The Eater of Small Things

The Last Horse

2011-05-12T15:25:00.002-04:00

Relocated. Revamped. There's space here; a cloud of ions stretching into infinity. Rooms with views. Time and spacial concerns.

Give me fellowship this day; common communicators with things to say. It's lonely here in our head. We need more connection. Fuzzy signals dancing away on some forgotten wavelength. It's too much to bear. Recipient, where are you? Why have I put off searching for you for so long?

Baby steps then. It's agony to start rustling around in these dusty brambles again, but I need you. I need to reach you.

I will reach you.

Title to be Determined

2011-04-30T11:08:00.003-04:00

Artist.

There is a place we need to see. Would you take us there for a minute?

What's it like? Well, the floor's all sugar and gravel down here, and cotton in the sky.

Carpet Guts

2011-04-08T11:59:00.003-04:00

Laudable. Entertaining. Passionate.

Classy Class Hero.

Vanguard of Nothing and No One.

Creator Trapped in a Created World.

Too Well-Defined.

Mile a Minute.

Stalk, Talk, and Listen.

Failure to Fail.

Old Brew and Kettle Corpse.

Mingle, Tingle, and Single.

Worldquake and the Turbo Turban.

-----

After some ape-ish prodding in the dusty innards of my computer case, I managed to get it working again. Have no idea what I did, but it started right up. Not too bad for a layman. Lucky break. Ten letters.

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t e n l e t t e r s

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Philosopher's Tower

2011-04-06T18:42:00.002-04:00

Some walking around. Some coffee. Some frozen custard. Time to cool down and stop losing my mind. Leisure-time is scary now. Almost forgot what to do with it.

Sepulchre - pronounced sey-pul-KER

Sepulchral - pronounced sey-PUL-keral

Tomb-like. Eerie places.

So back to towers:

The tower is a physical representation of an idea. Said idea is housed within the confines, or kept outside, floating above, or buried underneath. Present. Or lost in the Past, or planned for the Future.

The top can provide an unobstructed view of the surrounding area. 360 degrees of unrestricted visibility, or restricted to something narrower. Perhaps a window looking onto the idea in question?

Intent?

To interpret cultural nodes through the context of a body of work.

Translation?

Something-something.

Losing the Thread

2011-04-06T13:42:00.004-04:00

No work today, thank goodness. I can think a little clearer now. Breathe a little deeper.

Now what was it we were talking about?

Building in chaotic realms. Nothing is static. Context in upheaval. I do not want to be in the vanguard of gentrification philosophy. No. I'll be something worse: the anti-hip. The anti-hype.

For Lack of Time

2011-03-25T13:48:00.003-04:00

Still taking steps. Out of time before I started today. Got mere minutes before a long night of work-- so here goes:

Crumpled sheets of paper. Metaphor for discarded or rejected ideas. Implied content of the paper is more important than what they actually contain. Though wadded up, they inhabit a special place in the tower. Read into this what you will. That's the point. Create tension; invite discussion.

And then something to do with deliberate steps to break the perpendicular formula. Thinking outside the box. Literally.

It's possible that I don't need to break this habit. Though I'm curious to see what a pentagon shape would do to your brain. That, and irregular planes designating each tier of the piece. Neat.

Now off to work. Stew on this. Come home and build something. Please give me the energy to do more than lay around after work. Step, step, step...

Deliberate Towers

2011-03-23T17:29:00.003-04:00

Need to articulate some art-speak. E's helping me brainstorm a bit. Here's what's rolling around:

I've built a tower. It's a deliberate tower, as opposed to the incidental vertical accumulations of the past.

It's understated. Quiet. Meditative. Each floor features a wadded-up ball of paper. They are nestled like precious eggs on each tier. I've used hints of tied string to accent certain areas. As far as accents go, these too are understated.

Presentation: Does it sit on the floor? Higher, on a pedestal? Either could work, though part of that deliberate planning was that this tower is meant to stand on its own foundation, wiggle its toes and remain pleasingly involved with its environment.

Lighting-- an extension of the same theme. This guy is self-sufficient, built with a willingness to travel. It's at home in a variety of setups. Give me clamp-lights and concrete walls, or track-lighting and all those spotless white perks you find in a good gallery.

Pics? What pics? Holding off on that. For now I just want to write about it.

Walk Before You Run

2011-03-23T15:22:00.002-04:00

I need a place to write, but I don't do well with keeping a journal. Stuff like that always get misplaced. I can never keep track of it. So back to blogging.

I'm straining very hard to put one foot in front of the other today. Walk. Just walk in a direction. Push yourself. Get going. Go.

Go with intent. Deliberate steps. Writing again is just one of these steps. It's accountability. It's communication. And it's archival. I appreciate the handiness of this blog-tool for all it's accessibility and ease.

And now to add content. Something personal about my day. A quick aside:

Coffee tastes faintly like ashes in my mouth today. Reminds me of cigarettes. Of art school. Of hanging half-out the window to smoke, one leg hanging over the ledge. Confident in that moment that nothing could ever unbalance me. Send me falling to my death.

Naive. Cool.

Today's agenda: what can a person accomplish in an hour and a half?

Gloater

2010-09-06T12:43:00.004-04:00

I'm down here but I need to be up here.

Miracles happen, but you talk like they won't happen here. They're an exclusive minority, an outlier in the realm of belief. There's your mustard seed. There. Right there. Thanks, God, but now we'll take it from here.

Pull over. I'm walking.

-----------------------

YMCA: For an organization that lauds its Christian morals your members sure don't mind making off with my stuff. If these were episodes of The Lost Room someone at the Y has gained The Swimming Goggles and The Shampoo That Protects Your Hair From Chlorine. You suck, guy; enjoy my crappy swimming accessories. --Or it's more than likely two different guys, because it was two different YMCAs.

To be fair it was my fault for forgetting those items in the shower. Damn, but I'm forgetful in there... And what, pray tell, was I doing in two places at once?

Eyebaal Goes To Black Outline World

2010-08-26T21:12:00.002-04:00

One day Princess Eyebaal went to Black Outline World. It was awesome. The End.

That Cloying Scent

2010-08-25T12:39:00.003-04:00

The Good Lord has sent Jeff to hound me about a perfect art show opportunity. Despite my clever defenses I am finally given over to this one. Who knows why it is I drag my feet on these things?

So now I have to come up with an idea. The show prompt is simply "Monster Mash." It's light-hearted, and perfect for the October season, especially with Halloween coming up.

I love Halloween. Probably my favorite holiday. I've got a birthday around then, so I always felt a certain ownership of said holiday. There's revelation in the ghoulish spectacle. Something light, but edgy. Good stuff.

Cryptic, no?

Southpaw

2010-08-21T01:30:00.002-04:00

I was notified that I smell like a wet dog tonight.

...Hmm.

Time for a bath.

In and Out of Shape

2010-08-19T11:57:00.001-04:00

Balance.

Just looking for a little balance today.

Everything, All at Once

2010-08-18T14:27:00.003-04:00

Pilfer, wrack, and ruin.

We listened to an audio-course all the way back from the Carolinas this week. It was "The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire." It was informative, if not a little depressing at times, to hear about the centuries-long struggle for power that resulted in hundreds of thousands of (roman) deaths as legion fought legion for the dictatorship. Shocking stuff. I had no idea how regular the forces of that empire engaged in its own bloodletting through deceit, assassination, and full-scale civil war.

All for the promise of power.

For 99% of those in the game this ended quite badly, usually with a dagger in their back and/or head on a pike. News to me. I'm glad I wasn't alive back then. Thankful to be hidden away here in an Ohio suburb for the time being.

Goodbye Gravity Star

2010-08-07T21:16:00.003-04:00

I've been informed that I need to start journaling again. When I asked whether or not that included blogging, the answer was a firm "no." So disregard this post as it's part of a vestigial motion, a superfluous gesture that just happens to coincide with something more meaningful.

At the least let's use this post as a mile-marker of sorts, a reminder of what we all hope will be a significant change. Something is molting, wriggling out of its skin. Only time will tell if anything useful emerges. More than likely it's just the same organism, but with new socks.

Yes, yes. And on and on.

We were in the clothing store today. There was a customer assistance phone hanging on the wall there. On the little postage stamp-sized screen there was a single sentence. It said, "Message for you."

For me? What's the message? I think I need to know. Maybe it's something comforting, like "God loves you." or maybe, "Life will work out. Don't worry." Any of those would do.

Just give me some good news.

Tomorrow, Today

2010-08-03T11:58:00.004-04:00

I've noticed a correlation between times when it's raining and the frequency of my blog posts. The same holds true for when I am ill. So today is double-trouble in that it is both raining am I am recovering from a bug. So I dust off the blog and take it for a stroll.

Dear Planet Earth:

You are beautiful. Everything about you is wondrous, down to the little weird things like dirt, mud, and rotting leaves. Even in your mundane aspects I can find merit. When I spend any amount of time amongst your splendor it never fails to leave me with a feeling of peace.

You are a good planet. I'm sorry we keep ruining you with all the horrible detritus of human civilization, things like oil spills and toxic waste to name a few. Let's never pretend for a second that our current way of life does not come with a cost.

We'll wreck your ecosystems on a whim if we think there's something of value that can be squeezed out of it. We cause extinctions. We are your most destructive biological inhabitants. Viruses ain't got nothin' on us. We're too in love with the sound of our own voices.

We're sorry. I promise we'll try harder from now on.

With all our love,

The Humans

This Winding Road

2010-05-26T01:50:00.004-04:00

So no new posts in these past few weeks. What's new to tell? Work is work; relationships wax and wane; life rolls on.

And the semicolons will be there in all their illegitimate uses. Ah.

Lately I've taken vast enjoyment from noontime. It's my happy ritual: wake up, get coffee, see who's on instant messenger, and peruse the web for anything new. By the time the coffee is finished, I'm ready to start my day. Glorious ritual-- possibly one of the only perks to teaching a night class-- is sleeping in.

Take me to the beach. I need it. Badly. I need to smell the ocean, to get pulverized by those big waves, and walk away feeling triumphant. Lord, why did you put me in a landlocked city in a (mostly) landlocked state? Lake Erie doesn't really count. It's cold up there... and it's all freshwater. Ew.

Sidewalk of Dreams

2010-04-26T14:53:00.004-04:00

Sidewalk, I can walk on you for miles. You start at my doorstep and stretch out to every corner of this little town. Every house that I pass has the porch-light turned on, and the telltale blue flicker of a television playing out its stories behind each set of curtains.

I wonder why I don't watch more television, then I realize it's because I spend my free time sitting in front of a computer screen. It's all the same then; everywhere I look, we're watching screens. When I've got a moment to spare, I'll check my cellphone for messages: another little screen, but this one fits in my pocket.

Consequently I use my cellphone as a type of 'soft' flashlight when I go stumbling through the house at night, not wanting to turn on any lights since there's always a person sleeping on the couch. Don't want to wake them. And always a different person each night, which strikes me as another novelty of this place.

