yockadot pictures


goofball oracle by the beefcake twins

some questions and answers (arbitrary):

to what extent does style smother freedom?
because i wanted to impress general earl nagle.

would you "buy on credit" with the hope that you could keep up the payments?
the color of your smile.

why do people like jobim?

why do cocks crow?
i would certainly never "buy" anything if i didn't have the "cash" or the "fortitude."

is your life a constant struggle for survival?
the element of surprise is no substitute for telepathic circumstance.

why did i put all of it in my mouth?
kevin thurston.



of course is a sausage fest in its own rite, but c'mon. doctor phil. i had to.

more than meets the...eye


and yet

although i spend relatively little time making things, i am not prolific.

this is where 'mercurial' comes in.

or hand-held video games.

which is not to say

that i ever spend more than a few minutes (relatively) on art (drawings take longer if they're 'serious drawings.'). rather than edit, i just start over, except with drawings, where i'm more comfortable painting over something or painting something out. FYI.


the 'poems' on this blog should be taken at face value: BLOG POEMS. i mean really. i type them directly into the 'new post' block in less than five minutes, while avoiding some other task. so don't hate. okay. hater.


stop codon reached

whole segments jump to another spot on the strand. 'reading frame' is off.

masturbate to procrastinate

some horse
this war
if i may
and yet
to revisit
(this song, that meal)

chapped and grey
sewn into the belly
some horse
before burying
a western
(swagger, that)

quite literally
like a wasp

and this,
that nothing

such a nice
li'l thing

rolling storage
bind through bonds
for a coda; coat closet
other locations
this melancholic
locus, goodness

i looked and looked
i'm serious
and all i got
were charred
a graduated

something like
and undeserved
about an about


jargon (recent)

these are all things directly from my school notebook margins, all written in bubble cursive w/ shadowing technique, all from the beginning of the semester until now. my notebook is baby blue, and "CCBC" is embossed in gold on the front. there is of course drawing accompaniment.


cleavage furrow
the central dogma of gene expression
spindle fibers
pea plants in the monastery
law of independent assortment
blending theory
"not fair."
W&C took her damn photo 51!
snipped out
"don't worry about missense & nonsense"
noble gases!
chitin, goddammit
"where things go in & out"
yeah. yeah.
jumping genes


"I'm me, you're somebody else"
"There are 21 ways you can pick a woman."
dot plot
small English letters
outlier hurts
Rules of Thumbs
"Do you want the answer first or the why?"
"You're being quite literal here."
"There are 3 times you have exactly 2 heads."
oh my god, I had a dream about grass houses. oh my god, Orient me.
do not disturb (thinking about fear). (or death).
"mine didn't come up. did yours come up?"
it's not a Price is Right thing (like Beyonce).
twenty-pound men (forgot about them).
world's smallest mammal: THE BUMBLEBEE BAT!!
more later; like Tuesday
"p-hat (pea-hat)"
shit, reject the ho!
right? right. right? right. right.
The Air Tingling Sneaker
don't go out to eat!

real poets, real stories

me - tetris
kevin - hockey, fantasy baseball
justin - PS2 (?), long walks
ryan - ultimate frisbee
jgp - boxing

the sporting life of writers. i propose full-contact poems. but i also wish i didn't keep fitting in as male. not that you four are academics. male, yes.

i grew my hair for a whole year.

i'm talking paradigm, people.



oh, and i was invited into a threesome (XY, XX, XY) on friday at the prince vs michael jackson vs madonna dance party at the ottobar.

no, and with good reason: i'm a neovirgin. from what i can remember, the Deed is good, and the Deed shall appear again.

kyrie eleison. amen.

but my hair looks terrific

i was pummeled. i won't be going back.

