anyone up for bloody tuesday? warning:psycho post surgeon general says you may not give a shit

i can almost see into the little world of mediocrity. the matching dollhouses with their tiny little people. they go to church on sunday, although the matter of faith is an abstract topic better left to poets, artists, philosophers, or, or, or, well polititians. they file into buildings that look similar to their own generic dwellings. steeples were hinted at, but remain truncated versions at some sort of lost illusion of meaning. oh the height is there. it's there in such exagerated form that it's almost the penis car ferrari of the sevety year old man cruising down main street with his three hairs flying chaotically in the frantic wind. can you hear it? "please! i'm still alive! somebody give a shit!" it's an image of emptiness symbolizing a fullfillment of longing that none of these little people know how to start the search for. some of them rebel. oh they have the matching doll houses, but something is different. they recognize the danger and seek to be invisible from it's perceived powers. the product is a life so guarded that it might as well be the same as the cardboard cutout copies that occupy the rest of reality. what is it they fear, you ask? certainly not the tame mother fo's in their truncated steeples. okay, i admit. i have no idea where i'm going here. but i'm certainly not trying to impress anyone with a literary work, so gimme a break.

it's just that i'm sitting here in my newly claimed lair. ( i have decided to smoke here agian: that means i spend time in here instead of sy's office, a definite improvement) i have a one inch plastic baggie of garrish sequins on my desk. i have my japanese beer can full of paintbrushes. i have a second hand ford poka-dotted bandana that i blow my nose in. i have colorado camp escapee's skull insence burner(note various ashes: lack of incense dust) . my desk is at least twenty seven distinct colors of paint, not to mention the added on random glued items. these are the things i need to meditate on when i look at the observations above. the concept of doing more makes me feel for a moment that perhaps i can obtain that sort of seperateness i long for.... but i know that this is a device... productivity will not make me happy. ultimate productivity equals zombie. not that i am in any trouble of being productive. i still spend many hours slacking... don't i? i better ponder that question as i search for another drink.

no not the oatmeal stout after white wine. ugh. better open the other bottle of white wine. where the hell else can you go after you've set foot on that road? am i content? will i ever be? the scarier question.. no, probably not. but there are the varying degrees. it's just a bit tought when you don't make supreme deity of the unverse. the consolation prizes pale in compare. those little people would not be on my list of who to thank. i know that much.

new conspiracy! humans are being bred into organic robots! the constant need to refuel, the lack of worth unless contributing constantly (to what?) the signs are all there. yeah, so i'm full of it? you wanna take it outside? i bet my arms are twice the size of yours... i dare you. one to the smoocher!

alice in wonderland

The rabbit hole seemed so nice at first. What they don't mention is that I didn't really fall. I went in quite on purpose. It was bright and cheerful. There were lights and people laughing in the distance. I had a good time I think until I did plunge into the darkness. Then I found out that wonderland has teeth. It's so fucking true man.

nothing better to do

well it seems that most everyone has abandoned the blogging world for the time being. i can only suppose that this means you all have better things to do. i'm glad for you, but you will have to keep me posted ('scuse the pun) on these fascinating events from time to time.

i have nothing better to do. i have many things worse to do, but they don't count. so i have river sitting on the couch, watching star wars for the upteenth time, and munching salt and vinegar chips. what a great mom i am. at least i let him help me fix my bicycle today. he played with the old tubes and rolled the tires around the yard while i replaced said objects with new. i think i got a bit suckered by the guy at the bike store. i bought the "thorn resistant" tires. they cost a ridiculous amount of money. but i'm sure you can imagine how common flat tires are due to thorns in the desert, where every plant has evolved for centuries, millenia, for the sole purpose of puncturing my bike tires every other day. if i get a flat within the next month, i'm going to go down to the shop with a mesquite branch (picture two inch long, unbreakably strong thorns) and throttle the dude with it.

