Sunday March 4th. 8:30 PM
In low spirits, to understate the matter. It feels as if nothing is changing. I'm till tied to it all. Feeling harried by the same loss of time, the same pressures. John's little rant has sat with me now, and it stings worse. That was a very personal moment, leaving my home, a sacred moment and my brother felt licensed to shit all over it. I don't get a do-over. The moment came and went.
Dana I just feel sad about. I wish to god I could hate her but it's never been in me. I'm certain she sees past her own demons now, which she couldn't before...but she must have made a promise to herself years ago that she would never speak to me, and that promise is more important to her than our friendship. All I have asked of her is to speak with me as a friend. She won't even acknowledge that she means something to me. That is a coldness I cannot thaw.
I have been staving off suicidal fantasies. I refuse to go there - and to that end it's good to have had the experience so that I know what to watch out for. If one allows those, it increases the chemical imbalance causing the depression. As I've said before.
The album of my life is skipping.
(Sigh. Fuck. Fucking hell.)
I've added some Milliput Green to the figure, though a little of it was not well mixed, didn't cure, and had to be scraped off again. I've added to the torso, built the collar bone, and begun the shoulders. Now, here's the beginner's temptation: pushing too far and getting discouraged. I told myself going in that I would settle for something simpler in order to just get the shapes right. It would not have to be realistic, I wouldn't worry about musculature. Now here I am doing just that, I couldn't resist. I think I've got the collarbone too low, or the sternum too high. But that's still okay as I'm copying an exaggerated comic book aesthetic anyway. Not sure how far I'll get on the head or whether to attempt it separately and then attach it. See, the attitude of the head will determine the neck muscles. Will I have her facing forward, to the side, head cocked at an angle? Haven't decided. I'll keep the arms straight out and do her palms open and up in a defiant stance, "Look at me, I'm here and I'm not going away." Wonder how well I'll be able to do her face, or what her features will be like. I can do a little more before I pack her for the trip, but not much. I've some sandpaper to smooth her out, no modelling putty (Testors or Squadron) to fill in gaps, no tools. Wire for fingers but - owing to shortsightedness - no wirecutters. I do have an artist's blending tool, a pencil-shaped thing made of paper, which has been perfect for smoothing the Sculpey I used initially. Epoxy putty has a different texture though. Pretty sure the putty should not be baked, so there will be no more clay on this one.
I have some of those 'artist's trading cards', wondering if that's still a thing or if the fad passed. Little 2.5" x 3.5" cards. I started two of them with shots of Sharon Mitchell I snapped off a screen once, from old blurry tapes, no clear detail. Nothing sexually explicit, one profile and one with a hint of nudity as she lies in bed. The profile I think I want to do in watercolor pencils. Not sure I have a brush still unpacked, though...
I've got 'Cloudbusting' stuck in my head, from Kate Bush. Lore took me to her house and we played some of the records I gave her. Might have been a kind of 'saying goodbye' afternoon for her.
We listened to Stevie Nicks, as she'd never before heard the album 'Trouble in Shangri-La', one of my favorites. (well, I say that, but I have four or five Nicks favorites...) I had to listen to Fall From Grace. That one follows what I feel in my heart for Dana - the angry part of it - even if the lyrics don't follow my head. Read the lyrics, but listen to the song: it's in the way Stevie sings it, the pissed-off anguish and caring. Listen to her voice. That's exactly what my heart fucking feels, always.
"Maybe I am calmer now, maybe things are fine
Maybe I made the whole thing up, maybe it isn't a lie
Maybe the reason I say these things is to bring you back alive
Maybe I fought this long and this hard just to make sure you survive"
The only part that's off is that I believe Dana is a survivor. A hardened one, maybe, but I know she can get by without me. I don't really fear that...but damn her for not even wanting me there.
Actually, I did dream that she was suicidal one night in...late 90s? Early 00s? I felt called to her side...I was a disembodied spirit and I realized what was about to happen..she was alone in her house in the hills late in the night, all the lights on, in her living room. She was writing a goodbye letter to me, and although she didn't realize I was there I was able to make her hand stop moving. Prevented from saying goodbye to me, she couldn't go through with the rest. The dream had the distinct feel and intensity of being "one of those", but I'll never know if it was just a dream or if it was psychic - if I really was there and it happened.
Sunday, March 4, 2018
Saturday, March 3, 2018
Forward Motion
Trying to reconfigure in Hillsboro. I'll only be here about a week, then it's New York. This can't become a stall.
Let's see if video will load this time...
Let's see if video will load this time...
Hmm. The video option for Blogger may be useless. That's the sculpt-in-progress I reported two posts ago.
...and that's the old man puppet from Peter and the Wolf at YMA, the vid that would not upload t all a few months ago.
These are appearing before me as still images in the text box. I hope that when I post they will become playable vids, though it looks like all detail will be scrubbed out. Well, I put the first one on Facebook. (edit - ah, yeah, they can go fullscreen if you click. Nice!)
As said in an earlier post, the sculpt is being taken from the comic book figure market, which explains the proportions and high heels. I'll learn from that and then find my own voice The old man was made back around '81, and there's a love story behind it.
I'm going to try to work out a few small cards for quick images. I have a really rough prelim sketch for Mina and the Moon, enough to have figured out the flow I want, a forward sweep fro Mina and the overall direction I want to leas the eyes. I still have the crayons with me, and a tablet. I can do a test of the colors but I haven't the body language yet. I've a box of figures and a poseable model that might help.
Between Kris and Lore, I have way too much stuff I'm trying to keep. How the hell all this can be shipped I don't know. Still don't really have the time to relax I was hoping for in the interim.
John took an unnecessary swipe at me yesterday, for no fathomable reason. Lied, too - he's mad at me for following his own goddamn instructions? Or for not cleaning up his mess as well as my own, when he's not done with the house and is gonna keep making a mess? "The house is trashed" or some such - I saw the message. That's an outright lie. And he saw the trailer and approved, now he acts surprised that things in it got wet (what did he think was going to happen??) - or that I didn't use larger garbage bags which he knew weren't there. Fucking god, some people can't be pleased but at least don't lie about me. Seriously, why post that kind of bullshit hostility at me?
