what the hell is he rambling about now

Id rather not write with a reader in mind
no thank you I would rather pretend that no one is eyeing me down secretly holding in what they really want to say about what they think of as the wordst written blurb they have ever heard in their life acting like nothing is wrong everything is fine well just lie and say we like this guys idea of running on sentences like forrest gump following orders with no other considerations to sit on and think about before doing it just a =n unexpected jerk from the inner gut

Not This Time..

forever ever?

They tried to stop us in our tracks
but we kept on trucking
ducking every single sly sucker punch
swinging at the heart & soul
bringing so much me to the forefront
with four elements combined by five 5 more ones AP
from the legendary root of it all
we stayed true to the art
after dark while we did it in the parks
all smarts no false starts
we marched like M-illitants
shedding knowledge on ignorant
kids thinking that
our method of op was brought by some simple plan
if that is the case
dummy heads need to think again
from the back of the line
ill vis and eye emerged
like a rubberband expanding beat in
minds with words
of wisdum giving cynics
fresh opinions to learn from
real eyes recognize real
word to the third one
my crew work in moderation
first comes first basis
pacing steps making heads
practice patience
AP layin down the statement
our motto is fuck what they think
let em wait for the invitation
ground up no short cuts
we pack shit in
show and prove to all
we are no accident brash
purposely bash what don make sense
serving food for thought
on tables of contents
making any hungry head
desperately wanting in
on that piece of mind we share
AF's he rarest jem

Thank God for Emanon

Manifest Destiny

mindsetting & manifestation is so real! if you don't believe in it, it's only because you are choosing not to based on past experiences.... let it all go... it brought you to the present, but you can change all that, simply beginning with positive thinking... positive thinking is not just hoping you will receive something, because the thought of hope leaves room for failure, the thought is and should be knowing in your mind that you have the ability to receive whatever you need & want... there are steps you need to take, and obstacles you need to face first before you can receive what your heart desires... as long as you continue to feel and know your truth with all your mind, body, and soul... you'll receive it! and a final note is... sometimes you already have it, but you just can't see it until you've cleared your mind of the unnecessary... everything about our life including the physical begins in the mind...

jon malave

tangents (ssa)

feeling like an old man
trying to teach kids about manners
kids who wanna fuck first
introduce themselves after
..finding it too hard to break their pattern
now all I hear is laughter
behind my back
stabbed by more students with no masters

..bastards!


nowadays
some may say
shit has changed
for the worse
attitudes are like
"yeaaaaa whatever anyways...
its the 21st century
so who gives a shit about tradition
its the age of ignorance
nobody wanna listen
missing points like airballs
hell they dont care at all
we're up on stage educating
while their drunk screaming "take it off!!!"
their brains are soft
caught up in the bs
wishing there was a way to hit reset

they say we dont like your music
because your music makes us think
ysee we'd rather act foul
buckwild off some drinks
and get stupid in the place
-shitfaced untill we vomit
then pass out in a crowd
full of candy addicts & alcholics

shit go ask common..
hell tell you
how he went from making 'sense'
to making dollars
bridging the GAP
between bronze coins
and heavy cash
authentic to silly fads
really dope to really bad
changing the face of pretty
like fake titties to mini racks
some may ask
what must one do to last
in this trash heap business
of music crap
music that makes me angrier than vinnie paz
tis why infact
I resist
from pushing too far
never will strange one submit
his skills to someone elses cue cards

K R U S H E D

In the middle of working on a painting of one of my favorites..I kinda like looking at it half done...maybe eye will leave it??? mmmmmmmmmmm.........

and on a related note..
My friend Yobikenobi put a mix together. Check it out..

Lost in a purple desert
http://www.mediafire.com/?rjjjjmy2bgm

dear eyeknot knowmust

Enter my home, take a round about, take a look at the walls and you will find pieces of paper taped onto them, all of which say "Mom is Hipocrite", and underneath those words "Mom is Hipokrita". You will also notice the phrase written along the sides of some of the garbages??

