Filthy South

Rachel Goodrich, hands down, has more FEMALE SWAG than Alicia!

OMGZ!!! I really don’t know what to write about the above 12 second epic of pure and “exquisite” film making. I have watched it on my computer at least 1000 times. Just look at the eyes of Rachel Goodrich. Here is how it happened: She told me that she had seen the entire set (take a glimpse at the previous post) and that she liked it. I thanked her, and like a fucking Herb, I take out my camera and ask her this stupid question. But look at her eyes as she answers. I think she really likes El Presidente. I have been informed by various sources that Rachel Goodrich was given a copy of The President’s debut CD: LEBRON on a recent Wednesday night at Sweat. The CD, btw, will be available next Thursday at Sweat Records; I saw one on ebay going for $50!

Cremator 305 was on March 5, 2010. On that night I exhibited some of my drawings. Those drawings were folded up and used as the packaging for the CD (Roofless Records). On August 1, 2010 I performed “Brunch with The President.” Brad from Slashpine purchased a copy for $5. Thx again Brad! This is why Sweat Records is the most awesome place in Miami. They are letting us experiment with the Miami ether. We are creating our own music, and our own culture, forever.

Wait until basketball season starts, this shit is going to blow up. Art Basel? WMC? Hello? Rachel Goodrich, we stand by you! Stand up, 305! Listen to my little guffaw at the very end of the above video. That was a huge moment for me, and I’m an old man. It felt like that first kiss in the Jr. High hallway. Or that time I got tackled by GG. I tell you this. Churchill’s Hideaway and Pub is where the magic happens. I am The President, that’s what. Chicken butt.

Before the Free Weezy song, the crowd was chanting, “Free Lil Wayne…” It was a remarkable experience to be involved with that sort of psychic power. To actually telepathically communicate with Weezy through the P. Diddy ring that I was wearing. I feel sick today. I ate one of those new BK Steak XT burgers with fried onion rings and bacon. Then I went over to Churchills and had a Jack and Coke. Then I went onstage and played some songs.

I really do love Miami so much….

Rick Ross taught me how to hustle. I have hung out with that adorable man (Boss) on numerous occasions. One time, he stood in the corner of his house chanting the word “money” over and over again like a mantra. I was about to ask him something. He looked up at me, and gestured with his hand that I should not speak. He continued repeating the word money for another 10 minutes or so in some kinda trance. I walked outside and accidentally opened the door of his Maybach; it was parked in the driveway, next to a Lambo. I then began to emulate what he was doing, since I myself would like to accumulate riches. “Money, money, money, money, money, money, money, money…”

Ok, so there is somewhat of an explanation of the first song on The President’s new “Lebron” CD. But the song “Gary Cohen and the Make Out Sluts” is also about my impending criminal record. Rick Ross has given me specialized knowledge in the field of music. That is, accumulating riches through being what you wanna be. Becoming a product of your own imagination. I have the power, to be The President of a New Universe!

RZA taught me the secret of the I Ching. I told him that I had been possessed by the ghost of ODB. He didn’t care; he just wanted to talk about chess. I challenged him to a game and he declined.

Birdman is a living super hero. I watched kids in Liberty City chase his bus down the street yelling, “Birdman! Birdman!” Baby taught me to believe in myself. Being in the studio with the Cash Money fam inspired me beyond belief. They talk about God a lot (as most successful artists do). And so I formed The President as a means to reach my desire. All I’ve ever wanted to be was a rock star. Even at the ripe old age of 27, I mean…37…I still want to make it. I bought a dictionary and ripped out the word “impossible.” Thank you, Weezy! Pour some Aunt Jemima on my fucking pancake.

Shit. My friend Eddie shot himself in the head a few months ago. He would have been 40 years old. Pussy! I walked out to the mailbox on the corner and sent another letter to Wayne..

HR (you can see me at the very end of this video) suggested that I read Think and Grow Rich by Napolean Hill. “Without that book,” he stated, “there never would have been Bad Brains.” I have read the book three times. In fact, I have downloaded a pdf version on my laptop and I try to read some of it every day. The seeds are being planted.

Glenn Danzig was the very first rock star that I interviewed for Miami New Times. Hell yeah! Misfits are one of those bands that I will cherish forever. They got me laid. They got me paid. They are from New Jersey and they suck these days.

Anyway, my initial intention was interviewing these millionaire rock stars for various online and print publications, but I began to see that my definite purpose in life was not being a music journalist per se. Fuck that shit. It was for me to be a millionaire rock star myself, and thus have music journalists write about…The President! I have faith in the universe. I love The President’s new conceptual album, Lebron, out now on Roofless Records. Quitters never win, and winners never quit. Thank you! Stop hatin. Come check out The President. I am not ready to write my bio here. But it is a good one. I have done more shit than an Eskimo.

