2306152 Existence Is
A yearlong blog experiment...
Monday January 16th 2012, 9:54 pm
Gooey goodness, bringing up feelings of childhood retro nostalgia. Kid dreams of sweet fantasy wonderlands. Dense and thick, I’m a sucker for this kind of stuff. The outside of it, a thinly layered crumbly messy milky melt in your mouth sensation. The little bits get everywhere! The silky layers surround a long rectangular bar shape made up of something tough and chewy, but in a delicious way. Almost as if a marshmallow married a caramel toffee, thats the texture of it. Reminding me of boyhood long sunny summers of lounging, riding bikes, and reading comicbooks from the local 7-11 store from where I grew up in San Jose. Yum yumminess. What is this thing made out of anyway?
Chocolate Flavored Charleston Chew
January 16th 2012
Sunday January 15th 2012, 5:44 pm
Puffs and swirls, deep and gray. Softly textured as if daubed gingerly by a master painter’s broad brush. Spontaneous flourishes of delicate powdery blue-whites. It fills my entire vision as I stare upward toward dizzying heights. I watch a flock of little black triangular specks darting gracefully across southward. My vision only broken by a roof edge jutting into view. The air is chilled and I take in a deep gust of freshness. Then without warning, suddenly the puffy milky grey whites bleed away in one section, as if some mythical god blew it’s breath to gently punch a hole through the muted clouds, revealing a purest of blues just for my me. I move to continue my chore. Clasping the weathered “clickety” black steel latch to the side gate, it sticks as always, a little game it likes to play with me regularly. I use a little more force, a familiar scrape of wood against wood, it releases it’s grip. I step through, taking note of the relatively new tree in the far corner we had planted last summer, its gotten pretty big now. I turn to my left and grab a handle, it feels rugged and scarred in my hand, I think we’ve been using it for about 8 years now. I slowly ease the big plastic sun-beaten and faded green clunky wheeled bin down the cemented driveway toward the street. The path cracked in a place or two and slightly lifted awkwardly in a section, there is an old oil stain that refuses to ever dissipate. Along the sidewalk edge, the street gutter is littered with tiny browned and yellowed leaves, they rustle around from a slight breeze. I place the bin on our little spot of the shared cul de sac and wave to a neighbor down the road who is doing the same routine as me. Sunday, quiet and peaceful.
Setting The Garbage Cans Out
January 15th 2012
Saturday January 14th 2012, 6:26 pm
Rising up from rooted glass, and stones of russets, striped grays, blues and spotted browns. The watery bed, like a tiny lake. The top rocky edge of the surface partly wet and parched at the same time. Little spindly curling vines tuck and roll between the rounded smooth layers of stone, dipping well below the water’s edge, extending to the very bottom of the tall and oval shaped glass. Packed neatly, like hundreds of little hugging unmoving worms.. Arising from this stable edifice are 12 long weaving sinewy stalks in perfect union. Six dart back and forth that way, six others this way, forming a majestic lattice that seems to defy nature, tempered gently into shape. All bound at their meeting points by fine bands of twisted gold. Its as if this organic living thing has agreed to be controlled, it seems to relish the unnatural structure, becoming something artful, something to be admired. It has lush greens broken only by the finest of little tan ridges every few inches or so, they encircle the circumference of each validation of life. Causing my eyes to follow the paths of the stalks upward, vaguely reminding me of ladders. I visually climb to it’s heights, where the very tops, standing strong and prideful, are giant spear-tip shaped appendages. They are flat, but slightly curved with subtle ripples along each edge, unfolding outward gloriously, like a chorus demanding attention. It adds comfort to this room full of hard edges and scattered tools.
The Bamboo Plant That Lives In My Studio
January 14th 2012
Friday January 13th 2012, 7:16 pm
Gliding across a brightly bleached plain, dozens of long dark strands taper downward to a very fine tip. An instrument powerful enough to harness all of the universe’s imagination into combinations of strokes. Stroking, building, slightly thick stygian liquid oozes gently from its pinpoint sharpness, but runs softly, deliciously. Ebon shapes form another dimension. Dark, shiny and sleek, tightly rounded, with a fiery red edged metallic barrel, reaching down from high above, like some heavenly metaphysical finger of creation. Alternate lives spring forth slowly but assuredly. Glimpses of realities being born, thriving within the minds and hearts of this one. Brought to us through the simplicity of applied ink to paper.
