In class we were asked to represent our work in art at present with where we'd like to be. I thought I was Garfield with an aim to be Hockney.
Monday, August 18, 2014
I have a host of muddling posts that I wrote this summer that I hope to share.
Why did I just drink a big thing of gin Near-fatal last words. I was in bed by ten, full of despair. Summer muddle. The things that used to work for me, or get me through, no longer work. Mostly what I am saying is my wonderful ability to laze about and contemplate the beauty of the world that has lately just imposed numerous grim realities upon me, which suggests that I need to modify my philosophy.
No explanation as to why I feel so goddamned great today. I’m writing with clarity and more purpose than I have in a week. Keep it up.
Friday, July 18, 2014
Monday, July 07, 2014
Plum-pudding is the term bestowed upon certain fragmentary parts of the whale’s flesh, here and there adhering to the blanket of blubber, and often participating to a considerable degree in its unctuousness. It is most refreshing, convivial, beautiful object to behold. As its name imports, it is of an exceedingly rich, mottled tint, with a bestreaked snowy and golden ground, dotted with spots of deepest crimson and purple. It is plums of rubies, pictures of citron. Spite of reason, it is hard to keep yourself from eating it. I confess, that I once stole behind the foremast to try to eat it. It tasted something as I should conceive a royal cutlet from the thigh of Louis le Gros might have tasted, supposing him to have been killed the first day after the venison season, and that particular venison season contemporary with an unusually fine vintage of the vineyards of Champagne.
— Herman Melville
Friday, June 27, 2014
Dad's great, called him up sitting on the porch with news, while the cat ate the grass that makes her throw up. She probably knows this and does it anyway, just like there are things that we do that we know we shouldn't, but we do them anyway. Anyway, Dad said he saw little Mike for the second time in a week at another golf course and I said dad little Mike already texted me about seeing you and I told him to stop stalking you. Meanwhile the cat was producing otherworldly squalls. Ultimately she puked next to the rhododendron bushes.
— Guess what dad? A hummingbird flew up to the hanging plant and then buzzed around to a pot plant that was resting on the rail for some nectar. Then after that...do you know that shirt I have with the dragons on it?
— I think so, he said.
— The hummingbird flew into it and tried to extract nectar from the yellow tails of the blue dragons.
— I'll be damned.
— I could feel their wings buzzing against my tumescent bicep. I was worried that their beak would stab me.
— On no they wouldn't harm you. I feel their wings on my face when I'm out near the feeder.
|I later sang Fred Neil to Tim with some weeds|
I told dad about my secret mission. I was going to Centralia, the Milledgeville of Washington state in that it was central. Mcmenamins refurbished a prohibition-era hotel there and I was going there on a secret mission that was secret insofar as I hadn't told anyone barring a few here and there (one contact in Australia). Mcmenamins are great with their lamps (see above). He said he wouldn't tell anyone. I said you'll tell your wife! And he said no I won't. I said you mustn't. He said she's taken Shari's twins to get physicals.
— Do you remember when I got my physical, dad?
— The doctor who wanted to check the curvature of my spine?
— What about him?
— He made me undress and walk back and forth for him in a straight line. He gave me a proctology exam and his wife had their living room in Better Homes and Gardens.
— Oh geeze.
|my enhancing view|
Saturday, June 14, 2014
I didn't expect Prairie Wind to leave so soon, but i said a lot of things I instantly regretted like associating drinking with biting my nails. She asked to see my nails and they really are the worst and if the state of them could be associated with drinkers it's some ugly stuff like Charles Bukowski who is terribly unattractive but very brilliant in the mind, something my hands are unable to fall back on.
Made a cheese plate that was met with a shrug. Dried fruit was on special at Safeway and in retrospect I know why. The pineapple chunks were okay, but the other container I picked up I thought was ginger slices, it was cantaloupe and a cantaloupe so sugary I nearly had an anxiety episode inside Little Axe records today looking for a present for matt Neff whose fortieth it is tomorrow. Why I chose to eat more of them after last night I do not know.
Guess the reason I am so effusive is I picked up Fred neil's first album for $7. I asked the proprietor of Little Axe how come so cheap and he said oops, deal of the century. I'm listening to it now and some albums are so strikingly poignant on an overcast summer's Friday when you don't work again until Sunday and you still feel lonely except you have Fred Neil's song and Abby's talking about you, but you can't hear a word she's saying...BA-DI-DA I texted Prairie Wind this morning. She's in town all weekend and I made a joke about how I should have made a to-go box of cantaloupe slices for her. She has yet to text me back and it's now hours later. Ba-di-da
I was sitting in Tim's front room reading Bartleby and Co. by Enrique Vila-Matas, who had this to say about Herman Melville:
He was never one to go to Church, but we know that during his years as a recluse he would approach his window and watch those making their way to church, and his look is said to have contained the brief history of the Dark Side in the Art of the NoAt the same time I was reading, Tim made a follow-up phone call to a concerned client of the appliance service company he works for. So while Tim said: "Hi MIndy... "I was also reading about Melville doing that. No relation apart from those two things happening at that given moment in 2014. Below is what Tim said to Mindy in full.
I got your message about your squeaker. The thing about squeaking dryers is this: they aren't terribly dangerous, but they can be...(repeating what she said) obnoxious, that's right. If you can get the serial number off the back of the door, I can drop by with some parts...,"
Friday, June 06, 2014
wisht I had a photo to remember the new trade I just learnt. Goes by the name grout. my hands hurt. Mayb its grout. Can you get gout from grout? I'm watching tim's cat bathe herself. She's orange and likes her belly tickled so she can bite me. If I could feel my hand itd probably hurt. Funny she runs out of the bathroom when I shower. This happened another time at least once a day. But she never seen me naked, wouldn't care if she did. I used to care when pets see me naked, but either I or they got used to it and now it's no biggie. Remember that humanity began facing your pet with utter nakedness (derrida). I'll post a photo on another occasion of his animal, but for now here's two people who, let's face it, have a considerable claim on my well-being. Actually it's a photo of a hotel room at the hotel that I work at.