Today’s Manifestation of Desire: The President will be singing the national anthem at an upcoming Miami Heat game.

I had bad acne when I was a teenager/ I had bad acne when I was an adult.
I put the gun to my head but I didn’t pull the trigger/ I went downtown and I joined a cult.
I sold led pencils in the airport out of a tin can/ I listened to Led Zeppelin in a cocaine van. Nah…ok heres another one:
I’m in love with a tranny/ leave the baby with the nanny/ take a load off Franny/ nah…um…trollin for cougars/ pick my nose and flick the booger/ in my coffee pour some sugar/ man…hahah…hello..

The President will be playing Bonnaroo next year.
The President will be having band practice at The White House tomorrow, and you are invited to stop by for a tour of The White House. The White House is hidden “deep in the penetralia of the most southern region of Miami” (taken from The President’s new CD “Lebron” liner notes, written by local music and nightlife entrepreneur, Matt Preira). The White House is an art studio, a practice space, a reality show, and living quarters for The President. It is a portal where you can be yourself and free the chickens.

The President is the object of our definite purpose in life: By keeping Positive Mental Attitude, we watch the manifestation of our desires. Thoughts are things. I see The President winning a Grammy, selling millions of albums, wearing a Rolex, driving a Mas, going on tour with Young Mulah, joining forces with The Psychic Brethren, memorizing The Old and New Testaments, and staying in touch with the contemporary avant-garde. Have a drink at Churchills, and a cup of coffee at Sweat Records. Being alive in the 305 during this period of renewal, our city is about to dig itself out of the proverbial hole. Get ready Miami. Keep your mind on the money. Rent is going up, Lebron is here! I am so happy and grateful now that money comes to me in increasing quantities from multiple sources on a continuous basis.

The President will be going on a world tour soon, purchasing houses and cars for myself and family. This is the manifestation. We Love You! The law of attraction worked with this video. You saw it work with my various rock star interviews. You have seen me rise like The Phoenix from the ashes of my own mistakes. Remember when you dropped me off near the bridge that I slept under with a gram of powder and the ghost of ODB? My music beats in your head. The message is getting out there. Success is a culmination of rejection. I have faced rejection, been rejected, and failed countless times. Speaking of time, it is my only opponent.

The President will be performing at Miami’s upcoming Art Basel. What that means is that the current Roofless Records package of the Lebron CD is a relatively wise and inexpensive investment for you to partake. For a mere $5.00 you have purchased a stock in The President. Each CD comes with a one-of-a-kind drawing: oil pastels on poster board. Some of these drawings have been exhibited at Sweat Records, and also in various homes around town. Now, imagine in a few years when you tell your friends that you have an original. Ok! I guarantee that they will be worth more than $5.00 in a year. Plus, you have a piece of history, wrapped in a beautiful package with inserts and a CD of great Miami-Masonic-Rock. Your grandchildren will know what it felt like to be in Miami at this awesome historical moment. Miami Heat, Miami Dolphins, Florida Marlins, the U, Lebron. Hello. I Love Miami.

The President will play a show anytime anywhere. In your house at midnight, in a field at the break of dawn, call The President direct at 786-227-9486. The President loves you. The President is here to provide you with the best indigenous Miami music ever. We are Miami. We are the Best. Call me, especially if you are drunk and need a ride home. See ya.

the reflection of biblical ghosts in her eyelids as she stares into space. Now that Im The President you can turn on your TV and see my pretty face. But I’m not on earth, you’re gonna catch me ridin dirty on a NASA Space Shuttle. I miss you so much, but with no gravity, it feels so good to cuddle with you…c’mon…what else rhymes with “shuttle”?

Through the use of multi-media installations and musical performances, introduce the viewer/participant(s) to an undiscovered country that exists within the City of Miami. Miami being a separate planet unto itself (see above video): separate from Florida, separate from the U.S., and separate from the rest of the universe. Using drawings, sculptures, videos, and songs as a storyboard, The President has created this “portable country” which exists within the performance space/gallery. An altar of sacrifice with Masonic symbols and allegory are used within the work, which may raise the question: Is the President a Mason? We’ll get to that in a minute…I love Miami, I love America, and I love money. I love the fact that in this “undiscovered country,” I have become the self-proclaimed “President” (Roofless Records). I hope to continue this mission as The President until I am well known enough to run for actual President of the United States (2016?). Only in the U.S. of A. can this be done.

