“Weird Kids With Bad Teeth.” 2/27/13. Acrylic paint, pen, duct tape. 4×4″.
I alluded to this piece in “Titrating,” when I described myself as feeling scared, stuck, and trapped, but smiling. (See the red text in the background).
Like the pieces in “The Weak End” series of paintings, this (along with several others) started out as one large painting that I eventually cut up into a lot of smaller ones. Unlike that series though, all of the paintings in this series (“Your Higher Power is Literally Garbage”) were painted and repainted so much that they don’t really share much in common.
In the center of this piece is a strip of pink duct tape that I drew on, while riding in the car, because I had no paper. Yet another weird/poor drawing of a kid with fucked up teeth. It’s pretty representative of my belief that I’ve got a lot more willingness than I do talent (or even creativity).
As often as I feel “inspired,” I’ve got nothing. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t still have the need to create something. So I do. Because it’s good for me. It helps me, emotionally.
And if you read my last post, you know that right now is one of those occasions where I desperately need to create something. And I knew that I’d come to that conclusion if I wrote up the entry for this piece, which is why I chose to write an entry around “Pulp” first. I wasn’t ready to do what I needed to do to get better. But I am now.
I’m in the middle of a silent temper tantrum, by which I mean I’m not talking and have dedicated myself to staying miserable until I exhaust myself. I used to do this almost every day, but they’ve been pretty few and far between since the day that I consider my “emotional sobriety date.” So – of course – I’m angry and now I’m even angrier with myself for this than I am about the stupid incident that sparked this episode.
Here’s the other of my two 9×12″ learning to draw with charcoal sketches from January.
“Pulp.” 1/17/13. Charcoal. 9×12″.
In February 2012, I was kicked out of my second rehab in as many months. I found myself running around Delray Beach with the girl I had been kicked out with. I’m not going to try and diagnose her state back then but – if I did something that bothered her – she could flip a switch and go from being totally in love with me to telling me what an ugly, worthless, pathetic, despicable piece of shit I was. On one occasion in our first week out on our own, we were staying in some little shitbox motel. (If you’re familiar with Delray, I’m sure you know it). I don’t remember exactly what went wrong, but it had something to do with heroin or getting more heroin. And – in case I didn’t already hate myself enough (I did) – she was really piling on as much hatred and vitriol as she could manage, to ensure that there wasn’t so much as a shred of self-esteem left in me.
I went into the bathroom. I was crying. I looked at myself in the mirror and couldn’t fucking stand the sight. It made me angry that I was the person looking back at me. So I started punching myself in the face. I don’t remember how many times. Enough that, for a good while after, I looked like someone had kicked the shit out of me pretty well.
Which I’ve always been good at. I’ve always been good at beating myself up. But that was the one time when it was most literal.
I’ve had thoughts like these today. I have had these impulses today.
I remember in 2008, somebody asked me, “Are you really still gonna care about bands like Drunken Boat and Ringers five years from now?” I stated confidently that I would. And I do! In his review of the Frozen Teens LP, Todd Taylor compares the band to The Replacements, Bent Outta Shape, and Drunken Boat. Obviously, The Replacements get their due every day and Bent Outta Shape still get nods pretty often too. But it’s nice to see that someone else out there picked up on the little something-specials going on in the music of Drunken Boat, remembers them, and still cares as much as I do.
I don’t know Bianca, but in her review of the Peeple Watchin’ cassette, she writes, “If I were in a pit of despair, this would be the soundtrack to my triumphant escape from it.” And that is exactly how I felt about Peeple Watchin’s “I’m Still Here, Asshole” in the darkest moments of this last July.
Marty Ploy’s top five list concludes with “Having Rational Anthem in southern California for a week.” I love those kids too, Marty!
Another reviewer I don’t know (Rick Ecker) writes of The Turkletons (in his review of their split with Lipstick Homicide) that they’re “every bit the equal on this split single.” Like my first little note, I think Lipstick Homicide are a band that have been getting the recognition they deserve but it makes me happy to see that The Turkletons are too. If Lipstick Homicide’s “Not That Easy” is my favorite song on the record, then The Turkletons’ “Geography” is only the slightest scratch behind it. And the lead in that song is definitely the highlight of the record.
A few weeks back, Jesse (Slow Death) wrote something online about all of the records he had in the works and Chris (Turkletons) said something like, “You’re boring everyone.” His response: “What if I told you they were all based around puns and clever wordplay?” Chris: “Sold!” I think I laughed out loud reading that.
