The Art Party

burning bush

Cadet Alanna — Sun, 25 Feb 2007 18:25:00 +0000

i was intending to post this forever ago, when it actually happened (january 23), but i could never decide if i wanted to post more pictures than just this one. tom's post probably covered all my bases. except for mine are in color! if you're interested in more, let me know.
so yes, this is from the state of the union party at the iron rail book collective in the marigny of new orleans. and yes, we are burning an effigy of the president.

Tom cracked the seeds in his mouth, swallowing bit...

The Art Party — Fri, 23 Feb 2007 16:20:00 +0000

Tom cracked the seeds in his mouth, swallowing bits of broken corn. It disgusted me, that sound and the violent jaw movement. It disgusted me more than the fact that he wanted to watch me fuck his wife. Will there be cameras? I'd asked. I don't think so, she'd replied. Let me sleep on it, ok?
Now I sat with a belly full of wine staring at a movie that none of us were really watching. The apartment was a nice two-story loft set up, with en vogue furniture and Andy Warhol prints on the walls. Beth was majoring in art at the local university, and I guess Tom let her design the place with his checkbook in mind. For such a nice place, stocked with rack after rack of wine, it pissed me off that they hadn't offered me anything to eat other than popcorn. I hadn't eaten in at least a day and a half, and I hated popcorn. But what the hell, down the hatch.
Every now and again they would look at each other curiously and then look at me
--I felt their gazes and quickly took a sip from my wine glass, which they were constantly refilling. Using got me here, I thought. So why shouldn't using get me out of here? Or did I really want out? Usually, I let the booze make my decisions for me. It was easier that way. Why'd you take your pants off in church? one might ask. And I could simply reply, I was drunk. My bad. Drinking didn't plant the seed, never did, but it always helped move things forward. I've done strange things sober too, don't get me wrong. I have courage that doesn't come from a bottle. Plus, I'm no stranger to kinky shit.
I once got involved with one of those club kids. A seventeen year old girl who thought she should still dress like a thirteen year old. She had the candy necklaces and the pink pacifier. She spoke of the universe in terms of rave energy, and told me I wasn't out there enough for her that I should live a Joe Smith life, nine-to-five it while she explored the cosmos, listening to the same techno beats over and over again, watching pretty colors swirl around. I'll admit I've done some drugs in my short life thus far, but some people just... the point is, she wanted to have a threesome this one night, or morning, I think it was four or five, but she kept wigging out because she was doing so many whippets. I started touching on her and nibbling her neck and then all the sudden she pushed me away, sat up and said, I need a cigarette. What a crazy bitch. So we stopped, sort of sat around for a while, and then she starts licking the other girls breast and I'm thinking, Alright, let's try this again! But what does she do next? She sets the cherry of her cigarette right on this girl's poor little nipple. They start going back and forth, just loving it. I got my things and got the fuck, that's what I did. Walked back to my parent's house.
All this thinking about kinky shit reminded me of a story I'd heard. "So, this friend of a friend had this drinking problem," I started.
"We're not your psychiatrist. You can be honest with us," said Beth.
"No, no, you misunderstand. This isn't about the drinking itself. Anyway, this guy is drinking and he's dating this girl with a prosthetic eye. One of those fleshy ones. So one night, she's passed out and he's still horny, and he takes out the eye and he goes to town."
"Holy shit," said Tom. "He skull fucked the bitch!" he laughed brutally. Beth sat silently in disgust. And I suppose I levitated somewhere in between them. It was funny, in a cartoonish way, but to think about that girl... an actual human being...
