2306152 Existence Is
A yearlong blog experiment...
Friday February 10th 2012, 1:47 pm
A ringing and a beep, and then a voice, “Hello?” Hearing his voice after such a long time was really a grand thing today. Bringing back fond memories of times that were so perfect for what it was all about. I miss those times in some way, but not saddened by their passing. Or wishing it was all back that way. But rather, in that way of viewing something that was a thoroughly special time. It was glorious in that it could be all that it was. With hopes for another like it down the road. But the best thing that came out of those times is the relationship that was built, that it endures. Full of heartfelt respect, and caring, and love. This is what I cherish the most. The conversation was such a good one, and a happy one, to just be in this very moment of friendship being vitalized. I relish these moments. Unfortunately they happen much less often than either of us would like, but sometimes that is sort of the nature of things. People who you come to cherish during a project, but live far away, and when the project is over, the natural order is conversations become less frequent. There is no judgment in that statement. We all live very busy lives and focus changes from project to project. The less frequent conversations are never intended, just sort of happens, and thats okay. Because when we do get to talk its always such a wonderful experience, strong bonds do not break from being stretched across time. We will always have this. So I savor these moments. And maybe that is the lesson learned, to adore what we have, therefore it is ever more precious.
Talking With Greg Rucka
February 10th 2012
Thursday February 09th 2012, 8:07 pm
Fuzzed out, synapses firing in slow motion today. Didn’t sleep well last night, tossed and turned, just couldn’t find that sweet spot. Too many details zooming around in my mind when laying in the dark. So today is obviously the energy flow backlash. Searching for sharpness through a haze of blurry edged thoughts that feel sort of sticky in their lack of upsurge. Connections and words stretching in and out of recess, like gum stuck inside my head. Swigging large amounts of strong coffee, trying to keep my momentum from sliding down hill. I had to call it quits early today. Reorganize. When I was younger, this wouldn’t be a problem for me. I’d still be totally on it. Its days like this when I know my age. It seems that this week’s blogs are destined to be downers. I need a pick me up.
Dragging My Ass
February 9th 2012
Wednesday February 08th 2012, 8:14 pm
Hmmm… I guess some weeks are just meant to be little hells. Things can catch fire sometimes, and others seem to go through some form of forcibly determined… don’t know what to call it. But lately, I feel that maybe the universe is telling me not to take things personally, as misdirected turmoils are lobbed into my lap. Like metaphorical grenades ready to go off if I choose to pull the pin. I just have to learn how to pick up the explosive, gently set it aside and walk toward a safe distance. If it chooses to malfunction and blow up, then it does so all on its own, I didn’t pull that pin. Itself being the only thing responsible for the debris field left behind by its own fiery choice.
Outside Aggression
February 8th 2012
Tuesday February 07th 2012, 8:57 pm
Skulking from corner to corner, scrutinizing every shadow. Poking under tables and chairs searching for unseen enemies, always high strung. Coloring of grays, browns, soft tans, and sandy whites. All layered with deep grey-black blocky shapes and stripes. Slightly billowy and lush to the touch, but it gets obsessively compulsively pulled out in clumps that skirt and puff along the wooden floors. A tiny brown reddish nose rimmed with a fine line of black. And two large citrine and lime wide open orbs that stare up at me with an expression full of love, “I love you. I love you. You are mine and I love you” they say to me. He always comes out of nowhere whenever Wendy and I get in the same room, no matter what or when, he arrives with uncanny precise timing, its like he is psychic or something, he always knows. Demanding our undivided attention, exclaiming with a voice that seems to have a hint of desperation as he looks up at us with his beautiful feline eyes that say “You are mine and I love you”.
Sweet Sammy
February 7th 2012
Monday February 06th 2012, 9:30 pm
Scattered and discombobulated. Lost like an untethered buoy tossed on giant waves in a sea of frustration and lack of cohesion. Anxious but adrift with too many details washing over me, nothing seems to want to cooperate. My head swims around with too much complication. And nothing seems to flow coherently as my attention is divided into bubbles of incompleteness. Ideas are hazy as I plunge my brain into what needs to be accomplished. Finally, when its too late, gasps of functionality surface just as my day needs to come to a conclusion. I hate it when some weeks start this way. Some days just refuse to work as planned. It raises my tension level. I have to put it aside and start fresh, build myself a raft and let my angst sink away.
