A yearlong blog experiment...
Ick! What the hell did I just step in?! Gross and disgusting, leading off today with stress and a mess. That old cat Sam sneaking around doing wetwork off in the shadowy hall, to be undiscovered only until the auto-vac spread it across the wood floor, ack! Sterilized everything.
Pissed (literally)
June 14th 2012
Almost blaring, certainly glaring in its annoyance. Incessantly whistles, squawks, screeches, and chirps. All seemingly random. The pitch penetrates the house like the wail of a harpy baring down on it’s prey. It goes on and on and on and on. The worse part of it being in the middle of the night, leaving us to stare up at a blank ceiling in red irritated eyed gritting our teeth sleepless frustration. The damn thing is lucky we’re not the types to just shoot it to end our misery.
The 3am Blundering Bird
June 13th 2012
A keen symbol for life. Ornamental purples, hints of swirling opals and edged in orangey golds. The segmented body softly jangles, to delicately dance in one’s fingertips if desired, even if only a quick fleeting amusement. A glittering show of machined parts, but it sits idle on the countertop ledge staring blankly upward. Easily pretty, its purpose nothing much but to catch the eye.
Metallic Fish In The Hall Bath
June 12th 2012
Blood red and fiery, swirling stark and chiseled graphic tentacles, all coiling, stretching at the command of a dark beckoning goddess. Rising in naked judgement over man’s toiled tiny sailing ship at her bare breast. Nothing but a toy in her conjuring grasp, she presides over the seas of fate, be they calm or turbulent is her whim.
Designing A Suit Lining
June 11th 2012
Sometimes the mind just kinda shuts off, like a light switch. I know I’ve blogged about this before, or at least I think so. But here I am again with it. Every now and then I just can’t seem to gather together any coherent train of thought, no matter what I wish to do. Its like the function is to malfunction, left with only vague notions of anything worth saying, but when trying to voice that, it all disperses like smoke trails in a wind storm. And I hate the way it makes me feel, pathetically lacking intelligent cogency.
Brain Dead Syndrome
June 10th 2012
Curvaceous porcelain, a playful smile and a wink to not be shy, wearing only a fluffy red and white hat of festive flavor. Exquisitely naked and poised while dangling colorful ornaments shimmer radiant ruby, gold, and azure, perfectly placed along the tiny branches of a mimicked pine. In ironic contrast to the buxom dark haired fair skinned beauty, sits small tightly wrapped packages of striped purples, red and black polkadots, foiled silver, all topped with fanciful bows and ribbons, all tucked neatly beneath the tree. She holds one single decorative globe as if to suggest it symbolizes holding one’s simplest desire of joyful wanton thoughts unabashedly. All of this is only paint and sculpture, recreating one of the most famous images of an icon of the sexual revolution, harkening to a time before the return of prudishness.
Statuesque Bettie Page On The Shelf
June 9th 2012
Tattered and ragged, the black cowl frayed and burnt. The color of coal blends out to winter grays in murky cloudy textures. The jaw hangs open, the mouth rotted, lines formed by cracking skin. Lurching and staggering forward, slightly hunched over pathetically. Covered in filth, what flesh that is visible is decaying and dead. This icon attempts to reach up threateningly, but its nothing left but mockery of an ideal.
Drawing Zombie Batman
June 8th 2012
Striped with drab grays and dull unimpressive blues, the colors meant to ease I guess. It hangs limply draped over the steel frame, kinda sad looking, weathered and aged, the luster left it quite sometime ago. It suits my mood after somewhat sucky news, I’m a wet blanket. So its no surprise that this detail in our bathroom is what caught my eye today. Just keep moving forward is the motto.
A Damp Towel Of Blah
June 7th 2012
A slow beginning, but with half interesting characters.
Really terrible music score choices, instills a very bad vibe of whats to come, example: the Pink Panther theme used while trying to steal a burrito?
Stereotypical alien invasion (oh well, not surprising).
Awesome destruction effects,Yeeha!
Downright silly dialogue in places that could’ve had brilliance, such a waste.
Surprisingly cool looking humanoid aliens, but not once do we hear their language, so I guess they don’t speak (lost opportunity to show motivations).
Some seriously bad editing choices, sadly making the plot feel disjointed.
Still, loved the awesome destruction scenes, eye candy brain feed.
Nice navy stuff, real vets get some good call outs.
An awful lot of dumb plot holes and bad plot set-ups.
But we entertainingly actually get to see Battleship: The Game represented in the plot surprisingly well, maybe the best part of the whole thing, besides the destruction battle effects of course.