He never lived in that house. To him it's just a house. I just lost my home.
Thursday, March 1, 2018
The Last-Minute Box
Monday, Feb. 26th.
Kat says everyone who moves has a Last-Minute Box. It's the last minute and mine needs a couple more boxes.
Today is my last full day in my home. Saw Annihilation last night and then hit Rimsky Korsakoffee House (Scott's GPS pronounces it 'KOR-suh-k'-FEE'... it also turns Flavel Drive - flay-vell - into flavvle). So I finally got to visit RKH before leaving Portland. I like it a lot, and Jesseca would love it. Great desserts, delicious coffee...it doesn't just have a home-spun feel, it's genuine. Quirky, extremely playful sense of humor, too, exactly my kind of thing, and if you get there at the right moment they often have live music. I had the Borgia Cafe (coffee and orange) and Rasputin's Vice (home-made espresso ice cream with coffee sauce and raspberries). I wanted to leave some art under one of the glass tabletops but didn't have any prepared as all my stuff already went to Kathy's. I'm way disorganized about this. Any number of things I'll be needing are packed away, I may not see them again for a year or more. No master list of which box anything is to be found in. My sculpt will not be refined without the right tools but even left crude it's the best one I've done so far.
Tried to make it this morning to the used DVD shop I found on Foster but didn't have time...had to get to the pharmacy and then the PO to register a change of address. Went on the bus, used two of my four remaining tickets, time ran out. Had to get home. Maybe tomorrow morning I'll have time to try again. Hope so, my last shot at it. Not that I have money to buy more than two or three discs but I want to have been there and searched the place. Could take a couple of hours ( Joy! : D ) and they're likely to have something I haven't picked up that fills in one of my collections.
A few more cups of coffee and I can pack my coffee maker. Trying to use up the food, and I'm not gonna achieve that. Never even got the boxes for tapioca or pancake mix opened. There's a really nice glass bottle for oil I'm tempted to keep. Karla took everything she wants, John wants to just haul off whatever is left to a dump, and no one else has a key to get in. Not sure what I'll need for cookware for the next two weeks. One of the covered pots, presumably, for rice or barley.
Visited Scott's house and saw his parents again for what I could guess is the last time. Damn. Really, really nice people, I've known and been friends with them forever. Scott drove past the house that used to be Kris Burley's home, It's empty, up for sale. I used to pass it sometimes on the way to or coming home from school. Felt a pang that I'll never see Oaks Park again. Never did get to see that dedication plaque at Franklin. The Little Store is closed, has been for several weeks. Candy's Kwik Shop is it's actual name, at the corner of Clatsop and 72nd. Someone ran their car into it, the wall right behind the teller. Looking in the glass doors, it seemed even the cashier counter sat askew. It's a nice family that's been running the place for two or three years now, every member of the family takes a turn in there. I left a note in the grated security door hoping no one got hurt.
Scott just brought over a day's worth of firewood! He wanted my last night here to be warm. I've had my heavy Winter coat on for the last two hours since I got back, used the last of the scrap wood from the garage but the house is still freezing. Figure out dinner, and hope I can relax tonight and watch a movie. Don't know which one to go for. Probably be gone early evening tomorrow. Almost 5:30 PM now, maybe take a nap. Been falling asleep during the day and not able to enough at night, but what the hell - my fight's an over-nighter and I want to be awake to enjoy it. I can't relax waiting at the terminals but once I'm on board I'm fine. What's the use of a window seat if you're too tired to enjoy it?
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8:58 AM, Wednesday Feb. 28th. I've stayed one extra night, and this is the morning of my last day in my home. Trying not to think about it, unutterably sad. Just want to cry if I think about it. Finally got the fire going in the woodstove. Final move is tonight, maybe late afternoon or early evening. Still have some items to eat, to get in order for the move. TV still set up, might be able to relax and watch something. Hoping no one arrives to fuck that up.
I made it through the entire series of Six Feet Under, under a family that runs a funeral home. The DVD set had belonged to my niece, Kat. I awoke this morning from my last dream in this house. It began with me and three other going to bed together - not sex, just laying side-by-side in some last effort to communicate, heal...I lay down as Nate from 6FU, next to Nate's love Brenda (who doubled for Dana). Look them up, it's too much to explain who the characters are now. As we fell asleep I took Dana's hand in mine, to hold as we slept. I tried to feel every inch of her skin, of her hand's structure, her wrist, the smallness of it. The dream segued, and now I was her walking away the next morning - this morning - walking away for the last time...walking against the sun's cold glare through a parking lot as a gleaming white hearse pulled away, remembering the feel of my hand in his. The word "addiction" flashed though my head a moment later. I wanted to go back to sleep for an hour or so, dream something better, but that felt like the one I'm supposed to have last in this house. Tonight I travel to some existential weigh-station. New York is still two weeks out.
In one of my resurrection dreams of so long ago, Dana was struggling with talking to me against a conviction that she was ill. It turned out in the dream that she was but that it did not destroy her, and she really did turn to me finally. Illness, addiction, I'd stand by her through whatever if she had the courage to let me. More, if something like that were true, I would be crushed at the threat that she would rob from me the days I could spend with her. But I can't make her want to share that burden or threat, and I don't know how to convince her I want to be there, that I'm up for that.
"Open Arms', song from my high school years. Journey. Keeps going through my head, keep hoping it's going through hers as well. Heard it on the radio too a few days after it played in a hypnogogic flash.
Should go make breakfast but not hungry. Wish time would stand still.
*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*
Thursday, March 1st. Left my home for the last time last night. Traffic kept Lore from arriving for a while, and I felt right sitting in mom's chair relaxing, watching out the front picture window. Had to fight back tears when I left. It's not a house to me, it's my home. I feel like I'm abandoning someone I should be protecting. I can't let myself think about it, just go forward.
Didn't sleep until today, late in the morning. In Hillsboro now until the 13th. Maybe now I can at least draw a little. Today was spent still resituating. Finally get to watch Rachel Maddow again. I don't think Jesseca has MSNBC at her home in New York so I'd better get it while it lasts.
