Bush Got a Purple Knob

Why does the Eccentric Outsider Artist have No Face?
by John DAgostino, Doctor, a.k.a. John Dog

I woke up today around 7:30 am. First time that I slept through the morning call to prayer in a long time. I wouldn’t be missed at the cami, the reason being that I never go being the good atheist that I am. It’s quarter to nine and I’ve had my breakfast of beans, eggs, and toast. I washed this back with a mug of Russian coffee with a bit of hazelnut cream in it. I did what I had to in the bathroom. Squeezed the pimple that appeared on my nose over night then stood on the balcony to see who has up and about this bright Manavgat morning.

Two things have been running through my head in the last 24 hours plaguing my waking hours and my sleep. The first being, what would I sing at karaoke tonight and the second of no less importance have been ponderings about the recent wave of bombings in Turkey. But, before I go to karaoke tonight I ought to finish the sculpture that I am working on. It’s a little piece, the figure of a man made from found objects; a block of wood, pieces of a worn out mop handle, an old paint brush, a bolt, and a few other bits of this and that. It’s painted red, white, and blue. The bolt protrudes disproportionately large from the lower torso and is painted purple, something resembling a whopper of a throbbing erection. I need to find a small cylinder to add to the sculpture. I’ll paint it to look like an oil drum. Someplace on the base of the piece I’ll scribble the title, “Bush got a purple knob”.

Mick Jaeger asks three questions in his song, “Sister Morphine”. One is, “How long have I been lying here?”, then “What am I doing in this place?” and the other, “Why does the doctor have no face?” I’ve been practicing the words to this song although it is not on the karaoke playlist. They have “Honky Tonk Woman”, maybe I’ll do that.

I think of “the scream of the ambulance sounding in my ears.” I think of the bombings this week and one that happened about two months ago in the town where I live. I was there at the waterfall and saw it, out for a small Sunday picnic with an international assortment of friends. I saw the explosion. I saw the blood. I saw a child laid out on the concrete. There was a large woman in white. She lay there not moving as someone beat on her chest, gave her mouth to mouth, and her dress just became more and more red. I felt sick to my stomach, others did too. Luckily we were across the narrow river and none of us where hurt. There would be no bar-b-que today. I was driving so I made the decision to pack it in and head home. We all got pretty drunk that night. It was no gas canister as reported by the press.

Although, I am an atheist, I am no nihilist. I have Buddhist tendencies and am warm to the lovey-dovey aspects of Christianity. “Why does the doctor have no face?”, “How long have I been lying here?” I wonder which of these is the more important question. The first question confronts issues of reality and illusion. The second is temporal and physical, it searches for information on a present state of being in time and space. There was no gas canister, there were no weapons of mass destruction, the Chinese will soon take over the world. The press, television perpetuates the hallucinations that the powers at be desire us to believe.

“Well, it just goes to show that things are not what they seem.”

Religion, nationalism, political idealism has not brought peace even in this modern “enlightened” world. Maybe one should give nihilism a closer examination. Ethical nihilism, the rejection of customary beliefs, morality, and religion, if practiced could take fuel from the fires of those inciting terrorism be it, fanaticalism, nationalistic, or the “state terrorism” of the west and Israel. Of course I am not advocating political nihilism in the sense that some in Russian expounded in 1860. Revolutionary reform such as this promoted terrorism and destruction of all social, political, and economic institutions. In the end we meet the new boss and he’s same as the old boss.

Fatalism and the passivity that it spawns has it’s flaws. It disempowers the individual from the little strength each of us common folk have. It weakens our resolve to try to effect change in a world which has long been a ball of confusion. And things ain’t got any better since the words to that song were written either. So what’s a poor boy (or girl) to do? This is a question all must ask, no matter what political, social, or economic clan you belong to, religion you practice, or country you reside in.There is only one answer. All with any sense of reason knows the answer- promote peace. Vote the war mongers out of office, follow religious and political leaders who are moderate in their views and who work towards change without the killing, refuse to support violence as a solution. Do we really want to live in a world where terrorism and pre-emptive attacks are common place, as they are today.

