MiRAgED MuRMuRiNgS...

voices dripping through the dark. pulled up slowly from the ground to be drunk and spilled. muddying the path.
sighing through the cracks of subconscious windowseals.
calling softly in dreaming streets.
the echo of wishes coming from inside the well.
crossed fingers for curses and cures.
even vampires have to knock on wood.
nothing stays out if the door never shuts.

soft serve ~

* pencil on paper

drawing back the vermillion flange of cupid's bow, every sugar mouth is full of rotting teeth. a painful, costly sweetness. a white picket fence for the face, delicately hiding the danger of the tongue behind it. and like aeons of atmospheric cruelty wash the proudest mountains away into sandy rivers, so too a penchant for sucrose gently melts crystalline calcium phosphate crowns into alabaster memories of erosive somnolence. in hushed gnashing the human body's hardest substance becomes a secret lollypop for our own bad habits. the mind is weaker than the flesh. a specious specimen. a silken cream dream pillow. a wild-eyed cyclone tempest of weightless whispers and blood-lust screams. a flashbang violence of deafening color whirling out of the funbox. ooze it or lose it. like a funhouse that's wondrous and delightful until you're lost and terrified, running in circles down the same familiar hallways. like the carnival attraction that's fun to ride until you're sick and falling out of your shoes. everything inside of you, poured out onto the pavement. a series of cascading blurs. a cup runneth over. even candy tastes bad in reverse. a calliope tilt-&-whirl vortex of blinking lights and shrieking where eventually ' something breaks and people die.' 

if we're lucky we'll find replacement parts. 

even our inescapables sometimes manage to elude us.

if unrelenting flux is the universe's only true constant, remaining the same is the only true revolt. the final stand against omnipotent fate. a sisyphus mutiny, grinding destiny's curse. a last resort to defy the deities. a quantum mechanic's middle finger in the face of the law. a last ditch resistance against the great fatal inertia. as natural as gravity. weighing our heads. invisibly crushing us over the span of a hunched lifetime. bending us over inevitability. until one day it finally pulls us back down into the earth. another mound of crumbling minerals. broken down electron tapestries. weakened bonds. dead roots. cold dirt. smudged across drunken foreheads. marking beasts with star rubble. smash wednesday. 

even god is a one liner.

smugly outlasting the fire of your prophesied ashes, your teeth are still waiting around to complete a grin. to sort out another smile from the pile.  the last thing standing between you and another faceless doe in an endless sea of dead people. 

your own nature's last laugh. a frown upside down. 

a sneer. a jeer. a leer. a maw. a smirk. 

even after you're dead, your smile is still the only thing keeping you alive.

You speak in tongues

Tremors that warn us of ourselves

- At The Drive In

Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.

And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.

- Kahlil Gibran

    

mUCKiNg the RaKE...

 

!  sticker packs now available  !
~marvin makes mail~

*  includes three fun stickers:    
  Grave Taken  (3.75 in x 5.63 in)
  T.V. Watching  (5.25 in  x  4 in)
  Ghost Behind Us  (2.75 in x 4.25 in)

*  postage paid 

*  will ship internationally

*  hand kissed envelope

  

bending over to smell the roses, face buried in petals, miss placed footing on slippery slopes. a sideways glimpse on the way down to bloody hands, muddy knees and thorns. that beautiful house has mold. we already know where that highway goes to. that large automobile was a coffin. captured in freedom. birth as death's cursed preamble. in the bed or the casket...buried in a dark hole. not all flowers are aromatic. took a moment to stop and taste the brambles. venus trapped more than flies. crest fallen into the real valley of the shadow of death. 

At the heart of all beauty lies something inhuman...

