The paths we take.

Harper Harper Comparisonharperandharper

I was recently looking for an image of my “Good Reptoid Tits” sketch, with the idea of doing some digital manipulation on it, just to experiment, and out of laziness I tried pulling it off of my blog, when I made the shocking discovery that I haven’t put it on here.  It’s one of my personal favorite sketches from the last 2 or so years, but that’s for another day- however meticulous I try to be, some things always slip through the cracks.  But in googling “harper hair good reptoid tits”, I naturally got a lot of responses with the “reptoid” part crossed out.  One of these was a page for porn actress Dillion Harper, pictured above.  My tits are modestly hidden beneath my jacket, but I was struck nonetheless by the similarities, as well as the differences, of direct comparison.

Who is this “Dillion Harper”?  Who is “Harper Hair”?  Both are enigmas.  Similar in so many ways, they have been led down very different paths by life.  Both have similar faces, with peering expression, high forehead and well-defined jaw line.  Dillion Harper appears very high-strung, wound like a coil.  Her head is tilted slightly downwards.  Harper Hair, by contrast, peers down his nose , his body in a slackened, leisurely posture.  Both have long hair of almost identical color, but Dillion Harper’s is perfectly straight and tucked neatly behind her neck, while Harper Hair’s flows loosely over his shoulders in the breeze, cascading in lazy wavelets haphazardly from his scalp.

The page the image of Dillion Harper was retrieved from, on a site called “Pretty Dirty”, allows paying customers to see her “On The Market”, as it were.  We can guess that Dillion Harper probably makes a good deal more money than Harper Hair.  In our economic reality, she could likely financially support Harper Hair (if some strange whim possessed her to do such a thing) off the earnings she gets from playing the role of a dependent, from helping men conceptualize the fantasy of having a sexual dependent- a theme which, I might happen to have some idea, accounts for the overwhelming majority of the bland world of pornography.  In this way she has more “buying power” than Harper Hair, who looks so defiantly independent, is ever likely to have.  Could this sort of reward system be the hidden function of finance in the United States of this era?  Could this be the secret social agenda that the “job maker class” doesn’t dare acknowledge- to themselves?

The more I look, the more I’m convinced that Harper Hair and Dillion Harper are two very similar people.  And thinking this, I’m very thankful indeed to be Harper Hair.

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It was the worst of times. It was seriously not the best of times.

At that time in my life, the only thing that could bring me access to my pleasure center was snacks.  For days at first, and then weeks, I snacked so heavily that meals were a formality.  A little salad, maybe some white-meat chicken.  Then back to snacking.  I began to favor nuts.  Nut snack mixes became a huge strain on my budget.  If I’d lived in a fly-over city like Tulsa, I certainly would have attempted suicide due to limited access to refined nut mix varieties.  As it stood, I was going through three “Rouses spicy bayou snack mix” tins a day, throwing both types of sesame stick in the garbage without exception whenever found- completely jaded.

And with the snacks, came the farts.  Carbonated water by itself wasn’t nearly enough.  For a long time, “mylanta” tablets did it.  I was taking double the normal dose, but it wasn’t yet obvious what it was doing to my body.  As it got bad, I started carrying fish oil capsules in my back pocket.  In one instance, I absolutely had to be out of the house for an extended period.  I remember sitting in the stall of a public restroom, sticking the suppository in my ass and then guzzling pepto from the bottle until my head reeled.  Then I pulled myself out of the stall, staggered over to wash my hands, and pulled out a plastic baggy bulging with “white cheddar cheezit” snack crackers.  I was licking white cheezit powder off of fingers that still smelled like fish oil and bunghole.  After that, everything is blanked out.  I suspect I cried.

In those days, I was exploring old abandoned office spaces, taking a provision of snacks and having a snack picnic where no one else imagined.  I would bite into something.  And on a cloud of snacking satisfaction detachedness, I would imagine the mundane activities, and the underlying tensions, that had been enacted there by living and breathing human beings.  One day, I came across a “room 138.”


Not an unusual number distinction for an office room, this 138 somehow reminded me acutely of the old song by the band “Misfits”, punk rockers who had declared- “We are 138!”  I hadn’t listened to a record in months, yet this association hit me like a ton of bricks.

I opened the door.  Inside, it was the same dark-grey-bordering-on-black that I’d come to expect from the deep office world.  Yet this grey somehow had an aura of mystery, palpable yet tastefully understated.  I was given to think of Charles Gray, the great English character actor.  I wondered, as I often did, at the spelling of his last name.  Why not “Charles Grey”?


I stepped furtively into the room.  It was empty, square and rather smallish.  Cheap plaid woven carpeting had been affixed to the floor here.  It was much like any other former office.  Yet I almost felt as if this were my first time office lurking, as if I were a “virgin to the trade.”  I felt compelled to sit cross-legged in the center of the room, as in some sort of ceremony, keeping my back fairly straight.  Out of my pack I pulled some “fiddle faddle”, a fairly atypical snack for me, and a can of grapefruit “la croix” fizzy water.

