Fuck Censorship

There are few things I hate more than art censorship. And I’m not just talking about covering a statue’s dick with a loincloth or removing a picture of the virgin Mary from an art show because it’s made of feces. No, I’m speaking about something far more sinister. And it happens in some form or another every day. I’m talking about a basic violation of our right to be artists and to make our own corner of the world a deep and vivid reflection of ourselves.

I should probably describe just what I see as art before discussing it’s unwarranted suppression. To me art is any thing that expresses part of a persons soul. Or if the concept of a soul does not resonate, a slice of the meat that makes up a person’s inner self. Anything that takes what a person is or feels on the inside and puts it outside in some form is art. A person passionate about fixing cars for instance, is an artist of mechanics. Their inner desire for structure and mechanical workings plus the beauty of the shapes, colors, and accents of a finished vehicle, is their art. They express it through fixing cars. Same with a cosmetologist and doing hair and makeup. I will cease examples as I’m sure you get the idea.

Now along comes an element that is threatened by this expression. Something rubs an individual the wrong way, conflicts with their concepts and/or personal belief systems and they take it upon themselves to suppress it. It could be the way someone dresses, the way they design their living space, or the more forward removal of actual literature, paintings, or musical lyrics to songs deemed offensive.

This person or people feel like they know what is “right” or the way things or a person “should” be. Who the fuck put these people in charge? No one.

No one that is, except those who would allow it to happen to them or others without a fight.

Now a direct conflict is the first reaction right? Fuck them! I’m gonna make a shit load of noise and try to be worse and more offensive next time! That’ll teach em’! Great plan, and one I myself have eagerly followed. But I’m here to lay on the bad news. It usually, at least in my experience doesn’t take. For two reasons. The first, it starts a war of ideals that each side feels so passionately about, that it only serves to increase the divide and create deeper bitter feelings on both sides. The second, and to me more important one, is that it compromises ones art. To actively try to offend out of anger can become so consuming that the original intent of expressions is lost. At least it has been when I was blinded by anger and desiring some kind of retribution.

The way to beat it, I believe, is to continue to express your art, whatever that is, without regard for the censors. They destroy? Rebuild. Do not be deterred by those who seek to suppress expression. Fashion your life in such a way as to ensure your own freedom. Gallery takes down your piece? Find another gallery. No one will hang it? Start your own. Be as creative as you are in your work to find ways to fight the censorship constructively. You and the world will be better for it. Expression and the freedom of such is so integral to our variety as a human species that the loss of it robs us of our collective reason for being.

Just as we have the inalienable right to expression, we have the responsibility to defend it to our dying breath. That means viewing controversial art and pictures. Listening to banned music. And if that is not your taste? To simply not engage in it without infringing on others right to do so. We all probably have or do something that others do not like. But to become the police of artistic expression in all of its varied forms is to become an agent of destruction of the very things that make us human.

We are all artists of something. May we all have the freedom and respect for each other to go out and create our many splendid canvases with the paint of our inner most souls. Oh and yeah, I guess the final point of all this is stupefyingly simple; FUCK CENSORSHIP! good night cretins.


Unvaccinated Babylon


As the debate continues over whether or not to vaccinate one’s children, I am wondering if The Whores of Babylon ever cut an album. The Whores of Babylon was a short lived super group composed of Dee Dee Ramone, Stiv Bators, and Johnny Thunders. There are a few videos available on YouTube, but I can find nothing much else about it on the interweb, aside from a brief mention on Stiv Bators Wikipedia entry.

Granted, I have not scoured the digital landscape as deeply as it might take and I’m sure there is some more information floating around out there.

The vaccination thing I couldn’t give less of a fuck about. Who cares. Let the diseased children of crazy zealots spread plague all over the world. Instead of a suitcase full of virus like in “Twelve Monkeys”, it will be snot nosed kids sneezing and puking all over the inner guts of our degenerating society that brings upon the apocalypse.

And it will probably make for some entertaining television while layed up in a bed with a bottle of whiskey and many, many drugs, wasting away from a rare mutated strain of rubella. Good times.

But besides all of that, today is another day to slave away at the grind of my self appointed duty,  and even though not one person has walked through the door and all I have made of the day is to listen to music, fuck around on YouTube and do piss poor web research into obscure punk rock super groups, i remain optimistic. Thank God for free WiFi here at the sushi shop.

So all of the two of you that are reading this tripe, go out, get into some Whores of Babylon, jump into the toxic mist of an unvaccinated child’s sneeze, and prepare the den for being layed up in mild to extreme discomfort watching the world burn on national television. I’m sure there will also be Simpsons and Breaking Bad marathons around the clock to aid in your hopefully morphine and moonshine laced death throws.

After all, how good of a time does that sound like? That’s what I thought.

Later on Cretins!

Restaurant Soundtracks Really Blow


Here I am, back inside the restaurant and the incessant pounding in my skull is intensified by the repetition of the horrible soft rock soundtrack. Who ever mandated that the music played on an endless loop within the confines of eateries must be the most dull, drab, and lackluster bullshit they can possibly dig up?

What sadistic bastard first decided “Hey. You know what would really be awesome? Let’s put some really cheesy, repetitive bullshit on as our eating music, and leave it on an endless loop forever.”?

Seems cruel and unusual.

