Stephen's prayers were finally answered when one night the Lord appeared in the luminescent form of a blue goat. He named the goat Ohio Silver Ataway. Whenever Stephen was lonely or felt like cutting mean people's faces off and showing it to them he would think of Ohio Silver and he would appear next to him again and Stephen's sad or lonely feeling would dissipate and he would be back to normal.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Stephen had a little lamb
Stephen's prayers were finally answered when one night the Lord appeared in the luminescent form of a blue goat. He named the goat Ohio Silver Ataway. Whenever Stephen was lonely or felt like cutting mean people's faces off and showing it to them he would think of Ohio Silver and he would appear next to him again and Stephen's sad or lonely feeling would dissipate and he would be back to normal.
Monday, December 10, 2007
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Monday, October 22, 2007
practice
Patrick practices long jump over vast deep expanses where monsters with big teeth await below.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Sunday, September 16, 2007
On meeting Miller
I was on my way to get some chap stick and orange juice when I came upon a man who had been severely burned, asking for donations off the walkway. He wore a face of contorted misshapenness. His hands congealed flesh without fingers; more like hooves. I stopped to talk with the man to understand what his story was.
He had a cardboard display that showed he was trying to get to a conference in Vancouver, British Columbia by October 3rd. He said he tries to go every year to these conferences where he can meet other burn victims and talk with doctors and counselors. He showed me some pictures of the friends he made from his last trip to California. When I asked him what had happened to him he said his cousin was taking out the gas in his house and there was an explosion. His cousin died in the accident. He said he now has screws in his spine and knee's and when I couldn't grapple with how mere burns could cause one to need screws in their bones he gave me a look that said it all. I felt completely insensitive to his position, I quickly withdrew this line of inquiry. He was going to get emotional over the recollection had I pushed here. I meandered into a segue, 'you don't have to go into it'.
'So these are some of your friends you met during a convention?'
I knew I only had a ten dollar bill on me, but while I was feeling what I've heard referred to as a sense of empathy or 'good will toward man' for his circumstance, I wasn't feeling that philanthropic. A contribution of five dollars compared to ten wasn't going to make or break his trip out to B.C. Wanting to help, I told him I would come back.
Looking through the chap stick selections in the grocery aisle I couldn't help but notice the air of meaningless vanity lingering in my decision between the 'medicated' or 'cherry' daily; flashes of the face I had just witnessed still fresh. Yet, my mind couldn't pass up the dark humor underlying the situation. He's been like this for close to twenty years. The incident happened in 1987. Because I feel the first tinge of bitter cold approaching, I hurry to protect my lips.
I talked with him some more when I came back. It was an attempt on my part to familiarize myself to a random stranger on the streets, something I initially do not do for obvious health hazard reason's, but this one was different; he wore his evidence on his very skin. I almost felt drawn to him, that it would be wrong if I didn't talk with him, like walking by someone you know without acknowledging their presence. There came a time in the conversation where I even felt ease to share a smile with him. For the majority of the exchange I was projecting some ludicrous feeling of being sorry, but what I started to realize was that this man did not want that from me; it would be pointless. I noticed he was smiling and I was grimacing. I began to relax and look at him as a person who could really use someone looking at him as such and not as some monstrosity.
I was going to the grocery to get some chap stick.
He had a cardboard display that showed he was trying to get to a conference in Vancouver, British Columbia by October 3rd. He said he tries to go every year to these conferences where he can meet other burn victims and talk with doctors and counselors. He showed me some pictures of the friends he made from his last trip to California. When I asked him what had happened to him he said his cousin was taking out the gas in his house and there was an explosion. His cousin died in the accident. He said he now has screws in his spine and knee's and when I couldn't grapple with how mere burns could cause one to need screws in their bones he gave me a look that said it all. I felt completely insensitive to his position, I quickly withdrew this line of inquiry. He was going to get emotional over the recollection had I pushed here. I meandered into a segue, 'you don't have to go into it'.
'So these are some of your friends you met during a convention?'
I knew I only had a ten dollar bill on me, but while I was feeling what I've heard referred to as a sense of empathy or 'good will toward man' for his circumstance, I wasn't feeling that philanthropic. A contribution of five dollars compared to ten wasn't going to make or break his trip out to B.C. Wanting to help, I told him I would come back.
Looking through the chap stick selections in the grocery aisle I couldn't help but notice the air of meaningless vanity lingering in my decision between the 'medicated' or 'cherry' daily; flashes of the face I had just witnessed still fresh. Yet, my mind couldn't pass up the dark humor underlying the situation. He's been like this for close to twenty years. The incident happened in 1987. Because I feel the first tinge of bitter cold approaching, I hurry to protect my lips.
I talked with him some more when I came back. It was an attempt on my part to familiarize myself to a random stranger on the streets, something I initially do not do for obvious health hazard reason's, but this one was different; he wore his evidence on his very skin. I almost felt drawn to him, that it would be wrong if I didn't talk with him, like walking by someone you know without acknowledging their presence. There came a time in the conversation where I even felt ease to share a smile with him. For the majority of the exchange I was projecting some ludicrous feeling of being sorry, but what I started to realize was that this man did not want that from me; it would be pointless. I noticed he was smiling and I was grimacing. I began to relax and look at him as a person who could really use someone looking at him as such and not as some monstrosity.
I was going to the grocery to get some chap stick.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
I had the opportunity to meet Brom but chose not to.
I arrived at Robin's Bookstore early. Brom was to read from his latest illustrated novel called, 'The Devil's Rose'. Before the talk I flipped through some great McKean/Gaiman collaborations and some Roald Dahl collections I want to read sooner than later. I noticed that not many people were in the building. I overheard some lady say, 'it's quite in here', after I had thought the same thing ten minutes prior. I began feeling sorry for Brom at this point. He's a well established sci-fi illustrator creating a career out of painting skin tight latex vixens with blood soaked swords and dark winged beasts in ashen landscapes, but on this day he was nobody in particular. Nobody showed up to hear him talk about his new book which he spent long hours making.
The talk was supposed to start at six, upstairs. I flipped through a book on minotaurs while several people approached him for signatures in their new purchased book; one a fan, another an employee, and another who said ,'you're like my favorite artist of all time!' Brom responded with pause then, 'Wow!' I almost felt embarrassed for him. I thought of what I would ask him, I thought about asking him about his early career: how he got started in illustrative work, how things got rolling for him, but then I quickly began to think that anything he were to tell me about that would be relative to his experience. That I really didn't need or care to know that anyway. He probably did what had to be done at the time for him. I walked out of there at six thirty two and not a person was sitting down in the provided chairs to hear him read from his book. Only three people came up to him to get signatures. He told the same joke about getting 'in line' to all three fans. I over heard him saying to one of the fans in response to the turn out that, 'you never know what to expect. Sometimes it's a hundred people and sometimes you only get four or five.'
I left not talking with Brom because I didn't want him to tell me what I already told myself; that you have to 'get the work out there' any way you can, everywhere you can. People will take notice if it's good. Also, that twenty years down the road I could be in this same scenario as Brom, with noone to read my work to, and I laughed because it didn't bother me. I don't think it bothered Brom either really.
Monday, September 03, 2007
My Mind is Mine
Get gone you inhuman inquisitors
Before I incarcerate you
With my incinerating insight
And put you in your place,
The crematorium for creepy sheep.
It takes more for some
His fingers reeked of garlic from chopping and stuffing it into chicken carcasses for people to eat. He's used to it though, he's been working in Michel's kitchen for the past six year's. He'd used to like prepping veggies and marinades for Michel, padding fish and poultry with egg and flour; he used to like the handling of it all. Mostly he just enjoys riding his hog all night now with the air punching him in the face like needles and fists.
Record holder in pole volt until two weeks ago, Jim Holtzer was determined to gain back the title this last year of his high school career. He knew he could do it if he could just get a strong run and snug placement of the pole into the ground stop. He focused on getting the maximum amount of leverage and bend from the pole then began running down the stretch. Intention on high, focus steaming from his pores, tightness compounding in his body till he reaches the stop and slips in the pole, air>up>lite>flex back>farther>release up and bend more>over. Jim realizes he's successfully leaped over the bar after looking up, breaking the record placing him back in the books as the most able.
In college on scholarship Jim took up high diving starting it as a curiosity, originally enjoying the spring from the lower boards. He'd like to see how high he could jump up and then angularly twist his body back down into the deep crystalline water. After a little while Jim wanted to try the higher boards and asked the diving coach if he could use them when his team was through that night, the coach obliged and watched him dive into the pool with amazing accuracy and form, hardly causing a splash in the water. The coach invited him to join the team that night for practice the next day and surpassed the best, most accomplished diver they had. Jim took first position on the team the following week and lead them to first place that year in nationals. Jim dives out of planes now as a spotter for first time thrill seeking jumper's and sometimes performs elaborate air shows with twenty other sky divers using colorful exploding smoke bars and strings they swirl and spiral and draw in the air with while descending. They call themselves the 'Drop Outs'.
I can't believe it's not fake.
Heather Harlowe prostitute singer night cabaret harlequin dancer for loose tie soft men with extra cash. Loves canoeing and hot hot tabasco, on everything, especially her chillies. Never did a man enter her show and leave without pathetically imagining being her submissive slave. She always danced as a dominatrix. Unfortunately those men did nothing for her but she'd take their money anyway. She knew the type of man she wanted she wouldn't find in strip club but she wasn't willing to give up the inflow of expendable cash. She knew she was working for the day when she didn't have to work in a strip club and could met the type of man she wanted, maybe a stunt double for movies or a guy who jumped out of planes. She had a dropping out of the sky while having sex fantasy she wanted to try.
Misha Margeaux crooked teeth, red hair, Christian scientist. Wore robes to the grocery store, spoke with a high shrilly voice, and sometimes drove with her eyes closed trusting Jesus would tell her when to stop or turn. Luckily he didn't one day and her car, pedal to metal, rammed right into a brick wall.
U.S. Attorney Patrick Meehan filed a civil action to prevent John Dunkle from posting threats against reproductive health clinc physicians on his Internet web page. Meehan said Dunkle specifically advised his readers to kill a woman clinic physician by shooting her in the head. He also advised how to do it and how to escape, Meehan said.
Norris Galle, theater actor, frantic for part of Rosencrantz in Hamlet loses his voice the morning of audition. With such tragic irony overwhelming him he decides if he can't get the part he was destined to play then the play would not go on. He decides to set fire to the performance hall. He was never caught and fortunately the theater was not entirely burned down, but it did delay the audition two days. Enough time for Norris to recover from his sore throat and successfully gain the part of Rosencrantz.
The third paragraph was cut out of a newspaper. Fact.
