Saturday, June 30, 2012

Has Any Artist Deemed Major...

Has even one artist deemed "major" willed his or her estate (art) to a charity that actually feeds children or other human beings?

I tend to intuitively think the answer is "No."

I think it would be awesome if there were all these Rothkos out there feeding third world nations, but I don't think it's so.

What if an artist only produced works to be sold exclusively for charity--and this artist were not a schlock artist.

Like what if Picasso had done that.

Artists are generally as selfish as everyone else.

I guess I shouldn't be surprised.

erotic manoeuvres in the dark - extended


firewater by michel nguie
firewater, a photo by michel nguie on Flickr.

The Rich Begin To Resent The Poor For Their Perceived Comparative Lack Of Stress

I Keep Focusing on How Random Language Is

Well it is and isn't.

But I keep imagining the idea of suffixes or prefixes which cue context for sentences.

What's scary is how many of these can already be signified by the use of quotation marks.

In other words, underscoring many of these things with scare quotes allows one to hear the tocsin which alerts one to possible rhetorical abuse of the truth.

Like this is just a partial list of what I think could be signified. Use your imagination and imagine many more.

A prefix or a suffix meaning...

1. This statement is believed true but unprovable by or within conventional logic.

2. This statement is of course a paradox, and I want you to realize I know that even as I am speaking/writing it.

3. This statement is factually misleading, but deliberately so.

4. This statement is completely earnest despite your understandable response of extreme skepticism.

5.  This statement is a result of human horniness. Please weight it accordingly.

6. This statement is hothead bait.

7. This statement was generated by a desire for attention and nothing more. Please see me for a "real sentence."

 8. This statement says absolutely nothing. You may read it or skip it.

9. This statement has an unreliable source and every one knows he or she lies.

10. This statement is only being spoken so that you will deduce what it is really trying to say. It hasn't the bravery or accountability to state that hidden sentence.

Let Us Now Praise Great Cat Breeders.

Wow. I am in awe of Paul McSorley, who bred the first Minskin cat in 1998 in Boston! If you are gay, Paul, you should announce that fact so that our gay historical narrative may claim you as yet another genius in our tribe! Sorry, if I'm presuming. I was going by the tribal tats and the many sunflowers in your backyard. I'm probably stereotyping. The only scary part is when they said it took Paul two years to get the results he wanted (gorgeous photo shown at that point in the documentary on Animal Planet!) I'm worried that the "failures" were Frankenstein's monster kittehs that still wander the earth and want to make Paul face a Reckoning.

Malkin. Sokoke? Wannabe?

Malkin saw a documentary on rare cat breeds and is now convinced he is a Sokoke (pronouned "suh-ko'-kee") a rare African breed known for its power and its love of water. I don't think Malkin shares the love of water part. But he looks like the ones they showed. They're very grey tabby looking. I also learned about the Highlander, which is a very funky looking breed. The Sokokes are totally endangered, mostly extinct in the wild. Kudos to Hilary Goodman in Kent, U.K. for trying to keep the species alive. And ditto to Pat Longely. Great Job! There was also a segment on the strangely beautiful Oriental bicolor, known as "the Jackson Pollock cat." Siamese plus American shorthair finished off the breeding job in the U.S., though it started in the U.K. I think.

Friday, June 29, 2012

I Notice When I'm Distracted

I notice lately when I'm distracted I listen to imaginary, dissonant jazz-like piano chords in my head. I think this is because my computer sound is messed up. I might need new speakers. Sometimes I think these are original and later I realize my head is playing out the piano chords behind a melody (say Laura Nyro) I didn't realize was attached to it. Weird how things materialize sometimes. Cheshire cats.

