there is no bad art there is first year art there is mature art context is the art god we all worship there is only art today I find it satisfying tomorrow maybe not my glycemic index goes up due to the oatmeal my eyes from the glycation distort my lens and blur the art then looks like shit tomorrow maybe not the art doesn’t change it is only satisfying to the artist or not It’s art because the artist was interested that’s interesting or not art marketing is “manipulate (someone) by psychological means into questioning their own sanity.” for profit Whoever Controls your money Controls your art Art doesn’t care. Art has no rules. Anyone can view it from their viewpoint. You can’t keep such an exhibitionist as art in a cage.
It wasn’t that bad, don’t be such a baby. Don’t worry about it. You are such a worrier. Comments like that from family and parent growing up. It didn’t happen, if it did it wasn’t that bad. This is how I was groomed, youngest child, to be Mom’s little helper for life. A family tradition. Uncle Charlie squelched his needs for communication companionship and sex with booze and A.A. to live with his Mom for life and care for her. Tears are frustration, the frustration of loss. I cried all the time. I left Mom at age 14, older siblings long gone into foster care as young criminals, and hit the street, living in a squalid boarding house, on welfare. My remaining family of narcissists having dumped me, shamed me, guilted me, and threatened me. (FOG fear obligation guilt). My brother became a trained mass murderer with poor impulse control in the military, who once broke into my house, threatened me with violence and stole my camera because he needed it, and tried on another occasion to sleep with my wife. My sister when supposedly consoling me for yet another loss tried to sleep with me when drunk one night, she now runs Tantra Yoga sex groups. My oldest brother refused to come to my Art School degree graduation because a diploma was OK but a degree was just ‘putting on airs’. I mean these are awful awful people, who learned from and were deformed by my extremely conservative British bigoted Mom who grew up being raped by her stepfather and step brother on an island British colony where incest was the national sport. My inevitable narcissist wife, Carol Graham, now a labour lawyer for management, promised love, and said all the right things. You can’t tell it’s bullshit without training in what to look for, withheld sex, then dumped me for protesting it, threatened suicide if I spoke of it, to a counselor, a common manipulation, divorced me because its all my fault, then married a rich banker, not a broke artist. On top of the sexual frustration there was the old family frustration of it’s not that bad. Minimizing and trivializing. I smoked a lot of pot to mellow out between episodes of extreme frustration where I broke a lot of dishes. After Carol dumped me, overvalue, undervalue, dump, I got into yoga to get out of pot, the computer age had arrived, I wanted my mind back. I wanted normal sleeps. It turned out that cult recruitment like yoga seeks smart people in ‘transition’ misery really, and rapes them of their bank accounts, promising self esteem now and in the afterlife. They too, being narcissists, withhold sex, its called brahmacharya, institutionalized inappropriate self sacrifice. They also dumped me as I didn’t have much money, the excuse (again) was I wanted to be an artist, and going to art school was an ‘indulgence in the senses’ as if that’s a bad thing. I went to the hospital, depressed and anxious and saw a family therapist, got deprogrammed and treated with, and trained in, evidence based psychology, be your own therapist. REBT. For free. While researching this I found an paper by its founder, The Case Against Religion, which showed me my sources of frustration with family and religion and faith based organizations even the political ones. Basically, it didn’t happen, if it did it wasn’t that bad, now focus (by disregarding your needs ) on my ( the ashram, the church, the priest, AA, whatever) desires for money, free labour, priest-sex anything but your needs. These are real needs, you die without them, communication companionship and intimacy. People suicide without these things in their lives. You are trained that self esteem is your God, you must aspire to have it, so you can be manipulated by threatening to take it away. If you have self esteem you can lose self esteem. Self esteem is generated by (conditions) how much you give to the organization, how humble you are, by never mentioning it, how honest you are by telling all you shame secrets. Then how fearful you are that they might be revealed. An extortion racket basically. Ruthless isn’t a strong enough word. REBT solves all this by teaching you dump self esteem, it’s a poison. Instead rate your strategies for your own satisfaction. Narcissist cult leaders, wifes, parents etc. hate your own satisfaction. Talk to strangers, ask for what you want, a job, love, friendship, sex the usual satisfactions. The narcissist will leave because they don’t have any of that to offer, they are in it to get, period, and your satisfactions don.t matter. They say they do in the initial love bombing recruitment stage, but they are liars. Just ask for what you want, they will scurry away to their dark holes, no communication, no frank conversation, no willingness to compromise. Walk away, leave the mutual friends, the joint bank account, everything. Choose peace.
Links and References
Yasodhara Ashram Susan Oughtred was my cult recruiter I think she runs the joint now.
REBT Will Ross was my online teacher, while he was dying of liver cancer, stubbornly refusing to upset himself over such a normal life process. He never asked for a dime.
