Think positive after a bad shot...

We've been playing our fair share of golf lately & it's one of those sports where everyone who plays seems to have some advice for you... "Try loosening your grip a little"... "Make sure you hit through the ball" & "Don't move your feet!" Frankly it all gets pretty confusing but when I came across this sweet ole book, I figured it was time to learn the BEST way to better my game!

THE BEST WAY TO BETTER GOLF 

– with Jack Nicklaus

Guinea Pig Playa!!!

Art by Puerto.

TRISTAN HOGAN PHOTOGRAPHY

The man they call Hoges has been in fine form of late!  Snapping photos, ripping bowls, juggling fillies & slicing devon. He has a blog running of some of his photography so go check it out! And then you too could be eating Ham at devon prices....

CLICK HERE

Drunk Spider

Smokey Mc Bong Water

Characters

Here are a few recent shots that hopefully capture the

essence of the individual...

Just a few the characters in and around a whales life.

;P

Hola Amigos,

Its Mid ‘MOVEMBER’ again!
And that Spanish Caterpillar has crawled back onto my lip!

He is very persistent in his “War on Prostate Cancer” and has set up camp for the month of November, picketing for donations at every chance he gets. Please send some money our way as Mr Caterpillar makes life very uncomfortable for me if we don’t raise enough money, hiding food scraps, tickling my nose &
generally repelling most females.

However once the money starts flowing, he transforms into a smooth talking, charismatic Don Juan style Pillar.

So please dig deep and click this link to donate!

Or Write a cheque payable to ‘Movember Foundation',
referencing my Registration Number 2108151 and mailing it to:

Movember Foundation
PO Box 292
Prahran VIC 3181

Remember, all donations over $2 are tax deductible.

Muchos Apprecios

;Puerto

Lyrics for the morning...

"You pester and question my motives for things

But I can't decide what all the answers concede

To be true, to be false

To be checking my pulse

If I'm still alive thinking or acting impulsive

Don't know if I'm still clasping for the high ground

Don't know if I want my voice to make a new sound

I guess you might say it beats living in squalor

But we must not live for the almighty dollar"

Money is not everything
So let's enjoy work today lads
:)
LJM

Dear God, I love you, but I think you’re way wrong about sex...

It doesn’t matter what your version of God is…Jesus, Allah, Buddha or simply a spiritual universal energy… praying to a higher power soothes and heals. It is believed that people who pray are healthier, happier and more resilient.

A wild concept for anyone who's ever wanted to talk to God. All be it rather humbling when you read some of the stories. Suddenly this mornings frustrated road rage seems rather irrelevant...

;P

"Saul Williams X Obey Giant"

Saul Williams is one of my favorite musicians/poets/revolutionaries!

I saw him perform at the Falls Festival a couple of years ago and he

blew my mind. Here are his words on the "Vote for Change" ;P

Dear History,

For too long have I pondered your meaning, memorized dates of battles, years of servitude, decades of injustice, named eras after movements, mourned the extinction of species, cursed founding fathers, worn vintage suits and cloaked myself with references of your hold on me.

I have walked through museums wondering how it is that greatness had lived and died all before my time. Parts of me feared becoming great because it seemed to include a price of death and a postmortem glory that my memory could never resurrect. I've stared at paintings dying to catch glimpses of the painter, closed my eyes to listen to songs that drunken ghosts dance to, and all the while I've fought to FREE the present to BECOME.

In 1995, I stood with poets in the middle of the Brooklyn Bridge, barking metaphors at the new moon of the summer solstice wedging words into it's craters, sewing seeds through nightly wind.

In 1996, I forced the ocean back with words, fathered planets, climbed pyramids, and began to decipher the sirens song to conjure the dream-filled Children of the Night.

In 1997, I stood with prisoners in our nations capitol bending bars with the power of thought as wordsmiths served sentences and Hip Hop diddy-dandified itself: stealing golden calves from the Old Testament to smuggle into the lavish crib of Pontius Pilate for it's birthday party

In 1998, I swallowed fear and sun-danced on film reels, projecting a me that had not been into a me that ever shall be.

And HERE I stand, ten years the difference and witness to changing hands.

Dear History,
I beat you. I stand a generator of generations bearing witness to a world that we are holding accountable for past actions. Me and my friends, we're changing our diets, re-inventing marriage, check-mating capitalism, re-defining ethics, replacing cruelty with compassion, and have sworn not to re-elect the sins of the father.

We are casting our votes for so much more than a lesser of evils, but for change, and greater insight, for wisdom out of the mouths of babes, for races that bleed into ONE.

Dear History,
You are behind us and we are no longer looking back. We are standing on the threshold of new times, new days, new worlds, and charging forward without battle cry or trumpet, while cynicism, apathy, and cowardice take their place beside you, behind us.

Dear History,
We no longer believe in you. We have invested our our thoughts and dreams into the present moment and opportunity to shift our reality into one that does not resemble your dog-eared books.