I Cannot Believe

I cannot believe I was born into a world that contains other human beings. I guess that's most of my mental illness in the ultimate diagnostic nutshell. This probably explains why I like cats so much. Because they're much like me in this regard. Another cat is a nearly metaphysical affront to any self-respecting cat. I don't intend a rudeness by this. It's a phobia, after all, which is a fear. But its like it's the fear can feel an affront. Like how dare you terrify me, I who am made of terror? Fear is carrying coals to Newcastle. Stop making my texture apparent to me! That's the social thing. I was talking about this with my Mom tonight and told her I realize it was there from the very beginning. My kindergarten teacher had "outed" me as socially self-isolating in the Comments section of my one report card. I remember reading it and feeling so violated. My parents didn't know what to do with the fact. So they just ignored it. Or kindly overlooked it. Would I be different if I had a father who forced me into Scouts and sports and the rest. But I later forced myself into Scouts as a test. I lasted a few months only. Oh well, at least I did get to play Capture the flag and experience the Iron John campfire bonding stuff. Yeah, right. I probably wept for my Atari 2600.

Morrissey's Wit

I never got until tonight, this very night, that Morrissey's song "Mute Witness" is probably a parody of aging fag bitterness. I think the "her" is gay patois in this song. That he uses that standard "hysterically unable to speak" old lady trope, from the fifties (British?) movies as a representation of someone he's really shivving, is sort of brilliant. I'm guessing the real target was a bitchy silver-haired gay gossip columnist. Male of course. I forget to be bitter for quite some time now. So I'm lucky. "Happiness is good health and a bad memory."

Night of the Beards: Are You Evil Like Me?

I hate that I believe this but did you perhaps think that Katie Holmes filing for divorce from Tom Cruise maybe has something to do with John Travolta seemingly being outed after many decades in the closet? I just wonder if she suddenly thought, "I can't do this beard act any longer." Probably that is tabloid hysteria. I must have tabloidal ovaries. Sorry. But I'm sure someone is doing that stupid Hollywood math.

I Googled my skepticism just now and saw Queerty had the funniest quip: "Not since Liza Minnelli's and David Gest's sham marriage broke up have we been so shocked...."  Funny.

A Suggestion for Linguistic Change in the English Language

It has been a long-held and very dear personal linguistic belief that nouns in the English language should have comparative and superlative forms the way adjectives do in this language. (You know: like good, better, best.) So there could be a way of saying, It wasn't just a house!! It was a house! That would be the superlative you'd need to intuit by tone (paralanguage). But imagine it as a slightly different grammatical form, cueing you to the shade of difference here. But someone could say, "So what did you think of their new house?" And someone could reply, "Oh it wasn't a house, it was more a house." And there you'd understand it was an intensified form of house. I thought about adding one sound for the comparative and another for the superlative forms of nouns. It could be a prefix or a suffic or a mixture of the two, say prefix for comparative, suffix for superlative. Like we could subvert the (Sanskrit?) prefix Ur- for the suplerative, meaning "first" but in a different sense of the word first, "first among all others, superlative." But we could just as easily substitute a single sound, choose a letter that less frequently ends words, like maybe "k." So the comparative of pills, stronger or more dangerous pills, would be pillk. I mean it could be something else, of course. And then you'd have Ur-pill. Or Ur-pillk maybe, if it was in between the comparative and superlative degrees. I think the problem of "degree" is one of which our language seems to display only the most primitive reckoning. "More," "most," "-er," "-est." And so on. Like the sense of something is there at all, meaning present. I think I remember someone saying how in Ilocano there are words that show more nuance as to whether or not something is present, there. These are of course the more abstract problems. I want to say concrete nouns are simpler but are they really? Because a concrete noun is mostly defined by the series of qualities to which human beings choose (when it is a choice) to pay attention. I could see a simple definition stating that the construction of linguistic reality is nothing more, ultimately, than a game of elaboration upon the qualities of nouns, concrete or otherwise. Or would that definition apply even more broadly, to all of our linguistic reality. Is it nothing more than "the elaboration of qualities of substantives, both concrete and abstract nouns." What more could reality be than that? I think the choice of qualities given to define anything is based on probabilities as to details noticed and perhaps, consequently, some spurious idea of normalcy in the human animal. Because an autistic person might pay attention to different qualities than you. He might be more interested in the randomness present in a flat sheet of glass than you are. But why is one less pronounced quality in something less real or existent? Merely because of the conspiracy of notice. Consciousness is nothing but a series of conspiracies of notice. They work in horrible collusion. All those agents which are also you. I expect this all to be implemented by next Thursday. Insane? Yes, certifiable. Hold up hold up. Let me go get my certificate.