Weary, don't have anything to say (oh shut up).
Kat says everyone who moves has a Last-Minute Box. It's the last minute and mine needs a couple more boxes.
Today is my last full day in my home. Saw Annihilation last night and then hit Rimsky Korsakoffee House (Scott's GPS pronounces it 'KOR-suh-k'-FEE'... it also turns Flavel Drive - flay-vell - into flavvle). So I finally got to visit RKH before leaving Portland. I like it a lot, and Jesseca would love it. Great desserts, delicious coffee...it doesn't just have a home-spun feel, it's genuine. Quirky, extremely playful sense of humor, too, exactly my kind of thing, and if you get there at the right moment they often have live music. I had the Borgia Cafe (coffee and orange) and Rasputin's Vice (home-made espresso ice cream with coffee sauce and raspberries). I wanted to leave some art under one of the glass tabletops but didn't have any prepared as all my stuff already went to Kathy's. I'm way disorganized about this. Any number of things I'll be needing are packed away, I may not see them again for a year or more. No master list of which box anything is to be found in. My sculpt will not be refined without the right tools but even left crude it's the best one I've done so far.
Tried to make it this morning to the used DVD shop I found on Foster but didn't have time...had to get to the pharmacy and then the PO to register a change of address. Went on the bus, used two of my four remaining tickets, time ran out. Had to get home. Maybe tomorrow morning I'll have time to try again. Hope so, my last shot at it. Not that I have money to buy more than two or three discs but I want to have been there and searched the place. Could take a couple of hours ( Joy! : D ) and they're likely to have something I haven't picked up that fills in one of my collections.
A few more cups of coffee and I can pack my coffee maker. Trying to use up the food, and I'm not gonna achieve that. Never even got the boxes for tapioca or pancake mix opened. There's a really nice glass bottle for oil I'm tempted to keep. Karla took everything she wants, John wants to just haul off whatever is left to a dump, and no one else has a key to get in. Not sure what I'll need for cookware for the next two weeks. One of the covered pots, presumably, for rice or barley.
Visited Scott's house and saw his parents again for what I could guess is the last time. Damn. Really, really nice people, I've known and been friends with them forever. Scott drove past the house that used to be Kris Burley's home, It's empty, up for sale. I used to pass it sometimes on the way to or coming home from school. Felt a pang that I'll never see Oaks Park again. Never did get to see that dedication plaque at Franklin. The Little Store is closed, has been for several weeks. Candy's Kwik Shop is it's actual name, at the corner of Clatsop and 72nd. Someone ran their car into it, the wall right behind the teller. Looking in the glass doors, it seemed even the cashier counter sat askew. It's a nice family that's been running the place for two or three years now, every member of the family takes a turn in there. I left a note in the grated security door hoping no one got hurt.
Scott just brought over a day's worth of firewood! He wanted my last night here to be warm. I've had my heavy Winter coat on for the last two hours since I got back, used the last of the scrap wood from the garage but the house is still freezing. Figure out dinner, and hope I can relax tonight and watch a movie. Don't know which one to go for. Probably be gone early evening tomorrow. Almost 5:30 PM now, maybe take a nap. Been falling asleep during the day and not able to enough at night, but what the hell - my fight's an over-nighter and I want to be awake to enjoy it. I can't relax waiting at the terminals but once I'm on board I'm fine. What's the use of a window seat if you're too tired to enjoy it?
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8:58 AM, Wednesday Feb. 28th. I've stayed one extra night, and this is the morning of my last day in my home. Trying not to think about it, unutterably sad. Just want to cry if I think about it. Finally got the fire going in the woodstove. Final move is tonight, maybe late afternoon or early evening. Still have some items to eat, to get in order for the move. TV still set up, might be able to relax and watch something. Hoping no one arrives to fuck that up.
I made it through the entire series of Six Feet Under, under a family that runs a funeral home. The DVD set had belonged to my niece, Kat. I awoke this morning from my last dream in this house. It began with me and three other going to bed together - not sex, just laying side-by-side in some last effort to communicate, heal...I lay down as Nate from 6FU, next to Nate's love Brenda (who doubled for Dana). Look them up, it's too much to explain who the characters are now. As we fell asleep I took Dana's hand in mine, to hold as we slept. I tried to feel every inch of her skin, of her hand's structure, her wrist, the smallness of it. The dream segued, and now I was her walking away the next morning - this morning - walking away for the last time...walking against the sun's cold glare through a parking lot as a gleaming white hearse pulled away, remembering the feel of my hand in his. The word "addiction" flashed though my head a moment later. I wanted to go back to sleep for an hour or so, dream something better, but that felt like the one I'm supposed to have last in this house. Tonight I travel to some existential weigh-station. New York is still two weeks out.
In one of my resurrection dreams of so long ago, Dana was struggling with talking to me against a conviction that she was ill. It turned out in the dream that she was but that it did not destroy her, and she really did turn to me finally. Illness, addiction, I'd stand by her through whatever if she had the courage to let me. More, if something like that were true, I would be crushed at the threat that she would rob from me the days I could spend with her. But I can't make her want to share that burden or threat, and I don't know how to convince her I want to be there, that I'm up for that.
"Open Arms', song from my high school years. Journey. Keeps going through my head, keep hoping it's going through hers as well. Heard it on the radio too a few days after it played in a hypnogogic flash.
Should go make breakfast but not hungry. Wish time would stand still.
*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*
Thursday, March 1st. Left my home for the last time last night. Traffic kept Lore from arriving for a while, and I felt right sitting in mom's chair relaxing, watching out the front picture window. Had to fight back tears when I left. It's not a house to me, it's my home. I feel like I'm abandoning someone I should be protecting. I can't let myself think about it, just go forward.
Didn't sleep until today, late in the morning. In Hillsboro now until the 13th. Maybe now I can at least draw a little. Today was spent still resituating. Finally get to watch Rachel Maddow again. I don't think Jesseca has MSNBC at her home in New York so I'd better get it while it lasts.
Weary, don't have anything to say (oh shut up).
