Bigger, better here. If you’ve bookmarked here please bookmark there, as soon as I figure out how to export here to there here is going away next time wordpress asks me for money, I have about six months to figure out exporting. In meantime, what’s here will also be there and there will be things there that won’t be here
The world we leave you?
Fuck and be happy, youngsters
Be happy and fuck
My right eye. Been enjoying and now indulging my worrying how can I date these squares if I glue them front to back and I can’t put the date, no matter how small and discreet cause the canvas spins, each hexjeff has four faces and when I write the date no matter how small and discreetly people will assume whichever way they read it is the sole orientation of the hexjeff and stop them spinning (and flipping and spinning) but *I* would like to know the month and year of something I made and despite the glut of shit posted here I don’t post everything here I like and might want to remember when I made it and with what medium, acrylic ink to words and everything between. Things will be here I want to potentially find that won’t be found at pOj or BLCKDGRD.
I resurrected Bray, deleted much of the content (it exists other places, I left just a few poems from 2010, 2011 left for visual of what was while I decide what I want going forward font, color size-wise, etc, done nothing yet), rebranded it Hexjeff ( hexheff dot blogspot dot com ), made it noxzema bottle blue, increased the size of the hexjeffs, and put it in blooger because (a) wordpress blowsso (sic), the fuck am I paying for it and now is six months or so before I need decide whether to pay for another year… but mostly (b) if I’m going to self-incriminate myself digitally while simultaneously burning all analog journals and painted squares I might as well do it on google via this chromebook
Sorry for explaining. Your mileage may vary but my trying to just say and not explain much better now than five years ago. Painting hexjeffs helps. My shitful vanity will will me to remind people from time to time of this joint, but I won’t be burying links for every post here at the other two, possibly soon to be one, places. My left eye:
Doesn’t exist as was above anymore. After debate, thankfully won by Fuck It (more often than not by lots Fuck It loses in many aspects of my life, many of those many loses valuable loss leaders in real life), I peeled off the yellow and blue masking tape though I thought this a good chapter one, much promise
Now that above the new above doesn’t exist does the pdf of what once existed count as an object now that no one can (not that anyone would) hold it, spin it, get fountain pen ink on the tips of fingers when you hold the edges to spin and flip over, and though you might see (but never hold, spin, get ink on your fingers) what I will glue to the back of the object that remains, *that* object will have no paste relationship to the above that no longer exists though it’s glued to what it was, yes or no, answer me, me
As for what remains on excellent cold press watercolor paper whose superior pigment absorption via rendered slaughtered horses’ hooves Fuck It if I fuck it up Fuck It if call it quits Fuck It does this poem exist, fuck yes
Just reminded that Arches Watercolor Paper, cold press used above on something abandoned last night before I fuck it up, uses gelatin from slaughtered horses to create the retained brilliance of pigments (especially white) more after drying than cheaper watercolor paper, in protest I won’t buy anymore tonight!
Outside now twenty degrees, single-digit windchill and the ground covered in ice and snow and I’m wearing leather shoes and I won’t eat Arches Watercolor Paper, I can slough into my closet of constantly revised and updated My Sillyass Deserted Island Five Game of infamies in the history of my complicities, That should be my epitaph, says Km’pec, drinking his poisoned blood wine
Fountain pen ink (except for the white eye), expensive from when I diddled fountain pens, I’ve stopped, fine metaphors abound, might as well spill it on watercolor blocks
Front half of L’s birthday card, the other side you won’t see though though you may see what I did and especially liked in the back half of L’s birthday card I won’t show you in an upcoming hexjeff that I will forget I wanted to do and rediscover in six months from now and think that it’s new
First self-portrait of 2024, state of mind starting the year, not completely on fire yet. Gouache, watercolor ink, acrylic ink, fountain pen ink. clear elmer’s glue. Will compare to first of 2025 if world (probably, or at least the earth) and me (possibly) are still here then
This getting old shit
inexorably expands
into whatever
fun is left first. Knees
Look at the word knees ten
minutes, you wonder
why we’re phucked? Knever
ktrust kanyone kook kenough
kto kignore kankles
Above and what’s written about it posted earlier today at the shouty place:
The Artist Giving the Finger: to be honest, like everything I make, from paintings to decent Roc ups for a rare pick-up-disc putt to human relationships, I depend entirely on coincidence which occasionally morphs into serendipity: the finger found me, I did not find the finger
One of four that will sit on one inch high table card holders creating a square surrounding a lightbulb on a two inch desktop lamp base opposite the one below, two red awoogahexes opposite each other between these two, a nightlight for my daughter, for giftmas we give each other something we made
Awoogahex above one side, an attempt at calm below the other, latest card in Deck of Hexjeffs, glued and bonding for the weekend in the sweet bookbinder’s handpress I have access to, I’ve no idea how many more than 52 there are now and not counting
I had to add watercolor as a category, however long ago I started listing what was used in the object I made, not out of vanity but so I needn’t remember, it’s been longer since I used watercolor, me who once, out of vanity, swore I’d never use anything but the three primary colors and watercolor only, the fuck wrong with me (and yes, here is the song the title puts in my head)
My right eye above my left eye below. Both with acrylic ink, first time I’ve used, hot pink and schoolbus yellow, along with gouache, watercolor ink, clear elmers glue, table salt, 6×6 cold press block. Highest resolution the scanner I can access has plus neither can lay face down on the bed without listing. Wish you could see them in person. Will leave them on the block, I’ve a project, remember those squares with fifteen small square plastic tiles for sixteen smaller square places inside the big square you rearrange to make an image in the big square’s 16 smaller squares’ space that restaurants close to interstates would put on tables to keep kids entertained while waiting for meals on vacation trips? The triangle with fifteen holes and fourteen pegs?