We stand on the shoulders of those who have dared to dream and on the necks of those who have wasted their time and ours proclaiming a past past its prime.

Dear History,
Blitz! It's my turn now. You can have your mounds of flesh, leather boots, cannons and sabers, nooses and guillotines, warships and fighter planes, trails of tears and blood, genocides, dungeons and dragons, ghost stories and fairy tales..........

Come on guys! Help me out! ~ Saul

Click here for more videos from Vote For Change

Doomsday Dream...

End of days.

I was with my mother & brother.

A friend of mine was infected with a type of violent psychosis.

I recently learnt that he wants to kill me.
It seems his rage is targeted but for no clear reason.

One by one more people fall ill & threaten those around them.
The streets begin to flood with those looking for a cure.

A mystery van rolls into town and offers an expensive but tangible defence
available only for the rich or corrupt. They are a series of strange metallic objects that lend themselves more to confusion than any real solution, but are quickly stolen with an unnerving ease, as the gathering mob becomes restless.

We leave quickly and barracade our home for the impending chaos.

My vision is interjected with flashes of several seething pits of snakes, rats & cats
all fighting for survival. Striking. Biting. Clawing. Raping. Pillaging.
Not fighting to get free, but simply to destroy each other.
A vision of hellish desperation.
Then a large rare sabre-tooth breaks into the pit & ravenges them all.

Now my hunter has broken in and the fight breaks out. His eyes are red with a mix of hatred & fear. Scared not of me but of himself. With our mother in danger, my brother & I become ruthless, striking blows with lethal force to overpower him. Finally we pin him down to the concrete floor with a metal pole against his neck. Like kicking your own dog that’s turned against you... a sick feeling hits my stomach and remorse trys to break in.

Then as if someone whispered an antidote in his ear, his body loosened and slipped free of our grip. A team of agent like men and women enter the yard and capture him with no struggle. His eyes turn to face me and I see my old friend once again through spilling tears. A silent understanding of sorry is exchanged with no malice for each other, only the situation, as I follow them to the street.

The agents begin to examine my fingernails to check for infection, but swiftly move on.
My brother is not so lucky and is taken away before I’ve realised what was happening.

No answers only emptiness.

I’m torn back to a vision of the victorious beast. He wanders where the woods meet the city. Time has passed and his family has grown to many. I don’t fear they will hurt me, but am unnerved by their presence. Soon they will learn to walk on two legs.

As mum & I walk back to the house, a man with a purse made from two leather hearts follows me. His look seeks refuge, but I cannot risk all that I have left to give him shelter.

I bid him good luck...

and shut the door.

;P

Haiku eu Whale

My friend suzi forey drew these cool whales I'm response to a haiku
she found! ;P

Skulls are still cool right?

Props to photographer Phil Gallagher for throwing my skull photo up on his blog. Check it,

He also has a great book coming out called DLUX, available at www.philgallagher.com

;P

Armas, Tigres y Leones

"Police seized weapons, tigers and lions when they raided an alleged drug-trafficking ring in an upmarket neighbourhood of Mexico City...."

I wonder how many druglord henchmen this badass albino has chewed on! 

;P

... A thousand words

The Brothers Mitchell

Brothers in black relax over a quiet beer. Palm beach golf club as it
happens, Fridays are epic

GHETTO CHANDELIER

FOLLOW HIM OR DIE! MOOHAHAHAHHAHAHA

FOLLOWMEMAX.COM TEASER from Max Arent on Vimeo.

Sticker book

Remember your old sticker book?

The constant reminder of positive affirmation from your teachers. Whether you were a "Good Reader", "Willing Worker" or simply "Did you Best!" There was a sticker to suit any occasion! Even if you were the kid who glued his hand to the scissors, Mrs Jones would whip out the "Crafty Kid" Metallic number and whack it on your itchy woolen jumper for all to see.

And when you'd got home & finished lapping up Mums positive praise and afternoon treats, you'd carefully add it to your book of personal greatness, knowing that one day this badboy collection was going to land your your dream job taste testing bubble gum or teaching people to be Ninjas!!!! ... well I do!

;Puerto

A true story...

True story, I was happy. My girlfriend and I had been dating for over a year,
and so we decided to get married. My parents helped us in every way, my friends
encouraged me, and my girlfriend? She was a dream! There was only one thing bothering
me, very much indeed, and that one thing was her younger sister. My prospective sister
-in-law was twenty years of age, wore tight mini skirts and low cut blouses. She would
regularly bend down when near me and I got many a pleasant view of her underwear. It had
to be deliberate. She never did it when she was near anyone else. One day little sister
called and asked me to come over to check the wedding invitations. She was alone when
I arrived. She whispered to me that soon I was to be married, and she had feelings and
desires for me that she couldn't overcome and didn't really want to overcome. She told
me that she wanted to make love to me just once before I got married and committed my
life to her sister. I was in total shock and couldn't say a word. She said, "I'm going
upstairs to my bedroom, and if you want to go ahead with it just come up and get me." I
was stunned. I was frozen in shock as I watched her go up the stairs. When she reached
the top she pulled down her panties and threw them down the stairs at me. I stood there
for a moment, then turned and went straight to the front door. I opened the door and
stepped out of the house. I walked straight towards my car. My future father-in-law was
standing outside. With tears in his eyes he hugged me and said, "We are very happy that
you have passed our little test. We couldn't ask for a better man for our daughter. Welcome
to the family.

