Christmas Memory

A family of friends invited me to celebrate Christmas with them so that many of the memories I would have had with my own family I could still experience.

Dogs Me

my pen
dogs bone

my clothes
dogs collar

my words
dogs bark

my God
dogs me


Christmas Visitors



and his

friend (I know

them) came to town

to visit for Christmas



Photo Illustration

I went with a friend to meet a friend
We met for a drink and a gift was exchanged
My interests result in a book about war
Because my friends know of my interest of war
I open the book and what do I find
a picture of mine
a picture of mine
This is not the first time that my interests have scared me
And I sat and I sipped on the beer that was near me
I stared out the window my friends are right there
While they are still talking I sit there and stare
(With the sense of a scene of a suicide bomb)
(With the sense of a scene of a suicide bomb)


1300 Mass Ave

Brandon you bastard

Today I sit in my chair picking puke out of my arm hair

($3.50 pollo burrito I'll replace today)

Last night I cut my thumb and the laces off my shoes

I was the one who found the last jello shots ...

but not well enough
in your freezer


Subconscious Headwear

"Andrew, you like hats you say? And it's obvious. Why? Because you put subconscious hats on inanimate objects around your house. You make art without even realizing it."

"Corcoran, you come to my house and say the nicest things man." "Man, I don't expect to."




air is worth more than gold

water is more valuable than oil

bread has more purpose than television

friends carry more weight than celebrities

is life more valuable here than there


Curing Writers' Block

Me & a friend went to an art opening at a place called Transformer but when we got there it was too crowded & they were only serving white wine so we headed across the street & got a couple beers at the P Street Bistro when another friend convinced us to meet him in front of the gallery Transformer, but when we got to the gallery he was already squeezing himself out of the front door, leaving the picture window full of people behind us we headed around the corner and got a couple six-packs & then around the next corner to my other friend's apartment where we talked, listened to internet radio, & I took some pictures of the snow off the balcony until it was voted we head back down to the big opening at the small gallery, yelling & drinking on the sidewalk as I arrived. And there was a surprising tolerance for me (except from my good friends) because the people seemed to realize that in my drunken state I was searching for material & from the sidewalk the circles were formed & groups of people, poets, artists, drunks start the pilgrimage around the corner to the Black Cat to get some beer - where I continue to drink & yell & compliment the girls as best I can with leering eyes & a swollen tongue & to get a beautiful girl's attention I pat her butt but only after realize what I did, and that it pleased me so I took the liberty too far & patted her bum again, but this time she replies in a pleasing voice, (extremely tolerant of me realizing that in my drunken state I am searching for material), "Now never [to] do that again." I agree to disagree, bite her face as a cannibal might and say goodnight. Me & a friend head to Yum's Carry-Out & go back to his house & drink beer & eat Singapore Rice Noodles & I get up to use the bathroom & test his scale & I realize that I have gained a steady 10 lbs. a year the past six years of my life & pass out on his living-room floor, but he seemed extremely tolerant realizing that in my drunken state I am searching for material


News Vet

the great parallax is in my living room
I'm sitting frontline on the war of Muslims, Christians, and Jews
robot corporations fighting oil-rich nations
my remote is my rifle when I watch the news
commercials, my only torture (McCain my sole supporter)
vector vests won't stop the casualties or the effects of bad press
my couch is my bunker when I watch the news
the great parallax of war is in my living room


National Gallery East Wing

Streets imitate Trails
Buildings imitate Shelters
Pens imitate Sticks
Sinks imitate Springs
Drums imitate Thunder
Horns the Wind
and Art imitates Life


Small Square Window

outside blue wind blows between buildings that aren't houses but are homes/ cool air drops its weight into bricks/ smell doesn't travel well in the winter/ steamy alleys seem cleaner


Bardic Thanks

Somewhere over Ragged Mountain, Past the Albemarle Square, I took up the invitation to have a good Thanksgiving there. I was greeted on the hilltop by an injured pack of dogs, They my guides into the table where the feast was laid out grand. (My momentum grew so eating that I nearly took my hand.) We ate and drank into the twilight, Forget the early morning sun. And the wine continued pouring, And the hymns were being sung. I finally realized in the morning how this thankful thing was done. Thank You Andrew and your family, Thank you Thank you, It was fun.


Birthdays Party

Kokopoolis, a great place to celebrate the birth of Kahtlene and Joyce. They both turned 21.


Strange Visitors:Eccentric Genius

Me and Mike Anderson went to visit Andrew Campbell.

. . .

