7/21... 13 yrs ago i was waiting, strung to the gills, for T/hope to arrive, brainless total, dealing with MFM's bad dreams, a backpayment due, a divorce in the making, i was too mindless to even know i was miserable. I was miserable. Yes i identified with Mary, yes she had flash-style, i wanted something so badly, i was incomplete and knew it... to my deepest root, all had been and was just a show, the awards, the studio, the highlife, all rang hollow, and even as there's flashes of remembrance, good/productive times, for the most part it was, from '79 through '86, too fast for me to catch, i was amuck & awash.

... sitting here now i try to recall that day... and can not, while the next's still as if yesterday. Actually the evening prior my memory's strong, i recall it over & above the haze of drugs/booze, --as if i knew and had to burn it into memory, recollecting into the future. Have always been attracted to pain, --since i never believed joy was possible --and saw it as The Way to delve into self & art & life, a moth at the flame. But hell isn't hot, it's just boring and mundane, the hot i want's within and since i'm now vacant (or full?) i stand outside looking back, still grasping at Nietzsche. Yes that's right, the measure of art has something to do with pain, subsuming it, fighting against it, eating it whole, passing it as production... by it's very nature it expresses the possible, the inevitable, the irreducible; the hard part's to burn with it without roasting others, being human consists of having consciousness, which in turn means taking one of Camus' choices, murder or suicide. Well I'm far too sensitive to others, i take the coward's way, i do neither... and so burn with the consequences and revel in the pain, and in secret heart think i can turn it into The True reversal, Art... which was the whole idea anyway. Recently have thought about the competition, big Michael, big August, big Constatin, the only question is: better-than, as good as, not up to par, and hell, i'm still chipping in the rough but not throwing in the towel.

8/10... what an evening, the first b-day (in the last 13) wherein there was an out-day, not only that (which felt so fresh) but the air conspired, t'was velveteen/smooth-perfect. Just as Puck said, "How now, Spirit!" 'Twas a Midsummer Night's Dream, the hobbyshop staff, being infected by the Spirit, failed to punch-in, didn't open, leaving me laying outside the door, on an old section of commercial refrigerator, looking up. Up is helicopter-wire, stretched rooftop to rooftop, dividing the sky into squares... but beyond was the blue, clear/blue beyond, paling as it rolled across the horizon. Up is looking past it all, lounging air-flowing across skin, sweetly. Thoughts were on that space twixt nucleus and valance, how void is the majority by far & away, and as i imagined that vastness was overcome by the totality, the air. It twirled against skin, fluffing my shirt, my face, i lay arms behind head, in the shade of the concrete, an opening between buildings, raw industrial, piles of trash but/but/but no matter, the air, the temperature made mockery of man's intrusion. It was as if the dawn of time, as if youth reborn...and of course it was, i am reborn.

... and there was quiet. That trash area was empty, all hands being engaged in sports, only birds squawked flowing with the breeze, i was overcome with more than joy, more than a sense of wellbeing, it was a state of grace, i was gracefull. A quietude pervaded, as if from my being, and the birds and their air and the late afternoon of midsummer was the beginning, a middle, and the end all. In that space there's drift free-flowing, spaces inside of atoms, a void beyond human... blood coursing, lungs and heart, a state before Eden's fall that i fell into as if by magic.

... maybe 30 minutes, maybe more, time mending until by an unconscious act of will i moved, got up as if completely new and walked spryly, walked through, into the future. This feeling held, all evening the awareness and airness surrounded, i was imbued and intoxicated by a peace, a b-day gift from the universe, body-joy coupled with mental, without reservation i was happy... and still am. How interestingly wonderful to see a future rather than a hope, even more, to not see the future because there is one, to just accept it. Somehow i have incorporated my release... and was released. I'm self-amazed.

...but not them-amazed, i'm shocked, there's more folks under jurisdiction that there are jews, and just about as many as were Auschwitzed, one wonders if the new v.p. choice will have anything to say about that... t'would be nice. Am still of the opinion that just about the time i'm released the drugwar will be over, they'll announce that they won, have a major celebration and begin using the buildings for the homeless; in a kinder and gentler world we'll punish the poor for their poverty. Okay enough incorrect politics, i'm now about to move out of those statistics, into an even smaller percentage, successful ex-felons. I suppose i've lost the necessary acrimony to stay seated in the critical chair, somehow it's lost its edge... while i've gained another.

