The woman who loves you
is a Woman
through and through

Date: June 25, 2006 3:17 AM
Topic: Where Does Creativity Stop?

where does creativity stop? what happens to the maker of the painting once the painting has been made? when confronted with newness, what becomes of the mind? uncertainty, the most profound of all calamities of the mind, rears ugly in the morning, and what can we do? if we paint in orange today, and reap its benefits, what of tomorrow? we try again orange, but something is different... what is that something? do we have the right to know that difference? do we have the right to paint in orange again? do we have the right to know what other color to paint in? do we have the right to know whether we should paint or not? why isn't painting called sculpture? have we ever looked closely at the surface of a painting? do we have a right to live the subtleties of what we clearly see something being? do we have the right to sculpt and call it a painting? do we have the right to paint forever? do we have the right to never paint again like we painted before? is our life a song? does our life have stages and members and instruments and movements at one time that are different than another? who are the players adding to the song of our life? what should we do to assist them in the song we are making together? what is my instrument? is it a loud momentary clashing cymbal, and if so, how do i make certain that i will play it at the perfect time? is it a wildly involved trap set of an ever more asynchopated drummer oscillating almost invisibly to the tune of a grander scheme? how would i know? do i have the right to know? should i know? who am i playing/painting/scultping for? is it you? who are you? why do i think of you? why when i paint do you cross my mind? why is it that i hear the word vacuum but have never truly experienced one? why is it that when i think i'm painting you're still there? why is it when i'm playing you're still there? why when i'm sculpting are you still there? are you me? am i you? do i have a right to know the answers to any of these questions? are there places that are different from the other? why do i sometimes think there are but sometimes my senses tell me otherwise? is your name mine? what would i feel to be called you? could i do so and still love to paint? to play? to sculpt? to wonder? to ask? to listen? to do? to be? what if i am you? and only one of us hasn't figured it out? how much of fifty percent is required to make half? how much is a whole? could i ever feel what i think? could i ever do what i think and feel? do i have a right to think and feel and do all the same thing at once, in a monumental burst of three? do i have the right to be the living of the breathing instrument playing exquisitely the song called you, and sometimes, me?

Yes. This is tonight
When rain fell upon me
Turned evening into chair
Refrigerator
and
Bookshelf.

