astronomical distances
ubearable humidity
relatively unbearable
car rides
this cold city
bodies rotating together or apart
in the morning sleepy kisses
becoming a little less revealing for you
becoming a little more for everything else
i have or will become things and places
i have traveled in a fantasy
i have calculated the distance from your ankles to my mouth
(it is far)
finger touching
slipping teetering falling
flowing a river of blood
drinking your bone marrow when i was sick of feeling mean and thirsty
sick by only some standards
alone by no means
alone at the counter
by the bathroom watching people kiss and then feeling lousy
(why did you do that?)
i'm glad we are friends
i wish we were more than just friends
you are in love for the first time
all those old callouses slough off the skin of the past
you are in love for the first time and you are excited
you appear apathetic
our relationship will change or remain the same
everything will come full circle
full oval
full cylinder
full square
in the morning my anxiety gets lazy and i feel existential serenity
i increase throughout the day and by nightfall i am terrified of the darkness
i stole a clementine from your apartment and it struck me as falsely romantic
i feel a little false a lot romantic
the shade of your shirt is exquisite
curves and shapes become confusing
i lie on the floor and become disoriented staring at the back of your head
(you have nice hair; that is important)
green trees streets evergreen aroma
contentedness solitude despair no none today or at least not yet
not consistent enough to be manic
you kissed me in public and i felt alarmed


to the top of the hancock, wine drunk and gazing out over our expansive kingdom; everything seems so small when you're way up high


we drew out plans but the inks with which the letters and lines were drawn were only semi-permanent

fleeting december steam only makes this life tinier to us, tinier and more urgent and impossible

cocktails drinks beers and candles, the floor feels like a gymnasium trampoline, you look unimpressed

we can make everything come to life if we draw it well enough and love it long enough


Reddi Whip me into a frenzy.

i need a haircut.

let's do all the tiny intimate things i fantasize about constantly.

you would put your book-pages down on your extended legs and smoke and watch me writing at the roll-top and i would feel romantically unfulfilled and not look back at you until i heard your eyes shimmering with your back to the wall of my bedroom.

there is no need to draw lines.

today i wash my hair for you. maybe.

sometimes i stare at plants and wonder if they have feelings or if they would scream if we were to touch them or cut them and we just can't hear.

i drink and then have bad handwriting and i tend to drink and then write.

i feel bad and good to see you.

i feel good.

i look forward to it.

i experience sensations of worry and regret constantly.

you are pretty and you are snow and you are sad and you are my muse.

you are a desert and i grow on you despite all odds.

i like you but you're full of grammatical errors


i wrote 'i love you' backwards on your chest while you were sleeping. later when you went into the bathroom you shut the door and did not come out for a long time

i connected the freckles on your back and they look like Boris Yeltsin

if we were to lie down in the desert room together i would put my fingers into the sand until i found yours and we would say nothing and trace the outlines of the iron with our eyes shut

nothing will ever be good enough. not even you.


you are chopped white mushrooms and i am slivered truffles


you are the ultimate lips touch and then i wake up dream

ladehoff photo shoot

good looks run in the family. just kidding.


if you were a Bic pen i would always hold you in my hand,
even if you exploded.

you are the ultimate warm bed in wintertime.


impending sense of destruction

terrible nightmares about humungous rats attacking my cat, and stepping on skulls, and eating fried albino tomatoes in vinegar.


things to consider while riding public transportation on a late fall evening

don’t drink and fly if you are a pigeon and there are winds in excess of forty miles per hour because you will crash into your pigeon friends and they will tell you that you have a drinking problem and think you are a massive asshole.

let’s get drunk and yell at each other.

let’s get drunk and say things we don’t mean to each other.

let’s get drunk and yell i love you at each other.

i would not recommend telling your mother that you don’t want to wear your coat; it’s cold outside and you will regret it later when you’re playing kickball with all your little buddies.

i would like to go on a date to hobby lobby with you. you had better pick out something good.


new robot melon, couple old poems.

don't read them, read other people's things.

i feel like shit today.


this just just in

i am currently accepting applications for a muse.
i don't care if you are a man or a woman.
just tell me something. i want to hear from some real live humans.




obtuse sensations remind me of being a kid. this morning it rained for twenty minutes before you left at seven thirty. i wiped the rain water off my bike seat and rode home.

the clouds had disappeared quickly. at eight the world was mostly still and perfect.

it's always so damp here, damp in the winter that shakes your bones to the marrow and damp in the summer that forms sweat through all available pores and you can go three quarters of a day without having to piss.

at eight o clock it was seventy one degrees. i sleep in too often to enjoy the best weather of the day. the heat chokes everything.

the lake pretends to be the sea. we rock the waters with a wake. i said, the world is only getting worse to which my mother replied, oh please, they've been saying that since i was a kid.


here are some instructions for making chocolate milk and then changing your life

prepare yourself mentally. visualize perfect chocolate milk. concentrate as if you were trying to move a large object with your brain waves.

remove the container of milk that has been patiently awaiting chocolate milk status from your refrigerator.

if you don't have any milk, go get some.

if you have skim milk, quit wasting your time, how insulting to the chocolate.

place the container of milk on a steady surface, preferably somewhere in your kitchen for easiest cleanup and shortest commute back to the fridge.

remove a clean glass from the cupboard.

inspect the glass.

place the glass on the steady surface.

don't use Hershey's chocolate. you will most likely vomit because it is disgusting and too rich and actually not that good for making chocolate milk because it is too hard to control the flow of the syrup from the fat squeeze-bottle top.

use Ovaltine.

