ode to the woman

This is my woman. she is fantastic. i see her once in a blue moon and it is not enough. out of the first two years that i knew her, i spent only about 58 days with her. it was not enough. the woman is fantastic i tell you. talented, beautiful, energetic, generous, an amazing cook, adventurous, kind, forgiving, intelligent, a wonderful listener, and all together an esquisite example of a phenomenal human being. you should be as lucky as i.
this is for you chica.
mmmmmwwwwwaaaaa!

positive thinking

the power to think positively is fantastic.
just imagine all the things you can accomplish when there is nothing standing in your path. imagine all the goals that will realize themselves when you eliminate the negative influences in your life. imagine you have a anti-negative-thought gun that vaporizes all of those negative thoughts before they materialize in your mind... allowing only positive, constructive, healthy thoughts to germinate and grow in your mental garden. kapow.
thank you stuart smalley.

our lady

we all know a lady. but come on... this is a picture of our lady... taken by yours truly. granted, i took it about six months ago, but that's beside the point...
i like the damn picture, so you are going to look at it too.
too many people have complained that i take pictures that they never see. patience, patience my friends... all in good time.


i suppose i ought to give you one in color as well... well if you insist:



shit... the damn thing is a little crooked... oh well, have a nice day

Hello, my name is Simon

so i did draw something. since Gina has been hanging out for the last few days, we've been discussing art and whatnot. i've been pulling all the art related books off my shelf and showing her different artist and their styles and she's been asking a bunch of questions. it's kind of nice talking about something other than work and money for a change... i feel like i'm getting my money's worth out of my degree (ok a little bit anyway).
so after that, she asks if i might be able to give her a hand designing something for a friend of hers. a cross between a lion and a sun for a tatoo... so here's what i came up with.

i have no idea if the girl is even going to like it, but it was a nice little thing to do for about an hour. see, i told you i was going to draw something. why would i make up a thing like that?

professing perfectionism

i haven’t felt like writing recently. well that’s not really true... i’ve WANTED to write, but i haven’t really been feeling it... not really a writers block, but more of a lack of motivation entirely. i would even sit down at the computer screen and find myself staring at the empty whiteness wondering what was interesting enough to write about. i was just talking to Gina about a similar thing today. about how i love to draw, and i will find myself doodling from time to time, but recently, when i break out my sketchbook to formulate some figment of my imagination, i find myself only wanting to fill the pages with things that i’ll be proud to show my kids one day... as if a book filled with doodles is just crap. i know that’s not the case, but i’m a f-cking perfectionist. nothing is ever quite perfect. i used to think it was cool, my perfectionistic tendencies, but now they seem to keep my from doing more things than not.

screw that... excuse me, i’m going to go draw

smooth move

i’m afraid i may have ruined the girl’s whole day.

she called me up so excited because she’s back in the city and she wanted to know what i thought of the idea of living there together sometime in the future. she loves to imagine and gets really excited about the ideas of things. i’m afraid that i was a wee bit tired and cranky, as i seemed fully unexcited about the idea of imagining something that would be 6-7 years down the road... minimum. i went off for more than a few minutes about how i feel trapped by my job and yet simultaneously fear limited in my alternatives because of my need to provide for her and whatever childrenpeople we might happen to progenerate. so then she said how she felt guilty for being a environmental pressure that limits my ability to flexibly pass through this world. then i said that was incorrect, and that she was needlessly guiltying herself, and that due to societal structure and our upbringing, guys learn to define themselves by their ability to provide for their tribe. i told her that regardless of whether i am single or married, i would always be considering the situation down the road. even if i was single right now, i would still be looking towards a career that would not only satisfy my own needs of personal fulfillment but that would also allow me to provide for myself and whatever family unit i might find myself responsible for in the future.

she just wanted to talk about living in the city, going to shows and museums, and letting me work on my art.

i am such a downer.

piece of quiet

There once was a time when I thought it would be nice to be deaf... or mute...

Oh to be a mute (I would think)... how lovely would that be? People wouldn’t ever expect me to say much. I’d never start any conversations that I would later regret. I’d be really good at keeping secrets. But then people would think that I was some sort of bottomless reservoir, into which they would feel free to empty themselves of all their little skeletons, worries, guilts, and fears. I don’t imagine that would be too much fun after a while. But at least I’d be able to hear music... i think that would be one of the many things that would be frustrating about not being able to hear.

There are times, however, when I wish I had an excuse to ignore people and go about in my little bubble of silence.

maybe if I just wore a sign around my neck that said... ‘pardon me, but I’m not talking today.’ or ‘simulated deafness: please write all questions down.’

I once wore a blindfold around for a week to see what it was like being blind. I think I kind of hoped I would develop superpower senses, but I just ended up running into a lot of things.

no superpowers here.

 

bum

i have no problem taking handouts. for this reason i am officially a bum. if a person insists on paying for dinner i will not put up a fight... because personally, i was probably hoping he or she would do that anyway. i mean, let’s not kid anyone people. i know what it feels like to buy someone a meal. it feels good. and it is a whole lot easier if the person just lets me pay for it and is appreciative... the whole, “no, I’ve got it” thing is really quite tiresome. whoever insists on paying for it first, wins the prize. the other person should just graciously concede. now granted, there is a little gamesmanship involved. there is a little get a little, give a little vibe that should be hanging around. I am just as likely as the next guy to throw down a little change for a buddy’s meal, but if my friend has his credit card out before the waiter/waitress even rolls around the corner with the check... that’s it... i lose. or win, however you look at it.

swirl

What the hell. Confusion is intoxicating in its various colors. I think today’s color will be blue. Blue for my eyes that close when I wonder what is going on. In my bedroom underneath a lopsided ceiling fan, I lay back on my bed, head on the pillow, and feet dangling off onto the floor. My elbow crooked over my forehead with my hand slackly open. These things are real. They are physical and I can describe them. I could build them with clay if I were so inclined.
I could even paint it blue, for the color of the day.
Because my confusion is blue.

finally

a pleasant vibration hummed through my skin, making all the hairs of my body dance on end. it was her voice again in my ear. tinny and distant through the speaker by my ear. it had been almost five weeks since i’d seen her last and it seemed like an eternity, the way a minute must feel to a scoop of ice cream on a hot summer sidewalk. i would wonder if there was any way i’d be able to reconstitute myself again. or if i would liquify underfoot and be spread about in a sticky stain. oh how i yearn for her still.

i wonder sometimes if things have a built-in order of complexity to them. an automatic ratio of smooth-goings to bumpy-times. this ratio cannot be meddled with nor altered. it is your recipe for disaster or glory, depending on how you look at it and put the pieces together. my orders of complexity seem to revolve around debt and unfinished business.

today i’m sitting in my hotel room two thousand miles from the woman i love so completely. from my window i watched fireworks explode in a spectacular ever-aweing display of color and light. the concussion of the explosions set off car alarms and rattled my lungs in my chest. i felt them in my stomach and my heart. in my mind’s eye i could see her on the opposite coast clapping her hands together and squealing with excitement. her grin practically devouring her face and her eyes squeezed into tight little slits with gleaming bits of wet green shining through. Oh how she loves a good fireworks show.

but then the fireworks were over and the only sound rattling my heart was her voice, making it quiver and skip a beat from time to time.

an approximate measure of soul