Definitive
Sunday, February 18th) Saw Black Panther last night. I've seen some coverage of the movie off antenna-based TV, and one thing I've yet to hear mentioned is how gender-positive the film is. The movie is wall-to-wall with women and almost every one of them has a position of power and honor. I really enjoyed that. On a personal note, I've never seen a movie before with so many gorgeous women (and I adore those sexy shaved heads!).
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Oh, missed opportunity. I posted a review of 'Taste the Blood of Dracula' with only one screencap (due to a problem getting decent screencaps, don't know the right software). This is the movie with the awful dialog for Chris Lee, wandering through England counting his victims. "The fuhhst...", "The second...", "The thuhhd..." I should have included a picture of The Count from Sesame Street.
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Feb. 19th
Watching the news. One of the Florida student activists just said "We plan to be so brazen...". Hear fucking hear. It's funny, I have always known the word yet I never run across it - no one uses it. Ever since seeing Dana's painting, though, I keep running across it. Really, I've become very fond of "brazen". If I were online I'd grab a dictionary definition and quote it, but the Florida students have put it in proper context quite nicely. And, yes, I do admire Dana for embodying the spirit of it whatever her problem is with reaching out to me. Dana, you out there? McNamee. Yes, you're brazen. I take it from your painting that you embrace it. You should, you should be proud of it. If you've ever wondered what I'm talking about when I say I'm proud of you...that's a lot of it. It's not any particular thing, it's just you. I've always wished I were more like you in some ways. And in other ways, I think I have always been more like you than you have the courage to know.
Why can't you be brazen with me and just talk?? Is it only me you have no bravery for? : ( What scares you about talking to me, Dana? I've always been on your side. Why wouldn't I be now?
I love you, Dana. You can talk with me.
...^...^...^...^...^...^...^...^...^...^...^...^...^...^...^...^...
Tuesday, 20th. Had a couple of dreams, Dana wasn't in them but they could be interpreted as her reaching out. Okay, but I've had those before so I have to assume that it's not true this time either. She still can, it's in her hands. I'm here and I don't see how she could doubt that I want this. If I had even a clue what she was afraid of I might know how to help. I'm not going to scoff at whatever it is...I just don't know what it could be. There's gotta be something or it wouldn't be that big a deal to her to just talk to me as a friend. Could she really be so cold to hurt me this cruelly by choice? The person who would do that isn't the person who tried to reassure me last October. I just don't understand. This is fucking cruel.
I wrote a letter to Jesseca a few days ago. Addressed the envelope and realized I will never again write this address as the return. : (
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Wednesday, 21st. Mood is especially low and mournful today. Few days left in the house, this weekend and a day or so more are it. My home. Mom's home.
Listening to the scores for Futureworld and Westworld, Fred Karlin synth and orchestra.
...^...^...^...^...^...^...^...^...^...^...^...^...^...^...^...^...
(edit, interjection to say that last night I wasted an evening on a bad idea that, as bad ideas go, was an idea that was not good. Now I'm tempted to excise everything I wrote below. Instead I'm rearranging, cutting, editing. That's how these things take me, the urge to create something. I was watching Oregon Art Beat on PBS.)
Thursday, Feb. 22nd, 8:55 PM. Relatively speaking this was one of the better days I've had lately but is quickly becoming a Reverse Midas (in which everything I touch turns into a substance recognizably not gold). The bleeding beneath the bandage has slowed down (I was making dinner), the fire in the woodstove is finally catching, and the soup has stopped exploding. I shall endeavor not to push my luck.
This may have been the universe's way of warning that the idea that just in the last half hour has fevered me is an extraordinarily bad one, which...eh, I already kinda knew, thanksverymuch. (pausing to crumble some crackers). You see what I've done here, I've utilized humor to...er, cushion against...umm. Something. So I'm not a bad writer provided my work remains within the confines of the strictly unpublished. No worries there, so the cosmic caution is a little unwarranted. Besides, I'm writing about it here now, anyway, thus sublimating the creative energy that would have been needed to follow through. I'm thinking of fiction, but fiction that's highly personal.
I wrote a story once about a character named Beth. Really bad short story, weakly conceived and worsely composed though it had two or three worthy components. I'd had Dana in mind but more the way you'd write a role someone, nothing to do with her factually. I also came up with a science fiction story for her (astronaut Mariel Andrejevski, named after a part Dana wanted in Time of Your Life) about tentative contact with an alien race and involving an android in love with her
(unrequited), and I tried a treatment of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein where I imagined her playing a more progressive Elizabeth who learned Victors work at his side. Had a nice twist at the end, that one, never been done before in a Frankenstein movie as far as I know. You see by their absence how far those progressed. Was never a strong suit, coming up with stories and characters. I'll be too busy pursuing projects that have a chance of getting somewhere. This current brainstorm is one of those 'what-ifs' that all artists have lists of, the things they never do. But it would be a hell of a story, and I think there are people out there like me who would have an "Oh wow" moment or two relating to it.
This time Beth would be a lot more like the Dana I have invented in my mind over the last thirty years. (Damn, it really has been thirty years almost to the day that I first wrote to her. Somewhere in March 1988, that's when she wrote back to me.)
A few weeks ago I rewatched Henry & June, a fine and unfairly forgotten movie by Phillip Kauffman about the relationships between authors Anais Nin, Henry Miller, and their shared love June. This is not a review, so I'll limit my comments to a simple aside that June is a singularly unlovable narcissist and her being the center of artistic, romantic, and sexual obsession dampens a movie I'd otherwise watch much more often. Maybe everyone else felt the same way and that's why it's forgotten. Then again, I was out of the loop on the whole Uma Thurman infatuation thing. She's good, I just don't get the allure.
Henry & June is based on a true story as journaled by Anais Nin, although June would argue the point. I say 'true story' but truth is a matter of perception. June was already Henry Miller's muse when Anais met the pair, and June soon became the same for Anais. Both authors wrote about June, but June was incapable of seeing herself in their work. What's revealing and beautiful is that the two portraits themselves were not in agreement: each author had their own voice and vision. June, meanwhile, had her own vision of her self. Not allowed in that self-reflection was her nature to torment and damage the people she inspired.
