brickwallviews

circling the (lunch) wagon

     "everything happens for a reason"

     -some schmuck

i think it really is a game to him.
count he says count.
he turns the corner to hide.
i close my eyes in vain to count.
down.

one mississippi
two mississippi

her body is warm next to mine.
it is comforting but no comfort.
she has already found him.
he's sly this one.
down.

three mississippi
four mississippi

i wander dark corridors.
shipyards. sinking ships.
loose lips.
dead sheep pile up.
down.

five mississippi...

[exit stage leftist]

the gunners won the inaugural "emirates cup" on sunday. although they are preseason matches wins against paris saint-germain and inter milan are never easy. good stuff lads. not a proper trophy but after a 2 year dry spell, we'll take. rumour has it we may swoop for chelsea middie lassana diara. it would be fitting as he and current young-gunner diaby are set up to be the midfield for team france for years to come and having them at arsenal together would all parties quite pleased. could be just another damned rumour though.
we play team 3rd reich, i mean lazio ss in a tournament in holland starting thursday. no, i do not in fact make nazi references lightly. google lazio ss and read a bit about their history. their captain was recently fined (a second time) for giving the good 'ol sig heil to their supporters after a recent win. their called lazio ss for god's sake, and that frickin' crest (logo) of theirs...? geez! c'mon now!

go in peace my brothers and sisters.

fritz hundertwasser, the 30-day fax picture (1994)

brickwallboy o u t.

i can see clearly now?

"The principle of art is to pause, not bypass. The principles of true art is not to portray, but to evoke. This requires a moment of pause--a contract with yourself through the object you look at or the page you read. In that moment of pause, I think life expands. And really the purpose of art--for me, fiction--is to alert, to indicate to stop, to say: Make certain that when you rush through you will not miss the moment which you might have had, or might still have. That is the moment of finding something which you have not known about yourself, or your environment, about others and about life".

-jerzy kosinski (author of the painted bird)

another rainy saturday in h-town...
kids go to day camp next week at least, so some of the cabin fever effect will subside. we are breaking all sorts of wet month marks in these parts this summer. mosquitos on the bar-b anyone? so anyway, wet or not i am going to build our compost bin and start her up. could be fun.

[lights fade to act two]

he steadies the glass.

sweat drips on the beetle.
warm and salty.
it struggles without real cause.
as does he.

all the days pile atop one another.
summertime without purpose.
without direction.
have trouble will travel.

j giggles and pours more vodka.
the bug smokes with the loss of innocence.
hope is a warm blanket.
tucked away till winter.

which came first.
the boredom or the beer?

[lights fade to act 3]

wherever he plays. THIS shows again why he's the planets classiest athlete.

the gunners host the emirates cup this weekend.
come by, we'll gather around the laptop and take in some footie.

ya'll come back now, ya hear!
brickwallboysayscheerio!

jackson pollock, the deep (1953)

if you're keeping score at home

Thierry Henry 1 game with Barcelona.

Thierry Henry 1 goal with Barcelona.

tissue please.

and you will know me by the trail of twinkies

    “It is not titles that honor men,
      but men that honor titles.”

    -niccolo machiavelli

after patiently (more or less) waiting for the paperback release of david foster wallace's latest opus... ups boy hooked me up! hip hip!
so anyway, just giving it a looksie and noticing one of the (glowing) reviews referred to mister wallace as a "man of letters".

gotta like the sound of that.

man

of

letters.

i have plenty of monikers i suppose.

drunk.
husband.
blogger (sorta).
writer (kinda).
father.
recovering drunk.
artist (on occasion).
appraiser.

so! from this day onward...
i shall ONLY be referred to as:

brickwallboy, MAN OF LETTERS!

or i guess DUMB-ASS works too.

i do like, uhhh... have like, letters in my name and stuff.

out.

extra extra

this just in...

so-called "professional bike racing" is an absolute JOKE!

...and an afront to recreational riders everywhere!