Another novelty is the communal coffee pot. I've timed myself to wake up fifteen minutes after my wife's father, so I can descend on the fruits of the coffee pot with none of the involved work (little that there may be: pour in water, coffee grounds, push button-- but whatever). "Gentle Opportunist" is the name I used to give myself, proudly beaming. That is, until I stumble in to find that the coffee has, in fact, been made but none is left for me. And then I feel insulted, snuffed, as it were, by fate, and/or my housemates. How dare they.... ?

What does it mean that we look into screens all day for work, recreation, and utility? What would be the response if I traveled a hundred years into the past to visit an ancestor; and he asked what we did all day in the future, and I answered, "We look at screens! It's awesome!"?

These sidewalks, they remain largely unused from what I've seen. But at least they're handicap accessible.

it is what it is

Ghetto Marquee

2010-04-19T17:51:00.003-04:00

Came into school early today to get some work done, namely hiding behind a computer screen and devising cruel technical demonstrations for my students. *diabolic laughter*

Also going to a town hall meeting in an hour to hear about what Ohio law-makers are planning to do about human trafficking and sex slavery both locally and internationally. Should be an informative and productive event. Our pastor is one of the speakers tonight. I'm curious to hear him talk. I'm guessing a public forum would be a bit of a jump from standing in front of his congregation.

Anyway.... gonna go find something to eat. Chalk this class planning session as a moderate success and try again tomorrow.

Letters to the Void

2010-04-18T15:09:00.003-04:00

I find myself less inclined to write about my feelings these days. Funny how that works: the things for which I've been pining get shuffled back into my life and my response is to shut down the transmitter and retreat to the most furtive and dark basements to mull over events there.

Anyway, I couldn't grasp these feelings even if I wanted to; they're slippery little fishies, a flash of glittering silver scales in the sun. Running with that metaphor, here's one that leaped clean out of the water and into the boat. It flopped around for a moment then just lay there, mouth gasping for air, bug-eyed and alien. What the hell am I looking at here?

This one walked right off the paper. Couldn't stop it if I wanted to; a creeping construct of literary refuse. Thankfully I have friends who are more than willing to dispatch these idle notions before they can do damage. I watched in maddened glee as they were struck down, one after another, burned by fire, hacked apart by a variety of cutting implements, and refuted by clever puns.

here comes the three-hole-punch!

Sitting on Stone Steps

2010-04-14T01:01:00.008-04:00

Word to the wise: skipping meals and sleep combined with downing coffee all night long makes everything look edible. Why does the very act of typing this give me a weird deja vu fit? Odd.

Also, in unrelated news, my computer is working again. Came home to find it functioning good and proper. Amazing. I was on the cusp of reloading the OS.

Apparently I won some small victory in the ongoing psychological war against the machines... for now. Stop texting while you drive, dummies. I can't fight them on my own.

So get this; today for class we critiqued my students' projects. And about an hour into class the network fails. All but one computer, off in the corner: this girl's account magically stayed active. She was my lifeline. I rerouted some resources (i.e. fancy way of saying unplugged; replugged stuff) to her Mac, and behold! ... it worked for about fifteen minutes. Then that stopped working. More rerouting ensued.

To stall for time, I announced some greater force was at work here, undermining our every effort to have class. My students suggested it was God, and leered, hungry to see which direction I would goad the conversation. My reply was stern, haunted: "This isn't the work of God. There's a real malice behind these IT failures. Some dark force is responsible... EVIL!" (cue laughter from students)

I played this game with them throughout the evening, every time something went wrong, (yes, even mouse failure) I masked my total lack of control over the situation with some joking. 'Look at this hand; not that hand. Ooooooh shiny quarter.'

So a pretty rough night, but good. On the brighter side, I'd imagine teaching a drawing class would be boring as hell compared to this circus.

love this job

Hey, Neat!

2010-03-26T18:53:00.003-04:00

I am happy to report I am now saddled with cutting edge digital art-making technology. :D

The digital drawing tablets in my lab actually register the amount of pressure you apply with the stylus. Squeeee!

To put that in perspective, I spent most of last year drawing with a mouse.

So this is the big time.

Shimsham Peanut

2010-03-15T16:49:00.003-04:00

I had to take down my show this weekend. Michael stepped in and saved some of the pieces from destruction, which is cool. I took some pictures of the work finally. Here is a closeup of something that got saved.

It was happy news that some of these were allowed to remain intact. Never got around to writing that artist statement for you. Not sure what could be said that hasn't been alluded to either in this blog or vocalized in person. And never personally liked reading artist statements in past exhibitions: usually an 8"x 11.5" sheet of printer paper slapped on the gallery wall; blocks of text that you have to crane your neck to read, and even then there's too much going on around you to concentrate.

No, wait. I take it back. That piece of paper taped to the wall has its uses. There's some point at many openings where you dip into the awkward moment, where you've finished up one conversation and the next waits to find you. So, drink in hand, you saunter over to the wall with the artist statement. Squint your eyes to read. Ah, Times New Roman, so we meet again. Good, good. What's this, a sentence ending in a preposition? Bah.

After a moment of reading-but not really reading-I remove myself from this wall and go back and look at the artwork, as if new vistas of revelation are about to open up. "Ah, it all makes so much sense now! Of course!" Thank you, little piece of paper. Thank you for showing me the way.

Shallow Seas

2010-03-06T21:10:00.004-05:00

The hull of our little boat scrapes along the top of these alien shoals and comes to a stop. What a strange place. I can't get my bearings; I see no significant landmarks, just empty blue running off to where the horizon meets the sky.

But this is solid ground, albeit a few feet submerged. I climb out of the boat and my bare feet meet the reef. Walking is difficult. The coral is jagged and I stumble several times trying to find purchase.

I look back at the wooden rowboat, and see the giant sandwich I left there. It's a hoagie, and over two meters in length. Why didn't I eat that hoagie? There's no way I could take it with me. The mayonnaise will surely spoil in no time. Poor sandwich.

I walk on, leaving behind boat and sandwich, and disappear into the horizon.

Mmm?

Granted

2010-03-04T16:13:00.004-05:00

Today I drift happily on the winds of change. Come what will, I'm thrilled by the prospect. Change. We're all changing. I can't believe my eyes. My ears. What I'm seeing; what I'm hearing. It's all good news. Our little corner of the cosmos is blessed.

Cool.

It's late in the afternoon. Close to the rollover for evening, and I am still wearing pajamas. How does a thing like that get started? Can a man still accomplish mighty works in his bedclothes? We will see.

Jon showed me how to make a larger brush in GIMP today. The default brushes only went up to size 10, which is too small for my purposes. With this newfound knowledge I went to work making a bigger brush. I ended up building a brush of such immensity that it would destroy the world should it fall into the wrong hands. Luckily for you I am a gentle tyrant, and will only use this new-found power in neat blog pictures. Aren't you the lucky one?

Deadlight Lifeline

2010-03-03T17:44:00.004-05:00

It's time for another adventure, kiddies. I'd like an excuse to go investigate a mysterious sound, my flashlight dancing off the tombstones in a sinister place. A twig cracks underfoot-- but not my foot-- and now sure I'm not alone in this place.

Ironically, it's just Reggie. My flashlight falls across his proud, beaming face and I feel like strangling him.

"You tryin' to give me a heart attack or something?!"

"Sorry, I had to run back to the car to get supplies."

"Oh, umm, good. I-- hey, wait. Where are the shovels?"

"Shovels? I thought you were joking about that." He shrugs, pulls out something small and plastic.

"Damn it, Reggie. Get it together man. And-- what are you doing there? What is that?"

"Fruit cup."

"....."

Unbelievable. I turn on my heel and walk away. My flashlight reveals tree branches ahead. I duck and make my way into the undergrowth. Progress through the tangled weeds is slow-going. After five minutes I'm out of breath and sweating. I stop for a moment to listen for Reggie, but there's no sound. Maybe he's gone back to sit in the car. Who knows? I turn around and jump out of my skin to find him standing in front of me.

"Stop that."

"Sorry."

We walk along for fifteen more minutes, finally coming out of the forest into a clearing. Voices can be heard nearby. I switch off the flashlight and crouch low. The undersides of the trees ahead are awash in the reflected glow of a fire. I grab Reggie and pull him onto the grass, "Get down, you dummy. I think this is it! We've found the cultists, and it looks like they're doing the ritual tonight. We'll have to keep our wits if we're going to stop them."

"Golly!" He splays out on the ground in an exaggerated attempt to look sneaky.

We crawl forward and hide behind a fallen tree. I risk a peek over the top to see the events beyond. And immediately stifle a cry. I fall back into cover, shuddering, near panic. It takes all my fortitude not to run screaming into the night. Those things, those terrible things. How? How are these things possible? I can't comprehend this evil, how could we ever begin to presume to defeat it?

It only took a glimpse. I saw them all there, all the villagers, dancing around the fire. Gibbering awful incantations to the nether gods. And the things they were doing. What were they doing? Writhing, morphing, taking on new, grotesque forms under those death masks. The impossibility of it blasted at my sanity, leaving me cold and despairing. I collapsed and wept aloud, sobbing into the grass. Oh, oh.. We have to get away. We have to run. Get back to the car. This evil is beyond us! We have to get away! Get away!

Reggie took in my reaction, and frowned in confusion. At first he suspected I had been struck down by a physical projectile, and then the truth settled in. His perplexed state changed to one of alarm. He started breathing harder and harder until I thought he was going to hyperventilate, his eyes never leaving me.

Abruptly, he jumped up, turned to the cultists, and yelled, "Hey! HEY! You guys gotta come here! Quick! I think there's something wrong with my friend! He's having a heart attack or somethin'!"

----------------------------

Two hours later

----------------------------

"Damn it, Reggie." I break the silence, slurring over a busted lip. He drives the car down an empty country road. We are both splattered in blood and slime.

"Sorry." He looks over at me apologetically, and tries to avoid seeing the place where my shirt was torn open. "That... hurt?"

"Yep." I stare ahead.

"So... was... uh, was that a shoggoth?" He gestures back the way we came.

"Yes, Reggie. Yes it was."

"Oh." He glances at the rearview mirror. "Well, at least it doesn't seem to be following us anymore. But sorry for, well, you know. I thought you were having a heart attack back there or something."

"Oh yeah? Or maybe I was just overcome by the eldritch horror? Or maybe some idiot who jumps up and lets all the cultists know where we are?!"

"Sorry... It looked like the shoggoth had eaten most of them though."

"Yeah, haha. I guess so. What was that you threw into the ritual circle anyway? I didn't see much because the stabbing knives were blocking my view."

"Fruit cup."

"Ahh... nice. Well, good work, Reggie."

Shambling Gambling Rambling

2010-03-03T13:35:00.003-05:00

"Are you real?"