Shrink4Men Tare is my fav rational narcissism educator. Education is free, a fee for counselling services.
displaced from my home pets art music clothes car everything homeless for 6 months lived in hospital climbing out of a wheelchair is harder than any mountain I’ve climbed creating a new home finding 30,000.00 to do it from a hospital bed /family/therapists/doctors/nurses/cabbies/grocery people/ complaining to me that I’ve inconvenienced them was the worst of it most people are insane orphan 4 year olds competing everywhere for the the parents that abandoned them manipulated through guilt obligation and fear conditional acceptance we all suffer setbacks it’s part of life grow (some empathy) the fuck up
worry=anxiety+concern anxiety=self downing I can’t stand something-(no evidence for the belief) concern=motivation for self helping behavior-(evidence based) anxiety is caused by awfulizing about uncertainty there is no evidence that certainty exists or ever has. anxiety=insanity
happiness=the absence of making myself miserable happiness=practical rational attempts to achieve goals happiness=not having to achieve goals I used retirement money to do art school over in digital studies when I was 40 and internet age arrived I live on less I have alot of fun
Those who I thought were friends (not you gentle reader, you aren’t a defriend) are seeming open and welcoming but are really like those automatic door closers for example, almost impossible for a wheelchair on your own, really hard with a walker, so necessary as a fire prevention, and so expensive to put a push button mechanism. Lack of empathy, and common greed = stupidity. So dependency is created by opening doors for folks. I’m your friend, I will help you (till I get bored and dump you, it’s all your fault). Condescending minimizing trivializing patronizing grins on their slack jawed religious faces, an opportunity to tell me jesus will heal me, if I pray, (or buy a new age potion) oh, he didn’t? guess you weren’t doing it right ya loser in a wheelchair, even jesus dumped you.
The scene of my constant humiliation, Access Calgary where I go to be defined by my disability. Eighteen months ago I had a devastating life event affecting my mobility. After 6 months in hospital, I moved into my home, fully dependant on these characters in cabs to move me to outpatient facilities and for essentials like groceries. Excuse me I need to stop, here at this Starbucks, I need to use the washroom. No. We don’t stop. Not even for basic human needs. I asked the guy in the wheelchair, what do you do? Piss yourself and sit in it, they don’t give a fuck he says. So right away I get the message, this is for the cab company’s convenience, not mine. On time and fuck you. I used to manage the dispatch for this cab company. I bailed and went to art school, glad to be away from this harsh draconian conservative regime. After I graduated, I trained special needs bus drivers for a fleet with 2000 vehicles as a day gig. First thing I told the drivers, don’t treat them like they are broken, just drive safe and be pleasant, give them a comfortable ride like you would for anybody. So, when I get in the Access car, the driver starts doing my seatbelt, and won’t take no for an answer. Faster this way he says. Never mind that his body rubs against my genitals, if I had breasts, well I don’t know what they do. Put up with being felt up by the driver. It’s not like you have a choice. There is a monopoly in place and they are fighting to maintain the 300 bucks a day per driver (his share). The attitude is friendly and helpful with the part-time relief guys, but the regular drivers, forget it. They hate the job, and they hate you. They live in fear of being fired. If you assert your rights you are being difficult. Every trip is an arguement or passive aggressive silences, watched by video cameras, every trip. Orwell was right. I’m waiting alone at my building, the driver comes to the lobby, and demands, What’s your name! My name is Jerald. What’s your last name! OK are you here for Jerald? I’m the only one here named Jerald who is waiting for Access. If you don’t tell me your last name you are not getting in the car! The Access Nazi, no ride for you. I chose to stay home, called Access and told them what happened. The next day, the same driver was sent again, same scene over again. Access apologised again, and put on my file don’t ask his last name, like I am the problem, I am difficult. After a successful career spanning 40 years in transportation, of special needs folks, I’m the problem. I called the cab company, talked to the dispatcher, a deeply stupid gent who has been doing a bad job there since I left. Jerry, (they call me Jerry) he was just following orders, you want I should fire him for following orders? No fire the insane individual who gave him the orders then threatened his job if he didn’t comply, was my thought, but I said, uh, this is your policy isn’t it. Yes, he said proudly. This would be so simple to fix. Call a cab, Uber, whatever. Go where you want when you want. Give them your access card. Process it. Get out of the cab. Duh, is that so hard? Bad weather, call and book a reservation. Access goes to the head of the list. These people have computer dispatch, I know I helped build it. They can do this. Well only certain drivers have Access training, you say? Ya from now on if your company wants Access trips, all drivers have Access training, it’s called career development. Sorry about your monopoly but it sure wasn’t in my best interests, was it?
I took a course in cultural anthropology one time or maybe
it was the other one about the bones and stuff, where I learned that humans
migrate, for the usual reasons, war being a big one because it wipes out
shelter and food. Following the herd, weather events on a global scale, cosmic
events like asteroid collisions causing a type of nuclear winter. Not much has
changed really. Random shit still happens and we up and move. Brexit from
genetically defective inbred island mutants notwithstanding.