But we as a society accept it. You go into most places and there it is to greet you, the musical stylings of Kenny G. And to be among the staff in such a place? The worst kind of hell.

From the billions of times I’ve been subjected to “Margaritaville” in South Florida, to the endless Big Band barber shop shit and Frank Sinatra of the New Jersey diner scene, this plague seems to have spread to all four corners of this cursed land.

I think it is time for a change. A music in eateries revolution of historic proportions. I’m talkin Slayer. Megadeth. The Sex Pistols. I’d even go in for some thug nasty 2pac gangsta rap, or Cannibal Corpse. Let’s collectively blow the fucking doors off of these little establishments with such incredible noise that the patrons start bleeding from their ears and puking up their diner delights.

Get out there and sabotage the Muzak. Put the CD’s in there and glue the tray shut. Turn up the volume and break off the fucking knob.

I am going to go outside and have a quick smoke. Then I will start the restaurant music revolution right here in my own restaurant with a little mix CD I made called “Norwegian Church Burning Fuck You Worship Satan Tunes” and let the games begin.

Chances are I’ll be posting much more frequently after that, having run the business into the ground, and as a result being fired, unemployed, and penniless. But it would be worth it just to see the looks on their faces. So on to that, and as a final thought “be the the change you want to see in the world”- somebody. Gandhi maybe.

Ain’t that always the way

Okay. Well now this is just getting stupid. This is my THIRD attempt at starting this little blog off, the first TWO having been accidentally deleted by my inadequacy at working the notepad and it’s cut and paste features.

The second one was about writing and deleting the first one by mistake. What first one was about now seems to have lost it’s relevance, or is fucking cursed to not be read in any post that will not be immediately deleted by the Gods through my bumbling fat fingers. So it shall remain a mystery, even to me.

I will say that it was a story that included a line about a degenerate cocaine fiend jerking off in a company restroom to pictures of housewives in a stolen copy of  Better Homes and Gardens and leave it at that.

Now, this third thing. Should it be about the second, which was mostly about the first? Nah. I’ll just get into this one by welcoming whoever you are to this blog, and just start putting down whatever comes out. About myself: I am a writer and artist living in Pine Beach, NJ, originally from the beautiful wasteland near the tip of America’s Dick known as Fort Pierce, FL. I have been writing and exploring different things on the internet, and decided I would try my hand at one of these.

I am now sitting in my bedroom at 3:18 in the morning listening to Sonic Youth and trying to convince myself that life is really not as depressing as it seems most of the time, that feeling like that is just an unfortunate (but persistent) side effect of bipolar disorder. As much as doctors, counselors, other mental health professionals, and well meaning cheerful fuckers have tried to relieve me by telling me so, it still seems like a bullshit prepackaged answer.

The reality is that no one really knows for sure why some of us seem shrouded in a cloak of negativity and warped downtrodden perception, while others meander happy go lucky through life without a care in the world, like they are skipping through a fairground in summertime. Is it anyone’s fault? Of course not. But it remains, that some of us are chosen for this ever present feeling of misery, and the fact that there is no reason for it and everything is fine, somehow makes it much worse.

But hey. That’s the way it goes I suppose, and there is not much I can do about that. Just soldier on through this post and keep my feet on the ground and my head in the clouds. I just woke up after putting this thing to bed with me, and now it’s Alice in Chains and cold coffee with the last drop of French vanilla creamer mixing it into a muddy brown color.

Without coffee and other strongly caffeinated beverages I would probably be writhing in my own filth covered in bedsores with a staunch refusal to participate in life. Thank God for that little invention of hot bean water and the little beans harvested between cocaine leaves in the mountains of Columbia. Speaking of cocaine, have any of you ever been in a bathroom at 2 in the morning doing whacks of nasal sizzling blow, and suddenly get the thought that some people were likely murdered in the drug trade to get the shit from there to here?

A downer in the middle of a bacchanal to be sure, but I couldn’t help but realize that at times. I’m pretty sure that the coffee beans are not nearly as bloody and the only “mule” involved is that of Juan Valdez.

Anyway, it’s probably time to work on some other things around here and make the most of my time, those few hours that are my own between waking and working a straight job as a waiter in a sushi place, those hours that I do what I consider to be my actual job, writing and doing artwork. now if only I could get these little projects off the ground and turn a buck, that would be awesome.

We all probably have such little dreams, fantasies involving a dream job, personal pursuit, or winning lotto ticket, and walking into work and putting in that two weeks notice, or just saying fuck it and quitting outright. If you are like me, you probably already have a list of shit you would do, get a stable place, that classic car you want but can’t justify on a shitty wage and hooking up loved ones. Maybe even just flying to Europe or wherever to fuck off for a while.

Those dreams are important. It can be self torture to obsess on such things or get overly depressed the more they don’t come to fruition, but a healthy fantasy combined with drive to chase your passions can be a wonderful thing, one that puts a little spring in your step and the confidence to keep on going no matter what. Hold onto that. I will as well.

Well this little thing is getting long enough for now I think. So again, welcome, and thanks for reading. I hope you have the least shitty day possible. As for me, we’ll see how that goes. Time to get scrubbed up, churched up, and go out and fight the bastards for a decent day’s work.

Another day another 50¢. But hey. Ain’t that always the way?