Misha Margeaux crooked teeth, red hair, Christian scientist. Wore robes to the grocery store, spoke with a high shrilly voice, and sometimes drove with her eyes closed trusting Jesus would tell her when to stop or turn. Luckily he didn't one day and her car, pedal to metal, rammed right into a brick wall.
U.S. Attorney Patrick Meehan filed a civil action to prevent John Dunkle from posting threats against reproductive health clinc physicians on his Internet web page. Meehan said Dunkle specifically advised his readers to kill a woman clinic physician by shooting her in the head. He also advised how to do it and how to escape, Meehan said.
Norris Galle, theater actor, frantic for part of Rosencrantz in Hamlet loses his voice the morning of audition. With such tragic irony overwhelming him he decides if he can't get the part he was destined to play then the play would not go on. He decides to set fire to the performance hall. He was never caught and fortunately the theater was not entirely burned down, but it did delay the audition two days. Enough time for Norris to recover from his sore throat and successfully gain the part of Rosencrantz.
The third paragraph was cut out of a newspaper. Fact.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Not Alone
Sole heir to a formibable existence
Do not falter from your conviction
By your colossal stance
They sought to tie you down
You strove to surpass the typical
Only to be ridiculed for your attempt.
When ugly mediocrity slights your vision
Know there is a place
Where seer's have wings
and soar without boundary.
Where thinker's are exalted
and thrive ever forward.
Remain on your course
Some are watching you with hope.
Few remain but are alive
And will always be.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Letter to Penelope : the psychology of reality
Dearest Penelope,
Had a really great conversation with a new friend today who I met at a cafe while going to read my paper. His name was Claus Jessup. I asked him how he knew of Ernst Fuchs since I saw he was carrying a book on his art with him while in line. Then I asked him if he had ever heard of Zdzislaw Beksinski thinking if he hadn't he might be interested considering the fantastical similarities, he said he had and then mentioned that he knew of a big retrospective of his work that was supposed to be opening up soon in the States. I told him I knew about it, I told him Sofia Lucia and myself were responsible for putting it together, that we'd been working toward it for the past six months or more. We ended up sitting down at a table together since there were other people in line and we were blockading cranky customers in apparent dire need of their caffeine crush. He is a photographer who does commisioned work for publications like National Geographic and Conde Nast, really cool fellow with stories to tell about his travels. Somehow we got on psychology and how it has replaced religion as the new spirituality. Except instead of it being a spirituality in the sense of faith it is more about turning the exterior diety into yourself and making yourself like God. Which is really what Jesus was saying all along but preachers don't preach that side of it since it leads to self-empowerment over mass control. The science of psychology is simply a modern attempt at bringing the message that the individual is the one who experience's God (that was another discussion, 'what God was?') back to the person. He proposed Sigmund Freud was the new Jesus where in Christian doctrine there is the father, son,and the holy spirit. Freud turned them into the id, ego, and superego. In Christianity one purifies their soul, to Freud it was the psyche. He made a pretty good case for it using relative terms. We talked for a couple hours until I had to leave to be at the library to examine and hopefully date some illuminated manuscripts before they were to be restored. I didn't leave without exchaning our contact information.
When the museum positioned me for this trip I knew that I would be all over the place getting the chance to see great variances of historical artifacts but actually being in the presence of some of these things which prior I had only seen in books and talked about with historians and curators has been quite the memorable treat. This is after all one of the reason's why I stepped into this offer of course. Rubin said he regrets not taking the position himself after being stuck back with maintenance and upkeep hassels at the museum. I told him he wouldn't have been given the job anyway, the head chair has her eyes on him and she doesn't want him leaving her access. He still acted like he had no notion of what I was talking about. As if he couldn't recall the Wine Tasting event last month where I pointed out how she not so subtly invited him over to her loft for a after party of two, missing the hint that he was going to be the only other person there. He mumble something and then started talking about how the Hopper etchings that were just installed are more mysterious than reality. I told him reality leaves a lot to the imagination.
All yours,
Odysseus
Had a really great conversation with a new friend today who I met at a cafe while going to read my paper. His name was Claus Jessup. I asked him how he knew of Ernst Fuchs since I saw he was carrying a book on his art with him while in line. Then I asked him if he had ever heard of Zdzislaw Beksinski thinking if he hadn't he might be interested considering the fantastical similarities, he said he had and then mentioned that he knew of a big retrospective of his work that was supposed to be opening up soon in the States. I told him I knew about it, I told him Sofia Lucia and myself were responsible for putting it together, that we'd been working toward it for the past six months or more. We ended up sitting down at a table together since there were other people in line and we were blockading cranky customers in apparent dire need of their caffeine crush. He is a photographer who does commisioned work for publications like National Geographic and Conde Nast, really cool fellow with stories to tell about his travels. Somehow we got on psychology and how it has replaced religion as the new spirituality. Except instead of it being a spirituality in the sense of faith it is more about turning the exterior diety into yourself and making yourself like God. Which is really what Jesus was saying all along but preachers don't preach that side of it since it leads to self-empowerment over mass control. The science of psychology is simply a modern attempt at bringing the message that the individual is the one who experience's God (that was another discussion, 'what God was?') back to the person. He proposed Sigmund Freud was the new Jesus where in Christian doctrine there is the father, son,and the holy spirit. Freud turned them into the id, ego, and superego. In Christianity one purifies their soul, to Freud it was the psyche. He made a pretty good case for it using relative terms. We talked for a couple hours until I had to leave to be at the library to examine and hopefully date some illuminated manuscripts before they were to be restored. I didn't leave without exchaning our contact information.
When the museum positioned me for this trip I knew that I would be all over the place getting the chance to see great variances of historical artifacts but actually being in the presence of some of these things which prior I had only seen in books and talked about with historians and curators has been quite the memorable treat. This is after all one of the reason's why I stepped into this offer of course. Rubin said he regrets not taking the position himself after being stuck back with maintenance and upkeep hassels at the museum. I told him he wouldn't have been given the job anyway, the head chair has her eyes on him and she doesn't want him leaving her access. He still acted like he had no notion of what I was talking about. As if he couldn't recall the Wine Tasting event last month where I pointed out how she not so subtly invited him over to her loft for a after party of two, missing the hint that he was going to be the only other person there. He mumble something and then started talking about how the Hopper etchings that were just installed are more mysterious than reality. I told him reality leaves a lot to the imagination.
All yours,
Odysseus
Saturday, August 11, 2007
Thursday, August 02, 2007
Letter to Penelope
Dearest Penelope,
Went walking around a lake tonight with a vanilla bean gelato, thought of you during every lick. Spent the day with Carmen and Nicholas who took me to an out of this universe cafe where they fed me a garlic mushroom gravy that melted my insides happy. Followed by a chocolate canoli some liquour that accompanied wonderfully. Nicholas told me he would be coming over to Arizona in February thru April for a site specific work he's been hired to do for Lorenzo and Cape. Something very Baroque he said, based on Eros. I told him to give us a ring for dinner one of those nights. He said after that asparagus alfredo you made for him last time he couldn't see not calling us at least once. I did get to stroll around early in the morning a bit after thanking Georges for all the catering he did for me. Looking back on it I could have been off a lot worse had he not been there. Who knows what the robber may have felt if it had only been me, plus he knew exactly where to take me, I'd have been bleeding all over the place probably about to pass out till I realized I needed care. But after a night with him my ears were ready for some silence. I was able to get some divinely lite photos of the architecture and people here that I can't wait to show you. I know how you like to see the lay of the land to places you haven't been before. One I'm particularly fond of that I'm thinking I want to frame is a candid shot of a middle aged woman sitting down in front of a water sculpture that looked liked it was spilling water over her head from a swans mouth and the morning light was coming through the sculpture in a ethereal ray that made it look like a divine halo surrounding her. Her head was uplifted a bit and she was gesturing to a little boy beside her. It's reminds me of that beautifully transcendent expression on the Ecstasy of St. Theresa, one of my favorite sculptures.
Before I met with Nicholas and Carmen I called the museum to see how things were going there, Sheila told me that they may want me to meet with Jacques Reneau about a interview for our upcoming Beksinski show. Since he's not a extremely well-known name they want to push some stuff about him to get potential interest flowing. Which means I'd be here a couple days more, hopefully I can work it out with Louis at Ste.Chapelle in refiguring our meeting. I can't imagine it being too big of a issue, not unless he booked us a time at The Blue Rose which he said he might do and which can be notoriously hard to get reservations for.
Love you my dear. This week has been saturated with such delicious delights that I want you to experience, and you will. Still I look forward to one thing more than any, holding your gorgeous body. Soon.
Yours,
Odysseus
Went walking around a lake tonight with a vanilla bean gelato, thought of you during every lick. Spent the day with Carmen and Nicholas who took me to an out of this universe cafe where they fed me a garlic mushroom gravy that melted my insides happy. Followed by a chocolate canoli some liquour that accompanied wonderfully. Nicholas told me he would be coming over to Arizona in February thru April for a site specific work he's been hired to do for Lorenzo and Cape. Something very Baroque he said, based on Eros. I told him to give us a ring for dinner one of those nights. He said after that asparagus alfredo you made for him last time he couldn't see not calling us at least once. I did get to stroll around early in the morning a bit after thanking Georges for all the catering he did for me. Looking back on it I could have been off a lot worse had he not been there. Who knows what the robber may have felt if it had only been me, plus he knew exactly where to take me, I'd have been bleeding all over the place probably about to pass out till I realized I needed care. But after a night with him my ears were ready for some silence. I was able to get some divinely lite photos of the architecture and people here that I can't wait to show you. I know how you like to see the lay of the land to places you haven't been before. One I'm particularly fond of that I'm thinking I want to frame is a candid shot of a middle aged woman sitting down in front of a water sculpture that looked liked it was spilling water over her head from a swans mouth and the morning light was coming through the sculpture in a ethereal ray that made it look like a divine halo surrounding her. Her head was uplifted a bit and she was gesturing to a little boy beside her. It's reminds me of that beautifully transcendent expression on the Ecstasy of St. Theresa, one of my favorite sculptures.
Before I met with Nicholas and Carmen I called the museum to see how things were going there, Sheila told me that they may want me to meet with Jacques Reneau about a interview for our upcoming Beksinski show. Since he's not a extremely well-known name they want to push some stuff about him to get potential interest flowing. Which means I'd be here a couple days more, hopefully I can work it out with Louis at Ste.Chapelle in refiguring our meeting. I can't imagine it being too big of a issue, not unless he booked us a time at The Blue Rose which he said he might do and which can be notoriously hard to get reservations for.
Love you my dear. This week has been saturated with such delicious delights that I want you to experience, and you will. Still I look forward to one thing more than any, holding your gorgeous body. Soon.