An Unfortunate Film In Ten Sentences
June 6th 2012
Glitz and zingy glamour behind sheer glass, with sheen and light catching royal blues, racy pinks, and delicate fleshy creams. The textures being like sparkling sequins arranged in curves, dreamy sexy shimmers mimicking the form of fishnet stockings and a tightly pulled corset. It charges your attention when walking past, enticingly bold and uncompromisingly provocative. And sizzles with fun attitude while heartily framed by red painted planks topped with organic yellow curls and swirls. It gleams from our living room wall.
Glitter Girl By Artist Pamela Rosen
June 5th 2012
The edges are smooth to the touch but the texture to the eye has the appearance of a fine grainy craftsmanship. Emitting mystery as it sits in front of me, set squarely on the table, it appears about two and a half inches deep. There is a burned in arcane symbol on the lid, its latch being only a simple tied black cord. It beckons to be opened, to reveal treasure awaiting thoughtful exploration. I easily pull on the cord, gently lifting the top up, and a musky earthy smell wafts upward. My pulse quickens. Inside lays a small but wide black book, the arcane symbol from the lid is repeated here on the cover. Underneath the book there is a bag with trinkets and a banner to be unfolded. The next layer down I find the another object, black and roughly the dimensions to the width of the box. Again the arcane symbol sits on top if this, I eagerly slice the shrink wrap, unfold the album, its inner cover gives a widescreen artful photograph with the subject in muted color balanced against vibrant red smoke. Sliding from the open slit on the side is a black paper sleeve, that contains the most exquisite vinyl records I think I’ve ever seen. They’re glorious to behold, alive with molten translucent red, the label black against this. It somehow emotes mysterious and powerful and dramatic. The next layer down into the wooden box there are three discs attached to the wood casing itself, two with music and the other a film, each black with additional arcane symbols, the three discs are arranged in a triangular formation, I’m sure to abstractly evoke the idea of the eye of god pyramid symbol. The culmination of these musical gems truly feels like the entire package is a genuine artifact, a box of wonders to be coveted. The title perfectly suited to the presentation, the feeling of it being a ritual to delve into.
Ceremonies By Fields Of The Nephilim
June 4th 2012
Tucked somewhat snuggley into the corner of my small studio office he stays motionless, roughly five and a half feet tall and impaled on a thin sturdy white metal pole. Dangling limbs boney and wired, the white yellowish teeth are perceived to smile. With gaping sockets for eyes that only leave any sense of character strictly projected by one’s own imagination. The jagged skeletal details of his visage are bereft of flaws, all fit for close examination. I can’t help but stare expecting some form of reaction to happen, like he should reach out to shake my hand expecting me to introduce myself…
Mr. Grimly (The Skeleton Man)
June 3rd 2012
Theatrical high octane heroic adventure fed by intergalactic awesomeness revealing by the end (causing inner geek giddiness) to see that insidious purple skinned death worshiper turn toward us with that leering grin. Although I’m late to the game on this I still about lunged out of my chair.
Thanos On The Big Screen
June 2nd 2012
Black grey, with horizontal and vertical lines creating perfect symmetrical spaces, some filled with pops of blue, green, and reddish orange, gotta get these. A grid surfaced pixel board. Shuffling and shuffling again seven members of the alphabet into variations of coherency, searching to find the right combination that reveals a component of language, a challenge to eat at the brain, exploring vocabulary in a competition over the ether of the web. Fun in looking for cleverness.
Scrabble On The Voodoo Machine
June 1st 2012
Elation! The early part of the day. Super-aggravation the second half. Stretched to opposite extremes, I’m sure to keep me balanced, the universe’s way of attempting to keep my head facing forward. Actually its doing the reverse, its made me feel as if I’m in a whirlwind of up and down. I appreciated the good news today that bolsters my self ego. But to keep it all in check, this batch of paper that I’ve fretted over in a prior post is surely wanting to do me in. It turns out that trying to use traditional ink washes will not work on this crud, at all. This is disastrous as I tend to use a lot of washes. I’m at a loss on what to do. I had thought I could work my way through this current order of paper hoping its a fluke, a funky batch. The bad results is making me have to spend a whole bunch of time that I really don’t have just to try to save the pages, two so far from this batch that I needed washes on. So while I’m thoroughly happy with the awards sent my way (Yay me), I wanted to punch something about this damn paper (Nay me).
Pulled
May 30th 2012
Its unbearably dark, like the gloom is thick as ink. I find myself in a very strange vehicle, not quite a car and not quite a motorcycle, but yet it reminds me of both. With me are two strange women and we are racing down what appears to be a wide street, but its all flat blacks with graphic pops of white and grey. Its almost as if there is little dimensionality or depth to what I’m seeing. This is unlike any reality I’ve seen before.