(please refer to the 2007 tour de france)

thank you for your time.

this town is full of dumb reminders

   i'm used to waiting
   what's a voice without a face
   i think i'm dying without you here
   so i drink myself to sleep
   and then i hide beneath the sheet and i try to disappear

   -no use for a name, dumb reminders (2002)

...and here's the actual tune...

you know what i mean.
you lose a girlfriend boyfriend what have you.
a loved one.

and the littlest things remind you of them.

a commercial.
a street sign.
a painting.
a song.

got the kids all ready and tossed then in the car to go to swim camp today.
we got stopped by the cops a train.
i was playing silly dad, joking that we could get a head start and launch off the speed bump and simply jump over the train.
(all the while letting them know the train could squash us like a bug. of course)
so we sit.
and sit.
long ass train man.

my half brother, a doctor in austin.
he lived in far west texas growing up.
my pops and i would go visit.
there was this train track.
we'd head over there and dad would give us pennies.

to put on the tracks.

we would then wait for the train.
that baby would smash those coins flat as hell man.
beautiful.

ever seen a grown man cry at a railroad crossing?

peter paul rubens, daniel in the lions den (1615)

brickwallboyout.

in regards to yellow snow

     "Goodbye Fred: as a friend of mine would probably say, 
      you were fuckin’ excellent".

     -gunnerblog (7/23/07)

yes gooners... freddie ljungberg has left for west ham!
how many heartbreaks can a brother endure in one summer?
no, he was not the player he once was, but he was the last of the "unbeatens"
(see: arsenal 2003, unbeaten in premiership, won fa cup)
9 years of blood sweat and tears for the side!
his experience would have been nice this campaign...
arsene generally has a plan... next couple weeks should be interesting.
search freddies name on youtube and you will find some cracking goals!
the one against juventus! the killer vs chelsea! weep. weep.

we will miss ya freddie... guess we still have those calvin klein whitey tighty shoots to look forward to!

[page break]

par·a·dox [par-uh-doks] –noun 1. a statement or proposition that seems self-contradictory or absurd but in reality expresses a possible truth. 2. a self-contradictory and false proposition. 3. any person, thing, or situation exhibiting an apparently contradictory nature. 4. an opinion or statement contrary to commonly accepted opinion.
[Origin: 1530–40; < L paradoxum < Gk parádoxon, n. use of neut. of parádoxos unbelievable, lit., beyond belief.

johnathan safran foer is the greatest american writer.

johnathan safran foer is the greatest current american writer.

johnathan safran foer is a great american writer.

foer writes a damned fine book!

i have often spoken how some artists, writers, etc produce a work (or many works) that leave one with a sense of, "why bother?"... guy (or girl) nailed it! period. end of interview.

when foer first hit the "scene" with everything is illuminated there was so much said both positive and negative i decided to wait before "digging in".
"genius" "savior of american fiction"
"pretentious windbag" "clever yet lacking"
it pretty much covered the entire spectrum.

so then extremely loud and incredibly close was released to similar extremely pro and con critiques and i nudged forward a bit. clearly intrigued.

but one does not have a lot of time to read when one is busy:

• alienating loved ones
• work a hated job
• getting drunk
• hunting scripts
• scheming next drunk
• further alienating loved ones
• sleeping (read: passing out)

so yea, foer, ahem... uhhh...
dudes fucking brilliant! just brilliant!
beautiful. complex. warm. hilarious.
brilliant i say. period.

johnathan safran foer is jewish.

johnathan safran foer is a vegan.

johnathan safran foer is married to the author nicole strauss

johnathan safran foer has two brothers who are also writers.

johnathan safran foer is america's greatest jewish, vegan, little brother of 2 writers and husband of a writer, uhhh... writer.

i kinda like his work by the way.

that jewish vegan writer guy

brickwallboyout.

patience patients

A critical essay on the intellectual and emotional ramifications on the diagnosis, treatment and follow-up reports pertaining to the long term effects on professionally diagnosed manic depressives (group A) and self diagnosed manic depressives (group B) of chemical imbalance correcting prescribed medications and associated cultural malaise inherent in said medications, and their use:

uhhh... the cat that said, "laughter is the best medicine"...