"Yup."

"Wowww..."

---------------------

No power this morning. Or afternoon, I should say. My schedule is an interesting little counterpoint to hers, the difference is that I find time for sleep. No idea how she does it. Maybe sleeps in her car between classes. Maybe in class. Who knows.

I wonder if people get sick of hearing it: my surprise at watching my wife turn into something new. It's a daily thing where I run to someone and blurt out, "She's stopped eating! She's stopped sleeping! This is not normal."

A larva thumping around in a cocoon. I see brief flickers of what is to come, and there's no doubt in my mind it will be awesome. The first semester was hysterical, suffocating, aching torment. Every week was a crisis. This second semester is less so. She's in the groove now. And what a groove it is.

I'm pretty sure she draws all her energy from the space heater. Like an obedient dog, it never leaves her side.

Wherever I May Roam

2010-02-27T14:14:00.008-05:00

Woke up today with the roaming itch-- the urge to scour a new section of the planet, somewhere that has yet to see my face. So I looked around on Google maps and found this huge island in the South Pacific, just sitting there, waiting for colonization.

I have to find a way to Australian. Meet some Aussies. Swim in their famously shark-infested waters to see what all the fuss is about. Visit Tasmania. Have a look-around. Nothing big.

Ah, but lack of money: the Great Financial Barrier Reef. Maybe time to start writing grant proposals. Heck, maybe someone's already offering residencies to fly artists from Wet & Agricultural Ohio into the Desolate Interior Wastes of Oz to kick around and get inspired.

I'll look into it.

Shakedown

2010-02-26T15:21:00.003-05:00

"Now put on the blindfold and walk backwards."

"Alright. I guess I've trusted you this far. Might as well give it a try."

"Good boy."

------------

Looks like the exhibition at the Nonstop space is going to stay up for another couple of weeks. It's a two-week stay of execution for my work; as the discussion goes, "Where would I put it?"

No, better to let these totems and trinkets "vanish" than to rot away in a basement corner somewhere. I've learned that lesson. As much energy as it takes to wipe them off the face of the earth, it's surprisingly much more difficult to save them. Hauling them from one place to another, only to watch them gather those time-honored wreathes of cobwebs. Nah, never again.

Good. At least that's settled and out of the way. This daily expository aids me more than I previously gave it credit. Good boy, blog. Good boy. Heel. Sit.

no peeing on the rug though.

Blurp

2010-02-25T16:40:00.004-05:00

So another miracle was visited upon me this week. I'm employed-- teaching. Teaching art. Teaching college-level art. A bloody miracle.

I'm happy, which is an understatement. I'm positively giddy. People see me this happy and they are confused. They ask, "Is this is a full-time gig?" "Is it permanent?" "Does it pays well?"

I respond to those questions in order with "No. I have no idea. And no." Which leads to an awkward moment where I feel I have to qualify my excitement in some way.

A better explanation of what I'm going through is to think that I've spent the past 3 and a half years waking up only to feel a little bit like I'm drowning, that I'm missing something. That I somehow failed to get my 'ducks-in-a-row.' And the doubts: the feeling that all the years I spent in college were wasted. And the rest of my life will be spent banging my head off a door that will never open.

A couple days ago that door popped open. Almost of its own accord. And now's my chance to make a break for it. I'm going to dive in, grab hold of what I can, clutch tight, and pray to God that it works out.

thank you.

Aggression Pact

2010-02-20T17:17:00.002-05:00

"Ah, beautiful symmetry."

You inhabit 9x9 virtual inches of space. You are composed of three layers. Your favorite color is that of an exploding star. And I could easily grow to love you.

Last night was a wonderful change of pace. Good to spend the evening in a different room with different motivations. But I skipped the opening. So much for hobnobbing with the art crowd. Instead, we sat on the couch, drank beers, and watched television-- of all things!

You should have seen the two of us there, standing like confounded children, impotently pressing buttons on the remote. Trying with all our might to make this device activate.

Finally, we had to seek help; our savior swooping in to key in the correct sequence to bring this electronic marvel to life. And suddenly, there it was! Like in a dream.... television! Wonderful television!

Fly by the Seat of Your Pants

2010-02-19T13:56:00.005-05:00

"Today is impossible."

"Yeah? Who told you that?"

"No one. I figured it out on my own."

"Ah, your wisdom knows no bounds."

"Yeah."

-----------

It's funny that the things I make never quite turn out like the way it was in my head. I was dwelling on the work from this past exhibition, thinking about what it meant, the things I was trying to tell you, and still it didn't come together as planned. Not necessarily in a bad way, just different.

I hit close to the mark, but not dead-on. I'd imagine if it all clicked together, a dimensional rift would form above the exhibition-space and begin to suck up all evidence. Which would probably be okay by me.

I hate these colors. But when life gives you ugly, you've just got to deal. Even when it's vomity green, bloodclot red, and WTF purple all mixed together. My life is a virtual 9 x 12 inch space of endless blank layers. Someone break out the gradient tool and ease this existence.

stop reading this blog.

Hollow Hallowed Halls

2010-02-18T14:58:00.004-05:00

"Are you feeling okay?" [concern]

".... Yes." [pause] "I'm just not sleeping well these days."

"Ah, you should try a fan. Or a white noise machine. That might help."

".... Sounds like a good idea." [pause, caught halfway in and out of the bathroom door. Search for something else to add, rub a self-conscious hand through a mess of hair, close the door]

---------------

Let's go back and rewrite history a bit. Take out a few things I said here and there. Eliminate a few defining situations. Mark a few objects for removal. How would it affect the outcome? Are we wired to our decision-making by synaptic connections alone, or is there some greater driving destiny that hounds us?

I like the latter. Makes me feel important; all warm and fuzzy inside. Gives me a proverbial label-maker to click out excuses for myself, something to sticky all over my forehead, to look in the bathroom mirror and say, "Oh! Of course that explains it all!"

My destiny is clear: I'm supposed to be a pirate captain. Or maybe a shampoo baron.

Hygienic Barbarian Raider?

Whisper In My Ear

2010-02-17T13:08:00.005-05:00

"Yeah, well...."

You are in my dreams these days. Getting more and more aggressive. Leaning into me. Whispering in my ear. We're standing amongst paintings and drawings hanging on the walls of a classroom, and I am cold and wet for some reason.

Ah, yes. It was the water fountain. Someone had sabotaged it. I came along, bent down for a drink, and got water sprayed in my face. Cold. Very cold. In my moment of blindness I crashed into a professor as she was coming out of the restroom. Another typical day.

In my wildest dreams, there's a flicker; a spark, a moment of clarity. That microcosmic nod that would obliterate my day... in a good way, I mean.

Instead, I wake with a start of discomfort. A ping of surprise, looking around and expecting some glowing beacon, some corporal vestige of the dream to which I can cling. Something real. But there is nothing.

Until then...

Light-Blind

2010-02-14T20:29:00.005-05:00

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me."

"Now what?"

I passed some birds on the way home today. They were just sitting, chilling in the middle of the road, happily pecking away at the ground. Only something was strange about the situation, almost surreal, in that they didn't even attempt to get out of the way when I drove by, didn't even flinch as my car passed within a couple feet from their little beaks. And I'm no bird expert, but these weren't your lazy carrion-eater-type-birds that wait until the very last instant to fly away, these were the "other" kind. The kind of birds that flee from everything on a good day. So something was wrong with these birds. Their little brains weren't getting the all-so-important message that they were gambling their lives away.

And whatever bet was going on between them, I later found that the road-birds were on the losing end. I drove by again to find them still sitting in the road, just chillin'. One or two of them had been destroyed by the inevitable passing of a vehicle, their fellows oblivious to the doom. All the while I'm thinking, "Dumb birds. Get up and hop twenty inches. Get off the road! For the love of God, save yourselves! Do something!"

Moral of the story pending...

Eater Made Manifest

2010-02-11T12:31:00.003-05:00

Today I reveal myself to you in all my terrible glory: the eater of small things, the interdimensional devourer foretold in the fevered scribblings of Reggie Lovecraft. Look on my infinite maw of gibbous horror and despair, mere mortal, for this is the end of your pitiful existence.

ROAR.

Funniest Thing

2010-02-07T17:30:00.002-05:00

Ha ha ha.

.....

It's not that funny.

And I'm not really laughing anymore.

I Need My Happy Place

2010-02-06T15:25:00.011-05:00

+++---post deleted because it undermines the delicate balance---+++

So where's my happy place?

scales fell from my eyes. gross.

Leash and Noose

2010-02-05T16:42:00.002-05:00

Getting tired of bruised purple-blue? Good, because it's still my favorite color scheme. Unabashedly, I roll out another one where some bizarre creature is doing something-- possibly ninja-kicking some scribbles, or break-dancing. I dunno. We'll have to put it to a vote, though I prefer to think he's harvesting something, maybe even picking a wittle fwower.

It's snowing. I'm trapped inside. Glee! Because what's trapped in here with me? Work table! Tools! Caffeine! And a lonely bottle of Magic Hat's 'Not Quite Pale Ale' whose remaining lifespan is being measured in hours. Tick, tock, tick, tock... Sad little beer. No worries. Soon you will go on to join your brothers. Mwah hah ha ha.

I daydream about you reading this, maybe sitting cross-legged in a field, snow drifting down to settle on your shoulders while you click-click-click on a little laptop computer. Or maybe on a beach at night, where your face is lit ghoulish white from the screen, waves crashing just out of reach. Toes digging in the sand, and the breeze is actually a bit more chilly than you anticipated. Maybe you're in your secret underground lair, where you've taken a break from hatching your evil schemes to just surf the net and see what's been going on.

Sinister laser-eyed guard-dogs drool on the rug as you click-click-click.

Time to Repair

2010-02-04T14:19:00.003-05:00

This morning I woke up with superpowers. And then I subsequently lost them a half-hour later. I'll spend the rest of the afternoon trying to get them back. Then you'll see something neat. Something along the lines of jumping over buildings and throwing cars and getting cats out of trees.

I need you to come over here and repair my disposition. Fix me up enough to send me lurching out to whatever events are going on this week, set my head nodding and a smile on my face. A genuine smile, not one of those squirming fake ones that are both exquisite and painful to behold.

I worked by candlelight for about an hour last night. It was a novel idea, though I kept having visions of something catching fire. Fortunate that real life is far less dramatic than the stories. No fires. No breaking glass. No Frankenstein's Monster spasming to life and tromping through the laboratory to wreak terrible vengeance.

Implied kinetic motion. That's what I've been telling people when they suggest my sculptures should have movement. The intent is to suggest movement. Having these things hop around would cause all sorts of new problems. I've got enough worries. Although I suppose there is merit in employing some sort of self-destruct mechanism, where the work implodes after the show. After you've seen it. Anything else though, and it would be an opening of horrors: art piece that roars to life, assaults guests, scoops up the swooning maiden, crashes through the door, and trundles off into the night.

