Shiva becoming Tezcatlipoca in Zepolotl

In that time, two deities were inhabiting the one body.  Shiva had traveled to Zepolotl where he met the disembodied spirit of Tezcatlipoca, the Smoking Mirror.  This was sometime during the 50th or 60th cycle of creation, when hot dogs had not yet been discovered, so all they had to eat was people and fruit.  The day that this was painted, Shiva was the surface deity but Tezcatlipoca was beginning to exert himself.  The time was around noon, and he hoped he would be in time to see the great Iguana sunning itself.  August was near.

Another Movie or Two I’d Like to See

How about a movie about new recruits training to be Imperial Warriors in the Star Wars universe?  The rebels are terrorists, the Empire is largely stable but beset by beggar warriors who want to bring it down, nearly a million people are killed when a rebel force destroys an orbiting defense base (Deathstar).

How about a movie in which Nikola Tesla actually builds his free electricity generators and powers the entire world, while selling independent generators that absorb their energy from the sun, so that people can be autonomous from a central grid. These uniquely free people develop a society in which free enterprise is the rule, and collectivism is seen as an unnecessary and archaic idea, because people actually treat other people fairly. 

How about a movie where   God is actually a microorganism living in the Marianas Trench.  In a moment of revelation, a woman swimming is caught in a rip tide which takes her directly to the trench.  She finds herself alone on the ocean at night bourn up by highly saline seawater, surrounded by the microorganism God which is glowing faintly green due to electro-cellular excitation.  She is hit by a rogue wave, swallows a large mouthful of seawater infested with the God organisms and suddenly finds that she can hear their thoughts.

How about a movie about a janitor who not only is very good at his job, but loves it more than any other activity.  He has a nice home, and a stable family.  His kids want to go to college.

How about a movie where the goodguy is really a completely good guy, and he wins the day because he is good. 

How about a movie where drug overlords are depicted not as violent thugs, but as businessmen committed to the ideal of a free society where people are allowed to make their own choices about whether to use or not use drugs.   They use the legal system to successfully pass a law which allows this to happen.  After the legalization occurs they immediately funnel money into treatment and educational facilities for users, so that they can learn how to safely use the drugs without fear of addiction or arrest. 

How about a movie where a man owns a house.  The city he lives in decides it wants to put in a road which will cross over his property.  He doesn’t want the road on his land because it will interfere with the grazing of his cattle.  He explains his problem to the city council and they decide that the public interest includes this fellow too, and so they find an alternative route for their road.

How about a movie where two people with drastically different points of view come together to talk.  After each explains his POV, they discuss them in more detail, eventually agreeing that neither one’s world view actually excludes anything in the other.  In fact they find so much the same between the two templates that they learn to respect each other and each other’s beliefs. 

How about a movie about the turtle and the scorpion where the turtle carries the scorpion across a river.  When they get to the other side, the scorpion tells the turtle that although his nature dictates that he should now sting the turtle to death, he himself has risen above his nature to become something more than a scorpion.  The two go their separate ways, now lifelong friends.

How about a baseball movie where two rival teams (one male and one female) are embroiled in the game of a lifetime.  During the sixth inning, they are beset by a torrential downpour.  Rather than running inside to get out of the rain, they all take off their cloths and wallow in the red mud of the baseball diamond.  The bump in viewership is so huge that from then on, all sports events are replaced by events where mixed gender “teams” take off their clothes together and play like five year olds. 

How about a movie about a man and a woman that does not have any sexual innuendo at all?  They are good friends, and remain that way through out the movie.

In This World (a brief poem)

In this world or in the next one, I am undefined. On this river through this forest, my soul is fed. On this train, on this passage, there are strangers. In their bags in their pockets, there are answers. Ask your question plainly phrased I'll understand. Send the message to the widow, undismayed. Seek asylum in the pictures on the wall. Your berth is ready for you down the hall. You are always welcome stranger to my dream. Enter without trepidation or esteem. You can surface if you wish it is no trap to keep you here. Your presence here is not required I only desired when we've retired to sleep, to dream, to persevere. Have you any of your own? Pleasant dreams that you can share? I will follow if you allow it. Different dreams are like fresh air.

Eric Talerico, January 2011

Here’s a movie I’d like to see

I’ve always wanted to make movies.  My high school friends can attest to that – I worked hard on a few very strange pieces of film while in Heidelberg.  Since then, I’ve spent so much time watching movies that I think I’ve been inside of theaters for more time than in almost any other location (not including workplaces and homes.)  As an adult I still daydream about it.  Sometimes for example in conversation I’ll preface a comment by saying “Here’s a movie I’d like to see” and then I’ll move on to describe said film.
So:  Here is a movie I’d like to see.
It is the distant future. 
One man has discovered on the universal web that back in the days before computers became common, one w0man had built one in her garage.  This woman was taught by God how to make the computer, and when she was finished, she also made a tiny data storage device.  God then dictated a new testament to her, explaining all aspects of reality and reconciling science with religion.  In it, it is rumored, all contradictions are explained. 
The computer was destroyed by a government agency, who feared that this woman’s machine was a weapon.  One of the agents knew otherwise, having had a revelation of his own.  Acting on this, he warned the woman in advance of the ensuing raid.  As a result, she managed to escape before the raid, and the data storage device faded into ignominy.
The man who discovered the story begins to research  it further – and discovers, in an online photo album from the woman’s time, a picture of her.  Around her neck, she wears a pendant.  In the legend on the screen, it says that the pendant is an onyx, a gift from a friend, but the intrepid research scientist knows differently.  It is the data storage device. 
The rest of the movie would outline the researcher’s quest to find both the data storage device, and the story of what happened to the woman after she went underground.  The two stories are then presented in parallel timelines, as we watch the amazing life of the prophetess unfold.  Meanwhile the researcher is unaware that some of his searches have alerted the authorities that he is looking into the mysterious data storage device and begins tracking him. 
So here is another movie I’d like to see:
A woman works at a grocery store.  She has a stable, happy family, makes enough to get by and even put something away.  He children love her, as does her husband.  Her neighbors are a lesbian couple with an adopted child.  This couple also lives happily and their child is both brilliant and well adjusted.  There is no conflict in the movie and no plot.  It is just a depiction of life lived as it should be lived – in contentment and fulfillment. 
So here is a movie I’d like to see. 
In 2012, Philip K. Dick, who has been dead since the late 70’s, walks into a small convenience store.  He aggressively accosts the cashier there, saying three times “VALIS is coming!” Then he disappears.  Later that day, the video from the store’s surveillance camera is aired on television.  During the broadcast, an image of Philip appears on the screen, repeating the message, and then saying “VALIS” has arrived.  The rest of the film would be an examination of the final years of Dick’s live, interspersed with segments about how interaction with VALIS has transformed the world. 

