Happy Harry :)

When I went to the Newport Aquarium, I got souveniers for Harry and Stephen. A souvenier for a dog is tough. He doesn't care much for most toys. So, I bought a cuddly baby seal (couldn't find anything that rattled or squeaked). That night in the hotel, I slept with the cuddly seal in hopes I'd get some of my scent on it. It worked. He loves it. Aint he cute? :)

There is one poem that I would give the world to see again. It was written for me when I was a wee teen. My dear, beloved friend, Virginia, wrote it for me. She was old enough to be my mother, and loved me like a daughter. She had my picture up on her mirror, where her own kid's pictures weren't hanging, even though she loved her childred to degrees that sometimes hurt her deeply. On her death bed, she requested a drawing I had done for her, but my own mother didn't bother to tell me until it was too late, or I would have re-drawn it from memory for her. Instead, mom gave her a painting she'd done of me, and every time they moved her hospice bed, they moved the painting so she could gaze at it easily. I loved that woman. She was a hurt, fragile, strong, completely giving woman. I sometimes wonder if she saw some of her young self in me, but I'll never know for sure. I know very little of her youth, except that it held some painful memories of the very rural hills of Kentucky.

The poem she wrote for me started with this:
"Bridle thy passions, sweet Kathleen, lest thou sinneth in thy fury"
That's all that I can remember, but I've written about it a thousand times in the years since then. How she saw the fires in me, despite my being so completely shy and silent as a kid, I'll never know. But then, those of us with that sort of thing in our hearts, can sometimes see it in someone's eyes with a glance. Sometimes, at least.

That phrase haunts me in a good way. I have thought of it again and again in many moments throughout the days of the years since then. Cancer stole her from me long, long, ago. But I'll hold onto those words for the rest of my life.

Most people didn't know how much we cared about eachother. After she died, people always came up to me and asked me if my mom was ok, since the two of them were close. They never knew to ask how I felt, and I couldn't have really answered all that well. Her husband knew, though. He gave me a pocket watch she gave to him on their anniversary. He said he knew she'd be overjoyed to know that it brought me happiness. I still have it. I take it out and look at it now and then. I imagined I'd give it to my husband, when I was older. But then, the love of men can be so temperamental and fleeting. The way she loved me can never fade, even this many years after she is gone.

Don't know why I hopped onto that thought... but it seemed worth sharing. If you want something more fun and less serious, try the links in the next post. :)

On thing to take with you, please, though. Love the ones in your life. You never know when you will lose them. Cancer at least gives you time to say things (though I was young and stupid and left some things unsaid that time), but you can lose anyone in a blink. Leave nothing unsaid. Leave nothing unapreciated. If someone truly touches your life, they are worth more than life itself, as cheesy as that may sound.

Darnit... now my mind hits another tangent. When I was in college and we were assigned to do a poster on a topic important to us, to move people (basically, a propaganda poster) my classmates did anti-war, pro-war, pro-life, pro-choice, pro-whatever and con-whatever images... all the "big" political subjects. I did a drawing (dark, in charcoal with bits of chalk) of a woman holding a child. I used a photo of myself with Tori (as a baby) for some reference. There's fabric wrapped around us, but no real clothing. Just two humans clinging to eachother in the darkness, with some hazy light on the horizon, and a siloutte of a tree against that light. (the tree was taken from an old belt-buckle that my tree-climbing father used to have).

Politics matter. All those other things do matter, but what good is obsessing over those things if we lose our humanity? Stay human. Give love to the ones you care for. Hold nothing back from eachother, because when you simmer the whole melting pot of life's garbage down, the people who touch you ARE your life.

Ok... soap box dismounted. :) Carry on.

Odd, but funny...

When Stephen told me, this morning, that I needed to go to http://shaveeverywhere.com/ I was concerned it was a hint. (which fills one with dread, as shaving the kitty is NOT comfortable) But, it turns out that it's made for men, anyway, and is just funny. So, once I was done with my mini-concert (I was busy playing the Star Trek, Star Wars, and the Indiana Jones themes, plus a broadway tune and "Wheat (You're Allergic, You'll Die)" on the kazoo), I hopped over to the office/studio/gym/pub room to check it out.