"What was the point of that story, Jamison?" asked Beth in a serious tone. I had to think it over for a moment, but couldn't really come to any justification. I wasn't going to tell her about this x-happy psycho, and it wasn't like we were watching hardcore porn--the movie was a love story between a wounded fighter pilot and a traveling gypsy, which Beth of course had picked out. Walking through the movie rental store seemed to me a bit obvious, the three of us, but I'd been smoking before we got together that evening and I'm sure that colored everything nervously--flickering between desire and anxiety.
"I guess I just thought of it is all," I said. They were both older than me, by five years for her and damn near ten for him. When I met Beth she said I looked sixteen. I was buying a pack of cigarettes ahead of her in line and it was enough to make the cashier check my ID twice. I thought she was a real bitch and then I looked back at her. She smiled and brushed her hair back with delicate fingers, one of which held a wedding band. A few weeks later she applied where I worked, it being a small town, and we talked and talked, learning that I was legal but that she was married. What luck! I thought then in despair. Sitting on that couch I didn't know what to think.
"That's a pretty strange thing to just think, especially considering the situation," said Beth.
"And what is the situation?" I asked.
"You tell us," she replied.
"I'm getting some more wine," I said. "That's the situation." If I got drunk enough, I thought, I might just find my way through this. Don't talk to women when you're high and horny; it can only lead to trouble. The damnedest thing was I really did want to fuck her, quite wildly so, but there remained that obstacle: her husband watching from his armrest vantage point. How would I feel in the act? Hell, how would I feel afterward?
Also, the thought that this might be some sort of a trap crossed my mind. I hear that they commute sentences if a husband walks in on his wife with another man and then shoots the perpetrators. Did he want to murder his wife? Was I some sort of a pawn? I needed to quit smoking weed.
Had I a trusting family member who didn't view me as a complete disgrace and failure, I would have picked up the phone and asked for advice. The closest thing I had to a caring mother since mine passed away was my high school teacher Cynthia, who had let me feel her up one afternoon after class and still sent me letters asking how I was holding up. We had gone into her Buick and driven to the Wal-Mart parking lot and fooled around in the backseat. She couldn't take me to her place since she was living with a married man--he was legally separated, don't judge!--and I was still living with my parents, so Wal-Mart it was. I think I was fifteen, though I don't really remember those times too well.
"So Beth tells me you're at the college. What are you studying up there?" asked Tom in half-interest.
I hadn't even graduated from high school yet and probably wasn't going to. "I really like English," I said. Since I'd moved out on my own I hadn't gone to class at all and spent all my money in the best way possible--maintaining a constant state of altered reality. I couldn't remember the title of the last book I'd read. My mind always jumped around too much for all that. But then it came to me: "I've been reading As I Lay Dying."
"Faulkner. I'm impressed. What do you think of it so far?" he asked.
"I like what he does with Conscience. Of the characters," I fumbled, trying to remember what Cynthia said before we were in the back of her Buick all the time and I could only manage to stare at her breasts during class.
"Stream-of-Consciousness was most innovative for his time. If you like that try Sanctuary. That book has one of my favorite scenes in all of literature." Then he switched gears to a more business like tone. "So is that your major then? What are you planning to do with it when you get out into the real world?"
I had to think fast. What came to mind was the truth, and it had gotten me out of many awkward corners. "I'm so drunk!" I played it up, waving my glass around. Only I wasn't that drunk, and then she put her hand on my thigh and it looked like things were about to get rolling. I sobered up fast. "Let me freshen up real quick," I said. They smiled at each other and I went to the bathroom. There I frantically called Cynthia.
