This is a little overdue so I guess I have a lot to cover.

My painting has come to a sudden halt, after the completion of three new decent sized pieces, due to financial reasons. I am broke. Poor. Starving; the horrible image artists have too much been associated with. But more importantly, I am restricting myself in terms of painting and experimenting with other mediums. What is even more important than this is that I am still a nobody and nameless beyond my town and classrooms and, if this starvation continues, will remain this way until further notice. But who cares, we shouldn’t give a fuck. At twenty years old, I am farther ahead than all the others my age I know and have a foundation to go back to when something fails. While they still try to figure out what they want to do, I am doing it little by little and having a subtle impact on those around me. But somethings are amongst this thin air, taking what little oxygen I have left to call my own and causing a recent collapse.

Besides the financial ruin, my mother (if you haven’t been keeping up) is going to jail. I have recently written a letter to somewhat lessen the punishment, but honestly don’t want to. That is besides the point. I will have to, once again, take the responsibility of guiding my sister into a decent life. But her teenage angst is rising and I don’t want a part of this anymore.

I have been working harder than ever to get out of here and transfer to another college; Ringling School of Art and Design. I have high hopes and am waiting on the letter of truth. The letter to forever change my life. I have realized the only way to get out of this life is through education. I am sick of being broke, nameless and stuck inside of a town in which nobody cares for. I need some materialism to become disgusted with. I need some experience under my belt but more importantly I need to re-visit the areas in which my childhood took place to get some motivation…to see how far I have come.

What am I doing for now?

Living. Getting by through school and poetry. Music.

I have a show, once again at Pia Sjolin Design sometime in Feb. It has escaped my head, as that is how little I am focused on it. Something is terribly wrong.

I have been doing more and more design lately and have taken an interest in trying to get the attention of more investors. Installation projects have been coming and going, but I am onto something with this one…I’ll keep you posted.

-Mike Detelj

He’s at the darkest he has ever been, which is hardly something new. And if you could taste the vile conundrum stuck in the black thumb of his nothingness, you can see why the agitation on his face won’t seem to fade. But it’s just another day in the life of the one-coarse-meal and if today is the same as yesterday, than, “It isn’t that bad, no…it’s not that bad; it’s real.”

Talking to himself used to be a game but now it’s nothing more than a tactic to divert the interrogations that could furthermore push forward to the climactic point of view his third eye can’t seem to handle. “Take control, my man, take control.”

Control: A joke.

“We have no control,” he spits at his thumb. Then, biting into the sour-puss puss that seems to invisibly ooze out, he loses all consciousness and falls to the floor. What a night. It was a night. Beautiful. “Wake up”

Next day, same face, so grey, the skies and the ground; a bit more bitter. Crushing; is the wind. Collapsing; is his skin. Swig. Swig. One more day. It takes but one more day and his masterpiece will be finished. The death of something so tragic won’t be as hard to watch as he thought. And before he closes his eyes, they roll one more time to stare past his brow and into the stars.

“Would it be OK to re-invent my meaning and disturb the dictionaries? I mean to say, I have my own way and you need to see through your standards. I am not a fish in your sea. I do not cooperate with your lack of originality. And, no, I am not chasing capital or immortality, I just want your connection, depression, angst and anger. I want your emotions for one last chance to feel. So ignore my errors and laughable flaws as I ignore yours, God…Please.”

silence.

silence.

silence.

And the church responds, “No.”

Forever Confused.

-Mike Detelj

“VTMNC”

They call me violent, with ideology in a suicidal manner…but that’s not me, I’m not that good a planner.

But I will take credit for the massacres to follow.

I will take credit

For the tip of silver’s hollow.

I will take credit

For my uncanny persistence

If in the end it means

I had some sort of existence.

I will take credit

For coming to your doorstep

I will take credit

For completing their silence while every neighbor slept.

I will take credit

for living life in truth for me

I will take credit

for draining yours of it’s lavish sea.

Your treasure’s mine for the taking

whether you like it or not

And my brittle, arthritic hands

are all I’ve got.

So make way for the handicapped,

’cause I’m wheeling through

Your laughter and smug smile

are all I needed to…

-M. Detelj 09

I hope there comes the day where the drugs you put into your body no longer stand a chance against the feeling of happiness that doing something inventive and productive can give you. And if it doesn’t, ask yourself, “What did I do with my life?”

IT is in bold because I fear most of you need to see it a little more clearly. All around me stand the weak and pitiful people I seem to be working too hard to get through to. But unlike you, I won’t give in to the petty appetite of the world around me. I will continue to persevere and create through these times of peril. YOu are nothing and always have been. But without you, I wouldn’t look so good, now would I?

