Teddy Bear Picnic

14” x 16.5”, collage, acrylic, oil pastel

  • If you go down to the woods today / You're sure of a big surprise.

    If you go down to the woods today / You better go in disguise.

    For every bear that ever there was / Will gather there for certain because.

    Today's the day the teddy bears have their picnic.

    The tune of “Teddy Bear's Picnic” (originally titled, “Teddy Bear's Two-Step”) was written by John Walter Bratton in 1907. The words were later added by the Irish lyricist Jimmy Kennedy in 1932 and, at the time, it became a hit song. It also was the soundtrack for a number of popular movies during the silent film era. I was surprised to learn that the song was also part of the Grateful Dead’s repertoire—apparently Jerry would play it as a tuning song between jams. It was the Dead’s adoption of it that made me think, “What a peculiar song,” and wonder if there wasn’t something more to this ridiculously innocent piece of music.

    Indeed, it was clear from my initial research that the song is not what it seems. It appears, for instance, that “Teddy Bear’s Picnic” is, among other things, an alien incantation disguised as a children’s song. I’ve been given to understand that large congregations of teddy bears gather a couple of times a year at secret locations, usually in a Designated Bear Meadow (DBM) near the junction of three rivers, where they create a ceremonial circle out of silver pearls and summon beings from a distant star. The teddy bears get drunk (sacred mushrooms may be ingested), they sing and dance, then they perform their queer picnic song. Apparently the song is an encoded signal that is transmitted to the distant star, Alnilam, at the center of Orion’s belt. Soon after, an astronaut from Alnilam would arrive in the center of the circle, impart some secret teddy bear knowledge, distribute space honey, deliver some encouraging words, and then return to Alnilam.

    We’ve learned from Bratton’s recently released journals that he didn’t compose “Teddy Bear’s Picnic,” but rather wrote it from memory after hearing it performed at a teddy bear ceremony that he purportedly attended. Bratton, it seems, was a member of a secret New England society with origins in an ancient Celtic bear cult (likely Druidic).

The Birth Of Public Transportation

12” x 15.5”, collage, acrylic, oil pastel

  • While working on this Underworld project, Dacchus and Plato C. Biscuits started carpooling to work every day because they live near each other.

    I wish there were a way we could pick everybody up, Plato said one morning.

    The two began to wonder if there wasn’t some way that they could indeed pick everyone up. They began to fantasize about a transportation system that would basically be one big carpool for the entire village. They became obsessed with the idea and their commutes were soon consumed by talk of nothing else: they drew up routes, designed vehicles, and drafted schedules. The idea grew and grew, and it wasn’t long before they invented what was essentially the first public transportation system.

    Early in the design process, the pair also inadvertently created the first skateboard. They had used the skeleton of an old roller skate as the base for a scale model of a four-wheel flatcar that would operate as a people mover in their system. The flatcar would roam around the village on a set route and people could step on and off of it as they pleased. Their transportation system evolved, however, and the flatcar concept was abandoned.

    One morning, upon seeing the flatcar model on the floor, Dacchus was seized by the sudden urge to jump on it. He took a short run and hopped onto the deck of the vehicle with his left foot forward, his body sideways, as if skidding across a sheet of ice. The flatcar took off with Dacchus atop it screaming and waving his arms as he zoomed across the room. He and the vehicle came to a sudden stop when they crashed into a bookshelf in the corner. After Plato excavated him from beneath the pile of books Dacchus emerged exhilarated.

    That was so fun, he exclaimed.

    When the two weren’t trying to learn how to ride their landsleds (as they called them), they were tinkering with the design. One of the more successful iterations, oddly enough, was constructed from a pair of antique, brass, barrow doorknobs they pinched off a local Janus temple. The doorknob style unlocked the landsled’s secret powers and opened the door to unimaginable speeds.

Wigs

13.5” x 14”, collage, acrylic, oil pastel

  • Before a major battle in the French countryside with the Devil Rat forces that occupied the territory there at the time, Dacchus requested advice on how to crush his opponent on the battlefield the next morning from one of his favorite oracles: Vivian Verimetal, The Jungian Young One, aka The Lady Of The Lake. For the price of a pillowcase filled with four weeks worth of dreams, she’ll answer any question you ask.

    Unfortunately for Dacchus, at the time of his visit, Vivian’s talents were much in demand due to the anxiety surrounding the troubles. Because delivering her divinations to clients took up the majority of her time, she had abandoned customer service altogether and outsourced it (quite literally) to the plants in the box outside her windowsill. Vivian would convene with the spirits at the bottom of the lake and obtain the prophecy, as usual, but then she would telepathically send the prophecy to the plants who would type it out for the client. This allowed Vivian to focus on her primary talent of divination while continuing to provide excellent customer service to her clients. Plants are naturally very friendly.