My Inking Brush
January 13th 2012
Thursday January 12th 2012, 6:50 pm
Thump! Umph. Like an anvil slugging. Thump! Light bleeds, hurts. Pound! Black ink lines blur, double up, vibrate. Thump! The whiteness of the paper is blinding. Feel like I can’t see. Thump! Can’t think. My brain is trying ooze its way out of my head, trying desperately to escape. Pound! Feel like I’m going to vomit. Pound! Meds aren’t working, work, don’t think I’ll finish work today. Thump! Thump! Pound! Umph.
Migraine
January 12th 2012
Wednesday January 11th 2012, 3:24 pm
A face of metal buttons, a tray of a mouth, and knobby turning eyes. A little round glass forehead with numbers and a tiny golden metallic arm that swings from left to right, right to left. Depending on the position, dusty notes of good or bad vibrations emanate. Wooden deco and metal, with small surprise hidden compartments. The top pops, to reveal a circular spinning platform. To one side of this, there is a needled silvery arm that gently slides toward the black heavy grooved disc that I’ve laid on the platform. It touches down ever so softly, with a little “klak” and a “ssss.” On either side, it’s corners rounded with embedded cloth and brass grates. Beauty bursts forth from here, an invisible wave of sound and majestic drama, that sends colors crashing inside my brain. I sit back in my purple chair and take in the air filled notes that dance around me, they intoxicate and demand my attention. It’s a wondrous thing.
My New Record Player
January 11th 2012
Tuesday January 10th 2012, 1:08 pm
Cascading across my skin, wrapping soothingly, warmly. Layers, with the top one quilted and stitched in coalescing patterns of burgundies and blues. Little puffs of dreamy wispy fibers, like tiny huggable forests and rolling squishy plains that you can’t help but wiggle toes in. Lazily curled up in it. Relaxed and contented. A sturdy strong contour’s edge, heated, rests between my palms. Firm pressure against my lips, as the smoky scent of brewed invigoration wafts through my nose, reinforcing the craving like an addiction. Sipping coffee with a relish of satisfaction to come, leaning back into pillowy goodness. Just a few more minutes before needing to work.
In Our Own Bed
January 10th 2012
Monday January 09th 2012, 9:51 pm
Casual speed, details passing by too quickly, but captivating nonetheless. Reds, oranges, sandy golds and tans. Spiny plants of russets, and faded dusty greens. Giant ornate slates of rock and sand carved stone, some the color of coal. Mysterious and alien, beautifully vast. It allows one to just “be”. It takes me in, to fall in love with the swell inside… “maybe I could live here forever”. The quiet low deserted hills and subtle dusty rock littered slopes that meet with sudden dramatic sharp cuts of jutting cliffs. Like enormous petrified beasts of a bygone age, chiseled by the winds, majestic and powerful, yet gentle, and of calming ease. The numerous cracks and crevices that trace the angular edges, creating a tapestry of strange entrancing shapes, like dry scaly terra cotta hued skin. It mesmerizes, begging to stay, to leave the rest of the world behind and to drift through the intoxicating fields of darkly Joshua Trees and cacti, like some long lost otherworldly friends that have come to embrace. We keep going.
Driving Home Through The Desert
January 9th 2012
Monday January 09th 2012, 2:31 am
Large and cushy, soft, cozy. Dark and rich grey, with the slightest hint of chocolate tones. Smooth ripples pushing outward from my fingertips, as they unconsciously run along one surface edge, silky, warm, inviting. It mellows.
Scott And Heather’s Sofa
January 8th 2012
Saturday January 07th 2012, 3:19 pm
Fine textures, flexible, but firm in my grasp. The weight of it pleases. The sounds of faint crinkles and “scruffles” pleases. The action of it pleases. Time drifts easily. Melting into the events, I know these people. Observing through their words, wanting to see more. Realization, I glance up at the clock, only a few minutes left before temporarily leaving, but I don’t want to leave them.
