Monday, November 8, 2010

On top of the world Ma! Wait a minute.. is that ANOTHER mountain?!

Stupid blinking cursor.

Mocking me because I have no idea how to start.

Were this Rome I would have something appropriate, like a trumpet blast, to get everybody's attention. But this is not Rome and trumpets do not work very well in cyberspace unless you are an annoying coder who knows how to imbed things like that into web pages.

I would say that I digress, but in truth I haven't really started. So I suppose there's nothing really to digress from just yet. Just that annoying ::blink:: ::blink:: ::blink:: from the cursor.

I am Fail.

I suppose it's because there is just no other way to say it except plainly. Which annoys me to no end. I am not plain. I am very clever and very good looking. So way is it so damn difficult to come up with some witty anecdote or turn of phrase right now? ::sigh::


I did it.

Sure, that might not mean allot to you, but those three simple words mark the end of a plan that took me nearly 10 years to carry out. Nearly ten years ago I started on the path to becoming a painter by picking a book a dear friend gave me and deciding that art was what I wanted to do with my life. I vowed that in 5 years I would be living solely off my art. And in a matter of speaking, in 5 years I was. At end of November in 2005 I began working at Mission:Renaissance, teaching art; full time. However, as much as it pains me to say it. M:R was not enough for me. I wanted to live off my own painting, to work at it full time; something I only dreamed about doing 10 years ago.

I have had lots of these types of moments in my life. Long-laid plans that culminate in everything I had wanted being handed to me on a platter made of silver. But never like this. Never has it been such a long journey to see the results of what was believed at the time to be a far-fetched dream.

Were the last ten years a movie about climbing a mountain this would be the moment the final credits role.

::He stands triumphantly on the peak, hair blowing gently in the frigid wind. He takes of his coat and throws in to the sky fists raised in triumph as he bellows his victory to the clouds.::

::Fade to credits::

However, when those credits don't role, he looks around and realizes that that mountain open up to an even bigger one and the way back is snowed in. Understandably he has a moment of what can only be described as a "huh..." moment. Before he picks up his jacket and gets to climbing again.

I am, for the moment, a little off-kilter from the shock of actually getting what I've wanted for so long. But only for a moment.

I have a new mountain to climb.


Thursday, August 19, 2010

Jesus Christ, 40 days and the desert.

I have often written about trials, deserts and the oppressive crushing weight that comes with waiting for a trial to be complete. Those blogs are not here mind you. This is a relatively new blog. You can easily find my backdated posts here if your interested. They are a good read providing that you have nothing else to read or can't read. If so, they yes, they are amazingness personified. Much like an enigma wrapped in a riddle with a carmel filling covered with chocolate ganache.


The point here being that I'm no stranger to waiting around for everyone and everything else to get their act together and get on with the show. It seems that most of my life has involved, in some way or another, me telling people what was going on, and them telling me , "No no no, that couldn't possibly be so." I also can't tell you how many times I've just shrugged and closed the door to the Ark as the last of the animals shuffled in two by two and storm clouds darkened overhead.

After the first few floods I remained resilient in the face of such skepticism. However, I've found that my patience is waining as of late. You can only try to convince the populace that something is going on and watch call you a "ri-tard" so many times before you start to lose your sense of humor about it. I can only imagine poor Noah just landing that big ass boat in a tree with everyone around on the ground looking up in disbelief. That old man beard long from spending month on the ocean climbing down the ladder thinking, "Ok, now maybe people will take me seriously when I say there's going to be a flood. But hell, theres nobody left to destroy, now maybe God can take a break and have a margarita." Only to hear Great White's "Once bitten, twice shy" guitar hook ring tone from his cell phone and seeing: "777-777-7777" on caller ID. Crap. I can image that conversation would go something like this:

Noah: Hello.

God: You know I don't drink Margaritas anymore.

Noah: I'm sure. Besides, it was a metaphor.

God: Ya. I know.

Noah: Well, you have something to tell me I assume.

God: Yup.

Noah: Let me guess. You've finished your ultimate plan for me and now I can finally relax?

God: Not exactly.

Noah: Another flood.

God: Yup. More or less. You'll need to let people know.

Noah: These new ones gonna listen to me this time?

God: Probably not.

Noah: Great.

God: See you in six months.

Noah: Bye.


Noah: :sigh: Again...

