The World Revolves Around Me

April 30, 2025

Some days, I feel like I have such a grip on my emotional well-being, that it’s maybe a little disingenuous to still promote my artwork as I do – like it’s the product of mental illness. Earlier today though, after becoming upset, hitting myself in the head twice, committing an act of vandalism, undoing it before anyone would notice, running off, pulling off the road to get out of my bus and journal on the side of the road, and then starting to cry… well – it just might be possible that I CONTINUE TO EARN the right to market myself as a fucking basketcase. There’s a lot more I could say about all that but I think it’s better left ’til it’s not so fresh.

I finished my newest painting on Sunday but, for today’s blog entry, I’m reaching WAY BACK to finally tell the story of one that I finished a decade ago. It’s one of those classic feel-good stories of self-destructive behavior, self-harm, compulsive sex, substance abuse, and criminal charges. I HOPE YOU LIKE IT.

“The World Revolves Around Me.” 8/21/15. Acrylic paint. 4×4′.

There are two blocks of text in this painting. One written before Wallis and I split up, one after. The first reads:

When I finished writing and crawled into bed with her, the bad feelings melted away in an instant. I had to wake her to tell her how much I loved her. She was sweet and affectionate and cuddly – nothing like the girl that had fallen asleep in that bed an hour prior. In the morning, she’d remember none of it. Turns out she’d stolen more Seroquel than I’d found. (Which explains how fucked up she was). I found a second razor on the floor, mangled. “What’s the story here?,” I asked as I displayed it. “Oh – I must have chewed it up, trying to get the blade out.” I guess that explains the blood in her mouth.

Wallis was a cutter. The worst I’ve ever known. If she drank too much, she’d get depressed, find a razor blade, and fuck her shit up. And not that straight across shit; I’m talking up-and-down vertical cuts on the wrists and arms. After one of those incidents, she’d agreed to quit drinking.  Shortly thereafter, we were in Miami and I dropped her off to spend the day with her mom. I knew her mom liked to drink so I called ahead and told her: “Wallis isn’t drinking right now. It’s been causing her serious problems. Please don’t encourage her to drink with you.” When I picked her up that night, she was drunk, which frustrated me but – she seemed okay, so I didn’t make a big thing out of it. I drove, she sat in the passenger seat and told me about her day. And then (I forget why, but) I turned on the dome light for a moment. I looked over and found that as she’d been casually telling me about her (admittedly, not wonderful) visit with her mom, Wallis was sitting there, blade in hand, quietly cutting away and fucking COVERED in her own blood. It was fucking brutal. Like, over-the-top horror movies levels of blood.

Even years later, I’ve heard Wallis describe the time we spent on the road together as the best part of her life and the most fun she ever had. I’d helped her get off hard drugs so she was clean for the first time in her adult life and we were traveling the country, chasing my art dreams, doing whatever the fuck we wanted. In spite of what I’ve just told you, it really was great a lot of the time. Just not all the time. In addition to the on/off drinking, she’d sometimes steal my psych meds for an extra buzz. I think there were two main issues that contributed to our problems.

(1) Our everyday lives revolved entirely around what was happening with me.1 It was all about where I had exhibits and opportunities and making my career happen. We had a lot of fun but – a lot of the time – I was working/painting and she was just left to read or play on her phone or whatever she could do to occupy her time. We were constantly on the move so she couldn’t exactly get a job and, any place that we went, if she had friends, they were my friends first. It wasn’t really possible for her to have her own life. I think she needed more. She needed something to give her her own sense of purpose and fulfillment. 

(2) We were wildly in love with one another but that didn’t solve my self-esteem issues. When I met her, I was in a pretty wild phase of promiscuity. I’d always gone from one long term relationship to the next, but I’d broken up with Heather when I decided to “take my show on the road.” When I met Wally, I was single, doing really well with art, and was meeting a lot of girls who (at the risk of sounding arrogant) really were throwing themselves at me. A few times, I had girls (that I’d never met before) walk up to me at an event and directly tell me that they wanted to fuck me. Like, right then if I’d be so kind. I’d always done alright with girls but this was new. It was not in line with my PREVIOUS EXPERIENCES. It went to my head. It fucked with my ego. I don’t think it was good for me.

I definitely grew up in a culture and a scene where my value was measured by how many girls I’d slept with and which girls I’d slept with. That’s been a hard thing to shake over the years. It took me a while to get to a high enough number that the number didn’t seem to matter anymore but, still, I had this feeling like, “If I sleep with this girl, then I’ll be good enough.” But that was, of course, not true. It didn’t matter if I’d slept with [insert hot girl here] if I wasn’t still regularly sleeping with other hot girls. And that’s SO FUCKING STUPID. It’s embarrassing. Wallis had been one of the girls that I saw that way. Before I fell in love with her, I was SUPER EXCITED TO FUCK HER. And I still really liked fucking her. The sex was great. AND I WAS IN LOVE WITH HER. Deeply in love with her. That should have been enough but it wasn’t. So I was still on Tinder, still flirting with other girls, and still sleeping with other girls. My philosophy had been, “So long as she doesn’t know, it doesn’t hurt her, so there’s no harm.”

But she fucking knew. She knew everything. She was regularly reading EVERYTHING ON MY PHONE. And it deeply hurt her. 

