Facebreath

DO YOU HAVE FACEBREATH?

Facebreath is a serious and heartbreaking affliction.  It is one of the many adverse side effects of using Facebook and it can infect anyone. Oh, you're not sure whether or not you have it?  Check out the  Facebreath symptoms and warning signs enumerated below to determine if you have or are developing Facebreath.

1 - Do you write a Facebook post to someone who is sitting in the same room right next to you rather than just talking to them.?
2 - Do you pretend to know somebody just to make a new Facebook "friend?"
3 - Do you cajole your hundreds of "friends" to" like" your Facebook posts?
4 - Do you "like" their posts in return - whether you like them or not? or even know them?
5 - Are you are no longer concerned with producing good content. Does content just mean getting "likes" to you?
6- Do you get panicky when your friends merely "like" your posts rather than "comment" on them?
7 - In addition to begging for "likes" are you now asking your "friends" to mark your posts "top news" so that your  edgerank won't slip and  you can actually make "top news?
8 - Does your breath become even more foul if your posts  just make  "rancid"... um... that's "recent news?"
9 - Do you sit around scheming how to outsmart algorithms at your own affinity score, edge weight and time decay as if your social networking life depended on it?.
10. Do you think Mark  Zuckerberg is your friend?
11.Did you get in on the IPO?

If you have answered two or more of the above questions affirmatively, it is imperative that you start googling Google straight away before your Facebreath gets out of hand and progresses to the dreaded  terminal stage - Facebite. In this stage  your eyes and a major chunk of your cerebrum is frozen and eventually devoured by Facebook leaving you blind, thoughtless, and totally dependent on Father Facebook, who BTW will be delighted to select your friends and information for you.  Just follow the little blue arrows to "top news." 

Of course, you'll have to have somebody else read it to you.

Paint on,

Depingo

The Mellow Mushroom

I AM ENJOYING an extremely pleasant dream when it capriciously morphs into a nightmare. Terror-stricken, I am on a treacherous ride, scared to death. It might be the Cyclone in Coney Island for I am being mercilessly bumped up and down, nearly to death, at high speed on rickety ground. But for the restraints around my chest and hips, I would be airborne. The banging, grinding and scraping noises insidiously forewarn of impending doom. Are there words too? If I concentrate, above the noise, I can make out words competing with the awful mechanical cacophony. I wish I had not, though, because the message is clearly condemning. "The car's out of control," is being screamed over and over until it is etched it into my very being.

"This is not a dream," I suddenly realize. Our situation is far more dire than a scary roller coaster ride and most likely to be fatal. What I had dreamed was a roller coaster is actually our car. It is out of control at 70 mph on a rough shoulder between a busy highway and a steep incline leading to a ditch. We are driving to our winter cottage in Sailboat Bend. I realize I may never see-Sapodilla Cottage (named after the tall, beautifully aggressive trees that cloister and adorn it) ever again.

"Step on the brake," I shout, and then get the horrifying news that neither the brakes nor the steering work anymore and the accelerator is frozen. Always the optimist, I try to think of a remedy for this dismal state of affairs. As a last resort, I think, we might jump out of the car and roll down the side of the hill into the ditch before the car veers into the speeding traffic.

We do not need to jump. The car rambles down the steep incline at high speed to the ditch for us. I view this Hollywood stunt in amazement. Had I not been trapped inside, it might have even seemed amusing. The uphill wheels are cartoon-ishly spinning in air, while the downhill wheels dig in and scrape huge chunks of mud, stones and grass off the hill with such force I can smell rubber burning.

Against all odds, we land upright at the bottom of the ditch, leaving parts of the bottom of the car on the hill behind us. But we do not stop. Again, there is a glimmer of hope: We can ride out the length of the ditch, albeit at 70 mph, until we run out of gas.

Hope is dashed as we imminently approach a deep, car-sized hole within the ditch. Even the firmest of optimists like I know that we are out of options. Hopelessly, I brace myself for the finality of it all. I wonder how badly it will hurt which part of my anatomy, and for how long. I have come to grips with the fact that this muddy ditch will be my final resting place.

Serendipitously, the impact of the fall into the hole jogs the steering and brakes back into action. The accelerator is still frozen at 70 mph, so the 4-wheel drive powerfully kicks in and the back wheels lift us out of the hole and up the 10-foot incline back onto the shoulder. We are back in our original predicament. Sympathetically, the car sputters a few times and then dies. We are hyperventilating and stunned but we emerge from this horrible incident without a scratch.

