emerged, and then finally the bar. Quick sneer as I had my used grey jacket I wore to work on. Regular guy, that was the look, rather than leather for biker, My painting. A lattice work of yellows with red was still up, it was a problem; I like Picasso a lot and it showed. It was a nice painting.

Gunmen Kills 21 in Virginia

almost an andy moment; someone at the artforum message boards was acused of making anti-art, like, anti-mater. Mine was: Punk, n/punk, punk, post punk, art, n'art..and so on

Today,

WALDO SMITH NEGATED #21

21Flickering ambition draining down again; longing office towers. I never did understand the ambition of midtown, my failure really, I knew that. Presentation and hope, I hadn’t gone to business school, I just didn’t understand. There was the time the woman I was then living with snubbed my utterly at a dinner party in so-ho. Children’s books, she was becoming successful and I was not; still aren’t. I always siphon down to fruitcakes like Wayne. I’d take it cold and send out slides and manuscript and then sit at home counting rejection slips, and then go back to showing where ever, plastering with wheat past fairly discreetly drawing and poems or utterances. Then the Private Investigators persona came closer to hand as I dealt with loonies. Failure; manuscript returned, slides returned, thus showing my paintings on skid row, close enough. Popular on the weeks ends and suddenly, during the week, there was Wayne.

art, no art, art, war, more war, election

no poetry today

punk, not punk, post punk, punk, not punk, punk

punk, not punk (cool, not cool) punk, post punk. Post punk is everywhere (new york times, national public radio, for music) is there a title for art ?(punk, not punk, junky, dead junky, punk, post punk.

found the copy pf my second novel (not punk; ex punk; pre-punk) books on deman at lulu.com soon (as an experiment; found it hidden on my dieing mac; have tpo figure it all out):

http://www.newflippertexts.com/bob.html

part 20WALDO SMITH NEGATED; waldo tried to be intelectual punk; literary punk:

20
Something worse than paranoia fallowed me around all week. Discard of the transom of naivety. I’d ignore his very being except some voice in me told me he was a pro, a building to demolish, let something catch fire, buildings torn down, that was Wayne. Clear the neighborhood; have a car accident; have a taxi run someone down for the insurance? That was Wayne. so I sat at home for a while bored, dead, and finally went down to see if my painting was still on the wall.

PUNK versus postmodernism: WALDO #19

19
Searching for ennui, an old crime; searching for bordum. I found myself thinking about death; Wayne and his dead body. Great guy. Band and a big building and a dead body and now he said a loft, but not in so-ho, west side, below Delancy. Really nice neighborhood, or nice if you want to get stabbed at midnight leaving a party. Might even find some more dead bodies. The perfect memory to trail after you like a ploom of cigarette smoke as you made your way through the day job all week wondering, why am I doing this. I regularly, one or twice a year, made the great gesture, new resume and slides; send the novel out, and then I’d drift down to ground zero, new friends like Wayne out to drag everyone down. Shadow of negligence.

There was no punk

There is no avant gard, there is no avant gard, there is no avant gard, there is no avant gard, there is no avant gard

Waldo Smith negated at:

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/postbukowski/

post punk at: (with a very nice painting on it's fron page: posp-pop-impressionism):

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/postpunk/?yguid=37922894

COMING SOON: post-punk versus negated punk

and, tired of XXX-expressionism, I propose post-pop-impressionism (ie: does neo negate; is punk really music etc , Johny thinders link below.

literal negations versus literary negations

A literary negation is to conceptualise with passages missing or, in "avant gard" work suddenly deleting some convention of the novel and why (modern life moving so quickly, etc; negating introduction; tanks negating eddie or andy; logic negating; charachter negating possibilities. Yesterday I looked up and old name Michael Dean who has self published a couple of novels (http://kittyfeet.com/) pretty useful guy with a hole do-it-yourself industry thus the plug; also recommends http://ww.lulu.com/ for the self publisher.