8/28... this situation still figures large, prison's a constant source of topics-terrible. This morning was considering American history, how we're a Calvinistic/Puritian society, we somehow believe (institutionally) that suffering is salvation, that the only rewards is wealth (a proof of gods' blessings in earthly terms). Penitence as in penitentiary, they've always been staffed by the religious right, as they were created by them to convert the heathen poor into willing workers to benefit the 'general' welfare, and prove gods dictum that those that help themselves get rich.

... anyway, in this same thought/train, it's evident here/now, the whole system's not much different today, the religious right has easy access to enter any prison, (Chuck Colson's) God-Groups can and do come in thrice weekly, they've usurped psychology to normalize' us miscreants into low-income workers, drug free for productive (minimum wage) lives, we have health and safety police who make sure we only have 5 books (bibles don't count) and food cops to make sure we don't get extras (the sin of gluttony), we have controlled movement at all hours, to make sure we work during working hours and recreate during 'free' time, there's anti-porno police who ban Michelangelo's David and Ruben's paintings, who make sure we only see P.G. rated visuals, and we have housing counselors, there to remind us (at least once every 180 days as proscribed by law) that we're common criminals, every 6-months our crimes are reiterated by the Godly over desks too neat to be human.

... and this is what i think about, how America hasn't changed much, how the rehabilitation of the unrighteous has plagued the consciousness, in an obvious bid to mitigate their own propensities and secret desires. From any point of view (except inside) it's laughable/ridiculous, if it weren't so monastic i'd pray for salvation.

9/29 ... when i recall the last decade i'm made thoughtful, my peers, my friends outside, they've had a different experience, they have homes, travel, food, i've missed that ... but i have focus, --something they've been too busy to enjoy. Today i can hold my intensity, have the luxury of obsession, i can spend hours uninterrupted building thought-objects, building my sculptures/drawings, down to the last bend-of-clay, the exact shade-of-pencil line.

... i cannot regret what i've gained, although i can miss what i've missed, i wouldn't have it different (seeing that that's impossible). When i hear my friends, i know that experience and scars are what differentiates humans, we are the sum of our scars, as much as our genes ... This past decade has rolled past faster than i'd imagined possible, --as i'm sure it has for all --and it's only in recall that i call see how i've managed, i've managed well. The body of work represents my ability to hold focus; the students and classes were exercises, they allow me to realize that the more active/engaged i am the more i can produce, just the opposite of most of my acquaintances presuppositions. I'm driven and find it refreshing, only the banal are un-obsessed.

11/26... time slips by. Lastnight was again thinking about how to upgrade self, what it means, how being a prisoner's changed me and exactly what. it means to be one, how society's relegated certain members into identified scapegoats, never to be able to return, the mark of Cain's upon us... And it's just as well as far as i can see, i didn't like being part of the mix anyway, i take it as a badge, a scarlet letter. Maybe this is where i'll find the heat, somehow using this experience in ways uncommon, (as can't see self doing folk-art, it's got too many rules). In any case it seems far too easy to drift into projects rather than projecting self into objects. Am sure there's always a good reason, much as i find rationalizations for my lackings, and the only possible way to deal with it: is to make more objects, time spent away is wasted. Life's too short. I've blown it and am just waking up, i gotta rush/push and stay f ocused, i'll need help so i can burn right to the end, i'm pissed at myself total.

... otherwise it's a beautiful day as far as prison days go, sun's out and i'm in here. Since i can't talk this is second best, it clears mental, helping me to verbalize/conceptionalize. I do wish there was some venue i could use to focus my thoughts, daydream-drifting isn't good enough, i need others, i need to be asked questions that force me to think new answers. This place is the pits... it's time, i want out... It's all tied up with art & life & lust, maybe it's my genes since i don't want kids, i want to fuck and art my life away... being as dif ferent as possible, just for the hell of it... because i can. I'm obsessed, so what.

12/6... i'm not slightly i'm fundamentally atheistic but not in terms of a spirituality, which must reside in metabolic life... and/but to name or hope for recognition from a larger power is, to me the height of hubris, the Nomenal world is nominal, not phenomenal, beyond comprehension--and therefore outside spirit, language, and thought. I can't dismiss it as i can't verify it, even as i think it might exist, it's just as pointless as angels dwelling on pins head. But what can be discussed is the political and social forces that hinge on cultural values, and the role religion's played over the centuries, including our present. I am afraid i don't think much of them... or maybe i think too much about it and am appalled. Under every 'feel-good' stricture seems to be the 'you ought' mentality, as if pain avoidance was the sum total of life's meaning, it's the mentality of the lowest common... including all animal. life... and as we know, to be human is to suck it up in spite of the pain, to use and rise above by our own bootstraps, without hope's blessings, alone without support.