If you and I do not take this task to heart and try to do what we can promote peace, mutual respect, and work towards a just global society that mutually benefits all it’s members, there is little chance to live in a world without fear. Guns and bombs kill people, but fear kills our soul.

Consequentially, although we may survive a bombing across the river, across an ocean, or across a continent,

“You know and I know that in the morning we’ll be dead.”

More Outsider Art from New Eyed Artist

New Eyes and More New Eyes for the John Dog

My 2006 work focuses on vision and the psychology of visual perception. Yeni Gözler is Turkish for new eyes. I started doing some new eccentric outsider art based on eyes and coffee cups after I got a cataract operation in January 2006. I re-visit some old themes that I began working with 15 years ago on my yenigözler site, but this work is completely opposite from the simple centrally composed eccentric outsider art images that you'll find there. I have painted so many coffee cups in my life, 1000's. I can draw them with my eyes closed - well yes and no - these 10 digital paintings are products of that experiment. Each painting has 3 pairs of cups in them for a total of 6 in each painting, that's if I managed to keep the mouse in the right place and didn't go off the digital picture plane

John Dog, Eccentric Outsider Artist, Hangin´ in Montanita in Ecuador.

I walk into an internet cafe in Montanita, Ecuador. There are 2 in town. This one is empty so the line will be fast and clear. Ten minutes later the place is full and I´m twirling my thumbs waitting for the bytes to flow through them little bitty lines. At $2 and hour I´d wish things would speed up.

Been traveling around the world taking pictures to maybe make sum outsider art or get sum inspiration for sum stories, but been raining here for two days. I can here the rain pounding now after a morning of watching the surfer dudes and dudettes. This be the place to surf in Ecuador.

There be a few artists in town. They aren´t as eccentric as me be, but they got dreads. Gotta love this place. Bottles of rum are three and a half bucks. Tasty meals of shrimp and other seafood is just as cheap. That is a good recipe for a good time for the eccentric outsider artist know as the John Dog.

There be the friendliest dogs here too. They got dogs all over the place. I feel right at home.
Being that there are a lot of dogs here there is plenty of opportunity to spread the shit cause the dog shit is all over the beach. If you don´t know about spreading the shit, then you need to go to The Only True God website. Well I will have to write more later cause it´s liquid lunch time, and I don´t mean soup. Massively huge beers are a dollar.

The big party is happening tonight. Someplace there will be a bon fire, booze, beer, bongs - my favorite 3 ´B´s besides Betty´s Big Boobs and butt. What a totally cool town, nothing to do on these muddy streets, but party and surf anf the John Dog don´t surf cause of my bad legs. So I spend my time watching and partying and then napping a bit so I can party some more. Well Adios for now, Hasta Luego

