Bath Time

You know, I am a pretty lucky fellow. I do not know of many husband/wife teams in the nude art biz, well not exactly biz for us as we make no money from our activities, but it is treated as commerce and what we do. Why would anyone want to own a picture of Mrs anyway? People don't actually hang photos of nudes on their walls, do they? I think only artists do as they run out of places to store them. So I do books. Handmade, commercially made, small, large, coffee table size, you name it, I'll do it. Some books just have pictures, others have just words. Some have both pictures and words. Some have nudes and some do not. Some have commentary in lieu of poems. Even a little piece of a journal is found in one of them because I felt it interesting as it revealed the artist at work struggling through a difficult time of zero production. A dormant stage. If anyone is interested in purchasing any of my books, let me know. We'll confidentially trade emails and I will get you where you need to be.

I am excited about what is in store when I finally quit my job June 1. I am frightened but keeping my head up and charging forth. I am working hard in this period before the Big Quit to learn as much as I can about marketing myself, to attempt a few practice runs, and I will report to you how it goes. Perhaps there will be something to learn from my work-to-be free from reporting to The Man. Perhaps I can define it. There is also Mrs to contend with and how she responds to maybe being the sole breadwinner for a short time. I know it won't be easy for her, but perhaps that is something we can work out on this blog as well. It is possible I will find that I love to wash dishes, or cook, or sweep somebody's floors, but I promise you I will be doing what I want to do, or die trying.

Palace Brothers

The Palace Brothers was where it all began in the career of singer/songwriter, actor Will Oldham. Their maiden album back in 1993 was a marvel. People living in this southern town did not know if the long-play was serious or a joke. I remember buying it when it came out. My family even thought it was a little strange. Sounded like these boys came out of the hills and hollers of Kentucky to write down some words and record some crude songs. Amazing stuff. Will Oldham has evolved into one of our nation's most prolific songwriters. His latest and longest moniker since 1998 is under the guise of Bonnie Prince Billy. If you do not know who he is you must check him out. I contend there is no other songwriter more important in our history than Bob Dylan, but Will Oldham can compete on a more sophisticated level during a period that hasn't been as remarkable or noticed around the world as the 60's when Dylan emerged.

Another Door, Another Title

It is amazing to me how much talent is in our world. And then to think how large this whole thing is and how inconsequential we really are. Sort of a paradox. So much emphasis put on "making it". I heard on NPR about a week ago that scientists were so excited for having witnessed finally the explosion of some star billions of years away. They just now saw something that was so far away that it took billions of years to reach the scientist's telescope. I believe they were using one of NASA's satellites to watch this thing. I started thinking then about how large this space is that that our planet turns around in. It really is phenomenal how fucking great we are. But it's all we have, isn't it?

Speaking Truth

There are many blogs I follow and love. One in particular is written by a retired forensic photographer by the name of David Swanson. His blog is called Speaking Truth. His posts are stories about his small town he lives in up in Marcell, Minnesota. Very interesting fellow even though he gets cranky sometimes. He loves his nude art models, and they obviously love him back. He enjoys cooking and eating fine food. And drinking, yes drinking, especially fine wines. Sometimes his politics are little too much, sometimes his criticisms of famous artists are a little brash and unwarranted, but if one thing he is sure to have it is an opinion. I think the people who know him best dismiss his frequent rants as the words of an old harmless madman. He has much knowledge to share for the hearty recipient of the intermittent wild-ass harangue.

Cake Flour

Yes, we made it back to the very cool storefront called Cake Flour where everybody in the world decided to visit that day too.

Studying on how to make this blog more popular I am faced with the experts' command to focus on a core content that I know something about and have it be something others may be interested in too. When we started this blog it was all about doing so to discover better who Mrs and I were in regards to our relationship as husband and wife. Concurrently it was a platform to express ourselves artistically with nude photos of Mrs along with commentary by myself whether it was a social, artistic, political, or personal topic pressing on my heart and mind, demanding a voice and asking to be heard. Well, the experts say to not make your blog personal even though some have and have been successful doing so, but in general the big boys say stay away from that sort of format. And don't have too many topics! I guess we broke both those rules, didn't we? Our blog is personal as hell. The seed and initial core content or topic was whether or not to share one's spouse with another friend or acquaintance. A topic that psychologists claim is on most healthy minds. Fuck, we're human aren't we? That means confused and fucked-up about a lot of things like what happens when we die, is there more, what was it all about in the first place?