Yours,
Odysseus
Friday, July 27, 2007
Maybelle
Maybelle looked into her vanity mirror as feelings of finitude creeped over her being in the form of a skeleton representing death. The air was cold morning English January. The icy tile floor pricked her feet sending shivers up her legs. The chill of brisk wind infiltrated her bones. She was inclined to take a warm bath to wash off this horrible feeling of dread but she could not even move, her body was locked with fear. The lanky skeleton put its hand on her shoulder and whispered into her ear, 'I am always with you'. Maybelle shrugged with shivering terror and looked around her but no skeleton was there. She exhaled from her throat and held her neck to warm it, her body was inhumanly lacking proper blood circulation, she looked ghostly. After gathering a little composure several minutes later Maybelle finally disrobed and prepared a warm lavender bath. She soaked herself letting the calming aroma of the scented oil ease her distraught mind.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Letters To Penelope : Stab
Dearest Penelope,
I write this to you from a hospital bed. It's nothing serious I was just stabbed by a robber today. I don't even think it's worth staying in a hospital for but Georges, my guide who I was with when the incident happened and who was one of the curators I met with at the Musee d'Orsay, highly recommended that I 'squeeze the sweet nectar' as much as possible on this one. Plus he said he could get me a night without having to worry about paying for it, he stays over night all the time. He insisted. I think he mainly wanted my company more than he cared about my health. His wife watches the floor tonight, she's not going to report my presence...hope they don't get busy all of a sudden. Georges and I watched Run Lola Run, he kept talking about how much he likes the red haired character. He said, 'now's there's a woman I would want to marry', he said it in a dazed stare as I looked at him from my periphery asking a question and making a statement at the same time, 'you are married?' I dropped it and continued watching the movie. The thing about the robbery was that the guy didn't even ask me for anything, he just stabbed me in the back and ran away. I don't even think that constitutes a robbery, he didn't take anything, that's just what the police kept calling it. I was thinking deeply about the Rodin's I had just seen, remembering the weight of the material and sensing the decisions of the sculptor, then the knife piercing my skin kind of felt like a finger poking clay, I barely noticed it. Georges was the one freaking out, rushing me into a taxi to the hospital. Good thing cause I was bleeding quite a lot however. Nothing to worry about though. I'm all taken care of here. Marie, Georges wife gave us lemon pie for a late night munchie. She reminds me of Chloe, Emily's friend from the play 'Red Door Painted Black'. She has that same mouth mannerism where her lips are always a little crooked or pursed.
Well before all that happened I did get to see a little of the Musee d'Orsay. The Corot I was consulting was definitely in bad shape. Past owner's certainly did not keep it in dry environment or just didn't care, it's not beyond repair however, just will take a good year to get it proper for exhibition purposes. The Whistler's were hit and miss for me. I mean they were authentic which is why they brought me in there to clarify but his work rarely gets me off the ground. They had some Odilon Redon charcoal drawings that were absolutely astonishing. I was reminded of the time we saw a show of his at MoMA, how we stayed there all day going back and forth, drawing from his drawings, writing stories from what they inspired in us.
I'm planning on getting away from Georges tommorrow as soon as I can. I want to roam the city a little alone while I still have some time here. I want to come back here with you. I've seen some boutique shops you'd love. Tease.
Yours,
Odysseus
I write this to you from a hospital bed. It's nothing serious I was just stabbed by a robber today. I don't even think it's worth staying in a hospital for but Georges, my guide who I was with when the incident happened and who was one of the curators I met with at the Musee d'Orsay, highly recommended that I 'squeeze the sweet nectar' as much as possible on this one. Plus he said he could get me a night without having to worry about paying for it, he stays over night all the time. He insisted. I think he mainly wanted my company more than he cared about my health. His wife watches the floor tonight, she's not going to report my presence...hope they don't get busy all of a sudden. Georges and I watched Run Lola Run, he kept talking about how much he likes the red haired character. He said, 'now's there's a woman I would want to marry', he said it in a dazed stare as I looked at him from my periphery asking a question and making a statement at the same time, 'you are married?' I dropped it and continued watching the movie. The thing about the robbery was that the guy didn't even ask me for anything, he just stabbed me in the back and ran away. I don't even think that constitutes a robbery, he didn't take anything, that's just what the police kept calling it. I was thinking deeply about the Rodin's I had just seen, remembering the weight of the material and sensing the decisions of the sculptor, then the knife piercing my skin kind of felt like a finger poking clay, I barely noticed it. Georges was the one freaking out, rushing me into a taxi to the hospital. Good thing cause I was bleeding quite a lot however. Nothing to worry about though. I'm all taken care of here. Marie, Georges wife gave us lemon pie for a late night munchie. She reminds me of Chloe, Emily's friend from the play 'Red Door Painted Black'. She has that same mouth mannerism where her lips are always a little crooked or pursed.
Well before all that happened I did get to see a little of the Musee d'Orsay. The Corot I was consulting was definitely in bad shape. Past owner's certainly did not keep it in dry environment or just didn't care, it's not beyond repair however, just will take a good year to get it proper for exhibition purposes. The Whistler's were hit and miss for me. I mean they were authentic which is why they brought me in there to clarify but his work rarely gets me off the ground. They had some Odilon Redon charcoal drawings that were absolutely astonishing. I was reminded of the time we saw a show of his at MoMA, how we stayed there all day going back and forth, drawing from his drawings, writing stories from what they inspired in us.
I'm planning on getting away from Georges tommorrow as soon as I can. I want to roam the city a little alone while I still have some time here. I want to come back here with you. I've seen some boutique shops you'd love. Tease.
Yours,
Odysseus
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Letter to Penelope : Louvre, Paris
Dearest Penelope,
How I wish you were here to witness these treasures with me! Today I saw a Sarcophagus of a Wedded Couple in terracotta from the late 6th century B.C.. They were languidly lounging on a bed with drunken 'Archaic smile'. Their presence seemed imbued in the carvings, but it wasn't haunting, rather jubilent, joyful. Like an eternally happy pair. Cimabue. Wow! What individual style. His stylization of the figure and drapery are to me something so removed from reality, so indifferently unnatural that they exist only for themselves, and this allows them their own kind of naturalism. A created self-referential reality. This is a goal to attain, to create a reality to exist in vicariously through my artwork. Another thing I admired about the handling of his work were the engrained gold roulette markings. I liked the smooth handling of tempera combined with this recession into the wood. I felt it made for a nice reductive/negative power that is preposterously opposite today's aesthetic taste which seems to me so additive and big instead of quite passivity like the Cimabue's had. Maybe I just don't think anything good can be made today. I'm a resentful bastard like that, what you call my 'uncompromising idealism'. They showed my Giotto's St. Francis Receiving the Stigmata from late thirteenth century. Giotto had such a way of characterizing his figures and making them seem more human than in reality. There is a graphic softness to his imagery that betrays any modern convention. He was a superb compositional director, very smart and simple with his arrangements. A big influence on me in this way. They had a painting by an anonymous painter depicting our favorite theme, The Fall of the Rebel Angels. I was secretly devising methods in my mind of how to get that thing off the wall and into our home. It was all gold with grotesque monstorous black silhouettes of descending demons. It would have looked so inviting in our foyer over the red velvet ottoman.
Guess who I met last night? (I'll give you three seconds and a kiss on the jaw) Our friend Stefano Brahmano. He was playing at some place called Theatre Mannequin with a viola and cello player, he played upright acoustic bass. Very rich sounds they put out. The cellist was from Santa Cruz and is having her first novel published in December. They met at a danish shop, Stefano was tapping a Mingus tune on table to himself when Elisa (the cellist) started humming the piano parts. They didn't speak a single word to each other until the next morning when she asked him how he liked his eggs. All of us went out for drinks after their show. I missed you so much.
Tommorrow I'm meeting with the curators at Musee d'Orsay to view and advise the restoration of a Camille Corot along with advising them on the acquistion of some debatable Whistler's from a seller in Germany. Hopefully I'll get to meander around their halls some too!
yours,
Odysseus
How I wish you were here to witness these treasures with me! Today I saw a Sarcophagus of a Wedded Couple in terracotta from the late 6th century B.C.. They were languidly lounging on a bed with drunken 'Archaic smile'. Their presence seemed imbued in the carvings, but it wasn't haunting, rather jubilent, joyful. Like an eternally happy pair. Cimabue. Wow! What individual style. His stylization of the figure and drapery are to me something so removed from reality, so indifferently unnatural that they exist only for themselves, and this allows them their own kind of naturalism. A created self-referential reality. This is a goal to attain, to create a reality to exist in vicariously through my artwork. Another thing I admired about the handling of his work were the engrained gold roulette markings. I liked the smooth handling of tempera combined with this recession into the wood. I felt it made for a nice reductive/negative power that is preposterously opposite today's aesthetic taste which seems to me so additive and big instead of quite passivity like the Cimabue's had. Maybe I just don't think anything good can be made today. I'm a resentful bastard like that, what you call my 'uncompromising idealism'. They showed my Giotto's St. Francis Receiving the Stigmata from late thirteenth century. Giotto had such a way of characterizing his figures and making them seem more human than in reality. There is a graphic softness to his imagery that betrays any modern convention. He was a superb compositional director, very smart and simple with his arrangements. A big influence on me in this way. They had a painting by an anonymous painter depicting our favorite theme, The Fall of the Rebel Angels. I was secretly devising methods in my mind of how to get that thing off the wall and into our home. It was all gold with grotesque monstorous black silhouettes of descending demons. It would have looked so inviting in our foyer over the red velvet ottoman.
Guess who I met last night? (I'll give you three seconds and a kiss on the jaw) Our friend Stefano Brahmano. He was playing at some place called Theatre Mannequin with a viola and cello player, he played upright acoustic bass. Very rich sounds they put out. The cellist was from Santa Cruz and is having her first novel published in December. They met at a danish shop, Stefano was tapping a Mingus tune on table to himself when Elisa (the cellist) started humming the piano parts. They didn't speak a single word to each other until the next morning when she asked him how he liked his eggs. All of us went out for drinks after their show. I missed you so much.
Tommorrow I'm meeting with the curators at Musee d'Orsay to view and advise the restoration of a Camille Corot along with advising them on the acquistion of some debatable Whistler's from a seller in Germany. Hopefully I'll get to meander around their halls some too!
yours,
Odysseus
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Letters to Penelope 2 : In France
Dear Penelope,
Just got out of a fantastic dinner with Charles. Had a delicious duck breast with a honey lemongrass glaze and terrific round tasting of various wines that Charles selected for us. He knows his wines. He gave the conosseiur explanations of each of the wines filling in what the waiter failed to mention. He doesn't write for Wine Tasting Magazine cause he drank a couple bottles in college. He's studied and travelled tasting wines. Said he was planning to purchase a vineyard in Arizona in the near future. There's a nice plot of land he's been eyeing. I offered my feet for a couple early morning stompings if he needed it. I told him of my interest's to pursue my own artwork again and find a market for it. He told me it was my nihilistic attitude toward the world that disenabled me from really taking advantage of my talent and letting the world see my work. I had to admit he was right.
