Ship This!

I think most of my epiphanies come through while driving. Not me, personally, driving. Wow, how terrifying a thought is that?
No, while on the road, looking through my mirrored sunglasses at the wide, wide world, all the flatlands and hilly bits and jumpy abandoned barns.
Most lately, I've decided to boycott 18 wheelers. Why, you ask? Because I feel contrary, that's why. And because they're very large, diesel-slurping cogs upon which the machine of the system rotates goods all round this great nation of ours. Ladies and gentlefiends, I see a Wal-Mart truck coming toward me, but that doesn't matter.
Doesn't matter at all.
Do you know why?
Because.
There's this little boy. He's going camping with his sisters. But that's all right, because he has his little sleeping area, and in it there's a little mattress. It's dark blue, with rockets and planets and aliens, and even stars, but not those girly pink stars. These are orange and cool. You won't find rainbows or winged ponies here, and his sisters will leave it alone. Because it's a boy cot.
And that's why the Wal-Mart truck can cease to exist for all I damned well care.
~
I also just had a great deal of pizza. Three lovely slices, with a buttery, thin crust that flakes in your mouth and, just when you'd love for it to stay there, disappears. And get this: my feet hurt.
Yes. They do, they do.
Again, this doesn't matter, because I have a roasty, toasty little hotel bed to slip into, with lots of pillows which, at some point during the night, will end up on the carpet. And my toes shall be happy and squirm in delight.
Admit it, that makes your toes want to squiggle, too, doesn't it?

Haustellum Brandaris

To whit, my love, I am no token.
I am no blood-bright copper penny
Chipped between the teeth of youth--
No signale of darker passions,
No debauchery at sunset.

Be certain, I am nothing more
Than broken linen in the sun,
Flaxseed oils pressed for pigment.
With Tyrian purple, my eyes drenched,
No longer black with dark intent.
(finis)
Friday, 28 September, 2007
9:51 am US Central

Lick It Up

Quite frankly, I don't GIVE a half-damn if Bear Grylls receives off camera assistance or occasionally sleeps in motels. He's beautiful, has Matthew McConaughey Syndrome ('I believe this would be a fine opportunity to take mah shirt off'), climbed Everest at the age of 23, and...well...who can resist a bloke who eats maggots out of a rotting carcase? Observe the adorableness.

I defy anyone to find a more unconsciously charismatic wild man. So there.
Erm...oh, here's a link to his blog.
And if that's not enough to satisfy your linkage needs, this is something big, something beautiful, something outlawed in the former U.S.S.R.
Buglakov's masterpiece.
The Master and Margarita.
Don't read it if you're allergic to satire.

Butterball et al

So I'm driving peacefully down the Interstate, listening to the radio, lamenting at the state of the music industry, wanting dreadfully to find Chester Bennington so I can sit him down, look him straight in all four eyes, and say 'No! You Dreadful boy! This is NOT MUSIC!'--when an advert comes on.
Now, I'm sure we all loathe these little abrasive interpolations between ourselves and our music, but this one seemed to catch my interest. It was the Butterball Poultry company, and it began with an obtrusive: 'Attention, all potential Butterball employees!'
Next, it informed me that Butterball was expanding its boning department, and that I really should be a part of it.
Yes.
They are in desperate need of turkey boners.
This is a fact that they repeated several times, pausing, of course, to include the fact that Butterball is an equal opportunities employer. Yes, even if you are a four eyed freak with little to no musical ability (like Chester dear), you, too, could have an industrious career as a turkey boner.
I'm sure this message comes to you in your very hour of need.
Who doesn't want to work for the boning department?
(Disclaimer: The following testimonial is fictional. All similarities to characters living or dead is purely coincidental)
~
Jim-Bob Leroy, Jr. reports:
'I've been boning turkeys all my life, and I never IMAGINED I could git paid fer it!'
~
Well, there you have it, folks! Come down to your local Butterball recruiting agency today and...uh...bring lube.
~
In other news, I'm still painting. I'm working on a wretched gesture piece, based on a fabulous painting by Mehmet Turgut. You should find him. He's brilliant, if a little psychotic. But what else could you have come to expect from little old me?
I also unpacked Taidgh. No, not the crazy Irish poet on my link list. My guitar. Yes. He's in need of a polishing, but all my spare bits of cotton cloth are besmirched with clots of pigment and safflower or linseed oils. Yes, even the pair of jeans I'm wearing. I'll have to steal a tea towel from the kitchen.
~
(No turkeys were boned during the creation of this post)

Elegy for the Missing Turtle

This is so depressing.
Fred is gone.
She will be sorely missed.
I really wanted to paint on her shell.
I have half a jar of turtle feed sitting on my shelf, looking all useless and forlorn. I'm not quite certain what to do.
I don't have a pet any longer. I am inspired to write a mediocre, angst-ridden emo poem to celebrate my feelings for Fred.
~
You were a lady
In your dull speckled shell.
No red eyes to celebrate your name,
Only dreams of the thorny brambles
From which I plucked you,
Six-year rings dancing a sarabande
Across your reptilian back.

You ate earth-worms and cicadas,
Only when they were alive.
Sucking the yellow life-blood
From their veinless exoskeletons.
Vicariously vivacious,
My cold-blooded plaything,
You ran away
Just before winter.
(finis)
Wednesday, 26 September, 2007
10:16 am US Central

Draught One

Yes, ladies and gentlefiends, it is I.
Yes, I have deleted all previous blogs because they were, in a word, ridiculous.
There is no point to having two blogs if you NEVER BLOODY UPDATE!
However, I am turning over a new leaf, scrubbing the scuddy green yuck off the bottom, and using it as an umbrella.
It's raining cats and fuzzy little pomeranians outside, and I just want to roll over and go back to sleep.
But no longer!
It's nearly reveille and there are so many more things I should be doing.
It's the second day back from sunny Puerto Rico and I need to sit down and rework some paintings. Maybe later on today.
Maybe, if I find the time.
So far as life goes, I am a happy little hamster.
Here. Have this, and don't say I haven't ever given you anything.