...never

                                         tried

                     opiates!

sign that the apocalypse is imminent:

william gallas (at left), one of the worlds best defenders
searches with arsene wenger, widely recognized as one
of the top 5 football managers on earth, and two of his
assistants for:

gallas' earring.

his diamond earring.

i shit you not.

glad to see arsenal pre-season training is highly focused.

brickwallboy will see ya on the flipside.

send in the clown(s)

   “I should never have been convicted
    of anything more serious than running
    a cemetery without a license.”

   -john wayne gacy

had me a dream last night.
or was I awake just thinking?
anyway.

coffee?

so my wife took the kiddos to the children's museum.
hobbs interviewed for a job at said museum.
graphic arts.

so of course my wee (read: black as coal) mind gets to turning.

think of it. imagine it.
there i am standing in a long line.
the line runs out the door and wraps around the side of the building.
no, not the friggin' i-phone... stay with me here.
it's hot. raining.
but we passionate fans know it's all worth it.
the curator, though he will eventually be jailed and then later gunned down by an overzealous right-wing soccer mom (who forgot her lithium that morn) will be hailed a hero.
by free speech zealots. by art news. art in america. hustler.

so we stand here knowing how this will play out. waiting. sweating.

i double check that i have my piece.
art piece. sharpie. desire.
check.

so finally i get through the doors of the children's museum.
did i mention children's museum?
and there he is. signing.
smiling as wide as a mum holding her new born babe.

a retrospective. at least 30 pieces. and today a signing.
shit, i'magine he'll sign just about anything.

my turn approaches.

balloon animals are being assembled.
clowns are roaming the building.
distributing candy and the like.

i'm (we are) here to see only one clown.

"pleasure to meet you sir, yes, please...
to brickwallboy, yes yes, that would be fine.
uhh... thanks, thanks a lot. love your work (wink wink).
yes the art is pretty cool to. thanks again.

take care...

mr gacy."

[this publication is (now) on several government watch lists]

[please clear your browser history per your specific web browser software]

*ed. note: the opinions herein do not reflect the management or staff at brickwallviews LLC.

patent indictment pending

bwb o  u  t.

john wayne gacy

siren song of the cricket

   I can't even think of words to match the way I'm feeling
   I don't even think a book could say enough for you
   I can only try my best, to put it in a song I guess
   You try to speak, I know you tell the truth

   no use for a name, for fiona (2005)

kids are basically evil.
well not evil, just honest.
and sick.
well I was a bit anyway.

the clockster and i had a teacher.
8th grade i think it twas.
can't even remember her actual name.
(had a few sips of fire water since then).
her name to us:

cricket mold.

no shit. really.

ya see, she had scoliosis.
deformation of the spine.
curvature if you will.
but it wasn't only that. she stood all of about 4'5" or so. she was quite gaunt, redheaded, pale and mean as hell.

she was cricket mold.

we'd sit there all class long, half listening, mostly drawing comics of fake metal bands
(mine were the alley cats, replete with kiss-inspired costumes).
we had discovered , well, drugs that year. speed mostly.
speckled eggs, black mollies. you get the picture.
a real attentive well behaved lot we were, to be sure.

it never occurs to a dumbass 8th grader, addict in training, that this woman probably was one of the braver humans that would ever touch ones life. likely endured daily torment as a child. stares from nearly every being she encounters. pity. disgust. you name it, she had likely endured it brother.

i mean, no shit, she looked like something out of a tim burton casting call.
but she was a hell of a teacher i seem to recall.
she demanded respect and attention. and she usually got it.
she shared life stories relative to the discussions.
she was hard as hell but fair (as they say).
yea, we were a bunch of wild eyed (speckled eggs, remember?) know-it-alls.
and she took a lot of our shit.
and she dished her share.
i probably got 50 pops by her command.

wonder what shes doing? alive? dead? teaching still?

fuckin' cricket mold.

you go girl!

fernando botero, still life with watermelon (1992)

boy. out.