We both laughed out loud.

As much as I'm not into too much man-trimming (stubbly man chests are rough), I loved the site. So, go to http://shaveeverywhere.com/ and click on every option of the menu. Trust me. It's just an advertisement, but it had me cracking up.

By the way, if you want to see something even more amusing, and you haven't already seen it, there's a link at the right for Grocery Store Wars. I love that one.

A Word to Build a Dream on

Feed me a word
An image,
A dream,
From one mind to another
So my visions are not me alone.

I burn up
Pent up -
I’ve no fuel for this fire
Except my want alone
And so, I am devoured in it.

I ache not for the dreaming
But to be the dream.

Give to me your ifs,
Your imaginings, your fancy,
Hunger for this one who hungers
And no one else.
Aching to quench aching,
Fire to soothe fire.

Give me your dream
Of me,
Myself in name, person, body,
This one fire-imp freezing in utter silence.

Tell me
TELL ME
The how and where and what next.
Give me the words
Just once.

Stream of Conciousness Ramblings

(unforgiveably corny, but I'm only human)

Fear, distance, chill and fire…
They erode at the edges of our little island.
But still, every time I look at you,
I know that all of time’s devices
Have nothing on us.

I tightened my jaw,
To guard my health for you.
I became a night owl,
To bask in the glow of you.

And I will bridle my weak mind,
To keep my soul bright for you.

You weren’t the first person
I ever reached out for.
I’ve made room in my heart
For such mirages…
I must pump more sand than blood,
Because my veins still feel the burn
Of the grinding flow of unanswered hopes.
But you made room for me in the shade of you.
You offer me every drop you have to give.

You chose to see in me what others did not,
(What I still cannot see in myself)
As if this sun-scarred and weary fool
Is an oasis to you.
In your eyes, I am, somehow, something beautiful.
How you see such things in me, I don’t know.
Perhaps you are a bit sand-blind yourself.

We are the blind leading the burned
Out of some forsaken land of fools…
To our own little promised land.

Two more paintings! :)

My fourth and fifth attempts (below).
I think I'm improving!!! :)




That is Portrait of Stephen and Blue Dreaming, both in Oil on Canvas, sized 16x20.

Many many thanks to my special patrons (Josh and his fellow artist, who donated paints and canvases). There's no possession on earth I would rather receive. Thank you!

Hey diddle diddle
when you sleep, do you spittle?
Or do you just toot your own horn?
Well, drooling and tooting
while your brain is rebooting
Is better than dreaming of porn.

VeriSiMELLitude

Perfumes have become increasingly unnatural as the decades have fallen away. The scents and styled have veared so far into the realm of fad and fashion that many fail to elicit that emotional connection in our brains that the commercials suggest. Our olfactory response is, after all, a more primal sense. So, I propose the invention of common sense scents… fragrances that truly bring an image to mind by replicating reality.

For men, I propose these colognes:
Rugged: a blend of gun cleaner and cedarwood, with a hint of car grease.
Dangerous: Wisky and tobacco, laced with that tell-tale scent of women’s perfume.
Sensitive: rose oil, ice cream, and salt-water (tears). –this one is especially successful for the man who wants that special girl to “love him like a brother” and “just be friends”.

For women:
Arist: (pronounced ar-TEEST) Linseed oil and turpentine. (my scent)
Flirt: the scents of melting plastic (from her boyfriends’ over-swiped credit cards) and your best buddy’s cologne.
Librarian: Dusty old books and nympho-phermones.
Lolita: Baby powder and apples.
Hippie: Same as always, Pot, Patchouli and dirty hair.
Yuppie Career Girl: Organic fair-trade coffee beans, toner, and office carpet (especially the expensive type in the boss’ office).

More to come...

