Spot on with that, mt. It must come with the territory. For some anyway. Brautigan was the one what pissed me off the most when he chose that exit. I have this fantasy where I arrive at his cabin a moment before he pulls that trigger. I grab the gun out of his hand & jam it barrel first up his bunghole & pull the trigger 'til the gun is empty. Then I drag the body outside turn the head so I can piss in his left ear just to let him know how I feel 'bout the whole thing in case he missed the point & leave the results for the coyotes & crows to find. It's a satisfying little scenario that I've indulged in from time to time. Having said that I still hold a critical mass of affection for the day this same man opened my imagination so wide I've never been able to close it down since with the image of dead seagulls dragging their driftwood artillery from horizon to horizon & the "tribunal distance standing like a drowned train just beyond a pile of Eskimo skeletons"
I mean there ain't no coming back from such things. I thank the bastard for that.
I am thankful Miro went out as a man. If he had wimped out like Richard I would have left all creative pursuits behind forever.
Mile Marker Zion
Moderator: the mingo
After reading Brautigan I could never completely appreciate any other novels and have pretty much lost interest in the genre for more years than I care to remember. I still have my collection of R.B.'s books and threaten myself to reread them but time has not been favorable for the endeavor... yet. I know damn good and well how much I'd enjoy rereading many of those books. Someday, someday...
And Miro? Damn, mingo... we seem to have similar interests. I've admired Miro for many years and absolutely trip on his work. Kandinsky trips me out also, and add to that Kandinsky's works came out long, long ago... 1910 or so is when he became so abstract... the Father of Modern Art. I'm sure Miro was moved by him .
It's apparent now where your inspiration for your digital art comes from. Impressive, el mingo, indeed.
And Miro? Damn, mingo... we seem to have similar interests. I've admired Miro for many years and absolutely trip on his work. Kandinsky trips me out also, and add to that Kandinsky's works came out long, long ago... 1910 or so is when he became so abstract... the Father of Modern Art. I'm sure Miro was moved by him .
It's apparent now where your inspiration for your digital art comes from. Impressive, el mingo, indeed.
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Allow not destiny to intrude upon Now
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Allow not destiny to intrude upon Now
I have already noted mt, that mingo reminds me of Miro. 
As for Brautigan...he pisses me off too. How dare he? Someone that had such a funny outlook but a such depressing end. Just didn't seem right.
(His description of a "mutt puddle" is one I use often to describe my pack when they are all piled together.)
I don't have as violent an end imagined as you mingo but I would like to kick him in the balls for blowing his head off. Him and Gonzo both. Idiots and cowards for such an ending. But maybe it was brave? I don't know...only they know why and they didn't talk to me first before they decided to end it the way they did. Not very nice for their families either. I would have hated to clean up the mess they left.
As for Brautigan...he pisses me off too. How dare he? Someone that had such a funny outlook but a such depressing end. Just didn't seem right.
(His description of a "mutt puddle" is one I use often to describe my pack when they are all piled together.)
I don't have as violent an end imagined as you mingo but I would like to kick him in the balls for blowing his head off. Him and Gonzo both. Idiots and cowards for such an ending. But maybe it was brave? I don't know...only they know why and they didn't talk to me first before they decided to end it the way they did. Not very nice for their families either. I would have hated to clean up the mess they left.
Freedom's just another word...
http://soozen.livejournal.com/
http://soozen.livejournal.com/
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SadLuckDame
- Posts: 4216
- Joined: September 17th, 2009, 8:25 pm
I'll drink to him. We all go out somehow, it's sad he had. I'm glad he was here though and decided to leave himself a mark we can all like.
`Do you know, I was so angry, Kitty,' Alice went on...`when I saw all the mischief you had been doing, I was very nearly opening the window, and putting you out into the snow! And you'd have deserved it, you
little mischievous darling!
~Lewis Carroll
little mischievous darling!
~Lewis Carroll
Whew! Whew! Wheweeeeee! I don't know where to start. I guess you first Cec...I'm with you on your notion of "never completely appreciate any other novels" after reading Brautigan. Same here. After reading him I wanted to change every book into a "Brautigan".
It was those God blessed wildly expressive images he'd come up with. And the sense of childlike humor laced through it all. He blew me away every time I turned around. He showed me a new world & how not to be afraid or ashamed to be myself in it. Halfway through my first exposure to his work I was already feverishly gathering my own driftwood artillery & grabbing a seat next to the General hot to roar off into the howling sand. A guy I knew in the service was a fan too & we made a game out of having freeform conversations constructed solely from lines of Richard's poetry or lines from his novels. That got to be intense with us riffing back & forth.
