Friday, November 20, 2009


Relentless northeast winds breach drywall and dreams, forcing me awake at point of consummation where much was gained and much was lost. Your hollowed eyes from lack of sleep bear irrepressible mirth nonetheless. I twist the bed sheets, a lone occupant, and turn my face away from dawn. Sink the anchor down past beta, willing to approach the delta once more. Which way will the wind blow next. Will I sink into rich sediment formed at the mouth.

Rising now a second time, midmorning, clutching the pillow dampened with sweat and regret and hope - narrowly escaping further dire consequence. I am forsworn. Only my somnambulant stubbornness allows me to turn back the tide. Must we forever be divided against ourselves. When does unrequitedness ever give strength to purpose. Why do I insist on living a dream.

Unexpected nerve and plasma surge. As for the tides, I have no wish or strength to turn them aside. That's a lie in partiality. Nonetheless. Weighing anchor, willing another port, I fix my compass to trade routes and fertile, febrile fields. A brave new front.

Monday, November 16, 2009


And does it please you to caparison me in wishes, in stuttering confessions, clever and feckless, then I will lean into it. Full weight renders the symbiotic crush fruitful and I will gladly bide for vintage conclusions. Do you speak in conversational tones, then I will remind your tongue how delicate the palate, how swiftly the bouquet spoils upon conceit.

Tell me more. Tell me more. 
I should be so lucky and thrice times over.


And so. I have no quill, no ruffled sleeves, no plunging bodice. My hair unwashed and wind-torn, a silver keyboard, half-finished drawings of teeth bared and eyes heavy-lidded. Cheap beer and jasmine rice, bladder straining, somewhere a muttering. Spine compacted, sitting overlong gazing at bitmapped palimpsests. Last year's shoes planted flat to the floor, the ones I left outside of temple thresholds in Thiruvannaamalai.

I want to enunciate each portion of my life, as stammered avowals. I want to trill them all together, as an Indian would, replete with sideways headbobble and twinkle in the eye. Absurdly poised I recount Whitman, of contradictions and multitudes.
Do you?

Sunday, November 15, 2009

noctural remissions

Abandoning sheets and a three-decades-old quilt, waking with grease in folds of flesh, smearing memories of dreams into a Petri dish. Not one virgin kleenex within reach, back of hand is an understudy. Erstwhile Libran lover with my hands fades after blossoming, a midnight migraine. Why was your face framed in grey-shot black, a diminutive satyr? You've always stood taller than I with wheat-gold waterfalls. You didn't even laugh. Your mouth closed against mine. My mouth closed against yours.

Try living with feigned apathy. Histrionics and half-gasps make lustier bedfellows.

Bones pop and joints refuse to loosen. For that, you shoot the rapids in a one-man vessel. Steady stroke and rigid tendons, shallow breath determination, aiming for the cataract a million miles hence. Arms windmill, legs clamped against one another. Far away at home before disturbed bedclothes, before crawling from the empty womb, fingers bury into cleft. Urgent scrabbling and arched back. Stuffing fist into face, facing the ceiling, fistfuls of chasteless implacable need.

Dramatis personae, indeed.

Saturday, November 14, 2009

some do some don't

Aft of midday, no sign of Sandman. Pumping pedals and autumn's tangy air bid him retreat; a handful of hours and dint of will carries him finally across the threshold. (Unruly stomach, cottoned head and boneless limbs protested the ushering) Fizzy kombucha fends off the ague and soon constitution flung away last night from the bottom of a bottle begins to boomerang back.

It's easy to think you'll never do something that stupid again when you're in the midst of paying the price for it. Just wait. The true test quickens on the lee side of the scourge.

Sitting in the five-dollar chair that refuses to adjust you wish you had the courage to just fuck and be happy.

Friday, November 13, 2009

word to the why's

Spire's pear cider tastes like cat piss
Scrumpy Jack's organic cider unless you want a sugar high to accompany your barbituate haze
Fox Barrel hard cider unless you like licking fox-arse
America's Original Pumpkin Ale unless it's on sale and during a drought, although it is a previous fave

The winners remain:

Spire's Cider, straight up, in a 22 oz bottle, no pour, deep throat it

PBR or Pabst Blue Ribbon for the uninitiate. At .89 a tall can and co-operatively owned (I hearsay) you can slam it sound and slap it on the ass with no backtalk.

And I would be remiss if I did not give a nod to my dead brother's favorite, Fat Tire. I only like it when I drink it on his anniversary, or as a PBR chaser.

Long live working-class trash!! Hand over that Bud Light with Lime!


Alors, je suis parkour.

Lingering upon the pillow 'til half-past eight, levering into paint-stained jeans and waterproof wear, scissoring through the neighborhood for an hour's span. Forty year old lungs and legs exchange easy greetings with hills. Churning through rain on an empty stomach gives length to stride. There is a brightness in the low-slung sky today. No trainspotting as yet.

