For those of you brave enough to venture upon this page to find my artwork you may often find that I post shit on here that I don’t post elsewhere. Good for you, you might think; well, especially today. I haven’t gotten that far on it, but I do have January and February done for the new calendar, and after this busy weeek and some time off for thanksgiving I should be able to finish all the way to dec within a week or two maybe three, or a year.

But I thought I would give those of you reading this a sneak peek, as I plan to update this site much more often. AND, im going to post that short story I was talking about too. Tomrrowishly.

The first one with the Robot is February. The second is January, as you will find out once you click the thumbnails and make the BIGGER.

They really aren’t my typical type of thing, but I’m having a lot of fun playing around with them. It will be a grand ole time making babies with the pen.

Long ago I did a drawing in photoshop of a the white horse of the apocalypse with a viking spin on it. You can see it here. It was just one piece of a collection of all four horses of the apocalypse that I was going to call the “Four Norsemen.” However, I never got around to finishing the concept. I did get to finally get around to touching it up and make it look a hell of a lot better. I only started on one more of the horses, the sick one. Which can now be seen in the background of the newly touched White Horse. Here is the new one:

The White Horse

If you want you can buy a poster of it here.

I’ve been writing a lot lately, practicing really. I think the Autobiographical Edicius novella will be done sometime before summer. My fable I’m working on should be complete around that time too. But for the next month I’m trying to complete a calendar before the new year begins. It’s titled “A Tribute to Aliens, Monsters, Robots and Ghouls.” I’m having fun working on it, It will be a collection of 12 speed paintings of the aforementioned entities. I will post that probably sometime around Christmas.

I will probably post a short story exercise I wrote in the next few days after I do some adding of the punctuation. It’s not my typical thing, its much more mainstream than anything I’ve ever done and very brief. I’ve been trying to write outside my style for practice to make me suck as little as possible.

Preamble

“We the people of the United States, in order to form a more perfect union,” assemble ourselves as semi-maneuverable cogs in the framework of a pumping heart in a grievous machine we all call home. It can safely be said that not much of anything we do means much more than merely contributing to the insured survival of this colossal dreadnought, of which we are a part of, and cannot escape. From the beginning of our educations we are persuaded to believe that our vitality as a whole is in our success, a success that is not earned, but purchased.

It is this education that I have recently begun to question. It’s not due to the fact that I feel as dispensable as we all obviously are, despite being told otherwise. It’s the fact nothing seems to have a real value except the arbitrary ones assigned by mankind’s capricious methods. Is the quality of this intricately designed and laid out path worth as much as we all assume it is? I try too see beyond this fickle nature with less blemished eyes, but I haven’t been rewarded with the ability to continue on seeing through these gilded ones our society has so graciously given me. It pains me to think I know beyond what my eyes allow me to see. This is paranoia. This is me… and possibly you.

Daily, the cog that I am finishes another revolution with no end in sight. I spin out of control safely within the bounds of our macrostructure. Nothing like spinning, particularly this kind, will ever make you so sick. My semi-maneuverable nature gives way to a wobble that gracefully adds its touch to my gyrating syndrome while being force fed ideas of what I should do, how I should do it, and when. We are preprogrammed to spin our desire out until the teeth of our cogs wear thin, at which point we graduate and are rewarded with upward mobility; now a larger cog with more, longer and sharper teeth which we will utilize to dig ourselves into the dreadnought even further, like throwing an anchor off a spinning merry-go-round and watching inertia play its fun little game, you don’t come to an immediate stop, though the process has started, but you watch that anchor dig in, insuring your escape is undesirable and woefully impossible.

As a larger cog, thousands of smaller ones depend on you for their very survival. They need that spinning guidance in order to model their future rotations. But as a larger cog, right out of the box, you already owe to the rest of the machine more than what your own value is worth. This machine is a factory, a maker of cogs, that only generates more sprockets that are fully in the business of creating more. A cyclone of gears keeping the others in order and insuring that the master cog gets its turn, a turn that gradually spins a smile into a grin.

This is the America our progeny have been brought into. An America where a typical set of parents, who together, laboriously make slightly more than an average pittance and our dreadnought routinely jumps to its defense declaring it more than sufficient to live off of and send their 2.5 children education bound, which will cost, assuming a family made enough to save, more than a lifetime to accrue. This is where a young cog starts its cycle which will continue until that anchor weaves its web around that merry-go-round until it has that unavoidable affect of putting it into a reversing downward spiral. A discharged cog waiting to be recycled now will stand in the modern breadlines of a dwindling social security.