This Evil, I series on Investigation Discovery...

It's unnerving, this series of first person portrait narrations and autobiographies by interior monologue. Some voice actors are of course better than other voice actors. And there's still a script in each episode as we toggle back and forth between the first person narration and the journalistic and psychiatric sidenotes. It's very gritty, lurid, overkill. And yet it works. It's like Jim Thompson's narrational positioning, I guess. With a shade of William Burroughs thrown in. But that surrealism that all of these stories really crave is not given except as scintillae. But it's creepy. It gets under your skin. How dare the monster tell his favorite monstrous story. Why do we watch? To see the comeuppance? To try to figure out where a normal human torqued off into something inhuman? For the same reason the Spanish watch bullfights? Suddenly one feels disgust. And turns away. And then one thinks turning away is a way of denying the worst manifestations of reality. One feels one is learning. But there is only an endless repetition of this or that cycle. Which is admittedly funny. And why Beckett is mostly comedy even when tragedies are coming quickfire at the pitiful characters. A pitiful character may be pitiable to himself. Or not. Is he more pitiable if he knows his own pitifulness? But here there be paradoxes. To go around pitying himself for his pitifulness is pretty deep pity. But to go around not even knowing how pitiable you are is to suffer the liabilities this state of ignorance amerces. So some would say that is the more pitiable character, the clueless one. Screwed either way. Crime (and crime-related art) is not a simple subject because it attacks our individual and social consciousness on so many levels at once: the visceral level of animal survival, the intellectual level--the solving of the crime and the processing of a horrific emotional experience by, respectively, law enforcement and the victims --and then that third and strangest level at which it engages us. I mean the sense of justice, that heightened importance of ethics and ethical paradoxes--which seems to mean so many different things to different people. And how justice shades into revenge, sometimes with a legal mandate and sometimes not.


Tonight I learned that Cincinnati was once known solely as Porkopolis. Wow, talk about unflattering bragging! Before that it had a much less distinguished name that I've already forgotten in the last few hours. It was that unmemorable. But Porkopolis. I wonder if there has ever been a single scene in all of American cinema in which a character actually travels through that city and it is known exclusively as Porkopolis. Funny, I would think Porkopolis would be a pundit's witticism, a stab at Washington D.C. But no. They wuz braggin bout dere pig hussle.


muybridge by William Keckler
muybridge, a photo by William Keckler on Flickr.

click to enlarge


Untitled by William Keckler
Untitled, a photo by William Keckler on Flickr.


rat by William Keckler
rat, a photo by William Keckler on Flickr.


Untitled by William Keckler
Untitled, a photo by William Keckler on Flickr.

the walk

the walk by William Keckler
the walk, a photo by William Keckler on Flickr.

sleeping edgar allan poe


octopus by William Keckler
octopus, a photo by William Keckler on Flickr.

Thursday, June 28, 2012

* ( ( S O F T N 3 S S ///// _ *

:. 4 > S T O M A (C H :.

Panoramic View of San Francisco 1877

Muybridge. I want this to blow up much larger. One of the few times I have actually wanted to steal something was when Lee and I were dining in a restaurant on the West Shore here. It wasn't even a good restaurant, just a chain restaurant. But they had a panoramic view of Harrisburg seen from that far shore (West--the capital is on the East shore of the Susquehanna). And it wasn't a reproduction and it was never in any historical reference on Harrisburg or this area that I had seen--and I've probably read most if not all of them. It was probably a decade or two later than this Muybridge panorama. The restaurant later folded. I wonder where that ended up. It really should have been in the State Museum here. I should have asked. What became of it. But I was in a bad phase then. I'm guessing it's wholly singular. Here's Frisco, 1877. Click to enlarge. Sorry, I couldn't get it any larger either. Well I didn't Google. Someone has to have it larger. Probably a Frisco history site does.
I think this is on display in a building of governance, on public display in S.F. Cool. I bet the lighting conditions are very stringent.


I love Muybridge's work, even if he was a creep. I wonder if he had any feeling that what he was doing was art as well as science? I really must read a biography of this fascinating creep and horrible murderer.