Monday
February 6th 2012
Sunday February 05th 2012, 7:21 pm
A perfect sunny day today, but feeling groggy. The cycle of my week always ends up like this. So I dig out some old goodies to get myself going. I decide to grab one of my all time favorite things. It’s flat and small, kept in a clear plastic sleeve. Its cover worn and weathered from decades of use and being shuffled from place to place over my lifetime. It has sentimental value for me. Although it shows some of its age, the colors explode with lushness, emanating and enticing. Vibrant sky blues fading to pinks and cloud grays as the background color grads downward to create a sense of drama. Plumes of fiery golds and oranges fill the center. A lone photograph of an enigmatic blonde graces over the painted image. She is glorious and regal in this shot, a perfect tempting visage. But not like many of the other female performers who came after her, they try too hard, becoming cardboard cutouts. I slide the round black disc out from the sleeve, it feels sort of sexy in an abstract way, along with feelings of nostalgia, childhood dreams and fantasies. Noting the familiar label in sharp whites and blues, I set it down on the platform. Lifting the needled arm over, onto the lead groove as the platform spins, it makes slight pops and crackles. Then that amazingly exquisite sound bursts forth, the music immediately brings me to life, it invigorates. Creating an atmosphere somewhat otherworldly and seductive. Then it happens… one of the most beautiful luxuriant things I’ve ever heard in my life springs upward and sucks me into oblivious happiness, a voice that should belong to gods. She can melt you with that voice, oozing sex and magic. I still feel the same about this song as I did the first time I heard it or ever played it. Its the first music I ever bought for myself as a boy. At that time I was in love with it, and probably still am, just in different ways. It has truly become more than what it was meant to be, its an artifact in my humble opinion.
Listening To Atomic By Blondie On 45rpm Vinyl
February 5th 2012
Saturday February 04th 2012, 9:04 pm
It starts with an almost startling snap, as it surges with sudden energy. Sounding like a constant annoying giant bee buzz buzz buzzing, it runs around my head. Getting very warm in my hands, it can be awkward to hold. The shape like some archaic alien electric tool of polished steel and black molded plastic with numerous gnashing little teeth. In some ways the noise sounds dangerous to my ears. And depending how one was to use this device, I’m sure it could kill. It shears very prudently. Thick layers fall to the ground like discarded feathers of a molting bird. I’ve done this simple thing for myself for a lot of years now. It always feels so refreshing afterward. I should’ve been doing this fine close preening when I was a fraidy cat misfit teenage boy. You see, my locks grow in such mass tightly curled volume, that they are untamable. I always felt quite clownish because of it, torture for a young boy of such meager stature, and certainly was fodder for peer ridicule. I was such a little pipsqueak with this living morass of uncontrollable fluff, I felt like a gawky walking boney toothpick with a giant bristle ball for a head. I felt like a cartoon. In my 20’s I used to wear a long style, and just for it to look somewhat normal I had to trim all of the under layers, so just the top would be grown out to a long length. But even then it felt wrong and awkward on me. I was always struggling with it, to define it. In retrospect, that struggle clearly was metaphor for trying to define myself. Then one day, I chopped it all off, the sensation was lifting. In buzzing it away, I felt free. I discovered that I liked myself better now that it was gone, no longer encumbered by my worries over my mopped visage. The slate was clean, the definition let loose. These days I never let it get more than and inch or so grown, but even with that, it feels like this heat compression thatch on my scalp. Like my skin can’t breathe. I can’t stand it. So when I start up the engine of my own little shearing machine, I know I’m only minutes from feeling human again, like myself again. Its fascinating to me that such a simple task can have such a profound perspective to feelings from the past.