Ovaltine is the fiber that holds america together. fuck everything else. Ovaltine.

remove the Ovaltine from the cupboard.

place it next to the glass.

pour the milk into the glass, leaving at least one half-inch of clearance to the lip of the glass.

if you want to get it right, use a tablespoon.

most glasses are relatively the same size.

do not use a Pom Tea glass. it is too tall and will be difficult to stir properly. resist the temptation to use the Pom Tea glass.

scoop two tablespoons, one by one, into the milk. enjoy the visual sensation of the tiny powder pebbles cascading down below the surface of the milk, disappearing and beginning to dissolve. this is magical. this beautiful magical chocolate milk is your creation. it is your child. love the chocolate milk. stir the milk lovingly, as you would stir your affections and attentions all around your own infant.

chug the chocolate milk without any sort of self-restraint, hopefully getting a faint chocolate milk mustache. you might as well end your life immediately afterward. nothing may ever be as simple and beautiful again.


i'm staring at myself in the rear view mirror in the back seat on grey leather in someone's car who i met last night, and i think

'i wonder when i will start to develop wrinkles'.

i don't think i frown enough or make facial expressions that require raising or 'furrowing' my brow for it to be any time in the near-ish future.

i am starting to carve laugh lines at each side of my mouth. i think maybe that's a good sign because i smile or laugh often.

i like this thought.

anyway, i'm staring at myself.

i'm fixated on my reflection.

the front windows are down and it's so bright and i forgot my sunglasses and i'm sort of squinting but trying to force myself not to so i don't get crow's feet wrinkles at the edges of my eyes.


i watch myself smoke.

i watch the smoke come out of my mouth as i exhale.

i wonder if i look 'cool' while i'm smoking.

why do parents always say that people smoke to be 'cool'.

i think how ridiculous that sounds.

i take my eyes off the tiny rendering of my face to look at you out of the corner of my eye.

you're looking out the window at corn fields.

there are so many corn fields here.

i feel stupid.

i look at myself again.

i think i look pretty, sort of, but my eyes are swollen and smoky from chlorine and crying like a god damned baby.

last night you said 'your eyes look smoky. you look pretty', and i was wearing a black one-piece bathing suit i had borrowed that crossed my chest at a straight line and banded around the tops of my arms.

i went inside to go to the bathroom and after peeing looked in the mirror and thought 'i look pretty'.

my mascara had smudged around my eyelids and below my lower lashes when we were in the pool kissing and playing games and splashing around like idiots.

someone had brought their cup of keg beer into the pool.

pool water got into it when she wasn't looking.

i was sitting at the lip of the pool.

i murmured something to you about the pool water in the beer.

you said

'she won't even notice'.

she drank her beer.

she didn't notice.

i wonder if drinking chlorine water is bad.

i feel good because my hair is wet and you told me that i looked pretty.

i feel pretty.

the cranberries float across the pool.


i begin to sing loudly.

i am drunk.


dear chicago

i really want to go to this.
who's with me? library cards can get us a free pass!!


You had an exceptional knack for seduction. In your web I wove my own wicked evenings and you, weaving, ever-weaving; I loved for you one moment. One immaculate instance when I saw your goodness beneath wretched cinderblock engine grease malice. In the flash of your camera lens. In the basement with a cigarette and the gasoline dream.


i could die to this song, you say. you’ve just put a fraction of a gram of heroin in your nose, and it’s enough to make miles that much more immortal. play this song at my funeral, you say. you stupid high asshole. i’ll dance on your grave in my patent stilettos.


To whom it may concern:

If you're reading this, I'm sure you've noticed I haven't posted anything in quite a while. This is mostly due to the fact I haven't really been drawing anything lately. I'm working on a series of self-portraits in oil, the first of which is in-process. This blog so far hasn't really been about my life as a painter, but perhaps that can change. I'm not sure if anyone is even going to see this. Do people look at my blog? I've also been writing a lot lately, so that's consumed a lot of my time. I'm reading The Great Gatsby for the second time right now, and have just finished Lolita (Great Gatsby is much better than I had remembered!) Anyhow, I would appreciate any input from people who parouse this thing...so let me know if you'd perhaps like to read some of my writing and maybe this can become a real "traditional" blogger. Cheers!


and i'll love you forever







tomorrow is the first day of the spring semester. i cannot sleep. no i'm not excited. i promise i will post some drawings. I KNOW YOURE LOOKING AT THIS


my back hurts. my job is so stale. that last post was gay. i got a good idea today. look i'm blogging for real.


first coulour post e v e r