so i now feel like i've accomplished something today. i also bought river a kick ass aligator sleeping bag and some dinosaur golashes... not to mention the little spade and rake for the new sandbox... the sleeping bag is an idea i stole from my parents during my childhood days. when we couldn't sleep in our own rooms we would sleep on the floor in theirs' in our special sleeping bags. i haven't gotten much sleep lately due to river climbing into bed everynight and stealing all the covers and square footage. little brat. hopefully the sleeping bag will work... although he'll have to fight with the dogs for floor space.

i'm drinking dead guy ale and thinking about homework. i really want to go out and play a game of pool tonight. i feel entitled. plus, i just got paid. nevermind the fact that i spent over half my paycheck on afore mentioned items... holy shit, what the hell am i supposed to do? turn into martha stewart? i just gotta be me.

culture is the culprit

My next writing assignment is an essay about gender roles and the issue of nature vs. nurture. I am of the opinion that biology plays a lesser part than social training. Culture is the culprit. The differences in "proper" behavior of boys and girls are beaten into our brains from day one. Having been raised in a wanna be counter-culture area, the effects of this typical brainwashing are diminished and give me a perspective on pop culture that is less than flattering. There are so many ridiculous habits and trends that the sexes subject themselves to. After uprooting myself from the wanna be counter culture area, the subliminal social pressures have influenced me beyond my liking. I still cling to my beliefs that most of it is all a bunch of bullshit. I am annoyed and embarrassed by the habits of dress and behavior of most of the female sex. I laugh at the struggle of males to fit into the macho modern man mold. I certainly don't propose that there should be some mono-gender equalizer, but to have everyone bending over backwards to conform to ideas of boys and girls that are portrayed in the media and passed down through cultural traditions seems pretty fucked up. Gender identity should be a self developed thing. Instead we have a bunch of fake plastic people. With women, the drive behind the brainwashing is an effort to keep us giving a fuck what the men think about us, therefore emphasing a superiority of them in our own minds. With men, long standing homophobia is the reason behind the push. These are simplistic ideas of course. I'm just brainstorming the brainwashing. Any thoughts/stories/references on the subject are welcome...

halfway wholesome

it was almost six am and the house was growing from dark to dim. i had that morning insomnia that sometimes haunts me after a night of too much drink. this was worsened by the fact that i knew i had only an hour to sleep, and it was slowly dwindling away like a last paycheck from a quit job. so i did the only thing i could do. i pulled out the skillet and made six slices of turkey bacon and two fried eggs, dripping in poblano sauce. eating at six is always hard, but experience proves extra greasy food is the best thing to soak up a drowned stomach. and of course a few cups of coffee goes a long way. this ability to eat and drink coffee rates a level one hangover. level two is food but tea instead of coffee. level three is only tea, level four is only water... and we all have survived a level five at some point, so i won't elaborate. drinking coffee, eating a fourth slice of bacon and driving with my elbows and knees to homedepot at seven thirty, i expected to have find the place transformed at such a novelty hour. but i was a bit disappointed. i found a few bottles of propane to make smores on my campstove for girl scouts. the solar guy (not sy) says the best way to make it rain in the desert is to have a solar demonstration. luckily the panel hooked up to his radio was getting enough light through the drizzle and clouds to play oldies as we sipped coffee in the rain. no girls scouts ventured to our outside booth for the first half of the day. so i got an in depth discription of how to build a solar oven. plus plenty of time to talk about doing donuts in snow on motorcycles and living under bridges and explosives you could buy in the sixties...the usual standard conversation. the sun came out for the last hour and we made disgusting looking smores with those horrid multi colored mini marshmellows and hershey's with almonds. solar guy explained that the grocery store he went to didn't have much of a selection. i kind of doubted that any store could be so ill supplied, but let it slide. even a minor level one hangover prevented me from any inclination to sample the treats that the girls ate. anyway, i feel that i've gotten off pretty easy today. insta-kharma for volunteering, i suppose. my drunk dialing of last night was harmless, though amusing i'm sure, my hangover mild, and tomorrow is sunday. i plan on sleeping past eight and waking up to coffee in bed and a nice cooked breakfast.