The blue-handled snub-nosed shears resurfaced in the pocket of an ill-used coat last night. I fingered them as I walked with head down and soft curses past a house on fire.

The coffee's cold. The blink of cursor and seconds sounded on the wall clock synchronize. My heart keeps a half-beat pace behind. Rain sputters to a stop and lawn engines roar to life. The squirrel who regularly traverses the stapled fence pauses to rub muzzle against plank. The holly bush houses maple leaves and I must return to Tiberium.

"No object is so beautiful that, under certain conditions, it will not look ugly" - Oscar Wilde

Thursday, November 12, 2009

which way is prepositional

Up at 10 after a late night movie date with the hole-in-the-wall television and post-viewing literary session in Tiberium. Dragging the grey matter around on a leash, urging it to synaptic willfulness with cheap Earl Grey. How to properly kern the shuffling thoughts that dangle carrots and fishnet stockings before myopic vision. And where are the blue-handled scissors? There are only two proper rooms in this flat and precious little storage. I live with no-one. Kneading frustration into dough. It rises stubbornly. Has the wheat gone sour? Where is the rain that was promised? I forego the vitamins and prop my knee out the window. Track back and forth between the washbasin and the kleenex box, plucking dust motes from the air, reverting to a childhood habit when they were Sights.

I wish I was as handy as a Prufrock poem.

The bead doll climbs the neck of a vase which housed volunteer sunflowers growing from a rubbish heap. The sun lathes across the autumn sky. An engine roars overhead. The neighborhood dogs are subdued. It'll be dark soon; thirteen hundred is four hours away from gloaming and raccoons who march across the yard. One has a milk-white eye.

"This is the sort of cleverness up with which I will not put"
paraphrasing Winston Churchill's quote

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

cor blimey! gadzooks.

The wind blew in from the north and it is CHILLY HERE today. I rode home in the sideways rain with the wind funneling down the river and into my right ear canal (time to find the winter headband). yeah and thank god someone invented gore-tex!!!

I am wound up tighter than a psycho in a straight jacket hoh mah gawd. This morning I drank tea. Simple Earl Grey. And I was off like a flaming rocket - POW. Wh-wh-what in t-t-tarNATION. Bzzzzzwwwwirrrrrrroooowwwwwshitbang! Good thing I had places to go and people to see; the bike ride helped me burn all the spastic off.

Until I found out that I have been LIED TO as a consumer! No, look, okay? I have been back on the meds for a month - vitamins. Faithful, every day, multis and a magnesium calcium zinc combo. Today I find out that magnesium and calcium inhibit each other when taken simultaneously. Dammit! There are warnings on cigarettes, and alcohol, and even cheese nowadays ("no soy no wheat no gluten low sodium low carb high fiber free range RGBH/THC free). Why in all hells can there not be a regulation that stipulates what science - not New Age hummy gummy theory - has proven:

Calcium and magnesium are not to be taken together. Or you're wasting your money.

Oh right! It's about money! Pharmaceutical companies, I have heard, are less than forthright and more than happy to lighten your piggy bank.

Also, another well-placed caveat upon the vitamin label might prove useful to the uninitiated: magnesium (citrate) has a reputation for giving humans the shits. Actually that could be a boon for some, and could instead be placed on the front of the bottle with a big bright sticker and lots of exclamation points!! bonus!!

So the reasons are twofold, why I drew this self-portrait tonight, in light of the day's double-whammy:

Now what. I need to go buy fifteen different bottles of vitamin and set my alarm at specific intervals for a reminder to pop the pills individually, so as to ensure that my vitamins don't mix at cross-purposes. Ridicule-less.

The good news:

According to a well-respected local medicine man medical doctor, it doesn't matter if you buy your vitamins from a dollar bin at the Cash King, or if you shell out fifteen clams for one bottle at your locally owned and operated apothecary, run by staff well-versed in all their products and how you might correct your ailments with herbs de provence, cat'o'nine tails, or a scooperful of kombucha.

Loo loo loony!

I need to go take a lude. I shall Google 'lude - vitamin' and see if there is anything in my DIY apothecary that fits the bill.

All right, fellow simians....near and far....short and long (in India, they say 'long' instead of 'tall').....keep living the dream!

Monday, October 26, 2009

a nice soak

Hey kids. Shiver me timbers! A howling squall moved through here this morning, just as I was poised to launch myself into the city. I'm glad the Eye of Sauron didn't cast a baleful glare upon my pedaling self - that would have sucked rotten eggs. As it was, I waited ten minutes for the worst of the wind to blow itself out, and then I made my wet way over to T's where I made heaps of mashed potatoes for her husband's birthday dinner.