For posterity, the verbs in that last sentence were roars, assaults, scoops, crashes, and trundles. That's amazing; now I have to build it.

Long Burn

2010-02-02T12:31:00.004-05:00

There's a candle burning in my mind's eye, very far away. It's a beacon in the featureless night, visible for miles around.

Are you getting enough sleep?

Lightningfish Cartwheel

2010-01-30T20:45:00.005-05:00

I am out of words.

I wonder what you're doing right now.

Me? I can't sit still this week. Find a reason to drive. Drive anywhere. Drive everywhere. Just put me to work.

I'll build more of those things for you, but only if you come see them.

next thing.
no thing.
nothing.
and next to nothing.

Laughing Cactus Wasteland

2010-01-28T13:47:00.002-05:00

I had been driving so much these past few weeks that it became a natural thing to ride in silence. I'd listen to the radio, and whatever CD was in the player that I never bothered to change, but mostly keeping my own company. Good time to think, either outloud or in my head.

After the show, I went home to rest. And shocked to feel trapped there. I missed driving, of all things. It was no longer a chore to drive, but a time of solitude, sailing across agricultural vistas, alone with my thoughts.

So I took to the road again. Drove down to West Virginia to see my dad this week. My drive down was uneventful, save for getting a message that a job opportunity fell through. So a typical day.

Distance. Silence. Despite the lack of any outward sign, there's plenty here under the surface. What am I looking for?

Lightning Crumb Warfare

2010-01-26T02:59:00.005-05:00

Successful weekend. However, I fear that I may sully the memory with attempts to quantify it through writing. I'd like to leave it as is: a warm glow permanently etched into my chest. Yes, the show went well. Thanks to all who came to see the work. I drove home with a dumb grin on my face, feeling reasonably content.

What's next?

For You: This

2010-01-20T19:47:00.003-05:00

The days this week have started to blur together. Coming home at 3:30 am in the morning has become expected, and I no longer have to explain myself to our baffled hosts as I come waltzing through the door in the wee hours.

"What were you doing out so late?" "Why are you carrying that glue gun?" "Who are you?"

Good questions, all. Those what-why-where's have been plaguing me internally as well. What am I doing?

Well, it's akin to vomiting. Stuff is coming out of me. Colorful, interesting things, though I don't remember eating any of it. And it's all for you. So it's more like a bird regurgitating food for her young. The food goes inside, gets changed, and then comes back to you in a more palatable form. That's kind of what I'm doing for you, encoding thoughts and words into a new format for you to absorb.

But how can I even be sure you'll digest it in this form? Who's to say you won't be equally baffled by what you take in. What if you choke?

Horrible thoughts raining down on me now. Doubts, mostly. People keep talking about ghosts in recent days. Uncanny coincidence, but I'm guessing it's the weather playing havoc with our minds, affecting our dreams. Some nights I get pretty creeped-out working here by myself. There's something terrifying about abandoned interior voids. Mark that one up to primal instinct: "What sort of unholy terror makes its dwelling in this cave? Let's go hit it with a rock!"

Eyes dart back into endless space every few moments, scanning the darkness. The tingling sensation of being watched while I work. Every far-off noise amplified. And yet this is where I am most comfortable. Away from people, the din of life. Here is where I can see everything connecting us. And despite the distance between us, it's like you're right here with me.

you're coming, right?

Build You

2010-01-17T14:09:00.003-05:00

Words fail me.

Sorry for the lack of them today.

This opening is next weekend, and there's a lot I want to get finished between now and then. It's already a good showing, but there's so much more I want to cram into it. I want you to see it the way it was meant to be.

Hope you can make it.

http://nonstopinstitute.org/nonstop-gala-opening-fundraiser/

where did all the time go?

Beacons in the Deep

2010-01-11T18:47:00.005-05:00

Today is a day that finds us besieged by invisible terrors. If anything positive could be said about such a situation, at least it forces one to remain in a perpetual state of kinetic motion: running, biting, screaming. And as it happens, wildly thrashing is a good cardio workout. At least until something comes along and takes a bite out of you; and all that rhetoric about weight-loss gets colored with a darker irony.

It was a sleepless night, with much tossing and turning. What actual sleep there was to be had was either fitful or pretend. (you know, fake sleep is a party trick devised to trick large predators) We're outnumbered by them on these dark nights.

There's an absurd amount of communication going on between us; me and my cryptic speaking, and you with your non-words and non-speech. On one end, a stream of babble. And on the other, static.

I was supposed to go meet some artists tonight, but I'm feeling kind of burned out. Instead, I think I'll hang out at home and have a quiet night to myself. Now the question becomes: wine or coffee?

The coffee cup is intrinsically linked to to all other coffee cups a person has ever held in their hands. With that connection there is remembrance, fondness, and the hissing roar of an espresso machine drowning out all other sounds in the world. By contrast, the wine glass is firmly anchored in the here and now, and dares you think on the past and future only at your own peril, lest you fall victim to one of nature's more despicable hangovers.

what's today's flavor?

You Are Happy

2010-01-11T01:04:00.003-05:00

I thought there were some important things rolling around in my head that needed to be typed out. Unfortunately I lost the conversation thread somewhere on the drive home so this will have to be another one of those blog entries where I'm casting about in the darkness, trying to assemble an impression. Damn sudden short-term memory loss.

The forgetting might just be part of my process; it would explain how all my camera batteries died the moment I tried photographing the result of today's exploits. My subconscious mind is trying to prevent information from leaking out. No doubt it's some kind of media blackout. So if you want to know what I've been up to these past few weeks, come see for yourself. See what I've been building for you.

I have no clue where all this new work is going to go after the show ends. All these little shrines will need a home. I've already thrown away so much; it makes me sick to think I'm going to have to tear everything here apart. That keeps happening for some reason. Ugh. Spare me that fate this one time.

but at least you are happy

Turbulent

2010-01-08T15:34:00.002-05:00

Snow when I open my eyes, snow when I close them. Snow everywhere, far as I can see in any direction.

While I was momentarily grateful that the studio proprietor plowed the parking lot, I soon found my way into the building blocked by a five-foot high wall of snow. On the best of days, I am a natural navigator of rough terrain, lithe and sure-footed. In 12 inches of snow, that grace is exchanged for a loping series of hops, and all the awkwardness of a day-old calf.

Trying to forge around the obstruction, I fell into a drift that came up to my knees. Aaaaarrrgghh. So now rather than getting work done I'm sitting in wet socks, trying to find some way to dry my shoes.

Cold feet aside, I found a cup of coffee and that makes everything okay; because coffee always reminds me; alway; always: always reminds me-;: and then the remembering makes everything okay.

i know why i am here; thanks for that

Suffice It To Say,

2010-01-05T14:06:00.004-05:00

It dawned on me a few minutes ago that I've always had difficulty drawing hands. This may have something to do with their shiftiness; the hands rarely stay in one place, and even when they're out where you can see them, the fingers are all squished up into a ball.

So more often then not, I skip over the hands when I'm drawing.

Anyway.

I'm procrastinating today, working on my 2nd cup of coffee and piddling around at home when I should be an hour and 15 minutes west of here, gluing stuff together.

But it's cold out there and warm in here. I like being five feet away from our space heater, which is roughly the size of a big suitcase, and constantly lulling me to sleep with its perpetual white noise.

Oh well. Off to work.

good to know you're doing well

Strut Your Stuff

2010-01-04T16:55:00.007-05:00

It's Another Day and I have stuff to tell you:

I had a dream last night where I went back to our old house in Salem Center, but the house was a metaphor for my head, and all my emotional baggage and memories had turned into several ghosts that were haunting the place. Each ghost had a specific room that was its territory; and they spent their days systematically tearing everything apart like wild animals. So you could imagine how happy they were when I walked through the door.

So this dream consisted of me moving from room to room cleaning up and making ghosts happy. They'd never leave the house, so in a sense would always be with me, but were more or less tame by the end of the story.

In waking life, I wander dark corridors looking for a pair of warm socks.

More; and MOAR!

2009-12-31T01:37:00.004-05:00

Got home a couple hours ago; and in a good mood about things in general. The drive home did not involve ice, snow, or any other wintry mix of precipitations bombarding the car, so it was pleasurable.

Yellow Springs is just out of ear-shot of Columbus' NPR station, so I listened to crunchy static steadily fade to "Echoes," which is my Secret Shame Ambient Music Program, or SSHAMP! for short. Funny, it's not something I listen to on purpose. "Echoes" just always comes on the radio while I'm driving, and I recognize the unspoken words in each song: "You are up late, my friend." Over and over. 'This is John Diliberto, and you are listening to... Echoes."

Here's a sample of what I've been up to in the studio: making precarious vertical structures. I may never get to be a doctor or an architect, but someday I'm going to build a wicked tree-house.

i dream of driving when i sleep, and i day-dream about sleep while driving

Looking for the Dogstar

2009-12-30T15:49:00.003-05:00

I've been brought low for the past few days by a cold; but managed to get it together enough to drive over to the studio space, and now eager to get working. My muse isn't here. It's somewhere else; out of sight, but always tantalizingly close in my mind's eye. Even out here, the faintest glimmer sustains me, fills me up, and pushes me to do the things I mean to do.

I had gotten bogged down in this space, trekking from one end of Yellow Springs to the other, till I got sick as a dog from walking in the snow-- all the while hoping I'd find that perspective; an audible click in the back of my mind, and then I'd have it for sure.

But my work here can't be about this place, it's about me and you; and how we relate to the problems of this world. Stop trying to make a site-specific piece, because in the end you know in your heart that every piece is site-specific. And maybe person-specific; though that remains to be tested here. Maybe next time I'll be brave enough to make something like that: something just for you; or you.

Sirius, the dog star, is the brightest star in the sky because it's actually two stars. It's a binary system, two suns working in tandem. What power we derive from each other!!

now go make some art

My Middle Finger

2009-12-27T01:46:00.005-05:00

Injury post tonight; quite a little ordeal so I figure I'd share the story with you. A little bit ago I accidentally lodged a splinter of wood up under my fingernail. It was easily a half-inch long, and sunk in as far as my cuticle. At any rate, I was introduced to a pain I had no prior conception of: the nerve-endings under the human fingernail are alive and well, and very excited about conveying signals to the brain.

My mother-in-law managed to pull it out with tweezers twenty minutes later, and My God The Pain. But the main thing is that it's out, and the ordeal is over.

Gloves. I'm buying gardener's gloves, and wearing them every day for the rest of forever.

Hush

2009-12-26T17:52:00.006-05:00

I see you when I close my eyes now. You're miles away, and still there's an image of you emblazoned on my retinas. Neat. It keeps me up at night; the need to finish, to start. It's all I ever wanted. The only cost is a little bit of sanity. Or insanity-- I really always considered those progenitors of darker subject matter to be much saner and humane people in life; as if some soul-cleansing had taken place, and the canvas acted as a sort of filter, straining out the grit and garbage, dispensing only the flavor. So, yeah, coffee.