He is firmly in the post punk hall of fame (have to write and ask if he perceives himself as post punk or not; he has been in bands)

ok, literal, found these from the http://launch.groups.yahoo.com/group/pleasekillme1/
which, sort of an old timers clubs, all the old punks and, one link:
http://johnnyt13.tripod.com/id9.html
I am a big Johny Thunders fan; actually assumed he had died much earlier.
quite lurid. negation in both senses; negated the self the aethete would clame...

Finally, my own literary negation for the day:

WALDO SMITH NEGATED a surrealist murder mystery

18

His cohort Jacques who he said played the guitar interjected: ”Don’t do that!” “I woke up Sunday with a dead body next to me man, check it out – he was dead, some old guy. I passed out after the party in one of the old studios and…when I woke…there was a dead body there.
It was a long, narrow bar, and still a good ten feet down to where Wayne was standing. ”Call the cops?” Shook his head no. “Still there?” Oh, I told someone.” “That’s a great relief.” I finished off my beer. ”I’m gonna leave now, anything else new?” “I think we got a loft, Babet here and a friend…gonna be great.” ”Keep me posted.” “Me too” his friend Jacques said- I’m out a here- he does this all the time!” ”Didn’t kill him for a drink did you?” “I told somebody…”

Racing ahead

I felt guilty initially over today's picture choices, but I've been racing ahead since. I saw the announcement for their movies being shown in the times; I've been waiting to see those movies of andy's for years and, never happens. I'm not in new york; also tried thinking about any possible political innuendos so...voila. Since then, a bunch WALDO SMITH NEGATED writing and I was looking for information on book on demand and just realised, sitting the window sill, the novel my Michale Dean, which isn't that bad, and looked him up again on the web here:
actually bought his novel and thought it was ok:
http://www.kittyfeet.com/
and...hmm..some other .com, but, I plan on bookondemanding my silly novella when finished so his link lulu.com seemed useful..order...1 book...my kind of deal.

WALDO SMITH NEGATED PART 17

17 There was sort of this shrug from Wayne as they left. It was true. I found myself staring down the bar, all the old wood filthy with chisel marks, initials and silver magic marker tags, frayed bumper stickers from one band or another. Babet was staring at me with that smile of hers, like a skeleton smiling. "I got my bike, I can't drink too much." It was dark old bar, only repainted when we wanted to do a show and have it look decent, then it would be all white for a while but the cigarette smoke discolored it that quickly to brown again; regularly holes in the sheet rock. It was a miracle they didn't serve absinthe. Babet shook her head some more while Wayne started creeping over, like he had to stop every few steps. "Man, check it out.."

PS

See, this is what happened; just...music, music as big business; babes. Punk's, been dead for years. Some...exotic heavy metal took it's place. Actually, even Basquiat never made it, just some side dish to fashion; some false egalitarianism. I did this painting; actually sort of good but, no one wants to see it; no one is interested in the laceration involved.

Right now, I always recommend:

http://www.artforum.com/

and then consider the political repercusions what with the war dragging on.....

ps: make over (part 2 of Waldo SMith Nigated in rough draft form)

http://www.newflippertexts.com

now, absolutly not punk

There is no punk now, more classics; had some notes, some horrible picture of my beloved marsbar picked out (so many thing to so many people, dive, skid row, heavy metal, punk palace, or, my favorite, old Bohemia) but found myself making notes from a GG Allin cd. Actually, Let it Bleed is a great song and I do recall that shot of GG maybe a block from the marsbar in leather mc jacket, boots and jock strap and, he is too much. PUNK has been dead that long; nervana and grunge and now, just classics (and failed paintings). So, I took my daily glance at artforum to work from there (that's what it for after all. Magazine isn't available here in the town (long bus ride for artforum) and, it's very formal these days, but I suggest http://artforum.com/news/#news13020 for whats happening and DORIS SALCEDO, who will be showing at the at the tate. Didn't notice any painting, these are elaborite gurila vedeo instlations...

Thats DORIS SALCEDO at left...I dunno...politicts of war right now and it seems very exclusive..

I am alone in the world.