Birthday Dinner?! Oh the pressure! GAH.

I think they turned out pretty good, and I even improvised a little bit. Found some creamy butternut squash soup in their refrigerator to change it up a bit. I even cut the bad bits of the potatoes off. I was happy they wanted the skins left on though...vitamins! And I used a fancy mixer, and everything. I did have visions of the proverbial sailor's chore, down in the brig: peeling and cutting mountains of potatoes, day in an day out. Even for me, who can eat the same thing for a whole week, would cringe at the homogenaiety. I suppose if one has too many eyes, you could eat potatoes, and cure yourself homeopathically? What the hell am I nattering on about. Shut the hell up, you scurvy rain-sodden rat!

So, here are some flamboyant trees for your viewing edification. The first is outside T's house, looking down the lane (I say Lane, it is Utter Suburbia, with homogenous housing, but anyway):

and then on my bike ride homewards, I snapped this photo...the trees remind me of popsicles

I stopped at the Library and picked up another of my all-time favorite books, which I have also read thrice, but I will read it again to nurse myself through the crash after the high of the last book. Oh thank god for prolific writers.

Once home, the rain had stopped and the clouds had even cleared off a bit. My brakes have been a bit loose, so I tightened them up (I didn't have to replace the rear ones after all, hooray!) and then patched up the seat. What a badass I am.

Here is my bicycle. The sticker is from a trade I did a dog's life ago with a guy who lives in China (or, Chain, if you are into the anagrams).

Painted a picture and smoked a bong....ha ha, just kidding. Yeah right, you know that's bullshit. I am just feeling a little bit saucy after feeling so puny yesterday, so I pretend I can handle the drugs...oh do stop nattering on and freaking on. Going to read a nice safe book now, do a little armchair traveling, to the land of Infidels and Dragons. la la la

Sunday, October 25, 2009

pearly gates

My morning:

up at 9:30, after a lengthy awake-time during the middle of the night, sandwiched between a lot of active disturbing dreaming.

3pm - still in jammies, listening to Radiohead and Thom Yorke, doing this:

It's been a long while since I've done any printmaking. I love the process, and the first page I peel back from the fresh ink on the newly carved block is always really cool. I'm happy with my efforts. I'd like lots to be different, but this is exactly what I wanted for today.

I'm patching in to the internet via a little G4 laptop that has been so generously loaned to me by a guy who fixes computers (my landlady knows him and gave me his contact information). Mike was more than willing to come over and assess my G5 after first the Bluetooth disappeared, and the next day, the Airport. So, no connecting to the internet with the Big Girl...the modem (at the landlady's) is too far away and convoluted to string an ethernet cable between us. So for now, and as long as I need it, I'll use this hardy little lappie while my vintage computer (newer than this lil' dude) handles stuff like Photoshop and anything media and graphic related. Ugh. Don't want to buy another computer, or spend a shitload of money fixing it up (not worth it).

Yes, it's really Vintage. It is an official term, and five years old for a computer nowadays is vintage. Incredible. Technology is amazing and wonderful, when you can afford to pay the wizard of Oz.

I just looked out the window and there are these sweet little birds hopping around in the garden beds. I mean. They are the sweetest dearest. Are they a kind of chickadee? I don't think sparrows. They blend in really well with the dirt and rocks, but if you search enough, you'll be able to see their fluffy beaked little bodies:

hmmmm....maybe not. Maybe if you click on the picture to enlarge it. Trust me, they are charming.

I am on this big bean kick. I'm making smashed pinto beans all the time now. I just learned that pinto in portuguese is another word for dick. ha ha ha!! So I'm going to smash little dicks, and throw them in a bowl with some squash and rice. What a delicious meal.



Finally, it's raining, after nothing but uninterrupted grey dry skies. Like the sun had turned away its face and instead showed a vast, rippling, chilly buttcheek. Well, it wasn't too chilly today, and it was very breeze to speak of, silent and still. I'm glad it's raining, feels like a release cause I've been totally hormonal and weepy all day (without the actual weeping). I finished one of my favorite books, I've read it three times over the last few years, and I feel bereft. And no other good books to turn to right now. I must survive this winter. 

Saturday, October 24, 2009

fa so la ti do

Hey don't be shocked by I am gainfully employed again, though under the table about it. Looks like I might be able to keep my promise to myself after all: not filing taxes for one entire year! Ssssshhhh. A friend of a friend needs help in her home with cooking and cleaning, and so I am helping her.

(disclaimer! notice to the IRS! I haven't earned enough cash to file taxes, under the table or not!)