The women next to me are almost identical, but I have the impression that they are not twins, and for a reason unknown I’m helping them desperately elude some unquantified threat. Both are fair skinned but with a sheen to their complexions, almost like white porcelain with the slightest hint of rosiness to their cheeks, they don’t seem quite human. There is a softness in the shapes of their faces, smooth curves in a classical sense, subtly alluring and elegant. They both have black form-fitting clothing, nothing distinct to the design. And both have short black bob hair cuts, that twirl loosely in the airstream of our escape route. The most peculiar thing though, is that one seems slightly smaller than the other, sitting in her double’s lap hugging cloistered like a child and referred to as a Familiar. Unmoving, she has a look of deep sadness on her fine simplistic features. Her eyes are closed and her lids are painted coal. I look forward again. White graphic street lamps against flat graphic black whiz by from side to side as we race away.
We are being pursued by some juggernaut of a being on a large heavy industrial motorbike machine, thick treaded tires, gears turn and clink and belts shimmer, it roars from hell itself. He’s skirched to a halt, and he half stands firmly, all black with heavy leathers and armor, a gleaming black helmet that sits shaped close to his head. His face covered with a visor, like a pilots mask of black glass. I feel like he’s twenty feet tall, looming over us. But I know this isn’t right, as he’s actually a good distance away, but yet feels so much bigger than all around us. Then, without verbal expression, the oppressive figure rapidly lifts some form of weapon from a large case on one side, like a portable black bazooka canon, its paint flecked and chipped. He raises it up to only shoulder high like a rifle. Fiery smoke wafts from the tail pipes of his insipid archaic bike-machine, revving like a beast, it spews crackles of sparks. He fires.
We’re rocked with sudden ferocity as the discharged explosive pummels into us. I’m flung mightily into the air, hot of orange and red fire, it singes my lungs. Time seems to stand still for a moment as my eyes catch every piece of minuscule debris and giant ripped metal caught up in this plume of death with me. I glimpse toward the two identical women, they too are being flung by the force of the blast. But they seem to be pushed through the air together, moving in the same direction. Its as if they are inseparably linked by an unseen tether of clinging energy that pulls one after the other. The hot orange glow illuminates their faces, it would be beautiful if not for the dire meaning of our circumstance.
Everything still caught in slow time, my sight pushes in close onto one of the women, her delicate face seems calm as she sadly pleads, “Help us, please. Help Us. Save My Familiar.”
Sleeping Visions From Another Dimension 5
May 30th 2012
Looking through the playlists of music as I feed the new voodoo machine I can’t help but notice the patterns of likes that I have. I tend to gravitate to moody darker things, always have since a child. I used to have these old story vinyl records, these were singles that basically told a story with music accompanied. I distinctly remember my 5 year old self playing one in particular over and over again. I don’t remember what it was called but it had all of this gothic sounding imagery featuring a masked dark horse riding phantom, I remember there being lots of overly dramatic organ music with bells, thunderstorms and wind, very eerie and I loved it. And it seems my musical and visual tastes haven’t changed much since that little boy sitting in his room alone listening to creepy story records on his little red and white portable record player. Although my likes have matured and developed to have wide variety and quirkiness, what speaks to me the most is moodier stuff. I’ll never forget the first time I played a Sisters Of Mercy record, especially their early stuff like The Reptile House e.p., probably one of the darkest records ever made. Or The Cure’s Pornography, that record is right up there to be one of the darkest sounding, the entire second half just goes darker and darker until the very end feels like you’re in a pit a mile beneath the surface of the earth. Or the heavy murky electric metaphysical sounds of Fields Of The Nephilim, they literally use magick in the working of the song writing, talking about some very esoteric subjects but presented in a very vigorous manner. Even Blondie’s music, my favorite tunes are the darker undercurrent tracks. I find that some of the best new music that I like is dark stuff, like Those Poor Bastards for example. I could go on and on, name band after band, and most of them would have something about them considered at the very least, moody. The whole thing has me curious as to what we like and dislike, where it all comes from. Because as I know for myself, there was nothing in my very earliest childhood that would have leant toward being drawn to darker music and images, it just was there from my earliest memories. Which leads me to believe that some things we are attracted to we are born with, that it can go deeper than anything environmental, though that too has impact over time.
Yeah I’m A Bit Morose
May 29th 2012
Daintily measured, rectangular in shape. Wrapped in yellow-gold with sharp red and vibrant blue accents that are the signature colors. Delicately untwisting the waxy paper ends, crinkles of the wrinkles as they’re pulled upon. With an almost sticky snappy sound the final unfolding is done to happily reveal the lightly golden nugget inside. The scent is sweet and just a little bit earthy, like a bloom. The subtle tack of its surface grips my fingertips as I gently press it to the center of my tongue. The flavor of this tiny treasure is quite soft at first. As the first bite bears, the denseness is very tough but pleasing, as if to suggest to be truly worthy of the delights it demands a working. Then as the thick chew of it breaks in, easing with each grinding down, a very round nuttiness, hint of vanilla, and savored caramel floods. Just wonderfully one of those simply perfect things.