"Jamison? What's the matter?" she asked.
"I need to talk. It's a sex thing."
"I told you, I can't talk to you like that anymore. There's a lot of pressure out there about us, and Harold and I are getting married and..."
"I didn't call to talk dirty, Cynthia. I'm in a bit of a predicament. I need your advice." I told her about everything.
"Is she worth it?" she asked.
"I don't know. I was high when she called," I said.
"You were high when we first, you know." There was a silence, unbearable. "Was I worth it?" she asked, quieter.
"You know you were worth it," I said.
"Am I a bad person? Are we bad people for everything?" FUCK! I thought. Not now, please just be a steady rock right now. How was it that adults could be so insecure, more insecure than even me at times? A knock came at the door.
"Who are you talking to?" asked Beth.
"My, my mother just called. Give me a minute," I said. That shut her up.
"Did you just say I was your dead mother?" asked Cynthia.
"Is that a problem?" I asked.
"If you don't have a problem with it then I guess I shouldn't either. You're something else you know, Jamison. You have such a mind, such a wonderful soul too, and you just don't know how to apply it all. You get into these situations."
"Ok Mom," I replied.
"Is she still there?" Cynthia asked.
"Uh-huh," I lied.
"Do what you feel is right," she said.
"What's right?" I asked, confused. "What the hell's that supposed to mean? Is that some sort of a joke?"
"You're so tough, and yet so terribly vulnerable. I wish I could, I don't know, just stuff you inside me and keep you safe from the rest of the world."
"I'm hanging up now," I said and closed my phone.
In fourth grade we learned about Zeus. I'm sure the other kids learned about a whole lot of other shit too, but I learned about Zeus. When he saw a pretty girl he went and took her, struck down her husband with a lightning bolt or something. I liked that. At recess I went and kissed all the girls on the playground, some of them I had to hold down, and no one did a thing. I don't think they knew what to do. So the principal sat me down for a long talk, and then they sent me out to one of those child psychologists, who talked to me about all my sexual urges. I swore he was going to drop drawers and grab me any minute, but some people don't meet our expectations. So I got out easy, just a few pointless sessions and then I stopped kissing girls for a good long while. The point here is that I learned about Zeus, and so I did then what I occasionally do, and I prayed to him, right there in that bathroom.
"Zeus," I prayed. "What would you do?" But of course I knew what he would do. He'd go in and knock out Tom and have his way with Tom's pretty little wifey. Considering Tom was a military type, I didn't see this as the best possible solution. If only I was a god. O Humanity, what a terrible joke!
Maybe I could get some money out of this thing. I knew that wasn't part of the deal, but I could tell him that he could take pictures if he just gave me some money. Where would they end up though? That was the big question.
Somehow, in all that time spent in the bathroom I had overlooked my greatest asset in that house. I consulted the medicine cabinet: Aspirin, Benadril, Viagra. No thank you, I thought. And then I found the money: Percocet. I whipped out my wallet, pulling out a dollar and my license. I crushed up a few pills, and by a few I mean four, and put them in equal amounts up my nostrils. I left one pill in the bottle. I wasn't complete asshole.
I staggered then out of the bathroom, found Beth, and started groping her crotch.
"Alright," said her husband. And then a moment later: "Whoa now, tiger, slow down." I was clawing at her jeans. The light looked like something out of Monet and everyone seemed to be talking inside my head. Her sexuality pushed down on me like bricks as she tongued deep into my mouth.
"I'm going to," I started but collapsed mid-thought. My head hit table and I didn't get up for what seemed like just a second.