I met with the friendly curatorial staff of Oriental Antiques at the Louvre today; Nancy, Binod, and Samir, showed me their as of now secret private collection of newly acquired alabaster figures and my jaw must have dropped to the floor, Pen I tell you, I haven't seen anything this beautiful since I last saw your face. These were something to behold. Genuine 4th century Babylonian figures from the decorative Hellenistic style. Gold inlayed into the eyes and designed necklace. They were priceless. We were all so excited to have come across these ancient artifacts. Tommorrow I get a guided grand tour of Etruscan period treaures. I'm practically salivating over the thought of seeing some Cimabue and Giotto up close, special.
All my love,
Odysseus
Just got out of a fantastic dinner with Charles. Had a delicious duck breast with a honey lemongrass glaze and terrific round tasting of various wines that Charles selected for us. He knows his wines. He gave the conosseiur explanations of each of the wines filling in what the waiter failed to mention. He doesn't write for Wine Tasting Magazine cause he drank a couple bottles in college. He's studied and travelled tasting wines. Said he was planning to purchase a vineyard in Arizona in the near future. There's a nice plot of land he's been eyeing. I offered my feet for a couple early morning stompings if he needed it. I told him of my interest's to pursue my own artwork again and find a market for it. He told me it was my nihilistic attitude toward the world that disenabled me from really taking advantage of my talent and letting the world see my work. I had to admit he was right.
I met with the friendly curatorial staff of Oriental Antiques at the Louvre today; Nancy, Binod, and Samir, showed me their as of now secret private collection of newly acquired alabaster figures and my jaw must have dropped to the floor, Pen I tell you, I haven't seen anything this beautiful since I last saw your face. These were something to behold. Genuine 4th century Babylonian figures from the decorative Hellenistic style. Gold inlayed into the eyes and designed necklace. They were priceless. We were all so excited to have come across these ancient artifacts. Tommorrow I get a guided grand tour of Etruscan period treaures. I'm practically salivating over the thought of seeing some Cimabue and Giotto up close, special.
All my love,
Odysseus
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Letter #1
Dear Penelope,
Am just now getting settled into the hotel room they've booked for me. Twenty two hour journey in total because of a three hour layover delay in Prague on top of a ridiculous fiasco in customs over some guy who was in line just ahead of me trying to bring in fireworks and body wash. Naturally this was right after I switched into that line. Why does that always seem to happen to me? All those times at grocery stores, bookstores, as soon as I switch lanes that seem to be going faster, then and only then does that line seize from moving all together.
The book you recommended to me has been wonderful. I'm really relating to the character Howard a lot in his manner and way of seeing his place in the world. I like how he doesn't take any of the mediocrity being pushed towards him, no compromises. He does it only for himself and I like that. I like the quote, ' I don't build to have clients. I have clients so I can build.' This Peter Keating fellow is such a wreck. How can he live like that? Soulless charlatan living on the surface. He reminds me of the masses. The skimers, the easy-goer's. Never really contributing anything to society but merely feeding off the past, what's be done before. There will always be lots of those.
Going to be meeting with Charles tommorrow evening for dinner at some a la carte restaurant overlooking a giant fountain of Posiedon and nymphs he highly recommends. Charlie said they have a wonderful selection of Sangiovese and a Penfolds Grange that is to die for. I'm expecting they do. Charlie always knows the best places for out of this world wine and dining. Prior to that I'm scheduled to meet with the curatorial staff of Oriental Antiques at the The Louvre to advise them on acquiring a 6th-7th century Phoenician 'Grinning Mask' for their collection. Also they want me to take a look at some new alabaster figures one of their buyers purchased in Sumer not too long ago, they want my opinion on if they're authentic or not. Can't wait! Alabaster as you know is one of my favorite materials to handle.
Yours truly,
Odysseus
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
People of Affection
Rebecca told me of a dream she had with me in it where we were in a anonymous room, blank, like a hotel room. The only furniture in the room was a bed and a closed entertainment center with a television in it, but we weren't watching. She said we were sitting in bed, fully clothed, and just giggling, not being able to stop. I had a bunch of my drawings laid out on the bed and finally at some point got out of bed, stood up, and said ,'fine!', sat back down in bed, and we kept laughing hysterically again. I like the idea that somebody thinks of me this way in their subconscious, giggling with drawings strewn about.
Justo just came to thank me for his 'wake-ups'. I made him a compact disc with Leonard Cohen's 'The Future' on it and he has been apparently waking up to the song every morning since. He just wanted to thank me for that. Justo is a black man with a daughter. A single dad, probably mid-to late thirties, although could be in his early forties, hard to tell, he wears crutches that make him seem older than he maybe is, he's soft spoken and kind. He and I occassionally talk, sharing a 'how you doing?', or 'yo' in the mornings or in passing, but rarely anything to penetrating. All I did was essentially steal and give him a song that I didn't create and he did the rest. He took it home and listened to it 'five times in a row' he said and every morning since. He said it makes his mornings more soothing, calming. I'm glad I could make Justo happy with the simple act of a kind gesture. Justo was let go later that day though.
Justo just came to thank me for his 'wake-ups'. I made him a compact disc with Leonard Cohen's 'The Future' on it and he has been apparently waking up to the song every morning since. He just wanted to thank me for that. Justo is a black man with a daughter. A single dad, probably mid-to late thirties, although could be in his early forties, hard to tell, he wears crutches that make him seem older than he maybe is, he's soft spoken and kind. He and I occassionally talk, sharing a 'how you doing?', or 'yo' in the mornings or in passing, but rarely anything to penetrating. All I did was essentially steal and give him a song that I didn't create and he did the rest. He took it home and listened to it 'five times in a row' he said and every morning since. He said it makes his mornings more soothing, calming. I'm glad I could make Justo happy with the simple act of a kind gesture. Justo was let go later that day though.
Sunday, July 01, 2007
After twenty four centuries the Council of Aelin decided to take a look at the people of Earth again to see what they had been up to. Separately six individual recruits were deployed across the planet Earth....
* One arrives in the middle of a gang fight and is immediately shot out of surprise by one of the gang members. He feels perplexing disorientation upon being shot, like if you mistakeningly walked into the wrong hotel room to find a toweled man rubbing on deodorant standing outside the bathroom looking at you. He never made it back to Aelin to report his findings.
* One appears at a baseball game and watches a fan accidently spill a drink on another guy and start to fight. The Aelin recruit is baffled by the irrational fanacticism. Not until the drunken brawl is broken up by security does the Aelin gather her surroundings enough to realize that she was involved in watching a game. Still she fails to grasp what could instigate the reaction between the two humans.
* One sees a robber with a gun stealing a woman's car but not before raping her in her own backseat. The Aelin tries to save the woman from the assailant but the young victimizer gets away before he can catch him. He attempts to console the beaten woman who is in shock and bleeding.
* One quietly appears while a artist is intently working on a painting. After secretly watching the artist paint for a bit, she slips out the open sliding door through the yard, finding a young woman walking her dog down the street. The Aelin follows her for a while before walking into a grocery store and watches people shop for food.
* One sees people working in a car manufacturing plant while they plug and scan in parts. The Aelin has problems seeing the people at first, they look like machine parts themselves. At a later point fails to see why people are needed for these tasks at all?
* One stands in to see a cook in his kitchen busily preparing food for his dinner guests who arrive in half an hour. She savours the aroma's and pinches a taste while the cook isn't looking and quickly leaves to not startle the intent chef. She reports that humanity, despite having bad taste in movies and wallpaper, has an exquisite talent for concocting casserole.
There's a question that this makes me ask and that is, if aliens were to come spontaneously and randomly to visit you going about your day, what would they see you doing and is it something you are proud of? Also, since this story involves extra-terrestrial characters, suggesting it's of a cosmic scope, there should be some retrospection on what we are doing as a human species together, in other words, how things are going. Realizing that once we've figured out what is happening in our own little lives, that there are millions of other humans populating this bigger thing we all share and inhabit, and looking at what are we doing as a collective to make this the best as possible. If we were to have dinner guests over to our house what would we want to serve? Assuming we'd want to provide a healthy and tasty menu for our guests.
* One arrives in the middle of a gang fight and is immediately shot out of surprise by one of the gang members. He feels perplexing disorientation upon being shot, like if you mistakeningly walked into the wrong hotel room to find a toweled man rubbing on deodorant standing outside the bathroom looking at you. He never made it back to Aelin to report his findings.
* One appears at a baseball game and watches a fan accidently spill a drink on another guy and start to fight. The Aelin recruit is baffled by the irrational fanacticism. Not until the drunken brawl is broken up by security does the Aelin gather her surroundings enough to realize that she was involved in watching a game. Still she fails to grasp what could instigate the reaction between the two humans.
* One sees a robber with a gun stealing a woman's car but not before raping her in her own backseat. The Aelin tries to save the woman from the assailant but the young victimizer gets away before he can catch him. He attempts to console the beaten woman who is in shock and bleeding.
* One quietly appears while a artist is intently working on a painting. After secretly watching the artist paint for a bit, she slips out the open sliding door through the yard, finding a young woman walking her dog down the street. The Aelin follows her for a while before walking into a grocery store and watches people shop for food.
* One sees people working in a car manufacturing plant while they plug and scan in parts. The Aelin has problems seeing the people at first, they look like machine parts themselves. At a later point fails to see why people are needed for these tasks at all?
* One stands in to see a cook in his kitchen busily preparing food for his dinner guests who arrive in half an hour. She savours the aroma's and pinches a taste while the cook isn't looking and quickly leaves to not startle the intent chef. She reports that humanity, despite having bad taste in movies and wallpaper, has an exquisite talent for concocting casserole.
There's a question that this makes me ask and that is, if aliens were to come spontaneously and randomly to visit you going about your day, what would they see you doing and is it something you are proud of? Also, since this story involves extra-terrestrial characters, suggesting it's of a cosmic scope, there should be some retrospection on what we are doing as a human species together, in other words, how things are going. Realizing that once we've figured out what is happening in our own little lives, that there are millions of other humans populating this bigger thing we all share and inhabit, and looking at what are we doing as a collective to make this the best as possible. If we were to have dinner guests over to our house what would we want to serve? Assuming we'd want to provide a healthy and tasty menu for our guests.