Freedom from Religion

I call this image "Modern Business Ethics".  I guess its a cartoon more than a drawing.  One building burns but a barefoot man seems ready to jump from a building that is not burning.

He is wearing a tie but that may not indicate that he is a business man.  He may be a singer or an artist. The costume is not the person and the map is not the territory. Sometimes the map doesn't even resemble the territory and sometimes the costume does not even resemble the person.

We don't know from the image just how high up he is.  For all we know, he might be on a small staircase, or on the low pedestal of a statue.  Things are not what they seem.

We don't know if the fire was an accident, or whether it was set on purpose.  Or perhaps I've painted a burning building because it was easier in my cartoon to use fire rather than showing a controlled demolition.  Who knows? Its art.  I like art that poses questions rather than giving answers.  If enough people ask the right questions, we will know everything we need to know.

They say that we have freedom of religion.  I don’t agree.  You may have freedom to choose a church, but if your church or beliefs are outside of the Judeo Christian model and you are open about it, people treat you badly.  Although people are tolerant on the surface, they will treat you differently when you are not there. 
They say that we have freedom of religion but what I’d rather see is freedom from religion.  The laws of a nation should, if the nation has a rational footing, allow people to not only choose between religions, but also the option to choose no religion, or to choose one that is not currently popular.  Why is it that in this country which holds its freedoms in such high esteem, members of pagan faiths are treated as if they are crazy and marginalized? Why are atheists reviled and agnostics kept at arms length? 
Even as our lives are ample evidence of the interference of some higher power, and even as it is clear that the response and understanding of a higher power is a very unique and personal experience, our society marginalizes anyone whose interpretation varies significantly from “God the father in heaven who will punish you if you are bad and reward you for worshipping and believing in him:. If you percieve the mystery as a goddess, a pantheon, a god even marginally different from the centrist one, you are never really a part of society.  In essence you are a heathen, one who lives outside the fold,. 
Who is your shepherd?  What gods do you see when the moon is full.  When you hear the whispers of the mysteries, what do you see or hear?  Is it science?  Is it Mathematics?  Is it Art?  Is it Politics?
Because of the focus on a single theology (my understanding says that Jews, Christians, Muslims and Mormons, amoung others all essentially subscribe to the same faith) and our refusal to recognize different responses to the mysteries, we have become blinded to the powers and intentions behind reality.  And being blinded to them means we cannot distinguish between them. 
Blake saw heaven in a wildflower and eternity in an hour.  Saint Francis saw God in acts of charity and kindness to all creatures.  The Bacchae saw miracles in drunkenness and excess. Are any of them correct in their observations or were they misled?
If you never confront evil, you can never defeat evil
If you hide the truth behind denials you have not erased the truth but only hidden it.
If you look for your gods not in books, but in the world, you will find evidence as compelling for the one idea as for the next.  If you look into your reality for evidence of gods, you have already taken a step towards misguiding yourself. 
If you hide the truth behind denials, it does not erase the truth. 
When you talk to most searchers, and ask them what they are looking for, they will preface their answer with “Well I hope to find that…”
Does this mind set, with its hoped for outcome, predispose the searcher to look only at evidence which reinforces the hope, or does the focus of the hope enable the searcher to better see what is there before them
What one person sees, another may see differently.  If I had your eyes, and you mine, would we see the same colors that we see now?  How do I know that what I see as red with my eyes isn’t what you see as blue with yours?  The shape, color and health of our eyes must, in some way, effect what we see.  What would it mean if what you see as blue is what I see as red, and yet we both call the color yellow?  How would we know?
Creatures who were created equal, change the minute they start gestating.  Each fetus has already developed some differentiation from its equals.  This can be effected by the quality of the sperm, by the quality of the ovum, by the health of the womb and the mother and her place in the world.  Once outside the womb, that equality is further erased so that by the tine we are adults, we are each radically different from our fellows.
We all enjoy a point of equality.  When the sperm enters the ovum, we have the same number of cells and a nearly identical physical identity. Beyond that point of conception we all differentiate and by the time leave the womb, we have already become unique, a combination of the genes and the histories of our parents and our families. 
As adults, some people choose to honor that moment of equality, but most, even the most liberally minded, make judgements about the quality of a person based on a template passed on by parents and culture.
Acculturation creates inequalities and politics fosters them.
All struggle is a response to inequality.
All struggle is a response to equality.
The bird of paradise entices a mate with a ritualized dance.  If his dance is found wanting by his intended mate, she flies away.  He tries again with another. 
Differentiation in these communities is determined by who mates with whom.
When humans court, men do a dance for the women, and the women do a dance for the men.  Although both genders partake in the rituals of courting, in the end the decision still lies with the female – whether to mate and bear children or to go in different directions. 
Recreational sex is nothing more than practice for procreation.  When the body decides its had enough practice, there is fertilization.  This is something that happens inside the body, beyond the realm of courting or choice. 
Some creatures mate for life.  Others only for a season or a second.  Some creatures eat their young, some creatures eat their mates.
Does a male black widow understand that he is to be sacrificed once he has mated?
When she devours his body, does she also incorporate his thoughts with her own?
Do male black widows ever survive the mating?  If they did, would they live long, or even live to mate again?  Is the death of the male black widow an inevitability?

Extreme Political Metaphors

A few stabs at a metaphor for the United States Government:
There is a long dark tunnel.  Its only wide enough for one person to pass.  After walking for nearly a day in different directions, with different destinations in mind, two people meet in the center.  They cannot pass each other. 
One says to the other “You have to go back, you are blocking my way!” The other one says to the first “No, you have to go back – you are blocking my way!”  Neither is willing to back down, so both remain standing there at the impasse, until they both die from exhaustion. 