Oh God, oh God, Tom! Tom, what do we do? Dammit, I told you this was a bad idea. No, no, he won't be alright, Tom. Check the medicine cabinet, I thought I heard him snorting. Fucking drug addict. I knew it! Voices throbbing like a muscle. Clattering, then weightlessness. All of it at once, yet none of it happening at all, like a dream, like clips from a movie, like our weak memories of childhood--how we can never piece together that un-chronological existence before school time regiment. Then nothing, a silence like death. But only for a moment. Lights. Drink this. No more drink. We'll put a tube down your throat if you don't drink this. Down the hatch. Black film coating my insides, bright, bright swirling above. Their apartment sure was fucked up. Were they filming with all these lights? Was I having sex? I searched for my penis, couldn't find it. Black silence again.

"Excuse me, nurse?" I asked when I came to. "How did I get here?"
"A taxi brought you. Do you remember where you were last night?" she asked.
"Not a clue," I lied. I guess I hadn't gotten laid after all that night.
"They had to pump your stomach, you know," she said, moving a little closer.
"What did they find?"
"More like what didn't they find?" she said.
"You're cute, come here," I said.
"You are a sick little duck, aren't you, hun?" She seemed concerned, genuinely concerned. I hadn't seen a look like that in a good long while. Seeing her like that just made me want to get high.
She came and sat down on the edge of the bed, patting the sheets down. "Now listen. I think you'd better start being honest with yourself if you ever plan on making anything of yourself. At some point in your life, hopefully, you'll have what others of us have had. That is, a moment of clarity. When you came in you kept asking what we had done with the place. Said it looked different than last time. Where were you?" Silence. "You're obviously not ready, but someday, maybe tomorrow, maybe ten years from now, you'll go to pick up whatever it is you're picking up and something inside of you will change. Just like that. This is not your first time here is it?" I shook my head. "If you keep on like you're keeping on it won't be your last. And this is actually not so bad a place to end up after a night like yours must have been. You're lucky that whoever put you in that taxi did. You could be dead. If you go back out there and don't think things over, you will be dead. Maybe tomorrow, maybe ten years from now."
"We all die some day," I interrupted.
"But wouldn't you rather die with dignity? Wouldn't you rather die beside someone you love dearly and have spent a whole life with than on the floor of some strange girl's dorm room?"
"She wasn't a stranger," I argued.
"Did you love her dearly or her you?" she asked. It was like a needle that question. "Just promise me that when you get out of here you'll think it over. I'm not saying quit using or drinking or anything. I'm not in the position to tell you what to do. Just think. Maybe you haven't lost enough yet. I don't know. There's a poem I'd like to share with you though." I rolled my eyes. "I'll just share a few lines: 'I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or/ next-to-last, of three loved houses went./ The art of losing isn't hard to master... Even losing you....'" she trailed off. "I even lost my fucking dog," she laughed. "Came home one night and crashed the car into the fence. Didn't even notice until the next morning. Oh what a morning. The last thing to go. My lovely Jessabelle. You're only eighteen though, right. Got a lot more to lose. You don't have to listen to a cynic like me right?" With that she left. How could a cute girl like that be such a fucking psycho? I thought.
That afternoon I walked home from the hospital, another hefty bill under my arm, and a stabbing pain in my head. The walk wasn't long, only about a mile, and when I got there Troy was loading a bowl on my coffee table.
"You want a beer?" he asked.
"Nah, I'm laying off that shit for a while." I replied. I reached over and took the pipe. I stopped for a moment, looking down at the swirls in the glass, how they seemed to consume each other in those chaotic hues.
"Something wrong?" he asked.
"Of course not." I took a hit.

something story length almost from Cadet Steve

Homage to Nature

Cadet Franco — Fri, 23 Feb 2007 04:08:00 +0000

I think very few things in the world are more

beautiful than nature taking back what belongs

to her - yes, nature is a lady, the most beautiful

woman you will ever know.

Defying the most resistant and durable of all

humanly known inventions, she had been able

to win, breaking and molding the brute

concrete into rocks.

Even an artificial fence could not stand the

surprising force of the beautiful lady that, in such

a silent and yet pugnacious way.

We might feel big, strong, impossible to defeat.

But, in the end, she will triumph over our silly

convictions.

The Art Wall

The Art Party — Mon, 30 Oct 2006 03:22:00 +0000

a quick sampling of some of the many delights of the art wall

THE WALL
featuring work by Cadets Ledet, Warren, Steve, Tom, and more

Rocket Launch by Cadet Ledet

Parrots by Cadet Leroy

Break Up by Cadet Warren

Holy Cross portraits by Cadet Ledet
Tits and Guns collages by Cadets Warren, Ledet, Leroy, and Rachel

Three Times by Cadet Rachel

Collaboration by Cadets Leroy, Mallory, Ledet, Madeleine, and more

Based on a True Story by Cadet Morgan Rose

Don't Dare Danse by Cadet Tom

Smoke Spirals by Cadet Leroy

Aquatic Play by Cadet Alanna

Sunlight is a Myth by Cadet Ledet

Lake by Cadet Steve

Zombie Drummer Boy by Cadet Warren

Vermont

Cadet Jared — Fri, 23 Feb 2007 00:13:00 +0000

punkassbitch

lordpook — Thu, 22 Feb 2007 23:08:00 +0000

It occurs to me what a bad habit I make of creating photoshop portraits of people without their knowledge.