"Eadweard Muybridge displayed his work on the zoopraxiscope, which he invented in 1879. The zoopraxiscope projected a series of images in successive phases of movement. These images were obtained through the use of multiple cameras." To see it animated (and other examples of this) go here: Spinning.


Happiness is a third world country.

Immigrants from Happy

I am Happy.
Then I am aware of being Happy.
My  Happiness decreases.

When I am Happy
and unaware of being Happy,
I believe I am Happiest.

I can't prove it since
I don't acknowledge Happiness then
(to avoid the comedown).

Happy is a weird word.
It can be a terrible hammer,
a word that can bludgeon

any human to death pulp.
Many people actually die
in the attempt to escape

Happy, like a torture-filled third world country.
Most well-adjusted people I know
have defected from that country,

peaceful defectors from Happy
who still occasionally speak
with a trace of the old country's accent.

"get my hands on you"

"get my hands on you" by William Keckler
"get my hands on you", a photo by William Keckler on Flickr.

Wednesday, June 27, 2012


something by William Keckler
something, a photo by William Keckler on Flickr.


togetherness by William Keckler
togetherness, a photo by William Keckler on Flickr.

a piece of the puzzle

a piece of the puzzle by William Keckler
a piece of the puzzle, a photo by William Keckler on Flickr.

"I Am Your Servant"

"I Am Your Servant" by William Keckler
"I Am Your Servant", a photo by William Keckler on Flickr.

I am learning new things. I like it.

the fall

the fall by William Keckler
the fall, a photo by William Keckler on Flickr.

the fall (see in lightbox)


orb by William Keckler
orb, a photo by William Keckler on Flickr.


bug by William Keckler
bug, a photo by William Keckler on Flickr.


Untitled by William Keckler
Untitled, a photo by William Keckler on Flickr.


Untitled by William Keckler
Untitled, a photo by William Keckler on Flickr.


Sisyphus by William Keckler
Sisyphus, a photo by William Keckler on Flickr.


Untitled by William Keckler
Untitled, a photo by William Keckler on Flickr.


Untitled by William Keckler
Untitled, a photo by William Keckler on Flickr.


Untitled by William Keckler
Untitled, a photo by William Keckler on Flickr.


Untitled by William Keckler
Untitled, a photo by William Keckler on Flickr.

this fucks with my eyes. it gives me an optical illusion that the battery tops are in motion.

MY LITTLE PRINCE - MON PETIT dedicated to all the mothers around the world ....

This artist said something very nice on a piece i made the other day that he favorited. I went in and saw his stuff and it was fabu.

If you're near San Francisco, he has a show running now. See his Flickr.

