Daily Art Post - March 19, 2015

[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="640"]Concrete Beach Grey 24 x 30 in.* mixed media on paper Concrete Beach Grey 24 x 30 in.* mixed media on paper[/caption] Well, there you go again, writing something dirty in the second person. You're no Pablum Pickerasso porno for pirates butt here and there and everywhere. Back at the beach. What is the beach? My very good writer friend lives in a huge downtown loft (it's where my art museum is my geez six figures in stock getting shot this weekend or next by my production friends- they actually scouted the location! How fn cool are my friends?) -- and there are rules about going public dumbing down and de-jargoning and perquened heffalumps ad infinitum and therefores.. Sorry. He walks his dog in the neighborhood and (you know why I door my store with gibberish? I think you know right? It's to ward off the ding-a-lings yo! They can't get past the gibberish door and that's a good thing for us, right?) OK anyway - he walks the dog in the neighborhood and that's right in the middle of skidrow and he told me on 6th & San Pedro you can turn right if you really want to enter a world unlike any in Los Angeles and you can turn left for an introduction to the world on the right and that there are about 3000 homeless people in that 6 square block area and there are 20,000 religious buildings where religious people go weekly or more in Los Angeles and he said "You would think," etc., and I thought about it!  See, I was just there my damn self. I took my old friend Ricky Rogers down there on a different plane to see if we could get him in the midnight mission at 6 in the morning (RR is homeless in Santa Monica) and he wasn't having it. HE said he'd rather sleep (on the concrete) in Santa Monica than wait for a bed down there because he knew it would end up with him getting loaded.  And I knew what he was talking about. The side room downtown is gated but it is dark and packed with people and concrete on ALL sides including the ceiling. Sleeping on the concrete in Santa Monica, on cardboard and blankets and maybe a fence to lean on, I can't claim that- I slept in cars and classic VW vans with young women on sandy VW van mattresses and (no I'm not writing my junkie turned sober companion book [though I should?]- this is just my stupid art blog half assed attempt and nothing less than depressed bullshit- if I ever write anything it's going to be the true- life account of those adventures as Beowulf Miles elven fighter using 1st edition through Advanced D&D rules when I was living at my friends place at Paradise Cove in the late 1970s- sort of a carver-but-not-middle-class-mid-westerner-new-yorker-comes-to-l.a.-to-write-for-the-movies-meets-tolkien-type-of-story although technically my folks did take us out to California via East Africa to write a story of sorts in the late 1960s- the images are all there-  Princess Bride meets The Hobbit meets Drugstore Cowboy but in Santa Monica in the 1990s . Jack Grapes gave me a technique or two to keep the pins on the rock - the set needs chairs like Everest needs a hotel and a tram or at least porta-potties. OK enough bullshit - this is why I shouldn't try to write! Mayor Mayor, break down this wall! And I'm not talking about live role playing, I'm talking about pencils and paper and dice and a good Dungeon Master who can tell a story like the one we had in 1984.   -d  

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