It's kind of disturbing but I found out about this through a myspace bulletin:


Emerson Bell passed on in the last day or so of some sort of lung problems. If you are from baton rouge, you may know him as the kooky old jazz cat type dude rambling on about some crazy shit in the coffee shop. Or you may know him a little better and know that he was an accomplished artist in many mediums: painting, printmaking, sculpting, I'm not sure what else. I met him through the jobs I had, first waiting on him at Caliban's, then Perk's, then Kinko's. He was sometimes hard to deal with as a customer, he had very exacting standards of quality, and sometimes he'd just be talking on about something to you when there were like 5 people behind him, but he was just as often funny as fuck and made me smile. He often told me how he had known Coltrane and Sun Ra, I'm not sure how much of everything he said was true, but it was always entertaining. He knew i was a DJ and often brought up the name "doctor daddio", his favorite DJ from back in the day.

anyhow, I just thought I'd pass it on. He was a unique dude and he will be missed. I thought he was going to live forever, really.


Here's the only pictures of him I could find, from an opening at the BR Gallery.
Here's Adam Wilson's eulogy, which is very funny and more interesting than this post.

under latest news, click on the audio slideshow, "katrina inspires flood of new art."
or, after today, try: http://www.cnn.com/interactive/us/0604/art.after.katrina/frameset.exclude.html

also, we're doing a residency at Kala Art Institute in Berkeley this summer. do you live near berkeley? should we hang out?

also, the second printing of kyle's MAKING STUFF AND DOING THINGS is out, and we have quite a pile of them. let us know if you want one, and we'll make a deal.

This site contains some sweet videos of The Ronettes singing "Be My Baby." modcentric. Also a bunch of covers of that same song.

Some guy makes a cake with Cadbury eggs instead of real eggs.

The Top Ramen site, aside from having a moving history of the product and an enlightening scientific explanation of Cup Noodles, also has recipes. Salmon? No thanks but I'd love to try the pizza.

Last night I went to Rite Aid and bought nail polish and ice cream, and I came home and put on lipstick and eyeliner, and smoked weed and painted my nails while watching Return To Oz the final time (for this rental - I'm buying that shit.) I decided to get a tattoo of this picture from Ozma of Oz, the book the movie was based on. I've had the book since I was a kid and its got beautiful illustrations.
Also I picked out two pairs of pants that I am going to buy right now, because I just got paid. I need them. I do not like the way my jeans have become saggy (due to their age certainly not my butt shrinking) and faded and torn, and I do not like my crummy work pants. I have three pairs, and each day face the choice: highwaters, too-tight, too big. I never cared too much about my work appearance but this is ridiculous PLUS:

Oh man, my work crush. More of an office lust I guess you could say, but I am quite full of lust lately. He's totally like fucking 20 years old and I don't know him at all but ever since I made the mistake of deciding he was hot, I feel utterly retarded whenever I walk by him or do anything in his presence. Today I was loading boxes onto this hand cart and just being clumsy, and he came in and I got even more flustered and kind of ran away. I brought the boxes to the upstairs supply closet and thought about how splendid it would be if he could be up there one day doing inventory with me and I would know all the right things to say and we would start making out in the sweet privacy of the closet, amongst the boxes. That closet is considered "mine."
Luckily he only works on Fridays, because he is a student. A god-damned student. I feel like every guy I ever like knows it and ignores it, but maybe he will actually never know. Good.

What if I re-imagined the Oz chronicles to be about a 25 year old woman who awkwardly stumbles through life, with the frequent assistance of drugs and alcohol. One day she is swept away by a hurricane to a magical land, where everyone she knows has a counterpart and magic abounds. Everyone in Oz loves her, but she has to get home. There's no place like home.
But when she gets home and talks about the things she's seen in Oz, no one gives a fuck, of course. Instead of chalking it up to a young child's imagination, they would blame the drugs or instability if they cared, but no one cares.
It wouldn't be as much of a charming and beloved tale.

This is what happens when you drink, people.