Counting Backwards

March 13th. Wow. Monday morning. 4:37 a.m. Do you know where your birth planets are? hahaha.
Whooo. This evening, well, no - That hasn't happened yet, but earlier - Yes. Earlier I gave a friend a massage for an hour twenty minutes. Before that, they gave me one for the same time. Exchange sort of thing. Before that, I played guitar at their house waiting for them to return from grocery shopping. Before that I was at the BD drinking a crappy coffee and a drip of soy milk. While I was outside Mae was sitting at my table sketching a tree. Some point she spilled india ink on the white table and created a fabulous impression of, say, an extremely gothic forest. The forest was quickly mopped up by her nervous hands.
Before that Kate skuffled through and monosyllabled us under her breath.
Before BD entirely Lottie and I were in the Jemez. We camped Saturdayd night at her friend Mark's property atop some land in the foothills of the Jemez where it was wonderfully ASS-BITINGLY cold but we were burroed beneath about thirty pounds of blankets and the like.We camped Friday night at Fenton Lake.
Extreme gorgeous hollow expanse infinite possible icy snow light in drifty powder blossom while eyes recline to gash sunlight cutting blue through haze after mattress yes we pulled from back of four-by-four onto fresh snow and got under QUICK! while dowsing ourselves with every stock of bedding brought from both our houses WHEW! and so tired from inexperienced planning 'let's stand around and yack and yack and yack about our spontanaity!' that we got to the lake at daybreak paid the steel pipe got smuckered by a ranger and then fell promptly off to sleep underneath the wintry chill, all while one redtopped woodpecker ate fresh breakfast where a nightstand could have been.
That was technically saturday morning. Saturday evening we woke up got irritated with eachother mumbled something slammed the mattress back into the truck froze our asses off hurried to the gate made sure we could get out then drove down to Jemez Village.
We were late to The Laughing Lizard. I did ask Rebecca about showing art and she told me to talk to Elsie.
After that we drove to Los Ojos. I ordered a coffee and a Jemez Burger. It was dry. The coffee, however, was wet.
Lottie ordered a buritto of some nature. All I know is it had beans. It could have had other things but I did not ask. I drew diagrams of billiard angles and she took a fancy to them. I smoked a few cigarettes and then invited her to play a few games. SHE ROCKED! I didn't realize that she was really a left handed player, since she shot mostly like a right-hander, but after watching her shoot once left handed, suggested she continue, and she cleaned up!
If I don't make time today:
Feb.14th - Trigg and Sean played an extremely silly role playing game for Trigg's ego. Trigg seemed very pleased with himself.
Feb.17th - In the afternoon, Chris at Winnings invited me along with others to Bandito's. I got back to my studio, worked on some projects. Later that night Christina called, needed smokes, I ran them over on my bike. Chris reminded me via cell about Banditos, I biked over. On my way over some fat Mexicans in an SUV tried to run me off the road on Central just West of the Frontier. I 911'd them when I got to Bandito's. Erica, Adam, Christian, Amanda, and Chris were there. We had a fabulous time and I was invited to a party later that evening with them. That moment, though, I had to go. Trigg and Sean and I had a class.
When I got to the class Chad, Trigg, and Sean were in the Kitchen. Trigg began one of his usual girl-bitched-him-out-about-something- hissies and I didn't, as I usually have in the past, approve, to which he promptly kicked me out of the class. He didn't seem satisfied with his articulation to which I replied no need to send me a postcard. I biked to Blue Dragon.
My friend Albert from first grade called me when I got to BD. We chatted for an hour and we chatted about serial killers and various inspirations for stories we could work on, then my phone died. I biked back to my studio. The plugged cell rang, Chris invited me to Christian's house, we all met, went to Joe's Carrera's SP?, played some pool, then went back to Christian's. Chris insisted I partake in the ingestion of a particular herb which I normally avoid, and I accepted the offer. That particular ingestion began what in some later entry will be deemed 'The Dark Night of the Soul.'
TDNOTS involves profound apparitions, deep revelations, disturbing sensations, a little vomit, pissing, walking a cat, and ends with the most wondrous bodily rest of my entire life.
Feb 24. I see Trigg at the Coffee Shop. He yacks a fortune cookie or two in my direction. I ask him if he's ever considered writing them, and he gets pissy, as expected. Later that evening Lindsey and Erin stop by, Dave gets dropped off, and we hang out at the Studio.
Okay, Today's March 13th. Sun - 12, Sat - 11, Fri - 10 - When did I hang with Charles? Friday was a wonderful Party at Brenda's, where she and a bunch of friends threw a surprise party for Mike the massage therapist. I did call Charles several times friday night, since I was missing him. Wednesday night was open mic at BD - It must have been Teusday - Wait - I bet the receipt from the AutoClinic where I picked up my 4x4 has a date marked on it - Hold on - Damn. Wrong date. How could that be? Because they marked the date as when the clutch was finished, not when Charles and I actually drove from Winnings to pick it up. Wait - I got the truck out SO NOT TO PISS MARK OFF ANY MORE. What day did I stand him up with the one vehicle we were sharing? Had to have been Tuesday. Friday's the 10th, Th-9,W-8,T-7. Got you, you bastard.
Okay.
March 7th. Hang with Charles at Winnings. A LOT HAPPENS HERE. Charles and I haven't even talked to eachother for two years since we met. This day, we completely reconcile. Wow. And while all that is happening, I'm simultaneously missing him WHILE talking to him, as if I'm multiple timelines of me all at once. And not only that - While he and I are breaching new dimensions at Winnings, whatever energy we're manifesting starts attracting people and opportunities out of THIN AIR!
Allea from The Curio walks over to our table,
Danny a local political figure and activist drops by,
The director of the outpost stops by for a chat,
and later, when Charles is hanging out at the Studio, Tim, a guy who answered my Craigslist ad stops by to purchase my paper, and ends up being a Sustainable Living engineer, - Charles had been really needing to talk to someone in that field since he's planning on building his own house! March 7th ROCKED, man!
Alright. Enough for now. Oh, wait -
Thursday, no -
March 6 I started a fabulous vertical painting.
Was it sunday that Lottie and I first painted at the Studio? I'll have to call her and ask. At 5:53 am dates and times begin to blur together.

