12.27.2012
12.24.2012
12.23.2012
CHAZZ: A Scooby Doo X-Mas
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| When Cousin Chazz was seven he dreamed of getting Scooby Doo action figures for Christmas. He wrote a letter to Santa asking for Scooby Do0 action figures. Then on Christmas morning lil'Chazz opened a Scooby Doo stuffed animal. He was happy with this stuffed animal. But something bothered Chazz that day, and for many after. His letter to Santa had been specific -- five inch plastic figures of the entire gang of mystery solvers, not a 20 inch high plush Great Dane. His Scooby was suspiciously like the one he saw at Toys R Us. Sure, Lil'Chazz understood that Santa subbed work out to Nintendo and others, (elves obviously nowhere near the video game programmers the Japanese were), but he also thought the entire point of sending a letter was because Santa's Workshop built to one's specifications; lil'Chazz had sent them a blueprint. A Goddamned blueprint. Yes this was the Christmas Chazz realized a sad truth all kids must learn sooner or later: .. Santa is a hack. |
12.20.2012
12.15.2012
12.13.2012
PIC?: Learning To Draw
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| I'd like to post half as much next year, and those be twice as good. Fat chance, I know. I want to draw much of next year. But I'm not good at it. Anything as artistically frustrating to be bad at as drawing is, keep it. But drawing is easier to read than words. So here come pictures. I'm drawing until one picture is good. But really good. Good thing my blog is for mediocre work. I mean, look at all those twelves.. |
12.12.2012
TWENTY12: Primo Lines
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 Cousin Chazz (@cousinchazz)Accepted being called Bro by dude who is not my bro, but just a dude. 2012, most worthy! If you missed any, click the titles. |
12.09.2012
PICS: 2012 Collected
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| the favorited images from this blog over the last year.. trees and dump trucks and signs and telephone poles, the same dull stuff. |
12.08.2012
AUDIT: Fort Rags
Old Ragsnarolk
"Butter. Buttered bread. Dern it." says Hoff.
"Butter. God's Wounds -- to bring it up!" says Alec.
Dead goat. Dragged for a day in the tool harness provided by the Outfit. Dead goats don't milk. No milk, no butter.
Down in the valley are leafless trees like leaf rakes stuck handle in the dirt. Like scarecrows. No crops. No birds. No butter.
"No bread, Ass. Your mouth is an ass. That's what hole that is." says Alec.
Dawning over the valley, the boys get to changing out the batteries on their saws.
"We have to eat the goat." says Hoff. "Gone as bad as we can let him."
"Rechain." says Alec.
"How did I end up here?" says Hoff.
Now Alec is on him, grabbing Hoff by the coat, and pulling him up, and steering him roughly, until they face the rising light of sun like a dollop of melting butter at the cleft of the two hills.
"Because of there. Look there."
As Alec growls it the tell-tale cube of Old Ragsnarolk, the fortress, burrows out some blackberry blackness under the ascent of the sun.
"There, there, and there. The complex. No one told you to come. No one drafted you, butter-eater. You've been subcontracted, and when they came to you, you licked your lips! We promised them a road. And they promised us a cut of the loot. Now chain your saw. We're cutting to there. Soldiery to make such a place. Think.."
Alec rubs Hoff's neck.
"Butter?" Hoff says, and he laughs.
"Butter. All this valley's butter, and up there is the pot! Fort Rags." says Alec. "A good week, and we'll be on the doorstep. Re-chain. The Outfit are days behind. We can get inside, and have a good long look. Get lean to get fat."
"Get mean, get far." Hoff says. "But, Alec.."
"What?"
"I want to eat this goat."
"Butter. Buttered bread. Dern it." says Hoff.
"Butter. God's Wounds -- to bring it up!" says Alec.
Dead goat. Dragged for a day in the tool harness provided by the Outfit. Dead goats don't milk. No milk, no butter.
Down in the valley are leafless trees like leaf rakes stuck handle in the dirt. Like scarecrows. No crops. No birds. No butter.
"No bread, Ass. Your mouth is an ass. That's what hole that is." says Alec.
Dawning over the valley, the boys get to changing out the batteries on their saws.
"We have to eat the goat." says Hoff. "Gone as bad as we can let him."
"Rechain." says Alec.
"How did I end up here?" says Hoff.
Now Alec is on him, grabbing Hoff by the coat, and pulling him up, and steering him roughly, until they face the rising light of sun like a dollop of melting butter at the cleft of the two hills.
"Because of there. Look there."
As Alec growls it the tell-tale cube of Old Ragsnarolk, the fortress, burrows out some blackberry blackness under the ascent of the sun.
"There, there, and there. The complex. No one told you to come. No one drafted you, butter-eater. You've been subcontracted, and when they came to you, you licked your lips! We promised them a road. And they promised us a cut of the loot. Now chain your saw. We're cutting to there. Soldiery to make such a place. Think.."
Alec rubs Hoff's neck.
"Butter?" Hoff says, and he laughs.
"Butter. All this valley's butter, and up there is the pot! Fort Rags." says Alec. "A good week, and we'll be on the doorstep. Re-chain. The Outfit are days behind. We can get inside, and have a good long look. Get lean to get fat."
"Get mean, get far." Hoff says. "But, Alec.."
"What?"
"I want to eat this goat."
12.04.2012
GYPSY: 41 Tupelo Gravestone 57
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the heart of it. Ma and Pa. Tupelo and Memphis. Danny and the Colonel. 1967, 1947, 1937, 1927. And 1955. |
12.03.2012
12.02.2012
POEM: Dec 2
mythology or wolf work.
you heroic, you.
or else sniff, shit, and sniff, and lick.
be perfect by love someone has for you.
catch a rut. find a hut.
and go to work.
you heroic, you.
or else sniff, shit, and sniff, and lick.
be perfect by love someone has for you.
catch a rut. find a hut.
and go to work.
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