mwahahahaha…

!

previous portraits have included jack kerouac, bob marley, hunter s. thompson, & jimi hendrix.  a finished portrait usually goes through seven drafts before the final product is completed.

the first draft is done very lightly in pencil

the finished product of a previous word portrait…

it’s like i showed up on a planet expecting to be joining my people, my family, & instead found a very foreign & often disturbing civilization in its place.  not to say that they are good or bad, only that the way of thinking living they have taken as the norm makes absolutely no rational sense to my alien mind.  this has proven at times to be very amusing, but more often than not, disconcerting & uncomfortable.

i’ve spent the last 25 years looking for my people, & without success.  i’ve been teased & coaxed & seduced into what looked like home, only to find i’ve been surrounding myself with distraction & mediocrity of many who are just as lost as i am.  i’ve traveled & moved around & involved myself in many different social circles to be dumbfounded by the feeling that i never fit in.  a benefit of this has been that it has given me a terrific sense of independence.

this sense of independence is, of course, an incredible pretense, being that i unknowingly put my life in the hands of no less than 2000 complete strangers every single day.  this doesn’t bother me, & in fact makes me feel like i’m wrapped in a cozy blanket of trust.  what’s most frustrating is that i poses an extreme difficulty to become the person i want to be when surrounded by people who are in staunch opposition in action, practice, & habituation to nearly everything i want to develop in myself.  swimming upstream.  going against the grain.

i feel like a cat being pet roughly from tail to head.  but i love being petted. oh god, i need it.  i am a cat, after all.

what’s more frustrating, & the reason i first wrote, ‘speech, action, practice, & habituation,’ & then removed the word ‘speech,’ is that people will constantly agree with me & tell me that we are riding the same wavelength, only to leave me disappointed.  steadfast disappointment!  this is a dirty lake in which to swim!

where am i going with all these defeatist meanderings?  into myself.  i’m constantly torn between the knowing that i am capable of incredible things but need to be alone to make them come to fruition, & the ever present inner longing to benefit humanity, to contribute to the greater good, to save the world!  the world looks very bleak, & i can fix it!  i can!

no, i can’t.  it would take a tremendous effort from a very large & very cohesive group of committed individuals.  as much as my idealism would like to take the reigns here & say that is can happen! & not just in my lifetime, but soon!  i am not going to stupidly gallivant into the raging storm of reality with an imaginary raincoat, as has been my custom.

nope.  the world is going where it’s going, & there’s nothing i can to change it or anyone else.  i’m through with that.

i’m also through with searching out others who i believe to be like minded.  saying i am unique would be as naive as saying humans are the only form of life in the universe.  what i’m saying as i don’t have the technology to reach them at this point.  i’ve been trying to hand deliver a message to an unknown recipient.  i’m tired of walking around & i’ve been starting to think the message isn’t that important anyway.

i’m switching my transmission.  this isn’t so much an absence of hope as a letting go of concern.  i’m not crawling up in a hole to die, no!  i’m crawling up in a hole because i can make the hole pretty & do whatever i want inside without any dissuasion from the monotony of the outside.  it’s kind of like writing sos with rocks in the sand on the beach instead of writing a million messages & stuffing them into a million bottles & constantly throwing them out to see only to see them wash back up & clutter your shore.  if there are people out there like me they will come & find me.  if not, i’m not that worried about it.  it’s for sure i’m not going to go looking for them anymore.

i was raised in a family with a completely different ideology than me, swam in social circles with pieces seemingly of my puzzle that never quite fit, made friends of weirdos  & creative types with no focus or purpose, been with lovers like lines of asymptotes, seemingly getting closer & closer but never touching, forever into infinity.  never ever actually touching, but with that always-hope.  i don’t understand the weird geometry of any sort of relationships.

i’ve sought inspiration far & wide & created events designed to foster it, FAIL!  i’m tired of setting up others to disappoint me, so i’m going inside.  i find solace in reading the biographies of people who i feel did something of substance with their lives.  these people are almost exclusively recluses.  they rest on the fringes of society with binoculars & a case of beer, staring in wonder & amusement at the rest of the queer plain.  i think this perspective allows some sort of knowing, & they are able to report it to those who will seek it out, be they many or few.

i thought i could storm the front lines with a pencil or a dance or a microphone & make some sort of impact.  not the case.  i need a reprieve.

i’m going away for awhile.  i’m breaking up with you.

i’m giving up on social situations almost altogether.  last week i was constantly sabotaged in my efforts to associate with my fellow humans.  from malfunctioning bicycles to sickness to unanswered phone calls to miscommunications, i was stranded to my house again & again.  this posed great frustration at first.