That's when the screaming and the shaking starts up all over again. "Depingo...Depingo!... Come on, Depingo...Wake up!...we're at the Mellow Mushroom. We can finally eat!"

Paint on,

Depingo

Butterfly Eyes

Now and then they hear her sighs

when she creates with paints and dyes
untethering constrictive ties
confirming it–painting good byes.

They'll never know how hard she tries
negotiating the lows and highs
she always wears the bright disguise
deflecting the pretense and lies.

Outside she's looking for the prize
Internally she almost dies.
It's perfect! They can't see she cries
'Cause she's got butterfly eyes.

Last Walk

There is a gaping wound
where my heart once was.
I thought it would eventually close up
and something similar to a heart
might grow back.
What used to be my heart
is a huge aperture now
and is no longer heart shaped.
The resultant gap is filled
with chilly air,
which does not help me breathe,
but chills me to the core.

The emptiness has taken over now
eliminating my torso altogether.
My remains consist of
my head above the empty space
and my legs beneath it.

My head: in which I can recall
the enchanting days
with my golden girl.
My eyes: which sight a fluffy white phantom
swimming toward me in the lake and, of course,
my lips: which call out her name,

Bella ...
Bella ...
Belle of the Ball ...

in case she gets lost on her last walk.

But she won't,
for I still have my legs
beneath the spot that was my heart,

and I will walk with her
until the end of time.

Flawed

There was a hairy caterpillar
crawling on my face.
He tickled me while moving
at an extremely slow pace...
(without, I might add,
the least pretense of grace.)

So, I shot him with a can of mace.
~~~~
Moonlighting as a mustache now,
he stays pretty much in place.
'Tis alarming though and
quite the disgrace...

now that
knickers trimmed with antique lace
can't get me to first base
with men
of the human race.
~~~~
'cause I got a caterpillar on my face.

Happy Thanksgiving

My TV Interview on Creative Women Today

Watch Susan on TV

Uni-Man

IT IS 7:30 IN THE EVENING. After finishing up work at Uni-Corp, Uni-Man leaves the Uni-Corp building, which he himself conceived, designed and built. He had a little help from others, but it was mostly the result of his brilliant ingenuity, dedication and hard work that got it built. Uni-Man is the owner, president , CEO, COO, CFO and lead designer of Uni-Corp. Let's face it, he does the work of 100 people every day while the sun and moon rise and set around him. Still, he is a true gentleman and a really sweet guy, and is well-liked by everyone, especially his employees.

In the elevator, he runs into a group of his employees, including me, Depingo, who ask him to join them for dinner and drinks at 223, the hardest ticket in town. Magnanimously, he agrees to come with us. This is our lucky night. We all jump into his raspberry colored '58 Caddy and off we go.

When we arrive at Uni-Bar in 223, even though the place is jam packed, the maitre d' gives us the best table in the house. The waiters, manager and chef fall all over Mr. Uni and seat him and us prominently in a spot where Uni can be seen by everyone in the restaurant and also be shown off to passers-by in the street. Everyone is sneaking peeks at Uni because he is so handsome. (Don't tell anyone, but I saw the maitre d' politely but firmly tell a large group of diners that they had to leave to make room for Uni-Man and his party.) Very undemocratic, but what can I say? They love Uni-Man at 223 and are delighted and exceptionally proud when Uni graces the establishment with his presence. I like to watch him light up the place with his charismatic 150-watt smile. The trio that plays there likes to watch him dance. They are mesmerized by his rhythm, style and cool moves.

Uni's tablemates and all the diners at nearby tables are laughing hysterically at his witty, insightful bon mots. His conversation is absolutely scintillating and all his companions are enchanted. Tonight he is regaling us with a charming story about how when he was a little boy he believed that he invented lemonade and only later found out that it already existed. As if he didn't invent it! Honestly, the man is so modest! We all adore Uni and are having a wonderful time. How could we not? Uni is the most charming, handsome, smart, amusing man in the entire world. In fact, he is the only man in the whole world, or woman for that matter.

