Monday, January 31, 2005
Sunday, January 30, 2005
Whole bunch of surfing monkeys
Saturday, January 29, 2005
A tribute to Skip: one of a kind artist
Friday, January 28, 2005
A toast: to the rat race!
Thursday, January 27, 2005
Wednesday, January 26, 2005
Frozen adventures in time
Tuesday, January 25, 2005
Monday, January 24, 2005
Only 7 more days!
I have to say: this is a great plan. I am very proud of you. I can tell that you have been bored and feeling like you need a project. Something to do that is important. A way to contribute to society. I think this is it. The world has to know how unhealthy this snack food is.
You walk around on cloud nine stuffing your face with candy bars and pizza. Wow, It's day 4 and you are amazed at how much money you have saved on t.p. and water (5 gallons per flush). No need to number 2 anymore. But hey, can I be honest? I think you might be a bit constipated. You know, when the large intestine clogs, the half digested food doesn't disappear, it putrifies. And did you know how much the intestine stretches?
Without even realizing it, you have entered the intestinal balloon contest. It used to be just adults who played in this tournament. Now kids have entered as well. It is amazing to me that you have sacrificed your body for all of us. This is something Jesus would have done. Of course, he would have been able to document some of his miracles like walking on water. As Jesus would get fatter, he would start to sink into the water more and more. And of course he'd be changing water to beer to wash down all that pizza. I bet jesus would use communion wafers as toppings on his pizza instead of pepperoni.
Please forgive me, I digress. This is all about you and your documentary. Your clothes don't fit you anymore and no one recognizes you. I think that you're watching too much t.v. Ding dong. Hey, I think that was the doorbell. You get up and let the dominoes guy in. You both are on a first name basis now, It's day 23. Instead of a tip you point the camera at him and tell him that he'll be in your movie. He gets the wrong idea and hustles out of there mumbling about his next delivery. Oh well, the lighting was all wrong anyway.
It's time for me to go. Thanks for the contribution to the human race. Keep up the hard work. Only 7 more days!
The rivers are happy
Sunday, January 23, 2005
This will be your day: fire
Saturday, January 22, 2005
The importance of freedom
Friday, January 21, 2005
Thanks a bunch, bike man!
Use your own lab
We all want to sleep in the back seat of the auto while some one else drives. At some point while we were sleeping, carjackers hopped in, grabbed the steering wheel, and put the pedal to the metal. They don't change the oil or have any type of respect for other drivers, stop signs, red lights or pedestrians. So, our vehicle has gotten a really bad rep around the international community. We have all kinds of dents and we have all kinds of exhaust. We have all kinds of spin doctors who have hidden the cost. We drive on a road that is made up of people and then on Sunday you find us under the steeple. Thanks god for my new stereo, powered my my own vertigo. Yeah, i wish i could take my country to MTV so they could pimp it like they pimped your ride. At least they could find someone competent and honest to dirive it.
In conclusion, I ride a motorcycle.
Thursday, January 20, 2005
Home made bridge
Wednesday, January 19, 2005
What the Bleep Critique
The heart is the seat of wisdom and intuition. Breasts are a sign of intelligence. What next?
Tuesday, January 18, 2005
Hail to the chief!
Another word to examine - together. Sorry, at some point this word started getting spelled wrong. Duhh. To get her - wrong. Actual spelling: to-gather. I wonder what Webster was breathing and who with.
Is it my imagination or do we live in an image nation? Or is it a lucid nation or just a hallucination?
W Shrubbed reveals much when he claims America supports his Iraqi catastrophe by voting for him. His statements are like a painter painting over macaroni, spaggetti, zitis and various other pasta sculptures that have been used as typesetting against a public wall. I bet when big W was just a small w, he'd play hide and seek. He hated the game though because he was always the first one to be found. Little w would cover his own eyes and think that this is the same as hiding. Big W's playing the same game now. Hail to the chief!
Monday, January 17, 2005
Congratulations on your new job!
It's just so obvious, you think to yourself. The new curriculum will be teaching the children how to play Monoply. The best students will be taught how to play and master the game Risk. Wow! Great idea! You deserve a raise.
Sunday, January 16, 2005
In with the new, out with the old
Friday, January 14, 2005
Thanks for the wake up! helicopter man!
Happy Birthday Dad!
Thursday, January 13, 2005
Advice for Danny
want you to be on the look out for tidal waves. If you
see one coming, don't stare at it. I know you might be tempted to
catch it on video and turn it into a documentary. But
please Danny, don't be impulsive. When you see that giant wall of
water coming at you at 333 MPH, I want you to turn
around and run like hell. I mean it Danny, run like a god damn mad
man. climb a tree or something. Or, if you're really
cool, grab a surf board and hang 10, YEE HAH!
Harry apologizes for forgetting to wear a costume
Wednesday, January 12, 2005
Thanks Matt M!