Sunday, May 20, 2007
Meeting people is easy
Met a guy yesterday at this arts fair that I was a part of. I saw him approaching from my periphery, plotting the right time to make his intro. He was kind enough to at least let me finish my conversation with the attractive buyer purchasing a pack of my cards. They leave, he comes barging in, seemingly over-enthused to meet a kindred spirit? and after acknowledging my work for less than a second by looking up at me directly in my eyes begins reeling off how he lost his mother some years back and how that hugely devastating event brought him so inside himself that he started making drawings of upmost intensity. Starting with a mark and watching the marks begin to spill out in organic revelations of self. He said it saved him. That he was able to find his true self through the medium of drawing and I saw genuine crazy in this man. I was intently listening to him because he seemed just whacked out enough to have been really really messed up by the loss of his mother as to have something to say about the deep cavernous beyond. I gave him my card and offered a look at my friend Greg's work but this almost seemed to him as a insult, that I had betrayed his approaching me in the first place. He said his name was 'Chiro' or 'Spiro' or 'Spyro'? He said his area was just down there and pointed. I said 'Ok, cool man' and he gently but restlessly waved goodbye. Later as I was heading to the beer vendor I forgottenly walked by 'SpyroGyro's' 'area' almost stepping on his work. No table set up, just his outsider collages on cardboard of things I couldn't get interested over enough to spend time looking at laid out on the floor. If I let him he would have talked my ear off about the details and intricacies of meaning imbued in each piece but I was focused at that point on intoxification of a different kind and luckily he was already talking to someone else. This obituary is for you 'Chyro'.
BRUSSEL - Mrs. Amanda Wiggins Dartmouth passed away on February 22, 1995. She was born to Thomas and Lessie Dartmouth on September 13, 1927.
She married Calvin John Dartmouth on June 16, 1938. They lived in Woodberry County most of their lives and operated several daycare centers together coming to be known by the community as the place 'children never want to leave.' Together they raised money enough to open a county recreational facility for the youth and organized their first softball league for adults. Amanda taught ballet and classical dance methods to children at Dartmouth's Dance which she founded in 1974. Later coming to be known as one of the most accomplished dance center's in the state. From which such nationally acclaimed dancer's as Donald Holden, Pierce Bent, and Suzy Garber originally learned and trained.
After the death of her husband in 1989, Amanda continued teaching ballet and began producing original plays for the recreational center she and her husband created. One of her more famous pieces was called 'The Toymaker' and was performed in 2003 by the Pennsylvania Ballet as a dedication to her work and life in ballet. Mrs. Dartmouth had the ability to touch the heart of all who came in contact with her through her generous spirit and compassionate heart.
Mrs. Dartmouth is survived by her two daughters Meredith and Lisa and son Stanley; two grandchildren.
BRUSSEL - Mrs. Amanda Wiggins Dartmouth passed away on February 22, 1995. She was born to Thomas and Lessie Dartmouth on September 13, 1927.
She married Calvin John Dartmouth on June 16, 1938. They lived in Woodberry County most of their lives and operated several daycare centers together coming to be known by the community as the place 'children never want to leave.' Together they raised money enough to open a county recreational facility for the youth and organized their first softball league for adults. Amanda taught ballet and classical dance methods to children at Dartmouth's Dance which she founded in 1974. Later coming to be known as one of the most accomplished dance center's in the state. From which such nationally acclaimed dancer's as Donald Holden, Pierce Bent, and Suzy Garber originally learned and trained.
After the death of her husband in 1989, Amanda continued teaching ballet and began producing original plays for the recreational center she and her husband created. One of her more famous pieces was called 'The Toymaker' and was performed in 2003 by the Pennsylvania Ballet as a dedication to her work and life in ballet. Mrs. Dartmouth had the ability to touch the heart of all who came in contact with her through her generous spirit and compassionate heart.
Mrs. Dartmouth is survived by her two daughters Meredith and Lisa and son Stanley; two grandchildren.
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Quantum Leaps
Day 12 of this damn expedition and I'm beginning to have regrets. My camel is farting like a metronome at 80 beats per minute and grunting while doing so. That mixed with the sound of its hoofs coarsing the sand in sliding succession is making for one stupefying carvinal band. Our water supply is dwindling at a non-conservative rate and I'm starting to get paranoid thinking my fellow voyagers are plotting against me, maliciously observing how my water container is managing to keep plenty.
Later on :
Up ahead, in the far distance there appears to be a strange cube like shape hovering above the horizon. None of us are sure how to respond to such a sight, but we move closer. The material of the cube is like nothing I have seen before. It has a irridescent bouyant quality to the surface but it does not even seem solid because one can see through it quite clearly. Although there is nothing much to see other than the other side of the cube's surface, which is also of the same unearthly shifting irridesence, its size poses quite a presence. Estimated, it is the size of a football field, about one hundred yards in width and height. Deserving of note, no shadow is being cast by this hovering cube. As we get closer one from the group points out a ladder that seems to lead upward to the heavens, though it is not leaning on anything for support. It is made of wood and has healthy vines growing around it. The ladder looks to be about eight feet tall and just stops. Angled on the top of this amorphous cube shape. Beyond, in the distance is a horse and it is chasing a storm. The storm is swirling slowly but noticeably in a circle around this cube. The horse, a brown healthy stallion, is gallanty chasing the storm away from the cube, never allowing it to move closer, just around. Between us and the floating cube are two red roses growing quite out of place in the barren desert. They strike us as a positive omen.
The meaning of all this confounds us more and more. Noone makes much sense of it, perhaps this is a halllucination? But how could we all be sharing the same hallucination? Have my fellow voyagers killed me and I am dead witnessing this? But I do not feel different, certainly I would know if I were dead? This I cannot be certain but in this moment is too much to dwell upon, but when is it ever not too much to dwell upon? Ok gather my thoughts. I'm in a desert, on a lost mission to find a remote village beyond mountains which we have seen none the like. We have not even seen mountains in two days! I scream to myself in my thoughts. Where are we?! I look around to my mates and one of them, Richardo, is with mouth open, eyes back, and leaning...falls to the ground. Miguel jumps off his camel and attempts to check Richardo's pulse but I know he is dead. Dehydration compounded with perplexing chaos amidst this recent vision did him in. We cannot rest long beside him so we divide his supplies among ourselves and agree to move around this alien scenario, noticing the spiralling storm moving toward our direction. That sure is one gallant healthy horse.
.
I've cleaned pools for the last twenty three years of my life. My hands are rough and dry like you wouldn't believe from all the chlorine I've handled. Just look at them...'
'OH MAN! gets those crackled vice grips out of my sensitive eye's sight! Haven't you ever heard of moisturizer?!
'Chlorine always wins I'm telling you. These hands stopped retaining moisture after the fourth year of working this stuff.'
'Couldn't you get some worker's compensation for that or something? There's certain quality of life issue's going on there.'
.
Some crowded public event. People cheering enjoying themselves, entirely lost in their moment, negligent of any other realities than their own.
Just then a tidal wave comes exploding through the ampitheater and sweeps everyone into a different reality. I watch this happening from a hot air balloon three hundred feet above. Water sweeping the people away like ants in a sink. Why am I seeing this?
.
'Why can't you envision anything else? Huh, can't you see your life is not going anywhere! Your entire existence is dependent upon how you choose to live it, nothing else. It's all your perception. Your choice. What actions you decide to make create your life. Start with your thoughts, what are you thinking right now?'
'I'm thinking if I move to do anything I will be taking a action which will in turn stop me from living in unlimited possibilities.'
'Well bravo mate. Your too far gone existential philosophy has successfully disabled you from moving out of your bed for the past two weeks. You haven't even made any music like you used to. You sleep in your own piss and shit, that's never good for attracting the ladies. Maybe you're going for the fat over-weight monsters? Huh? Well newsflash, those ladies won't even see you cause they can't get out of their beds either!'
Later on :
Up ahead, in the far distance there appears to be a strange cube like shape hovering above the horizon. None of us are sure how to respond to such a sight, but we move closer. The material of the cube is like nothing I have seen before. It has a irridescent bouyant quality to the surface but it does not even seem solid because one can see through it quite clearly. Although there is nothing much to see other than the other side of the cube's surface, which is also of the same unearthly shifting irridesence, its size poses quite a presence. Estimated, it is the size of a football field, about one hundred yards in width and height. Deserving of note, no shadow is being cast by this hovering cube. As we get closer one from the group points out a ladder that seems to lead upward to the heavens, though it is not leaning on anything for support. It is made of wood and has healthy vines growing around it. The ladder looks to be about eight feet tall and just stops. Angled on the top of this amorphous cube shape. Beyond, in the distance is a horse and it is chasing a storm. The storm is swirling slowly but noticeably in a circle around this cube. The horse, a brown healthy stallion, is gallanty chasing the storm away from the cube, never allowing it to move closer, just around. Between us and the floating cube are two red roses growing quite out of place in the barren desert. They strike us as a positive omen.
The meaning of all this confounds us more and more. Noone makes much sense of it, perhaps this is a halllucination? But how could we all be sharing the same hallucination? Have my fellow voyagers killed me and I am dead witnessing this? But I do not feel different, certainly I would know if I were dead? This I cannot be certain but in this moment is too much to dwell upon, but when is it ever not too much to dwell upon? Ok gather my thoughts. I'm in a desert, on a lost mission to find a remote village beyond mountains which we have seen none the like. We have not even seen mountains in two days! I scream to myself in my thoughts. Where are we?! I look around to my mates and one of them, Richardo, is with mouth open, eyes back, and leaning...falls to the ground. Miguel jumps off his camel and attempts to check Richardo's pulse but I know he is dead. Dehydration compounded with perplexing chaos amidst this recent vision did him in. We cannot rest long beside him so we divide his supplies among ourselves and agree to move around this alien scenario, noticing the spiralling storm moving toward our direction. That sure is one gallant healthy horse.
.
I've cleaned pools for the last twenty three years of my life. My hands are rough and dry like you wouldn't believe from all the chlorine I've handled. Just look at them...'
'OH MAN! gets those crackled vice grips out of my sensitive eye's sight! Haven't you ever heard of moisturizer?!
'Chlorine always wins I'm telling you. These hands stopped retaining moisture after the fourth year of working this stuff.'
'Couldn't you get some worker's compensation for that or something? There's certain quality of life issue's going on there.'
.
Some crowded public event. People cheering enjoying themselves, entirely lost in their moment, negligent of any other realities than their own.
Just then a tidal wave comes exploding through the ampitheater and sweeps everyone into a different reality. I watch this happening from a hot air balloon three hundred feet above. Water sweeping the people away like ants in a sink. Why am I seeing this?