Family Feud Poem


1. Money
2. Love
3. Hate/Revenge/Fuck Shit Up
4. Ambition/Fame (see #s 1,2)
5. Fear of Hell
6. Sex
7. Children
8. Food


1. Money
2. Love
3. Hate/Revenge/Fuck Shit Up
4. Ambition/Fame (see #s 1,2)
5. Fear of Hell
6. Sex
7. Children
8. Food

My Cat Seriously Uses This Computer When I'm Out of this Room

I went downstairs and had a helluva good time doing photography. I think I took over 1,000 pics and my bipolar self will have to pretend I have a filter to get this down to fifty pics to post. I have no filter and I often don't know which version of a photo is better. I vacillate. Many times I can see exactly how I'm going to crop them or manipulate them as soon as they come up in my viewer screen, but other times no way. And then it's never WYSIWYG with this camera. It lies. I laughed just now because I came into the room and Malkin had brought up passenger manifests for New York entry of immigrants. WTF??? It must have been a pop-up I left on the screen somewhere--well, not pop-up but you know...advertising bleb. But the weirdest thing is once on the site he was searching for someone lol. He repeatedly typed in "juk," sometimes with either a colon or semicolon between the phrases...I can't's too tiny. He's really a smart cat. I know everyone thinks that about their kid or pet, but seriously. I thought ghosts locked me out of my room that night. It was fuckin Malkin. I've seen him spin the lock now on this door. He outsmarted himself that night. He engages in Lassie-type behaviors though. Like when there was an empty treat packet he jumped up on the dresser, got it down and then dragged it with his paw over to where I was sitting. I shit you not. He emphatically put his pawn down on it, like "This! Now!" He was lucky I had some downstairs. But then I just postively reinforced that behavior. Should I have encouraged that. Now he'll get on the dresser more. I am dealing with some nasty territoriality sometimes and some real diva type behavior. Everything they said about personality changes post "fixing" were completely wrong. It's all opposite of that. He's capable of being very "catty" sometimes (surprise, right?) Sometimes, I have to admit he's even sneakily hostile. If you let him get up on a chair with you, he's not above suddenly using your back as a scratching post. I never had a cat that sneaky before. I'm trying to break him of it without being a mean cat owner. The water spray bottle isn't working so well. He does what he feels like, when he feels like it. And he's very resentful of me sitting in this computer chair. He's really annexed this. Like Hitler with Poland. At lease he mercifully no longer sprays. Ever. That stopped the night he had the surgery. So it was a total success. Thank you, SNAP!! I let him come downstairs while I was photographing and he was pretty well-behaved but I could tell he wanted to raid Dru's food, which I had hid but he smelled. He's very funny with collecting things. He collected all of Dru's toy's that were mice or rats and put them together in the foyer. Again, I looked down and exclaimed, "Genius!" He was basically taking his own I.Q. test. No wonder he kept coming back and his cute little too friendly brother disappeared. It's not smart to approach human (not always anyway) when you're a stray cat. And one thing made me very sad. I went to sweep up a few pieces of cat food Dru had spilled in the kitchen and when Malkin saw the broom he ran in fear. That means when he was a stray people probably threatened him with that. Old ladies in Steelton are always out in front of their houses with brooms. Some of them even sweep the streets. And of course they probably shook the broom at Malkin when he came anywhere near. That or he just recognized a possible weapon. Because nobody here has ever threatened him with a broom. He did something great tonight. He found a creepy spider inside. We rarely have spiders and it was a tiny one but it was one of the scary looking ones, not one of those typical, bland beige spiders. I practiced ahimsa. I released it out the front door after catching it in a glass. But if it were freezing out I probably would have flushed it. I spent a lot of time reading about the absence of pain in insects and now I totally believe it. It totally freaks me out, but I believe it. Nature was kind to insects. Oh fuck, this is one big paragraph, isn't it? I had broken this up but I typed on the wrong damn side of Blogger again. Whenever you do that you have to go back in and put in line breaks. Fuck it. Here's where Malkin ended up going and typing in "juk": Maybe he's interested in learning more about his European ancestors. Maybe that's how he spells "Djokovic." (sp?) That guy looks like an insect. I love to watch him play though. Isn't his body bizarre? That's not a normal human. Marfan's Syndrome or something. Like Paganini.

Tuesday, June 26, 2012

500 Foot Ann Coulter

500 foot Ann Coulter masturbating herself with Christ of the Andes a la Linda Blair in The Exorcist.

visual poem

I haven't been tumblr'ing lately. When I go in there I see tons of stuff I made I have no memory of making....or only the dimmest memory. This only got favorited by like 2 people so it bombed. But it made me giggle just now.  I guess cuz I like the way it riffs on "My dad loves his job." Which, of course, only someone my age or older would probably have in their head as a sonic engram.

The Boat

The boat doesn't work
Because of the idea of the boat
I try to step on the boat
Carrying the manual of the boat
This is too much weight
The others tell me "Push back!"
My body back from the boat
"Leave the boat!" they say
And I misinterpret this
As "Set us on fire!"

My Period

I got my lined notebook wet in the tub again. My notebook is menstruating again. I like it. It's a comforting thing. Some of the blue might run down the wet side of my knee. Look, I'm bleeding ink. I'm so old, my period is blue.