Or:
There is a long dark tunnel.  Its only wide enough for one person to pass.  After walking for a day or more, two people meet in the center.  One says to the other “You have to go back – you are blocking my way!” The other one says to the first “No, you must go back, you are blocking my way!”  After awhile, one gets tired of waiting for the other to back down, so he takes out a baseball bat and knocks the other one out.  Then he can move on.  The other one, severely wounded, remains in the tunnel.  When he wakes up, he cannot remember which way is the right one, and eventually he dies because he can’t find his way.
Or:
There is a long dark tunnel.  Its only wide enough for one person to pass.  After walking a week or better, two people meet in the center.  One says to the other: “ If we both turn to the side, and slide past, we can both continue on to our destinations!” The other, being a rational man, agrees.  When they have traded places, one offers the other water.  They drink.  The other offers the first a bit of bread and fruit.  They shake hands.  Happily, they both continue on to their individual destinations.  
Or:
A man is walking in a tunnel.  It is a very long and dark tunnel. Behind him walks another man.  Near the mid point of the tunnel, the two hear footsteps coming towards them from the other direction.  The first man says to the second:  don’t worry.  He takes out a weapon and fills the tunnel in front of him with fire.  The footsteps in the other direction cease. The two move forward in the tunnel, where they find the cooked body of the one who was walking the other way.  Together, they feast on his body.
 
Or?

Curiouser and Curiouser

I remember studying the original painting by Jan Van Eyck in Ms. Mauck’s art appreciation class.  The images was nice enough – beautifully painted but just a pretty picture – until she started to explain some of the symbolism in it.  That was a chinese box moment for me.  Suddenly art wasn’t just fun or pretty anymore. It was also challenging, charged with meaning and secrets, a beautiful world all its own and a language as well. 
Well I was working on an image the other day – really just playing with the shape tools in Photoshop CS5, and making landscapes.  This particular one was crying out for something man made- a human presence to supplement the cold beach.
I went into my photo portfolio looking for a figure or two, but nothing seemed suitable.  I found a group of photos from a car show back in October, and one of the cars had a hand grenade welded onto the muffler cover.  I extricated the grenade from the photo and imported it into the landscape.  Now I had something edgy to work with.  The image implies something explosive about to happen.
Then I thought of marriage – my nephew married last April, and I th0ught of importing a pic or two of the wedding, but unfortunately had not brought the drive with my wedding snaps on it.  So instead I went online, where I found an excellent high res image of the Arnolfini wedding.  What’s more explosive than a wedding, fraught as it is with possibility and power?  Why a wedding with a pregnant woman of course.  The cake in the oven is an explosively attractive idea.  I loved the idea of the Arnolfini’s finding themselves in the modern world.  The only problem was the lighting – the Arnolfini’s were lit from a window in the Van Eyck picture. In order to explain the difference, I added a beam of light to my own landscape. 
If you look closely you can see that superimposed on the ground is a page from my book. 
These days, Ms. Mauck’s lesson still rings true!  When I paint or draw I always try to include some elements of vocabulary – they may not be coherent words, but even inarticulate ones communicate something. 

Happy New Year

Have you thought of a resolution?  I have too many to count, but most important is that I find a way to keep the Mind at Work Mind at Play project going.  I’ve made a lot of headway in 2010, and want to pick up the momentum in 2011.  In addition to the physical book, I’ve also done a ridiculous number of paintings in Photoshop (such as the one above)  which I’m beginning to arrange into a digital volume.  It would be lovely to have 2011 be the year that I really start to make the project shine! 

Happy holidays all around – Keep writing, drawing, running, diving, playing, whatever it is that makes your heart sing!.

Here’s to fixing the world this year.

caneabel

cain and abel were brothers one god loved the other he ignored so cain slew abel simple as that I don’t know how he did it don’t remember my bible because its been a long time I just remember the story you know the way it can be and the moral give to god the best of what you have or he will cast you out but even if you do give him the best of what you do he will ignore you and instead torment your brother then when cain raises his hand god will let it fall and you will be dead and cain will be marked but given certain protections and a long life and many children for what he did and can we be any different we who think we are so far above animals but really are we

I used to love the world all the things in it but something has always felt wrong I could never put my finger on it just a pall or shadow that obscures something that I should see I always wonder if when we die that shadow is lifted and we can see whats behind it does god vouchsafe us that moment or is that too hidden in the end

in my dreams some struggle is occurring and its on the level of a lord of the rings struggle good and evil order and disorder all sorts of portents and cataclysms and a world that doesn’t quite hold together its disturbing and yet night after night I climb into it and crave these dreams wishing that I could remember better wishing that there was someone to tell them to but nobody listens anymore nobody sits down with me and says eric what did you dream about nobody says I’ll meet you there in your dreams like that girl who was she once did I don’t remember her name she was kind of punk and out of place it was a small group we had there that winter and I was glad she was there I used to daydream about her and once I told her so and she said lets try to meet together in a dream so far away there is a room I dream about she said so meet me there and she described the room to me I thought I could find it in my dreams and for night after night all that winter everytime I tried to dream I looked for that room and although sometimes parts of it would show up usually a rug a big oriental carpet and sometimes a strange balinese marionette puppet I never succeeded in finding the room or in meeting her there strange that I can recall her face and the strange coat she wore and the cigarettes we sometimes shared in the snowy moonlight by the frozen lake but I don’t remember her name cynthia perhaps something like that also around that winter were richard and roger and boyle and liz but I don’t remember her name damned if I do

I was in carlisyle once and it was warm it was a dream place not a real place it was a town by the sea and there were long boardwalks and tunnels going from place to place in that place as in many dream places I can fly but effortlessly like feather on the breeze but with utter control of where I’m going