I myself was confused about the whole thing really. The handwriting looked familiar. As guessed correctly, it belonged to my mother. I asked her what this was all about, and she replied vaguely, that someone had called her a hipocrite, but refused to say who. I made a guess, and I was correct. She assumed a meaning for the word, but didn't quite understand it's proper meaning, all she knew was that it wasn't a word of praise, nor a word that expressed love, as it certainly was not received well. I explained to her the definition and warmed her with my views on the word hypocrite. I said at some point, we all are victims of our own procrastination, and we certainly all in this lifetime experienced wrongdoing, and continue for some of us, we continue to do what is deemed as wrong despite being well aware of the liklihood of arriving at the same shameful results that we swore never to revist again. I asked myself could this be true about my mother? It is possible, but in what context? I feel as though the act does not necessarily define that person, and so though she may have or may do hipocritical things, it is not a word that I would choose to describe her as a person. I also asked myself, could this be that my father is looking for someone to blame, could it be that because he seemingly refuses to reach deep into himself, that he is projecting his anguish and fears and spewing them out unto his surroundings, blaming others for his suffering. Who knows? Communication is key, yet we are all still walking passed each other in a tight conjested space wondering why the doors that may lead us to a larger room to breathe, are still locked.

Name calling seems to be a common act of expressing ones feelings this month..

Pumpernickel:

a coarse, dark, slightly sour bread made of unbolted rye.

Origin:
1750–60; < G Pumpernickel orig., an opprobrious name for anyone considered disagreeable, equiv. to pumper(n) to break wind + Nickel hypocoristic from of Nikolaus Nicholas (cf. nickel ); presumably applied to the bread from its effect on the digestive system

n. A dark, sourish bread made from whole, coarsely ground rye.

[German, probably from dialectal, term of abuse : obsolete Pumper, breaking wind (from dialectal pumpern, to break wind, from Middle High German, to knock, frequentative of pumpen, of imitative origin) + German Nickel, goblin; see nickel.]

"dark rye bread," 1756, from Ger. (Westphalian dialect) Pumpernickel (1663), originally an abusive nickname for a stupid person, from pumpern "to break wind" + Nickel "goblin, lout, rascal," from proper name Niklaus. An earlier Ger. name for it was krankbrot, lit. "sick-bread."

I asked myself, What does it mean? Like my mother, I didn't know the given definition, but intuition gave me a slight hint that it wasn't intended to be a compliment. The definition that sticks with me the most is: "originally an abusive nickname for a stupid person".

While the humour may have entered on one end, confusion had entered on another. I asked myself what did I deserve to be called this? moreover, what did I not do?

Absence; it seems the more it carries on, the more the liklihood of assumptions to come in between, and that is not healthy. Perhaps this is why the bread has turned black for you?

If you recall our heart to heart talk that one night inside the bus stop, when you told me what you told your sister..it partly true, and partly unsure..that I was longing for a partner.. the partly unsure bit come from many places. it comes from my refusal to take away any other person's freedom. freedom to choose. freedom to travel. freedom to love whomever or whatever..the unsure bit also comes from my own freedom, it is with that, that I had said..."I understand you"

and as explained before..the partly true, comes from my dream. i like to think that it also comes from years and years of conditioning, of not only my parents era of traditional romance, but years and years before their time when honour and respect for a partner still existed. As dave chappelle said, chilvary is dead..but I ask who made dave chappelle god? and who is to say that that statement is true on all accounts, who is to say that is relevant and true for everyone.

In between one night stand fuckers, and bored couples who belong to crumbling marriages where divorce is considered a taboo, I find myself scratcing my head, (sometimes both) sorry bad joke..wondering what it is I am really looking for? What is definite here?

I met an interesting man who said that when we define something, it becomes the end of questioning. now what does that mean if we relate it to titles such as boyfriend, girlfiend. husband wife, married..blah blah..Maybe in some ways its saying there is no more need for questioning, no more need for looking, because we've found our definition of love?