Is the Word “Wingnut” in the Dictionary?

Man…so I just write shit off the top of my head onto this blog? It goes up and into cyberspace where the Publix People live.

I’m a Genius.
I have a small penius.

its a shower not a grower
piss on my face
gimme that power

are you a tranny?
you look-a-like a man.
I’ll sleep on the floor.
or in the garbage can.

positive positve positive positve

like snorting a baby laxative

like the bestial wail of

Bon Jovi Girl
you broke my heart

and now I want to dive
into the Grand Canyon
space and time universal

You are the Golden Hearted Vampire.

Pouring wet cement on my corpse and

Letting it harden for the statue’s eternal life.

Did you see the one-legged-bicycle man in Little Haiti?

Have we admitted our immortality?

Don’t I owe you a martini?

Didn’t I lie to you about my age?

Didn’t you dump me?

My pimples ablaze and

Out of her body came the Sorcerers fingernail.

Throbbing Gristle on the stereo

licking my afternoon cotton-mouth.

The sky is blue as a Canadian tuxedo.

I am hunting for greatness. I sleep in the woods on a piece of cardboard. I am playing my electric guitar while sparkles of light bounce from your buttery teeth. I love Miami. I just do: the smell, the pink clouds of evening, the water water everywhere but not a drop to drink, the Florida Marlins, nothing new under the blazing 305 syrupy sun, and the empty downtown streets. Like Tony said, “Miami is a big pussy waiting to be fucked.” The world is ours! Chi Chi get the yayo.

I spent a number of years as a “person of the street.” That’s right, motherfucker. Not in, but of. Women always seem to succeed in pointing me in the right direction with temporary unconditional love. Haters call me pussy whipped. Success is a culmination of failures. Let’s get down to business. I love you. I love you. I love you. I appreciate your enthusiasm. The President loves you boo boo.

This coming Sunday shall be another moment of glory. The President is studying and practicing the game of life. We are fine tuning the sounds of Air Force One with an eye on terror. I wish that I could help you understand the jolts of raw sexual energy running through my brain in the vortex of your eyeball nugget. Cell phones buzz and vibrate. ESPN is on TV. Miami Heat is going to fucking devour the NBA for the next couple years. Tiger Woods should play for the Heat. Am I being creepy? Creepy. Ok. Hello. I am sitting naked as I write this in someone else’s living room. I live alone in a house big enough for an entire island wedding. Remember the glittery X-mas Boat? Wait. I remember teekee. I remember Jhah Nah Nah Cho. I have tears welling up in my eyes. I need to be onstage right now. I am only happy when I am onstage with my guitar. I feel so close to the other side. I hate poetry. I eat women out because I am hungry and I gotta eat. Nutrients. Holy water. Hot wah kee kee. Mmmm. Yes We Can.

I once slept on a hardened pile of human feces near the train tracks in Philly. Oil cans so tall that you needed to climb the rusty ladder to get to the top. I ran naked through the woods chasing deer along the Ohio River. The space ship was from another planet. The waxed vagina is a filet mignon. Coffee ice cream is delicious. Coffee with ice is good too. “Been to jail 35 times in 12 different counties 20 different states and the firemen count pigeons on the windowsill.” Always the same bologna sandwich. Been around the world twice with a quarter in my pocket.

I cant tell you how much I love eating chocolate in the morning. Beer first. Then chocolate. Then brownies. Then more beer. Then orange soda and a donut, coffee and coffee ice cream. Hennesssy. Walk the dog. Omg, that was good chocolate. It just tastes good…that all it is…why does my stomach hurt but my brain is in mid-air? I lick the melted ice cream from the porcelain plate. I taste the fate. Come back late. Choco late. Choco late. Vanilla. Vanilla. Angelina Jolilla. Bolero. This is how we do it. A website has an infinite amount of space. I can write a blog equal to 12 miles of newspapers spread across an acre of land.

I am literally writing myself to sleep. Good night my love. Filthy South is a state of mind. My love love. I am always in love. I hope that our paths cross again this Sunday at SWEAT. Oh you ate one too? Van Handelsman 1984. I was still a little kid when you were born. I walk around naked in other people’s houses. I am not ashamed of my dyslexic breast. I went to a Marlins game last night and had a ball. I cant stay awake. Any longer. Loafing man on the subway train, leave his formal education in the barrel. There is no waste of paper here in cyberland. Just radiation from the computer screen. My how happy the hippos penis looks. Don’t wanna sell T shirts. Don’t wanna smoke cigarettes. I’m sleeping. Sleeping in Jerusalem. Drop out of life with bong in hand.