Shaving My Head
February 4th 2012
Friday February 03rd 2012, 8:37 pm
I’m feeling a bit jittery today as the mechanism hums and whirs in front of me, alive with bright lights and glass. Clicks and blips, it seems like it talks to me. Measuring its timing in synchronized functional commands. It reads the work with its own set of rules, deciphering the details. Does it see the soul I’ve put into things? Does it measure that as well? Does it judge the flaws that are there? It can be frustrating to get the job to look right. I always end up slightly stressed doing this task, worry over the interpretation on the final version. Nuances not to be lost, but there is always some form of compromise to be had. There is never any satisfaction. Seeing it all put together on the screen, I spot problems that I couldn’t before the process began. Oh hell! That leg is wrong, just doesn’t look right. Why didn’t I catch that before?! Its so damn obvious now. Oh well, moving on…
Scanning Pages
February 3rd 2012
Thursday February 02nd 2012, 9:54 pm
Distractions, distractions, distractions. Who watches the story! Who watches the what? Recent media reports causing ruminations in my head. The turmoils developing over just when is the story done. Don’t know if I can justify it, it pulls at mind, ripping, lacerating. Should this actually be happening? It is happening. Seems there is audacity to add to what was claimed as finished, to what was so life changing, so revered. Was it’s voice not complete? Is there love of it? Is there respect of it? But will it work? Will it be worthwhile? Can I truly judge? How do I uphold divided loyalties? Do I have my story? Do I post this? What happens when the time comes? Will it explode? Will it wither? Or both? All I seem to have is questions, but without expecting any proper answer, and the clock is ticking. One Story.
Before Who Watches The Watchmen
February 2nd 2012
Wednesday February 01st 2012, 10:06 pm
Compiling… Folding. Cutting, cutting. Cutting. Pull and stick. Pull and stick. Pull and stick. Pull and stick. Pull and stick. An exercise in tedium, but with a touch of sadness in my heart. This is always how it is whenever they go. We part on bittersweet terms. But I also know happiness in that they go off to new and wondrous vistas, homes from around the world that will love them. More so than I can give to them, as I see with a different eye. I gaze with a tarnished view, my failures, the imperfections, things I would change if it were practical to do so. They deserve a better relationship than I can provide. Its not that I do not have love for them, they are sired from my waking dreamscapes, but I live too closely to do them justice. Only a few will remain in the family, the ones that are extra special for reasons too convoluted to describe with any real meaning. The sadness over their relinquishing to other lives is never lost to the passing of time, memories of crafted adventures that will forever haunt till I’m dead. But yet I am inspired to do it all again and again, knowing that they will have life well beyond me.
Boxing Up Art To Leave Me
February 1st 2012
Tuesday January 31st 2012, 10:39 pm
Pressures deep inside, sensations of unwanted physical turbulent throbbing. Twinges of riled nerve shocks through tightening complaining flesh. Taxed. Tired. Stretched. Yet, unhindered. Frigid down through to the centers of wiggling appendages. Feels like thousands of little glacial particles cloistered to the walls of my veins. Tingling and no warmth to be gained, regardless of the layers. Just one of those days that nothing seems to work a relief from either temporary affliction. It’d be so mundane if it weren’t so damn distracting.
Achy Hand And Cold Feet
January 31st 2012
Monday January 30th 2012, 7:56 pm
Breathing in only shades of black, grays and whites, but yet vividly bright. Colorful layers will come, but not this day. Swathes of boldness interplaying with delicate subtle supple tone. Full of complexity, full of living, moving in and out of reality but never “unreal”, some days more clearly than others, as if flirting with me. Engaging me deftly, without mercy, but I’ve committed myself to see this through, the good and the bad. Interlocking steps to be taken, one in front of the other, slightly out of order, but in sequence within my mind. Some dances learned, while others will forever have flaws. This is my place for now, but other dreams wave from the far shadowed horizon, calling to meet me. This is my challenge.