I took a single contemplative nibble of a fiddle stick, my eyes wandering.  From nowhere, the sound of “Misfits” obtruded on my consciousness- “Do you think we are robot clean?”, they asked.


And then, it happened.  A great air current welled up in my insides.  I began to reach for my butt pills- and my limbs were halted by a leaden terror.  Suddenly I was pulled butt-first off the ground, levitating.  I let it out.  I let all the air out.  And the stale aroma of a thousand snacks, the aura of centuries of snacks, poured through the abandoned complex.  It momentarily made it into a great cathedral of entropy.  And my butt kept blowing out stale air, like the font from which the ill winds of the southern desserts issue.  But I did not suffocate.  Somehow I just kept farting, I became the very act of FART.  It was a gusty eternity before it ended.

I’ve been a gluten-free vegan ever since.


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Solid State Survivors

Solid State SurvivorJust Hangin back Just Hangin frontU F Org night photo

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Tea With Yankus

Voice acting provided by the incomparable Dane Hansen.

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Pig Town Blues

I’m Yankus. I’m 37.  I want hugs.  I’m a recovering necromancer.  And I got out of necromancy.  And I thought I could go into the fine arts.  This is how crazy I am- I thought I could be a part of the arts, where absolutely everybody is a contrived pig.  And this was my recovery.  Because I would do the work I wanted to see in galleries, and everybody would be just so appreciative.  I’m this crazy guy going into galleries.  And all these art people are looking at me like, “Who is this?  Doesn’t he know that we’re all pretentious swine?  What does he want in here?”  They’re exactly right of course.
I was really sexist.  And then I thought I could make art, and I would fill the world with really positive visions.  Like that’s what any art people want.  Because when you’ve been that negative, and you’ve brought that much negative energy into the world for a long time, afterward you’re really sensitive to how much negative energy there is.  I noticed that, especially, after I realized that these ideas I’d been subscribing to were a dead end and I was hurting people.  I was hurting people for no reason.  And after I realized that, I just crashed.  You just get really depressed.  Because it’s like, “Well, I just wasted my life.  I won’t get those years back.”  And you want noone else to feel like you did.  You want that to end forever.
So I started drawing.  You make these little drawings, and you think, “Surely everyone will want to hop on board my positivity train when they see the joy in my art.”  You get that naive crazy-guy gleam in your eye.  And you sign up for art classes.  You meet some really cool pigs.
I’m Yankus.  Once a pig, always a pig.

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The Witching Spring is Upon Us

Dorcan Dorcan story detail NSEW Art Pig sketch Sm art print Art teacher modified Headlight eye photo Blind door photo Weird bamboo photo

“…I have studied the history of your Abigail Prinn.  She too, understood the super-science of which I speak.  She used it for evil purposes- the black art, as it is called.  I have read that she cursed Salem in the old days- and a witch’s curse can be a frightful thing.”                 -Henry Kuttner, The Salem Horror


I believe in our plurality.  We accept people from a wide variety of different races, cultures, religions and sects in our society, and I think that’s as it should be.  However, whatever your beliefs, one of the first things we learn as children is never to play with a gun.  Even if you feel certain that it isn’t loaded, know that there’s nothing in the chamber, the safety is on, etc.- simply don’t play with it.  It’s better to be on the safe side…

This spring, everyone is out and about in the lovely weather.  And particularly in the Marigny and Bywater areas, but all throughout the city of New Orleans, there are many “practitioners of the occult”- from here on out I’ll call them Witches for convenience (and because that’s what they are)- darting here and there on bicycles which serve much the same function as the broomsticks of old.  I don’t support the surveillance of any one group of people over another on principle.

However, a witch’s curse can be a frightful thing.  This is not something to throw about lightly.  Think carefully about all the possible outcomes before you enchant, even if it seems like a minor spell.  We have certain responsibilities as citizens of a Democracy, and we’re all in this together.  NOLA- let’s practice safe hex, this Spring 2016 and beyond.

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See if this assuages your need for Harpart

Visage Moral Twilight of the Universe Kurt Schwitters, great expressionist FART + AID Board Men Little sign

Okay, see if this is a good quandary- you have the option between two possible fates for humanity.  One choice is for us to continue existing as a species for only 300 more years, but that time will be a golden age of peace, prosperity, and enlightenment right until the last human breath.  The other option is for humanity to continue indefinitely.  However, the entire rest of human history will be an immoral chaos without reprieve, with dictators and charlatans running society and no regard for the well being of one another- conditions will be bad for everybody but the few greedy despots on top.  Which do you choose?  Think carefully.  (Also, it starts after you’re dead, so you can’t just say you choose choice #1 out of self-interest.)

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