the future is now

I am writing this from a four inch square of black plastic in the back of a cafe, with a cup of coffee in hand. scary. i think i am going to get a tattoo today, it seems fitting on the eve of this life changing journey. they help me remember who i am and who i have been.

Oh man. This documentary is so gorgeous and so terrifying. It is the artists son who made the film so of course he catches some of the most painful moments of human existence. Beyond being an uncomfortable look into mental illness and the degeneration of a family...it is an exquisite look at Isaiah Zagar's prolific work.

Need a dose of earthy wisdom? Ask an eight yearold.

ART LESSON!

Today's art lesson went surprisingly well considering I have little to no clue in regards to proper teaching methods. I came up with some half baked idea that we would make mobiles.  Sticks were collected from the elfin forest, plugged in the hot glue gun, spread out some paper and paints, and eagerly awaited my willing pupils. Turns out they were much happier to have no direction at all, than to have to comply to whatever it was I thought they SHOULD be doing. I suppose as a kid you are told what to do so much that it's just as valuable to have some one say "yeah do whatever you want!" So I was there as a spirit guide through the sometimes treacherous waters of a good art jam. It was fun for me too. I liked watching them do whatever it was in their mind to do. I started to remember the things I liked to make when I was their age, and busted out the long neglected pop up (cutting slits in a piece of folded paper so you have a section that pops out when you open it). It turned into a veritable paper frenzy!! Luckily they came fully equipped with cupcakes and fizzy water so we could revel in a much needed break before returning to the task at hand. Pictures were painted. Mobiles were made. I asked them 3/4 of the way through, "So, what did you guys learn today?" Low and behold some things I said stuck. They replied, "Sometimes you have to let the pen take you where it wants to," and "Art is about what you're heart wants to say and you have to believe in it." That last one was totally a freestyle riff but I liked it. Its astonishing, the things I say casually to keep them encouraged made some kind of impact. I would like to think if anything, I helped them to trust their artistic intuition a little more...or something. They left feeling good about what they'd made and I took a well deserved nap. I appropriated some of the castoffs and drew stuff over them. Its a nice collaboration I think. It takes the heat off making decisions about color. I just work with what they smeared around.
 

Funkadelic freakout...

I think I learned as much from watching them work as they could possibly learn from me. Its also a great ego boost, since whatever I draw they think is super awesome. I like to remind the little ladies that I have twenty some odd years of practice more than they do under my belt, and if they keep at it, someday they too can draw a weird looking pony. In celebration of a good days work we did what we do best on the compound...and that is turn up the jams and have an epileptic fit of ass shaking in the living room. Actually it wasn't really a celebration so much as a normal night on 16th street. In case you were wondering, the Parliament station on Pandora is worthy of a total throw down.

God Save the ZINE!!!

Typing up the text is the last thing I have to do before I print the zine (yeah, that's right...I made a zine). It is proving to be more of a challenge than I expected. I like the look of things that come off the typewriter, but jesus its hard to get one good copy of ANYTHING. There is no easy erase button, one wrong move and I have effectively fucked up the whole thing up and have to start all over again. A whole lifetime of typing things on the computer has made me lazy and irritated with the slow process of typing on this hulking machine. There's only ten days until the zine release party, and this whole thing is putting a junkie frost on my back. I'm going to say twenty hail mary's, pray to the typewriter gods, and go to bed in hopes that tomorrow will prove more fruitful.

sad bastard jam of the week

In the effort of keeping things mellow to the point of not breathing. Heard this one in that new movie Crazy, Stupid, Love which was alright actually. But the song is real good and the video for it wins major points with me since it is using paper craft to its highest potential.

In the meantime...

Like most people lately, the first words out of my mouth are "I went to the new Target yesterday..." Holy god it is like a city unto itself. I am not sure how to feel about having so many choices. Do I want the plain clorox bleach, or the lavender scented bleach. Beguiling to stare down a whole row of face wash, then a whole OTHER row of toothpaste, and be forced to choose. Which one is right? Which one says the right thing about me as a person? I will say I got probably the softest pair of underwear I have ever owned, that alone was worth the existential crisis. 15 days until liftoff. I am in an eerie state of calm, even though there is so much to do. I estimate this will last a few more days, then I will be thrown into the crushing anxiety of actually leaving. In the meantime I am supposed to be writing papers that are due on arrival, finishing a zine, starting my research project etc. But instead I go watch trashy romcoms and sleep until 11. Old habits are hard to break and I am a compulsive procrastinator (but really, I would like to meet someone who isn't).

The countdown begins...

Today was my last day at The Palm Theatre for a long time. I leave for Europe in 17 days. Holy shit. I am barely able to fathom not having to show up for work for four months, since I haven't had more than two weeks off since I started working at age 16 (I am 26, you do the math). It has become less fantasy and more immanent reality, that yes!!! I am in fact leaving. This trip has been so much work in the making for me, since my natural state is really sitting on the couch watching bad television with my roomies. Paper work sends me into a catatonic state, and this has been more paper pushing in three months than I have done in my whole life. So anyway, I am starting to feel the real gravitas of the situation. I got home today and was greeted by no parking anywhere near my house due to the banging birthday party that was being thrown for my three year old roommate, Eamonn Rook O'Farrell. I don't think in all my twenty six years I have had a birthday so divine. I thought about his first birthday party, which I was in attendance for. I was black out drunk, wholly inappropriate for a toddlers bday, I know. But this year I maintained, had some beers and a few laughs, watched some girls play music in the backyard while being eaten alive by mosquitoes, and very reluctantly sent myself downstairs for the nightly bed ritual. I would like to think of it as some kind of barometer of my evolution as a human being. As I have had the good fortune of watching Eamonn grow up, I too have been growing. I am less of a mess now than I was two years ago, as my therapist and I might heartily attest to. Needless to say, in the madness of the day,  I had little time for picture drawing. There is someone asleep on the floor in my living room at the moment, which means that sitting at my desk until all hours of the night working on my weird shit is out of the question. Although a select few at the party asked if I would lead their children in a few scheduled hours of art magic, and I gladly accepted. That anyone thinks I am worthy of teaching their children anything is a complete surprise and delight. I might be a layabout and a part time drunk but DAMN IT if I don't believe in sewing the seeds of dissent in the minds of young artists to come. The children, they are our future.