You see, way back during the primordial slime, on the sixth day God created man. That's right, man,–Mr Uni-Man. He created Uni in His own image. On the seventh day, God said unto his favorite creation, "Uni, I just worked six days straight and I'm tired. Why don't you be the boss for a while." And knowing that in Uni he had created the perfect man, God decided not to bother making any more people. "I'm never going to do any better than Uni," he figured, "why mess with perfection?" So, on that seventh day, God actually did rest and that's why today Uni is the only person, period. He's solo... unique...alone... however you want to say it.

There is no "rest of us." We all just exist in Uni's mind. We are merely figments of his imagination. Oh, and don't count yourself and say that two people exist. I assure you, you do not exist. You, I and every one else, as well as the world, the solar system and the universe are only conjured up in Uni's mind for his own amusement and to keep him company.

There is a tricky little philosophical problem associated with being figments of Uni's mind. To wit, when he goes to sleep at night, we, every one of us, disappear. That's right, we cease to exist because he is not thinking about us. We are no longer us ... we're gone ... outta here ... we've really never been ... history! In addition to no "us," there is no world, no solar system, no universe - just Uni, upon whom God bestowed the power to conjure up all these things. God must have been feeling a little guilty about the slacking-off-not-making-more-people-thing, so He gave Uni that power. Otherwise, think how lonely Uni would be.

That said, back to the night in question when we all went to 223 ...

After admiring the way Uni ate, in a very Marie Antoinette-ish way, all the creamy part of the camembert, while the rest of us ate the rind, I am not ashamed that I acted as I did. (Uni-man eats only the creamy part. Well, why not? There is no one else on earth who he would rather have it.) Nor am I pleased with the outcome that night we all got together at 223.

This is how it happened. Flirting with me, Uni asked if I wanted to come up to his apartment to see his view. I jumped at the opportunity and most enthusiastically agreed. Now, readers, you might be saying to yourselves rather judgmentally, "But (that slut) Depingo is married, isn't she?" My reply is as follows. "Do you like living? Well, I do and I believe Mr. Depingo does too, so he didn't mind that I went home with Uni." He knew that I only had one thought on my mind: "I've... got...to...keep...this...guy...awake!" You should all be thanking me for trying to save your lives, not questioning my morals!

When we got to his apartment, I put on Stripes, full volume, because it was the loudest music I could find. Uni got comfortable on the sofa. Then I went into his kitchen to brew a quadruple-strength pot of espresso. That's when I noticed the lights started dimming and then flickering. I panicked and rushed back into the living room to see what was going on. It was even darker there and I could no longer see. I did hear the sound of perfect snoring, though. It was the last sound I ever heard. Uni-Man had gone to sle.......................

The end. Of everything.

Paint on anyway (after Uni-Man wakes up.)

Depingo

PS Uni-Man's picture and name have been changed to protect him from the millions of people, uh, that's figments, yet to be thought up by him when he awakens and who would ungratefully try to prevent him from falling asleep if they knew his name or what he looked like.

ALMOST SOFT SELL - $50 + shipping

DEPINGO IS NOW THE PUBLISHED AUTHOR

of a book.

Though my alter ego, Susan, is still hung up on a hook,
hiding in her paint brush-cluttered nook.
While she might ask you to have a look,
SUSAN WOULD NEVER ASK YOU TO BUY THE BOOK.

Nor would I, Depingo, sigh.
However, if you click on the button that says "Buy,"
My alter ego, Susan, will not have to cry
and I will refrain from punching you in the eye.

That's the big button on the top right.
So don't be uptight,
Click it with all your might!

108 pages of paintings, poetry, cartoons and drawing delight,
and bright literary comments let in the light!

BUY NOW. Read and view art all night.
Depingo Ergo Sum is full of fun and insight!

P.S. Did I mention that Depingo Ergo Sum is issued as a limited edition, signed and numbered by Susan? What did you think she was doing in her paint brush-cluttered nook? Signing and numbering the book!

I don't want to get you nervous, but when the edition sells out, the book will be gone forever. And it is a bargain at $50 plus $6 for shipping .

Paint on,

Depingo

Art and Life
make beautiful
music
together.

Witch Book?

Let's get to the point.
Buy my book, or ...
I'LL PUT A SPELL ON YOU!
It's only 50% of your soul
(err, that is 50 bucks plus shipping)
When you see it, you'll be flipping.
It is absolutely gripping.
To life and art it is true.
It's really for you!
As to how many I've got left ...
just a few.