Miro. Once I began painting I also acquainted myself with art history or painting history I should say. With the men & women who had been there and done. I was attracted to Miro's shit above & beyond from the beginning but I didn't know why. The work of his that really, how to say ?...really drove me up a wall was his "Face of a Catalan Peasant". One day in a woman's apartment in San Francisco she had a print of this painting on her wall in her living room. She was at work & I had the place to myself. I fixed myself coffee & English muffins. Then took them into the living room & sat down. I was directly in front of the print. I had a mouthful of melted butter & peanut butter & warm bread mixing it up on my tongue and I was looking at the print. From one moment to the next I stopped chewing. Everything stopped. The traffic in the street - I didn't hear it. The sun in the blue sky - I didn't see it. The breath in my lungs - I couldn't feel it. For the very first time I "saw" what he had done. "Saw" what he was up to & it stopped me dead in my tracks. I got dizzy because I had forgotten to breathe. My brain was screaming at me "Breathe you idiot!" What I saw was that the dapper little Spanish sumbitch was playing directly with imagination! Then with balls as big as dinner plates and made of solid brass he was expressing that play with paint! I stood up so quickly I spilled my coffee & upended my plate with the half muffin still on it which, of course, landed topside down on the carpet. Don't need to say I caught hell when she got home but I couldn't help it. I ran out the door & straight down to the 'Frisco Museum of to see some of his later works that they had goin' on. They had to kick me out when they closed. Kandinsky got to me too when I saw it in him. Surprising in his case cuz he worked with what I call "geometrics", the hard clean line. All those edges yet the same thing goin on with him as with Miro. These folks, men & women, opened up new territory for me. More than that they gave me hope. They gave me play. God bless 'em all.
It was those God blessed wildly expressive images he'd come up with. And the sense of childlike humor laced through it all. He blew me away every time I turned around. He showed me a new world & how not to be afraid or ashamed to be myself in it. Halfway through my first exposure to his work I was already feverishly gathering my own driftwood artillery & grabbing a seat next to the General hot to roar off into the howling sand. A guy I knew in the service was a fan too & we made a game out of having freeform conversations constructed solely from lines of Richard's poetry or lines from his novels. That got to be intense with us riffing back & forth.
Miro. Once I began painting I also acquainted myself with art history or painting history I should say. With the men & women who had been there and done. I was attracted to Miro's shit above & beyond from the beginning but I didn't know why. The work of his that really, how to say ?...really drove me up a wall was his "Face of a Catalan Peasant". One day in a woman's apartment in San Francisco she had a print of this painting on her wall in her living room. She was at work & I had the place to myself. I fixed myself coffee & English muffins. Then took them into the living room & sat down. I was directly in front of the print. I had a mouthful of melted butter & peanut butter & warm bread mixing it up on my tongue and I was looking at the print. From one moment to the next I stopped chewing. Everything stopped. The traffic in the street - I didn't hear it. The sun in the blue sky - I didn't see it. The breath in my lungs - I couldn't feel it. For the very first time I "saw" what he had done. "Saw" what he was up to & it stopped me dead in my tracks. I got dizzy because I had forgotten to breathe. My brain was screaming at me "Breathe you idiot!" What I saw was that the dapper little Spanish sumbitch was playing directly with imagination! Then with balls as big as dinner plates and made of solid brass he was expressing that play with paint! I stood up so quickly I spilled my coffee & upended my plate with the half muffin still on it which, of course, landed topside down on the carpet. Don't need to say I caught hell when she got home but I couldn't help it. I ran out the door & straight down to the 'Frisco Museum of to see some of his later works that they had goin' on. They had to kick me out when they closed. Kandinsky got to me too when I saw it in him. Surprising in his case cuz he worked with what I call "geometrics", the hard clean line. All those edges yet the same thing goin on with him as with Miro. These folks, men & women, opened up new territory for me. More than that they gave me hope. They gave me play. God bless 'em all.
Doll, you may have found a place of rest but I'm still on the trail.
sooZen, judih, Dame - Heartfelt thx to you all for joining in on this moment. Lord, I jus' love friends! judih you're right, no one can say for another. Didn't mean for my post to come off sounding like that. It was more my own sense of sadness & hurt & deprivation that his final act caused in me that pissed me off. Like sooZ says "How dare he?" Yeah, like that. Dame, you're right too. I am glad he was here. I'll take a bourbon neat.