Reading Dead And Gone By Charlaine Harris
January 7th 2012
Friday January 06th 2012, 2:21 pm
Drudging, sitting, staring at colored lights, waiting on signals to get a little bit closer to living. Only moving in segments, stopstart, stopstart. Inwardly anxious, just want to get to where we’re going. Minutes, hours, lost to nothingness. Pleasant conversation. Maybe we should eat there sometime, thoughts drift by.
Driving In The City
January 6th 2012
Thursday January 05th 2012, 12:04 pm
A quick burst of oxygen, with a slight chill, the releasing feel of a sigh and the inevitable inhale that follows. The feeling is alive and briefly fresh. Broken by the scents of concrete, paved ground, and french fries. Unnatural odors of gasoline and exhaust fumes permeate like an unseen cloud. Sounds of whooshing pushed air, temperate spinning rubber, and a distant horn echoes off of metal and stucko. There is an energetic hustle and bustle penetrating atmosphere. Exhilaration.
Exiting Our Hotel In Las Vegas
January 5th 2012
Wednesday January 04th 2012, 1:19 pm
Sliding on, over the tips and unique angles of bone and flesh, a comforting firmly woven texture, smooth and strong. Though familiar and common, it always feels fresh, a promise of a careful cushy barrier to gruff surfaces of a hard world. An instant soothing, warming by a minuscule fraction of a degree. The ritual always ends with a sturdy tug and pull, and a final soft snap against the skin of my calf.
Putting On Socks
January 4th 2012
Tuesday January 03rd 2012, 3:35 pm
Glossy, and shining. Shades of browns and golds, with just the slightest flecks of light greens. They gleam, happy, content, and beautiful. The edges soft white, with pinkish creamy curves that ease around into a pleasing almond shape. Encircled by rows of long arcing outward, like an archer’s bow, are dark fine feathery fibers, meeting just barely at the inner and outer edges. Tiny ripples of expression, smiling with a deepness of loving recognition. I want to stay here, immersed in the vibrancy of them.
Wendy’s Eyes On Her Birthday
January 3rd 2012
Monday January 02nd 2012, 9:34 am
A protrusion of round hardness, slightly long but small in size. Getting extremely close to it though, makes it seem as if it were some giant strange trunk or trumpet, extending sideways off a vertical spire of copper and brass. It’s blackness slightly muted or dulled, and it has fine cuts of valleys forming angled pointed ridges that run around it’s wider fatter blunt end. These taper down it’s shaft toward the spire that it is embedded into. The insertion end, cut and beveled running around the circumference, where it enters a shiny smooth opening. There are the tiniest of grayish fibrous particles that have planted themselves along the top side, some filling in the valleyed ridges, making the shapes more distinctly visible. The texture of the ridges against my skin, is like the tongue of a cat, but just slightly as I twist it in a clockwise turn, to hear the mundanely familiar click. A flash illuminates, a rapid burst of fluorescent white. And tiny little particles flirt up into the air, catching the light, like spec sized planets floating through space.
Turning On The Lamp
January 2nd 2012
Sunday January 01st 2012, 6:04 pm
Fuzziness. Dark, and with deep reddish hues. A sensation of light trying to seep through the porous barriers. Dryness, stickiness, struggling to pry apart, the edges stuck together, a seam of adhered flesh. Granules that feel large as boulders, scraping across, trapped between a rolling surface and a low hotly agitated sealed lid of meagerly shifting coherency. Finally the cracking crusty mire breaks away, just barely. A heaviness persists, like the inner misty world is pulling back down with all it’s might. But dim light crashes through, cutting a white, yellow and red arc across the crease of the horizon, the reddish dark recedes upward and downward. Another world, of hazy melting colors comes into view. Swaying to the right, the source of the dim light, a smooth and spotted transparency framed in cold painted metal. On the other side, a grey cold fog clouds the air, adding to my blurry early confusion. The vaporousness embraces spindly textured branches. They move about, as unfelt gusts push against them, making them appear like hundreds of skinny boney darkened arms shaking toward the sky. I hear canine yelps and a pitch of high chirps, and fluttering wings.
Waking Up
January 1st 2012