To my credit, when she finally told me that she’d known all along – and I finally understood just how much it was hurting her – I did stop. I stopped cheating. And I haven’t cheated on anyone else since. (And to her discredit, she fucked one of my best friends while I was working one day. But (1) that’s a whole other story, (2) I didn’t find out ’til years later, and (3) can I really blame her when she knew that (often enough) when I was out “working,” I was also sometimes out fucking? No, I don’t think I can).

In any event, we eventually decided to split up, at least temporarily. She’d go back to Jacksonville, I’d continue on as I had been and the tentative plan was that we’d give our relationship a second shot down the line (ideally, once I was established/successful enough that I wasn’t living on the road, traveling the country and scouting new galleries to show my work).

Switching gears/elsewhere in my life, ever since I’d started my whole touring-the-country to build my art career plan, it’d become really tough to get my Adderall prescription every month. At the time, monthly in-person visits were required for an Adderall ‘scrip, so – in every new city, I had to find a new doctor. I’d call every doctor I could find and it was a regular issue that the soonest anyone could book an appointment for a new patient was weeks away – often further away in time that I even planned to stay in that city.

On one of my stops back in Sarasota, I’d filed a Marchman Act in an effort to get Chris Spillane off drugs. Afterward, my friend Abby asked if I’d do the same for her, which I did. When I dropped her off at the treatment facility, she handed me a bottle of Adderall. “Do you want these? I know you take it too and it’s not like they’re going to let me bring it with me.” Yeah, sure – of course. It’d help cover any gaps between getting my own prescriptions refilled each month. 

A few months later, Spillane (who I’d brought on the road with me in my effort to keep him clean) and I were in Chicago. Mike and Dave (of Like Bats) invited us to form a new band with them. We called it Shitty Children and were soon invited to play Awesome Fest in San Diego. After the fest, on the 20+ hour drive back to Chicago, we got pulled over just outside of Normal, Illinois. Mike had been drinking beers. He wasn’t driving but there were empty cans on the floor by his feet. The police separated and questioned all of us. Spillane (GOD BLESS HIM) apparently consented to a search. I wasn’t worried though. I was off drugs and living a good, clean life. I was a positive anti-drug role model. I didn’t have anything to hide. 

And then they found that bottle of Adderall in my backpack and arrested me because I didn’t have proof of my own prescription with me. Despite the longstanding prescription, despite all the positive press I was able to produce to demonstrate that I was a literal poster child for recovery from drug addiction, the prosecutor was determined to charge and convict me. My public defender was useless and, in hindsight, I think if I’d hired my own attorney, I could have gotten it tossed out. But that’s not what happened. I was convinced that, according to the strict letter-of-the-law, I was technically guilty of illicit possession of a controlled substance which meant, if I went to trial, my only hope was a jury ignoring the technical facts of the case and bucking the law to, sympathetically, find me “not guilty.” If that didn’t happen, a conviction carried the risk of a serious sentence. So I wound up accepting a terrible plea deal, wherein I’d be branded a felon for the rest of my life and either serve 30 days in jail or else 2 years of probation.

But it’d be a while before that happened. Even though the arrest was months before I even met Wallis, the case was still dragging out at the time we split.

The second block of text in the painting begins with a vast oversimplification (if not an outright misrepresentation) of why I bought Wallis a ticket back to Jacksonville:

Is it because I gave up on my girlfriend and put her on a plane back to Florida? (A trade-off for new/casual sex). Is it because I’ve felt discouraged and unable to do anything productive or profitable? Is it because I feel crippled by my ongoing legal battle and the likelihood that I’ll be getting a jail sentence this week (or delaying that and continuing on in uncertainty)? This last week, I’ve acted less like I’m self-employed and more like I’m unemployed. I have the evidence to prove I’m successful but I don’t feel that way. I’ve been resting on my laurels (and my bank account) so hard that they both seem to be wearing out. I don’t like this painting but I can’t figure out why. I think it’s because the thought of the immediate future makes me sad. And maybe because I wish I had someone to tell me “it’s gonna be okay.”

When am I gonna win?

Because of my NINE YEAR relapse, it’s taken me a long time to finally get around to writing the statement/story of this piece, so I can only guess at what was on my mind back then that sparked the sentiment behind the title (“The world revolves around me. My world. The only world that matters (to me).” The biggest hint though is the figure with a confederate flag for an eye and rainbow-colored teeth. Confederate flags and monuments were BIG in the news when I was painting this – whether they should still be up at state capitols or whatever. (Which, of course, no – fuck off – they shouldn’t). But I couldn’t help but watch some of the reactions on both sides and just shake my head. YOU ARE GETTING WAY TOO EMOTIONAL ABOUT SOMETHING THAT DOESN’T WARRANT THAT LEVEL OF EMOTION. As much as I think anything confederacy-related is stupid as fuck, I’m not gonna pretend that the little shit-eater in me didn’t also like the idea of super sensitive white people2 being bothered by its presence in my painting. I also just like the contrast of the red and blue with the white stars. (When they’re outlined in black anyway; without the outline (like it is on the actual flag) it’s not even aesthetically cool). But I juxtaposed it with rainbow teeth because (1) I really like rainbow-colored anything and (2) I wanted to balance the conservative thing with a progressive thing. If that bothered anyone on the political-right – well – even better.