When he picked us up at the Metro we all had to sit in the front seat because the back seat was full of carpet.

. . .

Andrew listens to my worried voice on his answering machine.

. . .

Andrew used his Hasslblad Camera to take lots of pictures. (Almost to an uncomfortable level.)

. . .

Until Andrew found some wood glue I was going to fix one of his chairs with a jumprope.

. . .

Andrew kept his larger plant in the kitchen sink for easy watering.

. . .

Before it got too late, we got a ride back to the Metro.

. . .

Mike showed Andrew how to used his car stereo. Andrew thought it was broken.

. . .

Late night in the Metro we waited as a couple argued over their infant.

. . .

Finally, we are back in Chinatown after a strange night out. We will be visiting Andrew again in the future.


LaRouche and Cheney are Bedfellows

My good friend Casey Smith took this picture of me today. There aren't too many people in DC who like Dick Cheney, but there are probably fewer who like Lyndon LaRouche. He has his cult of young people stand on street corners, a non-partisan annoyance. Today while I was waiting for the evening light I decided to stand by the LaRouche Cult with a sign of my own, "LAROUCHE AND CHENEY ARE BEDFELLOWS!"

Thesis Thinking

Our class will have its pre-thesis show in a couple weeks. Choosing the photos we will use had everyone crazy in class last night. Kevin and Daniel (one of our instructors) do some heavy thinking in the hall.


Dada Lang

Every Tuesday I have a class called Dada Language, taught by Welsh poet Doug Lang. Doug reads poetry from different movements throughout the past century. And the class reads their own poems too. Here is a link to some of Doug's poems -McSweeney's. Here is a poem I wrote off the side of my water bottle in class;

Crystal Geyser

alpine water

always bottled at the source,

to maintain the quality

and the freshness of our spring ...



1841 T Party

Andrew Bain and his housemates threw a giant party. It was a problem containing it within the house.

Live-in DJ and plenty of beer. I was still trying to get a fill up when they kicked me out this morning.

Hey, could you clean up the bathroom before you have guests!

Air Force Jazz

I went to the Airmen of Note Air Force Jazz Concert at George Washington University to see jazz vocalists Tierney Sutton and Tech. Sgt. Paige Wroble. Live jazz is great, this was some of the greatest I've ever heard.


JTF Enabler

This is an old picture from Afghanistan. Sergeant Willis poses outside of the Kandahar International Airport. I wrote a story about his section, Joint Task Force Enabler, travelling through the region. I mentioned gazing at the stars a little bit too much (they were the most prominent thing to see through the night vision goggles) and their sister unit from the West Coast called them "Gay-T-F Enabler." I narrowly escaped a beatdown from that one.


The Reason for the French Riots

Should Americans uprise? I figured it out. "I need to take pictures that don't glorify violence or make it look cool." I was talking to my friend Andrew. "I have to take photos that stop violence, and turn people from it." It looks like somebody beat me to it. This recent video sheds new light on my own past experiences. Was there ever honor in war? Why can't we just hack each other to pieces with clubs and knives?

-------Please Watch This Video-------

Ralph Nader, Vets for Peace

Ralph Nader is a fellow member (honorary) of Veterans for Peace. If any veterans need a reason to join VFP: Depleted Uranium. Keeping it out of the U.S. Arsenal might cause a few second delay in the destruction of enemy armor, but using it is said to cause generations of birth defects. I checked out a governement website, that might possibly downplay depleted uranium. They say it is safe, and 40 percent less radioactive than uranium.

Eating Light

Andrew Bain showed me a Persian place to eat on 18th St, NW. The Caravan Grill is a great buffet away from the out-of-towner crowds of Adams-Morgan. Plus, we saw our old friend and photo history instructor David Haberstich there. He's the head photo archivist at the National Museum of American History. If a Washington insider like Haberstich dines here you know this place is a treasure trove of serve-yourself delights.



Party at Mike and Brandon's place -- the perfect opportunity to study binge drinking at its most vulgar. Jello shots, beer pong, beer bongs, and just drinking unhealthy amounts of alcohol. What causes it? Why is it done?

. . .


Bill Newman's Opening

Artist Bill Newman (left) had an opening in a spacious Adamson Gallery, 1515 14th Street NW. He is always surrounded by his students. This is what the art world is suppose to be like.

Transformer Art Auction

Those times when the pretentious art world leaves you at the door, buy a drink and stay a while. Q: Why do Irish kids buy mineral water? A: To wash the wine off their clothes. This is what the art world is suppose to be like.