(My interest in the film was Anais Nin. Her place as a pioneer in literature comes not just as an important female voice in what was considered a man's realm but for her emphasis on the essence of experience over the mechanics of plot. She was a sensualist, after my own heart.)
June did not fear being written about. Far from it, she was desperate to be the subject of everyone else's conversation and art provided she was recognized by all as a humble, selfless, unflawed human being worthy of being hailed as a natural goddess. Henry & Anais failed at the task, being more concerned with the integrity of their work and honesty in their art, and so for June their writings sullied her own truth. Not big on the artist's voice, June.
Authors - artists - have an overwhelming need to express. It's how they define themselves. I am feeling that keenly tonight, though not necessarily over the subject I'm on about at the mo'.
Thing is, communication is kind of a Holy Grail with me. I have failed with Dana. I can't think how else to put out there the things that are at issue for me, the particular wounds at heart or the things I value. On my blogs I have to self-censor. The loss, the tragedy I see in our friendship even if my brain conjured it from nothing but dreams and miscues...there's a humanity at stake in this tale involving issues vital to who I am, and I've no way else to address it. I suppose I'd have to publish under a pseudonym. Maybe by then I wouldn't care about her as a real person anymore, she'd have passed into the invention of memory.
The story would end as it has in real life (so far, anyway). The man who loves Beth writes her a letter revealing that there is nothing for him to learn about her. She burns it unread because she is too afraid of what he has to say to face reading it. So great is her fear that they are irreconcilably different that she never learns how alike they are. I'd rather the ending be a happy one but I can think of no other way to end the story that is honest.
My cut has healed. The blood beneath the bandage's central padding stopped in a pattern suggesting a beehive of maroon wax, with only two hexagons complete. The mind completes the pattern from the evidence given.
9:58. I could go watch a movie but maybe I'll try to begin a simple sculpt based on some small figures I have before me. I watched a Sion Sono movie (Suicide Club) last night with an eye to writing it up, won't be immediate as part of it still escapes me. Watched Catherine Breillat's Romance which didn't inspire much in the way of a review, I'm lukewarm to this fairly cold and mistitled movie but the bit with a BDSM master is fascinating for defying cultural bias. Working on a review of Kolchak: The Night Stalker (Horror in the Heights, maybe the best ep of the series). I gave John the finished biker/Nazi skull, he was happy with the job I did on it. The helmet has a high-gloss hammered metal look in sable brown metallic, not where I expected to take it but it looks wicked cool.
...^...^...^...^...^...^...^...^...^...^...^...^...^...^...^...^...
3:58 Feb. 24th, Just took some stuff to Kathy's. Lore was here yesterday, I totally forgot to use her net connection to post the Kolchak review. Will have to register a change of address on Monday, put that off too long too but I never get mail anyway. Still haven't packed the last minute stuff like my coffee maker, some of my clothes. Should have done it last night but I had to take a break and make something. Using the last paper model I still have, and some small figures to copy, I have sculpted a small female torso and legs in Premo Sculpey and got it baked. It's at Kathy's now with what supplies I didn't box up and store already, and that's where I hope to progress on it. I have some wire for fingers, hope it's not too flimsy and that I have a wirecutter in my toolbox. It's the best attempt I've made so far. Have so many choices if it gets that far - what if anything to clothe her in, what hair, face, expression, attitude, colors to paint (that last will wait 'til NY as I gave away all my primer). Pumps or boots? See, I have to learn musculature first. If that doesn't look so hot then I'll definitely hide my lack of skill under clothing. I want to learn to sculpt feet, but the figures I'm using for reference have high heels and it's easiest to copy that shape until I get the hang of this. Simple wire frame wrapped in tissue hardened with Mod Podge, small so it doesn't need bulking up. I could have just flat-out used Milliput. I really want to do figural work, always have. I believe Jesseca can help me with the practical side which has always escaped me. The talent I have (not to brag), it's the materials and processes I never learned. Never could find a class. Oh - hell, already packed the camera-to-computer cable. Damn. Got pics I can't load. Wonder how much one costs?
My last few days here haven't even happened yet and they're already full. : / Scott should get a video of me at the airport leaving Portland. He wants to get one of me leaving this house, and that's the one that I don't wanna do. Way more painful.
I wonder if Dana has done more artwork. I hope so.
...^...^...^...^...^...^...^...^...^...^...^...^...^...^...^...^...
Friday, February 16, 2018
Make a Move
Tuesday February 13th
Two weeks left. Have another small batch ready to move to Lore's or Kris'. A few of my boxes are packed but still open as I use things in them. Down to my 'last-minute-box' and clothes. Trying to coordinate help getting some stuff to my other sister's place where my two-week hiatus will be. Everyone's got small cars and are busy, and I've got three larger pieces to move - plus me. I need my niece Kat's help more than she can be here for, as she is in the middle of moving as well. Lore has her own obstacles. I have to hope I can get Scott to give me a few afternoons as he gets off work. We're heading out tomorrow, anyway, to see if a few shops will have any interest in some of my stuff. I could use the money.
BTW, if you, reader, have not seen Three Billboards I highly recommend it. It's sharp wit and keenly felt humanity leaven a dark observance of anger. Movie's got a humanist streak a mile wide.
Dreamt this morning that while I was fighting to breach the wall between Dana and me, one of her exes made a move and she chose him instead.
* ^ * ^ * ^ * ^ * ^ * ^ * ^ * ^ * ^ *
Jesus. The latest mass shooting, the high school in Florida. I don't have the words. 18th mass shooting this year? : ( Seeing those students in shock and grief is heartbreaking.
* ^ * ^ * ^ * ^ * ^ * ^ * ^ * ^ * ^ *
Saw the footage of the United fight where the engine fell apart midflight. I'll be on a United. At least it won't be over the ocean.
* ^ * ^ * ^ * ^ * ^ * ^ * ^ * ^ * ^ *
Oh - I'm being stupid about the masonite. It's too cold in here for the enamel paints to cure, so I can't start the painting I want now anyway. Still working to finish the small biker skull for John and I practically have to bake it in the oven with each coat of paint on the helmet. And I would rather not take the paints to Kathy's, so that's that: wait for NY before 'Mina'. That will prevent me rushing the thing, so I guess that's good. I can sketch out what I want, do the prep work, play with the flow.