More to the point, what I’m saying with this piece is that (without religion) life has no objective meaning. Nothing matters. Or everything matters. Or, more accurately, each thing matters only to the extent that each of us decides. And that value doesn’t transfer between people. I decide what matters to me; you decide what matters to you. The world 100% revolves around me. That’s a fact. But only for me. For you, the world does not revolve around Sam. I hope it revolves around you.  You’re the main character in your story. It’s your world to conquer or surrender to.

I don’t ultimately care about confederate flags and monuments because they’re almost certainly totally out of my control unless i decide to become an anti-confederacy activist, which is not something I’m particularly interested in. I’ve got my opinions on the matter but they’re not important enough to me for me to invest that much of my time or  emotional energy. The Sammy thrashLife News Network IN MY HEAD has 24/7 coverage on the real issues. Issues like my friends, Chris and Abby, falling hopelessly back into addiction and darkness. My efforts to help them get clean.3 Meeting a beautiful, wonderful, funny, fun girl named Wallis and helping her get clean, falling in love with her, and traveling the country. Playing music with my friends in Shitty Children and performing on stage again for the first time in years – a stage that I shared with some of my favorite bands in the world, at one of my favorite fests in the history of punk rock. Making art that I’m FUCKING STOKED on, that helps me work through my issues, makes me happy (USUALLY), frees me from having to work a regular JOB, and gives me a sense of fulfillment and the only kind of genuine self-esteem and confidence that I’ve probably ever known. And then all the other shit – whether monumental or petty, positive or devastating that is worth investing my emotional energy into. AT LEAST ACCORDING TO ME.

That’s my world. Everything else – that shit’s happening in another universe. As much as I’d like to SOLVE WORLD HUNGER or BRING PEACE TO THE MIDDLE EAST, I’ve got one life to live and it takes a lot for me to not fuck it up. I don’t lack empathy, I’m not self-absorbed (okay, that second part might not be ENTIRELY true), but if I’m gonna do any good in this world, I’ve gotta PRIORITIZE, keep focus, and do it where I can have the most impact. A big part of that is this kinda thing right here – what you just read.

I’m gonna have to take that “no more than 12 emails per month” thing off of my mailing list sign-up sheet. It was true when I made it but, AS I GET MORE PRODUCTIVE, these updates become more frequent. It’s totally possible I’ll have another one within a week for that new painting I mentioned (it’s called “The Whole Wide World Can Suck My Dick (but, like, in a Fun Way”). I’m excited to share it with you guys, so keep an eye out.

In the meantime, prints of “The World Revolves Around Me” are now for sale in the webstore. This is also one of the few originals I’ve got that’s not yet sold, so shoot me a message if you’re interested. Or go see it in person. I’m happy to report it’s been accepted for a gallery exhibition that opens next month.

Footnotes:

  1. This is totally unrelated to the actual, intended message of this painting. I didn’t even pick up on the coincidence until writing this statement. [go back]
  2. In my experience, it’s only those who like to be offended on behalf of others, that ever seem to take offense at my art. Anyone who would actually have cause to be personally offended tends to be thoughtful enough to recognize my intent – or at least ask about my intent before they let something bother them. [go back]
  3. Those plans succeeded by the way. Chris is still clean, happy, and healthy to this day. Abby got clean too. Until last year, when she died. The story I’ve been told is that she was still clean but, one night, slipped up and allowed herself to do a line of cocaine at a party. Cocaine allegedly cut with fentanyl. And then she went home, went to sleep, and never woke up. That doesn’t quite make sense to me but I suppose it’s not terribly important. The world’s a little darker without her, regardless of how or why it happened. [go back]

December or whatever

December 14, 2015

I’m pretty sure I left Chicago immediately after writing my last blog entry. We packed up that day and were on the road within 24 hours. We came to Jacksonville, which is mostly where we’ve been ever since.

I started work on the eight by twelve foot canvas that I had been planning since Spring. I set it up in front of Sun-Ray Cinema everyday and work on it with a table of prints set up to sell as I paint.

November turned out pretty well. After not even attempting to make any money the last two months in Chicago, I started to sell a good deal of art and am no longer in the dire financial position that I was in when I left Illinois. My emotional state improved significantly too.

December has been kind of rough so far. I stopped setting up to paint and sell quite as often so I started to make less money and I started to not feel quite as good. December’s Art Walk in Jacksonville was surprisingly bad and the rain at Art Basel pretty much fucked that up too.

I also finally had my first run-in with some idiot who wants to believe that I’m a rapist. Wallis and I were out in front of Sun-Ray and some girl walked by.

Without stopping, she asked, “Hey – didn’t you rape that girl?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yeah you did,” she said, by that point already a ways down the sidewalk, barely within earshot. There was no use trying to argue with her. She (and people like her) don’t care about the truth.

Though I’m not sure exactly what it is that they do care about. Condemning me does nothing to prevent violence or to aid victims/survivors of violence. It’s a showing of support for an anonymous girl that told (or at least went along with) a really disgusting lie. And it hurts me.

There are a thousand things I could write or say in an attempt to convince people that I was innocent. None of that really matters though. There are only two people in the world who really know what happened that night. And though the news stories about the alleged crime are sensationalistic and factually inaccurate, the little bit of information that is publicly available is more than enough to suggest a reasonable doubt.

If someone wants to believe that I’m a rapist in spite of that, their belief really doesn’t have anything to do with me, my actions, my character, or my history.

This isn’t really what I set out to write tonight, when I sat down to write this blog entry. I just wanted to give an update to the people that care about (or take an interest in) me.