In other news, the gifts I received for Christmas this year were all very useful: coat, scarf, gloves, hat, wristwatch, rotary tool, windshield wipers, gift-cards, pajamas. All-in-all, I'm very content, and made out like a bandit this year.

And you probably guessed it; I took this photo in the Glen at Yellow Springs. I've got a lot fuel for this endeavor. The holidays have given me an excuse to slack off though, but the lack of sleep is a clear signal that I need to get back to work.

you are crystal-clear in my mind now;
you are so far away
I'll do what I can
just stay in my head a little longer

Apparitions, and I'm Still Looking

2009-12-23T11:58:00.008-05:00

Despite the cold and snow, this week has been remarkably comfortable.

We finished up the Christmas shopping yesterday, which entailed less than two hours. Wading through the pre-Christmas crowd at Easton was bearable and, dare I say, pleasant?

I lost my scarf somewhere there, which was heart-wrenching since my mom got it for me just this week. I lose winter accessories; they just leap out my pockets unbidden.

After I gave up searching, the scarf appeared. Someone had laid it on the newspaper rack beside Cup O Joe. I love that about strangers: people will pick up lost articles of clothing and move them to a better spot, safe from trampling feet. I was grateful to find it there. And reunited, I now believe it to be a "lucky" scarf, imbued with new powers from its time away.

The Glen has it's share of foot-bridges, though there's one place where you must hop from stone to stone to get across the creek. They tell me the floods here are pretty amazing, and from the shape of these gullies I wouldn't be surprised if whole sections of the place go underwater after a hard rain.

I've got a neat project idea that should keep me busy these coming weeks. It's something that I can work on both at home and in Yellow Springs, which is a big bonus. I'm pretty happy about it. More on that later.

maybe I'm done looking for you

Different Halves

2009-12-22T02:56:00.002-05:00

I was in familiar territory today, taking care of some business on campus. It was different this time, deserted, between quarters, and far too cold and biting for anyone to be out except on urgent business, though I did see the odd grad student puffing away on a cigarette here and there, sheltered in various alcoves.

I stopped off for a cup of coffee, but Hagerty was empty. The coffee shop was closed down, a metal cage dividing the space. I hung there for a moment considering my options, and then quietly left.

I visited the raptors last Friday. It was a little walk through the glen to their hutches and the caretaker's station; nothing like the epic hours-long trek that many of the locals had described. It's true: several people got great big googily eyes when I told them I intended to go on foot to see the birds, as if I were talking some kind of madness. "Walk? It'll take days to walk there, boy! You'll never make it!"

But not a bad walk at all. And I saw the birds, and marveled: owls, hawks, kestrels, vultures, a bald eagle, each hunkered down in their respective hutches against the cold. None are fit to be released into the wild due to their injuries, but at least they are well-fed and looked-after.

Crazy like a fox

In Unknown Lands

2009-12-18T12:01:00.004-05:00

Okay, time to get to work. One of the other residents asked me what I had proposed for the space, and I could only shrug and say, "Dunno." I have no clue other than I'm hoping to stumble across it during today's wandering.

This town is a special place, and I'm hoping to capture an impression of it, sort of like when you lay a piece of paper over a leaf and color over it. I'm looking for imprints, and raw materials.

We're forbidden to remove materials from the nature preserve, nor can we leave stuff there. I'm going in today with recording devices: camera, eyeballs, sketchpad. That's all. I'm hoping to get a feel for the place.

Everywhere else is fair game for salvage, which is good: this place is a goldmine.

new purpose is old purpose.

Driving Days

2009-12-17T20:54:00.003-05:00

That's my studio!

That's my computer!

That's my waste paper basket!

Okay, so technically I'm sharing the Mac with two other people, but it's still cool nonetheless; and that keyboard needs to go.

Birdlike

2009-12-16T19:27:00.004-05:00

Well, I'm officially an artist-in-residency today. That's where I'm writing from, in fact. Two of us moved into our respective spaces this afternoon. I built a bird-mobile as a preliminary for my visit to the Raptor Center later this week. Too bad it wasn't a Canis Lupus Center, though large predatory birds rank in at a pretty close second place in terms of animals I admire. Third place being the Land Shark.

Ugh... the space bar on this keyboard sticks. May need to cut this short.

More later.

Gross

2009-12-14T00:49:00.005-05:00

Garbage.

I think I just illustrated an album cover for Gwar. Ugh. Neat.

If you hadn't noticed, me and the stylus have been getting pretty wild these past few days. I've got a secret crush on blue and violet that surfaces on occasion, usually when depicting otherworldly things. There's something special about that end of the spectrum. Dark blue with accents; rawr.

I went to a former student's graduation party tonight. He was very happy; gave me a big hug when he saw me. Good times.

Although, I was an hour late looking for the place-- "Google-Maps" put me in the middle of an empty field. Obviously not the place. But I found it eventually, even had a stern conversation with the proprietress of the party site, as if her and Google had combined forces to undermine me in this life.

Picked up a bottle of pinot noir on the way home. I couldn't pass up the brand: "Rex-Goliath: Giant 47 Pound Rooster." Not a bad purchase, and one of those rare moments where my North Market 'Rooster' wine glass matches the bottle. Good boy, Rex.

See ya around.

Do To Me

2009-12-13T15:30:00.009-05:00

I hit the town solo last night to see some art. Junctionview was having an open studio event and I was eager to see what my old chums have been up to this year.

Any Junctionview event in recent history can be summarized in one word: overstimulating. While not as big as the biannual Agora exhibitions, the place was still packed. I commend the crew there for whipping it into its current incarnation: I'll take crowds of snooty "alternative" kids over the empty tomb I first encountered in 2006. The place used to be dead, now it's living. Good job.

That said, you'll never see me drink too much at these large events. The reason being that it requires a sustained effort for me to navigate those corridors, with art and artists elbow to elbow: peddlers of wares and glowing proud egos all jostling for position. I worry that were my self-control to slip in this place I'd run gibbering from studio to studio, telling awful truths, and then flee into the night to the echos of sobs, wails, and the gnashing of teeth.

So yeah, it's important not to say too much. After a single beer, I caught myself starting to slip, and crazy-upon-crazy, suggested to one artist that he not build a frame for a piece in question. I hinted that maybe it was done, and he could leave it at that. "Your work looks better without those gaudy frames, sir." After receiving an incredulous glare for response, I slithered away.

The diversity of Junctionview is where I run into problems. You advertise an event as an Open-Studio Night, and I think, "Okay, time to sweep in, meet some artists, and discuss their work and ideas." But my interpretation of 'open studio' is flawed; instead, I walk through the door and get a sales-pitch, "Hey, is there a lucky lady in your life you want like to buy something for? It's the holiday season afterall." Damn, how I wish I was making that up.

But it's not their fault. They're just trying to survive, to turn a profit on their talent. Who am I to poo-poo on that?

Despite my criticism, It really was a fun night, and I did enjoy seeing the wares, mimes, and jugglers, as well as old friends and some new art.

What you do to me
What you do through me

Touch

2009-12-12T17:31:00.007-05:00

I'm impressed by the sheer number of ways we abuse ourselves. It'd be almost comical, if our time here was an infinite function. Sadly, it is not.

Anyway.

I met with some artist friends at a local restaurant last night. I thought it was neat that we all brought our sketchpads and notebooks unprompted. It spoke of an eagerness to share, to be involved. Still don't have a clue what anyone's artwork really looks like; though it was only the second time we've met. And at least we're talking shop. The rest will come soon enough.

They're a good group of folks. I'd like to see them go on to do great things in their respective careers. It's not an easy path, that much is sure.

I devoured those stories. Every nuance and pause. Our rhythm was awkward; the pacing wrong. Too many people crammed into a single booth, but this was the third time we had moved and the waitresses were ready to kill us. We dared not move to a fourth table, so there we sat crammed together like sardines. I contemplated letting myself go, simply tipping out of the booth and slithering away underfoot.

Aren't there some reptiles that can shed their tails to deter and confuse attackers? Not a bad idea as long as you remember to make good on your escape.

We should make this a weekly thing.

ah.. oh.

Recycled Landmarks

2009-12-11T15:00:00.005-05:00

I swear we passed that structure fifteen minutes ago. I think we're lost. Probably going in circles. That would explain the recycled landmarks. Pull over, I'll go on foot from here.

And now I'm here; lost. Marooned on an alien world. But I know what I'm doing, I've packed a lunch.

Man, I'm going to miss that flavored coffee; the morning exchange of resources for nutrients at Hagerty that I grew to depend on, the jostling crowd. If you stand there for longer than 10 minutes, you'll see everyone you've ever known walk by. Uncanny; wonderful.

I will not miss getting up every predawn morning and tripping over things in the dark.

I'm waiting. Working things out here, but also just waiting. I have no idea how to prepare for this residency program except to relax and go with the flow. I'm good at stifling panic, though a slow-burning anxiety glows just below the surface. 'Let this work out,' I think over and over.

Today's secret music shame: The Birthday Massacre.
Pros: Crunchy Synthrock
Cons: Girly, corny, melodramatic, lyric content and delivery sometimes make me cringe

Yesterday's secret music shame: Slick Idiot.
Pros: German Industrial Band, helps me focus
Cons: the bad songs are really bad. Same as above, cringe reflex engaged

Secret music shame of the week that's not really all that shameful to listen to because it's flawless: Hybrid (Mike Truman, Chris Healings)
Pros: danceable
Cons: danceable
The Morning Sci-Fi for the win.

A Rare Sleepless Night

2009-12-10T03:09:00.004-05:00

Restless night. Ugh...

I tried sifting through the junk on my table to see if it sparked anything in the creativity department, followed a couple of tangents to dead-ends, but nothing useful. I've given up on it and decided to write a bit:

So yeah, hi.

I keep coming back here. Each day I sit down to write, and feel like I never get to the thing I've been meaning to say to you. I'm close; I can visualize the words, but they go all wrong when I try to pin them down. It's like a dream or something, where the message gets lost in the reading. Though that's borderline cliche right there.

Tired.

Do I speak in cliches? For someone with no qualms about being cheesy, I have a fear of speaking in pre-programmed phraseology, "Ain't that right, Sport?" *shudder* I think it cuts too close to the bone with the whole art thing. Name me one artist who'd not be offended by being labeled as "prone to using cliches."

It cuts too deep! Aaargh!!!

Raining Again

2009-12-09T12:59:00.008-05:00

I'm used to blaming the weather for the bad things in my life. It was 54 degrees this morning so I grabbed my light jacket. Lo-and-behold,: something like a Nor'easter is roaring in to pummel the inhabitants of this city as they scurry for shelter. I can barely keep my eyes open because of the wind and rain flying sideways into my face.