    That was the idea, anyway. The problem was that Vivian’s plants were having difficulty learning to type. Or using language. Or both. Plants are great at counting—how else do they know when to seed?—they’re great with numbers, but words? Not so much.

    For instance, in Dacchus’ transaction Vivian’s answer was: WINGS.

    As any good general would know, this meant: air attack. Employ your ravens, your jays, use your long distance artillery, etc.. But Dacchus never received this valuable advice because instead of WINGS the plant forgot the N and typed: WIGS.

    While Dacchus managed to escape the defeat unharmed, his forces suffered heavy losses. The scavengers on the field after the battle were surprised by the wide array of brightly colored hairpieces strewn across the muddy grounds, which included two of the four wigs that Dacchus had donned for the skirmish.

    When Dacchus next visited the Lady Of The Lake, he didn’t bother with any questions. Instead he lifted his leg and pissed all over the plant.

Triangle And The Frogs Of Dacchus

8.5” x 9”, collage, acrylic, oil pastel

  • The director of Efrunden Galerie, who represents me in Europe, recently discovered one of my pieces on the cover of an album by a 60s prog-rock band from Germany called, Triangle. The image of the album, which he found in an old vinyl record collector magazine, is small and b/w, but it is clearly my art on the cover. Herr Direktor is currently trying to track down a copy. In the meantime, he provided me with a rough translation of an interview Triangle did with a German music mag. Interestingly, all of their music revolves around the number three.

    The band has three members.

    They play songs with only three notes.

    All notes are triads.

    They prefer the key of A because it’s shaped like a triangle.

    Their lyrics are written with trigonometry in iambic trimeter using only three syllable words and every line rhymes with the number 3 (not the word, the number).

    The music should be listened to while sitting in the center of three speakers.

    The records are triple sided. The vinyl is slightly thicker in order to accommodate a narrow groove on the edge (the third side) that purportedly contains a song.

    I wish I had been consulted before they used my work, but I understand why Triangle chose this piece because it involves a lot of threes. The illustration is from, The Frogs Of Dacchus, and concerns a time when Dianne O’Nysus (Dacchus disguised) disembarked from Plato’s ferry to relieve herself. She gets lost in the jungle and meets a strange, cabbage-headed creature with three eyes. He offers Dianne a magic mushroom in return for a small sample of her leavings to power the holographic pyramid he carries on a tray. Dianne agrees, eats the mushroom, and achieves Enlightenment. Reality, she learns, is based on the number three: Heaven/Man/Earth, Thesis/Antithesis/Synthesis, Past/Present/Future, etc. Unfortunately, by giving away her dung (her Past) Dianne forfeits her future because mushrooms (gateway to the Future) grow from dung. A chase begins.

    Anyway, I will never be recompensed for the stolen cover art, but if anybody knows how to obtain a copy of this record, or even get in touch with former Triangle band members, please let me know.

Triangle Album Cover Proposal

10.5” x 10.5”, collage, acrylic, oil pastel

  • Remember that Pazuzu spell I told you about that summons a trio of flatulent Muskox who will play an enchanting symphony out of their gigantic, musky anuses? As I understand it, the frequencies the beasts emit from their buttholes are capable of affecting (at a quantum level) the resonance of the electrons in your body causing them to buzz/hum in a manner that creates a euphoric, interdimensional experience for the listener. I wonder if they can make the infamous Brown Sound? Anyway, Triangle experienced the Muskox symphony during one of their tryptamine experiments and, according to Isis, recorded an album that attempts to duplicate the Muskox’s otherworldly music. Isis says it’s possible under the proper conditions to actually see the Muskoxen when you listen to the recording.

    I’ve been infatuated by the idea of this album ever since she told me about it, which is unfortunate for Isis because I’ve been bugging her about it a lot. She regrets mentioning it. Which leads me to believe that it might actually exist?

    But I can’t stop thinking about it, so I decided to do a cover mockup. Maybe Triangle has never released it because they need cover art, I don’t know?

    I tried to arrange the flatulent Muskox at the three vertices of a right triangle—Triangle’s signature triangle. I also made them Cyclopean. Seems trippier, no?

    I almost prefer the image with an empty sky, but since it’s an album cover I couldn’t help slapping a Triangle logo on there somewhere—or at least what I imagine their logo looks like: a Pythagorean triangle, which, of course is necessarily a right triangle. I chose the simplest version: 3² + 4² = 5².

    I sent the cover art to Isis, hoping maybe she’d forward it to Triangle, but she hasn’t responded. I take her silence to mean she doesn’t like it. Or maybe she’s dead? I don’t know, I just want to hear this trippy farting Muskox album from Germany.