Charlie Don't Surf.

I'm rez, & I draw stuff.
All art/photos by me, unless credited otherwise.

White Trash Future / 8STK / IG / S6 / Flickr

2006-10-27 20:36:00 /The Panic Club

     One simple way to join The Panic Club:

     Take something you love, that you hold dearly, and squeeze it. Hold it close, so it can’t get away, and squeeze. You love it, remember? So squeeze.

     Squeeze…

     Keep squeezing…

     There! You broke it! Now you’re a member of The Panic Club.


[ from the archives. ]

2013-09-29 11:35:45 /Culling

Hey Tumblr, it’s been awhile, too long.

We should hang out more. I’ve missed you.

How’s life?

2012-05-24 11:22:08 /A dream I had [pop pop].

   On foot, wandering a suburban side street, deserted save for an occasional passing car. Dusk, cloudy, cold, green trees whip in a strong wind.

   Pop.

   Arm outstretched, .45 in hand, methodically firing into random buildings. Someone at my side, never coming into full view. Keep firing.

   Pop. Pop. Pop.

   Take careful aim at the gas tank of a parked motorcycle, pop. Nothing. Try again.

   Pop.

   Sirens. Run.

The Romantic Type
   And it’s in the air now, in your blood, making you new bones, a smart fog comprising a new layer of atmosphere, conjuring intelligent, malevolent auroras, a twinkling, geosynchronous surveillance haze breathing in the thin twilight air.
   Communicating with the obliterated Pillars of Creation and newborn stars in the Cygnus Spiral Arm fifty thousand light years away, an information-rich beam-scorched network of white hot galactic contrails, spinning out and away, spinning off the rim of the universe and still all you can do is complain.
[ The Romantic Type. / (remix + more words) ]

The Romantic Type

   And it’s in the air now, in your blood, making you new bones, a smart fog comprising a new layer of atmosphere, conjuring intelligent, malevolent auroras, a twinkling, geosynchronous surveillance haze breathing in the thin twilight air.

   Communicating with the obliterated Pillars of Creation and newborn stars in the Cygnus Spiral Arm fifty thousand light years away, an information-rich beam-scorched network of white hot galactic contrails, spinning out and away, spinning off the rim of the universe and still all you can do is complain.

The Romantic Type. / (remix + more words) ]

2012-02-20 12:51:26 /chasing ambulances.

   So what’s one more strange weekend. Time to bow out I think, gracefully or otherwise, no more orbiting, a satellite caught in need’s gravity well, no more ambulance chasing.

   Funny how ruinous getting exactly what you want can be when you don’t anticipate the landscape change. Funny when you realize everything you need, you have.

2012-01-15 11:15:32 / …

   These waters are impossible to navigate. Strange emotional tensions and eddies spinning spinning spinning, endlessly, out into nowhere. Is this really happening? Or am I imagining this, a pure fiction? Am I asleep? Awake? I shouldn’t be here. Eye contact risks detonation.

   Sleep, finally, and dream of a warren of underground tunnels full of pipes with slowly worsening leaks, the water going from drip to pour to deluge until the concrete halls are flooded, tiptoes barely touching hard smooth floor, the water at my neck now.

   Awake, finally. A note on my hand scribbled in Sharpie: she’s just a person.

   I really need to stop drinking.


( )

2012-01-11 12:43:44 /permanent vacation

   Charlie Don’t Surf is stalled out for the time being, its engines died one by one and I don’t have the time to repair them right now.

   I’m on the Facebook from time to time, look me up if you like.

   Cheers, Tumblr.

2011-12-05 08:42:47 /Soft blue [a dream I had].

   The room is cold and messy and dark, lit only by a tiny old television set and the soft blue glow of dying daylight through drawn curtains.

   I stand, and you stand, and you press yourself against me, an embrace, your forehead where my neck and shoulder meet. We sway, a slow and woozy dance, deep sea flora in some invisible current. Please, just for a minute, I say. On the TV, a judge on a courtroom show says something funny, his audience laughs.

   Whispering against my neck, you list things we will do. Where we will go, what we’ll do there, what we will do when we get back.

   I don’t care, I say, I don’t care.

   As long as I am with you.

2011-12-12 01:56:16 /Pimps, prints, etc.

Hey Tumblr.  Long time no talk.  Some things, then I’ll return to creepy lurking depth:

   1.) I’m working on making prints available to buy.  Anything on my website’s prints page is available (which is still being updated with art/prices/info, and is NSFW).  Still working on the details but I’m thinking $15 - $25 ea. + shipping.  Email me at rez at leadsalad dot com for details, if interested.

   2.) I’ve made a Facebook page.  It has art and will have updates about prints, shows, Rogue Agent Zed, etc, at as infrequent a rate as I can manage.

   3.) I’m feeling deletey* and am considering moving most/all visual content here that I didn’t make to my other Tumblr (which is right now mostly an annoying collection of Fight Club screenshots, anime gifs, and 20-year-old metal & gangsta rap).

Not really sure why I’m including this last one.  It may happen, it may not.  I may also lose my face and hands in a freak paragliding accident, who knows.

Later, Tumblr.

2011-10-07 13:52:07 /A dream I had.

   You are in a car, in the passenger’s seat, your window down.

   I crouch on the concrete next to you, we are at eye level now.  You look at me.  

   I say:

   I’m dreaming about you.

Untitled
   We scorch your cities to ash   and split the sky with a thought.
   We are the eternal virus,
   Don’t confuse the vessel   with the voice. 
[ Wherein rez drinks some beers and tries to write. ]

Untitled

   We scorch your cities to ash
   and split the sky with a thought.

   We are the eternal virus,

   Don’t confuse the vessel
   with the voice. 

[ Wherein rez drinks some beers and tries to write. ]

2011-06-01 22:26:26 /A dream I had [747].

   The day and this place are unremarkable; the sky a sheet of grey, the chipped-paint town and its streets and its long, squat industrial buildings a sheet of grey.

   Then, all around, silently falling through the clouds, large passenger jets.  Boeing rain. 

   Nearby, low and close, an airliner struggles to stay aloft, canted steeply and almost vertical, its nose pointed skyward.  Engines roar hugely and it begins to rise, slowly, slowly gaining altitude, and, no.  It falls, crashes with a sickening, muffled crunch-boom in a close-by group of low buildings.

   Someone to my right runs, shouts.

   ”We have to help!”

   Help what, I say.