Last night I dreamt - and it was just a dream, no question - that I was preparing to send a package to Dana. Next to the shipping address I drew a triangle and then wondered why that was what I drew...inside it I began to draw a simple image of her but as I went along it was neither as simple nor as small as I'd intended. I think the triangle was a suggestion that I was either casting a spell or warding one off by doing her portrait.
With Lore coming over Sunday, I'll try to use her phone again to get online unless I get to the library sooner. Need to see if Kris left a message through FB, haven't heard from him in a week and I've around a week and a half left. If I'm there long enough I want to see if I find a pose for 'Mina' I like and the right clothes even if I don't follow anything too distinctly.
* ^ * ^ * ^ * ^ * ^ * ^ * ^ * ^ * ^ *
"It's a mental health issue, not a gun issue." These are NOT mutually exclusive. Hello?? Wake the fuck up. It is NOT a slippery fucking slope. You're not going to lose the right to own guns. There IS such a thing as reasonable gun restrictions, and yes they WILL hinder these tragedies even if they won't stop all of them. Mental health issues are only part of the problem. You don't solve it by relying on only part of the solution. Do something. You're not a dog, stop letting the NRA be your Pavlov.
* ^ * ^ * ^ * ^ * ^ * ^ * ^ * ^ * ^ *
Friday, Feb. 16th.
Something I saw last night, something from half a century ago I think (I can't remember what program it was) had someone opining that the media should make a conscious effort to report the heroes and the comforters, the people who bring help. There's too much focus on the negative, he thought. The world needs to be given hope, he argued. The reason I think this was an older program was because I thought that I always hear the same thing today, have heard it all my life. Thing is, I don't think the media needs to make an effort at this because it's already there if you open your eyes to it. I've been seeing it for years, and telling people to look for it every time there's a catastrophe or an atrocity or act of inhumanity, every time you see the worst in humanity you also see humanity respond with its best - open arms, open hearts, comforting, rescuing, standing or marching defiant against allowing fellow human beings to be abandoned or abused. It's no different anywhere in he world. The response is not an equal one, either, empathy and love overwhelm the cause of loss or offense. The news media cover it as a matter of course without having to manufacture it, and its there beneath whatever spin the more political of them try to give it. It's simply there. It's our nature. You saw it in Florida among the community, the kids, the parents and teachers...battered as their hearts were, they didn't curl up individually closed off but reached out to and for each other. You saw it in every golden flame of their vigil. That is who we are.
Sunday, February 11, 2018
(oof)
February 7th, took some time to watch the next Dracula film I hadn't reviewed yet. I had watched it back around the time I fell away from doing movie reviews, and I had an angle then that's harder to perceive now as the impression was stronger when it was fresh. Too bad I hadn't written it up at the time. 1968, British TV adaptation featuring Denholm Elliott. Pretty decent, too, in spite of its limitations it was quite daring. Brazen, you could say.
Reviews take a while to compose. How long has it been? I'd like to do one or two, and maybe another Kolchak. Will if I have time. Still no screencap capacity but I have snapped a few shots from the TV screen, which will be overly contrasty and lose some detail. (edit: this method sucks. Will have to find a better way. I've done the next Hammer film too, now, written the review but need better shots.)
I will definitely hold off on 'Mina and the Moon'. Once I get to New York I'll get the largest masonite board that will fit Jesseca's car and get some materials. Maybe enamel, as I like what I was doing there, maybe acrylic instead, but definitely crayons to use under the paint. I can almost see the image, and some of the clothing. Casual, warm, long sleeves, maybe a dress and boots (as I recall from scanning her FB page). I have a horde of enamels and acrylics many of which are still good, but it's too much to pack them. I'll just have to build up a reserve from scratch again...expensive, but there it is. I won't be painting the character Mina, just borrowing the name.
I don't have to lose my paints until the last minute, and I wonder if I can manage a portrait in the days I have left here. Time is an obstacle. I would like to do something colorful, otherwise I might as well just do a drawing - and I've got one that needs the attention already. Three, really, that I want to finish and spray with fixative before they ship.
Dreams have all been...eh. Few that are terrible, but none that have held the slightest pleasure or happiness. I had one in which I was talking to mom. I suddenly realized with tremendous joy and relief, mom is still alive after all! And then I woke up. Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck. Really could use a good dream. Something with some human warmth would be welcome, some tenderness. A moment of love.
Haven't heard from Jesseca in too long, I hope she's okay.
Have to see how much money I can afford to spend. Need more packing tape and I really want to hit Five Guys, but then they have those in New York. Foodcarts, OTOH...I had noodles with chicken, onions, peppers, carrots, and broccoli in Thai peanut sauce, and it's a local vendor at Cartlandia, a 20 minute nwalk from here and cost less than I'd spend at 5 Guys. And there's Rimsky Korsakoffee house, still need to go there. Did DeNicola's with Scott. I found a great place for used DVDs, wish I'd known about it sooner! I'd have loved a shopping spree there, they'd have some harder-to-find itles to fill out some of my collections.
Ugh. Valentine's Day is in a week. Excuse my mixing the holidays, but Bah! Humbug!
Damn. Watching the news of the snowstorm in New York. Really wanna hear from Jesseca. It's been too long.
*********
I had a dream wherein I was watching a movie with really juvenile humor, just lowest-common denominator bathroom humor and maybe some racist jokes. Someone thought the jokes were mine. Hafta admit I'm not good at telling jokes, and I'm not big on that type either. So, ummm, I'll fess up to the worst joke that's all mine: What would you call a Pharaoh passing gas? A toot uncommon.
Kill me now. It's okay.
When I post this, I will also post my new movie review at Sinister Simian.
*********
Reviews take a while to compose. How long has it been? I'd like to do one or two, and maybe another Kolchak. Will if I have time. Still no screencap capacity but I have snapped a few shots from the TV screen, which will be overly contrasty and lose some detail. (edit: this method sucks. Will have to find a better way. I've done the next Hammer film too, now, written the review but need better shots.)