My portrait of Stephen is fairly close to done. It's been a very time consuming peice, but I've enjoyed it. I painted the background for "Inside" about a week ago, but still haven't had time to start on the actual image. I worked on "Ravenous" today, but it really isn't turning out very well so far. I've scribbled a rough sketch of what "Kennin" will look like (although I may change the name). I'm also working on ideas for what will come after Kennin. Inside and Ravenous are not exactly happy pretty pictures. Kennin isn't so very dark in nature, but it still not the kind of thing you'd stare at and say "Oh, how pretty". I want to make something warm and inviting that Stephen can stare at and admire, but I have to think of something along those lines that is still "me". Admittedly, a lot of what is inside of me is very primal, dark, and unpleasant. But, I know there must be things in my head that are not ugly, angry, hungry, and dark. I just have to figure out how to convey those better sides of me.

I also have a painting in mind that is kind-of an homage to the pub I go to. That's super-cheesy, but I owe them something. But, that's many paintings away, and the ideas come easier than free time.

Anyway... bed time for Noggin.

More paintings to come, soon. Novice and imperfect, no doubt, but I'm not too worried about that. If I can paint at all after so long a hiatus, then I know I have tons of talent and skill inside me just waiting to be developed. It will come.

THE JEWELRY REPORT, with Twisted Noggin

This week in The Jewelry Report, we touch upon the fashions of love...

First, there were just wedding rings, which say, “I am committed to you for life”.

Then, came engagement rings, which say, “I intend to commit to you for life, whenever we can save up for and plan a wedding” (of course, if you are particularly religious, it also says “I get to have sex soon!”, or if you are not “We will definitely get married, but there is no rush, because I’m already banging her anyway”)

More recently, the “Promise Ring” was invented, which says “I seriously intend to someday promise to eventually commit myself to you”. – I think that one is a joke.

Now, I propose the “Like it or not Ring”, (a ring the WOMAN can buy) which says “I am committed to you forever, whether you like it or not”.

With the “Like it or not Ring”, you no longer have to wait until the man realizes your worth and buys you a ring. If you are already a hopeless sucker for him anyway, you can feel free to show your devotion by buying yourself this sparkling trinket. Since diamonds are for engagements, and precious stones for promise rings, I recommend semi-precious stones at the most for a “Like it or not Ring”. Other options are plastic pearls, wads of tin, or perhaps a spike you can drive against your forehead when you are frustrated with that man of your dreams not considering you the woman of his dreams.

This bobble promises to be the next big thing among underappreciated significant others, unrequited lovers, and stalkers alike. If you are the sort of woman who would buy a “Like it or not Ring”, you might also be interested in a barbed-wire bracelet or a thorned tiara. There are, after all, many masochistic options for today’s woman. The choices are only as limited as your imagination.

This is Twisted Noggin with the Jewelry Report. Thank you for tuning in.

I was born in July of 1974... too caught up in the slop and chaos, however, to be fully aware.

I was born in July of 1993... but was careless and took a serious spill.

I was born in July of 2006... and I'm hanging on to this one as only someone who has lived and lost can. This July, I painted for the first time since the mid-90's. I painted very little even back then, although I have sketched off and on through the years.

My work (aka play) is all about the paint. I've lost any preoccupation with proving my skill (whatever skill I might or might not have) and I don't care too much about the subject matter. If I want perfect representation, I'll take a photo. I want to let the strokes and colors show, because that's where the energy and art is.

I tend to use the human form a lot, mainly because of the intensity of expression it can convey with the slightest tilt or twist, each millimeter of positioning altering the body language. Then again, perhaps it is because the painting side of me is the human side of me, although, I tend to focus on the lines, shapes, and energy more than the body itself. I guess I can no more explain my joy in painting than a baby can express his/her joy in those first few steps across soft grass, but I hope it somehow shows in what I do.

Tonight, I will paint a bit more. Whether I paint something beautiful or just something novice and askew, I will create something.

I paint, therefore I am. :)

The trip went swimmingly

I took a trip to Newport, KY (right next to Cinci, OH) with my sister and the kids. As you can see, the girls were able to get up close and personal with some sea life. I didn't take very many pictures, but I'll share the few I have. :) (Below, Tori with Mr. Fishy)

We had a great time, but I was too busy having fun to be snapping photos. My favorite part was probably the shark petting. I caught sharks (accidentally) when fishing for Salmon of the coast of Alaska, but never before had I stroked them like puppies. That was a lot of fun. They leave a very slight sticky slime on your hand, but when you pet them they are just the silkiest things ever. One little one even seemed to really go for it, swimming up for attention and soaking up every little carress like a attention-starved kitten.