I don’t know who you think you are to question my every action and criticize my every move, as I could probably do the same to you and find much more “wrong.” But I don’t because I try to be a little less judgmental and a little more accepting than the average American these days. But to answer those who still continue to ask what I am doing, here you go:

I am working. I am pushing limits and I am loving every drop of sweat that comes from the pores of this skin. I enjoy the challenge but even more so enjoy the times I get to rub my productivity in your face. This is what motivates me. You are what motivates me. I don’t need to be another face in the crowd like you, as I am much more comfortable on the outside of your circle, walking away. Go ahead and laugh, but when and if your taste for alcohol and incompetence withers…when your face goes from youthful to wrinkly, I’ll be the one to laugh. You will almost be comparable to a productive crack head while I am making millions in smiles. Ponder that.

I’ll have stories while you have issues and a midlife crisis. My crisis ended the day I ate the paint only to spit it back up on this canvas in front of me. Goodbye, cruel world of criminals…introducing the imagination….

“Letting Go”

Can it be said that the dearly devoted are taking personal notes on a skill level too far a par for us to match, let alone conquer?

Or are we just so blind to our own ability?

When your hand comes to touch this heart, have no fear because you already know what has begun. A hurtful journey into a waste of time where “x” doesn’t mark the spot for anything more than your next way out.

So brash, I can be, but lay waste it’s unattractiveness and look into these woodsy eyes once more. And if you can stare past the brush and see your naked reflection…it means we have done something right. I promise these lips only leak the truth, I promise I’m only to give them to you.

But come the day that love is too much a distortion and is lacking all practical proportion, feel free to step out of the puddles and look towards the ocean. Letting go is not such a hard thing to do, especially when all we are tied to is wind and water; pure elements and nothing original.

-Mike Detelj ‘09

For those who don’t follow me on facebook, 1) you should 2) I have shirts for sale.

I have created some simple designs for shirts for men and woman. I will expand on this idea and such as soon as I get more money. For now I have four designs to choose from.

All shirts are $25.00 for now due to lack of demand. When I make more, I will mass order them and sell them for less. PLEASE SPREAD THE WORD!!!

For orders email me

contact@mikedetelj.com

-Mike Detelj

Due to the schedule of the artist who designed my website for me, I am now the one to take over the reins and do my own updates. This means…there will not be any on the actual website for a great while because of my lack of knowledge on how to do such things. I am learning and focused on getting to my next evolutionary stage in art, anyways, so this is good. It is sad that you won’t be able to see what I am up to, though. Anyways, if there is anyone with a good knowledge of site design and is willing to help me at no charge (sorry, but that starving artist image is me at the moment) feel free to let me know.

And as for my art at the moment….mostly video, poetry, and….secrets. Here, let me give you a metaphorical phrase;

Tied to the left corner of the popcorn ceiling, words to linger while emptiness collides between clothes of white on black.

Ponder that.

Today, I realized what makes me the most happy; my closest friends.

We have been through a lot and have shared a pretty incredible experience since our first confrontations. I wanted to take this time to thank you, personally, for everything. The arguments, the successes and failures, the moments of truth, the silences and the outlandish activities we have all shared together. There is nothing more that I can ask for in this world other than us all living successful and happy lives. You are the greatest anyone could ever wish for and thus the reason why I have no hesitation when it comes to our chill time together. It is no wonder why my relations with women seem to fail; I give all my time to you guys, art and education. And I don’t regret a thing.

And to my fellow artists whom I believe I am good friends with, thank you for all your support. It is because of you that I am on this path and enjoying every second of it. Without you, I would not be writing this. I would probably be drunk in class or at some stupid party. You guys, in a way, saved me and gave me the key to truly expressing myself and my beliefs and I would gladly do anything to help you become more successful Ted and Peter. But more importantly, you gave me a key out of the hell I was living in. Once more…Thank you. It was an honor to help with the book and an honor to paint for hours in the rain with you, Peter. I don’t think you really understand how much it means to me.

Anyways, hope you and everyone else have a good holiday as I know this was easily the best thanksgiving I have had in years.

-Mike

Today I had a dream about tranylcypromine.

I am in my old dormitory room way back in college. One of my roommates, Hot Shot Orthopedic Surgeon, is there, talking with me. Moments later, my other roommate, Angelic Princess, arrives with her dad carrying her things. Her dad approaches me and asks if I know the drug classification of tranylcypromine. In my matter-of-factly tone, I answer, “Yes, it’s an antibiotic.”