Working On Batwoman 12
January 30th 2012
Sunday January 29th 2012, 7:24 pm
Standing tall with lush reddish earthy tones and part of a pair, but yet only one of many that lives steadily in this house. Crammed within its embrace tightly, are probably a hundreds of fantasies to be had, from generations of timeless imaginations, but somewhat overwrought with dusty crevices as these worlds are only explored so often. It lifts and provides for denizens of all types of color and various textures. Some sophisticated and matured, while others are certainly childish but nostalgic by fond memories and daydreams. Its protection of these numerous adoptive manufactured lives has been made difficult from being overburdened, squared apartments not quite large enough to contain all that need a fine home. Therefore, stacks are packed forcibly into cramped spaces, causing some tales to hang on for dear safety by very slim margins. But all that it cuddles within it’s rigid walls matter, and adored. So it does the job proudly as best as it can. Ready to deliver any one of these imprinted progeny to the loving willing hands of a patron of exquisitely drafted arts.
A Bookshelf In My Living Room
January 29th 2012
Saturday January 28th 2012, 7:50 pm
Sitting for the past hour or so with a plain white paper drink cup in my hands, filled with foamy steamy brewed stimulating goodness, my elixir vice of choice. The atmosphere of the place is simplistic, rudimentary, and direct. Thats not to say its not without style, just slightly bohemian. Wooden tables and chairs of basic designs, local art displayed, that sort of thing. The people working are all very friendly and it seems the same can be said for the customers sitting out front in the fresh air too, strangers asking me about my unfinished tattoo work. The rest of the time is spent, discussing with a relatively new friend, internet theories and various forms of usage. On how advancement of application could be garnered for creative and exploration purposes, especially for comics. Pretty far out for my mode of thinking, but fascinating. I feel challenged by the discussion, in the fact I know so little about just how much the world wide web hasn’t come close to reaching full potentials. Enlightening information on this relatively mundane day. The feel of the conversation is fresh and intelligent, while vaguely noting the music drifting along in the background recesses of other chatter. I don’t quite have a sense of comfort here yet, its still so new to me. I’ve been uncertain in unfamiliar surroundings of late, it puts me off kilter. Thinking about this just now, I find it kind of strange, I don’t remember feeling this way years ago. Maybe its my age setting in, the world moving so rapidly by comparison to myself. The sun is begging to vanish over the far westerly mountaintops as I unlock my car door, about to head back to my homey contentment. However, I will never tire of the deep rich flavor of discovery.
This Afternoon At Coffee Bandits
January 28th 2012
Saturday January 28th 2012, 12:57 am
Putting my brushes, pens and inks aside for a little while, I set out to have myself a little treat, a small common adventure. Something I rarely get to do these days. Driving over to the other side of our humble town to meet up with dear friends of ours, smiles and hugs. We make our purchase from the clerk, walk through the perfectly polished glass doors and glance across posters of fun possibilities to come. Meandering down the hall, along a red old carpet, which cleverly hides its wear and stains due to it’s patterns. Passing through the entrance and coming out a narrow dark corridor, we scan the room to find our places. Tall ceilings with cheap faux deco motifs and poor recessed lighting are all the room really has for decor. From the numerous rows before us we choose our seats, plush and cushy. They unfold rather awkwardly, making the slightest metallic spring squeak. We settle down with sweets in hand, feeling internally giddy with excitement. A black curtain draws open, the lights go dim, and a giant screen bursts to life with vivid eye candy graphics, booming sounds of fast whooshes flood our ears. The anticipation is short but honeyed as the “ride” rushes forward. The titles roll and characters jump to life. The angle stylings, bold colors, finest details, and uniquely crafted musical accompaniment, mesmerize. It begins with a quiet easy visual in an off the beaten path diner, then explodes with a hot cup of coffee in the face. And from that moment on we’re all riveted! Becoming lost for a brief time in a story loaded with intrigue and deviously choreographed action that has to be seen to be believed, all handled with stupendous aplomb.
Going To The Theatre To See Haywire
January 27th 2012
Thursday January 26th 2012, 9:10 pm
Silky smooth, like the creamiest milk. Lushly smokey and loaded with deep passions. Spinning a woven wrap of warmness, it can make you melt inside with inspired romanticism, and a subtle bittersweet sensation of an imagined grand tumultuous love affair. It swells the heart to bursting and creates bountiful feelings of pure joy. A voice that resonates in perfect union within beauteous musical arrangements that intricately and delicately hum into the atmosphere. At Last, it makes me just want to hold my love closer in a soft embracing dance, a small celebration of our lives together. In honor of one of the greatest singers, who sadly has gone away, but will always sing in our souls.