Witch [sic] excerpt? Got a Bone in My Leg, page 51. "Those bones claimed me. The skull, clavicle, sternum and all 24 ribs, some sort of grim ersatz chorus sang to me, 'Yes, we are thee! This is what you'll be sooner than you think.' "

Paint on,

Depingo

Got a Bone in My Book, So Buy It...$50.00 + shipping

MAKE NO BONES ABOUT IT.
The book is great!
I didn't buy it; that's why I look like this.
Be afraid. Be very afraid.
There are fewer books left than I have ribs.
I happen to be in it.
Look on page 48.

Master Ghosts

I RECEIVED THE FOLLOWING EMAIL AND PHOTO from John Beach, who is one of Depingo Ergo Sum's readers, and who also photographed my show:

"You know, Depingo, you said you were looking at all those photos from your opening and kept seeing new things in them the more you looked at them.

I too studied them because all did not seem quite right with the images. I thought I saw some faces in that long view in the gallery room that were not there when I took the shot. They were not very clear, but they were there. So I began to enhance the photo more and more. It was downright spooky. I felt like Bill Murray and Dan Aykroyd using their ghostbusting machine. Then, I thought, "Why not?" So I called them and borrowed their ghostbusting gizmo and made it an add tool for my photo studio. I looked again ... and ... I could see them..the faces ... they were there!

At first they were only little faded spots floating around on the ceiling, but with the greater enhancement capabilities of the ghostbusting add on, I soon began to see their ghostly, though benevolent faces, clearly. Did you know, Depingo, that your favorite master painters and your mentor, JT, came to your gallery showing? It is true! Look up towards the ceiling of the attached image.

Paint on, Depingo, paint on..................JB"

Indeed.

Metamorphosis and Back

THE PAINT-SPLATTERED, WILD-HAIRED ARTIST, a solitary creature, pushes out of her natural canvas-lined habitat in the woods. It is her pupa–her studio. She feels naked without the pupa, but knows it is time to evolve. It is definitely time because she is flying–without wings! To compensate for the nakedness and the lack of wings, she picks out a flowered dress, paints her lips pink and finds that she can walk gracefully in shoes. "Besides, probably no one ever attends a gallery opening without shoes," she muses.

It is lonely in the studio since all her paintings were sent to the gallery. Reminiscing, she thinks it odd that she has worked so hard on the appearance of her paintings all these years, but not on her own. The car taking her to the gallery arrives and she gets in. She thinks it is most likely all a dream, but then, looks down and sees that she is no longer in tattered, paint-stained jeans, but actually has on a dress. Extraordinary! It must be real.

She is so happy at the opening and is flying so high she might as well have wings. In fact, she can feel them sprouting. She does have them! They are fluttering on her back. She is tickled by them and lifted off the ground.

Airborne, recalling Icarus's fate, she does not fly too high during the flight home as she basks in the warmth and appreciation of all her family and friends. She is very lucky to have them.

Grounded, the artist returns to her pupa, tucks in her wings, kicks off her shoes and, once again barefoot, starts painting, for ...

As a butterfly must fly, she must paint!

Paint on,

Depingo

When an Emotional Hemophiliac Dreams

AT A PARTY HIGHLY REMINISCENT of an art opening, the kitchen is microscopically detailed–just like a painting. It is a well-furnished kitchen, but with glassware that is trying to pass itself off as elegant but is too large. It has been designed by someone who has never lived in a well-appointed house or gone to a 5-star restaurant in his (or her) entire life. The emotional hemophiliac has, and takes note of the glassware. She shrugs and smokes a joint.

Sam, a good friend, asks if he can have one. Of course he can, the hemophiliac replies. She gives him a joint and lights it, while noticing he already has several of his own in his shirt pocket. She wonders why he wanted hers.

He asks her to dance and they dance in the kitchen of the would–be fancy glasses. They are the only dancers. He is a good dancer, but, being acutely emotional, the hemophiliac doesn't like being as close as the dance requires. She can feel his belly against hers. He steps on the hemophiliac's toe. More emotions flow. However, they continue dancing and twirling around. The dancing is exhilarating and just when the hemophiliac is getting into the gracefulness of it, Sam decides to end the dance by falling on his back, spread eagle on the floor. She falls on top of him, also spread eagle, but with her legs inside of his. She does not get hurt because he is so soft that he cushions her fall.

When the hemophiliac gets up, the hostess asks her if she would like to be Print Director of her company. "No," the hemophiliac replies, "because I am living in Connecticut."

