Take something old and make it look new.
I preface all my decisions, thoughts, conversations, ideas with I am an old woman. My children say, why does it matter and I try to explain, but they never truly understand. It does matter. I am an old woman. My knees creak when I sit. My hands swell when I eat salt. My breath is no longer fresh. I am decomposing and if I am not careful I fall when I walk. I am an old woman and the only thing that’s missing in my life is a fast forward button.
P.S. I love this video.
Monday, June 27, 2011
Day 35
Create instructions that others can use to make something and then have someone try it out.
How To: Recycled Wind Catcher
What you need:
copper wire
old t-shirts, various colors
fishing line
scissors
1. Form the wire into a circle. I made mine about 6 inches in diameter. To make this step easier, find something round to use as a mold to form around, just make sure you can get it off.
2. Cut the t-shirt into equal strips. I start by cutting a section a little less than one inch and then I tear the fabric with my hands. Any length will do, but I think the longer the better.
3. Stretch the newly cut strips by holding one end and running your hand down to the opposite end pulling lightly. This should make the strip almost double in length.
4. To place the strip on the hoop: Fold in half. Feed the two ends through the top part, wrapping around the hoop. Pull tight. You should have a hoop with one strip on it now. Repeat this process until your hoop is full.
5. Tie 4 pieces of fishing line (each about 18 inches long) around hoop, be sure to place them equally around the hoop. This is what will allow it to hang and spin freely. Tie the four pieces together in a simple knot about 6-10 inches from the base of the hoop.
6. Use the excess fishing line to hang in a tree.
7. Watch it spin and enjoy.
Alternatives: needlework hoops work well for this if you don’t want to mess with forming a circle on your own, ribbons for a lighter wind catcher, string
P.S. I love this song Bonnie ‘Price’ Billy The Worlds Greatest. It helps if someone loves you.
How To: Recycled Wind Catcher
What you need:
copper wire
old t-shirts, various colors
fishing line
scissors
1. Form the wire into a circle. I made mine about 6 inches in diameter. To make this step easier, find something round to use as a mold to form around, just make sure you can get it off.
2. Cut the t-shirt into equal strips. I start by cutting a section a little less than one inch and then I tear the fabric with my hands. Any length will do, but I think the longer the better.
3. Stretch the newly cut strips by holding one end and running your hand down to the opposite end pulling lightly. This should make the strip almost double in length.
4. To place the strip on the hoop: Fold in half. Feed the two ends through the top part, wrapping around the hoop. Pull tight. You should have a hoop with one strip on it now. Repeat this process until your hoop is full.
5. Tie 4 pieces of fishing line (each about 18 inches long) around hoop, be sure to place them equally around the hoop. This is what will allow it to hang and spin freely. Tie the four pieces together in a simple knot about 6-10 inches from the base of the hoop.
6. Use the excess fishing line to hang in a tree.
7. Watch it spin and enjoy.
Alternatives: needlework hoops work well for this if you don’t want to mess with forming a circle on your own, ribbons for a lighter wind catcher, string
P.S. I love this song Bonnie ‘Price’ Billy The Worlds Greatest. It helps if someone loves you.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Day 34.
Work with wire. Thin-gauge wire can easily be bent by hand, so no special; tools are required. You don’t even have to buy wire if you have some paper clips handy.
Yesterday, I gashed my leg open on a piece of rebar. A few days ago I sliced my finger chopping vegetables. Two weeks ago I nearly broke my wrist stumbling over a root during a run. A month ago I dug a piece of glass from the heel of my foot. My Mom said to me the other day, “Dana, I think you are accident prone.” You think?
This past weekend, my roommates and I got the brilliant idea to put in a garden. The container garden I had planted in April was doing great, but we wanted more. So on Friday night we said, let’s put in a garden and on Sunday just as my stomach started to rumble for lunch, we had finished. I spent the rest of the afternoon fishing, eating, chilling by a fire, loving on sweet Lola Bear, and making garden art. I created a really beautiful wind catcher out of recycled t’s, copper wire my roommate had brought from work, and fishing line.
Tomorrow’s prompt is to create instructions, so come back tomorrow for a full How To tutorial. See you then . . .
P.S. I love this song.
Yesterday, I gashed my leg open on a piece of rebar. A few days ago I sliced my finger chopping vegetables. Two weeks ago I nearly broke my wrist stumbling over a root during a run. A month ago I dug a piece of glass from the heel of my foot. My Mom said to me the other day, “Dana, I think you are accident prone.” You think?
This past weekend, my roommates and I got the brilliant idea to put in a garden. The container garden I had planted in April was doing great, but we wanted more. So on Friday night we said, let’s put in a garden and on Sunday just as my stomach started to rumble for lunch, we had finished. I spent the rest of the afternoon fishing, eating, chilling by a fire, loving on sweet Lola Bear, and making garden art. I created a really beautiful wind catcher out of recycled t’s, copper wire my roommate had brought from work, and fishing line.
Tomorrow’s prompt is to create instructions, so come back tomorrow for a full How To tutorial. See you then . . .
P.S. I love this song.
Day 33
Use pens as your material/inspiration today. Draw with them, use them as construction material or . . .?
A pen. Blue or Black ink. Wet or dry. Push or twist. So many choices for a pen. I picked up the one next to me and placed it behind my ear.
“Excuse me, I think that’s my pen,” said a soft voice behind me.