It's beautiful though. Leaves leap up in great walls, breaking like waves, and spinning in rustling tornadoes across my path. Winter reaches her hands down the back of my shirt and I jump at the shock-- the audacity of such a touch. She pulls me close, breathes into me; my lungs burn from the cold. Like a persistent lover she hounds me every step of the way. I can't ignore her, there's no way. I'm wearing a jacket and a t-shirt. All the world they'll do me here, I might as well be wearing swimming trunks.

I'm almost done with finals. By the time you read this I'll be starting my math exam, or fighting my way home through this wind. I can't wait till I'm on the other end of this thing, just to close the book on it and say 'done.' There'll be the inevitable fallout, of course: the mental repercussions of failure, and the resources that this expedition cost, but I'll pay for it, and gladly.

I got my teeth cleaned a little bit ago. Despite the rampant coffee consumption I was awarded a clean bill of tooth health. Coffee's apparently not as bad as I thought. It's got a relatively high PH level, equatable to rainwater, which is like 100 times more acidic than regular bottled water. Good news is that figure is still not enough to destroy tooth enamel; I'm no doctor, but I'm going to go ahead and say that the coffee and booze actually strengthen my teeth (and give me super-powers).

Incommunicado!

Successful Despair Mindwarp

2009-12-07T21:36:00.012-05:00

Amidst the wreckage of academic defeat, I am surprised to find myself in dual universes tonight: the first, where I kneel over broken things, and a second, warm and inviting place, where I apparently have a new gig: an artist residency.

Golly.

I'm excited about this. And terrified.

You asked the other night how we envisioned our future selves. A fascinating question, but too easily blunted by inane chatter. I snatched it out of the air, filed away for later consideration. Our future selves...

I see an ocean; the sand at our feet. We run along as the tide rolls up, splashes against our ankles. Is this the future? The past? I don't know. Probably neither. And both.

I've missed you these last few days: the heat of my routine. I got used to staggering around in the predawn gloom. Purpose. Fire. Impulse. Structure. I daydream about finding a poet to break these words for me. In my fantasy we hold up the paintings for him and he translates. Wonder of wonders, wouldn't that be something to behold?

For the time being, we'll have to get used to walking in the dark.

sheesh.

Deviation of Orbit

2009-12-07T14:21:00.003-05:00

Okay, right, so... let's try this again.

If you see me in person and/or read these blog posts often, more than likely you can consider yourself apprised of the situation, and aware of The Big Ole Plan. This operation began 10 months ago when I decided to reenlist myself in university studies with the intent of climbing the highest, steepest mountain available to me: Pre-med.

The furnace fires were lit, the ancient machinery of my math-brain roared to life: I had a new goal; something that seemed impossible. I would become a doctor and help people with my giant brain; do things for them that I couldn't as an artist. I'd become someone new and useful. It would be great. I would scale this mountain. Oh yes, I would.....

Alas, as the door creaks shut on 2009, I find myself floundering in intermediate classes-- Physics 111, Math 150, ect-- scrambling for purchase on icy slopes. Now I'm taking my finals, totally confused, more than likely failing these classes (unless they curve these grades). However the chips fall in the next couple of days, I think I'm done with school. I won't be returning next quarter.

But I'm not in despair. Not anymore. I gave it a good try. And maybe my heart wasn't totally in it, or it could be that my brain isn't wired to deal with high mathematical concepts. But I do want to thank all of you who stood by me this year, built me up, carried and tutored me, kept me caffeinated. I love you guys.

together now

Okay, Right, So...

2009-12-06T19:25:00.002-05:00

Weekend shenanigans....

Ready for a life change.

Should be an interesting week.

Disguised As Artist

2009-12-04T09:36:00.002-05:00

It's really hard for skinny guys to look cool in puffy winter coats. There's something about the profile I cut around this time of year that I really don't like. The bird-legs spoil the effect; not that I'm trying to impress, but it'd be nice to have a warm coat that I loved, and not this puffy aesthetic abomination.

Though I am warm.

And then there's the goofy winter hat I got in Yunnan that is the warmest, most awesome thing to sit on my head, though functional, makes me very self-conscious in public. People stare at the hat. It's not red, and it doesn't say, "Go Buckeyes!" and it makes me look like I'm about to go for a sleigh-ride in a Norman Rockwell painting.

I've actually got an identical problem with the goofy summer hat I acquired in the same province. It's a giant cowboy hat. There were two different styles circulating in the village; I started to go with the classic Western cowboy hat, but our guide nodded me toward the authentic one. This thing is a massive tower that says, "Hey look, guy in goofy hat!" wherever I go. I'm not brave enough to wear it, though I really love the way it keeps the sun off.

I did the art thing last night, went to some openings. I'm usually a champion eater at these things, loading up a towering plate of food and shoving my way through like I own the place. Last night however, a more cautious, almost birdlike behavior emerged. I nipped at the food table surgically, and my stomach was appalled at the weak offering: one mini-peanut butter cup, one sushi roll, one piece of broccoli, and what looked like about ten grains of rice. What was this? A growing apprehension?

Ah, the old ghosts. I was anxious about facing them, looking somewhere, anywhere for a friend, someone to back me up. But we all must face the music on our own, and that's how it was: these benchmark moments where you stare eye-to-eye with the past and say, "Ah.."

Don't blink.

Let's Roll

2009-12-03T09:46:00.005-05:00

Whether it's another dream or just a hallucination, I'm now certain the Mothman that terrorized my homeland has tracked me here, and these cloistered city walls are no longer a safe haven.

It's probably my fault too. I had to time-travel in order to find something that was missing; some old memories. Now I've remembered, but at a small cost:

the beast has returned...

mothman's shorter than I remembered....

In Your Dreams

2009-12-02T09:36:00.004-05:00

This week I've been hiding just beyond the reach of normal events, sometimes observing scenes as they would have happened, but not participating in any real way. It's like watching surgery on yourself as an out-of-body experience; or watching your own funeral from behind a tree. There's a detached curiosity that goes along with it.

I walk behind myself a couple of paces, watching the back of my own head; and wondering if I could just hit the breaks and let the body go on by itself. It knows the routine well enough, I think it'd be fine on its own. I can just float here like a cloud and catch up on some sleep.

And then I realize once again this is a dream and I've overslept for the third time in as many days. I crawl out of bed, limp to the bathroom in the darkness.

Huck Finn watched his own funeral, right?

Or was it Tom Sawyer?

Torque and Lever Arm

2009-12-01T09:46:00.004-05:00

Everything feels broken today, though that might be the lack of sleep talking. Throw in some post-holiday blues and a gaping wound that won't heal to make things worse. Fortunately for me, typing out this junk actually helps, so I continue:

I applied for that residency yesterday. We passed the hypothetical question around last night regarding what would happen if I actually got in. I laid out an elaborate plan that involved sleeping on a cot in the workspace and driving a million hours every couple of days... It's a good plan.

It'll work, as long as reality isn't taken into account. I don't know how I'd make school work out with a residency so far away, but if I can't make it work under current circumstances I might as well go for broke. Compound things until something snaps.

Some machines are built with the sole purpose of shaking themselves apart. I actually take comfort in that. I might need this system to break down again. Why? To get back up. Dust myself off, build something new.

Good. See? Now you've cheered me up. Easy.

Now back to work.

Take care of yourself. I miss you.

Continuing Mission

2009-11-30T09:56:00.003-05:00

Crap.

Getting kicked out of the lab.

I'll have to come back and write this later.

sdafdasgdfghdfgjhdf!;;;;;

Sorry.

*hours later*
Okay, I have returned. This is one job I don't like leaving half-finished; God-forbid someone actually comes along and reads the thing.

Okay, so let me lay this on you: there's an artist residency over in Dayton that sounds pretty awesome. The application deadline is tomorrow so I will need my patented brand of Quickness to get my materials in. Luckily, it's all here- i just have to craft a legible statement of intent. Should be cake.

On the chance I am accepted, the gears will start up immediately; in the first week of December the three chosen applicants will be whisked away to beautiful Yellow Springs for six weeks to do something. So yeah, I want to go be a part of that.

I do. Despite the logistical mindwarp that would require one to exist in different places at the same point in time, I want in. Also, if you're curious, here's the press release for the residency.

I knows me something about shared environments...

okay boss, you win...

Room to Grow

2009-11-29T16:18:00.004-05:00

I marvel at this room, how a single space could contain so much. We do so much of our living here. It's a stage for every sort of scenario: drama, comedy, tragedy, and others; all unfolding from a blissful spool of hours, mornings and nights. More so than any place I've ever called home, this room contains the highest concentration of memories tied to a single spot.

What I've learned here is that if anything is to get done, the previous mess must be cleaned; the space rebuilt and organized; a clean slate.

And that's why I'm procrastinating: there's much to be cleaned before I can get to work again. Bah;

I consider the rampant abuse of the semi-colon these past weeks and how long I can get away with this new brand of punctuational evil.

I;love;you;all

Clear the Air

2009-11-28T18:12:00.003-05:00

There are things I'd love to say; to fling back the curtains of my soul and exclaim 'Ah HA!' But that won't happen today. I've tried putting the sounds in my head into comprehensible language, but to no avail. It comes out like the sound of a deflating balloon, or sometimes like a roaring tyrannosaurus.

So I am stuck communicating to you through our common language, with all our familiar symbols and characters. Jab-tap-jap, from the keyboard to the screen. But it's not enough. It's never enough to convey what's in here (leans in to you and pokes your chest dramatically).

Where are the poets in this age? Are they like us, hidden away, clinging to the flotsam, adrift somewhere in this ocean of the Communication Age? In this dangerous place where people inscribe messages via keys on a small electronic device while driving cars.

I'm serious about finding the poets, if they still exist: people to weigh the words. Someone to explain our purpose here;

God help us.

Strands

2009-11-25T09:46:00.003-05:00

Thanksgiving is tomorrow. I asked a guy from my class if he had anyone to spend the holiday with, and he said no. I started to invite him over and then remembered that we'd be out of town. We exchanged numbers though; at least we'll try to get him over for Christmas.

Hard to connect that paragraph to anything else in this "inward-looking" blog. Kindness may be an alien concept at times, and I'm terrified of coming off as sounding (more) self-righteous (than usual) when I write about 'nice things I did today.' And who wants to read that?

Instead:

This morning; 9:15am; that familiar ache sets in that tugs my feet in the direction of Hagerty Hall. Stand in line at some odd angle, glance once at the 'flavor of the day' sign, glance twice at the television, pay, and then flee with my prize.

It's horrible, I know, but if you picture a cat running with a chipmunk in its mouth, that's a small part of how I feel during that episode.

...incoherent drivel.

And Gone

2009-11-24T09:41:00.003-05:00

Haphazard forms in the bleak pre-dawn lurch toward unknown destinations, and I can't help admiring the silhouettes we make; outline and contour, and I think about charcoal between fingers and the quiet raking sound it makes on paper.