The most acceptable way to avoid an outcome, whereupon you are dependent on the machine, is to fall in line with the rest of everyone else who are all pursuing the capital necessary to attain such means as to avoid those menial dreadnought disbursements that are delivered much later and often postponed until after death. What does this mean? Borrow money! … and a lot of it. Now your ripcord has been pulled back into the correct position. Commence the spinning.

The average person is convinced that an education is worth its weight in gold, or something equally outlandish. The fact of the matter is that if you didn’t get this education you wouldn’t be paying the master cog a nominal monthly tax that we all commonly refer to as a college loan payment. And the cycle has started. However, this debt will never find a terminus. Each individual cog will adorn more and more extravagances, all of which have a price tag that requires a payment plan. And now all of the cogs that are part of the master cog begin to spin towards that grin. It’s a master plan, masterfully pulled off, and due to be passed on as if a hereditary trait.

Earlier that dreadnought was sufficiently fueled by our tariffs, and then our industrial workers. Later, as times changed, advances in every field made it necessary to require an education that wasn’t necessary a generation before. Some of the proverbial pockets of those upper level sprockets were obviously lined. And yet, another generation later, it took yet another step forward demanding an education beyond the four-year benchmark. Please borrow more money… our elderly are not all to ready to wait in breadlines. With no positions readily available in the job market because our elders no longer die at the appropriate time, demanding a higher education to keep those youngsters spinning elsewhere while accruing an overwhelming debt, as large as that of a house, becomes all to necessary… and lucrative. The spinning grows a grin larger.

The sad thing about this reality is that the majority reading this, including myself, will disagree with the writing’s logic because the brainwashing has sank so deep as to convince you that no good life can be lead without following the path that these cogs take. And while I, myself, fully admit to being detained in this model and bound by its inner workings, I fully regret that I see it as if it is my only option. The noble savages of Rousseau seem to be something to aspire to be despite being so ethnocentrically slighted. Maybe it is this ethnocentricity that leads us Americans to believe we are the best and to continue being as such we must fall into a line that does all it can to exploit our very nature.

I am inclined to believe that my perception could be mildly skewed due to my unrelenting pessimism. However, it is clear that even the most optimistic of views can see this machine in working disarray, which obviously runs around the clock in a think tank dreaming of news ways in which to exploit its very supporters and dependents. When will this grin reach from ear to ear?

Preparation

We, as children, are prepared as much as any metal is on its way to the cog-shaping machine. And just as this metal is routinely stressed and its structure refined in order for it to take its place among the rest, so are we. You can not say that this practice is unique to our own nation, for it is clearly practiced, even on a much larger scale, in many other countries, often to the point of creating and self sustaining a hugely corrupt society. You might recall children of communist countries even turning their parents in for speaking out against communist dogma in the privacy of their own homes, only to be harshly punished, retroactively creating a newly constructed family consisting of the children and a new caretaker. And while I love our country much too much to make a true comparison between that radicalism and ourselves, I find it necessary to point it out in order to show just how easily children can be manipulated to follow any set of parameters given to them.

American children are raised with one thought resounding within their mind more than any other; that thought? You can be anything you want to be if you just put your mind to it. Now this statement is said as if it is absolute fact, and for the most part it is, except for the last part because it really isn’t your mind that your putting it to, it’s the mind of the machine. That is were all the preparation we’ve endured through our childhood steps in when we choose what it is that want to be. Proverbially brainwashed by our desire to work towards being one with our society truly showcases just how manipulated we are at such a young age.

I’ve never felt pressured by my government to spy on my parents, but it is now, more than likely to most people, commonplace for our parents to make sure to instill in us, if not already an innate quality, an eye, of a very watchful nature, aimed squarely on our government. Therefore, I must not be stepping too far out of bounds in claiming that this dreadnought does indeed exist. For that many eyes to be focused on it in so many locations and situations it must truly be omnipresent. Now the very nature of this oppressing machine envelopes each and everyone of us from within ourselves. This is truly an awesome power. For everyone to be aware of such a thing and be so suspicious of it at the same time, but allow it to control who we are and what we stand for all while forging our children with our best traits and an ability to be as successful as possible within the machine’s sphere of influence, you must truly be seeing through shackled eyes.