Listening To The Incomparable Etta James
January 26th 2012
Wednesday January 25th 2012, 11:06 pm
Shakes and aches, toils and foils. Torturous on occasion, some days are much worse than others. Like some vile succubus draining energy from my very limbs. Fingers will not respond to commands, the wrist will jolt. It is my inherited mortal enemy. And the frustration of enduring it’s numerous assaults while attempting to fulfill my work can be overwhelming beyond properly conveyed descriptions. Sometimes it feels like my insides want to scratch through and leap out of sundered flesh. It fatigues rapidly, and muscles tighten and strain. It slows my progress to agonizing lengths of passage. My own personal never-ending battle. A war that I can never fully win, but I will also never surrender.
The Tremor
January 25th 2012
Tuesday January 24th 2012, 8:35 pm
Matte finished gray, and hard molded plastic, meant to emulate steel but it just looks cheap with it’s little decorative dots of faux rivets running down each side of the bevelled face. Its always present and I’m supposed to pay attention to it, as it sits above my cherrywood platform of creation, delicately fastened to the textured off white walls of my workspace. Large black rigid lines forming numbers that change on a screen, encased in a semi-clear window, it counts and blinks. Its there to mark the day’s movement through my little world, but its all fluid and relative for me, it never feels like it gives me the right answer whenever I happen gaze up at it. My grasp of time certainly isn’t tightly real. I find that it slips away rather easily or trudges ever so slowly, but yet I assume it stays consistent on its own digital precision. Thinking about it at this very moment, it becomes sort of comforting knowing that its there, but ultimately, in few minutes I won’t really care anymore. I refuse to live by it.
The Office Clock
January 24th 2012
Monday January 23rd 2012, 8:43 pm
A taste that knows no boundaries of time, its origins being noted as far into history as the Egyptian Abbasid period. It travels across worlds, across divided nations and customs of cultural significance. It tracks upward through civilization and can embody all that is healthy for spirit and mind. Varieties exotic, but yet simplicity in its making. It feels smooth and creamy, and primally good. One can imagine that this is what gods would eat. Perfectly satisfying day or night. Partaking of it connects us subliminally to all of mankind, as if its very substance is the historical story of the known and unknown world.
Hummus
January 23rd 2012
Sunday January 22nd 2012, 2:53 pm
Another quiet Sunday, thick gloomy rain clouds permeate the sky overhead like a puffy blanket of dreamy haze. The light breeze shuffles leaves around, the air feels fresh. Sadly there was a dead magpie in the road, theres been a turf war between gangs of birds, the crows demanding their territory. Smartly dressed people we love dearly visited from out of town today, only here for a couple of hours, sharing their joyful nature with us. We went out for brunch at a little downtown diner, stepping into another world full of americana greasy goodness, the sort of place that makes you sigh with comfort. Cozy, and a little bit old and weathered, dark green beaten dinged countertops with rows of maple syrup pitchers and plastic menus waiting for our attention, the place has a lost in time vibe. Drinking coffee, and taking in the pleasant company in front of us. Warm perfectly scrambled eggs and buttery wheat toast in my belly, a perfect breakfast for a day like this. Talking about travel, tiki bars, and the art of trapeze, all to briefly though, but we’re just happy to see them. We don’t get too many moments like these with any of the people we cherish, our lives seem so taken up by busy busy these days. So we relish these simple times.
