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.
Sunday, May 20, 2007
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.
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