Category Archives: Art

The Dark Side

Dick pics.  I told a story about dick pics.  It wasn’t the worst story I’ve ever told.  Might even be the best.  The stage at St. Mark’s has a spotlight just bright enough to blind me.  I did my best to emote, but ultimately it was a game of timing.  The adrenaline of being on a stage didn’t overwhelm me this time.  The fear is still there but my desire to tell the story wins out.  My delivery still needs help but as a good friend once said, I get the point across.

Continue reading The Dark Side

Dancing Toasters

Lifted up higher, moving along the coast
My ears always need to pop when here
Not in a spiritual way, very literally
Under pressure or in the thick of it
The way beyond expectations is paved
Slick and steep
Against the grain
Make me want
The things you don’t think I see.

Insecurity reigns where confusion dominates.
Can’t expect the birds to take roost
In search of interplanetary nesting sites
Creating an astronomical rift in parenting.

 

Health Cares

I just finished a 5 minute phone call with the most compassionate robot I’ve ever met.   Continue reading Health Cares

#punklife

“Where can I find a good punk scene?” she asks.

“What exactly is it you think punk is?”  I reply to the adorable pixie-girl with a purple mohawk.  She giggles and admits she doesn’t know.  It’s surprising how often I hear beautiful young people complain that the punk scene is just not what it used to be.  There’s a subculture of post-punk children that are brainwashed to think they have come too late to be involved in a real punk scene.  They shave their heads, sew patches on their denim and pay too much money to see old guys play music that only mimics days long passed.  How can they be nostalgic for something that’s literally right in front of them?

The core of punk is less a music genre and more a way of life.  The music ranges across a vast spectrum of styles but there’s a consistent energy almost bordering on angst in every group.  Something soulful and genuine that can’t be cultivated – only unearthed.  The best way to maintain legit punk status is to continually not care what other people think of you and your art.  That’s exceptionally hard to do, especially in today’s instant-gratification social mediaverse.  And the irony is once you’ve discovered what it is to be punk, the meaning changes again.  It’s a concept that never stops moving because it’s so close to the beating heart of society.

The calling card of any healthy punk scene is having fun on stage.  But that is a temporary part of the underground whole.  There are very few days of glory for someone living a truly punk lifestyle.  Most days involve working for someone you don’t respect and complaining about things you can’t change.  The monotony of everyday life washes up against you like waves on a beach until you’re so fed up you can’t hold it in anymore.  That’s when the artistic element of punk emerges, raw and gasping from underneath the cruel nihilism of entropy.

My Leaf Collection

My interest in marijuana predates wanting to living Seattle. Now that I’m here, apparently I should work in the industry.  I have years of experience selling weed, just not in a storefront.  My confidence in the product is based on an unshakable foundation – I’m a living expert that’s just scientific enough to differentiate objectively.  I have a story for every strain I’ve tried and genuine interest in helping people find the type of THC that works for them.  The options for pot consumption are so broad there’s almost literally something for everyone.

During my drive west there was a point when my drug stash became a cannabis collection.  Two huge jars full of baggies gathered from over 2 years of various trains making their way into the midSouth.  Some of those bags are completely stale and won’t smoke for shit but the memory is strong enough for me to preserve the actual plant matter.  Vacuum packing weed strains and keeping them fresh like bottled wine is right around the corner.  I already know that like any other crop, marijuana can have different yields from different cultivation and the difference matters.  I want to curate a collection that’s preserved like jarred fruits so I can enjoy these varieties for years to come.

 

Cost of Living

The most poignant parts of my life happened in books. Every time I discover something great it’s with a fictional companion. Not a wonder I feel destined to write a story. In the meantime, I’m working on telling my stories out loud. I’m the Jane Austen character that wishes she was Jane Austen, not believing in myself is part of the magic. That ability to zone out and take apart the world around me. Not caring what people think and simply continuing on my mission.

I feel freer now than I ever have. The problem is it hurts to breathe. I’m not wanting for anything except more time to process things. Constant sources of entertainment and new experiences. Potential to start over in career paths I once loved. Living in denial this long is a bit like leaving a cult (or a bunker). The cost of living in my previous life was so infinitely higher than here.  Shifts in resources have been dramatic to say the least but the difference is truly the human resources.

Some family networks are too large to fail.  Fortunately, I found a great divestment option that only costs me biological children.  A prodigal soul made better by the journey, regardless of results.  I come from a fertile bunch and resisting the call of motherhood was never an easy decision. My only problem is sapiosexuality doesn’t promote good genetics.  I’m not a physical specimen that should get replicated.  That said, I’m pretty sure I gave birth to a religion recently, so I might live up to my original namesake.

Drahmah

The main thing I avoid when selecting favorite people and places is drama.  Unless there’s a stage show, in which case the drama should be dialed up to at least an 8 or 9.  Unscripted drama had its time when we squished reality up against a TV camera.  The value of that genre lasted about as long as shock rock.  Writing and directing the chaos that we seek is best left to a collaboration, like bullfights.  That doesn’t mean I won’t watch when it’s free.  Continue reading Drahmah

Twitter Anxiety

I don’t understand the language of Tweet quite yet. I got a Twitter a few months ago for the same reason I got a Facebook a few years ago – it’s just part of being a part of the digital world. I really appreciate my past self for her foresight. After my livejournal debacle in 2003, I recognize the value of keeping quiet. There little online evidence of what I’ve done with the first part of my life and thankfully I don’t remember a lot of it.

I’m listening to an interview with Robert Khoo and I want people that like things I like to hear it. And I’m a total fan-girl. So you tweet that, right? Do I tag the man himself or is that presumptuous? My upbringing makes me extra sensitive to things like etiquette so I’m totally overthinking things. Still, there will one day be standards taught to BBA graduates on how and when to use meta conversations. Maybe I’ll write the book.

The literary equivalent of art directing is called editor. Rookie writers are great at producing too much. After you get a surplus of ideas the most valuable perspective is what to keep. In some ways, detachment from my inner artist makes me the best critic. I might be blossoming into the perfect Human Resources manager. I just hope I don’t starve to death before then.

Quandary

I checked the spelling of quandary on Google today.  The first link is a game.  A flash game about empathy and morals, I think. Naturally I have to explore this.  There’s a little game I like to play called Dismantling the Intent Behind Preachy Allegory.  Not really, but my cynicism compels certain behavior and it’s useful to know how far off the center I am at times.  The artwork is a rudimentary version of those Children’s Bible Stories I read in fancy doctor waiting room.  It’s like a trigger, or something.  Continue reading Quandary