Peeing in the Pool (of Tears (You’re Drowning In))

January 21, 2025

“Peeing in the Pool (of Tears (You’re Drowning In))” 1/4/25. Acrylic paint. 18×24″.

Trans women are women. Trans women aren’t women. It shouldn’t take longer than 30 minutes for a restaurant to serve a customer after their order’s been placed. JESUS CHRIST DIED FOR OUR SINS.

People have all kinds of beliefs. But at the end of the day, they don’t fucking matter. They are of absolutely zero consequence. I see people twisting themselves into knots, making themselves sick to their stomachs over their beliefs, just about every day. It’s fucking stupid. It accomplishes nothing. Sure – some beliefs are a little more valid than others (AT LEAST ACCORDING TO ME) but they’re rarely – if ever – anything to lose sleep over.

I’m pretty self-absorbed. So when I see someone flipping the fuck out because reality isn’t honoring some belief of theirs, I can’t help but think, “Don’t you have any real problems to be upset about?” It’s like that expression: “rich kids care about politics.” In order to be heavily invested in shit that doesn’t directly effect you, you’ve either got to have a pretty problem-free life or else put your own problems to the side.

I’ve written before about a time in my life when I would keep up with world events and get pretty emotionally invested in issues like war, or access to clean drinking water, or – whatever. (And – DON’T TELL ANYONE but – if I stumble onto something like those recent Gaza videos (children getting killed in war zones, or other shit like that) I’m probably still gonna cry). But I recognized a long time ago that that’s not doing me (or anyone else) any good. So I try not to focus on that sort of thing anymore.

If someone has the ability and will to dedicate themself to solving some problem for the sake of other people’s safety or health, that’s great. Anyone that’s actually doing good in the world, I commend and thank you. But for everyone else, it’s just not worth the emotional energy to stress over things you can’t control. And when people are losing their shit over things that TRULY don’t matter (or in many cases aren’t even fucking REAL (like last year’s “Haitians are eating cats and dogs”)) that’s when I start having thoughts like, “I want everyone who believes in anything to drown in a pool of their own tears that I can swim (AND PEE) in.”

So does that mean that I don’t believe in anything? Of course not. I believe that people should treat each other with respect. I believe that everyone (regardless of what country they’re born in) should be equal under the law. But I’m a fucking basket case. It’s a full-time job just to keep me from killing myself with drugs or otherwise hurting myself. I’m thoroughly preoccupied with Sam. So – for the most part – anything beyond my control is none of my fucking business or concern. I try to take care of my own shit, I try to be a good person, and I don’t fucking stress about it when other people don’t do those things. When I’m doing well and I’ve got money, will I maybe make a donation here or there? Sure. Even when I don’t have money, will I maybe give away what-I-do-have to some random person who’s even worse off than me? ON OCCASION. But it’s not doing anyone any good for me to be arguing on the internet, screaming at a town hall, or losing my mind because something didn’t go my way – so I don’t. (And if you do, I’m going to laugh at you).

And make a snarky painting about it. ‘Cause it’s important to have fun. I REALLY BELIEVE THAT.

(Just kidding).

Because I’m TERRIFIED TO SAY ANYTHING CONTROVERSIAL ON THE INTERNET, let me just really clarify my intent here: This painting is not truly making fun of people who have beliefs – only those who get OVERLY EMOTIONAL about their beliefs. The painting’s caption (“I want anyone who believes in anything to drown in a pool of their own tears – that I can swim (and pee) in“) is only phrased as it is because it’s more fun that way. Being a nihilistic little shit WHO DOESN’T CARE ABOUT NOTHIN’ is fun.

I finished another painting between this and “She’s Cut With Xylazine” that I haven’t yet shared because it’s much larger and, consequently, more difficult to photograph properly. But that is COMING SOON. I also know that I failed to keep my promise to write the statement for “Things You Can’t Come Back From” by the end of 2024. But I have a TO-DO LIST APP on my phone now and that’s right at the top of it so… maybe I’ll get to it by the end of 2025. (I kid, but that one is really tough to write about; I’ve gotta be in a really good frame of mind to tackle something like that). In any case, prints of “Peeing in the Pool” are now up in the webstore. I had an event cancelled on Sunday so could USE THE INCOME if you’d like to pick one up.

Oh! Hey! Speaking of events, I have my first (well, first since I started back up anyway) gallery show booked! It’ll open on February 8th at the Love+Art+Repeat Gallery on Central Avenue in downtown Sarasota. More details on that coming soon!