Yesterday at the workplace I wondered, Does anyone really live here? I wrote a friend: maybe it's a movie set, and someone is fanatical, has a weird fetish, keep this for fun. There were barely any hairs in the sink, the tub was strangely devoid of scummy stuff. The fake white-painted wood blinds (there were so many, there could have been so many more, I count my blessings): barely any dust. But I didn't cheat: I cleaned every damned one of those slats in the blinds. I have a weird conscience (once when I was in high school and just learning to drive I accidentally sideswiped the car in the next parking slot over, as I was backing out - hey. I was driving my mom's big-ass station wagon. But I didn't leave a number, I just looked around to make sure no one saw what I did, and conscience is fickle). So, the blinds, and maybe being a bit older now....couldn't be sneaky about not cleaning what seemed clean to me already.

Anyway, today both kids and the husband were home. The kitchen was a total wreck, in less than 24 hours! No surprise. T (name shortened to protect the innocent) had already warned me that her kids are 'enabled' and I asked to clarify: "You mean, you enable them by doing things for them?" and she said yes, and that her mother has a lot of ideas how she should raise her kids (they should do their own dishes, laundry, etc....well, it doesn't seem like such a bad idea really...the kids are 17 and 12...). Come to think of it though..I don't remember having to do many chores as a kid and I turned out all right, and I prefer my environment to be neat and tidy. Last night after seeing how clean their bathtub was I felt inspired to scrub down my own shower stall.

I made a good vegan meal for their dinner, with lots of veggies, coconut milk, and.....pant pant pant...cilantro.

Cilantro is one of those six-senses orgasmic experiences for me. Oh my god. I want to roll around in it. I promised myself as the summer wound down, with all the accompanying yummy fresh food smells, that I would buy myself a bunch of cilantro every week or so. Maybe just keep it as a bouquet, aromatherapy. (yes I said six senses by the way, my...aura....if you will, my 23 gram soul, responds to it in a very spiritually visceral way)

I asked how to run the dishwasher, explaining to T that I don't have one at home (even when I did, I used it for a big fancy drying rack instead of washing dishes). She then asked if I had a garbage disposal after I looked for the switch to turn the thing on (no I don't have one, it all goes into the compost bin out back). "I remember living like that." She said it without rancor or judgement, but I wanted to laugh. I forget that people become used to certain 'luxuries'.

"Do you have a TV?" This was as she hauled out a Swifter for me to use, to dust the floor and gather dirt.

I hesitated..."Yeah, but it's not hooked up. I watch movies on it." My television, purchased for ten dollars used, is small enough to fit neatly into the small wardrobe. A very small upright dresser. So I can close the doors and not see it when it's not in use. She continued, "well if you watch TV then you might have seen one of these Swifters." I said, "I have seen them, on the internet, as an aid to guerilla art." Unfazed, she said, "Well we don't make guerilla art with this."

But you can. I saw a pictorial demonstration! You can use it as a way to lengthen you reach, by altering the Swifter just a little bit, it will hold a sticker, so you can slap 'em up really high. People are so ingenious.

So I Swifted, and I felt very bourgeois.

Later in the garden, we put the beds to sleep. Pulled some weeds, composted the old tomatoes, and I raked and hauled leaves to mulch with (the best black gold ever - if people realized how great leaves are for compost and soil-making, I don't think there would be any fear of food scarcity...and people who sold mulch for a living might be out of business).

How did we come round to talking about how expensive it is, living? Oh, she would like to go off-grid, since utilities and living expenses are astronomical, and "it's impossible to live on not much money." I wanted to laugh again - ok I know that's not a laughing matter but I think she meant, "without certain luxuries" (they have two cars, two kids, big flat screen tv, hot tub, big yard, etc etc). She corrected herself and said, "well it's possible, if you live simply".

It's always easier to want more. Bigger. Better. You know. Before my brother died, I talked of trying to save money, and I'm pretty good at saving money. He asked me what I could live without, what did I spend all my money on? After I was laid off from work the following year and decided to go on unemployment, I learned how to live pretty comfortably on several hundred dollars less. The two combining events helped shape how I live today: without a car, and a lot of other extras...although I do have a kick-ass computer (when it doesn't go belly up, as it is trying to do again), and an internet connection. Completely unnecessary, but as my friend Clark would say, I don't have cable, I choose Internet :) After learning how to conserve and downsize, and not even feel lacking, I could conceive of working part-time...that lead to the job at the library, where I lived quite comfortably working only 24 hours a week. And, saving enough money to take a year off (what I am doing now).

(shit! I hope I don't sound preachy! ooh ick)

Even though I lived without a computer for awhile...for example...if I didn't have mine now, I would feel really deprived :)

So. It is all relative. And personal.

Autumn is upon us, and it is gorgeous. The flaming maple tree outside of T's house, where I raked, is flipping erotic. The colors here aren't as hectic or dramatic on the whole as New England, but the trees are definitely showing off. Smells good too. And there has been rain, with days of sun and warmth. I like these autumns, when we are easing into winter gently. My home is warm and dry...very cosy, and I am thrilled about this. The sunshine this evening was brilliant through the windows, all golden. I missed the golden opportunity, but I did manage some pretty nice photos of the inside of my little apartment to share, since that's been a habit of mine...documenting and all.