Russian Fairy Tale

Snow White's name is poisoned with virgin letters. Virginal golden letters, as she plays the virginal, an instrument nobody can even visualize anymore. She tiptoes through Chernobyl, where she still lives with her two evil stepsisters, Crystal Mess and Eartha Powers. The Evil Queen loses interest in her and goes to the mud spas of half celebrities, where she meets a hidalgo. They head South. They will fly like butterflies over drug cartels the rest of their hideous lives. Snow White is left out on a radioactive limb. Most days she moans, she thinks, "To remain warm even while  dead, a lover's art!" She's like a Tennyson wet dream.  Men like boiled dog heads try to approach her but she shoots them down with new virginity, which she manufactures daily. Later, she gives up the dream and wishes to achieve immortality only as a scent used in candles and room deodorizers. This is a surprisingly realistic expectation! Yet it still doesn't come true.


The mark is confused with mind
A story confused with its fame
Probably you are confused with your name
So the faked-out fables divide the animals
A chemical human
speaks a list into death, into a tree

Stand up with the 99%!

To be starving is the right of every poem!

"Internet Fairy Tales"

I really only laughed at the last two and the last one in particular. Some of the others were too cutesy and borrowed too much from recent movies.

Dahmerisms 7

Dahmerisms 7 by William Keckler
Dahmerisms 7, a photo by William Keckler on Flickr.

Dahmerisms 6

Dahmerisms 6 by William Keckler
Dahmerisms 6, a photo by William Keckler on Flickr.

Dahmerisms 4: "I bite."

Dahmerisms 2

Dahmerisms 2 by William Keckler
Dahmerisms 2, a photo by William Keckler on Flickr.

Dahmerisms 1

Dahmerisms 1 by William Keckler
Dahmerisms 1, a photo by William Keckler on Flickr.

Oba Chandler

I was watching a documentary about horrible serial killer Oba Chandler and an old woman was saying, "I didn't like him from the moment I met him."

And that was his mother.

Monday, June 25, 2012

Some Poems


Fail again. Fail louder.


The eagle takes a cheapshot
at a falcon, a crow.
The crow takes a cheapshot
at a grackle, a sparrow.
The sparrow takes a cheapshot
at a wren, a pigeon.
The pigeon takes a cheapshot
at a homeless guy, his exposed ankle.
The homeless guy takes a cheapshot
at a hallucination, a fly.
The fly takes a cheapshot
at shit, and poor shit

doesn't even know how to defend itself.


"Don't you DARE fall asleep on me
when I am insulting you!"


May you learn to forget.
May you be a sparrow.
May you have no mirror
and feel no desire for one.
May you always wake up
on the other side of death,
its far side, until you die.

May death take your photograph
from a flattering angle.

May that photograph totally lie.


Suffering is a lot like whistling.

Sunflower Poem

I am lonely
but not lonely
as most people
seem to be lonely,
if they're being honest
in how they describe it.

I'm more lonely
like a sunflower
standing along
a stretch of interstate
that has frequent fatalities.

And every so often
pieces of vehicles
and human beings,
severed limbs
and heads and such,
fly through air and hit it
smack-gob in its sunflower face.


 Sunflower face-catch!

And then when news people
and other bloodsuckers
come to take photos
of the wreckage
and the dead bodies,
they also accidentally
take pictures of the ghost sunflower
standing behind
these metal and plastic tragedies.

The sunflower feels that people
are stealing its soul every time
they take a photo, but it can't
make this stop because it's a sunflower
so it has no legs to run
and can't even duck
to avoid the maimed bits of humans
periodically sailing through the air
and hitting it in its seedy face.

I feel terrible for that sunflower.

But only because
I am that sunflower.

Or I might as well be.

If you are not me,
it will be much harder for me
to feel terrible for you.

I hate that this is true.

Most other sunflowers hate
that this is also true about them.

Even if you are a sunflower
who happened to end up
with a much better piece
of flower real estate.

(Quiet or loud
has nothing to do with it.)

Even then.

You lucky sunflower you.

You're still
going to eventually
just spit all your seeds out.
And that was your face,
a thing of tiny seeds.

You great big sunflower you.


