Most recently, a bio-mechanical spaces station from a planet in the Sombrero Galaxy (M104) crashed to Earth on its search for love and meaning in the universe. The staff here at Rocking Horse has named the ship El Conquistador. Sadly, El Conquistador has lost the ability to operate itself and make the long flight home. This is why we need your help. DJ’s and musicians are required to operate its complex sound modules while keeping it company – and audience members are needed to drink beer, relax, dance and show el cohete espacial how we can all get along in spite of the hot summer sun. We’re sure that if we show it a good time, El Conquistador will pave the way for other party ships to come to Earth in the future. Please don’t miss your chance to communicate with the aliens and each other in this monumental event.

Special guest judge DJ Nate the Phat Barber of 720 and DJ lore picks his 10 ten favorite works from the 2012 Winter Rocking Horse Open, in no particular order:

“Angel” by Brittney Werner
“Mighty Oak” by Matt Gatto (sold)
“Painting Imitating Photography in the 21st Century: Lacey #5” by Kyle Anthony Adams
“Bike Ram” by Jason Angst
“Ancestral Evolution” by Erin Cooper
“Dedd-ish Tree” by Ryah Issa (sold)
“My Life” by Anne Michelle Lyons (sold)
“Moonlight Furrows” by Paul McMillan
“’10 Collection” by Matt Gondek (sold)
“The Boy” by Corey Smith

+++++++

“People’s Choice” awards as tallied by Mike Marra

Many pieces were noted, awards given to the highest count.

Favorite Piece Work

First Place: “Moonlight Furrows” by Paul McMillan
Second Place: “Bike Ram” by Jason Angst
Third Place: “Mighty Oak” by Matt Gatto

Favorite Award

First Place: Best Nipple – “Child of Pestilence and Elation” by Brett Guerra
Second Place: Most Likely to End Up Broken – “Gold Bug Treasure” by Tom Brown
Third Place: Best Pink Popsicle – “Kreashawn” by Brian Bullets

+++++++

Rocking Horse Awards:

“Fantasy” by Haley Harned
Digital Photography, Best Use of White Line (Horizontal)

“Trachea” & “Red Fur” by Sam Thorp
Acrylic on Canvas, Best Use Of Negative Space

“The Boy” by Corey Smith
Acrylic, Best Product Placement

“Kreashawn” by Brian Bullets
Watercolor/Ink, Best Pink Popsicle*

“My Life” by Anne Michelle Lyons
Photography, Best Use of White Line (Diagonal)

“Dahn Periscope” by Katie Mcakowick
wood & plexiglass collage, Best Use of Plexiglass

“Think Tank” by Donnie Toomer
Oil & Found Object, Best Newspaper Integration

“What’s Left” by Haley Harned
Digital Photography, Best Use of White Line (Horizontal)

“’10 Collection” by Matt Gondek
Digital, Most Eyeballs

“Bike Ram” by Jason Angst
Oil, Best Use of Bone & Metal

“Asp” by Katie Moran
Oil on canvas, Most Vertical Painting

“Creative Dark Room Techniques” by Mike Mara
Black and White Photography, Best Dark Room (Experimental)

“Beneath A Western Sky” by Paul McMillan
Oil on Panel, Smallest Painting

“Home” & “Defying Gravity” by Cristina Saucedo
Gel pen and ink, El Más Brillante

“Save Me” by Jeremy Priola
Watercolor, Best Grip

“Mighty Oak” by Matt Gatto (sold)
Steel, Oak, & Electrics – Brightest Tree

“Pieces of Me” by Alma Sepulvda
Acrylic/oils, Best Rocking Horse Homage

“Angel” by Britney Werner
Mixed media, Best Use of Bone and Shell
Artist Will Be Appearing in Post Readymade Apocalypse

“Puppy Love” by Alma
Mixed media, Most Enjoyableable Closed Eyes

“Booty” by Tom Brown
Cast Glass, Most Likely To Wind Up Broken
Artist Will Be Appearing in Post Readymade Apocalypse

“Sandwich” by Todd Tondera
Photography, Most Delicious (5 Second Rule)