Well, my answer was definitely wrong. It’s not an antibiotic. Tranylcypromine is a MAO inhibitor. It is used as an antidepressant in the treatment of clinical depression, and mood and anxiety disorders.

Why did I dream of it? Could it be that I would be prescribed with this drug in the future? Or maybe I would be the one who would prescribe it in the future (because I’d already be a great doctor by then) to some Kpop fanatic gone nuts. Well, whatever. Maybe this dream is just one of those meaningless craps my mind generates when it’s bored? Do minds get bored? Anyway, it was a nice dream. Now, I won’t ever forget that tranylcypromine is a MAOi.

Can you feel the despondency trickle down my cheek? It’s trail is reminiscent to the tails of fires that only breathe in existence to burn all that is living; A wildfire of nothing for nothing but itself.

Secretly sliding, path-winding at a pace so blinding down a street too peaceful and serene, I thought about slamming my tan, tone skin against the windshield of misery and incompetence. I thought about you, father. While muttering words in a mild manner, finger flipping the pages of time and memory, the index dragged itself across your name. Flash to myself inside you and possibly your final day.

A window. Giant. Yellow light, as if from suns comparable to the yolk of an egg. Now place the shades in a horizontal manner, allowing cracks of light to seep through each blocker of life. Now…a couch. Side view, as if you just walked into this room of which has a future of moroseness and monstrosity. Silhouette. Place the silhouette of a person hunched over, side view. Coffee table; side view. So from left to right at the angle of one side, window being like a square of light coming at you; Couch, man on it, crouched over, face on coffee table. You now have the image of what I have been seeing everyday since the beginning of my realization at the lack of a father.

Your turn because the first person perspective isn’t enough to grasp, so our hands begin to tremble and insides seem to quake. It’s as if you know what is about to happen.

Slam. Face first into the fist of a white, powdery mess not even a mother could clean. My muscles become the most numb they have ever been. I want to run but the rate of my heart seems to be moving twice the pace of my legs and my mind is losing itself at triple the speed. This is too complex for even I to conjure up the will to understand but will continue to do so maybe eight more times. “I want to escape this misery, ” we say in unison, as the possibility of that car you heard outside your window being related to your new found son searching for his father seems to wither and die. All things seem to slowly wither and die. Death is complex; this is too complex.

Flash back to me, eighty miles over the speed limit and heart rate nearly the level of yours on that fateful day. My foot releases and the speedometer begins to level out. Still living, still breathing with tears rolling down my face in memory of a man who didn’t care, one who didn’t try.

It is the satisfaction of knowing that completes this cypher’s encryption.

But it is the lack of possibility that kills me the most.

It is for the better

that you left her

But for the worse

because I never

truly was given the time and place near your heart to make my impact.

The even greater lack of my importance is disturbing

causing me to feel as if I am the blood-sucking parasite in this life of violence and abuse.

Do not sing to me, my muses, as I have no intention of abusing your uses. Instead scream and mop this artist dry so I can finally conjure up the will

to let myself keel over and die the most beautiful of deaths they have ever read of.

And before I do…please take note

to the sad, sorry statements in which this poor being spoke.

-Mike Detelj 09

Delicately pasting dreams to paper isn’t enough. So I began my applying myself to the outcome so long ago, enveloping myself in all that I wanted to be. And it’s true, sacrifices have been made, I have lost some friends and ignored the family, but in the long run you will still look up to me for all the hurdles I have not jumped but rather kicked out of the way. I have begun to cheat your silly little ladders and built an escalator, no, an elevator to not hinder my every move.

Stay jaded, things seem more desolate that way and each breath I breathe should have a price tag when you live the life I have.

I am a story of success in the making and nobody will take my little moments of glory…ever. Try as you must, you forces of nature never to truly be understood, and I will laugh as I kick your teeth in and rip the nails from your wretched hands one by one. My violence rains a series of destructive events not even your Moses could match.

This is the cliché, the newly invented, slightly invigorating and irritating event of the century. This is Mike Detelj, shining his brightest and dumbing down all thoughts of a hue shade. This is me being successful. This is where I should have been the whole time. This is me doing better than you. This is me living in truth and speaking my mind. This is me living for art and myself…wrong…this is me living for humanity. I am sick of listening to the people tell me the world needs believers like me, so I stood up and am finally being heard. This is me outstretching a hand to the confused in hopes that more than a handful touch the tips of these gentle hands.This is everything you need right now but still too small to notice…

…I’ll change that. I will.

-Mike Detelj

My god, the mood I am in is beautiful and the way leaves seem to still be falling around my figure only helps to push my thirst for success. If only I could feel this way all the time.

