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B. 1986. American artist and author. Writing to contribute to the improvement of public discourse. Opinion/considerations/art criticism/poetry

I am an artist and a writer and my name is Judson Stacy Vereen.

What I intend to do, what every writer works hard to do, is to express myself clearly — with the knowledge that as I write, I am also learning, and “myself” is a subject that I am always seeking to understand better. I am also interested in the work of others. If you would like me to read something of yours or anything at all — let me know by dropping it in the comments section.


In the Medium platform, specifically, I intend to publish a…

A poem from Through San Francisco, DARKLY by Judson Vereen

Now, what’s a heartbreak about?
What’s love about?
What’s money about?
What’s a lovely woman’s ass or breasts about?
I don’t know,
I don’t care.
All I know is that they be truthful,
All I know is that they be there.
Now, what are all the flavors of the body?

How does it gyrate?
How does it writhe?
I taste clove and musk.
I taste honey, and bourbon,
Sweat and floral aura,
Tobacco and vanilla Leather
What does the body respond to while wrapped in distinct pleasure? …

A poem from “Through San Francisco, DARKLY” by Judson Vereen

I need not see what you’re doing,
the Bellower is calling, calling
It echoes, but it is slight decayed,
and the bell-ringer is stalling,

(Justice sings the tower of song,
and is lovely as the day is long)

I need not see what you’re doing,
the bird of prey is diving, diving,
towards again, it’s victim worm,
in a pram, writhing

I need not see what you’re doing,
the armory is paying, paying,
fortunes to those, without clothes,
and filming them while playing

(where the devil came to stay, you…

The Moon illuminates through my cigarette smoke and the night, The evening received significance not from my writing, but from the falling star that sank quickly, disappearing behind the rooftops while I stared blankly at the moon. The cold concrete of the street chilled my body, and there it was; This draft of insignificance, almost as if brought on by the wind. It formed all around me and I felt it. As I became lost the stars would wink, and I felt useless. They said to me this: You may be the king of your world, but your world is…

A letter to an artist

I don’t know how these things happen, really. I mean when things seem to just cascade downhill. It all goes awry so quickly — but perhaps the real truth is it all goes by slowly, insidiously, underneath your feet. Perhaps the preconditions move slowly — and the event itself, the calamity is instantaneous.

You may start to think life just goes the way it wants to and maybe you really have nothing to do with it. I can’t explain how things get out of control and how it goes by fast and slow — I…

“ We had taken some mushrooms and went to the Safeway out on Ocean Beach — the people inside were a horrible sight. Jaws drooped, fingers dangled, bodies contorted in harsh angles, eyes seemed ancient and paranoid. I turned to Tyler, who I could see was feeling the effects, too, and said — “I feel like we are in one of your paintings.”

Tyler Wintermute's drawings are saturated with subjects, characters, and themes that are, at times, utterly grotesque. The human form takes on a gangly crude characterization within the discomforts of their haunted atmosphere. Tyler Wintermute, at the age…

Oh go pour out the whisky, drain the ocean and dam the rivers good, call off the annual parades and celebrations of the neighborhood, Call unto ever long-lasting friendship, and report the bad news, to every auditorium seats and to all the church pews, Let the penniless poet pen a song for thee, let the policemen turn in their badges, and set the criminals free, No need to pick the world’s gift-fruit, let it rot on the vine, send a note to every lover, and childhood valentine, Let the friend pallbearers, release the snow-white dove, let the grandmothers give to…

How I became lost and found in the chaos of the quarantine

2020 is the year I found love despite a variety of new obstacles. My journey in finding this love is exactly that — a journey. The type of journey that is forever unfolding and one that I will not relegate to one day of the year.

Truth be told, I am as close to Valentine’s day as I am to Cupid himself. And oh, Cupid! I haven’t seen him around in years! Never one to sit out in boycott of the day — I just never took part in it. I don’t mind the day because as I get older…


Poem #4 from Through San Francisco, DARKLY by Judson Vereen


I picked two Daisies this morning,
the first one withered, and I felt it die,
the second lived on forever and showed you have to try

gone are the days of effort
for asking reasons why

I heard two songs this afternoon,
the first was alive and free,
the second one was a nocturne, with a sleepy melody

gone are the days of dancing,
bring them back to me

I saw two birds this evening,
one wrapped within its sorrow
the second sang lovely songs whose echo’s reached tomorrow

Gone are the days of ownership, we must learn to…

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