Wednesday, January 27, 2010

Photos of THIT performance...

Photos courtesy of GG, Brett Windham, and others....

Three new flatmates.....

...if you live at the Honor System Store!
Available now.



Book for Goat Notes


Beard to Beard

Thanks, JC!

Monday, January 25, 2010

Award Salad

Physical version of HEY HEY FREEDOM!

A version of HEY HEY FREEDOM created with EYES AND HANDS for EYES AND HANDS.
HEY HEY Freedom is a set of 16 postcards.
12 of these postcards correspond to 12 short works of exaggerational literature that are available only on this blog.
(you may need to scroll down through the older posts to find them)
The other 4 cards work together as a team to tell a TRUE story.
Limited edition set of 24.

"Yes, I agree......."

"....that was a really great conversation. It happened so naturally. Well, see ya later....oh, I didn't quite catch your name....."

Friday, January 22, 2010

Opening of Carnival!

by Heath Ballowe

by Elizabeth Suellentrop

Thanks to Mary Burge for curating the whole exhibit!

I didn't get photos of everything, so not everyone is represented...if you get a chance, checkout the show!

Opening of Carnival 2!

by The Brothers Mueller

by Goatmother

by Louisa Marie Summer

Performances from Carnival!

Thursday, January 21, 2010

"Recording Josephine" available!

Ultimate Kudos to Ben Schreiner for producing an amazing documentary!
Thanks, Ben!
There is a low-res version for free online and here it is:
If you would like a hard copy, contact Ben directly at:
They are 20 bucks plus shipping.
If you just check it out online, please at least leave a comment for Old Benny and tell em what you think!
Here's the trailer!

Danger Dice!

Danger Dice.
Must be played on broken Glass that is on fire.
Even numbers: you lose.
Doubles: agknowledge the doubles...You lose!
Seven: Seven, Mother Fucker, seven!
Highest odd doubles wins.

Thanks to Will Fist, as well as, the entire state of Tennessee!

Training Hooves

Be the Goat of the Cat Walk.
Created by Iris Schieferstein

Stunning, isn't he?

Tuesday, January 19, 2010

First Show of 2010!

Carnivallic Creations from way out east.....
Opens this thursday!
Debut of Fanamatronix!
More pics soon!

Friday, January 8, 2010

Hey Hey Freedom: Beer Head

As beer after beer was combined with the rest of my body, I started to feel trapped, as if I were wearing a big, spongy, but soaked, suit of armor. I felt like a smaller little gentleman trapped in a body that was much too big. Observing myself in slow motion, I was able to pick out the mistakes I was going to make before I made them, yet with my reaction time just as slow, I had to watch the accidents happen and digest the reactions of all the rest of the people who happened to be operating at normal speed. I could hear their remarks and asides with crystal clear accuracy, but there were so many I couldn’t respond to all of them, and if I did, I would be attempting to dig myself out of the Hole of Heels and Clods.
What if I would have decided to eat peppermint candies all night instead of all those delicious imported beers of beautiful color, aroma, viscosity, subtle texture, and torso-warming gifts of good humor?
What would have happened then?
I suppose I would have walked around this Christmas party relaying awkward and amusing stories emotionally, clearly, and with a subtle subtext that would convey my attitude towards the events and characters in the story as well as delivering to the theoretical audience a forecast of the climate of my general mental environment.
That and I wouldn’t have broken my wrist wrestling the air hockey table.

Thursday, January 7, 2010

Hey Hey Freedom: Hive-Handed

A smell so bad it could make you blind? I don’t think so.
I think one of the worst smells in the world is that of a lot of used saliva.
All saliva is consistently being used and reused. There is never a time that saliva is “new.” Or if there is, it is only very, very brief, until it is united with the rest of its community of brothers and sisters all offering Slippery Solutions.
What I mean by “used” is saliva that I imagine to have bits and debris from the food it was breaking down and lubricating in its trip down the Neck Tube to the Big Central Food Pouch.
I had that hideous smell on my right hand as I walk around downtown Salt Lake City. I kept putting my hand in my mouth and soaking it with my spit because of the burn.
Well, I’m an idiot. I had to burn my hand in the oil lamp last night because I lost a bet. Shane fit two Susie B’s in his nose.
Q: Who carries around two Susie’s B’s anyhow?
A: Guys named Shane who win bets.
I’m walking around downtown Salt Lake City with a horrible burn on my right hand.
All the signs in downtown Salt Lake City have little beehives on them. I wonder where that comes from.
Why is no one around?
The Salt Palace salutes an empty block and I jam my hand in my mouth. I ease my hand into a puffy winter glove for protection and try to avoid the horrible spit smell entering my nose.
When I gagged, I remember feeling it in my eyes as if they had popped.

Hey Hey Freedom: Mike Rose

Why was he so nice? He has no reason to be so nice to me.
Other questions I would have liked to ask:

1. How does a man with so much facial hair (even bushy eyebrows)
pull off cavorting around like such a lady? How does he pull off a woman’s golden blouse with that thick tire belly?

2. How does a man live on only M&Ms and red wine? I’ve never
seen him consume anything else. Chocolate and wine stains on
teeth and mouth, but somehow he still looks dapper!

3. How and why does he keep those hideous and dagger-length
fingernails? I can only imagine the texture from the other side of these bars but they look to have a tie-dyed pattern of tobacco stains and cuticles that splinter out tiny teeth of hangnails… But somehow he pulls it off.

4. How does he have the greatest taste in clothes? He got back into
tight-rolling his jeans way before everyone else did. He had an ironic mustache and sported an over-sized neon tee shirt in like the mid-nineties, ten years before even the first coastal-based hipster started doing it. Today he’s wearing those raver parachute pants with a 60-inch circumference. You can bet your ass that in ten years those pants are going to be the chosen costume for everyone’s legs. Keep on eye out.

5. Why does he get to be so handsome? Why did I get this stupid face of mine stuck on me and he gets the hood ornament of a distinguished, intelligent, and glowing temple that smells sweet and winks like the Tit of Danger spouting the Milk of Musky Allure..

He is perfect. I cant wait to see what happens to him.

Hey Hey Freedom: Battery Head

Dear Customer #403-66-3229,

You can tell the lonely people on the beach because they all have that little oval of sunburn on their backs that has the smeary edges where they couldn’t quite reach and had no one to ask to help them out of their situation so they reach and pull and hug themselves trying to reach that spot and it’s a classic symbol of human’s need for others a.k.a. the spot you can’t scratch and your brain is a goddamn battery that conducts and CREATES energy, at least I think it does, (I couldn’t tell you where I heard/read/overheard that information but it sounds right and I WANT it to be true), so you know you cant be completely useless and just because you didn’t get a chance to pass on your genes or spread your seed doesn’t mean it wasn’t fun spilling a little on your leg and you’re strong, (or at least you used to be), or at least you ooze, effervesce, and exude a “feeling” of strength and confidence, and that’s the kind of stuff that inspires people and its nice to think of all the people you might have inspired with your fake and phony confidence and happiness (“confi-piness”) about life and think of all the things you made and how much you contributed to the people around you and even if no one really liked you, you sure took up space on the couch, used up a social security number, consumed products, operated an automobile and sl;asd;ns ojn;r wnjoi;f ;sdf lnjweor jno’sdf ooshnsfolndf;l’dfgn’ooadfaagn’okldfagsdfnljsndlnsdlf nskl/f’n sknsdfk nslkfn slf nslkf nsklf/ nsfkl nsf klns klsnf klsdn klsn ksn snsdnsksklngnjlvnlsnlssskfncn xcvnbn df nv njlvdnefn…..

Your failure is ours too.
We are no longer marketing this product for consumption in your area.
Please accept our sincerest apologies and deepest regret.

Sincerely Yours,
The Employees and Creators of Full Throttle Energy Beverages

Hey Hey Freedom: Night Spots

Varicella Zoster Virus (VZV). I was twelve or thirteen. I remember waking up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, This was really weird for me. Most of the time, I would just wet the bed. I slept too soundly. That’s what all the different doctors told me when I was around twelve for thirteen. They would say, “You sleep too soundly.” I remember wearing moisture-sensitive underwear that would send a signal to an alarm to wake me up if I started to piss to bed. There were also a couple different kinds of pills and an experimental nasal spray that they prescribed for me to fix the problem, They didn’t work either. The whole problem went away all by itself several years later, when I was fifteen.
Anyways, I was abnormally up in the middle of the night to piss. I think I had a fever. I remember my legs felt hot.
I went pee. I remember having like three streams that came out. Each a slightly different width and pointed at a slightly different angle. I think that I was tired, confused, and disoriented enough to just pick the widest streams, and attempt to get the majority of the pee in the bowl of the toilet. I didn’t do this very often. A beginner at best.
I raked my fingernails over my thighs because they itched like hell. It felt painful to scratch them. That was when I finally looked down.
Image you were to lie naked on the floor. Then you instructed a friend to dump wet Red Hots (the candy) all over your stomach, crotch, and thighs. If you then stood up, letting the extra Red Hots fall off, and glanced down the foreshortened view that one has of their body when a mirror is not present, that was the scene when I looked down.
I didn’t know what to do. I think I thought that the Red Hots WERE actually Red Hots and I got in the shower and tried to wash them off.
I went back to bed.
I remember having a bad dream about this super tall kid from school. His hands were made of molten metal. He kept chasing me around and when he caught me he slapped my thighs with his huge hot hands. I didn’t really cuss yet, not even in my dreams, so I would say things like “Don’t” and “Quit it!” instead of more contemporary terms I would discover later, like “Fuck off, Pig Fucker!” or “Eat my Shit, Ass Hound!”
Those were the days. I woke up in the morning, didn’t have to go to school, and instead, watched TV and shot some hoops in the driveway. I think we might have even gone to McDonald’s that night. 20-piece Chicken McNuggets and the chicken pox. Life is pretty cool sometimes.

Hey Hey Freedom: Pink Jacket

There is a little rubber ball in my coat. I can feel it. It’s on the left side. It feels like its in one of the pockets, but it ain’t. There is no earthly reason that a jacket should have this many pockets. Front, side, chest, little zipper ones, and ones inside other ones. I can feel the size and shape of the little ball, but there’s always a layer of material between me and it.
I suppose it could be in the lining. That’s not out of the Realm of Possibilities, but I don’t think a jacket like this has a lining. It wasn’t made for any sort of protection against temperature, wind, water, heat, cold, ice, snow, sand, etc. It’s pink and kind of reflective. If there were ever a purpose for a jacket like this, it would be for a Man or Woman of Bulging Pockets, never having enough room or space for whatever sorts of personal organization they might use for their P.P.S., or Personal Pocket System.
I think I have a couple of paper clips stuck in the dirt of my potted fern. Oh yeah, there they are. I’ll just grab one and use it to make a little slit in the “lining” being careful not to…..
Did that potted fern just yawn at me? Do houseplants yawn? I distinctly heard a yawn. Do you think it yawned from boredom or fatigue?
Is there anything in a houseplant’s life that merits fatigue? It must be bored. Is it bored with me? Am I boring? Am i boring you? Should I worry about that?

Wednesday, January 6, 2010

Hey Hey Freedom: Target Ham

From the look of the scene, I could tell immediately that these kids were doing peyote. There was a shit ton of dots going through town right now and I’m sort of surprised that I didn’t see more scenes like this. In the mirco-town of Kelp Wells, New Mexico, there was jack shit to do besides blow shit up, ingest any substance in the neighborhood of “mind-altering,” and jerk off. So far, no semen had been found on the premises, but the forensics teams were just getting started.
There was ham everywhere.
Here is the way we think it went down.
Suspect A has, what looks to be, a little city that he has made on the roof of the apartment complex. He had built a little hut. He has a toilet, which was not hooked up to any plumbing and was constructed of cardboard. Using furniture from his second floor apartment, items from the refrigerator, and bits from the roof itself, he fabricated a tiny grocery store, a bank (no trace of currency, probably in suspect’s possession), a park, and, what seems to be, some sort of attempt at an upscale fashion boutique. Last and definitely not least is his construction of a post office.
The post office was, by far, the most elaborate of all the buildings on his little “Main Street.” He had mail bins for all the other stores, a break room for employees, and a little fake museum that contained, what looks to be, around forty years of fake/handmade postage stamps.
This was his communication to suspect B.
We only know this because of the “postmarked” letters we found across the yard in the shallow cave that was the tentative home of suspect B.
Suspect B had constructed a fairly classic Tarp House. Duct tape, large blue and silver tarps, bed sheet hammocks, etc.
The Tarp house was constructed symmetrically around a large spike that rose rough 7 feet in the air. This was where suspect B would attach the Daily Ham. By Daily Ham, I mean a fifteen-pound ham from Food Lion, ($1.29/lb.)
Suspect B’s bed sheet hammock was located directly under the Ham Spike. Everyday around sun down, Suspect A discharged shots from his rifle (unlocated) into the Ham perched precariously above Suspect B’s bed. This continued until the ham fell from its High Ham House and into the “sack” with suspect B.
The difference in line of sight to the Daily Ham and the skull of Suspect B from the point of view of Suspect A must have been inches at most. He was a good shot and his accuracy never wavered, except for the last time.
Judging by the amounts of Exploded and Scrapped Ham around the Ham Spike, this must have gone on for weeks.
As if this was not puzzling enough, the letters written from Suspect A to Suspect B (never from B to A) were some of the most beautiful echoes of friendship and love I have ever read. A more literary and straightforward representation of absolute understanding and compassion I have not seen.
One thing I can’t figure out, who delivered the letters?

Hey Hey Freedom: Bum Face

I wonder where Kenny got those shoes? They weren’t quite Nike and not Converse. They weren’t the kind with the little dumbass lights on the heel, that’s for sure. He’s not the type of guy that buys generic shit.
Why didn’t I just ask him about his shoes?
The heat of the bath feels good on my aching back. We were on the court for only a couple hours but it feels like my body went through boot camp or some shit.
I’m scanning the top surface of the water identifying the shapes that the soapy bubbles seem to make. That one looks like the Reds symbol. That one is Washington’s profile. That one is a Subway sandwich or a cricket bat.
I pass over a semi-Garfield-type shape because his forehead is pierced by the head of my penis that is floating on the surface of the bubbles.
I keep going…rhino, Japanese flag, high-top, the letter K, Saturn, monkey with a fucked up tongue, pair of dice…..
I glance back at where the head of my penis was floating and instead of my penis I see a tiny little face. It looked like the face of a little homeless bum with a ratty beard and mustache both soaked in bath water.
Normally in a situation like this, I have the reflexes of a fucking catapult, but for some reason, I froze. I glanced away hoping the little face would be gone and be replaced with the circumcised island of my penis tip.
I glanced back and the little guy had his eyes closed too, maybe hoping that when he opening his little eyes, I would be gone.
I slammed my eyes shut. What the fuck was he doing down there? What’s he doing so close to my dick? I can feel his little fist in my navel. I think he is using it to hold on…..
With the reflexes of a fucking catapult, I grab the little guy and throw him behind my head, toward the wall.
I check myself. All intact.
I get out of the tub, dry my braids, and slap on my favorite head wrap.
I look around for the little homeless guy, feeling a little bad, like I overreacted a little. That’s when I realize that I never heard him hit the wall.

Same as the vanity license plate on my Big Wheel