.
'Why can't you envision anything else? Huh, can't you see your life is not going anywhere! Your entire existence is dependent upon how you choose to live it, nothing else. It's all your perception. Your choice. What actions you decide to make create your life. Start with your thoughts, what are you thinking right now?'
'I'm thinking if I move to do anything I will be taking a action which will in turn stop me from living in unlimited possibilities.'
'Well bravo mate. Your too far gone existential philosophy has successfully disabled you from moving out of your bed for the past two weeks. You haven't even made any music like you used to. You sleep in your own piss and shit, that's never good for attracting the ladies. Maybe you're going for the fat over-weight monsters? Huh? Well newsflash, those ladies won't even see you cause they can't get out of their beds either!'
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
People worse off than me
My name is Marcus Williamson. I cannot date a woman for more than a couple dates if she does not wipe her mouth after every bite. It drives me crazy if I see her not wiping away any mess from the sides of her mouth. Seeing some grit caught in between a woman's teeth has actually made me vomit instanteously at the dinner table. What am I to do?
My name is Herbert Jackson. I left my wife because she did not shower enough. When we first married she'd shower twice a day, once in the morning, then before going to bed. Then just the mornings, then not at all, but maybe every other day, or just inconsistently. It drove me crazy. I never knew I'd have a problem with that but she just began to stink and wouldn't you know it, I don't like her sweat smell. It just didn't work anymore after six years.
My name is Michelle Caller. I divorced my husband because he never clipped his toenails and they began to grow into his toes and he never did anything about it. It was the most disgusting thing to be in bed with him when his feet would rub up against my leg and all I'd feel were his dirty creepy toenails. It was enough to leave him. I just need a man to takes care of his feet. Is that so much to ask?!
Hello my name is Brett James and I'm a recovering excessive hair comber. Recently I've been noticing myself combing again a lot and really felt the need to come in here tonight to talk about it. In college I was on the football team and after each practice I'd come into the washroom and shower and dress and really never was satisfied with how my hair looked after wearing that helmet for hours, it seemed to push it down too close to my scalp. So I'd comb it and comb it, trying to comb out the flatness but nothing. I've tried shaving my head but my scalp would always break out in hives with the helmet creating so much heat and sweat. Wearing it short never felt right either. I began to realize I had a hair fetish, that I couldn't get enough of combing it, touching it, running my brush or hands through it. Luckily I found a girlfriend and she helped me ease my addiction by enjoying running her hands through my hair, but the predilection to needing it touched constantly just couldn't be catered to by her while at work, so it only appeased my cirumstance briefly. It eventually broke up our relationship because I'd always be rubbing my head and she felt inadequate because of it, feeling second rate to my own head of hair. I'm 55 now and am blessed with a full head of hair but sometimes I feel it has just been a curse.
Hello everybody. My name is Rachel Haynes. I've been married for two years but for the life of me I can't get over my husband's inability or lack of willingness to floss, ever! I've taken up the habit of flossing before each toothbrushing session because I feel it cleans away any caught build up in between my teeth before coming in with the tartar control minty paste, well he just doesn't feel the same and I don't know if I can continue to be with him if he doesn't feel the same way about this simple thing. I mean it's for his own good. His teeth are very important to his health and if he doesn't take care of them they will fall out and he will look a lot less attractive! Shouldn't he care about that and just floss once a day!?
My name is Robert Jenkins and I can't stop applying deodorant. I'm so afraid of smelling bad or walking by someone and having them think I smell that it is consuming my daily thoughts. I know this because I am so aware of it when other people pass me by and I smell their body odor, I almost want to die sometimes. I can't fathom how some people do not care about smelling good. I carry two to three different brands and scents with me all the time in this bag of mine but this is obviously awkward at some functions and now I've begun noticing my armpits are developing rashes so when I apply the deodorants it hurts tremendously. I've tried aerosoles but they feel like mace being sprayed directly onto my skin each time. It's awful. I'm allergic to most lotions and cologne's. I feel stuck.
My name is Raymond Simon. I'm afraid of taking off my underwear. I haven't taken off my undergarments for five months now and I'm terrified to death that if I do something bad will come out of them. It started with a dream I had, a really ....really ...rrreally bad dream I had. In the dream I was wwalking down inn nn ffffront of mm m mmmy house aaanddd I sssaaaaw himm mm! an d he had a mmmask on aaand hhhe wwwaas c ccomm ming aat mmemme wwwittttthhhhh pp po pp ppoooo! -he opens his eyes hastily, which have been tightly shut this entire time while recalling the dream, and promptly runs out, tail in hand.
My name is Herbert Jackson. I left my wife because she did not shower enough. When we first married she'd shower twice a day, once in the morning, then before going to bed. Then just the mornings, then not at all, but maybe every other day, or just inconsistently. It drove me crazy. I never knew I'd have a problem with that but she just began to stink and wouldn't you know it, I don't like her sweat smell. It just didn't work anymore after six years.
My name is Michelle Caller. I divorced my husband because he never clipped his toenails and they began to grow into his toes and he never did anything about it. It was the most disgusting thing to be in bed with him when his feet would rub up against my leg and all I'd feel were his dirty creepy toenails. It was enough to leave him. I just need a man to takes care of his feet. Is that so much to ask?!
Hello my name is Brett James and I'm a recovering excessive hair comber. Recently I've been noticing myself combing again a lot and really felt the need to come in here tonight to talk about it. In college I was on the football team and after each practice I'd come into the washroom and shower and dress and really never was satisfied with how my hair looked after wearing that helmet for hours, it seemed to push it down too close to my scalp. So I'd comb it and comb it, trying to comb out the flatness but nothing. I've tried shaving my head but my scalp would always break out in hives with the helmet creating so much heat and sweat. Wearing it short never felt right either. I began to realize I had a hair fetish, that I couldn't get enough of combing it, touching it, running my brush or hands through it. Luckily I found a girlfriend and she helped me ease my addiction by enjoying running her hands through my hair, but the predilection to needing it touched constantly just couldn't be catered to by her while at work, so it only appeased my cirumstance briefly. It eventually broke up our relationship because I'd always be rubbing my head and she felt inadequate because of it, feeling second rate to my own head of hair. I'm 55 now and am blessed with a full head of hair but sometimes I feel it has just been a curse.
Hello everybody. My name is Rachel Haynes. I've been married for two years but for the life of me I can't get over my husband's inability or lack of willingness to floss, ever! I've taken up the habit of flossing before each toothbrushing session because I feel it cleans away any caught build up in between my teeth before coming in with the tartar control minty paste, well he just doesn't feel the same and I don't know if I can continue to be with him if he doesn't feel the same way about this simple thing. I mean it's for his own good. His teeth are very important to his health and if he doesn't take care of them they will fall out and he will look a lot less attractive! Shouldn't he care about that and just floss once a day!?
My name is Robert Jenkins and I can't stop applying deodorant. I'm so afraid of smelling bad or walking by someone and having them think I smell that it is consuming my daily thoughts. I know this because I am so aware of it when other people pass me by and I smell their body odor, I almost want to die sometimes. I can't fathom how some people do not care about smelling good. I carry two to three different brands and scents with me all the time in this bag of mine but this is obviously awkward at some functions and now I've begun noticing my armpits are developing rashes so when I apply the deodorants it hurts tremendously. I've tried aerosoles but they feel like mace being sprayed directly onto my skin each time. It's awful. I'm allergic to most lotions and cologne's. I feel stuck.
My name is Raymond Simon. I'm afraid of taking off my underwear. I haven't taken off my undergarments for five months now and I'm terrified to death that if I do something bad will come out of them. It started with a dream I had, a really ....really ...rrreally bad dream I had. In the dream I was wwalking down inn nn ffffront of mm m mmmy house aaanddd I sssaaaaw himm mm! an d he had a mmmask on aaand hhhe wwwaas c ccomm ming aat mmemme wwwittttthhhhh pp po pp ppoooo! -he opens his eyes hastily, which have been tightly shut this entire time while recalling the dream, and promptly runs out, tail in hand.
Sunday, May 06, 2007
Tower of Song
At the bottom I strain where I used to sing. I've tried to reach for a stone to grab onto, something to pull me out, but down here the walls are slippery and without pity.
I've had to close myself off so it wouldn't hurt anymore. Hidden within there are silent angels who lead the way back to compassion. With them I begin to sing again. My breath rises in smokey vapors from this broken bottom and I chime bells as gracious gifts to my angels.
Now in this dawning, as I ascend the tower, the multitudes become apparent and rapturous in desire. The walls absorbent and benevolent, guide me.
At the top there are soft hands that envelop my soul, insighting all knowledge in the universe. And I am with my angels, creating a secret life.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
A Country Post-Punk garage demo song
Get over here King Zucchini I'm going to cut you up and put you in my pot.
Get over here King Zucchini there ain't no place to hide but inside my pot.
It's useless to try now, I've got a hungering, and you're inanimate besides.
Not that you've forgotten, by now you're very aware of my interest, but I'm going to remind you everything dies.
I've got a hankering for you King Zucchini now get over here, I'm going to put you in my insides.
Get over here King Zucchini there ain't no place to hide but inside my pot.
It's useless to try now, I've got a hungering, and you're inanimate besides.
Not that you've forgotten, by now you're very aware of my interest, but I'm going to remind you everything dies.
I've got a hankering for you King Zucchini now get over here, I'm going to put you in my insides.
Sunday, April 01, 2007
In Your Eyes
Woke up with tears in my eyes crying from what I had done to you. Can I ever be forgiven? Can I ever forgive myself? Now I must teach myself humility, discipline. There is no excuse for how I behaved, how I disrespected our relationship. Over-stepping bounds. Acting like a reckless child. I will withold your presence from my life as punishment and as a dismal reminder of life without you in it.
Embarrassment and shame linger in me. As I'm attempting to reflect on my false manner all I can do is bow my head in embryonic reprimand. Self-inflicting disgrace. Can you ever forgive me? I need you to forgive me, without your forgiveness I cannot look in your eyes again.
'All this distance, all this time, and what have I done?'
Embarrassment and shame linger in me. As I'm attempting to reflect on my false manner all I can do is bow my head in embryonic reprimand. Self-inflicting disgrace. Can you ever forgive me? I need you to forgive me, without your forgiveness I cannot look in your eyes again.
'All this distance, all this time, and what have I done?'
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
On the bus reading into life
'Wow this guy has not shut up since getting on the bus.' I thought to myself after about six minutes of trying to read but being continually interrupted by bouts of exclamatory remarks coming from a couple seats in front of me.
At first it was just me and a couple pleasant quite folks on there then the next stop that changed.