And here are all the events I have scheduled at the moment…

  • February 8: Sammy thrashLife solo exhibition, opening night (Sarasota)
  • February 9: Love Yourself wellness market (Sarasota)
  • February 16: St. Pete Sunday Market (St Petersburg)
  • March 7+8: Village of the Arts artwalk (Bradenton)
  • March 9: Tropical Soirée artwalk (Sarasota)
  • March 15+16: Punk Rock Flea Market (Sarasota)
  • April 13: Spring Market & Artwalk (Sarasota)

I’ll put up a calendar soon with more details (and even more events) but, in the meantime, I’m sure you can find details on THE GOOGLE or you can always contact me with any questions.

It also occurs to me that it’s been a minute since I really shared much about what’s going on in my everyday life (and there’s been a LOT) so let me catch you up…

I did my first public event (in more than 9 years) in the last week of November. Since then, I’ve been getting out pretty regularly. Aside from one underwhelming night and one underwhelming event, it’s gone really well so far. I was so scared to get clean and try to rebuild this Sammy thrashLife thing that essentially is my life, but – at least so far – I’ve been very pleasantly surprised. Not only have I been making enough money to support myself, I’ve been meeting lots of people and finding lots of opportunities to do more and more out in the world. (The aforementioned gallery show, so far, being the most exciting of them).

I also bought an RV! Remember years ago when I was doing this art thing all across the country? Well this vehicle will set me up to do that again. Because of my commitment to my grandparents (who moved to Sarasota to be closer to my dad, only for him to suddenly die shortly thereafter – leaving me as their only family in the area), I likely won’t be making any trips that are too long or too far for now, but I’m still excited to get out and do as much as I can.

When I bought the RV, it was barely running and not in great shape but I’ve been working really hard on it (and paying people to do the jobs that I can’t handle myself) and it’s really coming together. It was initially a shuttle bus that someone else had mostly converted to an RV but then given up on before finishing. It has a bathroom (with shower, toilet, and sink), a tankless water heater, and a kitchen (with a sink and a propane stove) – NONE of those were working when I got it; now they all are. I also got an electrical system installed with a small battery and electrical outlets so I can plug in and charge my computer, phone, etc even without the engine running. I put a new mattress in. I built a custom rack to store my paintings. I sealed up some leaks and cracks in the roof/exterior. I’m almost finished with the walls of the bathroom (some of which were incomplete) and sealing the shower so that water doesn’t get out and damage the walls or floors. It’s been (and continues to be) a huge undertaking but when it’s all finished, I think I’m going to have something really cool that I’ll be able to be kinda proud of. It’s still not got air conditioning or heat at the moment and I also need to get and install a ladder on the outside, a rack for my easel, and a platform for the generator (that I’ll also need to buy so that I can recharge my electrical system/battery, and power the A/C once I get that installed) but – seeing as it could only drive 15mph when I got it and had NOTHING working inside, I’m really happy with the progress so far.

I suppose that’s all for now. I’ll share pictures and/or videos of the thrashBus once it’s all done. (HAVE I MENTIONED THOUGH THAT YOU SHOULD FOLLOW ME ON TIKTOK? And check out the short video I posted there about this painting’s secret).

As always, thank you for taking the time to read this – and thank you to everyone I’ve met recently that’s offered me an opportunity, hosted me at an event, or bought my artwork. I really can’t express how much all of it means to me. I don’t even wanna imagine what my life would be like without all of you.

And – as much as I hate to cheapen that sentiment by following it with a commercial plug, I did wanna end this post with a special offer exclusive to the people who actually read the blog. (I won’t be advertising this anywhere else). Use the promo code W!NT3R for 25% off any/everything in my webstore.

That’s everything. TALK SOON 😜

Free from Expectations, Shoes, and Toothpaste

December 12, 2024

I don’t like to paint stuff that’s not a canvas but I’l do it if you pay me enough money. For this bowl, I revisited the concept from my original painting, “Free From Shoes, Expectations, and Toothpaste.”

In my first run as an artist –  before everything fell apart and I took a 9-year hiatus from painting (and life) – I had a relatively easy time going from zero to sixty and making a living off my funny faces and scribbles.

But whether it’s ‘cause of the borderline personality disorder (or whatever else), even minor road bumps can leave me totally dejected.

It was April 2013 and I’d sold art at three events: the first successful; the next two not. It was the morning of my fourth and I was feeling very discouraged and like I shouldn’t even bother. I didn’t wanna get dressed, brush my teeth, and drive up to this thing only to feel totally rejected. 

It was then that I had an epiphany. I don’t have to get dressed or make myself presentable. Wearing the shorts I slept in, I could just hop in the car and – yes – set my shit up at the market, but just spend the day painting. Who cares if I look like a grimy little shit and no one buys anything? I’ll still be spending the day doing something I love. 

I decided to expect nothing – no sales, no positive attention – just nothing from anyone but myself. And I wouldn’t care how I looked or what people thought of me. I didn’t have to hide the parts of my body I was more self-conscious of by putting on a shirt or shoes. And I didn’t need to brush my teeth before I left. (I could just do that when I got home later). Not giving a shit about how I looked or whether or not I was gonna make any money felt awesome. It’s not an exaggeration to say that I felt FREE. Like this huge weight had been lifted from me.