Americal Doodle

Cadet Ledet — Thu, 22 Feb 2007 20:20:00 +0000

Sharpie on butcher paper. Image search: flowers, trees, crab, butterfly, mouse, kitten, cat-duck, elephant, pig, fish, mosquito, frog, bird, bunny, roach, worm, squirrel, spider.

Digital Hamn!

Cadet Ledet — Tue, 13 Feb 2007 19:27:00 +0000

In high school, I fronted Hamn!, a very silly and very chaotic punk band. I made "digital" versions of some Hamn! songs after my first year of college under the name Deli Beats and here's some of the "best" tracks. If you are absolutely insane and want a free copy of the Hamn!/Digital Hamn! cd, email me (delibeats@gmail.com) and we'll figure something out.

Seventh Vegan Protest Song

Hats Off To Strap-Ons

It's A Nice Day

Sex With Shotguns

racial identity

Cadet Alice — Thu, 22 Feb 2007 04:57:00 +0000

I had some problems making posts to here because of the weird google switch, but like magic! It works now! This is a short essay I wrote for my English class. The prompt was about your racial identity and to what extent you feel it defines YOU. I would like to revise it and make it less english class-y (classy) and more my personality.

Being defined by my racial identity is something I have always struggled with. My mother is Han Chinese, born and raised in Hong Kong. She moved to Memphis to pursue a Piano Performance degree at Memphis State, where she met my father, who is Caucasian and was born and raised in rural Missouri. I was born in Memphis, but spent the first eleven years of my life in Middleton, TN, a small town an hour away from the city. Ironically, in a town where racism is the norm, I was never aware of being that different from my peers or even my family experiencing racist comments. Growing up in Middleton, my family ate Chinese food most nights, spoke Cantonese at home (though my father does not speak any), took off our shoes before entering the house, etc. I was eleven years old when my family moved back to Memphis and began to realize that I was “mixed”—a word that I had always associated with people that were half Caucasian and half African American. In Memphis, my parents had busier work schedules and my older sister moved away to live in China. We adopted a much more mainstream American lifestyle—eating with forks, speaking mostly English, and walking around in the house in street shoes. It seems that in Chinese culture, family is very important. Once my sister moved away and my parents were not around very often, we became less “Chinese” and more “American.” I have been to Hong Kong three times (ages 5, 12, 19) for extended stays with family, but went to main land China for the first time over winter break. Now that I am nineteen years old and able to fully understand the importance of these visits, I feel more Chinese than when I was younger and had the fluency of language. It was one of those earth-shattering experiences. I learned about my family and my culture, a culture I had always struggled to understand. In America, it is obvious that I am not Caucasian. Everything gives me away—my eyes, my Asian stationary, the way I speak broken Chinese on the phone. However, in China, these things merely give me away as “a mix.” I cannot say that I feel like I fully fit into American culture or Chinese culture, but these are the things I am trying to figure out. My racial identity is confusing and I am not sure if it will ever be clear to me. What is clear to me, however, is that I want to learn as much as I can about Chinese culture.

The Deepness of Universe

Cadet Franco — Tue, 20 Feb 2007 20:04:00 +0000

I just wish the mild colors of the sky came out better, but if you look carefully enough you'll be able to distinguish them... My camera cannot appreciate the wonderful magic that art is.

Songs that arent mine

Cadet Geoffrey — Fri, 16 Feb 2007 01:32:00 +0000

Two covers. Props to whoever guesses the originators. Both involve vocal harmonies, one is pre-cigarettes one is post-cigarettes, so see if you can figure that out too.

Vege-tables

Smothered in Hugs

A New Song

Cadet Geoffrey — Thu, 15 Feb 2007 11:16:00 +0000

I play everything on this. I 'm debating whether or not i should add lyrics, be they my own or someone else's. The title is completely meaningless.