hoochie mama

I've been contemplating my kick ass treehouse that I'm going to build. I am gathering little tips and I came across this hoochie-mama tree lady: http://www.tropical-treehouse.com/hoochinterview.html kind of entertaining. I don't really plan on building a hooch myself, but I think I'll incorporate some of her strategies into my design, such as cables and outward angled timbers for a reduction of impact from the elements. I'll have a solar light, of course. I really dig the chimenea idea, too. But I probably don't really need one up there. Shit. I wish I could start building right now. I'm going to draw up some "plans" . I'll post them shortly.

pinching cabages

As kid, I always hated St. Patrick's Day. There was no candy, no presents, and if you didn't keep track of dates, as I have always neglected to do, you got pinched ferociously all day long for an absence of green atire. Today I still feel a sort of distance from the holiday since I have about two drops of Irish blood in me, and much less Christian. And did I mention I don't eat corned beef? And cabage is for eating only in times of extreme starvation. But at least I get the real point of the holiday: drinking. And the only person who pinches me, regardless of how much green I'm wearing, is Sy's grandmother, who I manage to avoid on this particular day. I feel like I could almost get into the spirit of St. Patty's Day this year. Perhaps if I were Peter Rabbit in Mr. McGregor's garden, pinching cabages and drinking whisky from his secret stash in the garden shed, then I'd paint myself Irish and go in search of nymphoid bunnies to kiss. As it is, I'm drinking pineapple juice and coconut rum, contemplating the point of died green carnations and waiting for the whole thing to blow over.

drinking with mormon junkies

today i got drunk around mormons and later, got hit on by a junkie. a very productive day. took off after dinner to go to the solar potluck meeting and show my t-shirt design. drank coffee and talked about solar and biodiesel and left the casbah to find my front tire flat again. so i made up a flat tire blues song and walked over to m&m's place to use their pump. got home to find the boys asleep on the couch. i stood looking out of river's window, admiring the new table i built for the patio out of cinderblocks, misc. bricks, and scape marble. just as i was peering around the crack in the window, fireworks erupted from the ballpark across town. from where we live, we can see two ballparks fireworks, the university fireworks, and the fireworks they set off on "a" mountain. i really need to put some chairs on my roof and have the kickin it spectators seat. i find it funny that the driest town sets off as many fireworks as they. but i love 'em. holy shit, i've done so much crap lately that i think it almost makes up for every hungover day in my past when i didn't leave the house, or do anything in the house but contemplate weather clothes, food, cigarettes, or even water would make me sick. somehow i ended up voluteering to make smores in a solar oven for girl scouts on saturday morning. i think it was the "get girls into science and math" thing that inspired me. this will be the first time ever that i've had anything to do with scouts. aparently i get a patch that says "smart" on it. science math and who knows what the fuck else it stands for. guess i'll find out bright and early saturday. the junkie was telling me how he likes to volunteer to do good deeds.... and something about feeding the homeless at his church. my god, this is a boring post... but what the fuck? i'm bored. i admit it. and i've already done to much today to contemplate further activity. sianara.

heros of the day

my dogs kick ass. apparently they scared away the power guy so he couldn't disconnect our electricity today. my man forgot to pay the bill... for a couple months i guess. i got home just as the power dude was driving off and found a note on the gate. i got it paid just in time for them to call the dispatcher and tell the other crew not to come and shut it off at the pole. hurray for barking canines. they're getting a big bone each tonight.

i love my overalls

smoking and drinking and smoking and playing guitar and drinking...i think i found some new stuff, but i have already forgotten it. i need an audience. just a few people sitting around talking and smoking and drinking too. but listening and liking it. playing alone gets old. i worked hard this weekend in the yard. where is everybody? it's quiet and no soul to paint wierd shit with me on my wall or play guitar for, only some distant sounds down the alley. my man is watching tv... or sleeping in front of it. but i want different company anyway. why must i always go in search of adventure. won't it come to me for once?

