I am about to move.…

There remain things to do, in preparation. My laundry rests in this list.

It might even take the top spot.

I will need to find work, a wage to support my absurd habits, such as eating and drinking. No human since long ago ever ate without some kind of labor beforehand.

That sounds like a viable candidate for where we got the concept of value. I am getting ahead of myself.

I am about to move. This has to take some thought.

The list:

1 – do laundry
2 – find a job
3 – do pushups
4 – toast a bagel
5 – spread cream cheese on the bagel
6 – eat it
7 – do more pushups/drink a Vitamin Water
8 – collect my paycheck, one of the last
9 – put on fresh, clean and softly warm clothing

I don’t want a tenth item. Lists these days rarely seem to be content with a length of nine. I won’t c


When a room is silent, its A/C always seems too cold.…

When I make the sandwich myself, it never tastes that great.

When I zip my fly, I always wonder why I didn’t button up first.

When I button up first, I always forget to zip my fly.

When I repeat myself, I forget what I was saying.

When I listen to music, I like to close my eyes and see it write itself out on staves.

When I watch movies, I like to close my eyes and visualize the scenes myself.

When I read books, I don’t like to close my eyes.

When I close my eyes, I wonder whether I’ll ever remember right when I fell asleep.

When I fall asleep, I dream about things I never remember.

When I forget where my car keys are, I snap my fingers and say, “ahh…”

When I snap my fingers, people freak out because I use my thumb and ring finger.


Cyclorama, back-lit

I have been, for as long as I care to remember, a great lover of delays.…

When I got my order at a restaurant, I would sit and wait for a bit, relishing the here-then-gone murmur of an empty stomach. When taking change from a transaction, I might slowly raise my hand to take the feathery bills – bills in one hand, coins in the other; this would irritate whoever was at the cashier, but I did it anyway – rather than rush and grab. When needing to make a crucial decision, I might hem and haw for days, until the opportunity to decide had passed altogether. I do not doubt my life would look much different without this particular delay.

But I saw these moments as something akin to exercise. These were not fragments to hustle through, aiming for the great years ahead which would see my repose

Carbon, Gravity, Apologies

In the last 24 hours, I have heard from several people who, up to the moment of their comments or favoritings or watchlist adds, I had had no idea even existed. Forgive me for this oversight.…

I should have known you were there. There’s a condition we have, some worse than others, which refuses to acknowledge the great breadth of the planet – geography aside, how much greater width and depth display themselves through human contact!

Cyberspace isn’t that bad, after all. Thank you to those of you who have allowed me to join you in your art, which is that of observation and realization. You have instilled a newfound faith in me for even this less-than-immediate correspondence.

I haven’t the money for airfare, or I would try to visit those of you who cared to be visited.

Sometimes the be


I’ve had a profound realization recently. At least, for me.…

That is, that I have not had a single profound thing to say in all the art I’ve made – I don’t know that I can condense any of it to something immediate, or cohesive.

There have been moments, or sayings, or phrases that may have presented some cleverness. But I don’t know whom I’ve moved to tears, or if that’s even the testament to profound thought in the first place.

And in the end, no matter how profound one’s thought, if the issue of the thought doesn’t clarify it by expression, then it’s useless.

For instance, “the lizard who stays in the shade will never know the pleasing sun to warm his blood,” or something like that, does nothing for me if it doesn’t somehow mean something other than just what it says.

How do we apply th

What Had Been Barren


These build plays, contain waxy crayon, organize the captured image. These set apart the open from the shut.

Ah, Lines! busy or not, their office remains the same. They themselves might be stuck – their dimensions decided by something with volume – but they still, still and stretched, mark the three-dimensional world and ascribe meaning to what had been barren.

A friend of mine recently was told his art was “insubstantial”. I haven’t a clue as to what provides substance to art…but I could not help balking at whoever-it-was’s presumption. Who can criticize? What is it that, notwithstanding that it does exist, makes good art? Something certainly does give art merit.

I recognize the Line as this benefactor to art, in a way; the Line that gives shape to melody, that defines the

Black Polo - RVPAA

Some people change their clothes and their moods simultaneously. There must be something cathartic to donning unwrinkled cotton.

Maybe the reason I rarely change moods is because I don’t do my laundry as often as I should.

Maybe if I did my laundry every weekend, I would be able to experience the world on a more personally and emotionally dynamic level during the week.

And maybe none of that has anything to do with it.

Having a work shirt for six days out of the week…structures everything more than I would have anticipated.


Cyberspace, what’s happening?

Good to see you alive and well. It’s been awhile. How are the kids,





I’m sure they’re still playing their games, aren’t they? Well, so am I.

This isn’t one of them – not if I’m honest with you. You don’t have ears or eyes in the first place, so I don’t know why I even bother.

Don’t get offended! Please, what more could you want from me than what you’ve all ready got? My time, my machines, my energy, my desire and my weighted, weighted boredom…

All of these things are collapsed into bytes, the grand character of my race plotted out and understood within the bounds of electrical signals! How depressing!

So then, I would rather focus on something a little larger than me, or my race. I’m limited, after all.


I have noticed the lethargy that comes over me at home more than once. The last time or two, it has carried with it an acute guilt; I have asked myself quietly – in the quiet night – if this guilt stands to reason. It strikes me that it seems to come along with something external, rather than the flexing of my conscience (I would like to think that I possess one of some strength.).…

It isn’t my heart guilty. At least, not what feels it. It is a guilt that merely follows, a lesser state behind a greater, a confused self seeking shelter in the gelatinous hands of a murky guardian, my indolence, my gluttonies, my tongue and rough hands. But not my heart.

There resides a purity untouched by its sullying and decaying environment. My heart, my heart! you brilliant speckled friend, so surro


Mighty Putty, you teeny god!

Who could have any little need you couldn’t fill?

And so inexpensive, too!

$19.95 plus S&H for not one, but two sets!

Joy seems cheapened, lately. Or is it real joy at all?
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