“Untitled” by Anonymous
Text, Most Anonymous

“Splattered, 80’s Baby” by Kyle Anthony Adams
Plaster & Acrylic, Best Throw Back Palette (80s)
Artist Will Be Appearing in Post Readymade Apocalypse TBA

“Dedd-ish Tree” by Ryah Issa
Acrylic on Canvas, Darkest Tree

“Child of Pestilence and Elation” by Brett Guerra
Acrylic, Chalk, Pastel, Colored Pencil – Best Nipple
Artist Will Be Appearing in Post Readymade Apocalypse

“Newsflash” & “The Scarlet Letter” by Casey Hallas
Printed Adhesive Vinyl w/ Acrylic, Best Magic Picture (its a schooner)
Artist Will Be Appearing in Post Readymade Apocalypse August 24th

“Ancestral Evolution” by Erin Cooper
Enamel, Bamboo – Best Use Of Bamboo

“This Is Our Most Desperate Hour” by Erica Butler
Embroidery, Best Sci-Fi Reference

“Byrd VS Worm” by Rob Sassi
Stop Motion- Clay, Best Use Of Clay

Sunday morning
In Lawrenceville
Had a party
And it’s going still
It’s going still

Where’s my car
I don’t know
It’s parked somewhere
Where’s my keys
I don’t know
Don’t even care
Don’t even care

In Lawrenceville

Weekend’s over
I’m feeling blue
At the Rocking Horse
Where I met you
Where I met you

Let’s get married
No, it’s not a joke
We could have it here
Bring Your Own Beer
Bring Your Own Beer

In Lawrenceville

Have you seen my papers?
And my trees?
I left them here last night
Find them, please?
Find them, please?

And my cell phone’s missing
I don’t know where
It might be in the backseat
Or upstairs
Don’t really care

In Lawrenceville

©MIKEMARRA

DJ & producer MR. OWL of the Dominant Force crew is hosting a Soundcloud meetup at the Rocking Horse Artspace on March 14th, 2012. Any and all are welcome to attend.

The Rocking Horse is a Lawrenceville gallery which also hosts events and live performances in addition to art exhibits. It is owned and operated by a brilliant team of creative artists with diverse skill sets in many mediums including music, which makes it the perfect home for the Pittsburgh SoundCloud community.

More details to follow. Feel free to drop me a line at mrowl@dominantforcepgh.com

Rocking Horse Artspace: http://www.rockinghorsearts.com/

MR. OWL: http://soundcloud.com/mr-owl-1
DOMINANT FORCE: http://dominantforcepgh.com/

It was a dark and stormy night. No after parties, nothing to do.

Chris Mr. Owl on Soundcloud
Casey Hallas on Soundcloud

I say goodbye. Cowboys,
And aliens, apes in redwoods,
Crab shells, fog, aching feet,
Flowers. The bird flies to the
181 – always going to the bathroom.
Always, I am saying, something wrong.
Wrong, I know what’s wrong.
I am waiting. I see a dance
In my autumn, when the people
Come to pour on the floor.
I question, I wonder. A house.
A future, car, dishes. As
You say, soul mate. Emptiness,
Running water, waves and tides.
No terms, ideas connected.
That is for me. You have all else,
When we make the puzzle that is
We. We, I have never seen you.

The bird recoils. Present,
Past, future. What purpose?
Give me purpose. Give me
Pleasure, give me power.
She buys your howl. She buys
Your road. I buy your spirit,
Rather, smell it. New society
Of thought born, born, sifted
And processed. Heavy metals
To anger. Children
Spit on your grave. Coffee.
Beer, train. Give me word,
I give you picture. Give me
Picture, I give you frames.
Cinema life, bones. Organs,
Fat and skin, flickering.
Chinatown, The Tenderloin.
I am waiting. I am man, woman,
Child and death. I am building
And earth. I am thought, I
Am pain. I am text, space between
Letters, space between lines
And the connection. The hills
Rise before me. There you are,
We, is, can be, was. I am
Liver, I disappear, the
Rare wharf squirrel.  New text
In picture, new text flickers.
New text stops, doesn’t begin,
Is worthless, beyond measure
And free to all, and boundless
Or bound. All worlds,
Words are present, only
Details to be revealed.
The sickness grows. Word pressed
Becomes name, becomes might
Becomes power, grows beyond
Nation and still it is held tight to chest.
Freedom. The price. I enter
You a fool, my hands bound.
I ask only for purpose. Because
The science has failed and reason
Disappearing becomes fortune.
Goodnight, here is my pain.