"The moral of this story is:"

"Always keep your condoms in your car."

Graffiti And Me.

I know that the majority of society does not like what I do, because one day they walk past a blank wall and the next day that wall is covered by one of my pieces. This scares the majority of people because it breaks up the predictability of life, and life has become a very routine based affair. When that routine is broken panic and anxiety hits. The media have always loved to grab hold of these moral panics, and blow them out of proportion. This is the culture of fear we live in, and graffiti is just another vehicle the media can manipulate to scare society. We are scared of what we don’t understand, and instead of taking time to study graffiti and understand why it is taking place the general public decide to disregard it as mindless criminal behaviour. If I am painting a wall that doesn’t belong to me then what other terrible crimes must I be committing?

The truth is graffiti is a complex social movement that is full of meaning and requires a highly motivated person. Think about it, I have to stay up to 2am on a weekday and then go painting in areas, which are generally dangerous, difficult to get to and are usually places that any normal person wouldn’t want to spend any time after dark. I have to put up with over zealous security guards that never quite made it to the police force, I have to put up with police on a power trip because they have finally graduated from security guards, and angry passers by who feel the need to make a citizens arrest. I have to dodge passing trains, angry dogs, and make sure I look over my shoulder every two minutes. Then on the way back to my car I have to walk the long way, zigzagging through peoples backyards, across train tracks and in general avoiding any main streets making it hard for anyone following me to keep up. On the way home I have to deal with being pulled over by the same newly graduated police officer I was dodging before, who has seen my P plates and wonders why I am on the road so late. I then have to sit there answering their questions, attempting to look calm, hoping they do not open my boot which has roughly 100 used spray cans in it from the past month. Then when I finally manage to get home at around 5am, I am feeling sick from the fumes, covered in dirt and paint and have to get up in a few hours and act like I was sleeping all night.

The next day there is a high chance some disgruntled citizen will paint out my work from that night. Then if my work manages to avoid this angry citizen there is a high chance some rival graffiti writer in his jealousy will paint over my work sometime that week, so the cycle begins and I feel the need to go out the next night. If I paint one piece, it may get erased. If I paint ten, maybe five will get erased. If I paint twenty maybe ten will survive and so on. Thanks to graffiti, I have pissed off girlfriends, parents and friends. I have rolled ankles, fallen off too many fences to count and in general put graffiti before almost anything else of importance. The amount of money I have spent on overpriced paint and even more overpriced petrol getting to where I want to use this paint is a bill I refuse to calculate as it would probably just send me into a deep hole of depression.

My point, if there is any (or maybe this is just some angry rant) is graffiti is not some mindless act, this is something that I and other writers spend a lot of time on and put a lot of heart into. I would not go though all the risks and sleepless nights for some night of random destruction. So if graffiti is crime, like you all seem to think it is I am cool with that. Just at least give it the merit of being labelled organised crime, as opposed to some reckless and mindless act of destruction.

In fifty years time, who will be remembered? The graffiti writer who was part of a modern day social and artistic movement? Or the office worker who sat at their desk counting someone else’s money?

"i'd wrather write on their walls than write their cheques. i'd wrather write on their walls than be the cause of their deaths"
kapowtwentythree..x

Sebastian Sasquatch (mupét)

Meet Sebastion,

He is an above average intelligence Sasquatch.

His best friend is a canary called Edie who was

named after Edie Sedgwick for her wild ways & infectious good looks;)

Be on the look out for their upcoming adventures into

the worlds of Art, Pop Culture, Sex, drugs & Rock n Roll!

;P spoken for mupét

Boyd

Brandon Boyd frontman for Incubus

Singer,
Painter,
Poet....

A true artist

LEFT: One of his pieces in current LA exhibition.

Monster Concrete Crayons

The lads were spotted supporting the new local gallery Concrete Crayons for the launch of Monster Children #20 & some of Chris Searls dope photography.

I've Arrived!!!....Now Someone Get Me A Gun.

Regal Encounter of the Earl Greay Kind

The only thing Earl Grey in London is the sky...

Even More Ass...

Ass

Plenty of ass in Greece....

YASSOU

Time away from work is always beautiful...

Especially when you're on one of the many spectacular Greek Islands in the Mediterranean...

Each sunset just as special as the next...

Old buildings....and some old-timers...