I think about guns today, and my brother's old habit of shooting outside my bedroom window, usually during those early weekend mornings. "Sighting in his gun" he called it. Though some mornings he was just content to rev his dirt bike and fly up and down the yard like a maniac. I may have been less angry about the noise if he had tried combining the two elements; firing his shotgun while airborne on a motorcycle. Now that would be a neat trick.

I always wondered how I turned out so different from the rest of my family; being surrounded by all the trappings of local culture, but not finding a sustained interest in any of it: hunting, dirt bikes, four-wheelers, et all. Ah, but who knows? I blame video games and a childhood aversion to high-velocity projectiles.

Amuse Amuse

2009-11-23T09:39:00.002-05:00

Today I collided with a chunk of debris while navigating through the warrens. We live in the belly of a submarine: constant noise, sirens, alarms, the ring of metal collisions, and the din of life packed into tight compartments; so running into things isn't exactly new. But the topography changes on a hourly basis, and I've tripped over an inventory of objects in dark rooms that include guitars, metal folding chairs, laptop computers, circular saws, and drum sets to name a few.

Today's injury won out in the category of horrific things not to happen to your pinky toe. Whatever I connected with this time was metal and unyielding, and I'm not embarrassed to say I spent the following moment face-down on the floor in a whimpering, quivering pile. I won't be any more specific about the details other than 'things had to be taped back together.'

Thankfully, we live in this age of wonderful home remedies to anything: namely stero-strips, adhesive medical strips, and anti-biotic ointments, and presto! we're walking around again!

But toe injuries were not on the agenda for today's blog; the position was snatched away from deeper philosophical bleating. So I'll have to cram it in here as a kind of footnote; something to pick up later on in the week:

It is my desire to exhibit artwork again, though I've become spoiled in my hiatus: I'm not sure I want to deal with 'the art crowd.' I'm reluctant, because I'm not sure we'll speak the same language anymore. My speech has grown into something coarse and bristly; my disposition is easily annoyed by 'clever, cute shenanigans,' and I get bored easily by a lot of this fanfare. Okay, footnote footnoted. We'll pick this up at a later time once I figure out what I'm actually trying to tell you.

...who's my goat?

Ugly Green Dude

2009-11-22T23:40:00.009-05:00

Even though it directly contradicts what I said last week, I'm sharing some new artwork. I wanted to show my dad what I've been working on. It's small, but heavy. And oh-so-ugly. I love ugly paintings. The ones that shrug and say, "Here I am. Now deal with me."

And I stand back and admire my handiwork, like a proud parent glowing over their newborn's first poop.

...stink or swim?

Friday Dance Fever

2009-11-20T10:03:00.004-05:00

Sometimes I wonder if I've run out of things to say; told you all my stories; shown you all the shades and moods of my mind; every little Photoshop trick.

You can go back and read each of these posts, and come away with a picture of the type of person I want you to think I am.

But I will keep writing to you, hopefully very often. Because this is my purpose: to communicate something to you. Even when it's akin to the incessant bleating of a siren, I have to keep going.

I will speak to you in cliché, riddle, and sometimes just plain. I will speak on themes that will be cheesy and corny, because I love cheesy things (like mohawks and KMFDM). I love Germans when they try to sing in Spanish. (And yes, I will digress like this.)

I will cut my posts short when I realize I'm late for class.

I will tell you old stories again and again. Because those are the best.

I will make attempts to be clever, and then denounce cleverness as a tool of evil.

We are a transmitter and a receiver

Thursnight Bleaklight

2009-11-19T11:49:00.004-05:00

I have nothing to share today, so I'll have to make something up:

Actually, here it is. Another childhood story to pass the time: my forays into the wild.

As you know, I grew up in a fair backwater by the name of Salem Center. I always thought it was a peculiar name, though a vast improvement over the neighboring places-- names like Rutland, Wilkesville, and.... Dexter. (shudder) People always shuddered when they heard the name Dexter, though I no longer remember why. It was a backwater's backwater, if that means anything.

A name like Salem Center calls to mind witches, and 'Center' as a good place for them to congregate. There's some logic there, I think.

As a hobby I would devote a portion of my youth to seeking out these witches, or at least some evidence of their existence. I would walk around in the nearby forests and fields, keeping on the lookout for 'witchy-type-happenings.'

The evidence is as follows:

Strange flat rock in cowfield. Possibly used in summoning rituals.
Cursed trees with deadly poisonous spikes (later debunked as the Honey Locust tree)
Deer skulls, snake skins, dead birds, misc. animal debris (all due to witchcraft)
Unmarked cemetery (weird, creepy)

And the most difficult one: I used to swear that I could see shadow people standing around, but only glimpses of them in the corner of my eye. This was too difficult to document. But one day we'll go back there and I'll show you.

be you.

Gap Fill

2009-11-18T17:44:00.003-05:00

Computer lab access was denied to me this morning, which had the interesting effect of causing me to lurk in various alcoves, trying to find "a good spot."

Once settled, another surprise: I wrote a blog. On paper. The old kind that sits buried in a notebook forever. Ah.

And it went on for pages, the silly thing. With all the poignant, indulgent observations and confessions residing in these human guts; something so precious and revolting a new word had to be invented in order to contain it:..... Blaaawg!!

Was planning on copying some/all of it into today's post, but the Eater Blog is time-sensitive, and demands the here-and-now to be recorded; and is more likely to reject any prepared capsules in favor of these juicy morsels.

Yum!

Bench on the Edge of a Ravine

2009-11-17T09:53:00.005-05:00

Despite today's melodramatic title, this entry is actually about a real bench on the edge of a ravine, and not just a metaphor. But since I'm a creature of habit, don't be surprised when it turns into a metaphorical bench in a few seconds.

Among one of my father's greatest ideas was to build a bench in the woods behind our house. It perched on a hill above a yawning crevasse. Seated there, you would immediately hear the world go silent. Whatever baggage you were carrying around in your head would leave you. And then it was just you and the ravine, staring back at one-another. I swear you could hear it breathe.

Don't misunderstand this as a horror story though; quite the opposite. The ravine was not an abyss; it's a hallowed place--something revered, like Mother Nature's belly-button. But still imbued with the savageness and timelessness of Nature.

You sit there, looking down into the shadows; looking across to the hill on the other side; at the trees clinging to the steep sides over the gulf-- and it begins to show you things: the insignificance of your worries, the natural course of your life, and the eventual conclusion of these events-- and for a brief moment you are at peace.

Why aren't you sleeping?

Infernal Internal

2009-11-16T14:27:00.003-05:00

Today I was shocked to find that my 'creative' endeavors are very much alive, and ferociously territorial. Pressed for time this morning, I had planned to update this blog with pics of last week's art projects. In all honesty, I think it would have been a half-assed post masquerading as workin' hard, but you'll have that.

With fifteen minutes to bust out a post, I uploaded the art photos with the indulgent notion that "eater blog and fine art are now united in a grand spectacle of ME-ness." And that's when it happened: whatever part of my brain whose strings are pulled by this blog threatened to detonate an improvised explosive device within my cerebellum if I did not delete the 'offending art.'

The internal dialogue looked something like this:

Eater Blog Cortex:
I have a bomb.

Me:
Okay. I believe you. What's up?

Eater Blog Cortex:
Delete the artwork photographs or I make myself a skylight in the top of your head.

Me:
Ah. But I spent a lot of time on these, and I think people would be interested in---

Eater Blog Cortex:
NOOO. No. I will blow us up, I swear. This is MY blog, and the only artwork should be those little drawings we do every day with Photoshop and Gimp.

Me:
Ah... But this is better. This is fine art. Listen to how the italics roll off the tongue.

Eater Blog Cortex:
In like two seconds, they'll be scraping your tongue off the ceiling--

Me:
Okay, okay. Fine. What's the big deal?

Eater Blog Cortex:
............

We've got a good thing going here, is all.

Me:
Yeah?

Eater Blog Cortex:
Yeah. I've been here through thick-and-thin for almost two years. I'm low maintenance. I don't have weird expectations of you, like whatever deal you and fine art had going on. Too much baggage. Here though, we are free to be ourselves.

Me:
Alright, I guess this makes sense now. But I think I'm still going to make this new artwork. But if I don't share it here, where does it go?

Eater Blog Cortex:
Ah, I dunno, genius.... art gallery maybe?

Me:
Oh. Right. Cool.

Eater Blog Cortex:
So I guess that's settled.

Me:
Huh? Ah, talking to myself again. Well, here goes nothing... (clicks "publish post" button)

Eater Blog Cortex:
Good boy.

The Three Second Infinity

2009-11-13T11:42:00.008-05:00

It's probable that I hoodwinked Death again this morning. While I crossed the street on the way to class, a car chose that moment to run the red light. It flashed in front our faces for an instant and then was gone.

The following moment was almost casual; the only thing betraying our shock was an unspoken sidelong glance with the guy next to me. It was a wordless non-nod, but it spoke volumes about our shared experience: something far more stark and meaningful than, "Wow, we dodged a bullet there, sport!"

And wordless, we walked on as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened; as if some maniac hadn't just come plowing through the intersection.

No coffee today. At least that was my goal. My plan to avoid Hagerty Hall was dead-on-arrival when my presentation group suggested we go there to hash out our project after class. Whee! And as usual, I found myself standing in line to order the same as every day. I wonder if you could set your watch by my routine. I know the baristas can. There's a guy there who rings me up without even hearing what I'm going to say. Just a smile, a nod, and "So,... the usual?"

So why do I even make these flimsy attempts to avoid it? Well, a person's heart shouldn't ache for coffee. We learned that one in third grade, when Mrs. Gobblechins forced us to line up along the wall and recite the Eighty Statutes of Tindalos. Most of those were about avoiding time-travel, though coffee-fixation was also mentioned.

I've been meaning to go out with "the guys" more; do some bonding and drinking and whatnot. People invite me out all the time, it just happens that usually there's some mitigating circumstance that prevents my participation. I attribute this to bars and restaurants giving me claustrophobia if I'm forced to be bound up in them for very long. Though alcohol-consumption seems to lessen this terror, and we begin see how the bar turns a profit.

I am going to make more of an effort to attend more outings. Going to Studio 35 tonight, for Mr. Broken Bones's Buddy Birthday Blast-off Bashtacular.

He swims through time, battered hull and broken bones; heart laid bare, thumping like a drum. And on and on he roves through time, forever beating that lone drum.

Unsaid; Unwritten

2009-11-12T09:50:00.005-05:00

Whatever flickering sun I orbit these days is too bright for any direct analysis; though I can list the trajectory:

Galactic Period: (2.25-2.50) x 10^8 a*
Velocity: (~2.20 x 10^5 m/s) - orbit around the center of the galaxy.

Where the hell are we going?