For reasons I don’t want to discuss, I’m less comfortable disclosing the more sensitive details of my life right now. (The reasons and details have nothing to do with what I’ve just written about). Suffice to say, in the time that’s passed since my last update, I’ve experienced plenty of highs, lows, and middles, and tonight I’m just feeling very introspective and a little somber.

Here are a bunch of photographs:

piggyback
Me and the girl I love.
Wallis being adorable as fuck in her onesie / footed pajamas (the best money I've ever spent).
Wallis being adorable as fuck in her onesie / footed pajamas (the best money I’ve ever spent).
Our boy, Lukah, also lookin' pretty cute.
Our boy, Lukah, also lookin’ pretty cute.

And here are a series of photographs to show the development of my current work-in-progress. It’s the biggest thing I’ve done thus far (eight feel tall, twelve feet wide) and I’ve been at it for about a month now.

Day 2.
Day 2.
On Day 3, I decided that the canvas needed another layer of gesso, so I lost most of what I had already done.
On Day 3, I decided that the canvas needed another layer of gesso, so I lost most of what I had already done.
Inspired by Lukah's giant green eyes.
Inspired by Lukah’s giant green eyes.
I was pretty proud of myself when the cat body actually came out looking as I'd envisioned it.
I was pretty proud of myself when the cat body actually came out looking as I’d envisioned it.
All of these photos are from out front of Sun-Ray Cinema, which is where I work on this painting most days while I'm in Jacksonville.
: P.
My little buddy, Riley, helped me paint one day. I gave him his own corner and then reworked everything he painted. I'll dedicate a whole blog entry just to that later though.
My little buddy, Riley, helped me paint one day. I gave him his own corner and then reworked everything he painted. I’ll dedicate a whole blog entry just to that later though.
Here it is after I finished all of Riley's stuff (which took forever).
Here it is after I finished most of Riley’s stuff (which took forever).
Late November.
Late November.
After painting nearly everyday for two or three weeks, I don't think I painted at all in the first ten days of December. Here's a picture of the painting from Saturday night though. You can see it's almost filled out but all of the details will probably take me at least another month to finish.
After painting nearly everyday for two or three weeks, I don’t think I painted at all in the first ten days of December. Here’s a picture of the painting from Saturday night though. Even though it’s almost “filled out” some of the stuff that’s in it now will likely be covered up so – between that and all of the time I’ll spend on little details – it’s safe to say that this thing will keep me busy for at least another month.

If you’re in Jacksonville and wanna buy something, meet me, or just see how the painting is coming along, I’m out front of Sun-Ray most days from around noon ’til 10pm or so (unless it’s raining or I’m depressed or… whatever). Come say hi and then go inside and see a movie or get a pizza or something. Right now they’re playing Krampus and Room. Thursday’s the last night for Krampus and then on Friday they’re opening Guy Maddin’s The Forbidden Room and the new Star Wars movie. Oh – and on Thursday night they’re throwing a huge fucking party out back (in the parking lot behind the theater) where they’re gonna be recreating the cantina from Mos Eisley (which, for you non-nerds, is a setting from the original Star Wars movie).

Cool? Cool.

 

I Could Never Love Anyone More Than I Hate Myself

September 19, 2015

"I Could Never Love Anyone More Than i Hate Myself ." 4/30/15. Acrylic paint. 36x36".
“I Could Never Love Anyone More Than i Hate Myself .” 4/30/15. Acrylic paint. 36×36″.

For as much as I talk and write about Wallis, I’ve never really shared the full story of how we first came together. I’ll save the cute elements of the story for later and just give you the important part that hasn’t seemed relevant until now.

When I met Wallis, she was actively addicted to heroin. She was trying to not be on heroin but (like most addicts) she was finding that to be a little tougher than she could handle. We hit it off really quickly but I told her on our very first night together that I couldn’t be around that sort of thing. I told her that if she wanted to continue spending time with me, she couldn’t be using drugs. (I’m way too fucking fragile to not relapse if a pretty girl has a needle and a bag of dope to share with me). She told me she didn’t wanna use. I invited her to go with me on a road trip for a week – up to Illinois and back.

In the course of that trip, we fell in love. Which was a problem because it meant we needed to figure out what we were gonna do to keep her from going back to heroin once we got back to Jacksonville. We decided that she’d need to quit the strip club and get another job (nobody can stay off drugs in that environment – no addict anyway). I told her I’d cover her (financially) ’til she got a new job and then – when it was time for me to leave Jacksonville – she’d quit her new job and come with me. Sound familiar? I did for Wallis the same thing I had done for my best friend, Chris, a year prior. I brought her out on the road with me to keep her off drugs. To show her another kind of life. Like Chris had done, in exchange for “all expenses paid” she’d just help me with my set-up, selling art, whatever. (And like Chris, it pretty much worked. She never used once; not while traveling with me anyway).

When we left Jacksonville, it was for Minneapolis, where I was to be featured in a gallery exhibit. Halfway through the exhibition’s run, we returned to Jacksonville for a week, so I could make CRAZY MONEY at One Spark. On the drive down, Wallis started talking about going to see old friends – friends that she had, historically, used drugs with. I told her that this was a terrible idea. She argued that I needed to have faith in her. I responded that I’d heard that same exact sentence and had this same exact conversation many, many times in the past (with another girl) and that I knew perfectly well how this was gonna end. I told her that if she wasn’t willing to forego the reunion (and the inevitable relapse that’d come with it) that I couldn’t be her boyfriend anymore. One Spark was going to be an incredibly important week for me financially and I didn’t wanna fuck it up by spending the whole time worried about whether Wallis was safe.

