Egon and MEgon.

What do I do when my priviledges have been revoked? It's not fair, really. Did I deserve it? I don't think so. But he was good enough to me...I get one. Only one for today and then nothing for six more days. Why can't I just shut the fuck up?

But, that is not relevant right now. I'm trying not to think about it, so let me show you something that I love. His name was Egon Schiele (1890-1918) and he was an Austrian painter. Now, most artists have a few favorites. I have just Egon. He had a short life, but was able to produce some amazing things in that time. For example:

Here is probably why I am thinking about this, God damn it. Sigh. Only one? What does he think I am? Some sort of machine? I'm not! You hear me, Sir? I'm not!!! Pout.

Oh, to be young and free and able to play with yourself to your heart's content. I think I'll go cry. But before I do, here's a couple more:


Sometimes art is so easy to talk about. You have to say what you see, you have to capture this intangible visual with words. Something this angular, something that could be grotesque somehow still becomes an object of desire, of lust. I find his work to have this comfortable weight despite its ethereal quality. The line is so naked, but not delicate--thick and intense, insanely expressive. Not debated...but captured, and quickly. Overtaking, securing, controlling...and then nurturing it, enhancing, glorifying. The paint has such texture, the faces so emotive. The tone is intimate and seductive, yet somehow mournful.

And this, this is how I like to think of myself now. A place of dejected waiting, clothed but for where I want access, teasing and tormenting. My thoughts some place far away from here, yet also very here, very awake. And I still only have the one. And for only a few more hours:


When the clock strikes midnight, my pumpkin will become a jack o'lantern with a big, evil grin. I'd laugh at me, too. But that's why I am in this predicament. I can't shut my big, fat mouth. Grr.