Mr., who? Oh, Wao (Wow!).
Wednesday, September 12, 2012
Okay, Now You Can Weep
Well, it looks like I spoke too soon. He who open his mouth too soon too often must enjoy the taste of his foot. You might think I have a foot fetish. I don't, but I heard J-Lo likes shrimp. In any case, I won't be doing a show in October at the Sylvia White Gallery. There will still be a show, it just won't be mine. If you are in Ventura in October, check it out!
Friday, August 31, 2012
Editor's Choice Award - Poetry Category!
Don’t miss the new issue of The Aviator! I won the Editor's Choice Award in the Poetry category. It's difficult to open the file, but the layout is beautiful. Find it here and share the link @
http://media.fullsail.com/LMS/facdev/Aviator6.air.zip
Once you have downloaded the link, you should install:
Adobe Air @
http://get.adobe.com/air/
In case you're having trouble accessing The Aviator:
1. Make sure you have pop up blockers disabled.
2. Click on the link to unzip the Adobe Air file.
3. Click to open the unzipped AviatorIssue6.air file.
4. When you open this file, you will be asked if you want to run the application. Click "run the application," and the issue will pop up.
5. To navigate the issue, make sure to click “Load Aviator” from the cover page. Then hover over the bottom right corner to turn the virtual pages. You can also click on the title of any piece in the table of contents, and the issue will open to that page.
Enjoy!
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
Blah, blah, blah...
Blahku
Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah,
Blah, blah blah, blah, blah blah blah,
Blah, blah, blah blah, blah.
I've written a script for October's First Friday, 5 x 5 x 5 at the Sylvia White Gallery. In my mind's eye, the show is going to be incredible. This is one of those times that if you don't invite every one of your friends to attend the Friday show, they may not consider you a friend on Saturday. Really.
Here are a few members of the cast:
Friday Lubina
Tim Tipton
Raquel Valera
Mr. Wao
John White
This evening is going to feel like a surprise party thrown for YOU.
Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah,
Blah, blah blah, blah, blah blah blah,
Blah, blah, blah blah, blah.
I've written a script for October's First Friday, 5 x 5 x 5 at the Sylvia White Gallery. In my mind's eye, the show is going to be incredible. This is one of those times that if you don't invite every one of your friends to attend the Friday show, they may not consider you a friend on Saturday. Really.
Here are a few members of the cast:
Friday Lubina
Tim Tipton
Raquel Valera
Mr. Wao
John White
This evening is going to feel like a surprise party thrown for YOU.
Saturday, June 30, 2012
Finger Painting
June 29, 2012 @
8:22 PM, I had 120 seconds to paint three dancers. John White gave me the
details and asked if I was interested in doing a show for Pamela Pilkenton. I
told John I’d have to get back to him—then immediately asked my wife how she
would feel if I painted three nude dancers. I explained I would be touching
these women, but not inappropriately. I’m not sure if my wife believes in God,
but I know she believes in me.
Well, I am just
too tired, too lazy, or too beat up to write any more about last night.
Thank you:
Juan (to me)
Carlos (to you) Velasquez
for keeping the
boys busy at Greasy Rat's--
I eat the pizza
up!
John White
for the
referral and teaching me, by example,
the principals
of Performance Art.
Pamela
Pilkenton
for trusting my
vision and
inviting me to
be a part of yours.
(I used
washable tempura paint.)
Angelina
Salinas (Mrs. Wao!)
for smiling
when I am too tired to.
Steve Aguilar
for filming
even though there was terrible contrast.
Raquel Varela
for being kind
enough to introduce yourself to me
when other
people wanted to call the cops.
Kerri Krizer
for being Life.
Sam Pope
for being
Creativity.
Lauren Gilkey
for being Love.
Doing it for
the Arts,
F. Albert
Salinas
a.k.a
Master Wao
(Wow!)
I hope this slideshow sums up whatever I missed.
I hope this slideshow sums up whatever I missed.
Saturday, June 9, 2012
Metrosexual?
I am not a straight man
with a beauty regime. I am an old guy who wants to look his age. I stopped
wearing baseball caps, but it’s getting to the point where I have more hats
than women have shoes in their closet. I do not comb my hair more than once a
day, use hair straighteners, wear eyeliner or pluck my eyebrows (anymore). I do
not wear skinny jeans, but sometimes hand me downs fit a little snug. I have
worn the same pair of Doc Martens for three years. I am not upset when my grandma
buys me socks and underwear for Christmas (anymore). I admit, when I go out to
a venue or perform/recite/read, I strategize my wardrobe (I almost typed,
outfit). Remember Bloods and Crips, or the movie, Colors? Sometimes, the colors you wear matter.