I now realize, though still flooded with thoughts of failures, I was never really part of anything disgusting. The beauty of this life I am living is I am the only one around, or so it seems, that truly loves of second of it. No matter what, I am sticking to my words of “never again” and that only helps to make my smile widen. As I sit here, alone at this empty table once more, I feel such a feeling of independence and warmth that no girl could ever match. Narcissism? No. Believability, my friends. Once you truly believe in something as important to you as yourself you have no need for anything else but to prove your existence. I am in love…. Infatuated with the thought of all my dreams coming true and none of them have anything to do with you. And to the others, I am not here for the sex (though it is nice) but rather to make a subtle impact amongst your life. I am here for the connection. Those who follow me and my words, and truly believe in them, it is time for you to stop and think; “Why am I not this happy?” And this is because you have been living life blind to the amazing world around you. Wake up. Take the mask off and show yourself.  Now begins your time to truly start to find yourself.

I believe this is the last message to the girl who now is just an afterthought so I’ll make it clear; Thank you for all the time we shared and not a moment of it wasn’t worth it. But the truth is you were just a phase to me that I needed to go through and I can safely say I have no hopes of reconnecting, not that I do not miss anything. I miss a lot, but that is only because I have been so used to certain things. My mind is where it needs to be and your window of opportunity has finally passed. There will be those moments when I will feel like we should be what we dreamed of, but they will quickly be laid to rest due to my realization that I have no time for childish games and it is just my mind getting the best of me. I have too much to do and you have not the heart to tackle the plans I am pursuing, nor the patience. You feisty,little thing, you. I wish the best of luck with all that you do and may you live a life worth speaking of. And to your family; I envy you. If there is one thing I envy, it is your undying love for each other. Continue to maintain this through your generation, Jordan, and to some that is all they need. Again, thanks and goodbye.

With that being said, let us document this day as the day I can say I am completely on a mission and living for myself until I reach that point of captivation among the masses. I expect incredible experiences along the way and look forward to the new people I meet. Anyone that wants to join me, I’ll see you out there.

-M. Detelj

If I asked for you to walk backwards and enjoy the scenery in a post-modern world of hallucination and deprived modernism, would you, seeing how far we have come, consider it at the least? Or would you so blindly bat an eye at the thought like a patron of the arts to a vagabond among a cluttered city street? I would like to say you have matured past that stage of complete nihilism towards childhood dreams and words misunderstood, but I am sorry to say the image you have now reflects the wealthy patron of broken hearts.

Are my words too metaphorical for you or just not that important? Or is it the history of violence and intensity of my passion that throws you off? Who cares?

There is a great chunk of both our lives living in silence and whether it is ever to be spoken of is up to the architect, not the artist. But the architect is an artist at heart and we as artists have a great tendency to be irrational. So, was the moment of silence of which we shared in complete and utter confusion of our beings an irrational afterthought to never be thought of again or was it more a turning point to only learn half of? I mean to say it seems we are no longer confused. We have a good footing upon which direction to step in. But are we really going to let something so important to our morphing of who we are, where we have gone and where we are going to be left in silence? I believe the more we understand something, the more intelligent we become. And does that not make perfect sense?

So here I am, not the battered, medicated psyche patient you kissed four, maybe five years ago.  No. Here I am, the artist I have been dreaming of. There you are, the architect who can finally adore herself the way she deserved. Matured? Definitely. Healed? Pretty sure. Speaking? No. Why? Somebody is scared and I know it’s not me, never was. So speak, child. So speak, you beautiful influence. So speak and let your impact be heard. And when your dust settles, the air you breathe will be much cleaner and a piece of your puzzle in life will silently fall into place. You’ll be that person you’ve always wanted when you start to live life with no regrets. Here’s a start; quit regretting me.

When I lay my head unto this pillow, I fear not the possibility of death but rather long for it. I can count her freckles, but get lost in her ever changing eyes. The way her jet black hair so smoothly wraps itself around me as if night were forever is the most comforting thing I have felt in the past three years…putting me to sleep like the prescription pills I never took. My drug, my love…will you be here forever? The girl of my dreams…everything I need smirks back at me and then, as quick as it came, the signal is lost and the satellite floats away on it’s path around my world.

I believe in the future. I believe in our future, girl halfway around my mind. Sleep has never felt so good nor have these drugs in which I have deprived myself of for far too long.

As you come closer, your image becomes more clear and your eyes so much more consistent in color. I didn’t know swimming through emerald was possible let alone so invigorating. The colors around me…..the colors around…..us. While we are underwater, let’s share this bubble and call it home. Together, we’ll float no matter how far apart we are, letting the current take control with the knowledge that one day you and I will meet. We are invincible…more so inevitable.