Doll, you may have found a place of rest but I'm still on the trail.
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SadLuckDame
- Posts: 4216
- Joined: September 17th, 2009, 8:25 pm
I like my inner child and I like yours too, Mingo.
`Do you know, I was so angry, Kitty,' Alice went on...`when I saw all the mischief you had been doing, I was very nearly opening the window, and putting you out into the snow! And you'd have deserved it, you
little mischievous darling!
~Lewis Carroll
little mischievous darling!
~Lewis Carroll
Thx sooZ. I like working with the greys. They are seamless. Blacks & whites appear to float in them. They are evocative. They conjure powerful shadows. There is so much happening & so much you can do when you step up to the greys knock on their door & call them out to play. Heavy-duty mojo. Give me some grey pixels & a cursor & I'm a long gone daddy in the usa. I use it on canvas too.
I think the flickers here are gone. I ain't seen one in awhile. I have seen them here in the winter though. They dig into the trees looking for insects just like the woodpeckers. Are they a kind of woodpecker same family & all that? Up on Tug Hill Plateau there is an old guy who every autumn paints this big stone behind his trailer all white then he covers the white with birdforms of every size and shape painted black. It's really wild looking when he's done.
I asked him years ago why he did it. He said it protects the birds while they are gone & helps them find their way back in the spring. I asked him if it worked. He said when someone makes an image, any image, they are invoking the spirit of that image. He said the birds always come back. I said it might not be the same birds. He smiled & said, "It's always the same birds.
When he could no longer take care of himself he was moved into a "health care facility". He asked me to bring him a stone which I did. He paints it every autumn. Paints it white with small birdforms done in black all over its surface. It sits on his windowsill in his room so the birds can see it.
I think the flickers here are gone. I ain't seen one in awhile. I have seen them here in the winter though. They dig into the trees looking for insects just like the woodpeckers. Are they a kind of woodpecker same family & all that? Up on Tug Hill Plateau there is an old guy who every autumn paints this big stone behind his trailer all white then he covers the white with birdforms of every size and shape painted black. It's really wild looking when he's done.
I asked him years ago why he did it. He said it protects the birds while they are gone & helps them find their way back in the spring. I asked him if it worked. He said when someone makes an image, any image, they are invoking the spirit of that image. He said the birds always come back. I said it might not be the same birds. He smiled & said, "It's always the same birds.
When he could no longer take care of himself he was moved into a "health care facility". He asked me to bring him a stone which I did. He paints it every autumn. Paints it white with small birdforms done in black all over its surface. It sits on his windowsill in his room so the birds can see it.
Doll, you may have found a place of rest but I'm still on the trail.
The floating eye above the pyramid on the back of our dollar bills is just trying to stay above the blood.
But that's just me talkin'.
And it's Friday the 13th. I bought a lottery ticket on my way home. I don't truck with superstition. Life goes on.
But that's just me talkin'.
And it's Friday the 13th. I bought a lottery ticket on my way home. I don't truck with superstition. Life goes on.
Doll, you may have found a place of rest but I'm still on the trail.
If I don't have anything to say I go crazy 'til I can say it.
Dis-covered a couple of weeks ago that my father was engaged at one time to a woman not my mother. He never said anything about it while he was alive. It was like coming upon an old car abandoned in the woods long ago. The car has bullet holes in it and is missing both doors.
The woman he was engaged to had an Italian surname. Lots of Italian surnamed daughters in the schools I went to around here. Their grandfathers & fathers had mostly established grocery stores or restaurants. They had the knack of plopping down on a piece of ground & making a gold mine out of it. I didn't care 'bout their money. I lusted after their daughters a time or two. Beautiful girls they were.
I've got some bullet holes & missing doors of my own.
Then I began to have an affinity for twisted chicks. You know, crop circle girls. The real ravers in the moonlight. Or the wild Catholic girls. Even a preacher's daughter once. A Baptist preacher no less. God planted some powerful seed when he raised up the Baptists. They used to be real balls to the wallers up in & heavy with the Word. They've probably suffered some kind of emasculation by now like the most of the rest of them have. When I want a preacher I want one that's been steeped in the fire of the Word. One that confronts me with it & no place to hide. I don't want seminary product or Christian psychology or any other kind of feminization. And no soft talk either. No milk. I want the meat cuz my sin is ever before me and coddling ain't gonna help. The Word is a double edged sword. Cleave me with it. Cleanse me. Then give me my resurrection. I want it all.