My Bit O’Honey
May 28th 2012
Large, but not overly, standing rigid, mostly taken for granted, expected to always be there providing its function for the home. White surfaced, or at least the parts visible are so. Covered in magnetic stories; images of sex and heroes, exotic travel, funky robots, rocketships, ghouly monsters, shoes, and rock’n’roll, old and new representations of all sorts in numerous shapes and sizes, some squared and others odd, kitschy pop in a wide range of colorful subjects. It can be read and studied for hours, attached with playful discoveries like a miniature fortune teller for example, expelling simplistic tidbits of her trade. Pulsing and humming rhythmically, within it’s heavy doored frame contains the cold and the crisp, packages, cartons, and plastic and icy glass, all waiting to be partaken my eager hungry hands. A whole bountiful galley of tasty satisfactions, sweet, savory, saucy, creamy and crunchy, most any desire cloistered to it drawers and shelves, preserved and ready to treat.
The Refrigerator As Entertainment
May 27th 2012
Elegantly made patterns of subtle weaves, while others of a more bold nature. Ogling the varieties of rich color and impeccable texture, impressed with the lines, intricate dots, playful plaids, luxurious tiny diamond shapes. The feel of them, touching sharp delicate style, a glorious and coveted self indulgence. There is a classicness, but yet hip and very modern. Easy to see that it could all become quite addicting to have, building a wardrobe repertoire that is purely customized for me.
To Be Designed By Artful Gentlemen
May 26th 2012
Electro bleeps and blips of retro-cool pulsing rhythms aggressively arranged. Melody so immediately enrapturing while airing a slight sense of cheese, somehow perfectly invoking an otherworldly journey through time and space. Pitching with a grasp of eerie alien drama, the movement of it gets the inner geek excited from the spinning toiling imagination it propels forward. The perfect sounds for stories about the man in the transdimensional blue police call box.
The Oldschool Doctor Who Theme As A Ringtone For My New Digital Pocket Voodoo
May 25th 2012
Burnt blindly bleary. Gritty granulated gruff. Dry dusty dragging. Not wanting to function, every twitch of movement pushes little agitators around, and streaks across the scratchy tenderized tissue. Attempting to focus on whats in front of me, blinking rapidly only to have smears of whatever block my view. Blink some more, gaining temporary sight through swollen lids. Some days allergen irritants attack with fervor, like hundreds of tiny insurgents using sandblasters as weapons on my vision, causing me to feel as if I’m half blind, never good since I’ve severely bad sight to begin with. And really never good when having to draw, the black lines vibrate against the white of the paper, nothing is coherent. But I plough on through, allowing my mind to make educated choices of techniques through the haze, knowing I can always touch it up later when feeling more normal.
My Eyes Tell Me To Fuck Off!
May 24th 2012
Its a slick thing, not just in how feels and glimmers, but also in its efficiency. Black edged, configured with touches of brilliance, not just in symboled orchestrated chosen colors that know how to catch the eye, but in pure ingenuity as well. We’ve been “devirgined” with our first cuddled pocket brains. Its like getting that shiny new toy, making one giddy with anticipation with playful exuberance. A beautiful object from the apple tree of super gadgetry. I can’t help but fruitfully grin while eagerly holding my new smartypants tech voodoo machine.
Finally Joining The Decade
May 23rd 2012
Light light everywhere a light. A light here a light there, oh and there too. After our disturbing encounter of stranger danger, plans are afoot for more light. Strategic light, a sensor spot bright, soon to chase away the shadows of the night.
Security Measures
May 22nd 2012
In a sudden reality distorting moment, our mental comfort was knocked asunder. Strange noises to be heard, almost like a cat hissing, unseen in the bleak light of the early nightfall out our bedroom window to the backyard. With the cast of a poor flashlight, illumination of something out of place. Wait, what is that? A wave of a hand? Cleanly dressed in a off white t-shirt, simple trousers, twenty-something, short trimmed dark hair, laying there somewhat delusional. “Who are you?!” A shrug in response, then a nodding head in loose obliviousness, hazed out and seemingly unconcerned. A call to the police, only to have silently vanished like a ghost, like he was never there at all. Unnerved and eerie. Locked up tight, but sleep was not easy.
The Drunken Man Under Our Window
May 21st 2012