Pencil and Paper and Photoshop

Posted on September 7, 2015 by randomyriad

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Posted in Drawing, My Art | Tagged , , | 2 Comments

A Short Note and Three Poems From My Journal on 2/1/14

Posted on September 7, 2015 by randomyriad

2/1/14

I like the controlled, refined space of my work table when I write in my notebook.

Scene Change

My dreams have moved into a new house,

with glass doors and religion,

Fat babies scurry here and there

happily unaware.

Mindful

 my mind full

 is not empty enough to

pray or pay

attention to the day

Here in the Up Hill World

let the inflating flatulence of history

be carried out, dismantled and deflated

and placed on the river

to be retrieved and reorganized downstream

They will use the material for house frames

And garden boxes, landfill and cornerstones.

We have no use for it here up in the tidelands

Where the flat thinkers dwell.

We do not build up, but out, ever out

Expanding our domain beyond use

Or care, we will always use more

When less is called for

Need Is replaced by want

 whenever possible.

Big things are long and wide

Tall things take up ground in shadows

Obsessing on their girth, but unable

To let go of even the most useless

Part or piece.

It must be sold not given.

Giving is the unforgivin sin

All must have a price even joy

Must be valued.

Is it prime joy or just average?

No one wants anything sufficient.

It must be the best and boldly

Called out so

Or you must not be satisfied.

Satisfaction is only guaranteed by envy

Or in some cases Better performance

to a degree unnecessary for ordinary use.

Posted in delusions of progress, Dreamtime, mindworks, paying attention, poetry, thinking in words | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

Lena Dreams of the Wetlands

Posted on September 5, 2015 by randomyriad

Lena hadn’t thought about manatees in several years, but that did not stop her from dreaming about them that night in July.

The merganser is the kind of crested duck that will rip your heart out of your living body, and then phone your mother and let her know, in no uncertain terms, what she has done and why.

The anopheles mosquito begged and salaamed, moving its impossibly thin legs up behind its proboscis, thinking: I’ve got to get a better job there is no future in this.

Centipedes on the walls in the bug house softly phosphoresced, while Lena swayed outside in the moonlight, singing a song about changing the light bulbs to lull them into uneasy dreams.

Manatees blew bubbles in Lena’s ears and rubbed their rough rubbery lips on the side of her head rumbling deep vibrations from the very heart of their existence.

The merganser flew over the swamp calculating maximum carnage as she released the explosive device from her webbed claws.

“Goodnight, my beauties,” whispered Lena as she drifted into a dream about mosquitos and beer. She knew they would brew up something special for her soon.

Posted in dangerous creatures, delusions of progress, Dreamtime, Fiction, poetry, Wild Life, Word play | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

Irrigation Canal Codex by Luis Alberto Urrea

Posted on August 24, 2015 by randomyriad

This is how our cheap food is paid for. And yet we can look at our early spring California produce without a feeling of complicity.

dmf's avatarsynthetic zerØ

Y los muchachos cling

to the cantina’s jukebox heart, sing:

we never go nowhere we never see nothing

but work: these fingers bleed every daylong day,

aching from la joda of the harvest–

y la muerte, esa puta que les chifla

from the bus station balcony, from I-10,

from Imperial Ave. truck lot behind the power station,

from waterbreak delirium, from short-hoe

genuflections down pistolbarrel fields–

and the canals, green,

pumping life into those chiles, los tomates, once

a year some poor pendejo can’t take the grease-

heat drudge, the life of a burro, the lonesome nights

of sweat and harsh sheets and drinks

tattered lips pulling tequila

till el vato’s so alucinado he thinks

he can run free, thinks

the trucks with spotlights are motherships, thinks

he sees Villa shooting cars off I-25, hears Tlaloc, god

of storms, calling: water to water,

rain to rain, mud to mud—feed me…

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Posted in California, Check this out, my museum of inspiration, Other peoples words, Palabras, poetry, working world | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Two Little Notes, A Fictional Concept and A Dream

Posted on August 23, 2015 by randomyriad

I am not sure where these two little thoughts came from, but they were written in my notebook by me.

You can never go boldly into the land the land of gods: you must slide in unnoticed or fall in by accident.

Pink heart, candy cigarettes: Devine!

7/21/15

It is as if there were a piece of fine lace, sandwiched between two sheets of paper. The lace separates one reality or universe from another. When pressed together the two sheets only touch where there are holes in the lace and only in the very middle of these spaces. Mostly they are separate, but in these tiny random spots they universes share common space. A few molecules of paper or dust particles. In these places, if you pay attention you can find a bit of another reality poking through.

Dream: 

I was living in a castle. I decided to take a woman (no one I know waking) on a gator hunt. I showed her a map of the land that surrounded the castle and to the north was the Gator Swamp with a picture of a gigantic alligator taking a bite out of a rough wooden sign that read “Beware!” As we walked out of the castle into a busy parking lot with many cars and people milling about I lost track of my companion. Every woman in the parking lot looked like her in a different way. I approached many women who had no idea who I was. One of the people attending me, an assistant or vassal, said, ” She doesn’t have to stay here, but if she comes around again, we will not take her back.”

I was truly grief stricken as I searched the parking lot, looking into each woman’s face hopefully only to be demoralized and have to apologize for interrupting whatever they were doing in that parking lot. I, finally, realized that I had no idea who she was and that any of these women could be her pretending not to be her.

  

Posted in dangerous creatures, Dreamtime, Fiction, mindworks, Mythical and mysterious, Telling Stories, thinking in words | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment