Tuesday, September 01, 2015

Fame: I Want To Live Forever

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I’m working on falling in love with myself this month. I’ll be answering the 36 questions from an experiment done examining how people fall in love.


Question 2. Would you like to be famous? In what way?


The short answers are yes and as an author and artist.


The longer answers are as follows:

I don’t want to be famous like a Kardashian or a Trump, famous, infamous, just to have attention or to have my name bandied about on people’s lips. I’m thinking more along the lines of Anne Rice or Stephen King or JK Rowling. I want to be known for entertaining stories in novel form. Stories that can take you away from the everyday. Stories people will read in future generations. I’d like to write essays, too, on any number of topics that strike my fancy, mostly because we all know my opinion is so valuable. I also want to create various pieces of art in just any medium imaginable: paperdoll puppet shows, drawings, paintings, collages, dolls, beaded hair decorations, hand-sewn clothes and costumes and notebooks.

Monday, August 31, 2015

To Fall In Love With Anyone, (Even Yourself?,) Do This


Not sure how this will work out but I thought I’d try this exercise with myself. It’s meant for a couple but you’re supposed to love yourself first, right?

Dr. Aaron did an experiment where two strangers spent time together, asking and answering questions, then they looked into eachother’s eyes for four minutes. Within six months, they were married. They had fallen in love.

I’m going to answer the thirty-six questions over the next thirty-six days and then stare at myself in the mirror. Oh, joy.

Question 1. Given the choice of anyone in the world, whom would you want as a dinner guest?

There are so many answers to this question. I’m quite moody, so the answer depends on my frame of mind and even on what I feel like having to eat.

It would have to be someone I’d feel comfortable around, who likes to debate weird topics, and yet is ok with long silences, maybe someone who likes to pick at a variety of different foods as opposed to having an actual dinner, someone who likes to laugh and finds the oddity of life humorous. A comedian would be good. I’m a sucker for anyone who makes me laugh.

I always thought it would be fun to be an ex-pat living a bohemian sort of life in Paris, partaking of the green fairy and screaming politics while smoking killed us before we reached forty. I don’t mind the cold, so living in an attic with only a mattress on the floor would be heavenly. No bugs, though. Oops. Just popped the fantasy.

So, cushions on the floor, a roaring fire, candles, green olives and gin and tonics while reading books. And there’d be a thunderstorm raging.

And I can’t think of the exact right person to join me. There are bits and pieces of several people but not the perfect person. Seriously, I can’t think of anyone. WTF?

Always when I give up control … boom, it comes to me.

It would be someone like Chris Pratt. I saw him on the Graham Norton show and he had this boyish, self deprecating humor. He was funny and he told good stories. I really like being entertained. There are a few “real” people I think might be the same but I’m not going to actually name them. I wasn’t born yesterday.

It’s interesting that all possible candidates are male.

For some reason, I think the question implies that I’d be inviting the person into my home. I like to be alone at home. I can’t get enough alone at home. I don’t mind having people around if they can be quiet or if they must speak, it has to be something clever and interesting, nothing about mundane, everyday topics, like bills or groceries or laundry. I don’t want to talk about kids or cats or kitchens. I prefer kings and queens and castles.

Give me philosophy and science and psychology and the vagaries of the human spirit. Or potty humor.

Sunday, August 02, 2015

Anti-Crypsis

On July 9, 2015, I said I wanted to do an art project a month. July's project was a collage - paper and glue.

I knew I wanted to use the Sycamore bark I had collected (we've lots of the trees on our street.) I thought I wanted to use drink cans, but changed my mind after I began cutting them up. I found a metal screen the lawn company threw out and that became my canvas.

Crypsis is the term for a being's ability to blend into its surrounding.

Final components: glue, metal screen, paper butterflies and dragonflies, glass stones, Sycamore bark, glass beads, a dried flower, a dries leaf and a chunk of wood.

Here's the finished product:

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Thursday, July 23, 2015

i went analoging ~ what did you do?

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July 21, 2008

I was AFK (Away From Keyboard) for several days, nine days to be exact. I managed twenty-two days of writing in a row before I went awol. I can’t decide if I should start over (since I didn’t do any writing - with pen and paper the old-fashioned way as I intended) or if I should pick up where I left off.

I’m voting for the latter since it’s less punitive and it recognizes my accomplishment. So, today will be Day 23 and moving forward not looking behind.

I was in the mountains of Pennsylvania about two hours North and West of the Poconos. This is where my father was born and raised. My family was there for our annual reunion. We’ve been doing this for as long as we’ve been in the States. My father built a log cabin in the town where he was born. This was the first year we were there without my mother. Everyone expected a more peaceful and enjoyable few days. It didn’t work out that way. We were all still miserable and I am searching for the reason why.

I cleaned out the cabin of bags of pillows and blankets and clothes my mother had collected. There should never be that much fabric and stuffing laying around in an enclosed building in a dark wooded and damp area. I found ten unopened toothbrushes and unlabeled pills. The sleeping loft is now more breathable and I don’t have to be afraid of scurrying little critters sneaking around while I sleep.

I’m tired of complaining. I’m tired of yelling and whining and criticisms. I’m tired of people unable to be responsible for their own entertainment. If I don’t get some alone time soon, my head might explode. I don’t want anyone to want anything from me.

I have no idea where I was going with any of this. If you’ve read this far, I’m sorry because this just sucks. Tomorrow, I will go back to the story I started in the last two entries, the one about the killer tea kettle. Go back and read those instead of this claptrap. I could dedicate myself to keeping alive all forms of archaic sayings.

I bet you haven’t noticed that I started every paragraph with the letter ‘i’. Go back and check. That wasted a second of your life. The next one hundred words will not be any more entertaining than the last four hundred so go do something else. i won’t mind. When I’m done here, I’m going to google ‘why did my family gathering go wrong’ and see if I get some help figuring out the problem. It really bothers me that nine people can’t have a few enjoyable days together.

I didn’t even take any pictures while I was on my really enjoyable adventure so the one above is from where I was but it’s from quite a few years ago. No reading, no writing, no pictures, no relaxation, no good conversation, no sightseeing - yeah, I’m calling my five vacation days a total bust.

Tuesday, July 14, 2015

don't look at a gift horse

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Huddled in the corner, Joshua Sweet burst out with a wild string of expletives.

“Don’t touch it,” he said between gasps. “I saw things.”

Simon Thunder shook his head. Joshua didn’t scare easy. In their three months together and the one month previous, he had never seen Joshua lose control, not even when they were alone together in the bedroom.

The kettle, old, dented, rusted, lay across the room. Simon felt an urge to pick it up each time he looked at it. He forced himself to check the wrapping instead. Purposely ignoring Joshua and the kettle, he read the labels on the brown paper that had covered the box the kettle came in.

Joshua’s name. That’s why he opened it. But Simon’s address and the post mark for the town of Sea Shore Side. Simon’s hometown, the place he was born, the place he had spent his first thirteen years. The place he hadn’t been to in more than fifteen years. No return address, though. He shook out the paper. He tipped over the box. Nothing. No notes or cards or any clues as to who had sent the package or why.

He’d consider it some stupid and pointless practical joke if it weren’t for Joshua still trembling on the floor. Simon noted that he only felt compelled to pick up the kettle when he looked at it. When he forced his gaze away from the pot, the craving to possess it faded and left him. He grabbed his dark sunglasses. They were UV 400 rated with a special coating that minimized color distortion and helped pick up on magical signatures.

“Danger, Will Robinson!” Simon laughed. The Robot from Lost In Space flashed through his mind. While the warning was comical, it was also deadly serious. The kettle’s aura pulsed in sharp, spiky reds. Not good. No wonder Joshua continued to hyperventilate. Simon pulled on his leather gloves that were lined with a para-aramid synthetic fiber. He hoped they’d be enough to protect him from whatever magic had infected Joshua.

He felt a tug as he bent to pick up the kettle. He wanted to pull off his glasses and gloves. He was just able to resist the urge long enough to put the pot back in its box and close it up. As soon as it was contained in the cardboard, the magically induced longing to physically possess it disappeared. Simon suspected some sort of Earth-based magic since the natural material of the box dampened the magic more than the synthetic materials of his sunglasses and gloves.

Now that the magic was contained, Joshua was calming down. His breathing was more regular and he was able to stand, with the help of the wall behind him.

“I saw my own death.” Joshua gulped. “It wasn’t pretty.”

I put my arms around him. We sat on the couch in silence until the sun’s rays hit the balcony’s windows. Evening was upon them. Joshua’s stomach grumbled. He put his hand on his belly.

“I’ll be dead within the month.”