A little nudge in the right direction. 

He's got a lot to learn. The important things in life. Be as high as possible without flipping. 

So I made a scarecrow today. Gotta find an old straw hat... although if I can find my blue and black stiped cowboy hat, that'd be even better. 

"Help! I have no legs!" 

shiny black fbi boots

the only worthwhile thing i did today: shine my boots and thread in new laces. this must be equivalent to going to a spa and getting an overhaul, not that i would know. but stepping out in shiny boots with brand new laces gives you a certain feeling of, well, i guess confidence, but more. so i guess i coulda quit there, but i rode to school and dragged the shiny toes from one building to another and then over to m&m's place to drink beer in honor of the official start of spring break. there's something sacred in those hours when life's biggest predicament consists of weather to drink the slighter warmer, better beer, or the colder beer that you don't like as much. naturally i just drank both. there's a party going on over the fence now. if my teeth didn't already feel sort of like fake steel implants i might wander down the alley and join in. instead i think i'll spy for awhile and listen. i went without coffee today in some sort of misguided purist impulse. i wasn't even the slightest hungover this morning. i think the creases in my brow are having more effect on me than i'd care to admit. i start thinking i should quit smoking and drinking so much... beer caffeine and the like. but my senses return as my brain wakes up a bit. i'm pretty damn happy with myself and all of my vices. and i have shiny black boots to kick up. i heard a song that made me cry happy tears last night. i had it stuck in my head a week ago, for no reason. i couldn't remember all the words. but last night i was watching a kind of crappy movie and they had the song on there. i had to go back and listen to it. i love it when songs do that.

washed out

watching the watercolors melt
into each other,
splendid splatters of dreams in motion;
seperate, brilliant, perfect, until the mix.
blurred in a sea of brown
diluted and drowned;
salvaging the picture,
pretending the intention
of a particular masterpiece
wrung out.

the creases are the best part.
the white pure love-lines,
the mistakes of inheritance,
faults of an earthquake past.
you can almost see the lines of strangulation.

yet as the water evaporates
and returns to the vapor from whence it birthed,
the memory of a shade of blue and green and red return.
faded and ugly in comparison to that encompasing brilliance,
the first kiss of color to canvas,
it dries like blood.

and in the cracks, what was before is still visible between the washed out wounds.

a thing of beauty... it will be mine, oh yes

an thing of beauty

How to build a fort from a futon... 

As Seen on TV

Well, oviously I've figured out how to post pics again. It's all thanks to anatomist and her pop. I needed to show him a painting for a prospective belt buckle. Yeah, so all sorts of crazy pics and drawings will soon be seen once again here on my little dead end street of the internet super highway. You've been warned.

a drunken comic 

A painting I did... 

goals or some shit

after i spilled a bit of wine and filled my glass again, the recycling bin was too full to stuff an empty bottle into. so i make my way past the newly painted front door, into the driveway and dump the refuse, mostly bottles, but a few cans, proof that i do consume other things besides alcohol on occasion, dump it all into the huge garbage bin sized recycling container. as i finish dumping with the smash and clash that sounds like a hitching yard with glass freight cars, i turn around and see the mailbox, in its delapitaded state, brimming full of all sorts of junk. fishing amongst the junkmail i find THE fat letter from the university. this kind of excites me, so i skip inside and rip it open. the front letter says you've been accepted blah blah blah... into the honors program of the school of architecture. shit. i didn't think i'd make honors before i even set foot in the department. hell yeah. i see scholarships in my future, i hope... anyway, i figure this is cause for celebration. it looks like i got my toe in the door of some sort of career that i actually want to do. so i peel open another bottle of wine and call my mom... for some reason i always need to call my mom and let her know about every little thing i do great these days... sort of a compensation for (more like a SEE I REALLY AM NOT A LOSER) all my past degeneracy. of course, while i'm in the middle of my conversation i say "hold on a second. i've got a pooping emergency." followed quickly by, "river's not mine." as if that wasn't obvious. but i digress... the point is, i rock. and it's damn good to have some proof of this fact for once.