I will definitely hold off on 'Mina and the Moon'. Once I get to New York I'll get the largest masonite board that will fit Jesseca's car and get some materials. Maybe enamel, as I like what I was doing there, maybe acrylic instead, but definitely crayons to use under the paint. I can almost see the image, and some of the clothing. Casual, warm, long sleeves, maybe a dress and boots (as I recall from scanning her FB page). I have a horde of enamels and acrylics many of which are still good, but it's too much to pack them. I'll just have to build up a reserve from scratch again...expensive, but there it is. I won't be painting the character Mina, just borrowing the name.
I don't have to lose my paints until the last minute, and I wonder if I can manage a portrait in the days I have left here. Time is an obstacle. I would like to do something colorful, otherwise I might as well just do a drawing - and I've got one that needs the attention already. Three, really, that I want to finish and spray with fixative before they ship.
Dreams have all been...eh. Few that are terrible, but none that have held the slightest pleasure or happiness. I had one in which I was talking to mom. I suddenly realized with tremendous joy and relief, mom is still alive after all! And then I woke up. Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck. Really could use a good dream. Something with some human warmth would be welcome, some tenderness. A moment of love.
Haven't heard from Jesseca in too long, I hope she's okay.
Have to see how much money I can afford to spend. Need more packing tape and I really want to hit Five Guys, but then they have those in New York. Foodcarts, OTOH...I had noodles with chicken, onions, peppers, carrots, and broccoli in Thai peanut sauce, and it's a local vendor at Cartlandia, a 20 minute nwalk from here and cost less than I'd spend at 5 Guys. And there's Rimsky Korsakoffee house, still need to go there. Did DeNicola's with Scott. I found a great place for used DVDs, wish I'd known about it sooner! I'd have loved a shopping spree there, they'd have some harder-to-find itles to fill out some of my collections.
Ugh. Valentine's Day is in a week. Excuse my mixing the holidays, but Bah! Humbug!
Damn. Watching the news of the snowstorm in New York. Really wanna hear from Jesseca. It's been too long.
*********
I had a dream wherein I was watching a movie with really juvenile humor, just lowest-common denominator bathroom humor and maybe some racist jokes. Someone thought the jokes were mine. Hafta admit I'm not good at telling jokes, and I'm not big on that type either. So, ummm, I'll fess up to the worst joke that's all mine: What would you call a Pharaoh passing gas? A toot uncommon.
Kill me now. It's okay.
When I post this, I will also post my new movie review at Sinister Simian.
*********
Sunday, February 4, 2018
Three Weeks
I will be forced to leave this house in about three weeks. Something outside the usual is bothering me.
Karla is in no hurry to take mom's urn to the cemetery, so she has it on a shelf next to a hummingbird feeder. She says the number of birds coming to it has increased. Also, her cat leaps up and sits next to it and watches the birds.
On my first night in mom's room (I moved into it so that what was my room can be repainted) I sat in mom's chair. It's a little uncomfortable at the small of the back. Mom always had a cushion she used there. I didn't have it, and really felt its absence. At the end of the evening I plopped some clothes on the chair, turned off the TV, and went to bed. The next day I discovered that mom's cushion was precisely placed where it ought to be. That's a neat trick if I did it to myself via the pile of clothes I casually plunked down.
After the second night in mom's room I got up to set the locks on the front door so anyone who showed up could get in (undoing the deadbolt and screen door). I found the chain had been drawn across. I have been out of the habit of using that chain for several years now.
Am I gaslighting myself?
Jesseca and I share a lot of vids about the (so-called) supernatural. Given the lore on ghosts, I hate the idea of mom being here and tied to the house. Owning this house was her proudest achievement. If she's here then I dare not let myself think I'm going to be leaving her alone in it. Maybe she's not tied to it, and maybe I'm subconsciously playing tricks on myself. Maybe she's watching birds.
(sudden mental image of a bird sitting on a perch and someone in gym clothes anxiously waiting beneath to catch it: birdspotting)
This is the third morning. No new odd occurrences noticed.
*********
January 30th, nearly 11 PM. Watching a movie about authors and wondering how much of Dana I have invented. If I was so far from the mark she could and should have said so. If not then I am the only one who really knows her, the only one who loves her complete for everything she is.
If I were a writer of fiction the Dana I imagine is someone I would invent.
*********
February 2nd, 1 AM.
Will you marry me, Dana?
I've been wanting to ask you that for 34 years.
Dana, promise me that you will sort out the problem, find your cure, whatever it is that keeps you from talking to me, and then write to me. You promise me that. Anything less is beneath you. I deserve that promise. Step up, Cooper. I'm not giving up on you, don't you fucking give up either. You're not the horrible person you want so desperately to think you are. You're nowhere close to it.
I'm still trying to work that painting in my head. It needs flow and movement. I was thinking forward stride, maybe reaching a hand out but that's not what's missing...the elements need interaction, it's too static and there's a space that is left dead. I was thinking a little while ago that I've never seen you dance and I very much want to. How do you look when you dance? Mind, I never would have gone dancing with you anyway, I have no rhythm...but it's something I wish you'd let me share.
*********
I've spent almost fifty years in this house, I should have been allowed to spend my last few weeks in it in peace. That's not happening. Dammit, I still have a major drawing I need to finish, these people have to let me work on it.
*********
I may never be able to look at Dana's FB page. It's like...I should be able to be happy knowing she's doing well, but I already know she will be. She's a survivor. It hurts to see her happy and know I'm not welcome to share in it. I'm not invited to the party. She's happy because I'm not there. I can't look at that, I can't see that smile. It's like being spat on. Of course I know that's not her intention, she deserves to be happy. But that's how it feels from here.
*********
February 4th. Had to have an estate sale Friday and Saturday. Sold a few things but not enough. Suppose we'll have to try it again in a week or two. A couple of my model buildups sold. Trying today to change gears again back from that.