- Albert Camus

BrAiN SwALLoW

* beer, pencil on drink coaster

from just the right angle and just the right internal body chemistry. looking into mark-less skies for diversions while the cosmos's softly whispered horrors are transmuted through the snapping of surface tension, one drop to fill the gulf, basic physics and the inseparable terror of chance, blind, fucking, luck. soft slow syrup slipping south over the brim sliding slick semi-cooled liquid a cross a slab of super-hardened liquid.  cascading down from a drooling heaven, spitting down the faces of slobbering, indifferent volcanoes. weeping above our heads, crying nostalgia into our sacred daily cups. can't really tell our hands from the wood-grain on the table. like a lightning strike chooses a lone man's head instead of acres of empty field, so we see universal wisdom while accidentally falling face down in the messy puddles of poison we make lapping the earth's blood. randomized nightmares of psychoactive Ishihara dot tests flash neon holes through Rorschach's subconscious every time he shut his eyes or Freud opened his third nostril. all the psychoanallitterateurs and all the sciences' men threw their arms into the air and out of windows with years of meaningless training reduced to effervescent carbon dioxide and car crashes. mammoth opalescent butterflies speeding past our mortal coil unroll glowing, prehensile tongues to lick tenderly in our ears that life is a technicality. the cost of energy. the irascible burden of knowing. bright light bulbs burn fingers...


He seemed so certain about everything, didn't he? And yet none of his certainties was worth one hair of a woman's head.
-Albert Camus

  ...Some trillions of years ago a sloppy, dirty giant flicked grease from his fingers. One of those gobs of grease is our universe on it's way to the floor. Splat.
-Brion Gysin's All-Purpose Bedtime Story,
  as told by William S. Burroughs
 

PLoP A gANdER ~ adhesion never felt so good

!! fun new sticker available !!

* 5.25 in  x  4 in
* postage paid
* will ship internationally
* made possible through the generous berating of uncle marvin: ~ targeting audiences since 2005 ~


violence for the people
they always eat the hand that bleeds
-m.m.

Bitter Living Through Paranoia...

 

*chromogenic print

post cards from the future 
...with simultaneous remote greetings
from behind the orange curtain
and correspondent accompaniment electrically notated by
Ohi Rucecky Collective 
~
this is a very old formula
sadly cynical for a long time

still have some hope...but... lots of shitty humans out there

don't worry...everything will be fine...one day someone will be poking through the petrified remains of our trash and wonder what happened to us....

that's if there's anything tangible left to be dug

...maybe the whole thing will be a radioactive, scorched layer of rock....

hope to be a radiated super mutant specie that lives in harmony with the universe

given the track record, i'd say a pile of ash is far more likely

if i float still in one spot...i would reach you in 3 hours

sweet dreams

*chromogenic print

NeW THeMeS iN SEMioTiCS - ceci n'est pas un drapeau

"The Department of Justice Web server hosting Justice.gov is currently experiencing a significant increase in activity, resulting in a degradation in service. The department is working to ensure the Web site is available while we investigate the origins of this activity, which is being treated as a malicious act until we can fully identify the root cause of the disruption."

you can't shake the devil's hand and say you were just kidding.
the forefathers were too stuck up to even be british, manifesting a destiny of raw material and labour. and money. cashed in less than two hundred and fifty years later, the american people have been sold out. if all those indians didn't die, how could one be thankful over supper for the right to enjoy television and buy cheap plastic shit?
it's no mistake the devil is often personified as a business man.
the american dream is for people who are asleep.
if norman rockwell were alive we'd bitch slap him.

The positive element of kitsch lies in the fact that it sets free for a moment the glimmering realization that you have wasted your life. 
-Theodor W. Adorno, Quasi una Fantasia
-

LoLLYgAggiNg iN CosTuMe.

alone in the garden
*14 pg.
4in. x 2.63in.

~ a zine ~
* available indefinitely
* no cost
* postage paid
* will ship internationally


punch the clock since you're too tired to punch your boss...