After the photography session, I received some emails from my new friend in Sao Paulo, who complied with my shameless request for Portuguese swear words. Much as I love saying the F word, it's nice to round out the vocabulary a bit. Thanks Caio, I am still laughing really a lot.

On with the show!

Standing by the art tables, on the south side, looking north at the wall of kitchen

Standing at the front door, west side, looking into the kitchen/studio and down the short hallway into the bedroom/salon 

The salon by day, bedroom by night

Now we've returned to the front door, looking south (right) this time, towards the studio with the kitchen wall on my left (same room, it's a two-room wonder I live in, and I mean that sincerely...just enough space for me, easy to keep warm, and easy to clean!)

Yes now we are looking back at the front door, with autumn's splendid glory outside, along with the clothesline (on the very left through the window, just visible)

Here is the cow I promised Caio. S/he sees you wherever you go, very kindly and full of the mirth

And now, I must memorize one more foul word in Portuguese, and call this a very wonderful, complete...kick ass day!!

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

back in the saddle

What the? Who the? Where the....??

The What: my back was messed up for weeks and weeks
The Who: all the kids in the zoo
The Where: the zoo

That is the nutshell version but doesn't make for a very satisfying self-indulgent writing session, nor does it make for too much of an exciting read. I am going to tell you more! Since I have decided to abandon my late-afternoon food-making-mess that needs cleaning up for the nonce.

Yeah, so.....fell into another nice hole there for awhile, I hurt my back making a living, doing yardwork over the summer. With a couple of relapses. I couldn't sit in a chair for very long if at all for weeks and weeks, or ride my bike (WOE!) but I could stand and walk, and lie down and sleep, and I did a fair amount of all of that, and not much art or else. My patience was sorely tried, and I felt grateful for the very real and eventual probability that my body would heal and my life would be back to normal. People with chronic illnesses or strictures....I salute you. Adaptability is a surefire way towards evolution, and I am hard-pressed to evolve when I sink into that depression which accompanies illness or injury.

I'm feeling SoooOOooo much better the last couple of weeks and have been helping Jacque paint the outside of her house. She labored over which colors to paint for a long time, and even longer for the money and time to fund the project. So far two sides of the house (the ones facing the public) are a warm, rich gold trimmed out with 'sommelier' (deep burgundy....the word is french for 'wine waiter' or someone who provides expert opinion on wines) and 'eminent bronze' which is a very noble title don't you think? It renders a nice patois of olive-leaf green. The color combinations are quite stunning, and it's the brightest house on the block (and most visually interesting).

Why do folks paint their houses gunmetal grey or slate Oregon.....where it rains so much? Besides that, the colors anywhere evoke a sort of prison or military atmosphere. Gah.

It's been great to hang out with Jacque and beautify her home. Not much in the painting season left though, as the skies will slowly turn gunmetal grey and douse us with rain. Okay that's dreary! The skies will turn dove grey and weep. Oh how poetic.

I've been faking myself out thinking I am a generally unproductive leech on society who is happy just humming along being entertained and not giving much back in the way of all that is good and holy. Then I disabuse myself of this notion by sitting down and reading tons of my blogposts (how narcissistic!) and browsing through a library-sized (for me) body of work in the way of art. And I think about all the food I've planted. And the time spent with friends, being in relationship, which for me (for all of us) demands energy, and courage (and is of course rewarding, frustrating, painful, delightful). I go to it willingly, most of the time :)

Waxing poetic again!

I applied for a position at Ye Olde Library, contriving a stand-up typing situation for the day-long ordeal of filling out the application and supplemental questionnaire online (sitting at a computer wasn't a viable option at that point, what with my ruined backside)...and wasn't even granted an interview. Y'all know I worked there for six freaking years, right?! When I learned that the interviews were scheduled and I hadn't received a call, I was puzzled. I held it together, I didn't even blow up. I marched myself to the Human Resource office and talked with Kate Rowles, who has ever been gracious and helpful to me. As our conversation lengthened, I started feeling really wretched and pitiful. I expressed that I felt hard-pressed to not take it personal. After all, there are failsafes against this: The city of Eugene is an Equal Opportunity Employer. They score the applications and the questionnaires. It's not a personality contest - even in the interviews.

This presents advantages and egregious disadvantages. If personality doesn't count for anything, you are apt to hire really shitty people to do Great Customer Service. But if you have credentials, can answer the questions correctly, then you have a good Librarian Mind and are well-suited to said work. Faugh!!

