Young, hung, and full of vitriol...

I can't offer works of staggering genius, but what you will get are my sometimes funny, questioningly intelligent, frighteningly vitriolic, occasionally shockingly sweet, but almost always charmingly grouchy ramblings on music, film, politics, society, pop culture, literature, queer life, travel, Kansas City, and the mundane, yet surreal aspects of everyday.

I'm a queer punk country boy in his late 30s, who has settled back in the midwest after a decade or so of living around the country. My boyfriend, MJ and I moved to Kansas City a couple of years ago after an insanely surreal life in rural, southeast Kansas. This is my attempt at getting back into writing after a longer than anticipated hiatus. I'm still a bit rusty, so be gentle with me...A bottle of wine, some Barry White, and a can of Crisco usually does the job.

Sunday, June 13, 2010

A few hours ago, I discovered that Sigmar Polke died last week. I remember living in Dallas and a friend taking me to the Institute of Art. We wandered for hours until coming around a corner. There, much to my shock and delight was a Polke exhibit. Floor to ceiling, 20 foot tall images of art and commentary. I spent another couple of hours in utter awe of the images in front of me…While, I, myself, have never been a visual artist, I have always found particular images to have a profound effect on me. From the simple and basic, to detailed and intricate. Polke managed to balance both. While there was so much going on in his work, from the combination of paint and photograpy, to the commentary and voice of his art, there was always an underlying simplicity to it that spoke to me.

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