August 4th Removal of all doubt

I so want to write something you’ll find endearing, funny even, that would urge you to share it with a friend, who, going through a rough patch, would be somehow uplifted by my wit and charm.  You’d both laugh, hug, and your friend would look into your eyes and say a heart-felt: thank you.     Well, that ain’t happenin’ today.

Count yourself lucky if you have a civil relationship with your parents.  If you can visit on holidays and not end up in an emergency room or on a therapist’s couch, be thou grateful.

It’s not that bad.  We aren’t drug addicts passed out with needles in our veins, or asleep under a table in the neighborhood tavern, or amnesiatic and half naked behind a dumpster.  We’re able-bodied with roofs over our heads, a computer, TV, paid-off car and mortgage and even a small annuity.  The wounds I’m licking are of the virtual and psychological variety. The dashed dreams that should have swirled their ways down the toilet decades ago but have lingered embarassingly overdue and pathetic in a person of my age, who should be looking at burst bubbles in the rear-view mirror, those dreams,  that now release me a little too high off the ground, smirk unsympathetically as I hit the cold cement of  O Pullleeeze Miss Get-Over-Its back stoop.   Your mother hates you. So the fuck what?

And that’s just it.  Everybody’s got something stickin’ in their craws.  Join the club.  Ok, here I am, where do I sign?  Have I paid enough dues or is there more skin needed in this game?  Looky over yonder at missy wanted to be a star.  And over there to him who really was a star but all done forgot him now.  Time rolls on by with or without you, it don’t much matter to time.  It don’t much matter to anyone, so you might as well pick yourself up and get going along with the rest of the anonymous insignificant and otherwise biomasses of the world marching ineluctably to that common ground we’ll all inhabit someday.  Some sooner than others.  If there is something to make it all worth while to you, honey, you best be doing that.  I hereby grant you permission to be your own person and find some joy in breathing the free air and being whoever you are.  You are enough.  Life fashioned you for no other purpose than to realize you are here and maybe say thanks for the look see.

I never could make that woman happy.  Come to find out there was nothing I could ever do to make that woman happy because happy is an inside job.  So, I gotta just chose to be happy myself and let mom be whatever it is she’s being half way across the continent. If you owe anything to anyone it is to be a decent loving human being yourself and try to infect others with that contagion of hope and release that comes from finding a creative outlet and sharing it with others.  It’s okay to be you.  It’s better to hurt anyone if it can be helped.  So straighten up and fly baby, fly on out into the world and sing your song. Remember, Jesus said to shake the dust from your sandals and move on, so it’s okay. Be on your way.  Should you stay and keep trying to save that drowning somebody who just does not want to learn how to swim?   Please decide before you end up drowned as well.

 

 

 

 

 

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August Already

Tired of being sick over politics, and though I agree we need three or even four parties, each with their own representation depending on the population supporting it (that’s a republic, right?  What the United States is supposed to be, right?)  anyway, despite that this is what we need since the Democrats and Republicans just have the system mucked up, I am afraid the Green Party’s last minute inclusion and bad mouthing will become another split Ralph Nader sort of thing and CRIPES  D.T. will be the end of us.

D.T.s,  that’s what I’m calling it.  Fits.  People are not going to change their minds, which is why each segment needs representation in congress.  I don’t want more war.  I don’t want this hatred festering all around, that’s just not the USA.  And another thing – what ever happened to Truth in Advertising?  or just Truth?

Once upon a time one could not make claims to the public unless those claims were true.  What happened to that?  Now everyone with  money and a mouthpiece can blather any sort of opinion and it is all thrown into the soup as if each opinion were valid or true.

They are not.  I’m so appalled trying to deal with outrageous opinions stubbornly dis’ing facts that it has made me too ill.

So, I have to think about something else.

Art.

And not bland color coordinated interior decor commercially viable prints by the thousands, I mean real, one of a kind, struggled to get it onto the damn canvas art.

So I’m going now to make some.   It’s already August and I haven’t even put my 2017 calendars together yet.

Ill from toxic exposure to political views

OK.  I’m feeling ill from politics, even the funny stuff.  The illness is because political stuf really isn’t funny.  I have too good of an education not to know history and how far south it can go in a short span of time.  The illness is disappointment and my inability to fix the world. By fix, of course I mean made more sane, less populated by human irresponsibility for the planet, and for god’s sake, less violent.  I didn’t pick the photograph above.  It’s part of this free site.  Sorry, I distract easily.   I’m a very old hippie with chronically persistent idealism wanting the world to be a kinder, more just, and so much more healthy in every respect.  Insert a clever observation here that will make readers smile when you can find one.

that’s all for now.   Oh, why did I start this blog?  because the opportunity presented itself, and if was free.   What do I plan to do with it?  Send peacemaking arty healthy vibes into the biosphere hoping for positive changes to ensue.   I have to put a cold cloth on my head now.

 

Friday July 29, 2016

I don’t want to comment on toxic politics. I’ve never been good around ugly emotions; maybe it’s a boundry issue, but I don’t want to build walls.  Unfortunately I’m also not competent building bridges.  The bad seeps in too easily and trying to ignore it seems only to allow the crud to pile up until it makes me feel ill, or cry.  Today I’ve been annoyingly weepy and unable to accomplish much from my to-do list.  As an artist, there is always plenty on the to-do list.

It is hot and sunny in Denver, as usual. My garden is shaded by  6 market umbrellas I have been babying for 20 years. Their arms are patched, screwed, glued; their broken cords are knotted together, the canopies are patched, and some new ones are either too large or too small for the spines, (odd sale items),  but they work to make shade, without which the small patio’d back yard would swelter beyond my tolerance.

Early in the morning it is cool and quiet and taking coffee at one of the tables outside is a pleasure I allow myself too infrequently.  The old cat sniffs around and patrols the high fences and overgrown bushes. One might think I don’t like having neighbors, or prefer to dissuade curious ones.  One might be right about that.  The day wore on as did the deepening of my down-spiral mood and this website with blog postability presented itself and acted as a distraction.  Writing it makes me feel somewhat as though I’ve accomplished something in the realm of creativity.  Journalistic writing is not all that creative, however.  I suppose I’m mostly waiting for my brain chemistry to snap out of it.  This is difficult because I have my mother’s sneering voice threatening inside my head…. Oh you poor thing (said with seething sarcasm)  you crying?  I’ll give you something to cry about!   It was never okay to feel sad, or at least show it.  I think I learned stuffing way too well.  Now that I’m old, and even when I wear purple, emotions begin to leak out.  I can feel the stitches once holding the stuff bag together are pulling apart.  It’s not pleasant to be around, nevertheless I believe it is over due and should come out….so I’m just waiting while it does.   I sincerely hope other people are much better at this sort of thing, or have willing ears, or therapists.  Me?  I write and draw and sit.