So inside of five minutes with Kate I traversed self-pity, outrage (giving them all the big fat middle finger when I exited the HR building), other-pity (Your guys' loss! I am a kick-ass worker and an awesome person!), and finally......relief.

What the -? Well, because: the Library is a nest of vipers. Mostly from management. Sad really. The political climate isn't very democratic, though they give you lip service aplenty. I could go on and ON about it, I should know, I was part of the dysfunctional family for a long time. And by part of, I don't mean 'complicit'. Working as a shelver in the Circulation department is soul-death. But I would do it, as a means to an end: working upstairs again, this time as an Adult Services Library Assistant.

Enough of that. I haven't boycotted the Libary; I'm quite happy being a mere patron, thank you! In fact, today I stopped in to pick up one of my favorite author's latest books (goody goody), a few DVDS, and a children's book. The children's book is by an artist I was just introduced to by way of a friend (who still works at the libary)(and who told me a wretched story about management just today). I've always wanted to write and illustrate a children's book. So, some research and art appreciation. Among the DVDs is a documentary about twin brothers, one of whom underwent transgender surgery. I don't anticipate an insipid, offhand, histrionic film....and I recently read an article about how most people fall along a spectrum of sort-of blended genders. Genders aren't really black and white, folks (oh!.....duh).

On my way out after checking my materials I said to the folks behind the desk (we have shared many working hours together), "Keep living the dream!" I wasn't being nasty.

Outside at my trusty steed, as I hoisted my pannier from ground-level on to the bike rack, the loop on one of my shoelaces slipped and was caught and trapped inside one of the pannier buckles - which isn't a closed buckle, but open a teeny weeny bit on an end. My upward momentum was brought up short and ended abruptly. What are the chances? I mean, I couldn't do that again if I tried....I was laughing, I guess you had to be there, but I thought, It's like one of those carnival games: You either need great skill to actually throw the hoop over the narrow-necked bottle and make it stick since all the bottles are packed like sardines and the plastic hoops are repelled by them as like disparate magnet ends....or you just need blind dumb luck to win the game.

Sooo still chuckling to myself I rode back to The Copy Shop to pick up prints of some watercolors I've done recently, hand the lady my credit card (for a measly $1.50 charge) and she's sorry but there is a two-dollar minimum and would I like to buy a notebook? I sputter - this is my third failed attempt to print out the darn things at this shop for reasons I won't blather on about - and leave without the prints, my good humor evaporated in a flash of self-important frustration.

Dumb. I'm like a snail, poking my mealy head out waving my tentacles tasting the good air and earth and finding it lovely and then at the slightest impediment, withdraw into my shell. But not after striking out like a surly cat or something. I mean I didn't rip her a new one, but geeez.....I so often fail to think of options when I'm feeling thwarted. Dumb!

So I'll make more watercolors, make more jpeg files, and take my thumbdrive back for more prints to total above two dollars.

Which I'll go do soon, after I adjourn to clean up the kitchen half of the studio.

Thursday, September 10, 2009


Did you know that Muscato has just as many or maybe even more antioxidant properties than red wines? here's to yer health!

I know it does wonders for my ridiculously clear head.

Sunday, August 23, 2009

faire weather

On friday I met up with some friends at the Lane County Fair. I entered the event at the gate next to The Slingshot. You can fork over thirty dollars to be seated in a big chair attached to huge rubberbands, and be shot into the sky. Marvelous. I would totally lose my shit.

I went to hang out with friends, and for photo ops, and because at that particular time, it was free admittance (otherwise it woulda cost nine clams). The reason a passel of the population gained free entry is because one of our local stores sponsors an hour on one day: if you flash your Bi Mart card, you're in.

Welcome to the Fair! Where everything is deep fried - even the ice cream, and the goats. Okay right okay not the goats.

And this is the best photo:


two question test reveals answer

Which two questions do you think are asked?

1. Who's the last rock star you slept with?
2. What's the square root of pi?
3. Have you ever double-dipped?
4. When you stole that tenner from the tip jar did you spend it all on yourself?
5. Stranded on an island in a hypothetical sea-wreck, which three items could you not live without?
6. Do you fancy that pygmy goat yonder?


That was friday, which was a day I felt like dog shit (in body, if not in spirit). I was up ridiculously late the night before, drawing until waaay past midnight, drinking wine, and Skype-ing with a friend in the UK. Friday afternoon I went to the local market for wine-tasting, which cured my hangover. (note to self)


Saturday, August 15, 2009

mi casa

Hey, that sunflower I bought as a prepubescent has grown up and has begun to bloom, just in time for my brother Christopher's birthday. He woulda been 48 tomorrow. Sunflowers = his fave. Aw man, happy birthday.

Here's a slice o' the back yard. Edibles and non-edibles, co-existing in harmony.

Here is where I live. It is a cozy little casa and I love it here. Two full rooms and a watercloset that's not claustrophobic. It's great....just enough room, and not too much to clean.