For the Mayor’s
reception, I wore a hemp fedora, a white T-shirt under a Ventura County Jail
orange and blue rolled-up long sleeves button up, Calvin Klein blue jeans, and
of course, my Docs. I walked up to the microphone with my hands behind my back.
The microphone and sound was terrible. I was not able to hear any of the
readers before me. I wished I had borrowed Phil’s megaphone. Phil Taggart was
the first person to encourage me to submit my poem to Art Tales. I told him there
was no way the poem I wrote would place, but he replied, “You never know.”

I looked around for the
Mayor, but he was a no-show. I looked around for VC Star, but did not see them
either. I stepped out from behind the podium with my hand behind my back, stopped
and faced the Art Tales display board, explained why, and then, performed. I
think one woman commented, “We don’t hear this kind of stuff on the Children’s
floor too often.”
People, who looked at me
with fear in their eyes only two minutes and thirty-seven seconds earlier,
smiled and congratulated me. Richard came up to me after the award ceremony,
shook my hand and thanked me for showing people how to read poetry. One of the
other winners, blonde and blue eyes, smiled at me, shook my hand and told me,
“I think your poem was the best.”
I wish I had asked her
why. Maybe it was my hat.
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
You had to be there.
June 1, 2012 - 8 pm
John White’s 5x5x5
Marsha de la O, Alisha Shapiro, F. Albert Salinas,
Rachel Lily White, Cole Smothers and William Litwa
Sylvia White Gallery
1783 East Main Street
Ventura, CA
I’ve known I was going to die in August of 2012, since my daughter was in fourth grade. I was living in Santa Barbara in someone’s office space above his garage. My daughter and I were goofing around with the special features menu of the Final Destination DVD and there was an option to predict our date of death. When the exact time and date of my death was revealed to me, I decided not to let my daughter use the feature.
John White’s 5x5x5
Marsha de la O, Alisha Shapiro, F. Albert Salinas,
Rachel Lily White, Cole Smothers and William Litwa
Sylvia White Gallery
1783 East Main Street
Ventura, CA
I’ve known I was going to die in August of 2012, since my daughter was in fourth grade. I was living in Santa Barbara in someone’s office space above his garage. My daughter and I were goofing around with the special features menu of the Final Destination DVD and there was an option to predict our date of death. When the exact time and date of my death was revealed to me, I decided not to let my daughter use the feature.
This is not the first time I’ve known when I was going to die.
Back in 1991, I did a candle reading and predicted my death was going to be the
following day (That’s what I get for using a black candle). That night, I wrote
my farewell letter and left it on my bed. The next morning, I sat in the
Food4Less parking lot and told my dad I was going to die that night. I planned
on going to LA to hang out with a friend of mine. He was one of my best friends
at the time—at least, I thought he was.
My dad asked, “If you know you are going to die, why are you
going?”
I told him I didn’t believe in fate or destiny, and
something about possibly being immortal. What can I tell you? I was young, and
wrong. I died that night. I remember looking up at a planet or star in the sky
and the last thought I had was, “Forgive me.”
This wasn’t the first time I cheated death. I’m hoping I did
it again on June 1, 2012. John White asked me to present at his first Fridays,
5 X 5 X 5 at 8 pm. I told people my plan was to be driven to the gallery via
hearse, carried in via coffin, perform, be placed back into the coffin and then
driven away in the hearse. I intended the performance art/poetry piece to
represent that when I am not creating, or performing poetry, I am dead. As my
coffin was carried in, people were supposed to be celebrating my life, wearing
bright colors and dancing. After my performance I was to step into my coffin,
people were to open their umbrellas and follow me out to be placed in the
hearse and wave, “Until, next time.”
That’s not how the performance turned out. While I lay dying,
hands and feet duct taped, a pillowcase over my head, I realized, I had no
control over the next 10 minutes of my life. Stuffed in a Dutch oven—a widow
maker, carbon monoxide filled the trunk and it seemed like a good idea to take
a nap. Elijah Imlay taught me that conscious breathing replenishes the
subconscious. I decided to do some unconscious breathing. I didn’t have time to
die. I had a show to do.
Sleeping in someone’s trunk is nothing like what you see in
movies. The trunk was far more comfortable than Missy Church’s backyard lawn,
but only slightly more quiet—peaceful. If you ever find yourself stuffed in a
truck, hope for a Ford Crown Victoria. They have better legroom than some
couches I’ve slept on.
Thank you for coming to my funeral and resurrection. Johnny
Depp and I will be celebrating our births in a few days. Will the celebration
of my birth be the last celebration of my life? I guess we’ll find out in
September.
Yours Truthfully,
F. Albert Salinas
A.K.A
Mr. Wao (Wow!)
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