Ten thousand years ago, I was supposed to release The Humanoids’ debut full-length on Traffic Street. Those plans took a backseat to my heroin problem but the LP has finally seen the light of day thanks to Darren’s new(ish) label, Throwing Things Records. He gave me a copy when Rational played with The Haddonfields in St. Louis last month, it just happens to be spinning on my turntable as I type all of this, and – like everything else that I just mentioned – it’s one more little thing that makes me happy, one more little thing that puts a smile on my face.
Did you know that there are people in the world who care about shit other than pop punk?
In writing this statement, I struggled with a tendency to dwell on details that aren’t significant because to skim over them or take anything for granted would run the risk of someone getting the wrong idea. And with something like this, that’s not really a risk I want to take. My intention is not, after all, to upset anyone.
Still, I don’t want to waste anyone’s time “defending myself” either. There’s enough of me up on this website for any interested parties to get a pretty good idea of what kind of a person I am.
I wrote this statement months ago, but spent the last two hours trying to find the right balances concerning caution, brevity, honesty, and intention.
“Toilet Humor.” 11/10/12. Watercolor paint, colored pencil, white kids paint, and black crayon. 9×12″.
Pedophilia is a mental illness characterized by sexual attraction to prepubescent (undeveloped) boys or girls. People can’t control whom they’re attracted to. It’s a mental disorder. I don’t suffer from pedophilia, but I have been diagnosed with borderline personality disorder. I understand what it’s like to have a brain that causes a person to think in ways that they’d rather not. However, just as it’s not okay for me to let my thoughts or feelings control my actions to any extent that would cause harm to another person, it’s not okay for anyone else to do so either – regardless of their specific mental disorder. Being attracted to someone doesn’t give you the right to have sex with them. And since a child isn’t capable of intelligently consenting to sex, it’s not ever okay to have sex with a child.
Shit gets a little bit less clear-cut when we’re talking about adolescents though. An adolescent is a person that has reached physical maturity, and that’s the point when, by nature, others (regardless of age) will begin to find them sexually attractive. Sixteen is the age, in Florida, at which people are (legislatively) deemed to have hit puberty and are thus legally capable of consenting to sex.
Personally, I’m not particularly interested in talking to a sixteen year old, let alone having sex with one. Physical maturity doesn’t equate to emotional maturity and any kind of intimate interaction with someone who’s still emotionally a “child” is nothing I want to experience.
The phrase “sex with children” is interesting to me. Because the word “children” is ambiguous, because teenagers are marketed as sex objects, because statutory rape laws are inconsistent between the states (and are sometimes totally fucked), and because there’s nothing in the world that can spark feelings as intense and hateful as pedophilia.
And because when I was eighteen, I started dating a girl two months before she turned sixteen. So – according to Florida law – I could have been convicted of statutory rape and – had that happened – even now, nine years later, everyone in my neighborhood would have gotten a notice in the mail to inform them that I, a sex offender, was now living in the area.
Adolescents are adults physically, but children emotionally. If two of them have sex with one another, it’s absurd that one should be convicted of a crime. Especially when that conviction (and mandated registration) carries the same stigma as being branded as a pedophile or a rapist.
I’m not eighteen anymore though so that part of this is no longer personally relevant. And while it’s possible that I could still potentially see or meet a sixteen year old that I found attractive, as soon as I found out her age, that would totally overpower any physical attraction that I felt and kill every shred of my interest in her. Still, despite the fact that I live in a culture in which girls that age are marketed to adults, as adults – with sex – to sell [whatever]… it’s still uncomfortable for me to acknowledge. That (and that it’s such a delicate issue, generally), I feel, makes it worth examining.
The decision to paint something with a swastika came as the result of a really silly conversation (earlier on the day that I painted this) that got me thinking about context and symbols (or statements) that evoke powerful emotional responses.
A piece of art communicates a lot of different messages (whether intended or not) and the nature of art is such that the intentional messages aren’t always immediately clear. For that reason, while I understand that art can upset a person for any number of reasons, it seems pretty unreasonable that anyone should ever become angry (or, specifically, angry with the artist) on the sole basis of their interpretation of a piece. So I wanted to play with that, using the most powerful symbol of hate that I know: the swastika.
Since I was already plotting to paint something as prima facie controversial as “Sex With Children,” I figured it made sense to do this all in one blast. By putting that phrase and this (totally unrelated) symbol together, I thought I could accomplish everything that I wanted by bringing these things to the surface in a way that is so absurdly offensive that no one could possibly walk away from it thinking that it was created with malice of any kind. To believe otherwise would be to think the piece is a declaration that I support (and enjoy!) the fucking of children BUT HATE JEWS. I’d like to think that it’s totally implausible that there exists in the world anyone who’d feel the need to paint something with that communiqué as his or her end.