But the reality that I like to believe in, sees that we are redefining ourselves everyday, as we grow, we change, and we take on these new findings that shape us a little bit differently than yesterdays mold. Maybe I am getting a little too deep into it, but that has always been me. I haven't lived enough to know what true love means, and maybe I will never..maybe it will always be a question for me. I can only define with what was and is exposed to me. Another thing that this man had said to me..is that because we will always question, and it is so difficult to find an ends to the means of mysterious things (like love) it is hard to determine what is logical...for all I know he could be incorrect..but I like to agree that intuition is a great thing, and I feel that listening and paying attention to inuition will communicate with our logic and thus...maybe not give us a clear definition of things, but come pretty damn close to making sense

she will always be wonderful, or always full of wonder..which means I can never have her..or own her? and that is perfectly fine, because I do not wish to carry any weight other than my own. Who knows..maybe one day...eye WILL stop questioning..but that will not mean that it will be the end of paying attention.

whatever the fuck that means!!

Happy Feet

Super Strange

Today a kid came into HMV today and asked me if we have any Dr. Strange. "Sowwie Kid, we don't have any in stock". I was the only one laughing. How sad. Haaaaaaaaah hah.

Basq in all its glory

First time me artwork be published ya see. I am quite ecstatic about it!

Positive Lifestyles

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zToHQ8oQvgA

So the court dropped the charges. Luck Strikes Again! My lawyer is no Jim the Hammer Shapiro, but he brought the good luck that I needed.

Nothing more than feelings

So Good

Young Kasparov

Vertical Adventure

This would be the first mural gig I have had without the 30 percent cut damn right sun damn right. It was truly a blessing to be back at the spot where I use to build myself up in one critical time of my life. $1500 for about 16 hours in total.. not bad, not bad at all but there is still much to improve on. Oh mighty universe please Give me another wall!!!



The quote is from one of the first rock climbing videos I have ever seen in my life (nearly five years ago). What I enjoyed most about it was putting the video on mute and listening to Wu-Tang's 36 chambers to switch up the dynamic of it. I found it fascinating...

Big Colorful Diaries from the Strange One

Don't Blame Me, Blame the Art

So I got a gig to paint half naked women at Vivid nightclub for 200 dollars one night for 4 hours. Does that make me a bad man? Of course not. It would be an awful lie if eye were to say that I didn't enjoy my time. I would certainly be down for another round.

I received word from the Gallery that my Basquait piece will be on the cover of the next Uniter issue. Finally, after one year of trying to get my shit together, it's going to happen. But it doesn't stop here.. Oh no folks, eye shall proceed

Wrong or Write?

Wrong or Write?

It was the fear of losing stability that kept that inborn beast within me, tamed, and timidly isolated in mother’s basement, over-analyzing the world, going mad, getting so afraid to take leaps and bounds into new territory. I was beginning to settle down, keeping a budget, guarding my fun with funds, playing the safe side, gracefully growing into the 25 year old man that I was ‘supposed’ to be; a mature, well-organized, self-sufficient contributor to society, who would diligently continue to uphold his responsibilities as a ‘real adult’.

Fortunately, months and months of untiring curiosity had eventually overthrown my fears, when finally, I decided that putting security on the back burner, and buying a plane ticket to Montreal would be well worth the experience. So off I went, feeding my inquiring mind what it was longing for, a breath of ‘French air’. I was riding the waves, instinctively seeing where life would take me next.

Among the many beautiful places that I had stumbled upon during my trip, there was a small bookstore called “Coup de Coeur”. It was there where I came across “The biography of Hunter S. Thompson”, a man who I had heard so much about, yet knew very little of, thus, engulfing myself once again in my curiosity. Thirteen days of roaming around the city as a free soul, while getting acquainted with the Wild Man of American Journalism, downright did it for me. The combination of my gullible mind, along with Hunter’s crazy life stories, was all that was needed to restore the youthful vigour back into my inner beast.