One of Six by dirty old outsider artist The John Dog

August Repost Chapter One: Ward, Go Easy on the Beaver tonight. by John Dog, a.k.a. John D'Agostino, Eccentric Outsider Artist
I was quizzing Carlin on the words that you couldn't say on television. George had his lips wrapped around the business end of a hookah nursing a bowl of opiated hash. The sweet aroma of cannabis and damp panties hung low in the room like the proverbial second shoe waiting to be dropped. George's bright red face lightened as he exhaled and he gasped, "No, you can't say CUNT on television."
The Dude was drinking his usual White Russians staring at the 4 milk jugs on the two white Russians who were rubbing their thighs on mine. He kept cocking his head back and forth looking at the bimbos. He said, "Hey, Hank which one of them girls who are rubbing on your thighs there is the one that came with me. I said, "Fuck, if you don't know then it sure as shit beats the hell out me". There was a pause, then a nod. "Oh, right" said the Dude.	I went back to pounding Carlin for more answers. I was into some bookies for some long green on a nag who came up short and needed cash in a hurry. I thought I could write some gags for Johnny Carson and make a few extra bucks. So I sez to George, What 'bout pussy, can I say pussy? Carlin, "only if the next word is 'cat'." What about, twat, poontang, nookie, cookie? Carlin, "twat and poontang, definitely not, nookie maybe, cookies, is ok, but only if you say 'milk and' before."
The screen door squeaked and I instinctively reached for my piece under the sofa. "Hello, Hello, ya'll, Mamma's back with da goods" and in Mamma stepped. Mamma was a big black woman, must have weighed 210…. kilos not pounds. The thin thread worn cotton flowered sun dress / muumuu that clung to her moist brown body barely contained her bulk. It was a hot and humid morning. Mamma had breakfast for us, 4 six packs of malt liquor and 2 dozen sliders from the White Castle over on Easy Street. She plopped down on an armchair that was narrower than it needed to be. The sides creaked, then the arms tweaked outward under the pressure of her massive legs, but the chair held. She put 2 six packs and a dozen sliders beside her on the floor and handed me the rest.
George and the bimbos went straight for the burgers. Hash will do that to you. The Russian babes were saying, "Thank you, thank you, ve love American food, White Castle rocks, hee hee". I grabbed a brew and tossed another to the Dude which knocked him in the head. I hadn't noticed that he had nodded out. He said, "Ouch" then he saw the unopened beer in lap and said, "Oh, thanks man".
Mamma was on the run from the law. She was wanted for questioning in the death of two midgets who worked for the Coon's Brothers Soul Circus. The pair of them were found together in the same extra large queen size bed crushed and suffocated to death. An extra large queen size pair of women's knickers was also found at the scene. Mamma wasn't worried about beating that rap, after all it was just a freak accident. But, what worried Mamma were the 583 outstanding traffic violations against her. Mamma drove like a bat outta hell, and the MAN wanted a piece of her. Mamma had an 84 Cadillac Eldorado convertible. With the top down she had no problem getting into her ride. She had the front seats removed when she bought the thing. She drove from the back seats. She was that big. She filled the car. No room for passengers at all. In her defense, this was no full size Caddy of the seventies; remember there was an oil shortage back then. The 8 cylinder engine was bored to 600 cubic inches, was fuel injected, and turbo charged. But that's another story for another time. So we drank and we smoked the better part of the morning away; Mamma, me, and the rest. George was still up. The Dude and one of the Ruskies slipped off to a bedroom or a bathroom or someplace. I guess he finally figured it out.
I looked at the long legged one and asked, "Can I see your axe wound?", "Can I see your gash?". "Vhat are you talking about?", she says. I turn an eye towards Mamma and I say, "Can I see your axe wound?", "Can I see your gash?" Mamma says, "You want to see some gash, I'll go in the kitchen an' git me a butcher knife an' then I show you some gash, you dirty old bastard." George piped in, "Those are keepers, you can use those." And, so started my new career as a television joke writer. By the way, "What is the dirtiest thing ever said on television?"	Read the rest by at notes of a dirty old outsider artist

Eat Drink and Be Merry

Dining Tips from Dirty Old Outsider Art Maker
by John DAgostino, Eccentric Outsider Artist, a.k.a. The John Dog

Does anyone know these two young ladies. I can't remember where I took this picture. I work the bars with my polaroid. Give me a shout if you know 'em. There is unfinished business to attend to.

BLACK COFFEE

WHITE WINE
Chicken breast marinated in beer is a tasty alternative to a traditional wine sauce. PBR will work, any lager or blonde will do. Wasted days and lonely nights if I wasn't so loaded I'd remember these lovelies, ain't that right. A bird in the oven is worth two in the bush that's what me old gran' dad used to say. What's in your oven, Mr. Bakerman - bisquits and buns? Gran' Ma says you need to keep the fire stoked until they're both good and done. She said, Now don't forget that son.


Coffee, blood, or wine, which shall I sip while I dine. If you wake at dawn the choice comes naturally – caffeine to get the heart pumping. If you sleep till noon it may be harder to decide. If you are eating a late brunch of eggs, pastries, and the like – a Cup O Joe is fine. If you go for a lot of meats then your best bet is wine. Blood should only be drunk when the sun is down.