One of the funniest words in my language is attention. Do you need it and how do you need it? What are you supposed to do with it? If you get it, I mean. Do you sit on it like a bird on an egg?  If you get some, do you instantly need more? Attention whore. It's so funny that that phrase came about. It's a rebuke. It implies someone is hogging all the attention. They're eating all the cookies and not sharing. Many serial killers were attention whores. BTK is a known attention whore. The real reason he is in agony in prison is that he can't Google himself.  The Zodiac Killer. Was another one. The opposite of this is those artists who left the art world and attempted to erase every trace of their identity. There was more than one. And they didn't come back. One set a date to return many decades after the beginning of his self-imposed isolation. But did they do these things because they were actually attention whores? Conceptualists often use reverse psychology. Almost as much as mothers do.


There is over
and then
there is


When I look at the word over, it doesn't look like a real word to me. At all. O V E R. It should remind me of lover, but it reminds me of revolver. I can easily imagine an animal with consciousness (even the human animal) never even creating the word over--or a different word that signified the same thing. That animal would not have a concept of over, since it wouldn't have a word for it. Or so the Wittgensteinian theory goes. The way in ancient Egypt there was no word for freedom. No wonder slaves were so obedient. But then the language fought back against this word. We have many expressions which all say in one way or another that nothing is ever really over. I suppose this is where the universe snarks, "Sounds like a personal problem to me!" And it just erases everything, proving the word over is definitely part of its vocabulary. I wish someone would make a movie called Over, which consisted only of a series of people telling stories about something in their life they need to believe is over. Like they have this desperate faith. Maybe alternate people talking about something they wish were over and why in great detail with people talking about something they wish wasn't over in equally minute detail. It's like poets always saying, "I''m so over you, language." Yeah, right.


There's over
and then
there is

This Hour

Listening to Sigur Ros
and totally paranoid.
I'm so fucking stupid
I would throw a life preserver
at a crucified man.

flower skull tondo

flower skull tondo by William Keckler
flower skull tondo, a photo by William Keckler on Flickr.

wet chalkboard

wet chalkboard by William Keckler
wet chalkboard, a photo by William Keckler on Flickr.

surprisingly, not digitally altered.

although the effects are similar.

Sonora cárcel

Sonora cárcel by nametor
Sonora cárcel, a photo by nametor on Flickr.


100915-1-1 by shidomotoyouichi
100915-1-1, a photo by shidomotoyouichi on Flickr.


120531-17 by shidomotoyouichi
120531-17, a photo by shidomotoyouichi on Flickr.

Legocreation ("Punch it In, Bro")

And Wistful One shared my Lego Creation on his Tumblr. He has a nice Tumblr. There's a really nice list poem if you visit. "Things that Remind Me of You." It's not your expected schmaltzy list. It fleshes out and flushes out a whole romance better than a Kundera novel. So sometimes the Flickr referrers are right.  Most days I forget to even check those. I see the spikes and dips in stats but forget to click the tab to see the breakdown.

Pet Shop Boys------>Ligeti

I buy one of those cheapie twenty buck cd players every six months at WALMART, since they invariably break after a few thousand plays.

This one keeps sticking on the c.d.

It's weird. Because I'm listening to Pet Shop Boys' Behaviour and when it freezes on many of their textures, it totally ends up sounding like Ligeti.

Like "Lux Aeterna" type Ligeti.

But pleasantly creepy.

Sometimes I wait a bit before kicking it.

Bridget Riley Variation (after "Movement in Squares")

The one Lego Tumblr listed below shared this. Thanks!

Flickr and Referrers

I like that you can see how people are finding your work on Flickr, but it's a bit sketchy sometimes.

Sometimes people are actually sharing your work, talking about it, and other times they might have an image feed set up and such.

When my Lego Rothkos went around Tumblr (apparently tumbld by different people) I could sometimes find them, sometimes not.

Because sometimes someone would tell me and the referrer hadn't caught that.

And with Facebook it seems even worse. It might mention Facebook but I guess it can't latch hold of the network of who shares it with whom. Because then the busywork of the trace would probably data overload everything for Flickr. I'm guessing anyway.

Here are some referrers for my stuff today, but I have no idea if any of these sites are actually posting something by me or just using this or that link or image feed that somehow "buzzes" my Flickr account.

I'll visit and see if any are actual sharings.

And what is rebelmouse? I went there and still had no idea what it was. 327
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