I’m in love with the girl inside my head, so in love.

-m. Detelj 09

The second Spoken Word Video File by Mike Detelj. Ironically, no words are spoken in this one. This is because I wish to immerse you into your own thoughts on what you are looking at and how it relates to the title. Soon to come is a version with vocals but for now, just get…lost.

“I swear I heard you say…”

A live poetry/painting session. The future of my art lies in my self expression and this is just the beginning. Eventually, a page under my gallery will hold these, but not until I fine tune this art for myself. Enjoy and, please, give some feedback.

-Mike Detelj

Harsh topic. This isn’t poetry, though I ave a tendency to write in such a way. So forgive me and I apologize now if you get lost somewhere along the lines.

I have to get this one out of me, for now there is no other way. Many a mistake have come and gone without a thought. And many have come where there is a thought. But only so many come where they are all you think about. I sit at this table…writing for myself and you the reader, and you, the girl. Mistakes, where do I begin?

Can mistakes be taken aback and turned over into successes or will they forever be there to dwell upon? Will they always be something to hold you back? Me Back? Us? Is there such thing, I fear not. Besides the point, I have yet to figure this puzzle out. I find myself going back to my mistakes each day, each morning, each night, each minute at some fucking point and it is driving me insane. Tonight, I stood in the middle of the road…drunk. As the cars were passing by, all my angst and violence were reflecting in their lights back at me. I felt urges I haven’t felt since being institutionalized. No this isn’t all because of a girl. No, this is because of me. It’s what I do. Standing there, looking up, bottle in hand I began to scream. Just screaming at the cars to hit me, tears down my face…I became the most vulnerable I had ever been. The closest thing to ever trying to off myself. I wasn’t there for you, I wasn’t there for anyone but me…I had to test my strengths, my weaknesses.

As the violence began to subside, the bitter taste of regret inched it’s way onto my tongue. Losing control; I think I am losing control. So where have mistakes gotten me? They have led me to “fear” more than anything else. They have led me to be afraid of what we as humans are capable of. I don’t want this much control anymore, I don’t want to be able to choose things at this point in my life.

What about the people who forgive mistakes? How should we look at them? Desperate…weak? No discipline? Or kind…loving? Have you learned from your mistakes because I have. Dear Love, this is me at my weakest and time is continuing it’s beating onto a man who deserves nothing less. God bless the fallen who lived so recklessly never to forgive and change. How strong minded, you are. And how I begin to bow inwards still astonishes me.

I continue to randomly babble on about nothing for me and me only. Sorry to those looking for a good read. For those who like this stuff, please say so.

Turn your face away, I dare not recognize your eyes today. My insides begin to crack, the foundations below are weaker than ever. The mentality is broken and thought’s keep seeping through…I reap what I have sown. There is nothing more disgusting to look at than my own reflection. There is nothing to be truly happy about right now and this is not a lie. I can only look forward to moving away and hope that happiness may find me somewhere else. The way things keep going only serve to burn my wooden ladder. Losing my footing has never been such an issue. I had dreams that do not matter to you and there is no changing that. So it’s time for me to burn them in effigy, as they are one of those hindering embers I speak of upon the ladder. I am now the joke you’ll all be laughing at. Just remember, while you were running away…driving away…I stood there…no, I chased after that car until my flat feet bled, hysterical. The pain of separation, the pain of abandonment is something that I have dealt with too much to let continue to happen.
Dear Love….this is me at my weakest….make your move.

M. Detelj

Yeah, I’ve lived life…more than one, ya know? And the problem is…I still have nothing to show. In fact, what I may be best at isn’t the art I make but the destruction of habitats and running dry the lakes in which the beautiful woman wish to reside by, thus killing their dreams and living a blind life. Their happiness is everything to people like me, but for some reason, I keep forgetting to breathe. I keep my walls higher than ever and whenever possible try to forget her. And when the end comes, I’m put in such shock when really I am the reason for such a great loss.

I am nothing, the equivalent of nothing, and there is no changing this…I fucking get it, girl, so please stop arranging this…this time in which we shall meet again because it’s driving me insane. My mind can’t handle the longevity of all this fucking pain. To put a date on love…isn’t love at all. So now… I shall document our subtle rise and fall.