I remember a dream about uncle jack he was in the backyard of a house which isn’t the house he lived in in phoenix but a different house but I always knew it was his house in dreams and he was mowing the lawn with a push mower I flew out the back window and called out to him – look uncle jack look at what I can do I’m flying and I’m wide awake but he didn’t hear me he never looked up in those dreams

sometimes my parents were there too just like uncle jack and they would never look up either even though it was an incredible feat to fly like that

one time I remember driving away from someplace in a red datsun stationwagon and my father was chasing me with a flamethrower which splattered fire on the rear windsheild later in that dream there was a nuclear explosion and we were all forced to hide out in a mall where everyone could fly but for some reason I stayed on the floor which was covered with snakes of every size shape and color some of them were mating by leaning together and then using the pressure to push them upright so that they looked like tall grass waving in the wind

another mall dream that comes now and then is a mall which I recognize as being in harvard square but only the dream version of it and I’m always looking for the empty shop that is mine

sometimes I go back to a place I used to love but find all the nature is gone and replaced by some big military complex or else a college of some sort I usually see richard there but he is too busy to be bothered by me

sometimes I think that I am in rome

sometimes I walk and walk in the dreamtime like I did when I was in college walking in the dark night and whistling classical music as I walk I can even hear the dogs bark they way they did when I really walked there and I can see the mist over the benches in the park and the moon with a big orange ring around it

sometimes I dream of the english girl and we meet someplace in london because I am travelling and she takes my hand over a restaurant table and says don’t you think we should marry don’t you think we should marry I wake up saying yes before realizing that I’ve never met that english girl and that I would marry her in a heartbeat if I ever met up with her in the real world

some things in dreams are a simple and clean as that even though I have no history for or with her she emodies love of the deepest kind and I would marry her in a heartbeat if I ever met up with her in the real world

sometimes I just see lights or strange balloons

sometimes I make love to strangers

sometimes I am a sculpture made out of wood in the shape of a man but carved from the same piece that I am laying on in this dream I can feel the trees all around me as if their limbs and leaves were a part of me as if I can extend my mind out into them only to feel the flames as evil men rampage through the forest with torches setting fires as they roam

I rarely dream of people I know in the real world

when I do they are usually in a different room and I can hear their voices or even talk to them but I never see them they never enter my presence nor I theirs

I have dreamed once or twice about my friend Kyle – usually he is onstage playing music and I am waiting to take the stage to play my set

when I think about being a child I am always alone

where was my brother and my sister on those days when I got home early and mom wasn’t there and I went crying to aunt frances into her frigid airconditioned house where she let me watch jonny quest on the color teevee until mom finally returned from whatever errand she was doing

I remember being outside alone and mom had locked the door for some reason and I was in the backyard and even though I was toilet trained I crapped my pants and cried because I was ashamed and felt the warm ball of shit there in my pants against the side of my leg finally she let me in after I cried and hollered for awhile

I was lying in a bed not a crib and the nurse picked me up and raised me up and tickled my belly then flipped me over and jabbed me in the ass with a needle and after that I was always afraid when she came in even though I don’t remember her jabbing me ever again

I do remember that time seemed to move very quickly and that it puzzled me in its movement I lay in that bed watching the shades open and close open and close or ac tually I think they were venetian blinds

I remember a hospital room with a toy that was gears in some kind of tray a fisher price thing designed I guess to teach the abstract principles of differential gears to near infants

I remember having the croup and mom taking me into the bathroom and running hot water to fill the air with steam

it rained outside and I went into the kitchen to see big black beetle all over the place mom called them water bugs she went around killing them with a rolled up newspaper and when she smashed them they became piles of white powder

my brother accidently cooked his turtle and mine only my sister’s turtle survived but it grew and grew until it was too big even for the big swimming pool rim that we set up in the backyard for him