And so it goes. Over and freaking over and freaking over again. Granted I'm not exactly predicting world drowning floods here but when I say "storm clouds are on the way". I certainly expect people to take me seriously. I mean I did show up in a freaking tree after a huge storm didn't I? (metaphorically at least).

As I mentioned before, It's always been this way for me. It never really registered until I hit 30. Not too long after that birthday, I was driving somewhere, (probably to pick up canvas or brushes or something,) and it occurred to me that I about the age Jesus was when he supposedly began his ministry. While you heathens out there that weren't raised with a healthy dose of moral obligation mixed with crushing fear might not get the gravity of such a comparison, those of us raised with such ingrained awe of the big "J" (even those who no longer really fall neatly into conventional categories), that parallel is something special.

I had always envisioned Christ as this semi-old man turning over tables in the temple, eyes all burny from the "wrath of the one true God" and what-not. Reading about these miracles and sermons, Jesus gathering the people to him, defying the Roman Empire he seemed so far removed from me. Granted he was the son the of God; and yet the largest religion on the planet with followers clocking in at 2.1 billion people, (And that's that's Billion. With a "B". Out of the 6,864,100,000 people mulling about on this blue dot. That's nearly 1/3 of the earth's population) follow a guy that got the ball rolling when he was 30. That is to say, when he was as old as I was.

What a terrifying revelation that is. While I am not the son of God sent here to save the souls of mankind from everlasting damnation, I have enough of an impetus behind me that I don't feel uncomfortable drawing the parallel. I feel as thought everything is pushing into the next stage much as the big JHC probably felt.

With that in mind, I'll draw another sacrilegious parallel. Jesus wandered in the desert for 40 days immediately after visiting his cousin John the Baptist. I'm a big fan of deserts. they center us and you come out the other side a changed person. They test your metal and show you what your made of. Most prophets and visionaries spend some amount of time in a cave somewhere deciding if this whole "holy-man" thing is such a good idea. I imagine for every holy man that stays, hundreds wander back into the cities and lead perfectly happy lives in perfectly happy anonymity.

And here I am. 30 years old being tested by the desert as much as any ascetic. And yes, it is taking me a bit longer than the standard 40 days to find my way through. In the meantime, I am waiting, and while I might be here in this desert bearing the temptation to believe the doubt of those around me who wonder why I'm building this stupid fucking boat, believe me when I say this;

There are storm clouds on the horizon, and y'all are about to get wet.

Monday, February 15, 2010

The Price of Genius

I hate insomnia.

Ever try it? It's sucks. In fact it's probably the worst invention ever. I've taken some good strong steps in a new direction for me. And for a while it was almost as though I couldn't get enough sleep. Now, for whatever reason its almost like I've met me sleep quota for the month and my body refuses to take anymore. Not unlike a petulant 2 year old who has has three bites of broccoli and refuses to take another mouthful of anything, no matter how many loops that fucking "airplane" spoon does.

This used to happen to me all the time, back when I wrote blog posts like this. I remember sitting in the old apartment with the little Bubu running around my feet as I prattled on about whatever epicness I had experienced that week. I had a standing appointment with myself (awkward?) to record my thoughts and experiences for, well, myself firstly and foremost(ly?); and of course whomever else would listen. Somewhere between there and a month ago I lost myself somewhere. It was a though sombody bought superman a really nice scarf, that just so happened to be made out of 90% Kryptonite (and 10% polyester, that put that shit in everything) I couldn't make anything happen. And for two years a slogged through that.

And then my Bubu died.

That shook me. for those of you who don't know, Bubu is, was, my Netherland Dwarf rabbit. With the size of a tiny baby and the personality of an African American Disco Star who also happened to be a Ninja. He had so much personality in such a small package. and the terror, the panic, the grief and sorrow of his passing shook loose whatever it was that so unceremoniously picked me up and deposited me in a little row boat in the middle of a goddamn fog bank, and then spun me around saying, "get home, you left the oven on."

Stupid fucking rowboats.

I picked up his ashes three days ago. And I haven't slept well since.

I don't think they are directly connected, (well maybe) but the paradigm shift the whole ordeal has enacted certainly has a hand in it. Sleep feels like wasted time. My mind whirls as I lay there with Kasey sleep-chasing me around the bed. I have to get up and do things like this until I can finally slip back into sleep.

I can feel the old aura returning. In a way I suppose I am becoming Summer I: Allegro Non Molto again.

And while the sun is glorious when my strength waxes, what is the wonderful by product of summer?

Long days. Short nights.