'Apparently this guy knows the driver?' He starts talking about the game? A football game? I begin to assimilate the information he's eagerly dispensing. 'Typical' I think, he's so loud. I begin to wonder why people who get a little too into talking about sports have to talk so loud about it so that everyone can hear them rant and give their meaningless opinions about what certain coach/player should have done instead of. It's a shame they couldn't be a coach or player out there cause he'd know exactly what to do. Should put in a application.
Life can be amusing or maybe it's just how I look at it that makes it this way. Sometimes it feels like I'm being thrown a bone that's saying, 'hey man look, we're totally going to make you think there is something deep underlying reality right now, but we're not going to actually prove it.' I was reading about personality types at the time and this guy personified the standard, 'I know everything, listen to me, I'm okay, you should listen to me' type. It was like, ok here is a real life example of what you just read. Watch. Witness. What not to be.
In the end, once I'd given up trying to get back into what I was reading and simply decided to take in the external stimuli, the guy actually seemed to have a well rounded sense of self. He was talking about public broadcasting, current social events, then what his friend should bring into movies to eat in case the movie is bad, cause you never want to just walk out of a movie before it's finished because you might regret it, but you always want to be prepared in case the movie is bad you can chomp on some snack you brought in with you.
I want to read the book where I'm consorting with someone special on a surreal shoreline dining on milky mellon musings under fire pink hues. I should write this book. Some artist's have said that their work became so much of their life, they were so immersed, that it started to dictate what was happening or going to happen in their lives. People or characters began to enter into it that they were writing about. Down to the clothing. I guess this would suggest, to a literal end, that 'we create our own realities.' Engorge.
At first it was just me and a couple pleasant quite folks on there then the next stop that changed.
'Apparently this guy knows the driver?' He starts talking about the game? A football game? I begin to assimilate the information he's eagerly dispensing. 'Typical' I think, he's so loud. I begin to wonder why people who get a little too into talking about sports have to talk so loud about it so that everyone can hear them rant and give their meaningless opinions about what certain coach/player should have done instead of. It's a shame they couldn't be a coach or player out there cause he'd know exactly what to do. Should put in a application.
Life can be amusing or maybe it's just how I look at it that makes it this way. Sometimes it feels like I'm being thrown a bone that's saying, 'hey man look, we're totally going to make you think there is something deep underlying reality right now, but we're not going to actually prove it.' I was reading about personality types at the time and this guy personified the standard, 'I know everything, listen to me, I'm okay, you should listen to me' type. It was like, ok here is a real life example of what you just read. Watch. Witness. What not to be.
In the end, once I'd given up trying to get back into what I was reading and simply decided to take in the external stimuli, the guy actually seemed to have a well rounded sense of self. He was talking about public broadcasting, current social events, then what his friend should bring into movies to eat in case the movie is bad, cause you never want to just walk out of a movie before it's finished because you might regret it, but you always want to be prepared in case the movie is bad you can chomp on some snack you brought in with you.
I want to read the book where I'm consorting with someone special on a surreal shoreline dining on milky mellon musings under fire pink hues. I should write this book. Some artist's have said that their work became so much of their life, they were so immersed, that it started to dictate what was happening or going to happen in their lives. People or characters began to enter into it that they were writing about. Down to the clothing. I guess this would suggest, to a literal end, that 'we create our own realities.' Engorge.
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
Monday, March 05, 2007
Thirty year run
I remember being chosen on my track team in the eighth grade to run the mile race. I'd always be the one of the few actually trying to run the whole distance in practices so I guess that's why I was chosen? Running a mile was a long distance to me then. My parents ran three to four miles nightly after work but I could never run with them the whole time. I'd always drop off early and head back to the house.
Before the race I was having anxiety with thoughts of, 'what if I can't finish it?', 'what if I faint and pass out on the track?' But the time came when the whistle blew and I was off. I was determined to finish the race eventhough it was apparent to me in around the second lap that I wasn't as conditioned as the forerunners. 'Just finish Austin and don't stop' was what ran through my head over and over as if I was my own physical drill sargeant. In the end I did finish without stopping and ahead of the other runner from my school, which was a motivating factor, for he was one of the more popular kids in the class but I was never impressed with anything he ever did. He did stuff like let a mucousy goober dangle from his mouth and then suck it back in and repeat, real gross, but that was what got him attention then. That was his trick/shtick.
I remember at one point my fellow team member trying to get me to slow down or even stop because he was going to. He was trying to get me to laugh and lose air, attempting to bring me back to his speed. I told myself not to listen to him and concentrate on saving air and to move past him. I wanted to do better, be better than he. Looking back on this I am thankful that I kept on. There are alot of those instances when I look back at myself and am glad that I see who I was then and recognize that I was aiming to do well, to be a good person. I was raised on very high moral standards. Good manners. For that I'm appreciative of my parent's. My parent's are still running after thirty years of marriage.
Before the race I was having anxiety with thoughts of, 'what if I can't finish it?', 'what if I faint and pass out on the track?' But the time came when the whistle blew and I was off. I was determined to finish the race eventhough it was apparent to me in around the second lap that I wasn't as conditioned as the forerunners. 'Just finish Austin and don't stop' was what ran through my head over and over as if I was my own physical drill sargeant. In the end I did finish without stopping and ahead of the other runner from my school, which was a motivating factor, for he was one of the more popular kids in the class but I was never impressed with anything he ever did. He did stuff like let a mucousy goober dangle from his mouth and then suck it back in and repeat, real gross, but that was what got him attention then. That was his trick/shtick.
I remember at one point my fellow team member trying to get me to slow down or even stop because he was going to. He was trying to get me to laugh and lose air, attempting to bring me back to his speed. I told myself not to listen to him and concentrate on saving air and to move past him. I wanted to do better, be better than he. Looking back on this I am thankful that I kept on. There are alot of those instances when I look back at myself and am glad that I see who I was then and recognize that I was aiming to do well, to be a good person. I was raised on very high moral standards. Good manners. For that I'm appreciative of my parent's. My parent's are still running after thirty years of marriage.
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
I'm going to be rich
Was walking during lunch break after picking up a tuna roll and seaweed salad when I decided to cross the street. Just then a beggar comes strolling behind and kindly starts talking about how he is diabetic and needs money for whatever...anyway he got me to offer up some change cause I've been feeling like 'why not' help a human out even if their story doesn't make much sense. So I grabbed out a couple quarters and a nickel and think, 'damn, why couldn't I have brought out the pennies?! That way I would have at least looked I was trying to be generous but just didn't have much on me at the time. No, I bring out the quarters, the big ones.' Well I gave him one of the quarters and the nickel and kept the other quarter for myself saying, 'this one is for me', and then I looked at the quarter, then at him, and he was already one to his next victim.
When I walked up the stairs to my apartment I saw the book that I ordered had come in! Prometheus Rising by Robert Anton Wilson. Started reading the first chapter and at the end of the chapter is a exercize for the reader to participate in. The exercize is to visualize a quarter and then imagine seeing that quarter on the street. Look for it where ever you walk. See how long it takes you to find it. The first time can be reduced to 'selective attention' meaning that there lots of quarters out there waiting to be picked up so it was just a matter of time till you found one. Try the exercise again this time believing you control the destiny and manifest the quarter into existence. See how long it takes you to find that quarter. This one is a practice in mind over matter, that minds creats everything. It goes on. One thing, a quarter is with me. Now to see if I can find one out there.
Exercize 2: I tried doing this in my living room with the lights turned off and no disturbances, trying to keep the mind focused on the questions posited by the exercise. I quickly lost track, hence me deciding to write it down in finite form so I can actually see where I would have gone.
Question and Answer : A Typewritten Meditation
The excerise is regimente of questions you are supposed to ask yourself in a natural way, a train of flowing thoughts. The first one goes..'I"m sitting in this room doing this exercise because...(my answer)I'm reading this book that is telling me to and I'm up for a game of participation. The more you put in the more you get out right? ~It asks to list as many 'causes' as you can think off. More would be because a friend of mine is reading it right now and I want to be able to have a conversation with her about it. It sounded very interesting to me when she was describing it and I wanted to know more. I've always wanted to read something by RAW and felt this was an opportune time to start. I've liked what he's had to say in videos I've seen him in. I'm in this room because it is the room I began reading the book in and it has a comfortable rug on the floor so I can sit my ass down on it and turn off the lights and feel undisturbed and isolated and quite. I want and am willing to play along with any suggestive game that offers the chance to help me explore my mind and potential.
Why did you buy this book? Because aforementioned friend was talking about it and I'd wanted to read Wilson for sometime, this seemed like the time.
Did somebody recommend it? Yes.
How did that person come into your life? Via the internet.
If you just picked the book up in a store, why did you happen to be in just that store on just that day? I ordered online so I wasn't in any store when I bought it. I do actually participate in tangible reality functions by the way.
Why do you read books of this sort-on psychology, consciousness, evolution, etc.? Because I have a very thirsty brain with a unquishable thirst for learning and growing as a human being. I feel it is a main point of being here on this planet in this body, to learn and exceed and go beyond my self-imposed boundaries, to surprise myself in going past those boundaries and finding new levels of consciousness. My most favorite people are people associated with these fields, it seems inevitable that I gravitate toward this arena?
How did you get interested in those fields? Probably started when I first began taking LSD back in early college.
Who turned you on, and how long ago? I turned myself on to that direction and I attribute it to a clear moment in time when I made the conscous effort to go out and buy a book pertaining to something having to do with consciousness expansion. I bought a book called 'human potential' by nevil drury. I bought it a merlin's book store in tampa florida. It was a symbolic turning point for me evolutionary speaking.
What factors in your childhood inclined you to be interested in these subjects later? My childhood was misplaced and bricked over by lots of repressed feelings and misguided belief systems. I can't immediately recognize how anything that happened during those years helped me toward this path other than in associating what it didnt' do to lead me toward this path. Everything I have become was begun consciously, during a self-recognized symbolic time, I conote to the age 20. Till then I had little to no original thoughts or self-identity. Minus a few significant exceptions.
Why are you doing this exercize in this room nad not elsewhere? THis room is available and comfortable and I can be here and not be disturbed.
Why did you buy or rent this house or apartment? A friend of mine said the landlord had a place available on the third floor, I took a look at it, it was in awful shape but I saw the potential in it. Fixed it up a bit and here I am. The deal offered was a steal for the amount of space I have. It was a good location for what I wanted at the time to. High commerce with lots of action around.
Why are you in this city and not another? I came here to study at pafa and decided to stay becasue of the friends I built up and I began to like the city for what it was in relation to the rest of the options I saw in America. I was here. I had no other reason to go anywhere else.
Why on this continent and not another? good question. I'm not entirely sure about that one? America, despite alot of its political blemishes ,is still the easiest place for a english speaking american to get around.