When I ultimately did sell a ton of art that day, it was like a confirmation from the universe that I’d made the right choice – that this was the approach to take.

I’ve been going through my print inventory and pulling the stuff that doesn’t represent me as I’d like to be represented. A lot of those pieces still resonate with me; they just don’t look good. So I’m taking old concepts and putting them into new paintings and drawings.

That’s something I wouldn’t have done in the past. I thought that every piece of art was sort of a sacred artifact that should exist exactly as it did when I first made it. But reusing a concept doesn’t erase the old artwork. It just means it’s also a part of something new. I’ve always thought it was sort of hacky when artists reused concepts repeatedly but this isn’t that. It’s not that black and white. I can recycle an idea into something better and it doesn’t mean I’m some one-hit-wonder just playing the same song again and again. Upcycling a few old things that I love isn’t the same as churning out a thousand variations of my one “hit” piece.

Although – even if I was doing that: who gives a shit? As long as I’m doing what I wanna do – fuck everything else.

I’m glad I chose to upcycle the concept from “Free/Toothpaste” for this bowl I was commissioned to paint because it’s been a great reminder that I need to GET FREE. I need to not worry so much about all this shit and just make art. Whatever art I want. And it doesn’t matter if I reuse an old concept or it’s not THE GREATEST THING I’VE EVER MADE. So long as it looks cool, is real, and meaningful, that’s enough. (Especially for a small, commissioned, piece of art).

Following what happened to me in 2015, I’m having trouble fully subscribing to my (once) guiding principle – that “everything works out exactly as it should.” But I think everything works out – at least a lot better – when I do. When I just have faith that things will work out, so long as I’m doing my best.

Although that probably still includes brushing my teeth periodically.

I’m calling this piece: “Free from Expectations, Shoes, and Toothpaste” and adding it to my inventory as a 4×6-inch print, as a replacement for “Free (From Shoes, Expectations, and Toothpaste),” which will no longer be available for purchase. I mean, if you really fucking love the old one for some reason, I still have a few prints, so hit me up and I’ll sell you one, but the new one is much cooler and easily available in the webstore.

And seeing as it’s December 12th, let’s go ahead and throw out a promo code for Christmas and Hanukkah. Use the promo code CH1320 to get 20% off any order, now through the end of Hanukkah (the last day of which is January 2nd). Cool? Coooooool.

As always, thanks for reading.

The elephant in my brain

October 17, 2024

Revisiting “Adventures Per Minute,” I felt compelled to write an addendum because I don’t love the way that it ends. After writing much of it though, I realized that these were words I’ve had in my head for years, as I continually postponed writing my statement for “Things You Can’t Come Back From.” Rather than simply tack on to a ten year-old blog entry though, I decided to give this its own space. Here it is.

APM addendum

I’m very tempted to remove (or at least change) these last two paragraphs [which are about a sexual experience involving some very aggressive role-playing]. That feels dishonest though. It would be disingenuous. Because I don’t actually think there’s anything wrong with them; I’m just afraid of how they might influence strangers’ perception of me. And I shouldn’t let that corrupt or influence my art.

I would never actually sexually assault or hurt someone, nor would I get off on it. It would make me physically sick. There’s a difference between playing pretend and reality.

I’ve always felt confident that my willingness to share all the darkest, most private parts of my self (through my art and writing) would be all the evidence anyone would need to know exactly what kind of person I am. Sometimes emotionally erratic, occasionally petty or spiteful but – above all – deeply sensitive, empathetic, and caring. Vulnerable to depression and hopelessness, but – just as often – filled with joy and light, ridiculously silly, generally optimistic, and too trusting for my own good.

If there are people in the world who want to believe otherwise about me, that’s their business – not mine – and I can’t let my fear paralyze me. Not anymore. I already lost nearly eight years of my life to that. It’s time to be brave and that means living (as I did back when I made “Adeventures Per Minute”) with my whole truth. Sharing everything, hiding nothing. That’s what made my work powerful (and popular) in the first place – even if it did eventually hurt me.

As mentioned up top, it occurs to me that much of what I just wrote is part of what I’ve been putting off as I continue delaying the writing of my statement for “Things You Can’t Come Back From.” It’s been six months now since I’ve been clean and making art again, and I’m starting to feel a little steadier. I recently wrote the statement for “Sorry for Overdosing in Your Bathroom” (another one I’d been putting off for similar reasons). But “Things You Can’t” is on a whole other level. That painting is about the single most traumatic episode of my life. I’m committed to finally writing its statement soon. Absolutely before the year’s end. (I will tell the whole story). In any case, I really only mention this (1) as explanation for why this addendum kind of dances around something without fully addressing it; and (2) for the very trivial reason of: Please don’t be annoyed with me if some of what you’ve just read gets repeated, whenever I do write/publish the blog entry for “Things You Can’t.”

