A dream, a knock at the door (an excerpt)

I can hear wind. Lots of wind. A constant wurring in my ears. I open my eyes to find myself standing at a crossroads. Just like the ones i used to see in movies. The wind noise continues but there doesnt seem to be a breeze. In fact, i cant feel anything at all. 

KNOCK.

 A knock is heard. I dont know where its coming from.

KNOCK.

 I see black.

KNOCK. 

I open my eyes. I'm sleeping at my desk again.I always do this.

KNOCK. 

Shit. Somene is at my door. 

Damn it. Shit. 

Do i want to talk to anybody right now? Probably not. But ignoring the door will only result in more guilt added to my conscience. I'm positive my breath smells and i look like hell. I always carried the "i dont give shit" demeanor well. I realize I've spent some time thinking about this. Maybe long enough for the person at my door to go- 

KNOCK. 

Damn. My sighs have so much resignation these days.

WORDS OF ADVICE

Dreams of '07

MARCH 28th. 2007

Last night I traded in all my guns for gum. Like, the stick. I walked to an old conveinance store where an old man hit on me; he kept asking if I was buying something under the counter and I kept telling him no, I had stuff to sell. I took out my favorite musket and he looked in the barrel. 

"Clean" he said

"I'm a clean woman," said I

"I like that" he replied

Then he took the shaft and started pointing it at me, glaring at me in a nice way. I asked him not to do that please, you can see my soul and I don't like that.  So he turned it around so it faced him. I saw that it was an x-ray machine. Moving it from side to side I realized he had a wrench in his heart. He said he knew already, happened a long time ago, some girls fault. I asked if it hurt and he said he was a fixer uper anyway. No worries. He said he'd take the musket and asked what I wanted and I said, just a gumball. He asked if I was sure, and I was. Just wanted to get clean.

MARCH 29th. 2007

Trying to light I cigarette, I walk across the street until I bump into The Parade. Not again. Stumbling through beauty queens and bumble bees, not to mention those really huge balloons of cups of coffee. So I trip and my cigarette falls. I curse and look at who did this and its a man. He is dressed as a hamburger. Or maybe it was a crab, I don't remember. Anyway, he grabs me and kisses me hard. And I forget about my habit and then I wake up.

MARCH 30th. 2007

Too blank.

MARCH 31st. 2007

My eyes turned into a lotto box as I counted out the bills. My skin was digging holes the mountains had caved in.The sea was rushing over to whisper in my ear. Come home. Come home. Her house is much colder. Don't go. Don't go. Your mother's in the cellar. So I kept running back and forth until I got too tired. This game is hard and I'm the most valuable player.

So this Saint is singing loudly, but it sounds like flicking lights. I turned to cover both my ears, but he bit both of them off. His teeth are like broken bottles from the gasoline he chews. But I just sit there patiently until he's past curfew. Then he shrivels into socks, and I put him on my feet. So I can walk on broken, beat up glass, instead of bare concrete. 

APRIL 1st. 2007

Babies were stacked. and with glass balls we had to knock them down. It was like the stock market. Only smaller. And everyone looked like they owned a van.

APRIL 2nd. 2007

I went back to school and everyone laughed because I had the life and now I made a decision for no reason. OD.

APRIL 3rd. 2007

A twenty year old owns a ThunderCamp. It is part hotel, part barn and kids come and watch. Everyone is in love with the camp. Kids love camp! Barn! But Ghostface is waiting. The kids all love the twenty year old. He pats them on the back and shows love in his eyes, not the creepy kind. But Ghostface is waiting. And he tricked me. He pulled me into the elevator and then took a knife and tried to cut off my finger. I said no. I told him no. At one point I had him up against the wall and I took the knife and threw it out the winder. But then Ghostface got mad and chased me into the parking lot. He got in his Big Rig and I got in my car and I started racing him. My car became invisible and I guess I was speeding because A cop tried to pull me over. But since I was invisible, I was able to crash and hide in a bush while the cop pulled the Big Rig over, because it was mistaken as the speeding vehicle. The Big Rig tries to slow down, but spins out, crashing and rolling over 7 or 8 cars. We think, ahhhh, he is dead. but then it turns into a dinosaur head and eats all the cars. I look a him. He exhales. I'm next.