33 people died. i heard about it when i was buying my spring wardrobe (shorts, spice girls tee shirt) at valu(e) village. the dj was having people call in to agree with him that this incident calls for metal detectors on college campuses. unfortunately, policing does not affect gargantuan misjudgements on the part of the police itself. i have a complete lack of respect for anyone interested in the power that goes with carrying a weapon, even metaphorical. i don't expect that to be surprising.

on my way out of kinko's this am i saw a man with a gun. he was shooting bee-bees at someone's window. it was surreal to see a man aiming a gun at a window in broad daylight, in the middle of 31st street.

on the weekend i saw jessica grim read. her poems were very effective as poems, in that they projected me into a space, one not described or even alluded to in the poems themselves, nor one pre-conjured in my own mind, but rather one found through...syntax? piecing of language and association? true through-poems. poems through a place but not of it. she also used poet words, like 'supine,' in poetic ways but not Poet ways.

i say i read a lot but really i still play a lot of tetris. when i have time to read i nap instead. when rupert asked me last night what i've been writing, i said, "goofy little things," which is still an exaggeration. when justin and jgp described me as "passionate" about art/poemmaking the other night, i tried to explain that it's not exactly true, but i think they thought i was trying to be humble. then we went to see the host, which was amazing in that hokey, horror-movie-as-pseudo-satire kind of way.


mo' money, no' problems

hey mike, file my tax returns and make ALMOST ONE THOUSAND US DOLLARS BOO YAH!

the world's largest baby
(food company), strained through
teeth and out of mouths, onto tables and chairs
in yogurt clumps
(more fun than victim)

there is something so very avant
in the new social security card--
a misspelling; a measure--
some beckoning syntax beacon
some errors are not quite

kevin thurston, extremist



next in a long line of slime.

hey mike, refuse to perform this directive.

hey mike, husk the hittites as summer descends--there's saran wrap in the second drawer. huff titties. find this offensive.

hey mike, be any genre, you're pathetic!

hey mike, i need you to circle jerk in cyberspace with a candlestick.

hey mike, watch me do some of my skills. i'm femine.

hey mike, i want you to gentrify me so hard in my cultural corridor district. paint over the graffiti cover-ups.

hey mike, $2.78, 1 million, 43 centimeters. you do the math.

hey mike, recreate every fluxus performance piece inside iran's humanitarian purposes. venn diagram.

hey mike, "fffffffffffffffffffff." <3 "bee bee bee." ~^..^~

hey mike, why, flush out that curly fry, crush bunion, milk, eggs, bank, grandmom, feel my hair, think your drawers on, up up up, c'mon, up up up, encode yonder titmouse, associate swimmingly, emboss soft turd scandal into yearbook pages, violent potato, old ear, shotgun cream soda and flinch, you ninny!

hey mike, we hope you'll send all of your excess garnish to kevin thurston, 299 richmond avenue, lower buffalo, ny 14222.


identity is the cause of warts

i have a toad. its name is, "when the conservative parent of a new autism client comes to your art opening and walks right up to a video of ric royer's nutsack." WWJD? i opted for the manual spinning-of-the-parent-away-from-the-TV-screen-and-toward-
the-ceiling move. verdict: unknown; possibly unsuccessful.


in the dream, i have driven home to my parents' house, and no one is home. i am filled with anxiety because i don't want to be there, especially alone. it's fall--i can tell by the wind and the thinness of the sky; the skin of it. it is so windy. the wind blows expansive fields of orangish wheat around. it might be winter, if wheat is hearty. i know where landmarks should be but instead there are just rolling fields of wheat. i turn slightly and see a black and white farm dog stading about halfway up the hill. i know that he is male and i feel empathy for his lost-ness. i realize as he's looking at me, surrounded by blowing wheat (the wheat is taller than he is), that he is trying to communicate with me. he is very calm and appears to know me. i am filled with a feeling of relief; no fear; immense calm joy. i know even in the dream that i have never experienced such a sensation. i know to try to remember everything. in dreaming, it's almost as if what never happened will never happen.

and cotton candy



i hate writing about myself. that is how much i love you.


the towne fair novelty crepe:

funnel cake
fried dough
hot pretzel
hot dog
4-H heiffer champion
giant stuffed disney character
goldfish in a bag

all wrapped inside a delicious triangular folded delicate french sweet batter shell, reminiscent of this.