Tuesday, January 11, 2005
Same old teeth
The time arrived to vote: either for a new row of teeth or to keep the same old teeth in the great white shark (which prefers to eat brown humans). Even though he has a vote he doesn’t much feel like a neuron. More like the myth of a molecule. And he really doesn’t know where he is or where he begins or where he ends, like a cloud. Distance creates the illusion of solidity. The appearance of sanity degenerates into fragments of nonsense under the magnifying glass of scrutiny. He stops his mind and revels in the snowflake Mandela of the infinite backdrop. The built in screensaver invented by the unnamable. He knows a new row of puppets will eat the same brown humans. How can a shark brush its teeth. Or carefully clean its gums with a strand of dental floss. How can a shark transform into a dolphin. The ocean needs sharks. When he says his name it sounds like someone else’s. Who am I?
One day he decided not to get angry anymore. This action inadvertently stopped his flow of emotions. The fire of anger had propelled his life force along. He wore the suit of madness for so long that it hardened and became smooth in places and abrasive in others. He wore the suit like a barrel and forgot it was there as he rolled down the hill down the waterfalls of life. Barreling thru the impassable objects and insurmountable ideas until one day his shell broke against the unmovable object of his soul. Enough it whispered without sound. He sat naked deep inside his brain stem unable to stop the broken records of his past from playing the same old tunes: shame blame raindrops of pain you’ll never feel joy again. All he’d really done was vacated his steering wheel letting the blind drive the blind, never knowing where he’s going or instantly forgetting. Just add denial.
He arrives at the church to vote happy that there is a separation between church and state in God he trusts. This is his third attempt to vote. The volunteers eagerly look for his name among several lists generated by computers. Even though he is registered, no one can find his name. Strike three sports fans. He must vote provisionally. This means his vote will be counted in three days if his name can be found on the state registry. They give him a number to call to see if his vote has been counted. The election is decided the next day. He never calls the number.
He is not a neuron in the Great white shark. He has no name. He feels like the myth of a molecule. When he stops thinking he experiences time differently. His breath becomes slower and slower. 3 breaths a minute. 2 breaths. 1 breath. 0. He is a pod of dolphins. They watch the shark feast. The ocean needs sharks.
Daryl falls like a tree
Two long yellow fire trucks make there way down the driveway followed by ambulances and filled with firemen and paramedics. I think of Bill and his bout with his intestinal parasite. I stare at this spontaneous mini parade thru a bathroom window after a gentle quiet soak in warm water. Now, I am out thru the door and walking down the driveway. Quickly, I am joined by firemen, paramedics and Bill. The time is 10 PM. The moon hides behind the curve of the earth and the stars take center stage leaving the landscape shrouded in a deep black veil. We march along the North side of the Pratt House. I follow behind Bill as he leads the way. I hear Skip’s voice and turn to watch as he berates one of the firemen for bringing fire trucks and too many personnel. The fireman vehemently defends his position explaining “This is what happens when you call 911. It is normal procedure.” Skip quickly backtracks and concedes his position in a fairly well spoken, nicely structured couple of sentences, which belies his disheveled appearance. He’s wearing a dirty yellow t-shirt, dirty shorts and his hair is crazy. The madcap paradox of this voyage and Skip’s instant docility seem to placate the fireman and we continue onward. Still oblivious to the cause of this gathering of men, my mind can only come up with this reason: a neighbor has called 911 to report one of Skip’s fires. We go halfway down the canyon cottage trail and then blaze a trail along the side of the barranca. “He dislocated his shoulder” I hear Bill say to someone. A few moments later I see a person lying on their back. It is Daryl. He fell from the top of the cliff 45 ft above. Daryl became disoriented after leaving the brightly lit basement office. He was making his way to his car for a flashlight, smoothie ingredients and the number of his attorney. Daryl was using his cell phone to lite his way but the faint glow proved inadequate as a light source.
Devin heard Daryl falling down the hill and thought it was a mountain biker. He said he could hear him yelling and groaning as he bodysurfed down the side of the cliff.
Skip was working on his kiva “I thought a tree was falling down” he said. But it turned out to be Daryl.
Awesome snap with an interesting...inspired background. Which deity is that ... by the way (or not)? Been trying to figure out!
All said and done though....great snaps and a very interesting read.
Anshula, The deity depicted in the backdrop is Shiva. This is my unofficial conclusion. Thanks for the compliment. This snap is from Burning Man 2003. There were about 500 people in the audience and at least a 1000 in earshot as i chanted om Shiva among others while circular breathing on the didjeridoo.
Sunday, January 09, 2005
Saturday, January 08, 2005
Homelessness for dummies and antimatter for eggs
head in outer space
Friday, January 07, 2005
we are just toys
seduce and annoy. we are just toys. tell us that you are teaching us how to love.
creative writing 101: fragmented sentences, run on sentences, incorrect grammar. I love it. reflects the changes that are always occuring. schisms. cracks are where the truth appears. and then it morphs into something else. our language must change as our perception changes. keep up or get trampled by the masses, stampeding in waves.
the rhythmic sound of rain
We drummed and the river rushed on the 12th day of Xmas
I hear of a game that people play. Or maybe it is a dance. This falls into my blindspot as most things do. Thus i find a hook to hang the coat of solitude I have worn for 2 years. In moments I will climb into my bed while crickets rub their legs and frogs outline the topography of their esophagus and the map of the world. They are dancing and playing a game to which I am blind and deaf. Yet I hear them and feel the beauty in my heart. Thank you world, I love you.