In closing, a quick acknowledgment: I want to thank everyone who’s stuck with me. Not only through the years of relapse and inactivity, but through that life-shattering event in 2015. I won’t even try to describe the nightmare of that experience; just know that your trust in me and your continued support means more than I could ever put into words. I did not get it from everyone. Without you, there’s not the slightest chance that I would still be breathing today.

She’s Cut with Xylazine

October 4, 2024

“She’s Cut with Xylazine” 9/29/2024. Acrylic paint. 24×20″

My next painting was “pre-purchased” before it was started. The only request was “could it please be one of the journal heavy paintings?” That was a bit of a problem. My journals from August are so boring. I was really happy and complacent. They are not interesting. Really just a collection of “here’s what I did today” entries. Because “she” and I were spending every day together. She’d signed a lease on a studio apartment just one block from mine. I’d held to the idea that we shouldn’t move in together right away. That we should take it a little more slowly and cautiously. But we were having such a great time together. Even when my grandpa was in the hospital, she came with me every single day and was so good and kind and supportive. Two days before she was set to move in, I asked, “how often are we gonna do overnights together?” “Every night,” she said. I still thought it was important that we have our own apartments, but why wouldn’t I want to go to sleep every night and wake up every morning next to her? That she wanted the same made me very happy.

She’d always been the partner in the relationship who loved more. She was more in love with me than I with her. But she was so insecure when we met that she never really let me fall all the way in love with her. And then I was on drugs. Our relationship dynamic was a natural consequence of those two things. But now, totally clean, I was excited to be equally in love with her and not take her for granted at all. It made me very happy to show someone that kind of love.

The day before her move she said she was scared. I’ll cut to the chase. She didn’t move. And then she changed her mind. And then she changed her mind about changing her mind. And that cycle went on until the apartment was gone and she’d burned through all the money that’d been set aside for her move. She was stuck and I was tired of being dicked around. I blocked her number. (This is the very short version. What she actually put me through after the first failure-to-move was both agonizing and agonizingly drawn out).

My painting would get PLENTY of journals now.

I know it makes me sound like a FUCKING PSYCHOPATH but it makes me ANGRY that we’re not together.

SO MANY lost experiences that should have been shared. [Every time I see something that makes me smile, I want her to be there with me – or I at least want to tell her about it. I want those to be her smiles too. But she’s out of the picture now. We don’t share anything].

A friend of mine died this week.

Her circumstances were remarkably similar to this person I’m writing about. Trapped in a bad situation. Paralyzed by fear. Using substances incredibly recklessly to cope. When she could have just walked away. But she didn’t want to admit defeat. She’d tried a new kind of relationship – if she broke up and moved out, it would be another failure. (SO WORRIED about how other people see us, ready to literally die first; talk about tragic and pointless).

I was talking to another friend after we learned of the death. She was having a hard time but said it was made easier by the fact that people in her life depend on her. “Gotta keep going for them. Simple as that.” It reminded me very much of where this next journal (written a couple weeks ago) goes.

I’m not trying to be all melo-fucking-dramatic but what’s the point? What good reason is there to not kill myself? [It’s so hard to even get my thoughts in the right order].

I know she loves me and yet we’re not together. I know I make her happy in a way no one else ever has or maybe ever could. And she makes me happy.

The thought of even trying to find someone else seems so fucking stupid. How could I ever love anyone else as much as I love her?

She will come back to me eventually but can I even take her back then? If I let her take me for granted, she will take me for granted. And it won’t 

work out. She’ll never be happy in a relationship where she feels like she has all the power, or where her actions don’t have consequences. Is she too broken for it to even work out anyway?

I’m not sure there’s anything in the world that I love doing enough purely for its own sake that it’s enough to make me happy without her. Making art makes me happy but not enough that… 

FUCK! I’m so lost.

If I’m with her, I have the drive to be more successful. If I’m not with her, I need the drive to be more successful or else I’ll never be happy.

If I have her, I’m willing to do what I need to do to make money off my art more aggressively. Because then it’s for something. But if it’s me alone, who cares about making any more than I need to live?

It hurts to love someone so much and not be able to have them. I made it too easy for her. Maybe disconnecting is what I needed to do to get through to her. That feels like a “game” but maybe that’s what it takes with her.

What I need to do is just be patient, let whatever happens happen, not stress about her or about not being in a relationship, and just do my best whether it’s for her, someone I don’t know yet, or [duh] myself. It’s just so hard to be totally self-motivated AND – let’s face it – I’m just always starved for love, attention, and validation.