Yet still we send our children off to their first day of school with tears in our eyes, though these eyes are filled with tears of joy and sadness at the same time, they should be filled with weariness. Weariness, because we know, though not too knowingly, that we have just placed them on the conveyor belt of an assembly line. I, as much as anyone, truly support a good education and I don’t mean to insinuate that schools, public or private, are merely established to indoctrinate our children, though that assuredly does play at least the most minor of roles, but the fact of the matter is our schools do help in applying that hammer to the anvil in shaping the lives of children into a configuration that is most useful to our society. With the end of one thing out of the ashes another is to arise; so our weariness shouldn’t be donned because an education is being sought, but because the cycle has just rose out of the ashes of the death of a child’s innocence. If there were ever a reason to shed a tear, this would be it.

So, like the fall of our favorite antagonists of the past, the soviets, we are succumbing to collapse before the fight were to ever begin. Though not on a nationwide scale pitting one country against another, our downfall is more of an internal defeat. And without hesitation we continue to send our children off to be prepared by someone else’s hands, despite the lengths at which we go to in order to shelter them, or self educate. Only extreme actions can be the ones that truly prevent the children’s preparation, such as a Robinson Crusoesque lifestyle, something many of us would never consider.

Several years after all these preparations are made the children are now adults well on their way to contributing to their macrostructure. The preparation is complete and now the cog is laid firmly in place and begins to turn. One cog shakes hands, or teeth as the metaphor would have it, with the adjacent neighbor, setting in forth a partnership that will end in meltdown. The cycle cycles again.

Who is the Dreadnought?

You are! I am! We all are! Single handed none of us are anything near what this amalgamation is. It take us all, working diligently in our hysteria, to create this machine that has infiltrated everything that we are. It’s not the government, nor is it our corporations. It’s not the new modern American aristocracy, nor is it a master-planned conspiracy, and it is certainly not our poverty stricken lower class, but it is each and everyone of these things serving as cog that chooses how this machine will function. So, in truth, the Dreadnought is our culture. In order to make a stand and start a revolution you essentially begin with a point in which you stand by to make said stand. But what stand do you make against your culture? How do you win a war with yourself? Do we scrap everything and start from scratch, or do we wait and see how how this machine grows or crumbles? The future, it would seem, is in no body’s hands. The future, it would seem, is everybody’s hands.

Not your typical of anything that I normally do but here is some of the painting of some stuff that I actually did. Oh well I see it as.

So here is a quick sketch I did of Phlegyas coming to escort the messiah across the styx.

So, I’ve actually got a few things under my newfound belt in the recent down undering past. Not much, and certainly not of my typical nature. Please god help me.

I’m about to be super busy not doing anything soon. So get used to me not doing much. I’ve got some time to start spending on “Mye Autobiographical.” I need to get that shit done. I’ll warn you all of its terminus.

So, from Hot Dog to Mount Fuji we are now on a train of thought that leads to the direction of the pointing to a global treasure of Green House Gases — commonly referred to as the air we breathe, that resides within Jaque Cousteau’s mighty Davy Jone’s locker.

So, from hot dog > ketchup > tomato sauce > spaghetti > Italian food > nationalities > countries > Japan > to Japan’s massive mountain FUJI. What does all this leave you with our dutiful interstitialality? Ketchup on spaghetti, instead of tomato sauce because it’s on Italian food, that is served by Japanese nationals, because Italian food is the name of a country on top of Mount Fuji. There is a lot of cohesion in the odd thoughts that lead to other thoughts.

Sometimes everything comes together a little better and much more clear than anything that has done things like the opposite of what most think at any of regular or odd times. So from a mootness of mediocrity to the slums of a steadfastly named settlement at base of the roots of evil of monetary nature, stream of consciousness consumes us all. Die a nice life Manuel Rodriguez.

finally the alice in wonderland painting is done. i started work on in back in december as i was leaving for uzbekistan and got that shit done after a mere 8 months. im fast as shit. i have no real reason to explain my slothiness, i have nothing else to do, ive just decided that i hate art, that’s all.

PURCHASE A PRINT HERE

So now that this is up I’d like to invite you all to tell me what to paint next. Im only going to do what you tell me to do so get to the creating of the list. email me.