Why are you here at all-that is, how did you parents meet? On a blind date from how the story goes.
Did they consciously decide to have a child, do you happen to know, or were you an accident? My parents have never come out and said, 'son you were an accident' but it was implied that I was a surprise.
What cities were they born in? Mom was born in Havana, Cuba and dad in durham ,north carolina.
If in different cities, why did they move in space-time so that their paths would intersect? That is a very interesting line to follow, the short of it is, my mom lived in Cuba at the beginning of Castro's occupation. It was either give up your freedom and everything you own to me or nothing else. They choose to flee the country and headed for America, ending up in Georgia I believe. Later in Miami, meeting up with other family there. Her father, along with his two brothers eventually set up a brick manufacturing company, which is what they had been doing in Cuba), in Plant City florida, don't know why? My father came down there to work with the city I believe? After living in North Carolina all his life.
Why is this planet capable of supporting life, and why did it produce the kind of life that would dream up an exercise of this sort? Because of nutrients and oxygen and photosynthesis, and water, and a whole mess of other things. To the second part...because we haven't evolved our third eyes yet.
Sunday, February 18, 2007
A Bird Story
Descending one thousand feet per second the jocund bird dove into the metallic pond with its beak penetrating the water like a knife, piercing the bouyant surface. As it went underneath the liquid layer, the bird was revealed a new and frightening vision of what laid beneath for it saw all of its past kind deceased or bleeding from fresh wounds, some twitching in lingering agony till it finally died. The sight was a terror to behold for certain and the wide-eyed bird began screaming to go home. Suddenly a voice from beyond shadows that the bird could not see spoke, 'You are home frigthened one. But why are you afraid? This is purely reality revealed, all realities at once to be exact. You just happen to be concentrated on the death aspect, you are not allowing yourself to look through to the rest.' The shocked bird, practically about to faint from disbelief, shrugged depressingly and mumbled, barely audible, 'Who are you? What do you mean?' The voice from beyond the shadows showed its appearance, coming from beyond a jutting tree stump and said, 'Who I am matters not. I am merely here to help you. You should not fear me. What I meant by what I said was exactly what I meant to say by what I said. Perhaps if I turned out the lights for you, then you could see more clearly what is really here instead of only what appears before you.' So the voice, which had no appearance other than a shifting aura that could only be partially seen when in front of physical things, turned out the lights. Suddenly the bird who before was ever so terrified by the paralyzing horrors which it saw, became exalted with feelings of kaleidoscopic harmony and bliss. Yet the dead birds surrounding it were still present and visible. What had been altered were the emancipations of swirling vibrations of heightened color and miraculous blossomings of vegetation, infinite in landscape. The illumined bird began weeping instanteously from joy.
Saturday, February 17, 2007
A Place Called Home
'Where's heaven mommy?' inquired daughter.
'Heaven is a made-up place some people say we go to when we die dear. Do you know what dying is?' responded mother.
'My teacher told me when we die we go to sleep for a really long time and if we're good we get to eat all the cookies we want.' the daughter replied.
'I'm going to have to have a talk with that teacher' mumbled mother under her breathe. 'Well that's not entirely true my love. When we die we don't really know what happens to us. Some people are scared by that so they make up situations that they feel comfortable with so they don't have to think about it as much. No one really knows, and you don't have to be afraid of death either. Just because you may not know what happens after something does not mean you have to fear it. As a matter of fact you can enjoy living more because this is what you do have and here we are together right now and we can go ice skating if you want to!
'Yeah!' exclaimed daughter with upmost enthusiasm.
'Meet by the stairs! Race you!'
'Heaven is a made-up place some people say we go to when we die dear. Do you know what dying is?' responded mother.
'My teacher told me when we die we go to sleep for a really long time and if we're good we get to eat all the cookies we want.' the daughter replied.
'I'm going to have to have a talk with that teacher' mumbled mother under her breathe. 'Well that's not entirely true my love. When we die we don't really know what happens to us. Some people are scared by that so they make up situations that they feel comfortable with so they don't have to think about it as much. No one really knows, and you don't have to be afraid of death either. Just because you may not know what happens after something does not mean you have to fear it. As a matter of fact you can enjoy living more because this is what you do have and here we are together right now and we can go ice skating if you want to!
'Yeah!' exclaimed daughter with upmost enthusiasm.
'Meet by the stairs! Race you!'
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Eating flesh and drinking blood is getting disgusting lately. Too real. Identifiable. I've become so humanized. I used to be able to devour whole bodies no problem. Example : I was just flossing my teeth and on my right index finger I have a small paper cut. I got faint when the open wound mixed plasma with saliva. God forbid I'm turning human.
Saturday, February 10, 2007
All purpose, do-it-all, everything dust
While visiting a Cracker Barrel during my last pit stop I had the time to wander through their sell racks of nick-nacks and crafty things, in doing so came upon a turnstile dispenser of books from the various uses of ketchup, to ol' 50's picture books of idealism. There was one I choose to look through pertaining to the prolific variety of uses of Baking Soda. Just a couple days previous my mother was telling me about washing out stains with this incredible powder, up till then I had only associated it with baking filling cakes and such, never realizing its potential was so much more vast. In this book there listed remedies to alleviate unwanted bad breath, rust removal for sinks, alternative homemade toothpastes, detergents, floor cleaners...I was convinced I'd missed the bus on this one. This was the most versatile ingredient ever! Since then I've been carring at least three boxes for ready disposal onto any substance that has leaked, spilled, stunk, corroded, or burned. Here just take a look at their website and find what you can use it for in your own family, house, and body. http://www.armhammer.com/
With all this solicitation and jump heartiness toward this product my rationale just interrupted my over joyous enthusiasm with whispers of 'what if's', and 'proper testing' pessimism's, but then I rebut the distruster's with history, its been around awhile, surely some scientist would have come up with evidence saying this wasn't good for us to ingest when it can also be used to shine silverware. Keep bringing the hammer down.
With all this solicitation and jump heartiness toward this product my rationale just interrupted my over joyous enthusiasm with whispers of 'what if's', and 'proper testing' pessimism's, but then I rebut the distruster's with history, its been around awhile, surely some scientist would have come up with evidence saying this wasn't good for us to ingest when it can also be used to shine silverware. Keep bringing the hammer down.
Monday, February 05, 2007
Man dies while littering
A man deliberately dropped a empty pack of batteries on the ground today and didn't pick it up. Then he walked into the middle of the street almost getting hit by a car as he crossed, without looking.
Now, a list of virtual scenario's that I wished had happened based on delayed thinking in a moment of disbelief :
After the rude and inconsiderate man toward nature and the surrounding environment which he has forgotten that he shares with other people drops the empty pack of batteries on the side of the street I say, 'excuse me, you dropped this.', lifting the discarded trash to him. At this point several things could have happened :
1. he ignores me and walks into the street and gets hit by the car.
2. he is embarrassed and takes it back and throws it into a nearby garbage can, looks onto oncoming traffic and does not attempt to run across the street but rather calmly and patiently rests until the green light is on his side.
3. he takes the trash I give him and throws it back on the ground, walks into the street and gets hit by the car.
Now, a list of virtual scenario's that I wished had happened based on delayed thinking in a moment of disbelief :
After the rude and inconsiderate man toward nature and the surrounding environment which he has forgotten that he shares with other people drops the empty pack of batteries on the side of the street I say, 'excuse me, you dropped this.', lifting the discarded trash to him. At this point several things could have happened :
1. he ignores me and walks into the street and gets hit by the car.
2. he is embarrassed and takes it back and throws it into a nearby garbage can, looks onto oncoming traffic and does not attempt to run across the street but rather calmly and patiently rests until the green light is on his side.
3. he takes the trash I give him and throws it back on the ground, walks into the street and gets hit by the car.
Sunday, February 04, 2007
The ugliest truths are the most rewarding
It's hard to swallow that you did mess up. That you stumbled on the plank and went overboard, making your exit the inarticulate way. But the barer of light and truth often carries a subtle knife and sticks it in your gut even when you know it's coming. The question that bleeds from you afterward is the crucial deciding element that you are left with in order to learn something about yourself.
Monday, January 29, 2007
Dinner at the Moore's
One unassuming evening at the dinner table of the Moore's an unfortunate event took place. The newlywed family of Mr. and Mrs. Moore along with their four year old son Jerry were sitting down with a lovingly prepared meal by Mrs. Moore. Mrs. Moore graciously dismissed herself from the table to use the restroom shortly after sitting down with her family. Mr. Moore and his son talked about their days at school and work. Little Jerry said his drawing was selected in art class by his peers as the picture they wanted to use for this year's yearbook cover. He was so thrilled and elated about it. His father was very satisfied with his sons talent and congratulated him on that honor. Mr. Moore had also received some good news at the office that he was waiting for his wife to return to tell the family at once.
About fifteen minutes had passed and mother still had not returned to the dinner table so Little Jerry asked his father where mommy was? Mr. Moore said she should be back by now so he sent Jerry up to go check on her. Jerry quietly removed his napkin from his collar and set it down on the linen table to go look for his mother. He jumped up the wooden staircase leading to their bathroom where he thought mommy was going to be. Only when he knocked on the door there was no answer. Little Jerry after knocking again felt the door nudge open so he presumed to look in. When Little Jerry peeked into the bathroom he saw a sight he could not fathom, mommy was laying on the floor with her pants down around her ankles and not moving. Jerry went to help mommy up for he thought she had just fallen but when he tried to help her and call out her name she would not budge. Jerry became very frightened and called out for daddy. Mr. Moore came in a rush to find his beloved wife along with his young son lying on the ground. Mrs. Moore had suffered a fatal heart attack while his son simply said, 'mommy won't wake up daddy'.
About fifteen minutes had passed and mother still had not returned to the dinner table so Little Jerry asked his father where mommy was? Mr. Moore said she should be back by now so he sent Jerry up to go check on her. Jerry quietly removed his napkin from his collar and set it down on the linen table to go look for his mother. He jumped up the wooden staircase leading to their bathroom where he thought mommy was going to be. Only when he knocked on the door there was no answer. Little Jerry after knocking again felt the door nudge open so he presumed to look in. When Little Jerry peeked into the bathroom he saw a sight he could not fathom, mommy was laying on the floor with her pants down around her ankles and not moving. Jerry went to help mommy up for he thought she had just fallen but when he tried to help her and call out her name she would not budge. Jerry became very frightened and called out for daddy. Mr. Moore came in a rush to find his beloved wife along with his young son lying on the ground. Mrs. Moore had suffered a fatal heart attack while his son simply said, 'mommy won't wake up daddy'.
Monday, January 22, 2007
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