ovaltine and meth milkshakes

portishead glory box, 11pm sy's office... smoking and drinking ovaltine. somehow i still feel wholesome smoking if i drink ovaltine. played guitar, drew with sidewalk chalk, drank beer for an hour after school while the kids played in the dirt among the cigarette butts and cacti over at the m&m house. there are actually three m's there now that the kid has entered the situation... but it's still the m&m house. m and i talked about jumping off roofs on meth, one of the older m's that is. the medicine man upstairs told me about harvesting corn pollen for ritual drawings and about peyote. he lets me play his guitar and plays with river while i drink beer. saw a girl on the stairs in front of me at school. she was wearing white capris (i abhor capris and i think white is a stupid color for pants) her ass was at eye level as i assended the steps and across was the word pink, written in pink of course. the stupidity of this bothered me enough that i'm still thinking about it. shit. rode home and sy had ordered chinese takeout. i don't really like chinese take out, chinese food is better homemade. but shit, i'm not gonna complain about eome guy showing up at the door with food in little boxes and fortune cookies. i just opened my fortune. "ideas are like children: there are none so wonderful as your own" i think this is either a horrible insult to my masterming, or that whoever writes these fortunes has never met river.

toothbrush revelations

in my bathroom staring at silkscreen print, my mind drifts to my dad's studio. the picture wasn't one of his, it's one by a friend of his. but i remember going in and asking my dad for one of his paintings to hang in our new house. he climbed up into the rafters and pulled out tons of portfolios and let me have everything i wanted. i was pretty surprised cause i'd asked him for paintings before to no avail. but this time he was extremely generous. i didn't realize that sy had just asked my dad for permission to marry me. yeah. so i'm thinking about this as i'm brushing my teeth. how ridiculous the whole thing is, seeing as i already had his kid and everything. not to mention the antiquity of the tradition. i then i start to really apreciate the way he puts up with my family. i guess my dad got out the mustard jar that he keeps his holy oil in and put a cross on sy's head and blessed him and who knows what else. i always dreaded when my dad got out the "holy slime" as i came to think of the blessed olive oil. my only thoughts as some blessing was muttered and a cross painted on my forehead was "great now i'm going to have holy zits on my face in the shape of a cross." my parents religion really mortified me as a child. i found it all incredibly embarrissing. but these days i find it funny. not that i want to be slimed with holy juice. i'm no magdelene. they've really mellowed in the past years, well my mom at least. she's becoming more agnostic i think. but not pop. i can just picture sy with his pentacle hanging around his neck being slimed by my dad. it makes me love him a little more i think.

every shade but blue

someone gave me a windchime for a wedding gift. it's supposed to me toaist notes, or something. it sounds like a melancholy music box wound up by some demented and unpredictable forces. the voices of sirens who have no men to taunt. needless to say, i dig it. it's moaning away in the gentle breeze. the kid is out in the sandbox. the dogs are put in charge of watching him for the time being. got a call from a friend in the bighouse. said i'd write a letter to the judge. said he could tell his parole officer that he'd stay with me for a bit. i don't really want a live in guest right now... at least not a male one... but you know... if you can help a friend get a friend a get out of jail free card, you just gotta do it. i'd hope for the same. ...longing for girls to sit around and play golden apple fiddles with and drink merciless bloody maries. still having musicians block. i think this is entirely the fault of school and too much time in the city. i am counting on a little more booze to loosen my fingers, my voice, and my inhibitions.... do i have any of those i wonder?