DECEMBER 14th 2007

My 4 year old cousin climbed up the air vent to play tin can telephone with my little sister. We had never realized you could do this until now. The excitement was there until Cousin stepped out onto a hole in the vent and fell, fell, fell. She didn't scream too much but I could feel the heat on my face and her body brush against my fingertips. I cried and screamed only to hear apologies that would never make up for what had happened. With that the word spread. Everyone was so maddened by the news that each person who heard what had happened had to punch someone and kill them. Gypsies with their pink chiffon. Gymnastic asians with their tight pants. Children at the playground. We dropped like flies until my alarm went of to go to work.

the Frog

It was there. and so were we.

Mastodon by Teenage Thumb

The ship is almost ready. Calfone scurried to grab an extra bag of dried cranberries before he jumped of into the infity. Here it was. Glory day. Calfone has been building tha mastadon x-53 for 2 years now, in hope that it wold come to a head. but with out getting and watching and reading he gets around. he doesnt talk to girls in dreams but they could be there. He built it. ts lifting. its taking off.

crash!

sucsess.

The Vessel(The Pencil)

Duchamp has always interested me. The concept of "readymades" may be controversial(or trite) - but they bend your brain around a little bit. We paint, but we do not make our own paints. We draw, but we do not make our own pencils. We see a wall of thousand and are drawn to one in particular. The energy of one. It is two forces creating a strong, unexplained nexus. We, as artist make art. We take paint, pen, pencil, paper, canvas, string, steel and transform it into something else. Art is often beautiful and often thought provoking - though very rarely (if ever) is the material acknowledged any more than "pen on paper" under the artists name. The artist, whose mind has taken the vessel TO someplace, must not abandon the very parter that helped him hop the fence. So, with that in mind, I will be starting a series dedicated to The Vessel. As a celebration to how miraculous they all are. We will learn the history, and also see how other artists are changing the way we see said object. Hopefully, a new found(deeper?) love for each will ensue. Hmm.

For part one, The Pencil!!!

I'll start with a line from Wiki "Pencils create marks via physical abrasion, leaving behind a residual trail of solid core material that adheres to a sheet of paper or other surface. They are noticeably distinct from pens, which dispense pigmented liquids or gels that absorb into paper."


Be still my heart. It all started in 1565, when a large amount of graphite was found in Grey Knotts. It quickly became useful to them for marking sheep! Being that it was so pure and strong, they cut it into sticks - thus the first "pencil." The Italians came along some time later to add the wooden casing. It is said that it was invented by a couple by the names of Simonio and Lyndiana Bernacotti(Where do people get this obscure info? I'm amazing and also curious to know how much is true?! Regardless, its fun to think we know). Their design was flat, oval and made from juniper wood. Later, because the graphite was impossible to be imported to French during the Napoleonic wars during a blockade, they came up with a new recipe - graphite powder mixed  clay, then formed into rods. Very nice. With that part mastered, in 1790 they discovered that by varying the ratio of graphite to clay, they could change the hardness of the rod. This method is still used today! White bread was said to be used as erasers until invented in 1770. On March 30th, 1858 by Hymen (HA! I know - I'm 12) Lipman created the device, know as the ferrule(or as we know it, the-metal-bit-that-attaches-the-eraser-to-the-pencil).  He later sold his patent for $100,000 to Joseph Reckendorfer although is was invalidated sometime later because it combined two products rather than invent a new one.


Phew. Well, thats enough of that. Here are a few artists who have take the pencil to another world!

George Hart. Who takes 72 pencils and intersects them at 45 degree angles.

Ghost Patrol shaves down the pencils, then uses ink and acrylic to paint on top of the newly smooth surface.

Glass pencil sharpener designed by Mac Funamizu. 

One of many beautiful sculptures from Jennifer Maestre.

And if you are still, begging for more. You can always, Do The Pencil?

Ta Ta for now.

from yesterday