then, it made sense.  i unexpectedly had to prepare an art show in a limited amount of time.  i was stuck to the house not because of sabotage but instead necessity.  i stayed in all last weekend, by myself, & had the best time i have had in months.  i was going to go to the people’s fair, a free once a year weekend long festival that draws thousands upon thousands of people to civic center park in the heart of denver.  in my past i would never miss an event like this.  this time around i gladly did, & without the slightest hint of regret.  i watched movies, read books, wrote, & made art.  i made no phone calls.  i took no visitors.  i felt pure & free.  over this period i had several strange dreams & incredible signals in waking reality about solitude, all of them with the same ominous message.

i’m going to try it for an extended period.  i’m thinking a little over a year.  my birthday is next month, & i think that will be a good stretch.  i don’t really like the number 26.  it doesn’t seem like a very social number.  i also just signed a year commitment to a project (employment) that is going to take a great deal of my time.  teaching dance to the masses.  this will serve my need for human interaction, with the terrific caveat of  ‘absolutely no student-teacher fraternization.’  my free time will be exclusively devoted to myself.  i will not likely be calling you to hang out.  i likely won’t see you at the party.  i probably won’t be at the poetry open mics.  i’m probably gonna miss that sweet concert.  i will be awake while you are asleep.  i will be working or napping through the daylight hours.  i might be there, but by myself, in the shadows, & with a pen & notebook.

i’ll be sending out transmissions through art, writing, & video, but they probably aren’t going to involve you.  this will be to document my process of self best friendship.  i get so excited at the thought of it.  i have a crazy hypothesis it will make me famous, though i hope it’s proven wrong.  i don’t want the attention.  usually people like to watch & worship people who do things that would be good for anyone to do, instead of imitating them themselves.

it’s going to be a very trying experience.  even as i type this i want to check my facebook to see if anyone has commented on my art pieces.  i’m sure i’ll check this blog later on to see how many hits its received.  i’ll write some great poetry & desperately want to go perform it.  one of the biggest distractions is sexuality.  i am so susceptible to the interests & advances of beautiful women.  blast!  i love attention so much, but am doing my best to let this go.  i’ve discovered that it’s all really just a longing to have the acceptance of my family.  a need for validation.  it boils down to a lack of self love & acceptance.  i will find that, even if it takes me longer than a year.  i am about to go visit them for the weekend.  they are vacationing in texas to visit my brother, who lives & works there, as a gospel preacher.  visiting my family always reminds me very quickly & obviously that i will never have their full acceptance or approval.  the solitude will begin upon my return on monday.

there is this imagination i have that makes me so upset.  i see the world in my mind & in reality i know it is something that can never become so.  it’s a nice dream i forget upon awakening.  it’s a dissolving vision.  there is so much pain & hurt & potential constantly wasted.  this will never change.  there is a world i can make for myself that will never actually touch, but magnetically pull the imaginary & the real so close together it’s as if i can jump from one to the other as if across a shallow brook.  the less outside people involved, the closer it will get.

i will be concentrating on my speech & articulation, my creative process, exercise & my body, personal enjoyment & inspiration, silence & listening, learning new things, making use of technology, navigating the city of denver as a chaotic maze of enchantment, making money, & imagination & imagination & imagination!

it’s been fun.  see you in a year.

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.

xo.

clock tocks
refrigerator hum
powerline buzz
corporate jingles
i love you
television static
ipod music
garbage truck
over & over & over &
over & over & over &
over & over & over &
over & over & over &
over & over & over &
over & over & over &
over & over & over &
over & over & over &
over & over & over &
over & over & over &
over & over & over &
over & over & over &

recent retiree becomes depressed

she stays with him while he hits her

married couples dying within hours of each other
.

.

.

(begin again)

.

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xo.

clock tocks
refrigerator hum
powerline buzz
corporate jingles
i love you
television static
ipod music
garbage truck
over & over & over &
over & over & over &
over & over & over &
over & over & over &
over & over & over &
over & over & over &
over & over & over &
over & over & over &
over & over & over &
over & over & over &
over & over & over &
over & over & over &

recent retiree becomes depressed

she stays with him while he hits her

married couples dying within hours of each other
.

.

.

(begin again)

.

.

xo.

clock tocks
refrigerator hum
powerline buzz
corporate jingles
i love you
television static
ipod music
garbage truck
over & over & over &
over & over & over &
over & over & over &
over & over & over &
over & over & over &
over & over & over &
over & over & over &
over & over & over &
over & over & over &
over & over & over &
over & over & over &
over & over & over &

recent retiree becomes depressed

she stays with him while he hits her

married couples dying within hours of each other
.

.

.

(begin again)

.

.

xo.

sometimes i go visit the world where everyone enthusiastically welcomes one another.  they hoot & holler & jump up & down & fly on trapeeeeezeeeeez to meet their oncoming guests, their pals, their cohorts.  they make each others names into songs that are like tiny nursery rhyme fairy tale acapella symphonies.  they scream & do dances & give airborne high fives & hugs like baskets catching delicious falling fruit.  they exaggerate the syllables in each others names so that everyone’s moniker sounds like a victory cheer in the language of a very foreign & excited planet.  arms & legs tangled like cursive hellos.  that’s how we welcome each other.  & then we go from there.