I’m going to cut the bullshit; no more little rhymes for now. I am in so much pain, as you already know. But your confusion and hypocrisy is too much to handle. You question my love, after sitting here for two weeks, letting all my emotions show. You sit there, dwelling on the past and all of it’s mistakes. There in lies the problem. You can’t just sit there, thinking about all I have done wrong, all that was miserable. That is so much negativity…that is so much tumult building up that one day it will just explode. We as human beings cannot succeed in creating a new positive balance when we care not about the positive values of life. You need to look forward and make an initiative towards the life you want, because as I have told you, time only distorts things. Life doesn’t choose you, life doesn’t have a path set up all ready and such…life is what you make of it. The plans I had, I built from the ground up. And everyday from my plans is like taking a brick from it’s foundation. So make that move, whether it be closer to me or your first step away…make that fucking move before your analyzing the matter out weighs your heart. Just know there is no turning back to me when you step away. And no, don’t call or text me on my birthday…I would like one day to celebrate without having to think about all your confusion and my lack of.

-Mike Detelj

__________________________The Following is written to the beat by Lowkey, “Rise and Fall”

I don’t mean to be cold, but it’s all I can do… to make you see how you have managed to corrupt me, too. Your sick little games aren’t worth all my emotion and I refuse to give the likes of you all my devotion. There are more fish in the sea, and better ones, too, so “Ciao,” bitch, sorry, I forgot about you. It’s only day one now, so I’ll have to assume, that tomorrow I will think different, different of you.

I hope I am wrong and manage to think, all of the same so my ship doesn’t sink…into the depths of an ocean that seems all too deep. To swim back to shore…I think I’m too weak.But pushing forward is… all I can do, because the sharks below, they only remind me of you. I can’t remain, out here forever, my thoughts say don’t but my heart should forget her.

It’s funny and sucks, when I think about us, and how weak you really are…how did I trust? You mean nothing to me, you had your little chance, I never knew you could so easily, ruin our dance. And now we stand here, miles apart, I hope that you can feel this storm, inside of my heart because by the time it subsides, you won’t have a home…you’ll be a lost cause…completely alone.

My hand was rejected at the time of forgiveness, and I couldn’t change your mind so… I began this, an intellectual conversation between my heart and my mind, in search for something more, something more, more than just time. The day you call me back, I hope I’m alone, so I can tell you how I feel, all on my own. With no one there to make me lack, I have successfully ridden, all that holds me back, and no I’m not kidding.

I hope to have my studio, still all alone, just me and my paintings, my newest dreams of a home. I’ll have a table for two, candle lit and such but no food on the plates, so you can truly see how much, it sucks to be alone, empty and cold, yeah, you coulda had this, this new vision of home. But now it’s gone, at least for you, girl, and let me tell you, there’s no coming back, back to my world.

Now you stand in snow, walking ten minutes, to another guy’s dorm, so he can just hit it, and turn you away because he don’t want your commitment, what, you think I don’t know, the life you’ll be living? It’s fucked up and I see, all that is coming, the pain that I feel…compared to this is nothing, so prepare yourself, girl, because the winter is cold and prepare to learn a life’s lesson…completely alone.

There’s no turning back, to thinking of you, I cannot succeed in life with all you may do. So I trashed all your evidence and tore up your gifts and soon as I did, my spirits began to lift. Higher than ever, with success on my list, I’m not running from you, girl, I’m ignoring your kiss. I don’t run from anything, especially this, you’re just not worth effort…and restlessness.

It’s hard to forget, all that you gave but even harder to watch, your pretty self cave, in to the madness I call “the average”, you’ve lowered yourself, your now a lesser package, put up on a shelf. Never to be taken down, you’ll collect the dust and this is what happens to those who begin to lust, for something so much better, but I’ll tell you your wrong… since we all know you don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone.
-Mike Detelj, October 2nd, 2009.

I sit and smile, but mindlessly living each day has become all too close to a friendship I never asked for. I was not meant to live like this. I was not meant to live…like this.

Of all my failures, you are the biggest one. Of all my flaws to love, you are the one I hate. Today was ruined by your voice. Tomorrow I leave. The ocean calls my name. I hope I never take you back but fate will make it’s choice. And if I do, I’m sorry but love will never be the same even if it lasts forever.

This was your choice, to ruin everything. This was your choice to abandon your only hopes and dreams. Live like everyone else for now, and know while you do, I know of you. Nothing can take back the mistakes you make and neither will I. So choose wisely in which the bed you will lie…

It could be days, it could be minutes,

it could be different if you didn’t

but you did and while you did it

you saw

what was hidden…everything you wanted. As I stand by the ocean, in less than twenty four hours, I hope someone walks up and begins to devour

my emotions and makes them all of her own because I’d rather be miserable and taken just to see you alone. But I take that back, only because I don’t wish to be compared to the likes of you and your selfishness.

You people can taste the confusion inside my mind, it’s pouring out for all to try and if you’d like you can have it, just someone please come and grab it before I begin to start turning back to bad habits.

