Loyally feeding the following beasts:
(follow and/or friend me -- if you appear to be a real person capable of passing the human tests, I will probably reciprocate)
Aggregated from Benefit of the Doubt and Tumblr, which gives the best representative sample of work in multiple media, I think
My poem “That’s One Way to Go” appearing in Right Hand Pointing issue 116 (it’s right in the middle) - and it’s surrounded by lots of great work. Easy to browse, too, since RHP is dedicated to very short poems and prose.
Posted on 6 November 2017 | 4:32 pm
Apparently I drew this to illustrate something during an argument? Now it is #foundart
#drawing #cavepainting #sketch #penandink #art #art🎨 #artistsofinstagram
Posted on 27 September 2017 | 11:04 pm
"Explanations place all apparent possibilities into the context of the necessary; stories set all necessities into the context of the possible." -James P. Carse, Finite and Infinite Games
Today's date is September 11, 2017. Thursday. Twin Peaks: The Return ended exactly one week ago, on Sunday the 5th.
With luck, the end of Twin Peaks: The Return will also be the end of Twin Peaks as a whole phenomenon. It's been pushed to its reasonable limit, and at that limit, it's found a kind of wholeness.
Another reason the series should reach its end: the whole world of Twin Peaks was annihilated in the closing moments of episode 18. That final scene showed the collapse of that universe.
Not everybody who watched the finale saw this. Indeed, the general drift of public opinion seemed to be frustrated confusion (as though nobody had noticed Lynch's whole, relentlessly consistent directing career telegraphing this kind of ending). Most people didn't know what they saw in those final moments... it registered as an unsettling non-sequiter, a rebuff to the closure that Lynch teased them with in episode 17.
The end of the episode is about those fans, hoping for some kind of closure. It's also about the FBI (at least, the fantasy FBI that Lynch has constructed for the world of Twin Peaks). It's also about characters, and audiences, and creators, and all their relationships to the art that defines them.
And of course, like everything Lynch has created, it's about the strangeness and singularity of the art.
This is not a particularly profound conclusion, despite this broken, aphoristic formatting, which is saturated with pretense and self-consciousness. (I'm only using it because these thoughts needed to be broken up, or they would have come rushing out as an exhausting torrent of interpretation and explanation ).
If you want to "understand" Twin Peaks... if you were frustrated by the lack of closure, by the fact that the ending didn't add up to anything meaningful or resolute... I have a solution. It may work for you... it may not... but at least I can offer it. It's an interpretation that convinced me, even in my resistance to it. It's the one that risen above all the other speculation.
I kind of hate that I've discovered a privileged reading. I kind of liked it better when I was wandering between interpretations. But it's only natural that, as a Fan, I find a form of closure here, because that allows me to be more at home with the series.
Judy has been translated by some fans as "explanation." This has been hotly disputed, and I'm almost ashamed to be referencing it, but it leads smoothly into this reading of the series' conclusion: that Judy is an embodiment of transcendence, or gnosis, in a terrible, destructive form.
By "transcendence," I mean the understanding of Twin Peaks from outside the fictional world of the show. This is what Judy represents. This is the "extreme negative force" that these characters are all chasing, even as they should be running away from it.
A lot of these ideas are assembled from comments in this Reddit thread, by the way. Despite my desperate desire to explain every detail of this interpretation, I am going to restrain myself. To read more of the textual connections, glance through that thread a bit. Also, I think this blogger got about halfway to where I ended up, so read that post for some more connections within the text.
Also, this post on syncing up episodes 17 and 18: this theory is brilliant, and may ultimately overrule any alternative, but it also dovetails with my own interpretation: the connection between Judy and the Demiurge, and the pathway into the real world, are particularly relevant.
If this is what Judy is, and they finally find Judy in the semi-fictional Limbo ("pocket universe") of Richard and Linda and Carrie Page, then the final scene is the discovery of Judy herself, and Cooper and Laura/Carrie's realization that they are fictional characters.
In fact, the sound of Sarah Palmer's voice calling Laura's name... to me, it looked like that was coming from a room in the house. It looked like someone in that room was watching a TV, and maybe that was the dialog they were hearing.
When this happens, Sarah screams, Cooper loses his orientation in time, and the power goes out.