it was a very big turtle with striking red splashes on the side of its neck

Freewrite 12

genie was blossoming like a petaled grape and asking for simple things like juniper berries and frosted flakes/I had no map or article of direction/the lady in the corner was beckoning to us saying george webbs hamburger parlors rock/I had to laugh because it was late and amy and I were drunk/there was a guy next to us at the counter named roger wearing an aluminum foil cross on a string around his neck/his skin was anything but smooth/ he had a nose that looked like it fell out of a painting by the brothers hildebrandt/ he smelled strongly of listerine/ I think his eyes were grey but I can’t be certain/he asked amy if she was in love with me/she said that it was none of his business/then roger stood up and raised his arms like he was trying to scare away a bear/its my business because I’m the devil/he said/ amy and I laughed at that/ she said that if he was the devil/then he already knew the answer/ he chuckled and said yes well/so the hamburgers came and they rocked/ but the drink made the flourescent lights in there look lemony yellow and it hurt to look at them/ on the wall two clocks/each set to a different time/to get around the law that said it was illegal to be open twenty four hours/ rather than close for a minute/you could just look at the other clock/ cops never enforced the law anyway/ most would come in and get coffee and most had a story or two to tell/the first time I heard about the banana queen it was in that place/the cop who told me was in plainclothes/she was a bag lady/he said/I didn’t know what that was so I asked/ he explained about homelessness which was something which at 18 I’d never thought about/ and that bag ladies carried their belongings in paper shopping bags the irony being that they were usually the high end ones you got at macy’s or marshall fields/well he said/the banana queen was one of them/one day mack my partner saw her in a restaurant/ he went over and asked her if she needed any money/ or a cup of coffee/the restaurant owner called him over/ he told mack that the banana queen had stolen some silverware from him and could he get it back/ mack went over to her and asked her to show him what was in his bag/she just grinned/reached into one of the bags pulled out a hammer and clocked him first on the hand breaking his fingers and then in the middle of the forehead/he fell a dead weight and she beat it out of there/for his trouble I bought the cop a cup of coffee and a slice of banana cream pie/no irony intended/a few years later I was in milwaukee at the peter pan family restaurant where they had excellent greek lamb with noodles/and in the corner I saw a woman with two macy’s sacks with a tarot spread on the table in front of her/she had what looked like a child’s crown made of plastic and shaped like a ring of vertical bananas/ I didn’t talk to her that day/in fact it was more than half a year before we actually met/ but I’ll never forget how she looked that day/her eyes were bright and gleaming with intelligence/her hands moved the cards with expert precision/it was hard to imagine her swinging a hammer to end a man’s life/she was pretty/there was a slight resemblance to julia roberts/something in the mouth and the smile I think/back then of course we didn’t yet know who julia roberts was/when I saw her again after that first time I always averted my eyes and pretended not to see her/I didn’t greet her or acknowledge her in any way/but I was always aware of her and I’d watch if we were in the same place/circumspectly out of the corner of my eye/not wanting her to catch me watching/the way you watch a girl you have a crush on although you don’t want her to know it/and every once in awhile our eyes would meet/when that happened her face always exploded into a smile/one day I was on a bus going to the mall to see a movie/she was in the seat behind me/ I heard her talking/I thought to herself at first/ a monologue that seemed almost musical in its rhythm/but at some point I heard her say don’t look back eric/they can’t know that we are talking/but here I am and here you are and that’s as it should be/ I was wondering how she knew my name/but I sat there and listened to her talk/she meandered into a story about a patti smith concert and a broken collarbone/then at brady street she got off without saying goodbye or looking at me or anything she was just gone/and I was left alone on the bus with her last words something about the vast wilderness on the outskirts of western slobbovia and the turquoise vermillion atmosphere on sirius/later that night I dreamed we were sitting together at a table at peter pan and she had that smile and a moony look in her eyes and across the table we were holding hands/a very long time passed again before I saw her/when next we met she was dressed a little better and wasn’t carrying her bags anymore/I was at the coffee connection having a cup and she just sat down in the chair across from me/as in my dream she reached out and put her hands over mine/at last we meet/she said/and I just nodded/the waiter came over it was somebody I knew from the university/I said/charlie a coffee for the young lady/for I could see now that she was a good deal younger than me/and charlie brought her a cup too/ she grinned when he set it down then lifted the cup to her mouth/careful its hot/I said/ but she drank and drank/ when she was done she said you have to drink coffee as hot as you can or it might get away/before too much evaporates you know/then she pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket and handed it to me/it was a drawing of some sort/abstract shapes in white on black/she said/see I know you/I’ve captured your essence/I looked at the drawing clueless/thinking it resembled me not at all/I really did think it that way don’t ask me why/occasionally I have thoughts in an archaic mode like that/now looking at the memory I can sketch her/the light was to her right/no overheads it was midday and there was sunlight streaming through the window/delineating everything like a dali landscape/she had on a cross made of aluminum foil which I reckoned had come from roger/when I mentioned him she smiled and said I met him in the bin/the bin I asked/ the looney bin she said/where I just spent a few months learning how to be self medicating so that I can be a productive citizen/don’t worry its not contagious/so I smiled/I wondered if you could be truly sane and utter so unambiguously the truth that you had just been in a psychiatric institution/actually she said/ it was reagan let me out/ you know small government means no hospitals for the insane and so forth/ I was there/ now I’m out/ thanks to the government both ways/but it wasn’t bad in there not really/good food/ and good drugs/ roger did make me the cross/he’s gone now poor soul/they took him off the psyl and he took too many sleepers that was that/janey also did herself in when she heard they were springing her/her folks had left her there a decade ago and she couldn’t think of how she’d live outside on her own poor soul/and you/ look at you/she said/ just as crazy as a loon but you you don’t know it yet but you’re finding out aren’t you yes poor soul/I lost my cat while I was in/she said/ poor thing used to go with me everywhere even sometimes under the table at george webbs/did you know/ you never saw her I bet pretending as you did that you didn’t know me/ but we don’t have to pretend anymore do we/because now we are talking the best of friends/ now we have touched hands and shared coffee/which is just the same you know as sharing water/have you read stranger in a strange land/ oh if you haven’t you must/drink deep share water/grow closer/then she started to talk about jim morrison/have you listened to his music/she asked/ he was a god you know/ a shaman/ he didn’t really die there in paris/you know or if he did they killed him/they were there and they killed him/then she took her voice down way down and whispered/they’d kill us too if they knew if they knew they’d kill us/then she took my hands in her’s again and looked down/that one’s your lifeline and that one’s fate/and that one there that’s the day you first saw me at peter pan and that one there’s the day the cop told you that lie about me/ I never killed him with that hammer although I must admit that breaking his hand was done rather artfully/ and it wasn’t his partner that did it it was him hisself/because I wouldn’t let him touch me and it wasn’t the stuff in my bag he was after it was something there buried under my skirt and anyone who tries to touch that uninvited deserves to have his hand shattered/men/she said/must always ask for and wait for permission/that’s when I first saw her halo and realized that she was a saint/she smiled realizing I’d realized/don’t worry/she said/you are too/we must walk together for a time/so leaving the coffeeconnection and moving out onto downer ave watched the buses go by and walked to the oriental theater looked at the marquee and she saw the george webbs next door and said/seems like we are back in waukesha she said/we went in to theater and watched the little shop of horrors and plan nine from outerspace/you know/she whispered in the dark of the theater/if you stay until the end watching all thirty of the movies during the bad movie festival/they refund your ticket price/but about halfway through they saved hitler’s brain/we walked out forsaking the refund/and went to george webbs

that night it was midnight before we split up I back to the dorm she back to her new apartment/ remember she said/ this was not a date/ you are a guy and guys never know/and just before she left she kissed me on the cheek and disappeared into the darkness/I ran and ran back to the dorm to beat the rain that chased me all the way

FIRST DAYS AT THE OFFICE

First days at the office are always just a little strange. You always think that you know more than you do. But the faces area blur, and the names go right by. You've done this before, but everything looks just a little off. Computer out of position. Two monitors and an uncomfortable chair. Nobody Is quite sure of you and you are not sure of anybody. Then you open up your screens. None of the programs are quite the same either! CS instead of CS 5. a new program, vector drawings alright but both similar to ones you've used before, but also just a bit strange. Everyone knows the filing system, and so they assume you do too. There is always new shop vernacular and again they all know it and think you do too! They say things and dart away, leave you sputtering and saying" what, what, he Lat "feeling like a fool, feeling rather dumb. Then you sit down shaking your head and wondering if. oh! They meant you need to use a stroke here, a fill there, a gradient over at the corner. And you think "aha-I can do this." Three days and things begin to look familiar. Memories of other jobs start to merge with this new one.  In fact, after three days the computer and desk area have become yours and are beginning to reflect just a tad of personality.   After a few days you are beginning to get the hang of some things. You remember, if not necessarily names yet, at least the faces and you are getting an idea of who does what. You pay close attention to learn the hierarchies and who is approachable. and all is at least quiet when you leave on Friday afternoon.