12/7... Was thinking about the elections, my whole generation's fill-ofied with losers, the morally conscious but ethically weak, they're intellectually bereft of history, personal insights included, it's a sad age and will be remembered as such... my generation, the top of the heap, stinks. They can't bring themselves to the effort of being human, their selfishness shines, they're mostly lazy and filled with selfpity, 'tis a pity. The few are far between, after years of hope it's come to this, most of my friends are lazy wimps but great consumers, i suppose they're proud of something but i can't think what.

... Am i going mental? seems i'm not as swamp-ofied by desire, i miss it. Is it the time or just tine of life? will it return, how can i make it return? Must admit to feeling old, this breakdown of body is happening, i don't like, it makes me aware my hormone levels are also on the diminish, one can only hope that modern medicine cones up with some new miracle drugs, stern cell replacement, human growth hormone, something that boosts our energy and general health. Of course it'll expensive but if it's available i want. I don't care about hair but i'd fix my vision, i'd get hormone replacement and anything that helps arthritis... after that it'd be these veins and then skin. ..I'd like to get another good 20+, with the optimum word being Good. What really irks my ass is becoining a complainer, even if it's real, i don't wanna be aware of my body that way, much better would be a hard-on halftime.

... and as long as i am complaining i really hate prison, it's so deep seated i can hardly mention it, even as i've gotten used to it--and seem to thrive, it's just too, stupid, mean spirited, pointless and basically a total waste, plus it's not only hypocrisy incarnate, it's downright crooked, either we all should be in prison or set free, but as it stands it's mostly a way to keep the social class system intact, not about justice. What really irks me is that everyone seems to know this and yet nobody's willing to step up to the plate and say it, again i fault. my generation, all that bull-shit talk was rhetoric, greed rules and bad taste is their legacy. The problem is that everyone seems to want a soundbite solution, a quick fix, especially if it's blameless and doesn't take away from their sports and shopping. Well wake-up is what i say, wake-up and Buck-Up, more is possible but more means eating the bullet, not just the cream cheese... and more rules do not make it right, only wrong.

... was thinking (which is common) as i walked back how bland this place is, i've grown so i can walk it without seeing anything, when i open eyes it's like the worst of possible worlds, a rundown industrial area that was plain as a chicken in its best days, now run by micro-fascists concerned about their image as morally correct upholders of the status quo. I was noticing, while walking along the ocean, how cluttered it is with trash, the shipping's done wonders for somebodies pocket but its wrecking the bay. It's another shame, i drove along Long Beach in '63, it was splendid sun filled, i was amazed at its length... and now no more.

12/15 ... As the judge writes my future i'd like, through these objects, for the reverse to also be true, that my marks mark her life. Interesting the confluence. Art-objects and my life, how under duress they appear and are flipsides. Given that and the fact that these words are almost unseeable, both under drawing and broken on the overcoated flat sides, it occurred to me to write something different from the obviously pleasant/pleasing shapes & colors. Both my nemeses and salvation flow from prison, the mindlessness of these bureaucrats/guards free and restrict me to the extreme. Walking the tightrope, while often mundane, casts this shadow-life into high relief, i despise/fear them while frustrating/appreciating myself, as if we were death-dancing, which of course we are.

... It does not interest me it fascinates me, one can not be an outsider, especially from inside. In a Gnostic sense the only center is the fringe, as the mantle keeps subducting. Over this last decade the whole justice system's run afoul, not just murder and corruption, our whole society's been effectively legaleased, from high-speed live coverage to glossy-print commercialism, Crime and The Trial are major metaphors everywhere. The life i live is but a mirror to the times, under constraints, either victim or scapegoat, no one escapes. A litany of headline cases was one way to approach this subject, listing them here. But, not only would that date this work, it would minimalize it. My conscious life, from McCarthy to this election, has been the Chinese curse made real, we have lived in interesting times.

... Aesthetics have radicalized accordingly, now art's listed as a business opportunity, as crime is listed as entertainment, to the point where they merge. The only honest person is the one who makes his profit illegally, rather than selling out after the fact, either to reduces his prison term or sell products on tv shows, from porno-housewives to ex-presidents buying elections, the aesthetics of the era is gloss-shock with residual rights for the aftermarket.

... Both aesthetics and DNA are ways to carry information into the. future, and both depend on mutations to enrich the general fund ... it's then the environment that determines which is carried over to the next generation. One small change is magnified over time by those that inherit it ... and it's non-directional, there's no progress, only changes that seem to be rushing-up faster each day. As it is in prison it is in art and life, mutations abound, mine and arts' cultural genetic drift flounders on the shores of virtual reality, waiting to mark our passage.