blue dragon notes

after cig, walked inside, saw carolyn and went up to her and thanked her for her hospitality in california. a lot had transpired since last seeing her and my mind then suddenly had access to something very real and unique to communicate.
looked at how beautiful michelle is.
walked back outsid. dave showed up, in peculiar mood. rip showed up. jen showed up. kate showed up. erica showed up. i had suddenly missed mandy and christina. naomi showed up. trigg showed up. before long the table wash awash with friends and jokes and kissing and warmth.
(while writing these notes mark showed up. he hates the blue hairs today.)
oh before all that i was sitting at the table for the last few minutes of my public privacy and lizzy joined me. she was appearing ill, and finally she said something about it. carolyn's in town to help her pack her stuff and haul it back to cally. anyway.
sitting outside with lizzy was great. she asked i said of course and she played me some what i concluded to be new songs on Sweet Baby. i had a seventh sense about the onslaught and asked afterward if i could play her some songs, as a farewell gesture. i played her 'funny misconception' and 'my favorite color.' yes - that's when rip showed up. it was really great seeing rip. i really do have an appetite for the out-of-the-ordinary. rip's a figure in my mind etched solidly behind the bar of the press club. it is a mental explosive to see him anywhere else, especially the blue dragon. hell, i don't even know why i come here. actually, i do, moreso, now that norm has sprinkled some sort of magic on the place and transformed the octavial stagnancy of bitter addictive nostalgia into bitter beautiful magesty. (the coffee's still bitter as hell - the Ethiopian blend actually starry-nighted my SOY MILK! in just under 2.46 seconds the other night when maya was working - monday.)
for the first time rip was part of my experience. that never had to be that way, i could have been more allowing of the influx of impressions way back when i first saw him at the pressclub, but i wasn't, and this evening displayed the full magestic force of cosmological transformation.
in the midst of all that, someone called my name, there happened to be a spare set, and it was offered to me through some act of social dienetics. i ran in there, and there was immediately some dispute as to who would get the space, me or someone else who wasn't immediately apparent in the crowd (mark just suggested that the 'church' in final fantasy 10 may be modelled after catholocism. i say absolutely. if i were modeling impressions for a religous realm, why not use catholocism? it's the best! mark added in this little quipfest that allister crowley wasn't really a satanist, he simply wanted to have as much sex and make as much money as he could, and figured that modelling his 'religion' after catholocism would do the trick. i then noted that (he) may be officially the worlds first religious rock-star.)
so the person in the crowd turned out to be j.d., a guy i've seen before but never hung with, and we decided across the room from eachother to share the set somehow. i didn't realize right then that that meant to everyone apparently except to me that we'd both share it, simultaneously. i think i relate to bob dylan in one narrow way the most. during his concert with paul simon in austin, which i think should have just been called two seperate concerts staged back to back, he did a very peculiar thing when he and paul shared the two overlap-songs. every time paul tried to look at bob's guitar neck, bob turned the other way. that was the first time i'd ever seen an iconological figure do what i personally related to. i don't feel comfortable when guitar-jocks see what i'm fingering. i guess that'd be like showing you what colors i'm going to paint with. too much room for your opinion and not my impulse. at any rate, j.d. took the stage with his own bag of drums. holy shit was i thrown.
it was amazing. i've never played with a percussionist, and it sounded wonderful. i felt incredibly at ease feeling out the changes in rhythm and volume, and sensing what j.d.'s performance held for the the audience and for me. i did 'spit on a concrete night,' 'funny misconception,' and 'my favorite color.' funny thing was i dedicated the set to lizzy and carolyn, only to find that lizzy was outside the whole time...

you just had to be there (last night) | oh one twenty six oh six

rushed out door about six thirty three, raining beautifully desert night. passenger finally i got to be in truck, roommate drove, so delicate his day-job-window-roughneck-hands guided Cosmo 4x4'n out the driveway, backwards. i think i counted two minutes while he avoided hitting eisel, tables, and various other hooligan artists scraps left in the narrow driveway. yes and finally we get onto oxford. our guitars in the back of truck. i sort of like having no powersteering in this baby. can't wait to drive her myself. but right now my job is solidly to give up thinking i'm going to make signup by six fourty-five. bluedragon is six minutes away, if i'm riding the gears. roomy here is politely stopping for every grandma between here and girard, and i'm mesmorized by the pork shoulder, mashed potatoes and corn he's just fed to me, and deciding to be right where my meat too is, in the passenger seat of my lovely 4x4 nissan, Cosmo, and let come the footsteps of the evening.
take a right turn on yale. do a quick jump into smith's parking lot. cut through and illegally onto coal. stop at the light at stanford. get to and cut left at the light at girard. stop at the light at lead. get to and pass through the light at central. stop at the light at lomas. stop behind a granny south of constitution. pull in front of the dragon. let me out i say and i'll sign us up. i'm out and he's off parking Cosmo.
i'm into the East room, up to and behind the line of four people, and the first person looks at the signup sheet, walks away, without signing it, and then does the second, and the third, and the fourth. i look at it anyway, hoping that they all somehow missed two blank spaces that might have coincided with eight fifteen and eight thirty. they didn't. there were no spaces. i decided the most appropriate thing to do would be to stare at the sheet a little longer, acting as if some space would magically appear. none did. someone did sign mark's name to the page, however, that bastard.
i'm outside and about to roll a cigarette.

january twenty fourth, oh six

Oxford street. Six oh seven a.m. Let's see, this makes it, when did I wake up last? I was up yesterday at this time, and I had started working on my website at midnight. Wait, that's twenty-four plus six. Thirty hours. What was yesterday? Sunday. What did I do sunday... There was that little issue of getting to the coffee shop on time to see if I could meet that girl that's caught my fancy. And it closes at five, and I couldn't make it because I procrastinated for an hour and that pushed me till four thirty, and the staff at the coffee shop are way closed upstairs by four thirty so it's just not worth it. I woke up at three thirty. Let's see, count backward from midnight until four p.m. That's eight hours. Add thirty minutes. Jesus. I've been up for almost thirty nine hours. Well, time to make something happen. Maybe I'll move the car.