The fire of narrative, fed by credulity and poetic faith , is embodied as electricity. In those final moments, the electricity flows out of this universe forever. This is the destruction of the show's secondary reality, the collapse that closes out the whole series. When the characters realize they are parts of a fiction, that fiction can no longer be maintained.
So many of us amateur critics are willing to hand-wave Cooper's disorienting final question: "What year is this?" That line actually has great significance for this finale. To Cooper, it's a confrontation with a reality outside his own timeline, which is running discontinuously through it, on a million televisions.
Suddenly Cooper, the character, understands that he simply vanished for 25 years, and now he exists again, with a different name. He is the accursed fancy of a higher consciousness: a Creator with the power to construct a universe out of nothing.
For the audience, this is connected to the question of why: why should this creation, left fallow for 25 years, suddenly be resurrected in our age of cell phones and Skype? And why, 25 years after the story closed itself off to us, are we still so desperate for closure and "explanation"?
David Lynch has been hounded by demands for explanation his entire life. He knows that everybody wants it. He also knows that in the end, we don't want it... it dispels the glamour of narrative, chops down that fertile tree that grows from our subconscious.
And the reason Twin Peaks: The Return spoke to me was that Lynch had something to tell me... a warning, a threat, and a little koan. Because I didn't want explanation, I thought. I've always reveled in the open signifiers of Weird Cinema, and I've always appreciated the fluid meanings of poetry and surrealism.
But I also search for meanings. I search desperately for them. Where I see order, I can't help but divine for purpose. Twin Peaks was no special case in that regard... I digested for a day, and then I fell into the major outlet thinkpieces (numbingly repetitive, frankly) and then I dove deeper, surfing Tweets and comment boards and the subreddit.
I was hunting for something I didn't want to find.
And now that I've found it, I'm lost outside the work. I'm the consummate chin-stroker, hovering above the abyss, who's lost the grand mystique of unspeakable ideas. I've stumbled from Fandom into Criticism.
This was the trap Judy laid for me, and I fell into it.
And perhaps, when I hit Publish, I'll lure a few more hapless souls into this explanatory abyss.
But even from here, I can still see the whole series, laid out before me, and part of me knows I don't really understand it. Though my sight is dimmer, I can still see sparkles: unresolved events, unanswered questions, and broad themes that I've only glimpsed.
And that part of me will always find a home in Twin Peaks, beyond the shadow of Judy.
 Carse has some fascinating ideas about Explanation, Narrative, and the Unspeakable. His theory is beyond the reach of simple paraphrase, but I should note: he associates explanation with what he calls "finite games," which are time-bound, goal-oriented, and seek as few players as possible (ultimately leading to a single "winner"). Explanation closes off possibility, and it's relentlessly rearward-facing, always hung up on the past. To Carse, explanation is self-limitation, and as a world is explained, it is also restricted.
Judy is the Finite Game descending upon the open signification of Twin Peaks. She is the knowledge that undermines wonder, and the darkness of pure transparency. To Lynch, she is terrifying.
 Okay, here's a quick tour of some other evidence:
Posted on 11 September 2017 | 2:48 am
#art🎨 #artistsofinstagram #amdrawing #drawing #penandink #illustration #fantasyart
Posted on 6 September 2017 | 11:45 pm
#drawing #illustration #art🎨 #artistsofinstagram #penandink #amdrawing #fantasyart
Posted on 4 September 2017 | 12:43 am
#drawing #fantasyart #artistsofinstagram #illustration #penandink #amdrawing #art🎨
Posted on 1 September 2017 | 11:23 pm
#drawing #sketchbook #characterdesign #fantasyart #artistsofinstagram #art🎨 #sketch #amdrawing #illustration #pencildrawing
Posted on 1 August 2017 | 11:57 pm
I thought there would be a statue here.
I wouldn’t say my sources were reliable, per se… mostly an old bookmark I found in my copy of The Velvet Promise, which turned out to be a page torn out of a 1970’s tour guide to the Matawan Bluffs… but you could see the name of a town, and a photo: the stone silhouette of a man with a musket, perched on a pedestal, set up as high in the ridges as they could reasonably get him.
I don’t know why that photo always stuck in my head.
Maybe I shouldn’t have taken the last of my vacation days to come out here and look for it. Maybe I shouldn’t have bought that new camera, or started that YouTube series about this road trip. Now I’m going to have to end it ironically, and I don’t think my thirty-seven followers are going to appreciate that direction.