One of our very favorite hikes in Moco we park at end of Hyattstown Mill Road near the firehouse on 355, the mill itself now the Hyattstown Mill Arts Project home, two weekends ago when we parked to do our loop the mill was open, the artist invited us in to see his show, inside and outside the mill a wonderful venue and project, L wants to have (I just copied the link above and wordpress alerting me the color of the link too light for your mortal eyes and I hit the menu bar to darken link color and Thank you, no, I don’t want AI assistance) a show there, the artist’s work reminded me of me, a guy who can’t draw so he makes and that bakes him happy
Right I above
who eye need wanna
hafta always
been, left, below,
light darker than right,
blind, brighter sight
What did wordpress do with my avatar? Do I have to delete the previous post because wordpress thought it too big? Let’s see. Nope, now it’s gone but now it’s here.
What did wordpress do with my avatar, I still see it on dashboard, a photo of me I will never find, I tell myself to teach myself wordpress then berate myself for 37 violations of my tablet rules and I know I can’t break anything I didn’t touch and I know I just paid wordpress for another year. The photo has sentimental value as an avatar and as the avatar is the last copy, I do know where I can find other avatars
The most likely scenario is I removed it myself for some vain purpose lifespans ago and forgot and just noticed it was gone today in fine metaphors abound
Wasn’t *not* painting
I just wasn’t painting. I
can’t not not paint yet
Two weeks old, I haven’t painted in two weeks. Clear Elmer’s Glue, gouache, salt, watercolor ink. Scanned first with a work overhead scanner then gently laid face down on a better scanner, it is totally me to 3D shit that don’t represent unless you hold it
Amber, the effect
I use Elmer’s Clear School Glue
to mimic, amber
Depth I pour table
salt (let it rain) into fat
bed of Elmer’s glue
I’m only painting
my head encapsulating
today’s explosion
didn’t I say in
an interview I didn’t
have when not famous?
Every one of them
I forget. Twenty-seven
years from now I’ll pick
up a squashed acorn
on an unrelated trail
and remember you
See what I’m reduced
to! Fucking aphorisms?
I like my anger
I need figure out black cause I need to
The above now laminated to the back of the below and visa versa, my second best Jeff metaphor: my favorites of what I make start disintergrating as soon as the begin drying
Because new ideas I’m making facedown on flatbed wingless, shadowless
No kid is named Dusk
No kid named Apostasy
or Disgrace or Doomed
Noun, yes, aspire
to adjective and adverb:
jeffish and jeffly
Apostasy, Jeff’s
kid, ditto Dusk and Disgrace
and Doomed, wrote haiku
I don’t know it rates as the third greatest Jeff metaphor my favorite newest Jeff metaphor: gouache not only begins fading the moment it starts drying, the way I layer it on itself the faster it crumbles when dries, I can’t glue them back to back and save without ruining both, I emergency laminate the back-to-back, less desiccated side down
All circles, I now acknowledge my circles *are* placemats to everyone but me and you and not most of you and I agree wholeheartely, there are six notes I can hit singing and *not* have the worse voice in human history, I love George inordinately cause they’re his six too: E Flat, our key, our voice, our range, our placemats
I never once in fifty years of writing jeffspeakspastic poetry thought as much about poetry when hiking like I think about my just done, in process, and future playmats when hiking now. L always remarks how much I love bells, she lets me listen to Swans in the car now. I pretend this a discovery not my onset mother’s and mother’s mother’s dementia, they both loved bells, wrote nothing
Right eye up left eye down
pjoepf Of vriecyh 