More notes of a dirty old outsider artist can be found here. The polaroid gig ain't bad, ya meet a lot of pretty women down there, at the Chicken Ranch Bar and Grill. If your daughters go missing you might just find them near, to a soldier, a sailor, a cowboy tryin' to nail her. Send me some money so I can buy beer. I got all the crap shots and snap shots in my rain coat pockets. I'll sell them to the highest bidder. Or I'll hold them and stare and sit in my holey underwear, painting pretty pictures of girls with dark and light hair.

That's my nature, that's what I do. I'm a dirty old eccentric outsider art maker, what do you do?

Dog Meat Brat Developed by Eccentric Outsider Artist

Dog Meat Sausage Outsider Artist Gets Bang Out of Dog Meat Bratworst

By John DAgostino, Press Associated Writer
Sunday Sept 11 15, 5:56 PM ET
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JOHNSBIGHEAD, NJ. - John's Big Head Dog Meat Sausage and Outsider Art Co. President and Eccentric Outsider Artist, The John Dog gets a real bang out of making dog meat bratworst a hot seller.

Last week, following an eccentric tradition, he lit a firecracker in his secretary's bum to celebrate a change to its "Meaty Serve" precooked dog meat sausage that made it taste almost as good as a fresh-grilled spoiled brat.

"I've gone through quite a few secretaries," said Eccentric Outsider Artist, The John Dog, 48. "We celebrate innovation here in very weird ways."

And despite the barrage of diets and an ingredient list that shows three-quarters of a brat's calories come from added pig's fat, John's Big Head Dog Meat Sausage and Outsider Art Co. has continued to grow. Last year, sales rocketed 500% percent.

"I think with all the world's problems and fears of terrorism, people are really frustrated and they're throwing up their arms and saying, 'What the fuck, you only live once, let's just go for a delicious dog meat bratworst,'" said Maria Worut, an associate professor of nutrition at the Bi-Product Institute of America.

John's Big Head Dog Meat Sausage and Outsider Art Co. still remains privately owned, after the Eccentric Outsider Artist, The John Dog family in 1903 bought back the 25 percent stake it sold in 1864 to Sarah Bee, owner of the Farmshire Hills and Dimmy Jean sausage brands.

Hoped-for synergies in deviance did not pan out, but the two remained "friendly swingers" throughout, the Grinch said. Eccentric Outsider Artist, The John Dog said the family remained too involved. "It's not an emotional thing, it's purely a sexual thing," he said. "We grew up in the porn-dog business and we just didn't want to part with our secret family fetishes."

Through its growth at home and abroad, what hasn't changed about the company is the original brat's secret spice formula — still known only by Eccentric Outsider Artist, The John Dog and his father. Two Asian vendors each produce half of the mix and it's combined in a bathtub hidden in their basement.

But Eccentric Outsider Artist, The John Dog realized that constant innovation pays off, like the Meaty Serve Dog Meat Brat, which took 40 years of bribes to health official to allow its sale in the U.S.

Eccentric Outsider Artist, The John Dog said he is focused on turning the company into a international brand and is eyeing several new global markets to move into, like China. "We want to be the Coca-Cola of dog meat sausage. It's our vision, our destiny, our god-given right. And it should happen in my lifetime," Eccentric Outsider Artist, The John Dog said. "The good news is greed runs in the family, and a hell of a lot of Chinese love dog meat."