in the dream

in the dream i go home. i go to my parents' house. there are expansive fields all around, it's fall, almost dusk, amazing orange light everywhere. it is very windy. all i can hear is the wind. i am very afraid. i am afraid that no one is home--that i am alone amidst expansive fields. i turn slightly to the left and there is a dog in the warfield's yard, atop a small slope. the warfields are also not home. the dog is surrounded by the orange wheat. he is panting, facing me. i am afraid of something, either that the dog is lost or that he is mean. he stands there in the sun and looks at me. i realize a good feeling.

what, no response to my new age age?



here are my embarrassing itunes artists, all of which have their strong points, and none of which are meant to be that cool kind of uncool:

ani difranco
aretha franklin
bell biv devoe
blind melon
brian eno
bruce springsteen
cat stevens
cambridge singers christmas
crowded house
frida soundtrack
indigo girls
lenny kravitz
screaming trees
also extraordinary amounts of the decemberists and david byrne--sheer quantity can be an embarrassing quality


new: 62-lb hair-puller. likes homemade tapes/chewing rubberbands. dislikes slowness.


new skill for skill set: very good at folding 8s for rock heals/narrowhouse. jgp calls the last step "making your flower." my dad used to say girls make butterflies and cocoa puffs.


gave the womb-buddy a significant haircut last night. heard from jgp that not all identical womb-buddies are actually identical; 2 sperm can fertilize one egg (new info). of course, there is also the flip-side: chimera (thus the 'i am my own twin' issue of peek which may apparently never digest its prehensile tail), or fetus-in-fetu, or people who at some point during development consumed their own twin, thus 2, two, too sets of DNA in one body YES.

i wonder what feels stranger: knowing you should have been one person but became two, or knowing you should be one person but are two.


is nostalgia real? who cares. i'm gonna go write down the dream.

ps today's logging of bs is dedicated to justin, who is voyeuristic for such a redundant restaurant eater and NPO romeo.


my li'l animal totem

this is close to the dog in the wheat in my dream. apparently it's a border collie. the one in my dream was much more scraggly and had more white on him, and was not symmetric in coloring. i'm trying to become at least somewhat okay with personal narrative, even though i'll probably never like it as content, content being a separate issue altogether and not meant to be in proximity to my animal totem. i'm preserving my dog in the wheat field as valid profundity and have no plans to manipulate it otherwise, even though i might write about it and that writing may be way different from other things i would normally write.



transmodern festival. many highlights, specifically:
nancy andrews film (ima plume trilogy--hand-drawn animations, b/w noir, myth vs dreamscape)
stephanie barber film (catalog--equal parts nostalgia and comment on same, just enough beautiful linear quality of text but abstract and perseverative enough to be entirely consuming)
shodokeh beatboxing/breakdancing performance (mandala plastic flooring)
lexie mountain boys performance (modular skirts, victorian farting, 19th century rave)
nao bustamante performance (fake fire-->obvious propping-->see-thru antics and faux awkwarndess YES)
gnomes/kickball in the park (we invented a game called 'mean face kick,' self-explanatory)

slapdown! (all-women's wrestling, kind of like GLOW, and i know those of you who read this know what i'm talking about) should have been successful and provacative but failed. should have been that tongue-in-cheek/ironic masculinity overlaying its own stereotypes; should have been pushed to a point of rendering those stereotypes moot but instead looked like the very thing it should have mimicked in that critical way. very disappointing. felt like pay-per-view. one of the only performances i've ever walked out on due to my own preturbation--not the kind that elicits good dialogue. does however elicit questions i have about the line between this neo-feminism of 'reclaiming' bettie page femininity and something being exploitive by virtue of violence. masculine violence between women is not an equilizer. sorry. for writing all that.

someone played a tie-dyed tambourine in a completely sincere way. it was very funny. to me.

other bits:
-today i was actually asked if i have goals that i am working toward. i laughed. i just don't want them, which would probably be liberating if i had ever had goals to begin with. i actually don't think this is pathetic at all.
-'worse' requires context which is not always available.
-today i went hiking with womb-buddy bender and her man-buddy, and their three dogs. rediculous sun and fun.
-i might want to re-remember and record the best dream of my life every day for an indeterminate amount of time, just to see what happens. i hope that's not too self-involved...wait, i blog.
-need a photo cake.