The next section of text in the painting is the “untitled prose poem” that I shared last month. It’s heavy on the kind of SALACIOUS stuff that generates clicks. It’s also really honest because it wasn’t written with a mind of it ever having an audience. It was maybe a letter that I was going to send, maybe just for myself. Click this link and it’ll open in a new window. Then you can come back here.

My dreamgirl versus THE LIE SPIDER…

“My dreamgirl” is a phrase I used in a letter I wrote to her. I’m not going to share it here (because it was private and) because I don’t want to romanticize this relationship right now. And – at the risk of TOOTING MY OWN HORN – the letter is VERY romantic) “I read it everyday,” she once told me.


BUT… (next journal from the painting):


Maybe I’m not in love with you. Maybe I’m just in love with the idealized version I have of you in  my head. Maybe I shouldn’t have to make so many excuses for you. Maybe the fact that all of this is so “complicated” and requires so many explanations to make sense – maybe that tells me everything I need to know. Maybe I should believe you when you show me who you are. Maybe actions speak louder than words. I like to pride myself on my ability to see through your lies and get the truth out of you, but maybe I’m still not getting the whole truth. Maybe you’re just as dishonest with me as you are with him and I’m a bigger sucker than I realize. I don’t really think that’s true but it’s probably more true than I want to believe. You didn’t earn your nickname for nothing. You are the LIE SPIDER.

And she really is. The nickname goes way back. It wasn’t even really derogatory, just matter-of-fact. Because she will lie about anything. She will lie when the truth is fine. And then she has to tell another lie to cover the first lie. And then another. And eventually there’s a whole complicated web of lies to keep track of. “You are a lie SPIDER,” I’d once told her in a moment of (good-natured but nevertheless) exasperation. The name stuck because it would earn its relevance again and again with every new web of lies.

I was thinking about how much clean time I have now,

how little I’m tempted by drugs (not at all), and how this situation with her (everything before, plus now having her blocked from contacting me) was so much like a withdrawal. And how I was having such a hard time with it. How “relapse” was so tempting to me. I could easily have her back in the same way I’d had her before. She still wanted me. She just wasn’t willing to do what I needed her to do for her own sake – for her own well-being and happiness. But if I was okay with a sick girl, that was still on the table. But I don’t want a sick girl. I want a healthy, happy life with a healthy, happy partner. I started to journal about it when I hit on something. 

She’s the drug I can’t stay away from.

I need to think of her like I’d think of heroin. I can’t afford to relapse. Just one time runs the risk of pulling me back in and starting the cycle all over again.

It’s easier staying clean now that heroin doesn’t exist anymore and all the fentanyl is cut with xylazine. Shooting up isn’t comforting in the way it used to be. It’s not the easy, stressless escape that she still is. I still love the way she makes me feel. Ooooo – shit. But that’s the thing. I love the way she used to make me feel – or could make me feel IN THEORY. But the reality of the situation is that she’s so broken right now that she just makes a mess of everything and leaves me feeling worse. Just like the drugs would. It’s like SHE’S CUT WITH XYLAZINE. She’s THE GIRL CUT WITH XYLAZINE. She’s necrotic.

God damn – that’s a PERFECT metaphor. “Until they get the xylazine out” (of her), she’s too overloaded with poison to serve any purpose. She should be avoided at all costs. No good can come from her.

[Very quickly, xylazine is an inexpensive veterinary tranquilizer mixed (or cut) into opiates to increase volume and, consequently, profit. It doesn’t provide a euphoric high; it simply knocks the user out. The real issue though is that it rots the skin off your fucking body. Xylazine has completely infected America’s illicit opiate supply].

That really crystallized it for me.

For the next week, I was able to focus entirely on my work, get a ton done, and just generally be in a better mood. The drugs I was addicted to don’t exist in the same way anymore. And the girl I was in love with doesn’t exist in the same way anymore.

That said, I’m not gonna pretend that I’ve totally gotten her off my mind (in the way I have with drugs) or that I don’t still secretly hope that something will change and she’ll become “xylazine-free,” but – at least until that happens – it’s made it much easier to not be consumed by her or to get pulled back in to her shitty cycles of destruction.

Part of me still feels like I need to be there for her. I really do worry that she may die. But I did everything I could to try to help her. And she wasted my efforts and then I did it again. And again. And again. If something happens, I’ll be fucking furious (and devastated) but not at myself. For me to continue trying right now would be insane. She’s got to want to get better herself. She’s got to take at least one step on her own. And I’m not saying what would or wouldn’t happen at that point or what I would or wouldn’t do, but that doesn’t matter anyway. I. can’t waste my energy trying to predict or plan for something that’s totally out of my control (and may never happen). I can’t help someone who refuses to be helped. It’s not selfish to worry about, to prioritize me. To take care of me. (SOMEONE HAS TO). And the other people in my life that I care about. I’ve got enough on my plate without taking on XYLAZINE PROBLEMS.

all images on the site are fairly low-res but click/tap for a larger image with somewhat clearer details. for a truly high-resolution image, BUY THE PRINT 😜


Hey! I finally set up a webstore to sell prints! You can buy your very own 14×11-inch “She’s Cut with Xylazine” print today! Not only will you get a beautiful, provocative piece of art for your home, but I’ll get to continue sleeping indoors!

