wandering the sheltering sky

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part one

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part two

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part three

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part four

This entry has a few goals. One is to provide a narrative about how my undiagnosed and untreated sleep apnea irrevocably and negatively affected my life. The other is to continue building samples of my voice and the third is to do a longer narration so that i can hear myself and learn from my mistakes.
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media: watercolor, pencil, archival pen

I’ll add more to this post later. I just wanted to post it tonight.

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Intro: Fast Movers by Phluff.
CD: Soul Obsession

Outro: Summer Bummer by Crazy Penis.
CD: Late Night Beats: The Post Club Sound of Britain

Hi. I’m here and there these days. Had to go to the E/R on Thanksgiving morning thanks to a kidney stone that decided that was the best time to make its presence known. Had surgery for it last Wednesday but unfortunately the doctor was unable to reach the stone. We’re trying again this coming Wednesday.

Allergies are hammering me, the heat is out in the house and I ran into some extra expenditures that I wasn’t anticipating. It’s not shaping up to be a very good Christmas. There are so many things I want to do/ get for friends and family and there just never seems to be enough time or money.

I’ll update everyone on the weirdness known as my life asap. Promise.

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This was the summer of insanity and inanity. I have never been so close to someone who can only be described as an unemployed, alcoholic, grifter whose diet consisted of scams, ponzi schemes, lies, laziness, manipulation and rage. The amount of cognitive dissonance this person lives with is truly indescribable… so i’m not going to bother describing it. Not tonight anyway. Tonight, i’m just poking my head out of my burrow to let everyone know contrary to what you might have thought, i am actually about.

Sigh. I just listened to my recording. It rendered fine locally but once it was posted, the quality has degraded. I’ll look into it tomorrow to tomorrow’ish.

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I’m trying something new- something that i should have done a long time ago. This entry, although well meaning, does meander a bit. So far, i’m very happy with this plugin and will post a link to its homepage later.

This entry references this post. It’s probably the most important thing i’ve written on synaesthetic.com – ever.

Hope everyone is doing well.

I haven’t ranted for a while and as a result, there’s a logjam of rant just waiting to be released.

My first rant is to the fucktard in the black Ford F-fuck-50 with the “No Socialism/ NObama” themed bumper stickers. No Socialism? Really, sport? Seriously?!? Work this out for me. You’re driving on a socialized road. In fact, unless you drive on a private, for profit road or are in someone’s driveway, you’re always on a socialized road. In the time it took me to drive to Olympia, i came across no fewer than five socialized State Troopers that were administering citations to drivers that decided to ignore the speed limit. The fact that you can probably read most of the signs on the interstate and other roads is most likely a result of your socialized education. Yes, sunshine, if you went to a public school, you went to a socialized school.
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There’s a woman i was friends with. We never met face to face. She came across me during those evenings i spent on Austin Access during the year and a half or so that i’d moved back from SF. She was an intelligent woman whose sexual appetite was as voracious as i wished mine was. She loves cock. She loves pussy. What she didn’t love was her husband. That’s fine- i never judged her on this. I never judged her on the lovers that she had behind his back either. She deserved to be sexually fulfilled; we all do. The number of loveless and sexless marriages that other people have in this nation is truly astounding. The arrangement she had with her husband was more of the norm than an exception; barely friends, no sex and only a modicum of respect for one another. But like i said, she deserved to have lovers. It may not have been perfect but at least it was something more than her mate would/ could give her.

We would chat and bounce e-mails back and forth for a few months, then go our separate ways for a while. Then we’d reconnect and catch up, always sharing the most explicit experiences or thoughts that we had.
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Title: the last time i waited for her
Media: pencil, watercolor

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I don’t like to talk about subject matter in terms of interpretation. Composition, color and the role that light and shadows play is fair game but i believe there’s a huge disservice done to the arts when the artist begins deconstructing their work in literal, narrative terms.

Having said that, it’s impossible for me to escape the experiences that nibble the surface of my mind when i paint. Given that art, be it musical, performing or visual, is, at its core essence, self expression for the sake of self expression contained within time and/or space, it’s impossible to remove ones experiences and the interpretation of those experiences from a composition [Oh Lord, i hope i never have to diagram that sentence].

I had an idea of doing a monochromatic painting for a while. To produce my gray, i mixed ultramarine blue with some yellow ochre. Ultramarine blue is a very granular paint. I was surprised at how volatile it was on the paper but very pleased at the end result. About half way through, i began to become aware of the tone the composition was beginning to take-a  longing… a friend that no longer was. It wasn’t rooted in a specific memory but it was bound to a specific experience. My paintings often are, whether i want to admit it or not [and i usually don't].

And the title came to me: the last time i waited for her

So, this time i’m actually giving an insight as to where *I* came from in creating this composition. But please, don’t let me do you a disservice; find your own place in it. If it evokes something beyond and brighter than the place it came from, so much the better. If you find yourself relating and feel a faded thought worrying the edges of your memories, then perhaps you’ll see your next cup of coffee or listen to the rain or to the sound of cars driving on water slick roads with a bit more reflection.

I have a lot on my mind these days, namely the way that silence can be the harshest word never spoken. I’ll have to keep that for another time.

If you look at the side, you’ll notice some journal archives from 2008 [jan apr]. Wow. Talk about interesting. These entries come from a time in my life prior to my sleep therapy. As i was transcribing those pages into WordPress [my publishing software for this journal], i noticed a couple of things.
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