I returned home to Winnipeg feeling invincible again, double daring myself to do the unthinkable; taking a stolen wheelchair for a spin, smoking cigarettes, drinking profusely, and getting back into the reckless habits that I once had when I was a teen. I was once again, a rebel on the edge, and in all honesty, it felt amazing! I understood the psychology behind it, or at least had a grasp on the idea of why I was so drawn to the edge of my existence, and why I felt so compelled to do such outrageous things, yet despite knowing all of this, I still continued to feed my ignorance.

September 7, 2009 – Breakfast at the Nook (Labour Day Drama)

The small talk between Gumshoe and I was interrupted by a freshly served Spanish omelet served right under my nose. While digging into my flavorful meal, I continued reading on about Mr. Hunter S. Thompson, chuckling away at his barbaric and crazy life stories, slowly growing spellbound, to the point that I could imagine myself, as him. I would read, drink my coffee, and lean back against my chair, as I would imagine him doing it in the same fashion.

It was like a classic tale of Irony in the making, as half way through my book; four police officers walked into the Nook and sat down directly at the table across from me. Every once in a while, in between chomping on some eggs, and entertaining myself with Hunter’s stories of encounters with the police, I would observe the officers in front of me, taking mental notes of their mannerisms, while on and off, redirecting myself back to Hunter’s biography. There they all were, talking amongst themselves, waiting for their grub, enjoying their Labour Day morning, while I, alone in my zone, sat quietly, picking bones from my plate.

When my meal was all done and paid for, I walked out the restaurant with a bittersweet taste in my mouth, and a few planned activities for the afternoon in mind, but as I proceeded to the back parking lot, my afternoon agenda soon became tainted with an abrupt, and beastly idea. In my wicked imagination, I began to make the connection between the colorful painting materials sitting in the back trunk of my car, and the plain white police cruiser that had been parked directly right beside it. In that blood-rushing moment of time, all I could picture in my head were the facial expressions that the officers would make, when they would come back to their beloved car only to realize that it had been decorated in pretty pink colors. Unfortunately for me, my idea of hilarity had been poorly supported by carelessness, which later resulted in the officers having the last laugh, as they tracked me down 2 hours after my daring move.

No matter how you flip the coin, in this society, painting the words “OINK OINK!” in pretty pink along both sides of a Police cruiser is deemed as “Wrong!”

It was the second time I felt that cold steel wrapped around my wrists. They don’t give you much leg room in that car of theirs. It was the most awkward elevator ride that I had experienced in my life. Not even the memories of the mysterious homeless man with the brown stains, and bad odour in his pants could rival this story. There they all were, crowded around me, like a big group of angry fathers, raising their voices, pulling the intimidation card on me. “You must think it’s pretty funny writing ‘Oink Oink” on the car don’t you!? Are you calling us pigs?” Why did you do it!!?? I responded with the word “Ignorance”, which contrarily lessened the amount of intimidation casted upon me.

Room number four, nothing to look at but white walls, a sprinkler, and yourself from the neck down. You notice the simple things, like the little specs on your skin, or how long your toe nails are. I sang and recited poetry, and free styled about how stupid it was to spray paint a cop car, hoping that maybe if they could hear me, they would bless me with the same luck as my first arrest, when I was granted a discharge for reciting a poem for the judge, and a court room full of convicts. Maybe luck would indeed strike twice? Perhaps they too, would wonder what the hell on earth possessed such a brilliant kid to do such a thing.

After one phone call, and about three hours of sitting around, getting threatened to be taken to remand, they finally moved me into the interrogation room, where they showed me photos of my latest ‘art piece’. “Did you do this?” they asked. I was a mute, mentally wrestling with one of two options; the advice from legal aid, which was not to say a word until a visit from a real judge, and; the curiosity behind whether or not I would be granted a quick release if I were to plead guilty.

After about twenty minutes of doing the mime routine, I finally gave in, admitting to my wrongs, taking responsibility for my actions. It was quite obvious who the vandal was; red Honda Civic with matching license plate numbers, a tool shed painted from top to bottom, a pink can in the passenger seat. In contrast, I suppose one could say that I was caught ‘pink handed’.