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xo.

that being said, the average lifespan should only be about 26 years.  in reality hospitals will keep people’s mediocre existences continuing into eternity.

i will be 26 in july, but by no means will be dying that year, as i have generally been running away from my destiny since i was about 17 years old.

this is all, of course, speculation & has no basis in reality whatsoever, as is the case with most everything any human being ever says.  i’ll probably have to write a book about it.  at least that’s what my destiny has been whispering to me in my dreams.

this meandering of free will & destiny comes from an overwhelming feeling of failure after painstaking efforts in virtually everything i try to accomplish, coupled with tremendous successes with minimal effort in areas i’m not that interested in or thrilled about.

sometimes you just gotta throw your hands up in the air & say fuck it, i give up.  i’m a visionary whose ideas time has not yet come & probably never will.  i guess i should learn to enjoy myself as much as a dejected & hopeless person can, which in amerika, is a great deal.  i am thankful & blessed that i have been allowed the chance to try & fail at so many utterly ridiculous endeavors.

i’m through trying to change the world & live in a personal utopia of creative geniuses.  from now on i wager i will be teaching dance classes to people with a lot of money, writing strange articles & books, making mediocre art, & trying my best to tolerate the average human beings i share residence with.

i guess that’s not so bad.  i could be a prisoner of war.

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xo.

this comes as an incredible relief to not only my ego but my well being & soul in general.  i’ve felt completely useless & uninspired for several weeks now, probably the longest bout of depression i’ve had since college (though i’ve enjoyed this one so much more).  i feel like if i can be trained to do what i like to do the most (dance) & then teach other people how to do that, then perhaps i can be content.  let’s see what happens.

i went to the mountains today to help film a movie about death falling in love with the goddess infinity.  fittingly, i was cast as death.  the filming was enjoyable, but the nature was what really did it for me. i wore an owl talon around my neck & carried a mangled tree limb staff topped with a deer ankle & hoof.  it was detached, perhaps by a coyote or wolf.  i don’t think it was mountain lion territory.

‘when i’m up this high i always feel like the world is just a bunch of monopoly cities,’ she said.

‘it is.’

i’m writing an epic poem about being the mermaid who found osama’s body.   he is going to fly sea horses into her seashell breasts & destroy them.  then neptune is going to hide him away in a sea cave.  neptune will blame water world’s troubles that he himself caused on humans with osama as their leader.  years later he will find & kill him & shoot his body up onto an island because that’s what people who worship underwater allah do as custom.  the jelly fish will shout hurray!  manatees will wave flags.  the clownfish will be pretty indifferent.

all this makes me want to drink something tropical from a hollowed out coconut, then dig a hole, take a shit in it, & cover it up like a sea turtle laying eggs.  come to think of it, they aren’t umbrellas that get put in those drinks, those are parasols!  you ever see what happens to those suckers when they get wet??  i wrote a poem involving a sea turtle once.  it was a love poem about a girl i was dating.  she moved to hawaii.

i’m gonna start a band called ‘synonym.’  the lead singer will be this poet i know named ‘three.’  i was trying to get other musicians together to help me start a band but that was the wrong way to go about it.  instead i’m just going to write lyrics to all the tunes that get stuck in my head & then go find people who will just play something close to what i hear.  i know they wont be able to play it exactly as i hear it for two reasons.  1) most of those sounds don’t exist in this realm 2) reality matches up to the expectations of my imagination .0075% of the time.  it would be sweet if i could play instruments, then i wouldn’t need to rely on anyone but myself.  right now i have as much trust for my fellow humans as a manta ray has thumbs.  what?

i also had this idea for a bluegrass band called ‘death by spoon’ where the front man plays the spoons (but not very well), & serves as an eccentric dancing very crowd pleasing character.  there would certainly be a banjo involved.  the spoon guy might also do a number on the washboard occasionally.  a mandolin, of course.  stand up bass, yes.  i think kitchen wear in general might be involved–like a spatula being banged on pots & pans.  we still have a lot of time to iron out the details.  i would say three years.

i’m going to get a cat to eat the mice that are slowly but assuredly taking over this house.  the mice have begun to shit in the cast iron skillet that we leave on the stove.  there isn’t even any food in it usually.  i have decided they are doing this to spite us & that is the last straw.  the dogs in the house have a history of cat killing.  i am allergic to cats.  both of these facts will make the situation quite interesting.  there is a cat walk just next to my room.  i hope the cat likes that.  it might need to be shot out of a cannon when it dies. but not into the air–straight down into the ground.  an honorable burial.  a fitting burial.  let’s not think about the death of the cat, but instead speculate about its life.  hmmmm…

i gotta go

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xo.