There's a matched pair of portraits I may do someday. Not in the spirit for it now. From a dream, late Nineties or early Oughts. In the dream someone had graffitoed a brick wall with large portraits of Dana and me. Mine had the top of my head removed just above the browline and capped with a brass lid to an incense decanter. The lid was tipped up to reveal the inside of my head: it was filled with brain-sized pupil, iris, and cornea gazing upward out of the skull. Dana's portrait had two sets of eyes, one above the other, as if she were two beings or personalities in one body. What I would like most to do is to obtain two large sheets of plastic and cover them with sculpted bricks (putty or plastic sheet cutouts I would texture) and paint the portraits over those in enamels and/or acrylics. An alternative would be to do the same with paper and heavy cardstock and use crayons. That latter would be easier and cheaper but the effect would be a mimicry of what I want. I've always avoided self-portraits but I like the details of the inner eye and incense lid. Also, that brick wall is tragically apt.
With sheet styrene I keep running into the same problem, warping. The styrene reacts badly to the chemicals in the very glues and putties designed specifically for them. I've done any number of really nice pieces that were useless within three days. My brother John showed me a bottle of what he calls 'sprue glue', a DIY putty made by melting bits of styrene in a bottle of MEK-type liquid glue (methyl ethyl ketone, works by capillary action) . The resulting paste was much more fluid than I expected, I'd heard about this long ago but had imagined it as a sticky mess. He says there's been no warpage, the assumption being that styrene can't react badly to styrene. So now I'd like to try this stuff out. I hope there's a hobby store I can get to in Oswego.
Karla is in no hurry to take mom's urn to the cemetery, so she has it on a shelf next to a hummingbird feeder. She says the number of birds coming to it has increased. Also, her cat leaps up and sits next to it and watches the birds.
On my first night in mom's room (I moved into it so that what was my room can be repainted) I sat in mom's chair. It's a little uncomfortable at the small of the back. Mom always had a cushion she used there. I didn't have it, and really felt its absence. At the end of the evening I plopped some clothes on the chair, turned off the TV, and went to bed. The next day I discovered that mom's cushion was precisely placed where it ought to be. That's a neat trick if I did it to myself via the pile of clothes I casually plunked down.
After the second night in mom's room I got up to set the locks on the front door so anyone who showed up could get in (undoing the deadbolt and screen door). I found the chain had been drawn across. I have been out of the habit of using that chain for several years now.
Am I gaslighting myself?
Jesseca and I share a lot of vids about the (so-called) supernatural. Given the lore on ghosts, I hate the idea of mom being here and tied to the house. Owning this house was her proudest achievement. If she's here then I dare not let myself think I'm going to be leaving her alone in it. Maybe she's not tied to it, and maybe I'm subconsciously playing tricks on myself. Maybe she's watching birds.
(sudden mental image of a bird sitting on a perch and someone in gym clothes anxiously waiting beneath to catch it: birdspotting)
This is the third morning. No new odd occurrences noticed.
*********
January 30th, nearly 11 PM. Watching a movie about authors and wondering how much of Dana I have invented. If I was so far from the mark she could and should have said so. If not then I am the only one who really knows her, the only one who loves her complete for everything she is.
If I were a writer of fiction the Dana I imagine is someone I would invent.
*********
February 2nd, 1 AM.
Will you marry me, Dana?
I've been wanting to ask you that for 34 years.
Dana, promise me that you will sort out the problem, find your cure, whatever it is that keeps you from talking to me, and then write to me. You promise me that. Anything less is beneath you. I deserve that promise. Step up, Cooper. I'm not giving up on you, don't you fucking give up either. You're not the horrible person you want so desperately to think you are. You're nowhere close to it.
I'm still trying to work that painting in my head. It needs flow and movement. I was thinking forward stride, maybe reaching a hand out but that's not what's missing...the elements need interaction, it's too static and there's a space that is left dead. I was thinking a little while ago that I've never seen you dance and I very much want to. How do you look when you dance? Mind, I never would have gone dancing with you anyway, I have no rhythm...but it's something I wish you'd let me share.
*********
I've spent almost fifty years in this house, I should have been allowed to spend my last few weeks in it in peace. That's not happening. Dammit, I still have a major drawing I need to finish, these people have to let me work on it.
*********
I may never be able to look at Dana's FB page. It's like...I should be able to be happy knowing she's doing well, but I already know she will be. She's a survivor. It hurts to see her happy and know I'm not welcome to share in it. I'm not invited to the party. She's happy because I'm not there. I can't look at that, I can't see that smile. It's like being spat on. Of course I know that's not her intention, she deserves to be happy. But that's how it feels from here.
*********
February 4th. Had to have an estate sale Friday and Saturday. Sold a few things but not enough. Suppose we'll have to try it again in a week or two. A couple of my model buildups sold. Trying today to change gears again back from that.
There's a matched pair of portraits I may do someday. Not in the spirit for it now. From a dream, late Nineties or early Oughts. In the dream someone had graffitoed a brick wall with large portraits of Dana and me. Mine had the top of my head removed just above the browline and capped with a brass lid to an incense decanter. The lid was tipped up to reveal the inside of my head: it was filled with brain-sized pupil, iris, and cornea gazing upward out of the skull. Dana's portrait had two sets of eyes, one above the other, as if she were two beings or personalities in one body. What I would like most to do is to obtain two large sheets of plastic and cover them with sculpted bricks (putty or plastic sheet cutouts I would texture) and paint the portraits over those in enamels and/or acrylics. An alternative would be to do the same with paper and heavy cardstock and use crayons. That latter would be easier and cheaper but the effect would be a mimicry of what I want. I've always avoided self-portraits but I like the details of the inner eye and incense lid. Also, that brick wall is tragically apt.
With sheet styrene I keep running into the same problem, warping. The styrene reacts badly to the chemicals in the very glues and putties designed specifically for them. I've done any number of really nice pieces that were useless within three days. My brother John showed me a bottle of what he calls 'sprue glue', a DIY putty made by melting bits of styrene in a bottle of MEK-type liquid glue (methyl ethyl ketone, works by capillary action) . The resulting paste was much more fluid than I expected, I'd heard about this long ago but had imagined it as a sticky mess. He says there's been no warpage, the assumption being that styrene can't react badly to styrene. So now I'd like to try this stuff out. I hope there's a hobby store I can get to in Oswego.
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