Thanks so much to everyone who supports my work. Whether you buy, share on social media, drop a comment, or even just take the time to read this stuff, I can’t express how much it means to me. I couldn’t do this in a vacuum. You all are what keep me going.

And speaking of “keep me going,” I now have FIVE MONTHS CLEAN off any/everything again! Time flies when you’re an emotional basket case!

Common Denominator

September 18, 2024

“Common Denominator.” 8/12/24. Acrylic paint and pigment ink. 8×10″.

We all know people who refuse to take responsibility for their problems. Anything wrong is always someone else’s fault. I don’t think I’m guilty of this, but a recent set of incidents gave me cause to reflect. 

Two spats with friends but, in both cases, I was confident I’d done nothing wrong. When CONFLICT #3 happened though, I knew I needed to examine my part in it. After all, I’m the COMMON DENOMINATOR. It must be my fault, right?

And, generally speaking – usually – I think that’s true. If a person is repeatedly having the same issue with different people, it’d be pretty unbelievable if they weren’t responsible for those issues. So I set my hurt feelings and anger aside for a moment and went back over everything that had happened. But I couldn’t get there. I genuinely didn’t believe that my actions were the root cause of the problem. “Y’know what the real common denominator is here?” I thought to myself, “It’s that these people are immature, insecure fucking diaper babies, incapable of having a conversation about their feelings and actually working through (something that shouldn’t even be) a problem.”

That felt pretty shallow though (TRUE AS IT MAY BE) – to be placing the blame in that way. It also wasn’t lost on me that if my friends suck, that definitely says something about me as much as it does them.

It’s long been a point of pride that I have so many, decades-long friendships. I felt it spoke to my character that I maintained so many relationships for so long. But there’s a reason that’s uncommon. Human beings aren’t really capable of maintaining deep, meaningful relationships with too many people. We’re lucky if we can manage as much with our family, a partner, and maybe a friend or two. No matter what Facebook tells you, no one has hundreds or even a dozen friends. What we actually have is friendly acquaintances. People we have affection for but aren’t consistently, intimately involved with. We might be there for one another when needed, but until those moments happen, we’re just hanging out. It’s not very deep.

My problem was that I’d confused acquaintances for friends. We’ve been on good terms for decades but we don’t really know each other. We’re not committed to one another’s well-being in any serious way. I’d presumed an understanding of one another, thought we had shared values, and expected them to behave consistently with those values. I treated these people as I would treat actual friends and made the mistake of expecting that they would do the same. That’s on me.

Real friendships aren’t unlike marriages; they’re tested by conflict and are only as meaningful as their commitment to finding solutions. If someone doesn’t care enough to resolve a problem (or doesn’t have the emotional maturity to) that makes for a weak relationship and not much of a friendship.

Friendly acquaintances can be fun, rewarding, and even ultimately become real friendships. But unless one does, I need to keep it in the proper perspective and not be emotionally invested in something shallow. I’m grateful for the meaningful relationships I do have – which are more than enough to occupy my attention and energy.

Hey, YOU! I count on your support! The original “Common Denominator” painting has already been sold but limited-edition 8×10” prints are available for purchase. As always, each one is beautifully-packaged, hand-numbered, and personally signed by YOURS TRULY. Buy one and help KEEP THE DREAM ALIVE.

If you haven’t yet read my SALACIOUS prose poem from a week or so ago (OR EVEN IF YOU HAVE), because it wasn’t already embarrassing enough, I made it into a video. And because THAT’s not embarrassing enough, I specifically made it into a TIK TOK video. Go watch it. And follow me on there. My understanding is that that’s where all the KIDS AND MONEY are these days, so I need to build a FOLLOWING.

https://www.tiktok.com/@sammythrashlife/video/7416041826924170542

untitled prose poem

September 8, 2024

I wrote a stream-of-consciousness prose poem. It doesn’t have a title. It may or may not find its way into the painting I’m working on right now. It’s about the girl who says she can’t live without me – and the guy that she rebounded with when we broke up – who she’s still living with because she’s too piss-scared of change to crawl out of her rut.

If you’re going to cling to a safety net
Could you at least choose one that’s less pathetic?
A chronic masturbator, jerking off in his car
Into socks that he lets pile up in the back seat…

I know you like having someone you know will never leave you
Or hold you accountable for anything
But how about a chronic masturbator
who jerks off into tissues that he throws away?