II. Leviathan
Leather machine, spiked
With fire, custom paint
Black and shiny, rolling
Heat, goat, star, metal
Power of control, radiant
Buttons, fear, made every
Monster, every monster
Scene on plastic, spinning.
He is the master, collecting
Monsters. A museum.
Touch them all, fusion.
Exploding world, exploding
Machine, every horror in chronology.
Its idea born, its story told.
Then its mirror, reflected
In the machine. You have
Entered. Mimesis, grabbed
Ahold and repeated wide-eyed.
Do you have a choice to turn
Away from these machines?
You are with me. Silence.
The images are repeated, rapidly
Shifting scale. Some men
Make the horror, some make
Make the mirror. Some men
See themselves. Some men push
The buttons. Which are you?
The small errors, the lies.
Theft, hatred, repression, makes
Dust. Dust created for love
Poured out and blown with
No one to see it. Dust blown
Free. And you know which you
Are. I ask for friendship. Two
Men in agreement make a government.
The tree has many leaves.
Calamity is the seed. Grow.
You will see the spirit. It
Is the only way.
Chemistry, for profit.
Truth for sale, mutes the light.

Text by hand. Text by blood.
Text by machine. Text by memory.
Poetry is the name.
Fusing fly with man with metal.
Cherokee. War. Teeth. Heart.

III. Flight
Trees ringed with light -
Wings, tipped with sky
Old words, ruinous.
We are the modern,
Born of thought -
Outside nation, religion,
Sex or race.
Bound but boundless
Because we agree.
Why battle? Share.
Lovingkindness, for all
Material. This place must
Exist, created or discovered
I surrender to its rule.
39,000 cruising altitude,
7 hours in flight.
Light splintered, I choose
Destruction, worry,
Death. Post-apocalyptic
Gypsies without our
Charms. Death.
All disease, parasite
Or form entering
And destroying. I
Choose an orange for
Heaven and want
Your whip on me,
Because you are
Beauty. You are
Seen. Medusa,
All men who see
Your eyes are turned
To stone, yet
I love you -
snakes and all.
Great woman, I would
Gladly b your slave.
I will make the text,
I will make the pictures,
I will put one on
Top of the other,
And they align. Why
Can’t I learn? Take
My poetry and put
Your name on it.
Take my mind, red-hot
And press it to stone.
7 plus 6 is thirteen. 1 AM.
Welcome. I belong here.
Light dissolved in fog.
Bad poetry, bad song.
Worship is preferable.
Hawk wind, he says.
I went to sleep
With radio free Europe.
She woke me with water
On my head. It was a waterfall.
I forget history like
A child, but I can walk.
Washington DC
Constricted, ex-pat.
I see the ocean, it must
Be Long Island, or
We are flying north.
We shall see. Sensitive,
I will find a way. Period.
A plum, sesame sticks.
Beats, walk in a park.
Freedom, bass, cymbal.
Your skin, amazing. Can
You keep me, open?
Can I want you forever
And die below you?
At least you won.
I was right. This
Is Boston now, and
There the cape spirals out.
And shortly we are out
To sea. Pasta, please.
Plenty of butter.  I am
Crossing an ocean.
The route takes us over
Nova Scotia. Why not
Circle Quebec while
We’re at it. Nothing
But water now.
Newfoundland and Labrador.
Millions of men.
The scale keeps changing.
1:10, Montes
Apalicias, Bangor.
Everyone is hungry,
Clamorous, curious
About the plastic,
Coca-Cola cups. I eat
Half my food and
Save the snacks. Who
Knows when I can use them.
Darkness grows with
The east. It is cold,
In the sky, -52,
Distancia recorrida