One of the officers, who studied my demeanor throughout my moment of silence, spoke on my behalf, voicing his speculations, assuming that it was just a lapse in judgment on my part. When asked, “What compelled you to do such a foolish thing? I wanted to tell them that it was Hunter’s fault for being so damn inspiring! But I had the hint that they wouldn’t really take that as a rational answer. Instead, I told them that it was simply a wrong move on my part, and that in the moment of my wrongdoing, I had lost all logic. Before calling it a wrap, they left me with an opportunity to share whatever was on my mind, clearly stating: “now is your chance to say whatever you need to say”. Their offer had only sparked one thought, and that was to show them who I was, by sharing what I do, and so I spoke...

I use to say “Forget the money!”, with a passion
Back when there was nothing but drinking, smoking, and rapping
Laughing life away like there was no price to pay
for staying out late writing my name up on the trains
Never played the game, instead, I went against it
Raised fist and all, splashing war paint on walls
Breaking laws with a smile, momma’s lost child
Who use to run wild with a low profile
Playing at my own risk, paying no mind to the mileage,
Living like I was next on Gods’ soon-to-die list
But oh how it changes, how life rearranges
How clear and present dangers suddenly seem safer
Forced into a corner, taking orders, chasing paper,
Thinking to myself how much I really hate to
Go to school, getting so confused about what to do
Its like you go to class, kiss a$$, or say forget the rules

But son, it’s easier said than done
when we live within a system that runs on funds
It is the reason why those stuck up kids deal drugs
And the reason why sometimes we have got to leave the ones we love
Work hard, get rewarded, that’s just the way that some jobs are kid
You can’t be an artist if you don’t know how to market
Pardon me, for telling you all these bits,
But you can’t discard the facts, because that’s just the way it is

Do not enter, do not cross, do not disturb
If you know the truth and got the proof, do not say a word
Go to work, get paid, lace your shoes, run the race,
Put a mask on your face, just to make the next day
You hate this place, but you can’t escape it,
Infinite like figure 8’s you were born into the matrix
With not enough guts to do anything about it
So it’s best you just shut your mouth and bow down kid
I will not allow this unjust matter to continue
I will strip you of your ability to let loose
I’ve got strict rules, and you have got to follow it
I don’t care if you’re sick, you still got to work tomorrows shift
The hunt for the dividends will never end
You will forever spend money on food and medicine
Regardless of culture, religion or gender,
I’ve got your whole world affected by afluenza
You’re the renter, well I’m the owner,
The poker faced money motor joker/ game controller
Holding your diploma
So show up, but don’t forget who feeds you,
the root of all evil that makes us unequal
You’re crawling on all fours of this monopoly board
With your shopping sprees helping my economy soar
Take the house, take the cigarettes, take the corvette,
Take the 4 year art course even if you can’t afford it
It goes eat, sleep, work, stress,
go to school, go in debt pay it off until you’re dead”
Get up, get busy, get going, go hustle,
do anything you can do to get through the struggle.
Cash rules everything around me
C.R.E.A.M
Get the money

The officer leaned forward, up from his seat, took a closer look at me, and asked: “was that improvised?” I replied, “No officer, it was written about a year ago when I felt a lot more grounded with my life”. He said “I don’t know what the hell you call what you just did right now, but take my advice son, and stick to doing that, not spray painting cop cars. You have a better chance of doing something good with your life if you stick to that”. Suddenly, I could feel a sense of respect coming over me. The tone of their voice, and their actions toward me had changed.

After all the paper work, the photo taking, and fingerprint documenting, it was finally time to leave. While being escorted out, he uttered his last words to me, saying: “You’re really interesting you know that. I wish we could have met somewhere else” But in my mind, I questioned the likelihood of us meeting without the paint sprayed in between our worlds, and thought that it would never have happened otherwise.

Apart from being scheduled for a court date, and dreadfully worrying about how I would break the news to my poor mother about what had just happened, I was somewhat grateful for the experience, as it brought my feet back to the ground, and redirected my focus to more important matters in my life. It was with this indebtedness, that I shook the officers’ hand, thanked him, and took his advice into account. I went home, I picked up my pen, and I did what I do best…

Write!