She said okay (as in “okay, then you don’t need to be my boyfriend anymore“). There was no hostility or drama beyond that but when we got to Jacksonville, we went our separate ways. Wallis relapsed that very first night (though she wouldn’t tell me until later), but called me the next morning and spent the rest of the week by my side like a lost puppy. On the night before I was to return to Minneapolis, she broke down crying, told me she had fucked up, and that she still wanted to be with me.

And I took her back.

I first had the thought years and years ago – upon hearing Rivethead’s “In My Heart a Warehouse Burns For You.” The last lyric in the song is “I love you just as much as I hate the man.” I’m not exactly the biggest fan of cops or authority figures of any kind but when I’m really fired up and full of hate, there’s only one target it’s ever directed at: me. I still listen to that record (The Cheap Wine of Youth) all the time so the idea of captioning a painting with “I love you just as much as I hate myself” had occurred to me on a couple occasions but I didn’t wanna be derivative.

Then, when I bought Pretty Boy Thorson’s An Uneasy Peace (the final song of which is called “I Love You Even More Than I Hate Myself”) I had a bit of a god dammit moment. That should’ve been mine! The song’s awesome and it doesn’t matter that the lyric is similar to another.

I started thinking about it though – that line – and whether or not it was actually true (for me). I was dating Wallis and I absolutely loved her but did I love her more than I hated myself? I wasn’t really sure. I decided that sometimes I’m afraid that I could never love anyone more than I hate myself. After all, we had weathered the storm of her relapse but I was sabotaging our relationship bit by bit with my low self-esteem [and cheating]. I wrote about some of that anxiety in the bottom-right corner of the painting:

It’s so much harder to travel with a second person. Staying with friends feels like a much bigger imposition and I can’t stay with girls I meet. That’s probably the hardest part. But I love Wallis. (And I really like fucking her). And I think she needs me. I tried to leave her in Jacksonville but it didn’t work out. I hope she’s with me because she really loves me and not just ‘cause she’s scared to go back to “real life.” It if doesn’t work out, it’s probably gonna be because I can’t stop thinking about fucking other girls, which I know hurts her (and is really so selfish and dumb - and even mean - on my part) but really has nothing to do with her. (She’s so fucking hot and sexy and cute and beautiful). It’s just my insecurity and my compulsion to fuck every pretty girl, to prove to the world (and myself) just how fucking wonderful and desirable I am. It’s not helping that girls are throwing themselves at me these days. But I know (or think) that shit won’t make me happy. And in the end, I’m just gonna want someone to love me and I love Wallis.

There’s another, shorter string of text higher up in the painting, similarly inspired by punk rock: “I was listening to that Gateway District song where they sing, ‘I’m always falling way behind and you go on and on and on.’ If only I knew someone like that. Maybe I’d have someone to look to. Everybody I know is struggling. Everyone I know is as hopeless as I am. (Or worse).”

There’s a brighter, happier pair of sentences in the top-left corner – the product of a moment when everything was right in the world. Amazing sex with Wallis and I’m driving to the gallery showcasing my art while listening to “Another Way Out of Here” by The Murderburgers. The thought occurred to me that “nothing in this world makes me happier than an energetic, upbeat song about suicide.” I gave it a second thought. Is that true?  I concluded, “Except (maybe) hitting girls in the face during sex.” I smiled. That’s pretty funny. I’m pretty fucked up. The things that I enjoy are – well – a little odd. This was all well and good at the time. I posted a close-up of that part of the painting online and it was met with positive feedback and just a little bit of “Oh, Sam…” But before I even got the chance to write the statement for this painting (as I am now), that photograph – that caption – would make the rounds on the internet elsewhere and garner a very different kind of response.

You see, when I wrote that, it was about sex with Wallis. Sex which includes light, consensual, fake-violence (or whatever the fuck you wanna call it). Wallis likes getting slapped in the face during sex. And I like doing it. Win-win, right? Well, yeah – until you get accused of a violent rape and the media picks up on the story and uses your art to support the idea that you’re the kind of person capable of violently raping a nineteen year-old girl you just met.

Sitting in jail, I wondered how I was going to break the news to my friends and fans that I had been accused of this horrible fucking crime. I bailed out, Chris Spillane picked me up, and after ten minutes of discussion he tells me, “There’s one more thing we’ve gotta talk about, Sam. The publicity on this story is not good right now.” Publicity? This story? “What the fuck are you talking about?” I googled my name and discovered that I didn’t need to worry about breaking this news to anyone. Some reporter knew or figured out who I was, wrote an article about me complete with images of my art (like the “hitting girls in the face” one) and everyone else picked it up and ran with it. Suddenly, strangers on the internet were talking about how I was the kind of person who PUNCHES girls in the face. I was a scumbag and I was definitely guilty. What the fuck? I’ve never punched a girl in the face! I slap! Playfully! And only with girls that WANT me to!

