for my broken heart

a 

poem

for my friend Isabel

...

There’s an army of angels
at the edge of my bed
A choir of sailors
Belching chanteys in my head
And deep in the valley
A lonely wolf howls in pain
As the cold winter snow
Turns to cold winter rain...

There’s a legion of demons
Surrounding my room
A defiant sparrow
circles around the moon
And deep in the forest
The muses gather in the dark
To conjure up a love song
for my broken heart...

There’s a tribe of gypsies
dreaming ‘round a fire
The Santeria queen of the market
Brewing potions of desire
And down at the pier
A pirate sings to the sea
In Kyoto somebody -
Paints inspiration for me...

Legionnaires hum a ballad
In a slow march off to war
A cowboy rides the range
Until the stars shine no more
And deep in the desert
Before the morning starts
A shaman calls up his magic
For my broken heart...

pagoda

ink and pencil

by

Victor Vogt

woman with pearl ear-ring

Pencil and Pastel

Digitized to get the Black "Black"

Victor Vogt

no more broken hearts...

No more broken hearts
waiting at my door
No more broken dreams
sulking 'cross my floor
No more promises
I never mean to keep
No more love to make
That did not come too cheap...

No more sighs released in vain
To echo in the night
No more whispers of romance
To hold back the morning light
No more songs of love
Left for me to sing
No more reason no more rhyme
I’ve abandoned all these things...

letter to Edith

ink on paper

ART and CAPITALISM

Does that title shock you?

If it does then you are without a doubt an artist.  But why does it shock you?  Why does it send a shiver up and down your spine and make you feel almost sick to your stomach?  It is because you are a capitalist... and you don’t want to admit it.  Oh, you can write me all the hate mail that you want... I wont read any of it... unless I need a good laugh. 

I am sometimes an artist, sometimes a poet, occasionally a composer, but mostly a capitalist. Everything I do, I do for money.

All of my artistic pursuits I do for money, but don’t think it is just the money I am after - the money is a tool for my final goal, I need that money in order to acquire the thing that I want the most in life, and as far as my art is concerned, I am very passionate about it. I relish the moments I get to spend in my pursuits of perfecting a poem or some graphic design, I love to be drowned in the passion and the desperation of seducing the inspiration out of the ether... but, I also want the money.

Fame - if it comes will more than likely make an appearance long after I am dead... and those I leave behind will get to enjoy the fruits of my madness - the money!

God willing I will leave behind children whom themselves will be capitalist and be able to build a bigger fortune from the art I leave behind.

I invest in art.  I invest in the things I find beautiful, in art that inspires me and moves me... perhaps something that will set my imagination and my soul on fire every time I look at it... or something that will calm me and help bring me closer to my God... many of these works might not bring in any money later on, but I also invest in art looking ahead to the future.

I have worked with artist as a broker - selling their work on commission of course, and I have yet to meet an artist who was not appreciative of the money I brought in for selling one of their pieces.  That is because being artist as we are, we have no sense of money, meaning we just aren’t that good at managing it - well, most artist. 

Do not be ashamed to admit it. You like the money.

We like to dream of selling a manuscript that will break sales records and be turned into a six part miniseries or major motion picture that will spin off into a franchise wilder than anything J. K. Rowling could have dreamed of. A musician wants those platinum records on his wall and the fortune that comes with his royalties and world tours.  A painter wants a cult like following that hasn’t been achieved since Warhol... and have no doubts about it, no matter what your feelings of Warhol’s art might be, he was a capitalist.

When we are young and hungry and naive and idealistic the money means nothing. We simply wish to create great art that will move and inspire others, but sooner or later reality will set in and many will give up their artistic pursuits while others will chase after it with a burning desire that will result in nothing less than fame and fortune... and of course there are those whom will simply just stumble and fall into the fame and fortune do to whatever art they may have produced.  We live in an age where we make idols out of idiots while true performers go hungry... dreaming of fame and fortune...

Do you remember your child-hood idols, the artists and performers you looked up to when you were young? How do they live today? Remember Johnny Rotten from the eighties punk band “the Sex Pistols”?  Have you seen his home? His art collection? That dude is a capitalist... I would venture to say that all Hollywood actors and all the major musicians that fill the shelves of your music collection are capitalist, with their big mansions and car collections and jets... they have to be... Bono, from U2 - Capitalist, he even lives in a tax haven country...

There are Artist that will reach heights as Prince and Michael and Janet Jackson whom will get the hundred million dollar recording contracts - and though they will complain about how their record company stifles their art... they wont do much complaining about the money.

There is no shame in it.  Embrace it!

We are artist.  Rich or poor, we create and there is no shame in wanting to be recognized for what we do.

You bring joy to the world.  You inspire.  You motivate and move others to do what they other-wise would not have done without your art... You help dreamers dream and lovers find the words they could not find without you...