‘Cause it’s embarrassing having to try to explain
Why we’re not together
Even though you’re in love with me
That this is a tough choice for you
DOES NOT REFLECT WELL ON ME

I think you’re afraid to be in a healthy relationship
Which is why you never leave the bad ones
I know you’ll try to come back to me
(Because you’re still trying)
But I know you’ll try harder
You will eventually make a real effort
But even if I took you back for real
And we made a real go of it
I don’t think you’d stick around
Because you wouldn’t be comfortable
With someone who makes you happy
With someone you like fucking
With someone who loves you
And dotes on you
You’re too used to neglect
And alienation
And watching TV on separate couches
And sleeping in the same bed
Without ever making physical contact

It breaks my fucking heart
How scared you are
How broken you are
How much fun we have
How much love we have
Until you self-sabotage
So I pull back
And you go back
To living alone
In a house with someone else
Where you drink
And cry
And are always sick
And never happy
Until we reconnect again
And you start to heal
And start to love
And start to smile
And laugh
And everyone can see how happy you are
And how in love we are
Until you fuck it up all over again
And the cycle goes on

I’m too old now
To be wasting time repeating the same mistakes
I’m ready to be happy
It breaks my heart
That it won’t be with you

Because you’re everything I want
You’re my dream girl
I can’t imagine
Being more attracted to
Having more fun with
Having better sex with
Sharing more love with
Anyone else
You’re perfect
Except for that one little thing
Inside of your brain
That nullifies everything else
That makes it all worthless
Because it’ll never work
Because you’re too afraid
to just let yourself be happy

And you hate yourself so much
You can’t believe anyone could really love you
Unless there’s something wrong with them
So you stay stuck in your rut
With someone that you know you at least have control over
Because he’s the personification of a wet paper bag
Except that wet paper bags
Don’t get drunk and watch Andrew Tate videos
Or have a dozen jizz-crusted socks in the backseat of their car
You can cheat on him
(And show him videos of you cheating on him)
Show him what it looks like when you’re with someone else
Who you actually love
And actually fuck
And enjoy it
You can scream at him
You can say awful things to cut him down
To make him feel totally worthless
You can be cruel
Because you resent him
Because he doesn’t make you happy
And he’ll just take it
And resent you
But never leave
Just sulk
And get drunk
And text you Andrew Tate videos

That’s the life you’re choosing
That’s what you’re afraid to let go
It’s a tragedy
A genuine fucking tragedy
Because unlike the movies
This won’t have a happy ending
Unless you make it happen
And I don’t think you can

Update from two days later (Tue, Sep 10): The same day that I wrote this (but before I’d posted it) I got a phone call from someone on this girl’s behalf. I was told that she’d been looking at keepsakes of her father (who died a little over a year ago) and had come to the realization that she didn’t want to waste one more single day of her life living without me. I was asked to please call her and hear her out. I was skeptical when she gave me all the usual lines. She was going to officially break it off with that guy and let him know that she was moving out at the end of the month. She also told me she’d already found a couple of prospective apartments. She begged me to believe her and give her another shot. I told that, frankly, I didn’t believe her but that she could come over. So that night, she asked me to pick her up. When I told her I was outside, she told her sockboy (actually, we usually call him “Lumpy” but his real name is Brett) that she was going to the kitchen for a glass of water, but instead came out and got in the car. She stayed the night and – when I dropped her back off the next day – she said she was gonna tell Lumpy the truth about everything when he got home from work and that she’d call me the next morning to come pick her up so we could spend the day together.

Instead, she texted me just to say, “I’m an idiot.” I called to ask what that meant (as if I didn’t already know) and she said that she’d only gotten as far into the conversation with Lumpy to say that things weren’t working out, but hadn’t been able to muster the courage to tell him the full truth about her and I, or that she was planning on moving out. I asked if she was still planning on moving out and – oh so predictably – she said she didn’t know. Said she needed “time” to figure it out. Even though I had already been giving her all the time and space in the world and she reached out to me (as always) to once more say she was certain now.

So I’m cutting off communication again. And hoping that’s the last time I get dragged through that same cycle. I could make excuses for why I keep letting it happen or explain what I think needs to happen for me to stop but I’ll just leave it at that for now.

Oh, wait – one more thing. Remember the part where I mentioned that she sent Lumpy a video of me fucking her in order to hurt his feelings? While drunk, he told her that he had kept the video. Because he jerks off to it. Probably while sitting in his car. Into a sock. That’s probably still lying in his back seat. What a champ. Cheers, Brett Riddick. Or Reddick. Or whatever the fuck your name is. If anyone ever has cause to Google your name one day, I hope they find this page.