But none of that mattered. What mattered was that it was incredibly easy to paint me as some kind of violent sexual deviant who had finally gone off the rails and just started violently raping people. Freedom of expression has its fucking consequences apparently. The charges against me have since been dismissed by a judge who (after hearing all of the prosecution’s evidence and the girl’s testimony) ruled that there was no probable cause to believe that any crime had been committed but the evidence in the case isn’t all public yet and I’m still having to deal with (well-meaning) assholes who think I deserve to be castrated for something I never did. At the time of this writing, this is all still incredibly recent so I’m still working out exactly how a person does deal with something like that. (I’ll let you know when I figure it out).

Flashback to five months before that nightmare though – back to when I was still working on this painting (that’d later incriminate me in the court of public opinion). I wrote that I was feeling:

“stuck in a rut. This spot [on the street] isn’t super profitable [for selling prints]. I don’t even wanna write about what else is going on. I don’t want to muddle up this painting that I’m not even happy with. My little sister is killing herself and today I blocked her phone number because I’m tired of her asking for help, not taking my advice, and then texting me updates on her self-destruction that she knows will just upset me. 

I really need the validation of some sales to cheer me up today. If I make less than $100 today, I’m gonna feel super depressed.”

And then – to remind myself what a dipshit I am for worrying about how much I make in one particular day, I added: “I’ve made $7,000 this month.” True as it was, it didn’t really help me feel any better in that moment. I continued writing – about an interaction I had with a guy who stopped to watch me paint:

“Someone asked me yesterday if I really hate myself and why. I had a hard time articulating it [the way that I feel sometimes]. He said he thinks I’m not as unhappy as I let on. I’d do a much better job explaining it to him today: I’M UGLY, PALE, OUTTA SHAPE, MEAN, SHITTY, POOR, FEARFUL, AND IN A CONSTANT STATE OF STARVATION FOR VALIDATION.”

Reading that now, remembering that day – it’s kinda scary. Everything in my life was going so well and I still had this monster inside me, gnawing at my insides, telling me that everything was awful. That I was awful. I’m really grateful that I don’t feel that way about myself all the time. Arguably, my life is way more fucked up now (on account of the VIOLENT RAPE ACCUSATION) but – I don’t know – I feel better today. Maybe it’s because I’ve had to fight this awful thing. Maybe it’s because I’ve had to become stronger. Maybe it’s because enough other people hate me now that I can take a break on the self-loathing. I don’t know. I’m not sure. But after separating in late-June and spending two months mostly apart, Wallis and I are back together full-time. We’re living together in an apartment in Chicago and it’s been really great. And you know what? I love her WAY more than I hate myself. Not just ‘cause I’m not hating myself so much right now but… This girl… After all we’ve been through. After all I’ve done for her and all she’s done for me… Words are insufficient to express my gratitude, affection, and love for her. I’m probably gonna marry her.

And you know what? When it comes to “falling way behind” versus “going on and on and on,” maybe I do a little more of the latter than I allow myself to recognize sometimes. Maybe I do a lot more of it.

HAPPY ENDING.


“I Love You Even More” by Pretty Boy Thorson & The Falling Angels


“Another Way Out of Here” by The Murderburgers


“Waves and Cars” by The Gateway District

“In My Heart a Warehouse Burns For You” by Rivethead

“I Could Never Love Anyone More Than I Hate Myself” is now up in the webstore.

I’m back

September 16, 2015

Yesterday was my first appearance in court since my bond hearing. The judge ruled that there was insufficient evidence to establish probable cause (to believe that a crime was committed). As such, the charges against me were dismissed.

There were a lot of reasons behind the judge’s rationale and (unfortunately) the reporters that covered the hearing failed to note most of them in their articles. I was hoping to get my hands on all of the evidence from the case and share it publicly, here, through my website. I want very badly to clear my name. Unfortunately, I’ve learned that I cannot do as I had planned. Because the state could supersede the court’s ruling yesterday (with a grand jury indictment) this is still (technically) an open/ongoing case.

So – as much as I want to run my mouth, tell the whole story, share all of the evidence – for the time being, I have to continue holding my tongue when it comes to that night.

I will however be getting back to creating art and writing. I’m currently working on a book. I have a painting in-progress. And I’ll soon be sharing new work completed before this whole ordeal started. (I didn’t get much done post-arrest, save for some writing that – as noted – I’m unable to share for the time being).

This has been one of the most emotionally painful experiences of my life. It’s second only to the final (worst) years of my heroin addiction (2011-2013). The media’s coverage of this event shattered my reputation. The punk community has been especially awful in their reaction. (Not the people in the punk community who actually know me and know that I’m not capable of committing such an awful crime but the random internet commenters who feed off of shit and negativity and never actually contribute to our scene). If any of you are reading this: you’re a bad fucking person.

It’s been very difficult as late to focus on the positive things in my life but there are many. Before I was arrested (which was the same day I found out about the accusation against me) Wallis came to New York to spend a week with me. As soon as we saw each other again, we knew we didn’t want to be apart anymore and we resolved to work out the logistics of getting back together. It was just three days after her visit ended that I was arrested but as soon as she found out about the charges against me, she hopped on a plane and moved up to Chicago to be with me. We have an apartment here now and (even though I’m legally free to leave the area at this point) we have a lease and will probably be trying our hands at having a relatively “normal” / stable kind of life for a little while. She’s been a wonderful source of support and I love her very much.