freewriting

write draw paint dream have a pee walk the sidewalk hike the mountains you look mahvellous into white this time maybe this time is the winner she dreams and the door opens flies scurry in outside the cutting of grass the moving of stones a truck drives by a truck rumbles loudly shakes the foundation a dog barks the page turns the book falls to the floor a dog barks again this toe this thought the miners in the well the symbol of fate the tripod the bunyon looking at trees what if god mocks us what if who is the pope anyway a man a demigod who knows who cares but they say that he travels in a bulletproof vehicle so how divine can he be the dalai lama now there is a religious leader walks around sometimes with an entourage sometimes not we met once he and I and he told me we knew each other in another life there was a door that opened then just for a moment and I had a dream thought that perhaps he was right so long ago no drifting intrusive beliefs about transmigration now no beliefs really but ideas images thoughts in the head that dazzle like thick music that take me places even as I sit still that cause the world to both grow and diminish that let in the world and shut it out that milling sound in the distance what is that a lathe perhaps in the shop next door or a motor running idling in some rude neighbor’s yard perhaps I was thinking just then of the value of the dollar then and now back when you could buy a whole full meal for a dollar or two when a record album was three dollars and a ticket to a movie was fifty cents back when the illusion of time was in place before the reality of time came in and we were in the symphony hall when the singer sang here time becomes space and it was like a magical phrase because we both joined hands and were somehow distanced from time somehow bound together so that even now with you so far away you intrude into this typewritten memory and if there is a small thought of food and if there is a will to power off on a comet they say the time is an element they say that god and time are somehow in cahoots they say that doctrine is firm and unchanging the don’t know that the map is not the territory and when I think the thoughts are fleeting like butterflies they dart in tickle stealing nectar dart out spurious untrustworthy but gentle and fulfilling just the same and you can look there is a place that is full of roses I can’t remember where it is but it was there when I was young and they kept it cool in there so the roses wouldn’t fade to fast in the cool air you could smell them the air so thick with the perfume johnny sometimes stole one for his ladyfriend it think it was ruthie yes that was it we called her crazy ruthie and I hated that she dated him I wanted to date her myself but you didn’t do that to a friend you couldn’t touch a girl if a buddy had aims on her you just didn’t in the city the castle dominated the hill and everything seemed an extension of it but the bridge I can’t remember which was older the bridge that was made by ancient romans without mortar to hold it sheer brilliant masonry a kind of magic sure sure but the cobbles on the city streets and the dinging of the trolleys ding ding a trying to stay abreast of the hippies who terrified us all of them druggies papa said all of them looking to steal an edge from you all of them cole banged on the door he had the knock just two fast raps tap tap you knew it was him and he’d always bound up the steps knock without hesitating first his hand just fell on the door like that back in jersey the door was outside not this stairwell door and the windowed stairwell you could see out but the apartment oh it was not a giant place but it was sufficient you could sleep in your own room and there was that ancient huge porcelain bathtub fill it up dip into it sink in right up to your nose if you wanted to oops dropped the book and had to set it in the sun three days later it was still damp it was a library book too the hobbit that juanita special ordered for me from the USAREUR central library in frankfurt and that was nearly an hour away it was an endless drive in those day that long long hour but thankfully we rarely went there but the time when glenn drove us in the mercedes to see emerson lake and palmer and I got stuck dead center where the lights mirrored blinding me off of palmer’s bass drum but the music so big and travelling I’m saying oh I didn’t know that one was theirs when I heard tarkus and after for the next few weeks scouring the record stores to find the songs we’d heard so we could deconstruct them learn their lessons like that I was thinking as we drove home that there was an undefineable feeling created by the amber-lit towns and villages we sped past at 100 km but it was an intense feeling and wondering what it was the sounds of other cars hissing by us passing as if we were standing still and the endless smooth beauty of the pitch black autobahn no stones no gravel nothing on the road to impede the drive a bit of perfection a bit of precision finally back to heidelberg and phv and san juan hill into my room to sleep and sleep thankfully tomorrow was sunday no school once we all took a bus there to frankfurt to see Eric Clapton another dream of a show evonne elliman standing on the apron of the stage looking like a beam from god’s own light and at the end all the men rushing forward in hope of touching her and she backing away away no I can’t I just can’t and finally the security men guiding her backwards and forcing the would be suitors away clapton who we’d all thought was dead of heroin years ago now he was there again this time to stay blues and reggae I shot the sherrif ringing out tho none of us had ever heard of bob marley yet that came later there was susie who never talked to me but in the teen club always wanted to slow dance with me the day I graduated she came up and kissed me once on the mouth her lips smooth soft and very warm she said good bye that way  two years later I saw her in sierra vista but she pretended she didn’t know me because her husband would beat her otherwise in those days you walked away and didn’t say anything it was their life after all I saw the ghost of heidelberg in that restaurant in chicago but even though I went in and looked at murals of the castle I never did eat there because it cost too much the day I arrived in waukesha it was cold as cold can be now that is the winter break arrival I was dropped by the bus near the dutchland dairy place with my enormous suitcase and I walked to campus by the back way seemed to take a year my fingers frostbitten I had to keep setting the suitcase down because it was too heavy and I had to warm my hands under my coat in the dark arriving at swarthout just as the first flurries of snow began realizing how lucky I was because an hour later we were in the midst of a blizzard but there I was sitting the television lounge barefoot on the headed floor and I think her name was nikki the girl who transferred from another college nestled against me we were all waiting to see who the last couple would be because they’d get to neck there in the lounge and it ended up being me and nikki I was so tired in the morning because we’d stayed all night because she shown me a new thing something with her mouth and I was still dreaming of it and in the morning I could still smell her on my hands and I didn’t want to wash them but feared embarrassment if anyone else smelled it on me who were you with they’d ask and taunt me when I told them because nikki was a scholarship girl they didn’t know that I was a scholarship guy even though I was always shabby clothed even though I didn’t have a car and couldn’t even afford a barber once a week because everyone effected the hippy look back then it was after all 1975 and the war was over none of us had to register for the draft anymore there was no rotc on campus and everyone was vocal in their love of peace and nixon had resigned everything was good nobody knew that reagan was right around the corner we hadn’t had the hostage crisis yet chevy chase every saturday night aping president ford we laughed so hard we pissed ourselves emily latella boy the nose on the gretal said tony I’d like to take her down but that nose is just too be but I had eyes only for magda she was my daydream once I’d pointed her out to tony and said that she was really cute he said no she isn’t so I assumed that he’d tried to lay her but not succeeded piss on what you can’t have he was that kind of guy although we were friends I could never say that he was nice all those people I can see them if I thnk of them clear as if we’d only parted yesterday but I have to summon the memory have to call it up its like that sometimes and the calling is difficult but once I’ve done it there they are clear as if they’d been with me an hour ago there were nights of such cold air you step outside and if you breathe through your mouth forget it your teeth will just shatter you look at the surface of the snow and every now and then there is a puff and a smokey cloud rises here or there like magic crystals and this snow has a crust so thick you can walk on it its not surprising that the eskimos have so many words for snow its all the same thing and yet its not blessings everywhere in the snowy night or on the nights when rain began but the cold wind froze it into glass coating everything so the ground is slick and we can’t walk safely it took nearly an hour to get from swarthout to old main.