"What do you do up there?" queries the hostess. "I head up my own print company," replies the hemophiliac, as she walks into to the living room.

She passes a reclining cat who looks suspiciously like her own, sleeping in the hallway. As she walks past, the cat sits up, then jumps ahead of her, chasing a terrified bird. The children present are screaming about the inevitable food chain reaction that is about to happen. There are feathers all over the place.

The emotional hemophiliac catches the bird and notices it is a bright blue one from one one of her paintings. "I got this," she tells the children. She cradles the bird in both her hands and takes it back to her studio. She replaces the bird into the empty spot in her painting.

She wakes up and looks at her hands. They are stained cobalt.

Paint on,

Depingo

Butterflies in my Stomach

I've got butterflies in my stomach thinking about my show, Depingo Ergo Sum at the Good News Gallery, 694 Main Street Stouth, Woodbury, Ct., today, October 2, at 3 to 5 p.m. I will let the butterflies out at the show.

I hope you will be there unless you are a lepidopterist. No lepidopterists will be admitted!

Paint on,

Depingo

Depingo Ergo Sum, the Show

Show Time!

Well, dear readers, it's almost show time. (A sneak preview above) I will be happy to have all my friends and family and paintings in one place at the Good News Gallery, Woodbury, Ct., tomorrow, October 2, from 3 to 5 p.m. Actually, my friends and family are my art–just in portrait form. Now, haven't I always said that art and life are interchangeable?

I rest my case!

I hope you all come. Hey! Free drinks and hors d' oeurves for two hours...who wouldn't? No...only kidding... the real reason you should come is ...

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx I would love to share my art with you.

Paint on,

Depingo

Gavella

Gavella wants you to buy my book, Depingo Ergo Sum. She finds the book smashing! (Press the big yellow button to the right.)

The guy depicted in the illustration above? Well unfortunately for him, he did not buy one. Gavella wants to hammer home that the book is fun through the entire 108 pages! Full of humor, excitement, paintings, drawings, cartoons, prose and poetry of the most esoteric kind. You can find Gavella on page 105. Buy the book now to avoid a sharp blow to your head.

Paint on,
Depingo

Good News

Susan,

Depingo's alter ego,

is having a solo show at
the GOOD NEWS Cafe and Gallery,
in Woodbury, Connecticut
Opening Reception is OCTOBER 2
3 to 5 P.M

**twenty current paintings and

a retrospective of published work**
Please come
There may be a brief appearance by
Depingo.

Postcard from the Sea of Life - Land of CYMK

Greetings from the Land of CYMK.

I wish I were back in second grade at PS 15, so I could tell my teacher and my classmates what I did this summer. Since that's not the case, I'll recount my adventures to you, Depingo's readers. We're a class in ourselves in a way, aren't we? At least we're classy and we do experience and discuss life's experiences together. We should get credit for that, shouldn't we?

What I did on my summer vacation: I traveled to the Land of CYMK, which is on the ninth continent–the Continent of Color. They have so many colors in CYMK that you could drink them. And believe me, I mixed and imbibed every color I could every day!... to the point that I was saturated! completely, totally saturated! Yes, I became drunk with color! But I was a responsible drinker. That's why I can still write and was able to return to my home town, NYC and home, my blog.

I used a little trick I picked up (also in the second grade) from Hansel and Gretel. Following in their footsteps, I dropped color samples, both greytones and rainbow colors, on my way to the Land of CYMK so I could find my way back again. You can see them on top of the jpeg of the cover of my book, Depingo Ergo Sum, (above), which is coming out October 2nd and being sold in conjunction with my solo show through my gallery, The Good News Gallery, in Woodbury, Ct.

While in The Land of CYMK I decided to print my book with their colors, even though CYMK colors are somewhat darker than our colors. They are moody to the point where they like to bring down any psychodelic hues one might have used, and just darker generally. In order to share the cover with you, I had to evacuate all my cover colors from CYMK, and lead them back to my blog over the Technicolor Bridge through the Province of Photoshop, where I reincarnated them into RGB colors. They are not quite as glamorous as they are in CYMK coloring on the actual book, but at least you can get a preview.

Who knew when we were crayoning in our colooring books a long time ago that there there were so many color systems? I certainly didn't before my trip to CYMK . I thought color was color. Now we all know better.

Paint on,
Depingo