Midday At The Cinema Cafe
January 22nd 2012
Saturday January 21st 2012, 9:42 pm
Long moist streaks cross the flatness of the reddish grain texture, like some dry wooden desert. “Hhsss” goes the steamy voice of the meticulously designed contraption. Sleekly aerodynamic steel, tall with a rounded grasping hold to push off against, sending it forward it broad swooshing motions. Midway down the arm sits a plastic hollowed oval tank. Slish, slosh goes the liquid inside, as the device sways back and forth from the command of my sweating limbs. Jutting outward, then back to me, again and again. With the wide clothed base, it speedily soaks up grime and gunky residue of hundreds of walked steps by man and animal. Spots of grayish mirk disappear, scuffs absorb away, while millions of microscopic worlds must be torn asunder by the hot wet breath it blows. But I’m sure some escape the destruction of the giant machine god larger than a bacteria’s heavens. The floor can be claimed as clean, fit to be seen.
Using The Steam Mop
January 21st 2012
Friday January 20th 2012, 9:49 pm
Jet sheen, light shines off revealing elegant ripples of sinewy strength. Leaping and jumping, no barrier can hold against. Sleek and intimidating, moving silently like a true hunter, a warrior not to be trifled with. Ruling from above, lethal, baring a mouth full of daggers. Stalking proud, always watching with gleaming eyes of yellowed flecked jade. Tall pointed ears perk, no sound escapes attention. The deepest shadows engulf, vanishing like a ghost, becoming invisible in the dark of night. I am lord of this domain and master of many, of lands vast, filled with concrete, trees and tall dried grasses. I claim this all. Be it burning hot, sleet, or rain, I will prowl, I will guard. I am King, The Mouse-Killer, Friend to giants.
Bhangra The Cat
January 20th 2012
Thursday January 19th 2012, 9:41 pm
Words and vibrations, lyrics with textured music that floats along like a fine flower’s scent. A soft lilting voice but not without strength, and loaded with conviction. A true poet’s heart willing to share the deepest sincere thoughts of a life lived, told through metaphor of semi-fictional personal stories. A reverence for the past while still keeping things in the here and now. Artful tales of the sadly deceased and missing become ruminations on the power of mortal death, although the bleakness of it somehow transforms into beauty, an unfolding bloom of vitality. Even in it’s acceptance of the fate we all will share, it remains defiant, and emboldens the feeling of life. The album is magnificent and glorious.
Listening To David J’s Not Long For This World
January 19th 2012
Wednesday January 18th 2012, 11:47 pm
Pushing through the steel and glass door is always such a pure rush of pleasure. Visual senses explode with vibrant colors that emanate and jump from black wooden shelves. Simple four color folded stapled paper drawn together from draftsmanship of various techniques and attitudes. Rows and rows of dreams for sale, adventures to be bad, tales that fall into familiar periodical comfort. Grasped in our hands like private little treasures of poppy candied gems. Some new and refreshing, awaiting mindful exploration, while others are like dear compatriots of a lifetime. Bombastic conversations over this and that, what grabs attention, what doesn’t. Round table sizzle and excitement of passions shared over this love of the medium that we all gather to partake in. Our combined energy practically crackles through the air like some sort of cosmic union of giddiness and serious debate. It pleases to no end, and is one of the most endearing things in the world to me. Love of friendships, and love of comics.
Previews Night At Red Sky Comics
January 18th 2012
Tuesday January 17th 2012, 9:49 pm
A little bit dry, and a little bit corse. Parts are smooth and soft. Other parts get knotted and tangled. Semi-long spiraling strands group together to form corkscrew ringlets, like zigzagging tiny fine wires, that manage to unite like a choreographed perfomance to form a single bold and classic shape that hugs and extends outward all at once. Grays, browns, salt and pepper, the colors are distinguished I think, giving a unique sense of self. It fits me just right, my personality. It always tries to grow unevenly, making me fret, but I won’t ever get rid of it. Some mornings I wake up and it sits sideways, or splits in the middle awkwardly, it can make me quite goofy looking. Like it taunts my seriousness, visually saying to me from the mirror “What, you think you’re cool? Look what I can do.” Then it gets tamed for the day. I find that I unconsciously run my fingers through the thick bristly forest, like some sort of stereotypical book character, that thinks they’re wise or something. I can’t imagine myself without having it with me anymore though. I guess we have a relationship. Maybe I’ll let it get longer, enter into contests.
My Beard
January 17th 2012