I live in the little bit on the right, it's attached to Joan's house who occupies it with her cat who is a calico and looks permanently pissed off. I think it's just the way her fur grows over her eyes though.
Joan is on vacation. When the cat's crack open that bottle of wine tonight....

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

'tis the season

OH my god we survived the heat wave. Week before last it was 107. Miserable. The older I get, the margin of temperature where I can function is narrowing. okay, bitch over!

I am still being creeped out by the photo of my dead mother. No wonder, right? god!

OHkay, this is what was going on the first week of July, in the raised bed I built out front. I planted everything from seed except for the tomato (in the upper right corner). You see here three little basils, and three summer squash:

Four weeks later, presto!

It's even crazier now; I took this photo about ten days ago. Bumper to bumper crop, can ya dig it?!

Several weeks ago I was on walkabout near Sundance (natural foods market) and saw this:

Now tell me, would you see something like this in YOUR town?

- of course
- no fucking way
- only when I'm high

People 'round these parts, least the ones who shop at Sundance, have a real...sense of humor. Well I think it's funny. What was this all about?

- duck food
- dog food
- it's my freaking breakfast, you moron!

Friday, July 24, 2009

for reals

oh my god! and jesus as well!

(if you are a Sugarcubes fan, you will recognize those lines, but I am appropriating them for good reason)

My dad came through with some pictures of my mom's funeral and here she is. I don't see the can of Coors. I guess we thought, since it was a Church affair, that would be going a wee bit too far. Too bad! But it's still horridly, wonderfuly......fucking WEIRD!

Poor mom. I think she ate too many malted milk balls.....what is up with the greenish cast to her skin (and the balls)? Is she radioactive?

I'm about falling out of my chair here. She looks like Herman Munster. Should we sue the mortuary posthumously? She should have Morticia's long black hair.

No six feet under for me. You better burn my ass.

On a lighter note, I am thoroughly enjoying my vacation. I've decided to go on vacation. And not figure shit out, like what am I going to do for work in the winter (not to mention all the other questions of the existential bent I've been fielding), etc ad nauseum. I DO figure that if I can just freaking RELAX for a solid few weeks, the answers will arise*. Despite what others may think, I really haven't been on vacation since quitting my job and selling my stuff and going off last September. I haven't felt relaxed in the least.

I just might do this for a few months.

or, I should say, I will wear the mantle of ambivalence and unknowing more convincingly

Sunday, July 19, 2009

zum pics

Well hey folks, I'm cleaning house and posting a slew of pics from the last coupla months.

Leaving the Matthews Community garden late last month, some dramaticas et wunderbarr

Last sunday it rained, we were soaked! With the added bonus of lightening and thunder. Wicked! Our collective gardens looooooved it. I managed a nice long bike ride up the mountain and back before we were dumped on, too.

This morning, a hearty harvest from the container garden in back, chard chard chard. And I made applesauce with the early-fruiting tree too. Ummm....yum.

Latter part of June, nice and hot and perfect for ICE CREAM!

Here's from a few weeks ago, at World Cafe...Ariana with her daugher Meris, who is ubercute and in her mid-twos now. Half of Jacque's face is on the right. Ariana is working up to running a marathon (sheeyooo!) and Jacque is finishing up a year-long commission designing and building a concrete top desk. You can see photos of her progress and finished product, a la amazing, over here!.

You can't see Marsha, who's on my right....well hang on let me consult the archives...okay well I guess it's all about Meris, but I would be remiss if I didn't mention here that Marsha finished her school year, after an intensive, condensive eight-week summer session and has eight weeks of freedom! Then she'll be a senior at the UofO. Way to go Mar!

Couple of weeks ago, my friend and former co-worker Jackie from the library took me on my maiden voyage to Hideaway Bakery where they fire up their oven (made from local materials, like a big clay jobbie) once a day and bake the bread fresh (how else?). Sitting outside our view included this wonderful truck with a chocolately labbish dog in the back.

Some of the good in the offering at the Bakery......that is one big-ass loaf of bread! Delicioso food, smells, ambience, perfect.

You go! You go now!

There's the beauty of an oven on the right...

Mid-June, Ryan's birthday! Dang are you really nine now?? (he's since shaved his hair off)

Random window-reflection shot

At the coast over Memorial Day

20th Anniversary of Soromundi, all-women's choir of Eugene...okay, I think they officially decided to say 'lesbian' choir, but all women are welcome and not every one is a lesbian. Back in mid-May...the picture on the big screen features Jacque's eight-foot-tall sculpture, Jane. She's since been painted bronze and graces the entry way to their home. She used to stand inside Mother Kali's bookstore downtown on campus......bookstore closed a few years back :-(

And here's Mac, a solid, affable, male pit bull. He lives with some folks I do yard work for. I yuv him.