I’ve been working perpetually for the past several months on a god damned painting of Alice… I haven’t really been working but ít has been sitting on my wall quite gracefully. Anyhow, I’ve told so many people about it and they keep asking to see it but I refuse because I’m gayer than a sailor sucking a dick. But here I am thinking that I’ll show you the sketch and maybe in the next week or so I’ll post a pic of the painting… if it’s finished, which it probably won’t be for about a year because I’ve run out of paint… please mail me some acryllics to my P.O. box bitches.

Let me find a camera real quick to take a pic of this sketch… I don’t mean for you to wait on me but I figure since I have to go do this shit you may as well know about it.

For no apparent reason at all I’ve been doing a lot of research into all previous civilizations on Earth and I’m animating their movements and momentum across our globe. I started this idea with an idea of just messing around with flash so I can get a feel for it. It was  this damn garbage here about:

world-empires.swf

It was just something I did fast and shitty for fun, but I began to like the idea quite a bit so i felt that I should make it more realistic. So I’ve been researching everything more in depth to make it as realistic as possible. However, this new one will take a while. I’m spending time doing a significant amount of research on each culture and making the whole thing not look so insanely shitty.

On the new one I’ve only begun with Sumer up the year 2000 BCE. Here is a list of the first ten I’m on:

Hopefully it doesn’t take a year to finish… but for the time being I’m entertained so I guess nothing other than that matters.

Super Bowls often incite riots with the use of a few catalysts, primarily beer and ecstatic jubilation. So, if you are out and about on a Super Bowl Sunday it should be of primary concern for you to ensure your beer is on the way and secured safely. Tina Williams did it with such precision that it will make your head spin. Need proof? She was pulled over in St. Augustine, Florida on February 3^rd and the police officer found her 24 pack of Busch Beer fastened securely in the seat with the safety belt.

Oddly enough she had forgotten her own safety belt. “No biggie,”she said to the officer, “I’m too drunk to feel anything should I get into an accident.”

The police officer smirked just a bit and retorted with, “Well that’s just fine ma’am, but what about your baby in the backseat? Is she drunk enough to justify not wearing a seatbelt as well?”

“Baby? What baby? Oh, I forgot my daughter was in the back.” Tina Williams replied.

Now I know what most of you are thinking, “How irresponsible!” Well if you ask me, Tina Williams totally had her priorities in order. The only mistake she was made was her God-awful taste in beer. Who the hell would go through that much trouble for fucking Busch Beer. That’s like driving a hundred miles to the nearest store, that happens to be next to a top-quality Italian restaurant, to eat a pack of Ramen Noodles.

One can only hope that next year’s Super Bowl brings more calamity and death of the babies by the dozen… or at the very least, a tasty beer or two.

Tomorrow is the Florida Primary and I’m voting for Giuliani as to alleviate some of the embarrassment he is sure to endure. Too bad he won’t win the presidency because I’m sure he’d legalize prostitution, which is the only way I can get laid, and he’d desanctify marriage, the way it should be, so that he’d be on par with everyone else to the right.

Actually I take that back. I refuse to vote for him. The other day he was here in my town and had traffic all fucked seven ways opposite of the orient, which inevitably made me have to walk a long distance… in the rain. I’m not to partial to being soaked. In fact, I’m deathly afraid of water, like a house cat or a drowned dead baby should have been.

Now that I’m over my near drowning experience I nominate Giuliani as the Mayor of the President of the United States of America. It sounds like a prestigious job but I assure you that it is nothing more than a fancy name for the babysitter of the President, of which I’m sure will be necessary if we end up with anyone similar Bush. His job would be to ensure that the President gets his lunch, nap, and daily Clintonic Head Job, and hopefully help keep America from crumbling down on top of it’s citizens.

Giuliani also promises to install super-ultimate-laser beams in his eyes to protect our citizens from intercontinental ballistic missiles originating from Pakistan. That right there is enough to garnish many votes, but it won’t be enough, because Obama promises to make race a thing of the past by turning off the color genes. And we all know just how much all of us love equality. That is way more important than having to endure a nuclear winter. I’ll tell you what makes a lot of sense is us walking around a nuclear blast zone as an albino using your lack of melanin to protect ourselves from the radiation. Permanent sunburns will ensue. Obama just wants to make your death especially painful as an act of retaliation for enslaving his ancestors. People need to learn to let go.