When I turned around she was stunning, I quickly tried to think of a way to prolong this conversation. I thought of nothing, instead pulled the pen from my ear and glanced at it. “I don’t think so,” I said.
“No it is you see, it says Greenville, NC. That’s where I’m from. R & D recyclers is my dad’s company, and I wouldn’t normally mind, but I have to address some mail and that’s the only pen I have on me at the moment.”
I wasn’t listening to her. Instead I was trying to figure all this out in my head. There was no way that she was actually there, standing in front of me, beautiful as the day I left. Her standing in cut off jean shorts. Her blond hair hung down to her waist. Her breasts like mosquito bumps, undeveloped . She was thirteen.
I was sixteen and left her smoking a cigarette from her dad’s pack as I drove away on my motorcycle. I was so tired of that hell hole. The only thing that had been keeping me there, was her. My best friend. The girl I had grown up with. Now fifteen years later here she was, in the middle of the airport in Madrid, Spain, developed.
“Excuse me, sir, my pen?” She interrupted my thoughts.
“Peggy Sue, Peggy Sue, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty Peggy Sue.” I sang as if I was a child again. She blushed like one.
“Danny?” she whispered.
I gave her a slight nod of recognition and she jumped into my arms. Her mail and the pen that connected us dropping to the floor. She kissed me on the lips and buried her face in my neck. “I thought I’d never see you again,” she whispered, “but I never stopped looking.”
And then I just blurted it out after fifteen years, “ I love you, Peggy Sue.”
P.S. I can’t wait to see them live. KOL, Revelry.
Please note: I have just now realized after re-reading this post what a hopeless romantic sap I am. I’m sure you all are bored with my quest for true love as much as I am. Why couldn’t I have been a sci-fi writer?
A pen. Blue or Black ink. Wet or dry. Push or twist. So many choices for a pen. I picked up the one next to me and placed it behind my ear.
“Excuse me, I think that’s my pen,” said a soft voice behind me.
When I turned around she was stunning, I quickly tried to think of a way to prolong this conversation. I thought of nothing, instead pulled the pen from my ear and glanced at it. “I don’t think so,” I said.
“No it is you see, it says Greenville, NC. That’s where I’m from. R & D recyclers is my dad’s company, and I wouldn’t normally mind, but I have to address some mail and that’s the only pen I have on me at the moment.”
I wasn’t listening to her. Instead I was trying to figure all this out in my head. There was no way that she was actually there, standing in front of me, beautiful as the day I left. Her standing in cut off jean shorts. Her blond hair hung down to her waist. Her breasts like mosquito bumps, undeveloped . She was thirteen.
I was sixteen and left her smoking a cigarette from her dad’s pack as I drove away on my motorcycle. I was so tired of that hell hole. The only thing that had been keeping me there, was her. My best friend. The girl I had grown up with. Now fifteen years later here she was, in the middle of the airport in Madrid, Spain, developed.
“Excuse me, sir, my pen?” She interrupted my thoughts.
“Peggy Sue, Peggy Sue, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty Peggy Sue.” I sang as if I was a child again. She blushed like one.
“Danny?” she whispered.
I gave her a slight nod of recognition and she jumped into my arms. Her mail and the pen that connected us dropping to the floor. She kissed me on the lips and buried her face in my neck. “I thought I’d never see you again,” she whispered, “but I never stopped looking.”
And then I just blurted it out after fifteen years, “ I love you, Peggy Sue.”
P.S. I can’t wait to see them live. KOL, Revelry.
Please note: I have just now realized after re-reading this post what a hopeless romantic sap I am. I’m sure you all are bored with my quest for true love as much as I am. Why couldn’t I have been a sci-fi writer?
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Day 32.
Make something ephemeral. Can you create something using material that will dissipate quickly, like soap bubbles, smoke, butter on a griddle, or cream in coffee?
I woke up this morning groaning. The 6 am alarm had come too early and it was only Tuesday. Could have sworn it felt like a Wednesday or Thursday, but nope. It was Tuesday. Day two of work week 47. Still uncomfortable employment.
I am beginning to think I am someone who will never be happy. Even confronted with a big ole Hawaiian pizza pie, a side of ranch and an ice cold #9, I would still be unhappy and probably find a hair on my slice or a fly in my drink.
I used to have this friend who would tell me elaborate stories about his dreams, only they weren’t dreams, they were nightmares. Last night I dreamt I was dating this friend, only it wasn’t a dream, it was the first nightmare I’ve had in years. And when I woke up groaning about the day of the week I was also awaking from a life where I was with him, sharing his waking dreams everyday and nightmares every night. It left me wanting to see him, talk with him, tell him about my dream. Only I can’t because we aren’t friends anymore. And though my dream was short lived, I can’t get him out of my mind. And now I realize it isn’t the dream that’s the nightmare. It’s the reality in which I react to the dream. It is the waking dream, it is life.
P.S. I love this song.
I woke up this morning groaning. The 6 am alarm had come too early and it was only Tuesday. Could have sworn it felt like a Wednesday or Thursday, but nope. It was Tuesday. Day two of work week 47. Still uncomfortable employment.
I am beginning to think I am someone who will never be happy. Even confronted with a big ole Hawaiian pizza pie, a side of ranch and an ice cold #9, I would still be unhappy and probably find a hair on my slice or a fly in my drink.
I used to have this friend who would tell me elaborate stories about his dreams, only they weren’t dreams, they were nightmares. