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Saturday, September 25, 2010

Chim Cham



I miss this... Shouldn't've sold it... Damn this economy... Damn this capitalism...

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

JOMBI


The Genie..
I always wanted to be a swami when I grew up... But, alas, I could find no mentor...

According To Hoyle...



On a aluminum/metal suitcase-thingee....
SOLD at the Cellar Door Coffee House...

I ain't afraid of no ghost...

When there's something weird in your neighborhood....
Who YOU gonna call?

PACMAN!!!!!

mechanical


Robots will rule one day...
I hope that they remember that I was ALWAYS on their side....

Tuesday, August 24, 2010

PACK pix




Turn your garbage into art.

I dare you.

(double dog)

BRUISER


Not so tough now... Mister.

CROW show



Is going well, sold 4 pieces thus far... Lots of compliments...
Coolest of beans...

Packers...


From the latest ARTICHOKE show... I had 73 of these dudes on display...

Green Bean



A bit of a scramble on a cracked deck...

ka BLUEY



A Betty Page pose, and a small piece of wood...
(and some acrylic and some time)

Recipe for this (see above)

PURPle rain


The artist
paints another artist
formerly known as
PRINCE.

Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to get through this thing
called LIFE...

PURP-etrator



Summer on a calendar frame.

Table Top



I found this plastic backyard table that someone put out by their dumpster.
I painted this short-haired french girl on it.
She was not conventionally cute,
but I like the piece.

Baby Hates Water


I'm THIRSTY... not DIRTY...

My Latest Creation...


Montgomery Abbot Liebrecht
Born 8-19-2010

Sunday, August 15, 2010

Show At The Crow




From my show at the Crow Bar on Mississippi.
Went up on 8-14-2010... About 20 pieces.

Tuesday, August 3, 2010

ASH.BOX


Ashley is getting tired of me 'using' her.

She'd never say it.

She'd only spray it...

Marty in a hat


Can you TOP that?

Miss B.P.


She is kind of oil-spilly, but it really stood for
Bettie
Page.

Sarah Went


She was sold at the ARTICHOKE event on Saturday the 30th... It's a good gig-

www.artichokePDX.com

Check it out!

Packers




Sold at LAST THURSDAY- JULY 2010

The Shining



Pat got Jack,
but-
ummm....
Where's JOHNNY!?!?!?!?!

Finally Sold!


The RAFT pallette out at Last Thursday -July 2010!!!

Clayness


I always wanted to do claymation or stop-motion animation...
I think I have the skill, but not the patience...

shwaezee


no comment.

It's a painting...


NOT A TV TRAY, so stop trying to pry it apart and see if it still folds out.

Just hang it on the wall.

Don't eat off of it.

(please)

Blue Mess


Yes, she is.

Deck Me



I need more skate decks, broken or not...

I will trade art.
(or cash)

Cheap Materials



There's just something cool about painting on cardboard and
then someone buys it
and you feel a bit
like a swindler...

Toshiro Mifune


Ed now owns him.

Until he goes 'ronin'...

Friday, July 16, 2010

Sad little Ciggy


He will have to become a painting someday...

TORPEDO the HOLE


Yep, I got active for a while there and made a blogspot all about blasting the BP oil spill hole in the gulf.
www.torpedoTHEhole.BLOGspot.com

Maybe maybe maybe the cap they placed this week will work...
AND
Maybe the relief wells they are digging will work, too... But over 80 days of leaking oil and this solution took this long? After way toooooo many failed attempts, I just don't believe them anymore.

I still say-
ToRpeDO tHE HoLe!!!!!!!

Drink ME, fool!


www.drinkmemag.com

I had pieces in issue 2 and 6, and now I have a piece up on their website (cloud poops out a cocktail... a July entry....

Upcoming- The Mezcale Worm in issue #9!!!!

They are a SF-based drinking mag with a
...fine...
eye for the arts!!!

Thursday, July 1, 2010

Tequila Worm Bandito


Done for DRINK ME magazine in SF.

I love the sinister quality...

Saturday, June 5, 2010

FUDGE for the whole family...




Make your dog wear clothes.

We are responsible for their evolution.

Don't SHIRK this duty.

Doody.

Yub Yub

http://www.wimp.com/worldcup/

This is proof that LUCAS is .G.O.D....

So stop laughing at me for worshiping him.

Stop it.

YOU WANT TO STOP IT.

(... said as I wave my hand left-to-right across your field of vision while staring into your eyes and wearing a brown table-cloth cut to look like ol' Ben Kenobi's desert smock...)

YOU: You're right, these aren't the droids we're looking for... I mean, you're right, I want to stop it...

And then it stops.

The Ewoks sing and play upon the bones of their dead enemies like xylophones.
A series of shimmering blue dead ghosts appear.
Obi Wan looks like he did when he died.
Yoda looks like he did when he died.

Vader looks like he did when he was a douche bag.

The credits roll.

Friday, May 28, 2010

A few old lines....