Folks take their better war tech with them, Neanderthals
with their bigger brains and bigger bodies were wiped right out because we had
domesticated wolves, a really viscous war tool, and the resident folks living
in the new place, got raped and their heads bashed, killed by new diseases to
This is actually good for our species because the immune
system seems to like the challenge of new foreign bugs, our bodies are strong
because of adversity, we overcome injury through exercise. We are built to run
all day and follow the herd.
And we evolve as a species.
A kind of evolutionary tough love.
Here in North America my grandfather migrated/immigrated to
lands west of Calgary, the army had displaced the usual residents using their
better war tech for him, he proceeded to grow grasses (wheat) to live off,
promptly got diabetes went blind and went broke.
We have only been trying to live off grass (agriculture) for
6 thousand years or so (?), and we are not good at it. Sedentary diabetes
modules is what we have become, what with sugar thrown in the mix life is short
but its not sweet. Don’t even get me started on what tobacco and high fructose
corn syrup (other types of grasses) does to us.
The mapping of the human genome wiped out the notion of
race, but we have different cultures for sure, based on different war tech
primarily (IMHO) to deal with our anxiety that all humans have brought with
them from the jungle. Oh and religion for the same reason. Anxiety and
hostility and religion go hand in hand.
So one of our cultures or religions is not better than the
other, and because we are the same human species we are all thinking the grass
is greener in our neighbor’s yard let’s migrate there or in our retirement
let’s travel, and we have a taste for rape called lets meet interesting people
and sleep with them, in college, or any opportunity really, sowing our wild
oats continually as it were.
So now I am an artist, my preference.
It’s insane, eugenics really, to think I am smarter or more
talented than anyone else. I have a preference for making art so I learned and
practiced and tolerated the huge frustration of doing that, and now I make
satisfaction for me, the purpose of life.
Rooty toot toot.
The City of Calgary wants me to meet with them about the
uselessness of being on a jury to decide what art to buy and show with public
funds, a practice fraught with abuse from the public here. Indigenous art of
the conquered folks is preferred these days, but so is gay/lesbian and gender
issues. Handicapped art like the freak in the circus is also cool.
Since I’m white, male, straight, and middle age I’m usually the anti-Christ of art
selection committees so this is rather peculiar to me, I hope they pay for my
bus ticket to the meeting, but I doubt they will. Perhaps I am considered handicapped after a
stroke so that is the appeal.
So basically they traditionally make selections based on
some physical attribute.
The non eugenics viewpoint says we are all intelligent we
are all talented and we have different passions that we tolerate frustration in
order to succeed at.
So making art selections based on physical characteristics
of the artist, who their grandparents were, who conquered them, who they like to
socialize their mastubation with (all sex is masturbation, we just invite
friends along sometimes) whether they walk or roll, is really a kind of Barnum
and Bailey freak show for the entertainment of the uneducated who are paying us
to pick this stuff so they don’t have to bother with frustration of an
education in the 800 years of history and tradition of the conquering culture,
or the thousands of years of the conquered one either.
So a eugenics scorecard was developed to help spread the
blame for this really authoritarian even fascist Hitlerian selection process.
Each proposal that took months even years to develop and asking for thousands
of public dollars is given half an hour, the juror paid $7.50, and based on a
score of 10, a rating of artistic merit and social impact. Both of which are
meaningless terms based on a prejudiced belief rather than evidence, so it fits
right in with the eugenics model that one human is better than another based on
So what’s the solution?
Fire the notion of a jury.
Hire an art historian, as curator, to develop a curatorial
them in conjunction with your art committee/board of directors, whatever.
Put out a call for artists based on the curatorial theme.
Send the curator off to do studio visits and make selections,
leave her alone to do her job.
Support her in her decisions.
Educate the public with publications on this is the
curatorial theme, this is the expert hired to curate it, these are the
accomplished artists chosen to execute it.
Live with the inevitable flak from a city of Trump loving
expert hating nazis.
Learn to dodge bullets.
This is business as usual as an artist.
Your likes and dislikes only describe you, not the art.
Grow a set and don’t stand to be pushed around.
Celebrate ‘it’s art because I say its art because I am an
artist based on qualifications’.
My point of view is that if I am to form new neural pathways around the stroke damage in my brain, I must choose to move, consciously and repetitively, they even know how many repetitions of the attempt it takes for the brain to form the new pathway. (a few thousand, I forget)
I am involved in a study that suggests the white matter of the brain plays a role with folks like me who had a stroke for no discernible reason, and are more able to choose to do the repetitions and regain motion. If I choose to not do the repetitions I’m without use of my body.
I choose to tolerate the frustration of not having instant gratification. Success in any endeavor is high tolerance of frustration. A four year old demands instant gratification. An adult is capable of short term pain for long term gain.
Therefore adulthood is the result of free will and power of choice. Narcissists, (Trump) who are adult children, are examples of choosing not to grow up, and manipulate others instead of saying ‘if it is to be, it is up to me’.
Stroke folks are often people who have low tolerance of exercise and choosing healthy foods anyway and this is one of the potential consequences.
I have the gene for diabetes, but since I choose not to have genetic nihilism, I haven’t given that gene expression by eating what I please, a kid in a candy store.