NOTE: I am being general and this obviously doesn’t apply to every student of art. This just goes to most of them. Trust me, I know exceptions exist, but for now just read and keep this in the back of your head. This is coming from a first person perspective.

Art Students; A topic very dear to me. How can I say this…

As an active person emerging in the bottom of the “Art World” these days, I am very aware of the problems, necessities and “what not to do’s”, but will say I am learning as I go along with learning from my mentors. I am also very aware of the lack of attention young adults my age who want to be “artists” give to this world around them and ultimately that will lead to their downfall, or at least a monotonous and redundant art world full of…err….shitty art? But that’s if and only if the art world itself is too corrupted by beings such as the ones I am talking about. This will only happen if the art world is now just another music industry, in the sense that it is completely about who you know, not whether your music is great or horrible. I understand that everything has a little bit of favoritism in it, and networking has led many to success. And whether that art is considered to be good or bad depends on you, but unfortunately that is all you can do now; judge it. Nothing can take the mistakes and speed bumps in the art world back, but at least everyone else can learn from them. Which again, brings me to today’s art students.

To all you art students who think just because you go to school for art, you are an “artist”; you are the ones who bring art’s value in life down. It is your weak mind and thirst for only attention as opposed to revolution that hold art back. You are nothing but scene kids at a hardcore show, wearing a growing trend in which will only serve to deplete originality. So keep playing that card, kids, because you are only hurting yourselves. And to all you teachers that lack the ability to teach students the do’s and don’t do’s of such a hungry market…to all you teachers that lack any gallery experience or are too thick headed to do what you are asked by a client…what the fuck are you doing teaching? If anything, you are just an angry, jaded character in a black and white comic, “art” being the only colored page that you didn’t play a role on. Get off your high horse and figure yourself out before you even start thinking about teaching.But let’s put this aside and see why I think all this. Oh and any of you “artists” who think this is shit already, you are just another example of that jaded character I was talking about.

So let’s set the scene; University of Hartford, RISD….just know it is “College”, trees still with leaves. The air is cool, gray hues among the blue, giving that nice, not too dark overcast. Fall will be here in a week, so the temperature, being you are in New England, isn’t too hot but is at the end of the nice summer evenings.

Here’s the average conversation I have walked into;

“Hey, ’sup man? How you been?”

“Pretty damn good, just chillin, smoking and drinking a bit, not too much anymore though. What have you been up to?”

“Actually I was just heading to [name's someone] place, probably going to just sit there, smoke a bit, try to figure out what to do from there.”

Yada yada yada yada yada. Point is, you are most likely not going to hear anything art related unless it is something with homework in the sentence. This is the saddest thing. You are at a school for art, you want to be artists but for some reason, you don’t think about art until someone brings it up. You people are pitiful. This is the type of mind that is slowing down the next movement. This is the type of mind that has made America lose it’s place in the world when it comes to engineering. This is the type of mind that I despise…well…one of the types, at least. How can art be taken seriously when it is soon to be run by people like you? How does it make you feel to have the knowledge that someone like this could be the one who decides your role in the art world? Would you just sit there and let that happen? Actually, if you have this mind, you probably would because you lack all ability to do anything for yourself at that point. You would probably just go home, pissed or some other stupid feeling, and roll one up, or grab a bottle…anything but create more art.

As an artist who see’s this, you can imagine my frustration, especially when all I do is think art. All I think is how can I up my standards and do the next best thing for my art. How can I push the envelope this time? Everything I do is for art in the long run. I want to be known when I am gone for the art I have created and the words I have written, not for “that time we drank” or “when we went here.” I strive for more than you people and it fucking shows. So next time you see me, after you read this and if you are a couple years in art school, do not try to talk to me about art. I will not help you, you are nothing to me and I am here for myself. I only help the ones I love and the ones that have helped me. And I hope, I really, truly, honestly hope that I have opened a couple minds here. I honestly hope that you gallery owners read this and think about the people you show. Get to know them, what they have done, who they are. Don’t just let anyone with a degree walk through that door and onto your walls, because “the next big thing” could possibly be the “next worst thing.” Think about it.

-Mike Detelj

And she says, “Winter break…we can rekindle.”

As we stare at the reservoir with dusk’s reflection shimmering in the ripples, the trees no longer that shade of green due to the silhouette effect light has on things, I begin to crumble. But I dare not show myself due to the nature of the conversation. I seem strong and hopeful, making her giggle and smile. But my smirk starts to disappear when I turn my head back to the water, away from her face. As light seems to fade, the air becomes cool and we begin to quiver. None-the-less, we withstand the dropping temperatures, afraid to leave…afraid to continue. It seems as everything is alright, us laughing and all, you would have never guessed she left me. The love note, mix tape and CD are no longer sitting inside the heart I drew in the sand for her. They now sit beside her, note unfolded, beside me; in between us.