*-"a" as in Julian years

Swerve to Avoid Collision

2009-11-10T09:55:00.005-05:00

It turns out that the game of chicken has some deep philosophical connotations, and that Wikipedia proves itself yet again as my one-and-only source of knowledge-absorption outside of these textbooks.

The idea of playing Chicken is even more fascinating now that Physics has armed me with The Numbers. Indeed, I am bristling with equations that tell me exactly when and how energy is transfered between colliding objects. I won't take the time to expound on it, but let's just say the results are 'bad' in most head-on collisions.

Back to Chicken. There are four possible outcomes: both cars swerve out of the way, Car X swerves, Car Y swerves, or neither car swerves and they collide. Swerving results in the best-case scenario for both parties, though the 'swervee' loses face and is branded the Chicken.

The game of chicken can be used in a variety of other different applications. Here are a few:

Two people walking toward each other on a narrow sidewalk
Two flocks of geese, one flying south for the winter, the other flying north for the summer
A cat and a ball of yarn
Knights jousting on horses
Two rams ramming
Airplane vs. Mountain

And here's me driving without airbags...

Together Again

2009-11-09T20:46:00.005-05:00

I have very dearly missed you...

I had the itch to make some new art today. It felt really good.

Lately I've been thinking of life in terms of episodes. Each day of the week is similar; but while our schedules may be set in stone, variations inevitably arise: you bump into an old friend, oversleep, or forget to return a library book. The endless variations we weave are as unpredictable as the weather.

I'm interested in exploring this idea through more of these diorama projects. Hopefully I'll have more to share soon.

Gravitational Attraction

2009-11-09T09:57:00.003-05:00

Yet again I find myself here. I'm starting to become convinced that Hagerty Hall exerts some kind of gravitational pull beyond the sum of its mass and I'm caught up in some awful singularity that spins just out of reach. Granted, this is probably the most well-kept computer lab on campus, and the ratio of crowded-ness is much lower than it out to be.

So here I linger to muse, caffeinate, and brood-- all of which look the same from a distance. I consider assisting Michael with his sheep-project this afternoon, but another gravity-force has been tugging at me these past few days, and I can't ignore it.

Swimming is great once a person is able to shoulder through the hassle of getting submerged. Yeah, it's crowded. But never a terrible problem. Though I do miss the YMCA pool at Hilltop: though there were only four quaint little lanes, they kept that pool well-heated throughout the entire winter. Balmy is the word to describe it. In contrast, the OSU pools are all business: dive in and suffer a momentary shock from the cold.

Though it does make one swim faster.

My Plain-Talking Trick

2009-11-06T09:48:00.003-05:00

It's difficult to put into words the things I'm feeling right now towards Art-- capital 'A' Art like it says on the diplomas. I will try my plain-talking trick to express myself here, though expect to see an inappropriate overuse of semicolons.

I feel a longing, like something's been cut out of me; like a bad breakup or something; like something has been irrevocably broken, and there's no chance in hell of getting it back.

Nor am I even sure I want it back; a big part of where I am now is also my inability to cope with other artists. The 'Art Scene' here is something that makes me physically ill. It's no one thing in particular that rubs me the wrong way; though runaway egos and the rancid glow of self-importance immediately come to mind. To be fair though, I've found these qualities in earnest throughout the non-Art world as well. So the conflict I'm having may simply be with people.

That assumption fits with the yearning I have now: to flee this place; to retreat to the house where I spent the first two decades of my life, surrounded by nothing but trees and grass. I used to come back there to recharge; to walk for hours, going through the cowfields and thinking about Stuff.

As it stands with the past, these things are inaccessible to me. Hell, I'm even allergic to cats now. When did this happen? I used to believe I'd become a veterinarian someday, a sort of cat doctor that worked pro bono.

So back to Art. I want to reconcile with you; to kiss and make up. But how do we do that? What's the first step? I don't want to be culturally relevant or witty, I just want to get back that feeling of standing in the studio and knowing that it was the right thing to do.

Ghost in Here

2009-11-05T10:04:00.002-05:00

Halloween has come and gone, another spoke on the turning holiday wheel, and yet I glance behind me and over to the door, anxious and unsettled. "This place is haunted," I say in a low voice. Something has stayed behind-- a specter from the past fluttering against the window.

My mind is on the rolling hills of childhood; those wild woods and sunless ravines forever impressed on my memory. I've got to go back there.

That'll Learn Ya...

2009-11-04T14:57:00.008-05:00

So someone got crazy with the smudge tool again. This is the resulting train-wreck. It'll grow on you. Just give it time.

Today: my workspace is remarkable. It's clean... ish.

We'll have to remedy that in a bit. Dad challenged me to work on some art stuff today. I'm sure I can indulge him. It's cathartic after all.

Tiny pinpricks of something neat broke through today. I felt like singing despite the cold. If I find my fingernail clippers sometime in the next couple of hours we'll chalk this one up as a success.

That late-night Powerpoint bender left me in an interesting state this morning, a situation easily remedied by accelerating the caffeine timetable. I'm becoming more and more like an old spanish galleon: stubborn, requiring a soft touch, and growing more crotchety and outmoded by the day. "Steady as she goes, men!" the baristas cry out as I walk up to the counter, all barnacles and backpack, wallet snapping in the breeze with deadly intent...

Ahoy.

Fast Days of Whine, Wine, and the Grind

2009-11-03T10:05:00.004-05:00

I don't have much to offer today in terms of witticism or introspection. Maybe something awesome will come later. I will have to invent new language for it. Let's just call it turbospection for now. And while I already see the spell-checker waking up to prod me, to bite my finger and say, "Hey, boss. Dat ain't a word." Sorry little buddy; I am the law 'round these parts and I say turbospection is a word-- and a great one at that.

It sounds the two of us are both having our own personal meltdowns this week. School is a wonderful thing for that. Go invest your blood, sweat, and tears, and so what? It's practicing in the mirror for all we care. (leave the money on the nightstand and get out. You'll have your diploma mailed to you in 4-6 weeks)

The difference between the two of us is that I am trying to get my third wind, trekking up some ungodly mountain in a painting; trying to care enough to keep going-- trying to quantify my reasons for ever setting out in the first place-- and feeling the weight of it all push me flat against the ground.

You, though. You are/have been/will always be an unstoppable kinetic force and I stare agog while you go days without sleep, poring over texts and scribbling notes. God, I wish I had that motivation, that sheer fascination with the content of my life. Don't give up. You can do it. I know you can.

Tag Along

2009-11-02T09:43:00.003-05:00

Claws waving wildly, impotently, against flapping pages. Chalk dust permeates the scene. The scrape of metal against linoleum filling the air. A sea of gerund nouns pouring out onto the ground to let you know this is happening now.

Fleeing to greener pastures: to the coffee shop for sustenance, and then to the computer lab to hide and eat. Here I run through the mental checklist of worst ideas and daydream about old video games-- "Pixels as big as a man's head, I tell ya!" (makes fisherman hands gesture)

I think we'll be fine here. The pixels have gotten alarmingly smaller, but it shouldn't effect you and me.

I'm still waiting to see if any pictures from Halloween surface. Thanks to some quick thinking from my crack team of specialists, the 5 minute 'Lobster Man' costume became the 10 minute 'Santa Claws' costume and the evening went according to plan.

Weekend Wrap-Up: (things I never, ever want to forget)

Dirty Bastard Scotch Ale
Chocolate Bark
One needs no prior training to become the worst DJ of all time
Chocolate Fontini
Always shop around for your glue sticks; never settle
I can fall asleep suddenly and irretrievably-- even with a spotlight on my face
The video game Doom is possibly better than I could have ever remembered
On that note, giant pixels will always be cool
I love everybody

Intruder! Intruder!

2009-11-01T19:08:00.005-05:00

Mwa-ha-ha-ha!
Happy Birthday!!!!!

love,
Mrs. B

(Orion and his nephew, Jarod at our family birthday shindig)

Photoshop, Destroyer of Visions

2009-10-30T10:01:00.002-04:00

So based on the title you can probably guess that Photoshop crashed on me today why I was trying to do the most rudimentary exercise: drawing with the pencil cursor (gasp!). So today's image is a bastardization of the original, a small snippet saved with the 'print screen' button. Anyway, it's better than nothing.

I've reached the point in my Physics class where I've gone from the meadow of unsteady, yet capable, understanding into the forest of confusion and despair. I concede that my prior success was in part due to people close to me pointing out aspects of the content that were visible to all but myself. Suffice it to say, I'm not a physics person.

Caffeine as a motivational shock prod has failed me this week (see prior posting), and I'm unable to focus on my assignments. I write to you now from a flaming aircraft in free-fall, with a constant acceleration in the y-axis of -9.8 meters a second. There is no velocity in the x-axis. Impending doom has a displacement of -86,000 meters. How long does the pilot have to eject before his plane experiences some of Newton's Neatest Laws of Physics?

U&eye R Solemates

2009-10-29T10:06:00.004-04:00

Apparently word has gotten out that I like coffee. My mom and step-dad got me a Starbucks gift card for my birthday. The bad news is that I have the willpower of an infant and found myself buying coffee from the barista twice yesterday with my fancy pancy card.

Looks like I'm cramped for time so the rest of this entry will be less flowery prose than that which you have grown accustomed.

Ode to the Caffeine Titan:

He stirs in the depths, blind and massive
Mausoleum-backed and marble-skinned
He grabs hold of the paper cup
And pulls himself upright
No more time for deathlike slumber
On to bigger and brighter things
He builds vast works with one hand
And topples empires with the other

He fills his head with raw ideas
And jumps river banks in spectacular fashion
Alone and worthless, or surrounded, or dubious,
He makes his friends and enemies as they come

Drinker of All Things

2009-10-28T10:02:00.003-04:00

Important note: coffee does not create motivation.

I think it's taken me a decade to learn this, and only then just because someone told me so.

In related news, I seem to be weaving a small quilt of mild addictions and things that I cannot do without. Each is a precious little square that represents a small investment of my time and soul.

Among those are two web-comics, two online forums, web-game sites, and a site that plays music. Funny how much I sink into this internet thing. I used to strut around patting myself on the back for avoiding it so well.

Here's to you, blog reader. Cheers.

Jacket

2009-10-27T09:59:00.004-04:00

Had a good, long weekend. My family came up to celebrate my birthday. There was plenty of food and conversation to go around. Good times.

I took my dad to the Franklin Park Conservatory on Saturday. He had a good look around and decided that his dream-house would have its own tropical grotto resplendent with waterfalls and songbirds.

I also took him to my secret park: the acres-upon-acres of endless mowed grass that would make any land developer salivate. And all empty, save for the microscopic blob in the distance that may or may not be someone walking a dog.

Before he left, Dad vowed that he would finish walking the mountain trail that so thoroughly beat us to a pulp almost two months ago. We walked six grueling miles that day and ended up turning back before reaching the end. I hope he goes for it; Our family honor is at stake.