Now, Imagine all the good that you can do as an artist with money...

Art and Capitalism... the two need each other... the two where meant for each other...

Stop fighting it and embrace it and go with the flow... we can’t enjoy it when we are dead...

DIAMOND

sketch 
design for a private 

label collection
1996

by 

Victor Vogt

Alyssa

Allysa Miller

 by
Victor Vogt

My Karma - sentenced to live out this life in a world filled with idiots...

(loyal readers of the Deringer Files not included in said group of idiots...)

A few of hours ago - I am sitting in a restaurant near my mother’s house (in El Paso, Texas - as I am house sitting for a few days) doing some work on-line and enjoying the changing colors of the morning... minding my own business and marveling at the size of  my breakfast burrito...

BAM!!! - comes from the outside wall to my left... I calmly get up and walk to a glass door behind my table to see a red pick-up truck slowly ease back from the side walk and roll gently on to the gravel driveway... the manager and one of the girls come outside with me to inspect the situation and we find there is no driver behind the wheel... as the manager returns inside to call the police I look around to see if anybody belongs to this truck... nothing... this is quite strange... did somebody crash into the wall by accident then flee in fear... perhaps... I look to the road in front of the restaurant and notice no other vehicles  - the restaurant sits on a corner and the crossing lights are red at the moment  - so no moving traffic... this was not a car wreck where the pick-up was pushed to the side... across the street from us sits a gas station... nothing unusual... wait... there is a body on the ground... I tell the girl next to me - call a medic... there is a man down... I point at him... she acknowledges my command... he belongs to this truck I tell her and run across the street to offer my assistance... time laps since the truck hit the wall - two minutes...

The gentle man on the floor is elderly - mid to late sixties... grey trousers, blue sweater, brown trilby hat... white hair... no one from the gas station either outside or from with in has come to his help... a white car pulls in as I get to him and a lady steps out... she tells me that she saw the man pushing his vehicle but it got away from him and rolled across the street to the restaurant...  She reaches to pick him up - I stop her... and address the gentle man...

Time laps since crash - four minutes...

I put my hand on the mans shoulder... sir...
Are you injured?
 - no response
Can you hear me?
 - no response
did you get caught under the truck?
 - no response

He is face down lying on his stomach... he lifts his head a bit...
I address him in Spanish... asking him the same questions...
He replies in English that he fell...
I ask him again if he got caught under the truck and he says no the truck got away from him as he pushed it to the gas pump but he could not stop it... he was running along side of the truck but slipped and fell into the rocks...
I say to him - you got the wind knocked out of you... did you hurt yourself...
He does not reply....
Help is coming I tell him...
I have a bad heart -  he say...
Are you on medication at the moment...
He says yes...
Do you require any pills right now I ask...
He shakes his head...
I ask him his name...
He tells me...
I ask him how old he is...
He tells me...
I ask the lady that is there to place her hand on his leg and she does...
I ask him if he can feel that...
He says yes...
I ask her to put her hand on his lower back and she does...
I ask him if he can feel that...
He says yes...
I call him by his name and say - you just had a little tumble and got knocked out for a bit... I want you to just stay there and get your bearings straight before we sit you up... are you sure you don’t require any pills for your heart at the moment... before he responds... out of no-where...

A big fat woman with painted bright red hair and tattoos all over her ugly self walks right up to the old man... says out loud to all of us "why don’t you help him up!” I stretched out my left hand to stop her but she put her arms around the old man flips him over and stands him up... everyone in the crown that had now gathered could clearly see this jolted him... and I thought he was going to go into shock or pass out again from getting up too fast... exactly what I was trying to avoid... I placed my hand on his shoulder and say to him...

“I wont be held liable for the stupidity of others...” turned around and began to make my way back to the restaurant... before I crossed the street - I stopped caring....

The medics from the fire station a few blocks up the road were arriving and I entered and explain all that happened to the manager... and resumed my work... through the window I could see that the ugly stupid lady had stayed at the old mans side as the medics checked him out... the fire department pushed the truck out of the drive way... and a small dessert willow was broken in two... 

as I was preparing to leave the old gentleman walked into the restaurant... looked at me and asked if I was the manager... I shook my head... and the girl at the counter   took him to speak to her supervisor... he apologized and explained what happened... and then walked to my table... teary eyed and humble... he thanked me for me kindness and patience... I put my hand on his shoulder and say... take care of your self...

Walked out in time to catch a bus and made my way back to Mexico...

PEOPLE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

When old folks are down - they are down for a reason... This old man was down for a while before I got there.... obviously... there is a reason he has not gotten up on his own.... I was trying to do good using common sense and logic and training...  When you start to use the brain that GOD gave you... you might pull yourself out of the downward spiral into the shit hole of stupidity of which you are falling into AMERICA...

A world full of fucking idiots...