from the grave pt. 2

after arriving at dean and nevins street we were allowed a few free days out of the cells to roam the land of new york. being the cruel trick by our captors it was, we enjoyed swooning in its offerings, letting our eyes run free in the land of diversity even if our bodies would never escape the city on the eastern seaboard.
when trapped in an urban jungle and struggling for life one seeks those who survive in the harshest of conditions. survival becomes contagious. our journey brought to attention the struggle of trees within new york. few and far inbetween, they become an interesting creature emerging from the concrete as a testament to nature.

tree of nevins street struggles to be seen by the metropolitan citizens, in the dead of winter it is difficult


tree of madison avenue buried thick in the central layout of the city disguises itself from the viewer by pretending to be an art nouveau lightpost


although the city harshly ostracizes the subtleties of nature within its buildings and vehicles, there are several moments of hope. the central park haven supplies the drowning new yorker with all the nature they can handle. central park was an island within an island on our trip, it was our final fleeting moment of life, before we headed back to the cells for rations.


of course on the way back nature began to take a back seat again.


organic turned to mechanical


and industry taunted us with imitation. two mechanized trees stretch out to us with cold steel branches


harrowed by the trip outside seeking refuge, we were drawn back to our future grave. was it the loss of hope within the city walls that drove us back, or just the call of our stomachs for food, i dont know, but it was our last dance with the outside world. and i didnt even get to see the symbol of freedom that every immigrant looked to as a beacon of light for new lives in the early twentieth century; the statue of liberty!

oh wait. yes i did. and it renewed my faith in the united states of america.

from the grave pt. 1

last week i died. before i passed into the afterlife i traveled. before i transported my flesh pod across a country's fertile earth space i shaved, but that is another story within itself that you will understand when you get older.
they say that there is a land that stretches a very small length of the eastern seaboard, they being people that own maps. i trust them, or should i say, trustED them. this land contains within it a social factor that i had forgotten about, a benefactor to human interaction, a beauty via aknowledgement and acceptance; this land contains the definition of the noun diversity. having hailed from the central pacific region of califonia for the past half decade, i had forgotten of this ever-elusive crown jewel of humanity. feeling absent of the conglomeration of viewpoints of the world, i set out to find this fabled land they call new york.
when traveling, i always seek an intrepid companion, so as to avoid dying first when faced with a potentially fatal situation. and so a woman by the name of laura krifka was chosen to mobilize with me. how i tricked this innocent flesh pod to walk into her own grave willingly and close the casket is a long and complicated story. i told her that we were going to see artwork and stay with my relatives. thats actually all i needed to fabricate verbally to coerce her, and thus it actually was not as long and complicated as i had presented two sentences ago. did i believe my own farce story myself and dive into my own demise? maybe so, but i like to think of myself as a braniac, so no, i did not believe such a tall tale. and so begins the tale from the grave.

we caught a metal bird on december twelfth two thousand and seven. very approximately six years, three months, and one day from when several drunk metal birds deviated from their godsent paths of transportation. but that is another story for another night. we arrived in jfk and found our way to the land of brooklyn, where my relatives lived and invited us to stay with them.

a brooklyn doorway that is not exactly where we stayed but close


we were whisked away to our quarters upon entry to the house, and found quickly that this wasnt exactly the blissful visit we had expected within our nubile brains.

cell #1

cell #2

view from cell #1


the location of nevins and dean street would be like a mirage to us, so inviting and perfect, yet we would come to know it as the last place on planet earth we would ever know.

continued when i dont have to wrap presents... from the grave of course

beleber returns; darwin prevails

today, mr. michael beleber returned from the north and we set out on an adventure to skateboard our way into the history books.

belebrainiac


we should have accepted our fate when the gatekeeper told us we couldnt skateboard due to lack of protective accesories. but we forged ahead and hopped the fence when she wasnt looking. needless to say, there were fleshpods strewn about within minutes of entering the confines of the skateboard arena.

gravitationally disabled


magna cum laude


we quickly thereafter found our way to the safety of the finest vessel to ever charter the morro bay waters. a boat manned by the most outstanding captain, known as to the masses as chet. the THAI BOAT. healed we were.

and then we went back to brians house and tried to make a bonerhead halloween poster.

is robot takeover such a bad thing?

a short photo examination of technological culture and its peripherals.

morning robots


robotic waste


morning robots eat cats


escape the electronic rennaisance to start your wandering days

incubator

paradise, a reverie which every human beings wandering brain deals with from time to time. a land of eternal beauty in which the ideal dream state pauses and allows for a complete and utter saturation of the ambience within these intangible landscapes. many humanoids look to the fertile lands of the san luis obispo global region and in their minds cultivate this reality into a metaphorical representation of paradise. recently, these pleasant climates that build a euphoric reputation have been thrust into an incubative state, building up an incredibly boisterous war machine of heat, unleashing day after day until it has completely obliterated any sort of hint alluding to an idea of fall. this heat will not allow for any crisp, this heat will not stand down to any brisk, this heat laughs at the paradise trapped inside a parched desert wanderers thoughtbox. paradise no more, san luis obispo is sweating. and so am i.

parched

reclining nude, dana schutz 2002
oil on canvas 122 x 152 cm

the beauty of an ULTRA long distance runner

yesterday my father ran an ultramarathon. it took him 8 hours 42 minutes and 36 seconds. in the rain. uphill. absurdity takes control when the adjective ultra is put infront of the noun marathon. welcome to my blogski.

bliss