Flash to the car.

We decided it was too cool and headed back to the cars. Once there, we choose to sit in her car due to the fact cloth is much warmer than leather on a night like this, not to mention a lot less awkward sounding when you move around. Not that I plan on any moving around, though. Sitting quietly, we begin to talk more. I am no longer able to cry so I seem cold on the topics of her new found glory. She speaks of how he is just, “always around” and such. While she talks, my mind begins to wander like anyone’s would. I think of how we compare. I picture their hands, tightly bound around each others, as if this were meant to be. Their faces close, lips touching but not so much. Whispering. I can’t help but get the feeling that this was all so pointless. The time and effort spent on the things I have given her today was a waste; moments of my life I will never get back. The cracks begins to show, as I am now sitting in silence. She sits beside me, still glancing…trying to catch my eye. I stare past her, the moon is too bright and the stars too many. I will never forget this night.

I take out my Ipod, a tool of distraction from the way I am thinking. Music was always a good conversation starter so I begin to thumb through the songs. All my eye sees are the ones relative to the moment. “Like a stone”, “Roll Call”, “The Taste of Regret”…I play them all. I don’t realize until halfway that I am now talking about the past week and all the times in which these songs had an effect on me. Her hand is on my shoulder in an attempt to say sorry but I just continue. By the time I am finished the feeling of worthlessness begins to creep down my face. More silence. More wasted time.

I’m frustrated and she can read it in my face, even through the dark. I become restless and no longer want to sit. The tongue in my mouth is dry and my lips are becoming chapped. I fear for the worst.

I don’t necessarily remember how but I am now standing outside the car, staring in, her crying and me arguing. And then I am back in, sitting in the dark. What just happened? Excuses. My excuse; it’s cold out. I could have easily turned around and sat in my car…but the mind likes to torture itself…I like to torture myself.

I told myself that this was not going to end on a bad note but why not? Why would I rather have this feeling of possibility looming over me and the continuous,”What if?” Again, the mind likes to torture itself…I like to torture myself.

Once back in the car, I decide this is it. I need to suck it up. I need to show myself and prove I am better than the rest whether it helps or not. I turn to her. Having already played with her hair and her hands, gently touching her back and neck, I decide this is how I will leave. We sit there, holding each other and whether this was in helplessness or love is for you to tell me. My love is forever.

Holding her close, everything comes back. The nights on the dock, the fights in the car, broken windows, unsaid feelings…they race through my mind. She starts to calm down, less hysterical. My eyes begin to water, and I can’t help but count the stars around the moon. Holding each other, time seems to stop and the crickets go silent. The only noise now are the inhales and exhales of emotionally drained beings, clinging onto another in hopes of nothing. As my subtle realizations come to reality…I whisper.

“If you want kindness…I’ll give it to you.” She cries, and whispers back, “Thank you.”

“If you need strength…I’ll give you mine, no matter how weak I am.” She squeezes me as if that is of some great importance to her. Maybe it is, but like I said, nothing is going to come of this.

I slowly begin to release her and she does the same. My head rests against the side of the seat. We stare at one another, mapping out our faces in the dark. I look to the floor, and begin to speak.

“Don’t let anybody speak down upon me, Jordan, I don’t let anyone do that to you.”

“I won’t…I can’t believe you don’t hate me,” she whispers in tears. I can’t believe it either…

“This is how I am different from the rest. They don’t compare.”

“I know.” As confusing as that line is, as much as I just want to scream, ” Then what the fuck are you doing,” I don’t and just continue.

“When you get the feeling this is what you want, you do what that note says. I’ll be here.”

I begin to depart, feeling the cold once more. I turn around and she reaches out possibly in desperation for a hug, for warmth. We collide and again I exit. Getting in my car I realize how much energy just went into that, how much emotion was spent and how much of nothing is going to come…how much this doesn’t matter all because your actions have just contradicted everything you have ever said to me and no matter what you say you are still trying to push me away.

What a beautiful night. What a beautiful waste.

There is a violence inside of me I will truly never let go of. I personally LOVE IT more than any other emotion I have. Yes I just said “violence” is an emotion to me….because it is. It is like an abstraction of anger, in which my imagination takes over and I truly begin fantasize about violence in art, violence among the people and places around me and violence among myself. I know it seems angst, but trust me, it is beyond that. It is me, and I am Violent. I have a few new pieces coming to show this.

-MIKE