Ocean Bullet

My Zombie Valentine

Cadet Steve — Wed, 14 Feb 2007 20:02:00 +0000

The mold on the peach resembled a smiley face as his face often seemed to smile though really it was decaying. He shoved it between his open lips, which flipped and flopped, spilling flesh onto the carpet, while he awaited his lover, who he understood was bringing him a present on this very special day.
Dusk consumed the sky, and he wondered when the night would finally overtake the earth for good, since the world was surely ending, being pulled deep into a black hole from the beginning of their occupation of the lands. Sometimes he still thought dark human thoughts like this, silly thoughts that only the living could invent. He felt less and less like a human though, having walked a thousand times to the restroom just to realize all the liquid he had put in had poured out of his open abdomen. Enough realizations like this reminded him until he sat quietly on the couch watching TV all day, occasionally going out to find a human whose brains he could munch on fruitlessly.
The sound of the door opening lifted him from his deteriorating mind. A beautiful, naked woman struggled in the hands of his lover. What a present! But his thoughts at first were carnal and living. He got down on his knees and took her nervous vagina into his gaping mouth, licking the taste right out of her. His lover grunted disapproval and split the woman’s skull in half, handing him a chunk of brain. I almost forgot, he thought. This is what I want, brains. It was no coincidence that he had been a professor when she met him, she already turned, he despondent with the fate of the world’s progress; she was just giving him what he claimed he always wanted.

Cat-Ducks (Doodle)

Cadet Ledet — Wed, 14 Feb 2007 18:47:00 +0000

tornado tuesday.

Cadet Tom — Wed, 14 Feb 2007 08:34:00 +0000

"A powerful early-morning storm spawned at least one tornado that skipped across the New Orleans area Tuesday, destroying homes and a hotel in Westwego before crossing the Mississippi River and slamming the Carrollton and Gentilly areas." -The Times-Picayune, Tuesday, February 13, 2007

Damage is extensive on a house missing its entire façade on Freret Street between Broadway and Carrollton Avenues. Other houses on the block lost roofs, while still others were entirely untouched. Incredibly, no one was injured.

Powerlines are down all along the path of Tuesday morning's tornado. The Uptown New Orleans area suffered power outages from approximately 3AM into the evening.

A house on the 7800 block of Freret Street suffers damage to its roof, including impact from an airconditioning unit, slung against it by the F2 tornado that hit the neighborhood.

Wreckage from the storm paints a grim image of uncanny resemblance to the wind damage sustained by the area only a year and a half before from Hurricane Katrina.

Local and state police, as well as national guard troops and military police, spared no time in setting up a command camp in the Riverbend neighborhood of New Orleans on Carrollton Avenue.

Law enforcement officers meet in a Carrollton Avenue shopping center parking lot between Hampson and Maple Street where they have set up a command center in response to Tuesday's tornado. Police cruisers and national guard humvees inundated the area and overflowed onto the neutral ground.

Many levels of government response arrive at the scene of Orleans Parish's greatest destruction. Luckily there was not much incident at all after the tornado left the area.

National Guard troops are seen once again on the streets of New Orleans, dubbed "martial law city" by some in the wake of Hurricane Katrina. Soldiers are a familiar but still unnerving sight to many in the city.

Locals do their best to help victims of the storm, and those trying to help them. The Episcopal Diocese of Louisiana sent its "Hurricane Relief" vehicle to the scene; an ironic presence that it should appear now after New Orleans escaped the 2006 hurricane with no harm. Locals are more than cooperative and generous to everyone involved in the recovery from the storm.