1182 km, 733 miles.
Red Riding Hood.
Below Iceland we fly,
Dublin ahead. There is
No master in these matters,
Only beasts. When a
Path is not given, it must
Be created. You will
Listen long for silence.
Breathe deeply. We enter
The chamber, where light
It created by the movement
Of our arms, no ballerina
Is required. A mantis can
Do the dance. A chicken
Better, what is grace,
After all? Enter me,
What will I show you?
Dark ocean, with the
Sun creeping. I am a wasted
Life. If I don’t deserve
To live, I give up my
Life. Let the disease
Fall out. Let the fallout
Fall, dust from letters.
Who will be the mother?
And who will be the
Father? The ocean,
Curls on sand.  Above
The clouds I see stars
As I never have. Away
From the new world.
Burn it down, take it’s
Metal and make a cage.
Take its food and feed
It to the ocean, kill
It quickly, the beast.
Bury me, a child of the
World, son of modernism.
Abstraction, sexless.
Paint, color, layers.
Millions to own, crumbling
Castle. Take dark
Wings over dust.
American, slave. There
She is, the perineis. Brussels,
Belfast, Glasgow, Berne,
Lisbon. Paris, bread
In the street. Irish
Sea, you are nothing
Now. I have conquered
The Atlantic.

IV. The New World
What life does a
Poet have? In truth,
A life of words. All
Moments leading to others -
Memory to connect names
Lost in time. All people,
Events and signals, to
Foretell. What is a man?
A man has a penis, all
Else is chemistry and reason.
Any reasonable thought
Is not controlled by sex.
Any interpretation, either.
Radish, root, letter.
Tired eyes, cinnamon.
A poet cannot control,
Creeping words, rainbows
Or frost. Dogma meeting
Emptiness, makes a whirlpool.
Stimuli signaling tradition.
Know me, I am empty.
Clicking china, slippery
Floor. Dogma replacing
Inquiry. I want a life.
Stanza, pattering rain.
Code, the language of
Machine. Language, the
Question of man. The
Earth breaks open
And storm circles
Onto the beaches,
Simultaneously, forever.
The madness created
Moments, moments
Fade but history
Of thought persists,
All things possible.
Show me math. Solve
This question, why?
Social science, politics,
Robots.

V. Brother Rudy
Run down to water
Nearly hit by Audi,
Tourists. It’s Brazilian
Day in Stockholm.
Old town, narrow walkways
Bricked streets, bicycles.
Buildings, 400 years
Old, castles – blue green
Eyes, long legs -
The beauty of it. Cleanliness.
College girls, dancing to hip hop
I am a yournalist -
my family wealthy from
The west, and of course
I think I should help others.
We take the train
Then walk to a warehouse
And courtyard within
Beers, stacks of televisions
And antiquated radio
Receivers, static.
The video mixers,
The Swedish VJ Union,
I say, come in a boat,
You can sleep in my gallery.
Late night cab ride -
I try to steal a woman’s
Hat from her head,
Notoriously hard to get
Laid in Stockholm, they
Say. But I imagine,
The Scandinavian
Landscape eyes as my wife.
I am overfed and slow.
Time to grow.

IIV. Sunrise, Berlin
Man writes, every blank
Wall where some would
Have civilization, others
Would have paint, they
Push and pull, the new
Language, I am here.
And why stop there,
Write on bodies too.
Cannot escape the
Pictures, pink pants
Of revolution. My blood
Was born in Berlin
Forest, I will return.
Give them their own walls
And earth, they paint
At night and grow
Cash crops. Airbrush,
aerosol. Wolf man.
If it can be approached
It will be painted.
Eurotrash, expatriate,
Suburbia, ecstasy, beat
And rhymes, more
Potent than government.
Behind every facade.
Light comes, inevitably.
An artist’s hand makes
Love, a businessman’s
Makes cages, when
Will you learn? Do
You want compassion
Or walls? In the end
Walls are painted, then
Fenced, and man works
At day and wolf paints
At night and policy is
Written and poems are
Grown, like the tide.
Battery dies, feed it
Coal or feed it sun?
What is the power for?