Well, I try my best
To be just like I am
But everybody wants you
To be just like them
They say sing while you slave and I just get bored
-Bob Dylan


Haven't seen the sun weeks
My skin is getting pale
Haven't got a mind left to speak
And I'm skinny as a rail

Light bulbs are getting dim
My interest is starting to wane
I'm told it's everything a man could want
And I shouldn't complain

Conversation's getting dull
There's a constant buzzing in my ears
Sense of humor's void and numb
And I'm bored to tears
-The Raconteurs


..Do you know what the people say?
Plucked from the garden
Of wretched beliefs,
I offer a rose
And smile with harmless teeth.

Then slick back my hair
You know the devil's in there?
Alone in the garden.
-Them Crooked Vultures

the End is Here...

!!!
*~for one night only~*
...ladies und gentile men...

salon style sty-lings for your evening pleasures.
6 after dark.
dec. 17
west gallery
csuf

more frightening than any downtown pub.
don't drink the water.
fluoride makes good rat poison.
shut up. be happy.

* etching on paper

'Amateurs, dilettantes, hacks, cowboys, clones
The streets groan with little Caesars, Napoleons and cunts
With their building blocks and their tiny plastic phones
Counting on their fingers, with crumbs down their fronts...

I smell smoke, see little fires bursting on the lawns
People carry on regardless, listening to their hands
Great cracks appear in the pavement, the earth yawns
Bored and disgusted, to do us down...'

-nick cave

* chromogenic prints

DuSTiNG tHe BoNe CLoSeT...

*Installation View, Great Divide - Table and Chairs. Chromogenic Print.

On view at The Glass House Record Store
april 9 - may 6
Opening Reception- Downtown Pomona Art Walk:
sat. apr. 9th, 6-9 pm

All this noise is making me nervous
I feel every slammed door and drunken laugh
Sometimes there's no room for breathing
Take me to a colony and leave me in Antarctica
The living germs keep these buildings alive
And every day we feed them with our dirt and rotten memories

-therapy?

~ SpiRiTS CoNjUREd ~ read all about it in new zine...

Ghosts
* 14 pg.
3.75 in. X 2.63 in.

* available indefinitely.
* no cost.
* postage paid.
* will ship internationally.


...in a universe suddenly divested of illusions and lights, man feels an alien, a stranger. His exile is without remedy since he is deprived of the memory of a lost home or the hope of a promised land. This divorce between man and his life, the actor and his setting, is properly the feeling of absurdity.
-Albert Camus

EyE CaNdY

there's so much for you to see.
only some of it will set you free.

...best one night stand you've had in a while.
you don't even have to stay long.
we certainly won't be making you breakfast.

" i'm not ashamed if you're entertained. " :PosT AltPressExpo pOsT

*book, letterpress, assorted pills, subcutaneous syringe, resin


there's a hole in our soul that we fill with dope
and we're feeling fine

-m.m.





*book, metal capsules, glass syringe, assorted pills


a pill to make you numb
a pill to make you dumb
a pill to make you anybody else

-m.m.
















*book, letterpress, novelty rounds
















I read that book every page
And then I put it away
Said I don't think so

It makes slaves of all womankind
And corpses of the men
And I just don't know

-grinderman


cliche. pastiche. kitsch. one liners are worth it if they make you smile. lets not pretend we shouldn't all also be in the business of making a joke. delicious and nutritious.
"automatic charisma for your chemical mind."
no lightning, nada, nothin'. just a sore hand, numb finger tip, heaps of human sized gerbil bedding, a dull knife and a handful of narcotics. it's all for the show.
mostly...

over a thousand miles have passed. mounting the summit only to have to return to the bottom and start over again. when you push the rock long enough it should become easier to push. every day, your muscles become more defined and solid. your endurance builds. eventually, the stone begins to chip and wear. its surface becomes smooth from the unending friction of its own crushing weight..to grind the the stone instead.
in a matter of hours..cast once more amidst the gauntlet.
good ol' fashioned misguided gluttons.
at least someone helped jesus.
i'll be dragging my wooden stand alone for certain.



boys with bashed in eyes line the roads
but the longest walk was the one back home

-therapy?