* so, first off, i need to go off into the world of MMA for a bit...

diaz/condit.

great fight. what a confusing pile of shit we have left now.

watching the fight, i don't know, i saw diaz doing his shit and walking condit down- maybe taking some shots, but who doesn't? and then joe rogan mentions something about condit taking it- diaz being down going into the 5th round... shit.

and yeah, condit takes a unanimous decision.

i don't know. i don't know...

i've had guys dance around me and hit me with kicks that meant nothing and when i got inside they just made sure they got out. part of the game...

bas rutten made a great point- condit has generally ended fights. he is a game motherfucker. and (the train of thought goes) he came in with a game plan that he did not tilt off for a second. he road that razors edge for 25 minutes and came out with a belt and his paw prints all over the face of diaz. ok. fair enough...

i've been pondering the merits of "ring generalship" and "aggression" as if, at this point, it mattered... diaz stalked his man and landed some great shots, but it did not fall his way. he didn't end the fight. condit didn't either. but condit walked away with the win...

then diaz tests positive for weed and faces a year suspension. after already saying he's retiring... this could surely be the last we see of the prodigal fighter. it's sad.

it's literary...

and i'm sitting here wondering about all of it...

* i've avoided MOMA because of the cindy sherman retrospective...

i can't take it. can't take the oxygen. can't take the bullshit. can't take the art school kids who fall in love with everything that rings false and insincere and pathetic.

can't take it...

and to think they just packed up the de koonings...

* good painting in chelsea, i'm just not the guy to be able to get out there to see it.

i'm a man tethered to a baby and i have my few hours of karate in the morning and when the kid sleeps in the afternoon i push the weights and the studio time and maybe other training at night and thats what i get...

the leisure of strolling the western avenues is a leisure of another time and another place.

kinda sad, but a lot of things are sad.

she's crawling now- all over the fuckin place.

she knows her name and she kisses her daddy and says "da da..."

thats better than going gallery to gallery and dealing with the crap.

regardless of how much good is missed, or lost...

* on that note: tadaaki kuwayama at gary snyder gallery is amazing... i made the opening with wife and baby in tow and while the art crowd lost it over my deegan, i lost it over the feverish stoicism of the work.

the color.

the intent.

i mentioned to snyder that i never thought of the artist as "lyrical."

my mistake...

* which brings us in a round about way to gesture. i'm not sure how i've been so productive of late in the studio. increased focus? sure.

but that just seems a fall back response to the question.

i'm invigorated by the new program- the (perhaps) baroque quality of the physical gesture laid on canvas. so fired up to just get in there and put down paint...

so totally IN EACH MOMENT...

i'm a lucky man.

i think many men could say that if they looked with any honesty on their lives.

perhaps they don't want to see that luck.

perhaps they want to feel they have, in some way,

powered their way to whatever grace

it is in their lives they are dealing with.

maybe.

i'm a lucky motherfucker...

and i got no problem writing that shit down.