Poems from a couple of years ago, when I was taking part in a daily poetry blog...

honestly, by nicholas jay liebrecht

honesty is indeed a strage bedfellow
you use it
and it uses you up
fiction is better
fiction takes talent
fiction requires creativity
honesty has entertained no one
lies are where genius lies
do you get it
that last line about lying ends
with the word lies
that is poetry
dude






angst-ilicious, by n j liebrecht

i am itching for a fight
fair is a word made mostly of air
headed in the wrong direction always
and forever seems shorter to a lover's
leap from a page to page and a body to a body
bags under your eyes and in yoru hands
down town and that's the way
side - stepping domino dancers move
ahead in the lines leading us all home
bases aren't only there for the score -





akoplishmant (appockalypseshment), by nixlus jeh leebrikt
BEING BORN
stands as my greatest accomplishment -
would that i could die in such a poetic
((and yet universal)) way
leaving-into-something
it is this life ..in.bet.ween.. that is grimy
and repetitive
and too easy
and too long
that i detest (understandably) so so much
however-apparently-not enough to actually-
DO ANYTHING
about it-
(like live well or exit loudly)




vee.vuhh.by.nicholas.liebrecht

I will have you know that
I .square.off. quite deliberately with
my fists clenched .against.
whatever
and at the start of each-and-every-day
I .take. a breath which becomes a
battle. a war. and it could even
be considered a .single.handed.slaughter.
this .weak.wiggling tap-dance
I continuously perform
just to stay
..somewhat..
alive.



still too quiet, by nicholas liebrecht

i can see your idea of science
speaking about using words
feeling used to mean touching
abstracting the already-shadow
is barely showing
off the subject clothes-piled
close on the rug
with more overlap than us, now
two empty sleeves are touching
and they remind me
that they were once full of hands.




scientific principle, by nicholas jay liebrecht
wounded, yes
but more of a wound-er
drawn to defend her
realizing not the need
to be defended from her
is much greater than
my withdrawn self
can be removed only
so many times
so far
before the globe is encircled
and every step
taken away only
brings me nearer
again.




blur, by nicholas jay liebrecht

a country full of dogs and cats
and sandwiches under unmade beds
falling deadly leaves breaking the
sound-barriers between appologies
and innocent foods uneaten by
jaw-bones busy being weapons
fisted-up and coiled like a cord
from a phone or a snake-jar
minus a lid making blinking
impossible and dreaming into
a daytime timeline line-of-work



bad enough, by nj liebrecht

bad enough
that she smuggled in
a 'was' and a 'could have'.


what murdered me

is when she put a sharp
'probably not' in her mouth

and kissed me goodnight


scarce city, nj liebrecht
There wasn't even much to begin with

and now there's less
which is fine

I suppose

people are so comfortable with so so much

that it is a discovery
of note

when you find out that

you can indeed say big, important things with
a few skinny, pale words...



monster, by nicholas liebrecht

the girl watched
from a safe distance
as the monster crouched over his victim
and bloodied his teeth
on the poor things heart
the moster looked sad
but moreso hungry
and he ate
he devoured
when he was done
all that remained of his kill
was scraps of person'
and bits of bone
the monster began crying raw tears
too big to be formed round
"why do you cry"
asked the girl
forsaking her shelter
and coming to where
the monster was
"because i am a monster"
he replied
"and i walk as an outcast among men"
"it is truly terrible"
said the girl
and she lowere her head
"but eating people will only make
your problem worse"
"you are wrong childe"
the monster corrected and stood
he was dark and looked like shifting clay
as he advanced he said
"eating people is my only solution-
for only when none but me remain
will i no longer be seen
as a monster"
the girl didnt scream
she instead removed her shoes
so the monster would not choke on them.



the fall, nic lieb

i realize (in reality)
that it's only august in one place
but it's two other times and
i kind of think these dream days make the fake me
take over the rake
and gloves because
the leaves got to be in a pile
and the real me is tooo good
at
stacking
for
the
job of piles-making
so he sleeps
(like cancer-time)
and the tool drops and someone else
pulls all the dead ones together
for burning




spiritualitis, by nicholas liebrecht

under a monthslong pile of skin
and circustents of bone
and tangled musclestrings like nettles
lives such a thing
as has never been
recorded in words
(at least not accurately)
once widely believed
to exist solely in ideas
is a physical interior chunk
a fragment of tangible music
a lump with arteries and wires and tubes
an organ connected to everything else, yet
moreso fundamentally connected to matters
outside of the body




recurring again, by Nicholas Jay Liebrecht

I don't have to worry
about what to do
with a pen in my hand

I become magic

and what's nice is that
nothing is permanent
you can find your perfect
exactly anything

over and over
again

Once I let go of this
It's not just mine anymore
It goes into your eyes
It belongs to
the dirt

It goes directly back to God...

Tuesday, May 25, 2010

Marty At The Hop



He enjoyed the sun and the people.

But he hated the ART at the ART HOP.

Such a critic.