SECOND UPDATE!: This poem is now also a TikTok video because 🤪.

The Boy Nobody Wanted Wins the Super Bowl

July 31, 2024

“The Boy Nobody Wanted Wins the Super Bowl” 7/26/24. acrylic paint. 36×36″.

“Stick with me and I’ll pay off someday.”

That’s a lyric from The Copyrights’ “Keep Me in the Dark.” It’s one that’s resonated with me since it was released fifteen years ago. 

I have a lot of core beliefs about myself and all but one of them are negative. The one, good one is that I’m smart. I’ve been told and I’ve seen objective proof of it all throughout my life, going back as far as I can remember. Because of that, I always believed growing up that I’d be successful no matter what. Even when I was in high school and totally fucking off and getting terrible grades. Even when I got fucked up the night before SATs and blew them off by not showing and never rescheduling. I still believed on some level that I’d wind up at a prestigious college. And sure enough – despite a total lack of financial support or connections of any kind – I finished my education with a Juris Doctor at Georgetown Law. Granted, I did eventually start working hard to earn that when I was at a community college, but still.

That kind of positive reinforcement – that I’m always going to succeed (eventually) – might not have been the best thing for me. It hurts to admit it but I’ve been through quite a few relationships since “stick with me and I’ll pay off someday” and – quite arguably – I have not. Not in a financial sense anyway. Not for good. Maybe here and there. Certainly not now.

I am “the boy nobody wanted” (as far as I’m concerned). Whether or not I’m going to “win the super bowl” (in the sense alluded to by the preceding paragraphs) remains to be seen. And it’s the subject of some controversy in my life at the moment. (That is to say, the question of whether or not I can support a family or even myself). But in another, more immediate sense, I have won the super bowl.

I don’t generally like to borrow from other people’s art, but I made an exception in the case of this painting.

Bart Simpson is trying to be a part of his family’s Thanksgiving. He’s also arguably trying to be the center of attention but the key fact is that he wants to participate. And in doing so, he accidentally destroys an elaborate centerpiece that Lisa had made for the family’s Thanksgiving table. His parents scold him. His mom says he’s “ruined Thanksgiving.” He’s sent to his room. Feeling that he’s the victim of a great injustice, he declares that he doesn’t care about or need his family and he sneaks out his bedroom window.

After a day out in the city on his own, he returns home and imagines the reception he’ll get. Even though his family has been worried sick about him and just want him safely back home, Bart imagines walking in the front door only to be chastised and shamed further. Again, he responds to (what he perceives as) his family’s rejection of him by declaring that he doesn’t need his family but – having nowhere else to go – he climbs up onto the house’s roof. Once up there, he finds a trove of forgotten toys. Balls, frisbees, water rockets, and more that were lost when they went too high and got stuck on the roof. He’s thrilled and begins playing by himself. Tossing a football into the air and running to the other side of the roof to catch it, he shouts (as the balls lands in his hands), “The boy nobody wanted JUST, WON, THE SUPER BOWL!!!” Bart is achingly self-conscious, feels unloved – tolerated at best – and alone. But in this moment, despite all that, he’s found a little bit of joy.

That’s how I felt as I painted this. I can’t even express in words how I felt many times in the last few weeks as I worked on this piece. Taking a step back and examining my work, I was filled with such joy. Pride. Really, a kind of awe. I love the way this painting looks and that was the case for much of the process. Often enough, it’s quite some time before I start to really like the way one of my pieces looks. But so many little, inconsequential details that (I’m sure) very few people will ever even notice in this painting, made me so happy. The contrast between two neighboring swaths of color. The expression on one of my little “creatures’” faces. The pattern in some area. The texture of a background. These things delighted me.

It’s always great when someone else appreciates my art but I’m so grateful that I’m my own biggest fan. That I’ve found something that can make me so happy. And that it’s something that I make myself. It doesn’t exist without me. That’s a pretty great feeling.

Rejection – even just perceived rejection – hurts, for sure. And on some level, I always have and always will feel like “the boy nobody wanted.” And so far as the rest of the world’s concerned – yeah – I’ve not won anything close to a super bowl. But I also know that all the financial or material success in the world won’t fix that feeling in me that I’m “the boy nobody wanted.” Money’s not gonna make that go away. But so long as I can get a few wins – even alone, up on my roof – hey, things could be worse.

“Keep Me in the Dark” by The Copyrights – referenced at the beginning of this blog entry.


Check it out! 👆 The webstore is up and running, which means it’s now easier than ever to support YOUR FAVORITE ARTIST 😜 and get your very own, limited-edition print. Check the product page for more info or just browse through the whole shop.

In a RARE TWIST(!) though, the original painting hasn’t yet sold. (At least not as of the time of this writing). Contact me if you’re interested. 😎

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