Sausage tomato noodles
Mustached woman, reading
Chinese woman narrating
Masculine passage though
Golden Gate, 2 blocks from
Hitler’s parking lot, colored-
Mind-changing, cascading
Graves of European
Jews killed in the war,
Waiting for the bicycle
Messenger. Power life
Through motion battery
Acid, king. You believe
He will return or that
He is fantasy, walking
Translation every language
Cascading with numerical
Counterpoint, physical
Anomaly, life is
Better with a friend.
Rock and Roll, noise,
Singer, breast financial.
Win the mother’s heart,
Win the vote. Loving
You is like a nation,
I travel in your arms.
Wasting time counting
Pennies. 50 glitters
Purple, you know,
You own the sky.

IX. The Messenger
We ride, along the canal
To where the women cover
Their heads, every one
With 3 children, we
Dominate, 2 beers
In the park. When
Must the children,
They all crowd in.
Eine Kleine Nachtmusik,
Fat heat. They please
You until you’re poor.
I think of you, Palestine.
Money for your family.
Motorcycle, whore.
One deal for a lifetime,
One lifetime per day.
This is life.
When you grow up,
Your wife will cover her
Head, reconstruct her
Virginity for you.
You are a lucky man.
Beg, burn, build.
Here is my light.
Disney princess, on
Every corner, every land.
The beast swallowed you.
Their hands so fast.
Riding east and south
Then east and north again
We find a garden
By the canal, not
A late night.

XII. Man of steel
The Giants
Orange-faced Costas
Jabbering down at me
I walk through the garment
District, then the perfume
District, 18 blocks to go.
Moving sign, moving lights
And interface all the same,
Looking for an apartment.
The poet’s pen is his penis
And his balls are his bravery.
Talking about chickens
In hell’s kitchen, some life.
In the Tenderloin, two skinny
Men fumble with a garage door
Lock in broad daylight,
Hop off the bus, Whitman
Ah Sing, but you can’t.
Not on Madison Avenue.
Let’s party more. 10 blocks
To go. Central Park hairline
Peaking from your bones.
Empire state, metallic aquiline,
Gargoyles on wing, ass in
Jeans. Outdoor space, small
Kitchen, that’s not a bedroom.
Small kitchen, outdoor bedroom.
Who needs a roof? This is my
Rain room, we’re all good
Shoppers, $10 Japanese jeans.
Tsunami. That’s electro.
Authority abounds. What the
Fucking ocean, dock your boat
In the swamp, New Jersey.
Squeeze more ass, squeeze more
Books. The difference between
A hipster and a modernist,
Is that a modernist knows
What a thing is for. Poetry
Is text, not wrapping paper.
Alcohol is the wind. Voice
Is wicked and wavering.
Why I weep for you
Unknown, you will never
Understand what losing love
Can mean. That’s the saddest
Part for me. Plastic voice
And plastic face reflecting
Grit. Potions of light,
Hand on skin. Bigfoot
Dancing on a spaceship.
In the bullpen, 7 blocks
To go. 9th and 10th,
49th. 52nd yard line,
2 outs to go.  Hit one
Long. The giants climb
The towers, kick the
Windows in for tips.
Kitchen’s hell, smiling
Lips. I work from home,
Bitches. Po boy. Translate
Line to stitch monument,
Step in every theatre.
Real. For reals. Love
You, that’s a lie. I never
Felt it reflected in flesh.
Myths of it constructed
In 2 hour synthesis.
Walk, rest. Carry forgotten
Guitar, put money in hat.
Fucking west village.
What a fucking blast.
What a falling tower.
What a lie. Just landed
At LGA, cool just writing
At the Cajun place.
More people fail
Than make it.

Local musicians Casey Hallas and Dave Mckelvey
have teamed up to produce improvisational jazz
electronica. Here you will find updates to their
intermittent progress.

Space Jazz: The Original Studio Recordings
1.3.2012 – Rocking Horse Studios