Apologies to RYAN NAKASHIMA, Associated Press Writer, for dropping an A-Bomb on his original story.

super web designer plays cards with dirty old outsider artist

Russ and Me
by Eccentric Outsider Artist, John DAgostino, a.k.a. John Dog

I used to live in Translyvania but have since moved to Turkey. I am only doing this blog page for my old pal Russ and the team at Millennium web site design because I now live too far away to hang out with him and play cards. He is so dedicated to his clients that whenever he receives an e-mail or a call he just drops his cards on the table right in the middle of a game and attends to business. That's great for you - the website or web hosting customer. But lousy for his card playing buddies like me. We play for fun. We don't gamble. Russ is great at SEO, search engine optimization. He taught me tons of stuff. My sites rank high on all search engines. Do a search of eccentric artist on yahoo or google and see for yourself, You also want to check out the Live-Team site to see some of the custom website designs from millennium web designs that Russ and the team does.

Nela, Russ's wife, is also part of the website design team. She is a wonderful digital artist, designer, and a great cook and hostess as well. Talk about hosting, did I mention that Millennium also offers web hosting. I have about 15 different art and blog web sites on their servers. I am very satisfied with all the wide range of options available and the prompt customer support that I get from Russ when I need it. PS: Russ's website designs are 100 times more professional than my crazy eccentric art web sites.

After I wrote that piece and posted it I thought, shit I should write something like that about myself. Generally, I am a very modest person even though I have a really enormous head, you know my main site is johnsbighead.com and that I am an eccentric outsider artist that has cow stomachs for brains. So I am going to put those stomachs to work and write me a funny promo piece.

Kermit the frog sang, It's not easy being green. I know just what he means. I'm not green, but beinging a dirty old outsider artist is not as glamorous as you might imagine. Let's analyze step by step what it means to be a dirty old outsider art maker.

First, you got to be dirty. There are many ways to be dirty. You can be unclean, but this is not much fun. Greasy hair, smelly underarms, unshowered body is a great way to enhance your status as an outsider. Mainly, because no one will let you in the front door if you are out visiting folks. You will be asked to stay outside. The only advantage of being a smelly dirty old outsider artist is that you always have plenty of room around you when you are on the bus, metro, or subway. I talk dirty. My foul mouth makes up for my lack of foul odor. I got some dirty little thoughts too that slither out of my twisted mind and onto the page from time to time.

Second, old is not good. Wise is good. Mature is good. But there is nothing good about having a rickety old arthritic body. You can't frigging exercise as vigorously as you did when you were younger and that tends to increase your belt size considerably. When I was young I made massive sculptures of concrete and steel. Now the only metal I am lifting are aluminum cans of beer. I can never stop being creative so I paint weird pictures and write even weirder stories. My paintings are small and light. My writing is humorous, never too heavy. I rant politically once in a while, but I always do it with a smile. Did you catch that rhyme there – while – smile? I do that all the time. My eccentric old mind is going, going, gone. My Tourette's Syndrome is getting worse too. I blurt out the strangest things at the most inopportune times like in a quiet doctor's waiting room with lots of people in it. I make up a little song as soon as I catch myself and pretend I'm singing. - God damn cock sucker (opps) got the blues, love to rock and roll. I'm just a blues rock trucker. My memory ain't worth crap either like a floppy disk from a Commodore 64 gone bad.

This brings us to – outsider. Does anybody really choose to be an outsider? Well, maybe in a way. I definitely don't choose to be anyone that I'm not. I won't be a fake, or a phony, or an artistic prostitute. If what I do is outside the box (I know, a much over used phrase, if you don't like it, well, screw you raw) and if my art and writing is not in the loop (ditto), I got to be me. I got to be me. What else can I be, but what I am. Thank you Sammy, you can go home now. In some people's book I am not an outsider artist because I have been to art school, too many fucking years of art school. But heck, it beat working and I got a studio to make stuff in. My main claim to being a dirty old eccentric outsider artist is that I do it for me. I haven't sold a painting in like 7 or 8 years, not that I haven't tried, especially recently. I am old and I don't fit the mold.

There you have it. My art / writing speaks for itself. It is OUT there for you to enjoy or not. As I approach 50 I gotta say that I wouldn't have it any other way. I'm a poet ( notice the rhyme, say - way) my feet show it – they are long fellows. And you know what they say about people with long feet, that ain't all that is long - wink, wink.