Similarly, in stark contrast to the anonymous know-nothing dipshits that frequent the internet, there have been countless friends, fans, and loved ones that have reached out and lent support of all kinds ever since this started. Whether it was financial help with legal fees, helping me find an apartment, making sure I ate or slept, or just a kind word or two, these people made all the difference in keeping me relatively sane and stable this last month. When that first batch of articles came out (branding me as a rapist) I didn’t know if this was worth the fight. At times, I wanted very much to die. But I didn’t want to go out before my name was clear. I didn’t want people to interpret my suicide as an indication of guilt. So I held strong and kept my head up. If it weren’t for those of you that were there for me, I don’t think I would have survived. In fact, I’m almost certain that I wouldn’t have. Thank you. I got a lot of anonymous hate mail when those news stories broke. A lot of strangers threatening me or wishing terrible things upon me. I’m happy to report that love won out over hate.

There’s still so much that I want to say but – for now – I think I’d better wrap it up. Here’s a picture of Wallis and I outside the courtroom after the judge’s ruling. I wasn’t quite ready for the picture to be taken and am mid-blink but that’s okay. You guys know what I look like when my eyes are open, right?

court

 

My fucked up legal problem

July 5, 2015

In September 2014, I was arrested for being in possession of 40mg of Adderall. Adderall is one of three prescription medications that I take daily. It was first prescribed to me in January of 2005 and I have been on it consistently ever since. My prescribed dosage has ranged from 20 to 40 mg/day.

The Adderall for which I was arrested was in a bottle with my friends’ name on it. She gave it to me when I babysat her for two days, leading up to her entrance into a detox facility (for which I made the arrangements) on account of her problems with crack and heroin. I was happy she offered it to me because – as I travel for my career – it’s not always easy to get my prescriptions renewed on time each month. Finding a new psychiatrist in each new city that I visit can be incredibly difficult. Waiting lists for new patients to get a first visit are regularly as long as two to five months. I’m rarely ever in the same city (or state) for that length of time.

After my arrest, I brought in my pharmacy records, doctors’ notes, as well as newspaper articles and letters from friends and fans, testifying that – not only am I not a drug addict but that my life is built around that very fact and that I regularly help those still struggling with drugs to overcome their addictions.

The prosecuting attorney was not interested in any of these facts. At the time of my arrest, my own Adderall prescription was not current and it didn’t matter how long I had been on the drug or that I wasn’t abusing it in anyway, or that my life, career, and essence are diametrically opposed to drug abuse. I was offered a deal: “complete two years of probation and keep a clean (felony-free) record.”

My lawyer advised that we file a motion to suppress the evidence in the state’s case against me, as I hadn’t consented to the search which yielded the Adderall of which I was “illegally” in possession. If it didn’t work, I could take the deal. The motion failed, as the judge ruled that my friend’s consent (obtained outside of my earshot) was valid for the entirety of the vehicle in which we were traveling.

After that hearing, the prosecution withdrew it’s earlier offer and replaced it with “take the felony conviction on your record and either (1) complete two years probation or (2) serve one month in jail.” I requested a continuance to give the matter more thought. I sent in more records, proving that I had managed to keep my prescription current in the (now) nine months since my arrest; I had more letters mailed in – this time from family and people with whom I’ve dealt in my art career. I hoped this would sway the prosecution to reconsider. They did not.

On Wednesday, I went back to court resigned to accept the jail sentence (as probation would prove too great a hindrance to my career and the travel which it necessitates. Moments before I stepped into the courtroom, I allowed someone’s advice to sway me into choosing probation. I figured that I could serve it in Florida (which is still my permanent legal residence) and I had a few personal reasons to return there that I let myself believe outweighed the importance of career and travel.

It was so ordered. I left the courtroom and went to the probation office to sign up. It was there that I was told that my “residency status” in Florida was insufficient to warrant a transfer of my probation. In fact, I had no residency status sufficient to warrant a transfer anywhere outside of McLean County, Illinois (where my arrest took place). I would have to serve my two years of probation in the middle of Illinois where, needless to say, I would be unable to maintain a career as an artist. (There is no art scene there; there is no market for my artwork there).

I went to speak with my lawyer. “They can’t transfer my probation to Florida,” I told him, “I’ll need to take the jail sentence instead.” “Okay,” he said, “We’ll file a motion to vacate.” “Am I free to leave the county and the state in the meantime?” I asked. He nodded. “Should I go back to the probation office and tell them?” I asked. He nodded.

I went back to the office, told the woman at the front desk, and drove to Iowa City to visit my friends. And then I got a call from the probation office. “Until a judge approves that motion, we’re still legally required to complete your intake for probation,” I was told. “If you don’t come back and complete your intake by Tuesday, you’ll be in violation of your probation and a warrant will be issued for your arrest.”

I called my lawyer but only got his receptionist. He’s yet to get back to me.

I have an outstanding opportunity waiting for me in New York City right now. It’s one of the most important cities for the arts in the world and one that I’ve had on my list since day one. I need to go to New York and capitalize on the opportunity before it’s too late (which would be approximately two months from now). But – at this moment – not only am I unable to pack up and head to New York, it seems that – by Tuesday – I may be trapped back in McLean County for who knows how long.

In spite of this, I remain optimistic but my optimism doesn’t snuff out my anxiety, which is sometimes pretty overwhelming. This level of anxiety is not good for me. The last few days, I’ve caught myself entertaining stupid, self-destructive thoughts.

I won’t give in to them though. I’m going to be okay.