I just put some ice cream in a bowl. I poured Pepsi over it. The ice cream causes the Pepsi to fizz up crazy. I have to be careful when I put it in my mouth cuz my back teeth will cause me to howl if I don't handle the logistics just right.
Dis-covered a couple of weeks ago that my father was engaged at one time to a woman not my mother. He never said anything about it while he was alive. It was like coming upon an old car abandoned in the woods long ago. The car has bullet holes in it and is missing both doors.
The woman he was engaged to had an Italian surname. Lots of Italian surnamed daughters in the schools I went to around here. Their grandfathers & fathers had mostly established grocery stores or restaurants. They had the knack of plopping down on a piece of ground & making a gold mine out of it. I didn't care 'bout their money. I lusted after their daughters a time or two. Beautiful girls they were.
I've got some bullet holes & missing doors of my own.
Then I began to have an affinity for twisted chicks. You know, crop circle girls. The real ravers in the moonlight. Or the wild Catholic girls. Even a preacher's daughter once. A Baptist preacher no less. God planted some powerful seed when he raised up the Baptists. They used to be real balls to the wallers up in & heavy with the Word. They've probably suffered some kind of emasculation by now like the most of the rest of them have. When I want a preacher I want one that's been steeped in the fire of the Word. One that confronts me with it & no place to hide. I don't want seminary product or Christian psychology or any other kind of feminization. And no soft talk either. No milk. I want the meat cuz my sin is ever before me and coddling ain't gonna help. The Word is a double edged sword. Cleave me with it. Cleanse me. Then give me my resurrection. I want it all.
I just put some ice cream in a bowl. I poured Pepsi over it. The ice cream causes the Pepsi to fizz up crazy. I have to be careful when I put it in my mouth cuz my back teeth will cause me to howl if I don't handle the logistics just right.
Doll, you may have found a place of rest but I'm still on the trail.
Speaking of bullet holes the cops at Fort Hood need bigger pistols. A man gets shot four times & is still alive means the gun that shot him is too small. How big was the gun he used to kill 13 people and wound all the others? I bet it wasn't no 9mm.
The military has charged the killer with 13 counts of murder. In the meantime he's in a hospital getting the best medical care at taxpayer expense. Good food at taxpayer expense and under heavy guard 24/7 also at taxpayer expense. His trial will be at taxpayer expense along with any subsequent incarceration and/or execution. Is there anything right with this picture ?
Why does the killer always get the full protection of the law ? If his victims got that kind of protection they'd still be alive.
We desperately need to rethink this kind of thing. Lets do away with the death penalty
altogether. Instead anyone accused of a capital crime would still get a trial, just like we do today as per the Constitution. If the accused is convicted by a jury the bailiff approaches the felon removes the angle restraints & the handcuffs and tells him he is free to go and from this moment on the felon is beyond the protection of the law. Anyone who wants to end his life is free to do so in any way they see fit without breaking any law themselves because the convicted is beyond the protection of the law. He is no one. His life or his death is no longer a matter for the law.
At least Oswald had his Ruby. Which begs the question.
Is there a Ruby in the house?
The military has charged the killer with 13 counts of murder. In the meantime he's in a hospital getting the best medical care at taxpayer expense. Good food at taxpayer expense and under heavy guard 24/7 also at taxpayer expense. His trial will be at taxpayer expense along with any subsequent incarceration and/or execution. Is there anything right with this picture ?
Why does the killer always get the full protection of the law ? If his victims got that kind of protection they'd still be alive.
We desperately need to rethink this kind of thing. Lets do away with the death penalty
altogether. Instead anyone accused of a capital crime would still get a trial, just like we do today as per the Constitution. If the accused is convicted by a jury the bailiff approaches the felon removes the angle restraints & the handcuffs and tells him he is free to go and from this moment on the felon is beyond the protection of the law. Anyone who wants to end his life is free to do so in any way they see fit without breaking any law themselves because the convicted is beyond the protection of the law. He is no one. His life or his death is no longer a matter for the law.
At least Oswald had his Ruby. Which begs the question.
Is there a Ruby in the house?
Doll, you may have found a place of rest but I'm still on the trail.
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