I have multiple interests and talents that I never have exposed and want to desperately. I am constantly amazed at others' talents out there and want people to know about them too. There are standards from which I make my stand. I am not a lover nor promoter of mediocrity or recreational art. I write this fucking thing to save myself. To possess myself. It's in my training, seriously and severely embedded by none other than The Captain. I could no more not be true to myself than I could stop eating good chocolate. So fuck the experts.

The Farmer's Wife

"Gordon told us beginners at the end of the first night of class to go home and throw everything away. He told us not a one of us knew how to write, that our present and past work would be the anchor that would surely sink our boats, that our ability to emblazon the page would be directly connected to our ability to throw our work away. He said most of us would not be able to do it, and most of us would never make it -- and even the ability to throw work away will not guarantee success." ______Tetman Callis

In The Field Of Opportunity II

And what a field it was, not to mention the opportunity.

I have been working quite hard lately on learning how to build an online community, expand my readership, and build a business in the process. What I am selling is myself, my art, my words, and photographs. Of course, it all is quite free of charge here. But as we get to know each other it is my sincerest and heartfelt hope that you will want to see more of what Mrs and I have done together to create artifacts of lasting value. I am not quite sure what serious readers we lose by posting naked pictures of Mrs on the blog here. I am not sure how many serious voyeurs are out there in bloggie land. By my lights there must be many and the trick is to find them, or have them find you. And that is what I am studying how to do. Any help will be appreciated. Any links and comments are also encouraged. We are open for discussion.

Any Fucking Day blog began as a vehicle to demonstrate a long marriage always in flux. But actually Any Fucking Day was the name I came up with for a diner I wanted to eventually own. I felt the name appropriate for a customer having to wait for what he or she wanted. The diner was to be a good diner, with custom homemade food, interesting atmosphere, a personal touch peppering the walls with sounds "making love to your ear holes". But I figured my customer base would be small with a name like Any Fucking Day. I figured little Johnny wouldn't be able to come eat at my place because of that fucking word "fuck" in the name. So when we started this blog thang I stole my own title from myself. But I really do not want to limit myself to just the online nude art community and naked pics of Mrs all day every day, though I do know that is important, and when and if she ever feels like it we will be adding other naked women to our blog. I would also like to attract more serious readers not necessarily looking for nude pics but also not opposed to them, people who like a good poem now and then, maybe a controversial stand, a body-awakening so to speak. Because let's all face it. We are writing on the body. Some of us better than others. And when you read you are being written upon. So choose carefully and stop before you know it's too late.

From the Tetman Callis notes: On the matter of courage: the writer must come to grips with his deepest knowledge of herself. "Undoing the self is the greatest jeopardy," but without this jeopardy, there is no greatness as a writer to be had. "Truly, on the page, you can get away with anything, anything, anything. It’s just words.... You must be liberated from this fear to have the life of a literary artist." Don’t pull your punches -- there is nothing to be gained from it, and greatness to be lost. Don’t hold back.

And I Do Fucking Know That It's Not May

A poem by a dead one, James Wright

May Morning

Deep into spring, winter is hanging on. Bitter and skillful in his hopelessness, he stays alive in every shady place, starving along the Mediterranean: angry to see the glittering sea-pale boulder alive with lizards green as Judas leaves. Winter is hanging on. He still believes. He tries to catch a lizard by the shoulder. One olive tree below Grottaglie welcomes the winter into noontime shade, and talks as softly as Pythagoras. Be still, be patient, I can hear him say, cradling in his arms the wounded head, letting the sunlight touch the savage face.

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OK, Z again,

It took me a couple reads through to really see what a beautiful piece of work this poem is. Can you see? And I know it is the beginning of winter and all, but bear with me here. It is important to spend some time with a poem, that is, if it deserves your time. But if something draws you back to it, causes some pause, please honor that feeling and give it another go and everything you've got because probably you'll think it worth it in the long run. This is a poem I may have ignored if it wasn't included in John D'Agata's book THE NEXT AMERICAN ESSAY. I don't care what the season is as long as the poem is good. I take my nourishment when and where I can get it.