Hopefully, I’ll have a better idea of what’s happening by tomorrow or Tuesday. Wish me luck. (And/or buy some art).

Here’s a picture from the 4th of July party/punk show at the Cedar Falls Skate Park yesterday. I’m the one in the middle, clearly having the most fun, without a care in the world. (I’m actually less of a bummer right now than this picture indicates; I just wasn’t 100% comfortable posing for a photo with a bunch of other shirtless dudes, even if they are friends). I’m awkward. I was never in a frat. Whatever, dude.

Sammy_thrashLife_Cedar_Falls

Naked and surrounded by cops

May 3, 2015

Wallis and I were parked in some lot when three cop cars surrounded us. I’m not gonna say what we were up to just two minutes prior to their arrival (’cause I’m a GENTLEMAN) but I will say that Wallis was still very much naked when they started in on us with their lights and questions.

Anyway, it was a shockingly brief encounter and we both made it out alive and handcuff free. And considering my last run-in with police, just earlier this week (see Facebook screenshot below), I think it’s safe to say that I’m on a god damn trouble-free roll. 

Tomorrow I’m gonna try to set up at/near the May Day Parade and then at the show at Pork Avenue. Monday, I’m super excited to see Unwelcome Guests play at Memory Lanes. My exhibit at Instinct Gallery ends in just a few days. You can read a killer review of the show from The Wake and you can go buy something Tuesday through Saturday between noon and five (and Thuraday ’til 8pm).

More later. I gotta get to sleep.

11/8/14 status update

November 8, 2014

I’ve neglected my blog for so long that it’s hard to know where to start. While anyone who follows me on Facebook is pretty up to date with the gruesome details of what’s going on in my life, here’s the gist of it for anyone who’s not up to speed:

  • I moved in with a girl in Chicago in July. We broke up in August.
  • A day and a half later, I started seeing another girl in Chicago. That lasted three months, until Thursday, when I finally left.
  • I love the girl but the relationship was incredibly dysfunctional and it had me more fucked up, twisted around, confused, depressed, anxious, and suicidal than I’ve been since December 2012.
  • While I’ve neglected writing the statements for my artwork, I’ve still been actively creating new pieces. The lack of updates can be accounted for by (1) not having had the new pieces photographed yet, (2) not having their statements written, and (3) the fact that these new pieces are HUGE and the last two have each taken more than a month to complete.
  • My charges are still pending and still stressing me out but I’m still (sort of) optimistic that some kind of a resolution can be reached – or at least resigned to accept the punishment that’s being offered as part of the plea deal that’s currently on the table.
  • As the weather got colder in Chicago, I saw a dramatic decrease in my print sales when I’d go downtown to set up, paint, and sell. Consequently, my income this last month is lower than it’s been since January, which is stressing me out but not killing me.
  • I desperately needed to get out of Chicago to escape my shitty relationship, so I’m in St. Louis now. On November 22nd, I’ll go to Minneapolis for the Rivethead reunion. On November 24th, I’ll return to Normal/Bloomington, IL for my next court date. From there, I’m not sure what I’ll do but if I have to accept the plea deal, I’ll be put on two years probation and will need to choose a state to serve it out in, since my movement will be restricted and I’ll have to be physically present for monthly check-ups. My art career would warrant that I choose either New York or California but I would probably have to choose Florida for the sake of my mental health, as that’s where I’ve got the most emotional support. In theory, I would be able to apply for travel permits to leave the state for my “job” (for example, to go to Minneapolis for my exhibition in March).
  • When I left Chicago on Thursday, I left without Chris Spillane. It was six months ago that I petitioned the court to have him picked up by police and put into detox and six months since I picked him up from detox and brought him out on the road with me. He now has six months clean, a job, a place to live, and everything else that could be reasonably expected of relatively well-balanced kid of our ilk. When I return to Illinois for my court date at the end of the month, he’ll have the option to rejoin me but I suspect that he’s gonna keep on in Chicago, building up his new life.
  • In September, I started seeing a psychiatrist in Chicago. In October, she put me back on antipsychotic and antidepressant medications (in addition to the Adderall that I’ve been on for ten years). The last time I was on antidepressants was as an inpatient at Tranquil Shores in February 2013. The last time I was on antipsychotics was (I think) as an inpatient at the Wellness Resource Center in February 2012, though I almost went back on them in January 2013.
  • In addition to the psychiatrist in Chicago, I’ve also started meeting once weekly (via Skype or Facetime) with Tracy, my counselor from Tranquil Shores.
  • Anxiety and depression destroyed my appetite the last month or so and I’m skinnier than I’ve been in at least twelve years. That’s good because I have body dysmorphic disorder and being this thin makes me feel good about myself. It’s bad ’cause… I don’t know… ’cause people say it’s bad…?

1182014

I have no idea how this all comes across as a whole but here’s what I think should be the important point to take away from it all: October was a bad month but – here, in St. Louis – I am safe, and cared for, and feeling eight million times better. I am no longer suicidally depressed and though I am afraid of what will happen once I leave St. Louis in two weeks, I am okay and I am once again grateful.

I’m going to spend the day with my current work-in-progress, possibly do some layout work for a new flier or work on written statements for finished pieces, and – tonight – I’m going to go downtown to see Rational Anthem play with The Copyrights and The Murderburgers.

If you wanna buy some art right now, that’d be pretty great.

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