There is No Modern Romance

Cadet Steve — Sat, 10 Feb 2007 00:51:00 +0000

There were two people. Young and in love, and doing what young people in love do. There was also a camera, which is how we know that they existed. The camera was not on, but it's lens saw everything. His mother walked in and cursed. The curse is unimportant, since they are all misconstrued abbreviations of the truth. He did not stop, for he knew something about the world now, and he was young and carefree and most importantly brave.
The light of the sun came in through the window, which was open, and widened and shrunk in harmony with their movements. He was not on drugs, he was a young man in love. Slowly they became natural, without hesitation on either part, for they knew something about the world. His father entered and offered him a cigar, which he turned down. His father then offered him whisky, and as a final desperate move money, but he did not want anything from his father, who turned and left, defeated.
God came on the radio: You know you're right. But he did not need the reassurance, and so turned off the music. All he needed was her, and the light, which began to fill the room so that there was nothing but the two of them, the camera and the light. He raised the camera and photographed her in that empty space. The flash radiated, adding to the purest light and then there was nothing but his soul, filled with that light and that feeling of purity. He coasted out, out into eternity.

zombie #2

Cadet Craig — Fri, 09 Feb 2007 23:58:00 +0000

say hello to Nahm.

The Long and Winding Road

Cadet Rachel — Fri, 09 Feb 2007 01:05:00 +0000

cheesey title, I know... but it fits.

New Photos

Cadet Tommy — Thu, 08 Feb 2007 03:08:00 +0000

Haven't been on for a while. Planning a lot of new adventures of old Tommy.

If you're in Memphis Friday night, come to De Cleyre's for Sky Native (Chris Owen and Cole's new band), the Warble, Noise Choir and Jump Back Jake.
Keg, music, co-operations and art in one night.

Tommy "Flasher"

response drawings

theimagesweget — Thu, 08 Feb 2007 01:25:00 +0000

i had someone shout a word at me every 45 seconds and i drew it in ink. later i added color.

i felt dirty after.

these were my favorite. i was fascinated by the reoccuring shape of these hungry lips and began to develope sketches for the wheel.

wheel of friction

theimagesweget — Thu, 08 Feb 2007 01:07:00 +0000

this was a project i just recently finished. i was playing with the idea of fucking, the in and out motion. all day, everywhere. the wheel allows you to pick your own combo. how do you like to get fucked?

i am workin on another interpretation of this same idea (but more developed) and have become obsessed with orafices.

first zombie puppet

Cadet Craig — Wed, 07 Feb 2007 10:33:00 +0000

say hello to Myoho.

made from aluminum wire, epoxy putty, foam,hot glue,clay,paint,and liquid plastic. this was more of a learning experiment so i didnt expect much. he still needs some feet , hair, and maybe some clothes.

A Sonnet

Cadet Steve — Wed, 07 Feb 2007 04:19:00 +0000

Burning the last of winter's dry leaves
we put behind past debts,
debts of the unfaithful heart,
debts of the dying soul, for these

our hopeful, colorful, new flowers,
which balm our bewilderment like any
small beauty. Left to me
this truth that everything shall pass over,

whether season or pleasure or pain,
reaffirms the idea of the innate eternity
waiting like a restless lover for me
in a timeless space that's sweet and sane.

These circles will not be my death
but resurrect my soothing breath.

Idea!

Cadet Franco — Tue, 06 Feb 2007 04:18:00 +0000

The orange street light is blistering in my eye,
shining as a broken sun through the purple grass
everything's brown, dark, seemingly still,
as if the hand of Death is upon my head,
while I sit back and relax
letting my mind flow,
as a river full of little shiny fishes
flows underneath the bridge of life.
They're such a multitude,
electric thunders in the black water,
such white and blinking vibrations,
perceptions of my neutrons.
Hard to distinguish,
as hard it is to separate a child from his or her mother.
But I made it,
and came out of the dark tunnell,
out of that bed made of muddy dirt of my conscience,
and realized
that I caught one of those fishes,
that I separed the proton from its natural atom,
and it weighs about a ton:
an idea, that is!

zebra cakes of despair

Cadet Madeleine — Tue, 06 Feb 2007 01:17:00 +0000

gift for a friend; wish i could express how much better it looks in person; it loses all its composition and someday i will find a scanner i don't have to pay to use; france is the worst for technology.