No longer my own boss

Well, as of Monday I’ll be working days for someone else.  I’ve agreed to work for a local signmaker, designing business signs, car wraps and other promotional artwork.  I’ll have access to some great tools – a Roland plotter, diecut vinyl printing, large format plexi and decal printing and so forth.  It’s a small shop, not far from home, with a nice crew.  I’m looking forward to being in a deadline driven position again.  Its nice sometimes to have someone else cracking the whip!

To that end, this weekend I have to launch ancient versions of Photoshop and Illustrator – the shop is still on CS2, and I’ve been working exclusively in CS5 since the beta testing started over a year ago.  It’ll be strange losing some of the terrific workflow tools the newer version offers.  It’ll also be interesting to see just how patient I am with their old computers and slow processors. 

Last night I taught part two of a bookbinding workshop at Cochise College.  In part one, last Wednesday, we covered the coptic bookbinding process, and the participants each bound their books.  Yesterday in the tie-up session, they hardened the covers, primed them for painting and illustration, and we discussed the process of making a fine-art journal, further applications of the techniques they learned on the first book, etc.  When the group left late in the evening, they seemed fired up about the process, and psyched to get to work on their new books.  I’d forgotten how much fun it is to do a participatory class demonstration like that.  I’ve always enjoyed working with other people around – this workshop, I made a book of my own, demonstrating the process.  The students followed along, step by step.  It was gratifying to see twelve tight, evenly bound coptic books! 

So – now I have a weekend to tie up loose ends and get ready for next week.  I think the most difficult thing will be waking up at 5:45 every day.  I’ve been on a darktime schedule this past year, working on my books until 3 or 4 AM   everyday and then sleeping until 9AM each morning.  I’m going to lose my late night hours, hopefully without losing out on productivity.  It will, thankfully, mean not watching hours of television every night – I’ll be doing the book work in the evenings after dinner. 

The Argument for Homemade Books

 

I was working on a book the other day in my favorite venue (the Sierra Vista Public Library’s Café Sierra) Normally I’d have been either writing or painting in my current book, Mind at Work – Mind at Play – or one of the smaller satellite volumes that I carry for when I need to loosen up a bit.  That day however I was actually binding a small new volume, to use as a sample for a bookbinding workshop that I was going to teach that evening. 

A man stopped to watch for a moment, then began to ask questions.  I’m used to most of the questions tossed at me, but one made me stop and think a bit.  After I had explained that I was actually binding a book, he asked me why I didn’t just buy one. 

I think that this is possibly the most complicated question I get. 

On the surface, there is a simple answer.  I enjoy the process.  Binding a book is rather easy to do, doesn’t take an overwhelming amount of time, and is a pleasant break from the much harder work of writing or painting.  I enjoy the entire process, from selecting (or sometimes even making) the paper, to designing the cover, and stitching the spines.  Once you’ve done it a few times, much of the process is done on “automatic”, using the physical memory to work while the mind is free to do other things.  And the end result is very satisfying too.  I love books – all books – but I have a special love for the ones I’ve made from scratch (even some of the early attempts, which have uneven stitching and many glaring flaws in the workmanship!)

I carry a small but complete bindery in a little fishing tackle box, which means that I can make a book anywhere – in a café, out in the desert, on top of a mountain, by a campfire.  That means that I can create memories that go along with the physical object.  One thing I want to do in the near future is to make a book at the Grand Canyon so that every time I open it to work, it will summon the memory of that amazing place.

If I’m traveling, I can buy local papers to give the books I make a regional flavor – especially if there are small papermaking shops that produce unique pages with distinctive surfaces or colors or smells. 

One thing I’ve always loved about the process of art is its transformative qualities.  I studied intaglio printing in college, and the real joy of it for me was in taking a plain metal plate and putting it in acid to watch the magic of chemistry infuse it with my ideas and images.  I used to get breathless watching the plates etch and my heart always beat faster when I cleaned off the etch ground and got the first glimpse of the plate surface. 

I get some of the same thrill making a book.  I always start with large sheets of paper, which I fold score and tear into the dimensions I want.  The flat sheets get smaller as I tear them, but then when the binding begins, they become something oddly much larger than the original sheet.  Something about the way pages work in a book makes its dimensions inside seem infinite.  A page is just a page, but a book can be an entire universe in and of itself.

There are loads of blank books available, some of them not very expensive, some of them even pretty good.  If I have the money to burn, I can even order a hand made book and have in the past, with a fine leather binding and marbled covers and extraordinary Italian paper from Amalfi.  A large book like this is a pleasure to work in, but the cost for one starts at just over $100, and can range as high as $800, if I order all the bells and whistles. 

There are other reasons too, possibly enough for another entry on another day.  Oh – and that guy who asked me why I don’t just buy a book?  I gave him the simplest answer I can:  Because its fun.

When I tried to write or paint while applying thoughts or principles learned studying art history or literature in college, I found it impossible to work. For me, the impulse has to be the guide for creation. Meaning is something that comes later.