For pretty much the whole trip, I was basically unable to eat. (eating out is very hard for me, since most restaurants use so much of the things are allergic to) so I was miserably famished all the while (making due, for about 27 hours, on 2 protien shakes and a snack bar), but the trip was nice nonetheless. And, I was hooked on the pod-racing game at Game Works (next door to the aquarium) and, of course, to ski ball. But man... I was SO FREAKIN' HUNGRY!!!!

Cookoo's Nest

I don't know why the Newport Aquarium has a "Parakeet Landing" place, but I certainly enjoyed it. Here is Tori with a bird in hand (or on hand). And after all... a bird in the hand is worth... well, you get the idea. This pic is too dark for you to see the two birds on my sister's wrist, but you can see the one that was obsessed with her pony-tail holder. It struggled to loosen it for a long time. It was quite amusing (to me, at least, perhaps not so much to Rebecca). :)
And I got to hold some too. Well... like I said. I WAS really hungry. Doesn't my mouth look freakishly huge, here? All those years at the Orthadontist's Office, I guess. Stretched out the jaw muscles. :P

Shark Attack

The shark became aggressive, swimming right at me...


Then, I breathed a sigh of releif as he passed to my right....

But, just as I thought I was safe, he took Victoria instead.
Fortunately, the one that got Victoria was stuffed, but we were still glad to have survived the ordeal.

With a renewed zest for life and adrenaline surging through our veins, we moved on to the allegator pit, me on my own two feet, and Victoria on her new cyber-body (she had to be reconstructed from the rib-cage down).

Then, while we were sharing our thoughts of the ordeal together, an alligator took advantage of out inatention and snatched poor Anistasia from our very midst. We will all miss her sorely, but I have this one last photo to remember her by.

Tom Waits plays the Palace Theatre in Louisville, KY

We often imagine the tribal celebrations of various cultures as reaching entrancing summits of rhythm and frenzy and dream-like daze, which modern imitation cannot summon. Those days and those cultures are gone or changed to a point that such immersion in their musical fire cannot be reproduced. However, our modern era has it’s own version of this. It exists, in my opinion, in Tom Waits. His mastery of rhythm is hypnotizing and exhilarating, working every seemingly chaotic and random sound into a perfectly orchestrated structure of sound. His music creates a tribal trance representing the shack-dwelling, blues-howling river rats of times long gone, the box-car riders of the 40’s, the beatniks of the late 50’s, the diner-flies of the 70’s, and the modern mechanical and electric cities.

Add to that the brilliant lyrics, with their elastic interpretations of language and their tangible humanity, the undulating and enthralling melodies, and his laid-back yet animated stage presence (if you can forgive my over-use of adjectives) and you have the magic I experienced last night. I was fortunate enough to partake in a feast for the senses at the Palace theatre, when Waits graced the stage and gave me the best concert of my lifetime. Thank you, Tom, for coming to Louisville. Thank you for creating a profuse collection of genius oeuvres. You’ve made a mark on the history of all things creative, and I can’t possibly explain what a thrill it was to witness it all live.

I’ve dealt with the pain of seeing someone I love reduce himself to a temporary vegetable state on a regular basis. I’ve dealt with the guilty fear of worrying that I am simply an enabler. And I’ve dealt with the insult of playing 2nd fiddle to a few ounces of liquid blonde bombshell, so to speak. But being publicly treated like I’m some evil bitch for daring to ask him to slow down for a little while, when he’s already cross-eyed and incoherent… Well, I guess enough is enough. Enough shame and pain and coldness. Enough waiting for a guy who listens to the song “try a little tenderness” repeatedly to ever get the freakin point of the song. Enough listening to a super-intelligent man buy into his own ridiculous rationalizations.
So, the line is drawn. It had to be.
But what is on the other side?
And, did I draw this line in stone, or is it overcooked angel-hair pasta again?
I followed my heart, and it led me to a dead end on a one-way road.

Slightly better pics, I hope

My first painting since the mid/early 90's

My second, though it is gay

My third, which is a tiny 5" by 8"