I would be really upset to find out that anyone was personally offended by this. On the other hand, anyone who has a problem with it because “it’s [potentially] offensive [to someone else]” (and hasn’t themselves been the victim of pedophilia or anti-Semitism) can fuck off.
On the other hand, anyone that has a problem with this because “it’s stupid” – well, that I totally understand. I’m not sure that I’d even disagree with you. Everything I’ve written is true but also, admittedly, I probably painted this just to fuck with people a little bit. I might enjoy making people just a little uncomfortable.
“Parents (I’m Not Sorry).” 12/11/12. Pen and pencil. 2×3″
I drew this while sitting in an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting, one night after “Clarity” and “Chrissy Fit” and one night before “No Accident.” I guess you could say it’s about stress and coping mechanisms. Cigarettes, yoga, whatever. I chose the kangaroo with the overgrown kid ’cause the things that stress us out most tend to be (1) problems we’ve created ourselves and (2) things that – long after we have any reason to – we continue to carry around with us.
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I’m still sick and I’ve been feeling especially under the weather today. I’m good emotionally though, so I’m very grateful for that.
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The original is still available, but the image pictured here is the 4×4″ print that I have for sale in my webstore.
“My Girlfriend Isn’t a Drug Addict; She Manages Her Own Life and a Charlotte Russe; I Can’t Get Her to Pee On Me and I’m Really Fucking In Love With Her.” 2/24/13. Acrylic and pen on cardboard (on wood). 25×8″.
For a while, I was pretty convinced that the only girls who might ever possibly be interested in me were also drug addicts. I’m not sure whether it ever occurred to me that maybe it only seemed that way because the only girls I ever met were girls that I was in treatment with or girls at meetings.
In twelve-step programs, one is encouraged to surrender their will to [whatever]. It doesn’t really matter what it’s surrendered to, so long as you’re not the one calling the shots anymore. But regular people … you know… don’t have to do that. They get to manage their own lives. So, while I was buying cocaine by the ounce when I was seventeen, Heather has made it to twenty-eight (she’s old as shit!) without ever having tried anything beyond marijuana. That strikes as being totally insane, but my perception might be a little wacked. I have a hunch that a lot of people would find my history to be the one that’s a little unusual.
There’s all kinds of cool stuff I can’t talk Heather into but peeing on me doesn’t fall into that category. I don’t actually want her to pee on me – I just love to tease her and plead with her as if I do. (I have fun).
Oh – and while she no longer works for Charlotte Russe, I’m still really fucking in love with her.
This piece was painted on a piece of cardboard from the same box as “The Weak End” series of paintings. It was one of my very first where I allowed myself to have absolutely zero concern with conveying a message with my images. For a time, I thought that the images in a painting needed to be directly related to any text that might appear in it. Eventually though, I realized that visual art is no different than music. No one ever asks “what does that A minor have to do with the lyrics to this song?” The music establishes a certain energy – a mood, a tone – that works in conjunction with the lyrics. While the nature of visual art allows me to sometimes make “music” that’s more obviously/directly linked to my “lyrics,” I no longer think it’s necessary.
This painting is currently for sale. sold on October 2, 2013.
When I was eighteen years old, I played in a band with Chris Hembrough. I smashed the windows of his house one night in a drug and alcohol-fueled rage. By 2008 (about four years later) we were friends again, but the kind of friends who rarely – if ever – hung out. He called me and asked if I’d come see his band play. They asked me if I could help them out with a few things and one thing led to the next. I convinced them to change their name (originally Portman). I helped them put together a demo. I booked an East Coast/Midwest summer tour. I started Traffic Street Records to make their next release appear more legitimate.
We drew some boundaries after a bit of tumult. I continued to put out their records, but I didn’t want to have to do any other chores for them and they didn’t want to put up with my mental illness. Part of me thought that without my incredibly skilled hand on the wheel, the band would crumble to shit. Part of me was wrong. Rational Anthem has grown to become one of my absolute favorite bands. And thanks to some serious, long-term inpatient treatment, I’m no longer a mixed blessing or a liability for them. I’m just a friend and a fan.
We sat down for two hours the night before they left town for their sixth annual U.S. tour to talk about their (often our) misadventures along with the kind of personal stuff that wouldn’t normally come up if we were just hanging out as buddies.
That’s the introduction I wrote for my interview with Rational Anthem in the new issue of Razorcake. If you’re not a subscriber, you can get a copy right here. The interview’s really lengthy and came out really well. Thanks a ton to Todd Taylor for being an excellent editor, to Bambi Guthrie and Marc Gärtner for their photographs, and to Keith Rosson for doing a killer layout.