This place of business, located next to and just south-west of the library, is new since I've been gone.

The choice is clear, don't you agree?

Or, you could just throw me to the wolves when I check out, it's free.

I wish my brother Christopher was alive - for many reasons - but if he was, I'd send this to him because I know he'd appreciate it. After our mother died he sent me a picture of her in the casket. I thought it was in the poorest taste, I was SO offended! I wish I had that picture: now I think it's funny, in a morbid way. He'd tucked in a can of Coors, I making this up? did we just discuss it and not actually do it?...also a carton of those malted milk balls. Two of her favorite things.

Last night I was at a friend's house at dusk. We watched evening primroses bloom. It was so amazing. I love summertime.

Thursday, July 16, 2009

somebody pull a rabbit

What was that about rabbit holes and disappearing tophats? Put that crook'd cane away, I'm staying right here on center stage for a half a minute, see?

Three months ago I landed on American soil. I've been on homeland land almost as long as I was off said soil. I haven't longed for India, even after today's convection-oven-hot temperatures (climbing into the 90s). 'Specially not after that. I am a wilting flower whose stems rub together most sweatily and in an unwelcome way when walking. Ick.

But, before I shower off the grit and grime, I thought I'd give y'all a limp but enthusiastic hello: I've planted myself firmly in the Friendly Neighborhood, just three blocks north of the house I lived in last summer......literally....on the same street, even! I found a little mother-in-law flat, two rooms of loveliness to unpack for a spell and nestle in.

Paul's Bicycle came through for me and put together a TREK for under two hundred bucks, so I have a reliable set of wheels, and a joy ride. I'm officially self-employed, as a gardener and as an artist. I'll garden (haul, mow, weed, prune, plant, dig, harvest) until my back says Enough. I just sold a boatload of my stencil postcards to Shawn Mediaclast over at his joint, Museum of Unfine Art. He's invited me to do a show, early next year. So how about that! Yah! Hoo!

I ate the first two cherry tomatoes from our garden last night, after eating two big handfulls of blueberries from the bush out front, and an apple off the tree in back. Am I in my element, or what?

My landlady is pretty much the coolest one so far........I'm still going through a healthy existential crisis, but at least I'm in Eugene and I have Eckardt Tolle (I'm half-serious, folks)......listening to lotsa music of my yesteryouth (the 90s, not the 80s)........and generally healthy except for the alien-looking bloom of tinea versicolor on my back and neck, a gift from India. It's a fungus, everyone has it, yes you do too, only most times it's not visible. In my case, it is now. I am seriously working with all my vanity issues. I have now entered My Forties, folks.

Here I am in my studio, and I bid you fair eve.

Wednesday, May 06, 2009


Bet you thought I was lost forever down that rabbit hole. Nay! I'm back and better than ever...where did I put of wine...

My days have been full, rich, and loamy, for fact's sake. Catching up with friends, very good very good. Biking, walking around the city, visiting my old haunts (not the least of which is the Library, how I love it so). No job searching yet, but plenty of hunting around for a place to live. The ones in my comfortably affordable range are all in shitty neighborhoods, or are shitholes themselves, or both. I guess not all people care about grime factors, or things like covered and secure bicycle parking, functional appliances or functional space, period. I like amenities such as storage and closets and no mold. Hmmm. I shall be ever rigorous and hopeful in my search.

In the meantime, I am house sitting for a couple of good friends in a very clean, quiet, and safe (but not sanitized) neighborhood. I've been planting young things to grow and eat in their raised beds. I was offered these tender green vittles by way of thank-you after spending time out at GrassRoots farm. Grass is a place plunk in the middle of our city, but you wouldn't know it. Last year nearly 70,000 pounds of food was grown and given to Food for Lane County (with which it is affiliated).

I love how organized my friends' home is, and how they've achieved a balance between couture, eclecticism, and down-home lived-in laid-back loveliness. I also love how organized the Farm is - the gardening glove bins are not only split into sizes, but also into left and right hand gloves! And they feed the volunteers lunch every day, which is a marvelous communal affair, and damn delicious. There's an outdoor covered kitchen and a whole building devoted to cookware and eating-ware. A demo compost class was held last weekend, which I attended. Food security, baby, it's where it's at!!

Here's a couple neighborhood shots, down by the river where Jacque and Marsha live:

Oodles of ornamental cherry blossoms (I'm guessing):

And at night on the river:

The other day I remembered Hourly Comic Day. Do you remember that?? Wow it's been a long time. So I did a Day's Worth, and you can click on over to read the whole nine yards and then some, including my artist pals' contributions too.

Here's my front cover.

Not much else to rhapsodize, philosophize, or reminisce about right now. The wine, she's working to woo me, and I must adjourn.