A Little Rant about writing that digresses to other things

Wacom tablets are terrific. I'm sitting at a desk with my laptop, writing this by hand with my Wacom  tablet. The software reads my awful handwriting (imagine your doctor's sig. on a very had day!). The software reads it and posts it in moveable type! Better still, If I write a message out as a Photoshop file, I can take the image into a translations program and have a "hand" written image as well as the moveable type version.The best of both worlds! Another item  I'm toying with as an element of my book project is using my iPod touch with a voice translation program (Dragon Dictation) so that I can record thoughts on the go, and have the translator output it as type.  I wonder what James Joyce might have accomplished had he had access to this stuff... He could have actually walked the strand beach and dictated as he went. This will definitely add a new dimension to stream of consciousness writing! Lately work on the physical book has been largely images. Long days painting and little energy for writing with pen and ink. Now with the new software I  can write or dictate my thoughts and use them later as basis for writing in the physical book. A friend suggested printing out the pages on my ink jet and pasting them into the book, but I think instead I may just use in Design or Photoshop to design a print version of the type and then either import scans of drawings and paintings, or add native photoshop images to spice things up. I want to create a bridge between the physical book and the digital one. I also need to think about ways that the digital becomes PURELY digital. I.E., moving images, live recorded segments, animations. A digital book should definitely do things the a physical book cannot. So: Dreamweaver, InDesign, Photoshop, Final Cut should all be a part of it. How Do I: get the two sides to interact in ways that make sense? It should be easy to make a digital copy of the physical volume, but what elements of the digital work world be appropriate to include in the other? I'm enjoying the challenge of trying to do something traditional in a contemporary fashion. So much has evolved over the past few years. The other day it occurred to me that if I attach my computer to my television, I can create imagery in photo shop that is native to a large screen television. I can use my kindle reader to read books on my television. So: my television becomes a book. My laptop becomes a book. My iPod becomes a book. Conversely, my book can become a webpage; my book can become a movie. My book can become an email or a text message, or a sound file (if read aloud) accompanied by a typeset version of the type file. Reading this now. I think that Science Fiction as understood it as a child is no longer FICT ION is no longer fiction. All the things that Dick and Heinlein and Ellison predicted are at our disposal now. Its an amazing time to be an artist, And we haven't even started to make a dent in what we can accomplish. There are new art forms waiting to be born, forms nobody has even dreamed of yet, forms that have entirely in the digital realm, things that are both concrete and ephemeral, art that exists in a new dimension of words and colors and movement and time. In the new art world, we can find ways of communicating ideas and stimulating thought that are immediately more powerful, useful, and accessible than anything we have had in the past. Here is something that I know for a fact. Call it my prophecy or my science fiction if you wish. That in the very near future somebody will create a form of information vehicle which beans no resemblance to a book a but it will be so efficient and easy to interact with that it will move through the human community the a virus.tall. It will function wholly in the digital realm. It will have no pages-and it won't be a scroll. It will take advantage of the sheer depth of memory and retrieval and imaging that a computer has to offer. or, perhaps, will use a new technology that we will not even recognize as a computer Something else that hasn't been thought of or invented yet. Hopefully will get there sooner rather than later. And I also suspect (though I won't say predict) that the mystical transformation that we hear about from the esoteric community will use this new form as its delivery system. For a change of cons Lives ness to occur instantaneously, in "the twinkling of an eye", all that would be necessary is for every human mind to see/ feel/ experience this one idea, P.o.V., image, thought, whatever at the same moment. I think that we are on our way to that, within reach of that, its nearly here. We should make our minds up as a species that we are going to get there. Set a date even, say December 21, 2012. That seems convenient Not the day of the great apocalypse that some are predicting: rather, the great revelation. Forgive my little rant.  If you’ve read it, you should know that all these writings are spurious, extemporaneous, off the cuff, written as I think them, without censoring.   If I am completely wrong on this, I will say that it was just a thought I had, there and gone, no deeply held belief
(beyond, perhaps, a wish that it be true!) If I’m right, I’ll say that I knew it from the start and pretend to be smart. 

Houston

 

When the dark days come, Wendy sits and thinks.  Wendy is thinking of the crust of the world which sits safely on the crust of the universe.  She is thinking about the veils of Isis, how each one is like one of the emanations of the Qabalah.  You were feeding the fire but not the flame and a tourniquet was the benefit.  You cannot be lucid with  your head in the clouds Wendy.  You cannot dream buckets but elicit surrender. 

If the morning comes and the division bell rings,  if the Chapterhouse opens and the king sits on the throne, then an epoxy madness will reveal testy puddles of integers, neither prime not  odd, but illusory just the same.  You can lift the mettle of the significant loss without defending Wendy near her washer.  She has a turnstyle and a trusted friend, but neither gun nor hoe has she.  Wendy is as Wendy is and she sips sultry sodas in a sad café.  Oh roach, or embezzeler of robust carnage heed the sinful simplicity of a statuesque and marvelous martyrdom.  And finally, when Saturday comes, have bananas and sequins.

Hummingbirds

There was a place where the hummingbirds lived, and a place where they drank their nectar and taught their young to fly with the precision of small helicopters. There is no sign there, but the miracle remains to be seen by any who have eyes. Those who cannot see may hear the hummingbirds as they fly close and distant.
 
They make that sound – hum, hum, hum. That’s why they’re called hummingbirds. In the nests of the hummingbirds there are no cellphones or stereos. The talk and music of the world close by is enough for them. They laugh at us with all our tools and devices saying “You don’t need that! Put that down! Look, I have only myself and my wings, and this nectar. I have only what God gave me!” Except of course the ones who are atheists – they say, instead, I have only what I need and I need only what I have. I was hatched this way.” Among hummingbirds, there are often disagreements about who can suck on which flower, but they never argue about religion. They know better than that. And none of them, not a one, is a politician.

Art In The Park, Sierra Vista, Arizona, 10/02/10

My parents with John Vaughn, the sculptor.

Art In the Park is one of the things that Sierra Vista has gotten right!  It’s a well organized, large scale, open air art festival, with artists from all over the Southwest.  Today was a perfect day for it too – not hot, a bit on the cloudy side with bits of blue popping up every now and again.  When we first arrived, there was a sprinkle of rain but it passed quickly. 
The sculpture pictured here was made by a friend of my brother Joe.  I took the shot pretty much off the cuff with my point and shoot Kodak camera,  then added a few flourishes with the Topaz Adjust and Topaz Detail filters. 
There was a lot of good work on display - I was surprised at how many more photographers were represented, some of them very, very good.

One of John Vaughn's sculptures - Was a perfect match for the
dark clouds today! see my NAPP Portfolio here

  

Succint

Life has its moments.  While we live them, they seem to be separate and distinct, one from the next. The longer we live, the more moments we accumulate.  Finally, when we begin reaching a certain point, the way we see those moments shifts.  They begin to lose their singularity and to blend together into a larger singularity.  I think that when we reach the end, we finally get to see the thing as a whole, and suddenly the entire life transforms into something unique, succinct and ultimately comprehensible.  Time is not plural.  It is singular.  And our lives are not plural either.  Like all those moments coalescing into a life, all those lives coalesce into a world, also succinct and comprehensible, but to the mind that comprehends the myriad lives as something singular.