You’d think it would be here, even if it had fallen over. Maybe lying down across the path, or shattered, with its head miraculously whole, spread out over the dry creekbed. But the empty pedestal, and no shapely stone fragments to be seen… I don’t suppose somebody made off with it?
That must be it. Maybe it’s still intact, mouldering in the basement of some frat house in Beanerton.
Maybe I can still find it.
I guess it’s on to Season Two.
Posted on 31 July 2017 | 11:04 pm
Note: Spoilers below for Twin Peaks: The Return, Parts 1-11.
1989 comes to a small northwestern town, just as it comes to every other place. This town, sheltered by the rains and forests of Washington State, is called Twin Peaks.
And in 1989, Twin Peaks becomes a place so unlike every other place, it's almost insulting to describe it with the same language, channeled through the same air.
Posted on 27 July 2017 | 4:33 am
Belfry dwellers - recent sketches
#amdrawing #art🎨 #artistsofinstagram #fantasyart #characterdesign #sketchbook #drawing
Posted on 25 July 2017 | 12:52 am
“Touched” - sort of a Swamp Thing type character, but less sludge and more blossom/thorn
#drawing #sketch #sketchbook #pencildrawing #characterdesign #fantasyart #artistsofinstagram #art🎨 #amdrawing
Posted on 24 July 2017 | 11:56 am
Inside the old barn by Jesse
3 quiet, dusty shots from the July 4 trip to the Finger Lakes
Posted on 19 July 2017 | 11:00 pm
Honeoye Lake July 4th 2017 by Jesse
Posted on 12 July 2017 | 2:54 pm
Balti was holding Lapswitch Ridge, and that meant Lapswitch Ridge couldn’t be taken by force.
Balti, last of his regiment, who arrived here alone and set his traps, stacked up a convoy’s share of munitions, and set himself a schedule: hoist the flag every morning, reset the charges on each bridge, and check the horizon every two hours. Fill your remaining time pining for your fallen comrades.
Lapswitch Ridge wasn’t the most important site, strategically speaking, so after a couple devastating skirmishes, they all left Balti alone. Too many losses, they said, not enough gain. The wars went on, borders were redrawn, and whole strategies were drafted around this little pocket, left alone at the center… Lapswitch Ridge, settled territory, beyond the reach of armies and airmen.
And the wars ended, and nations changed their names, and still, Balti defended his fort. I think he must have stockpiled rations from all the relief shipments he got… he wasn’t a farmer, after all, and the wild pigs up on Lapswitch don’t make for a well-rounded diet. However he’s done it, he’s spent lifetimes now, hoisting the flag of a sovereign that’s long ceased to exist. Whatever oath he made, he was sure to keep it.
I’m the only homestead with a line of sight up Lapswitch, and this very morning, for the first time since I’ve lived here, the flag didn’t go up. So I’m going to head on up and see what’s happened to Balti.
If Lapswitch has finally fallen, will another sunrise even bother coming? It’s hard to imagine so.
Posted on 7 July 2017 | 2:00 am
The grass on the stratum harasses the bottom of my feet. I think it would break the skin of a softer sole, but mine are already well-worn. It is cold, though… cold enough that it gives an extra electric shiver to the brisk air. Cold enough to see a long way.
There’s the Fellsthur up ahead, first time I’ve seen it in… how long has it been?
I can still hear the paterna, speaking the ritual in my ear, laying this burden upon me. These are troubled times, he said… the soil isn’t coming back, the buzz of wires and engines isn’t going to subside. His voice was a beacon, and I was charged with walking away from it, finding my people a new homeland, and finally following his light back to the stratum.
To Grayson and New Olderville, to Tropolis and Saggy Bluff… lifetimes spent wandering, searching, bearing our standard. Eyes open for unbroken years, looking for the right kind of loose, fecund territory where our stories could take new root. How long was I out there?
Too long, it turns out.
When word came to me, it was a trickle of cold water… awkward whispers, avoidant questions, third-hand rumors faintly remembered. The truth was shy, ashamed, but desperate to be heard: after our land died, my people died, too, one by one, down to the last.
So my search ends here: in the shadow of Fellsthur, a repurposed ruin, my peoples’ fortress of exile, where the last of them spent their last days. Tonight I’ll listen to their echoes, sleep beside their bones, tell them my story, and finally bring theirs to an end.
Posted on 28 June 2017 | 1:42 am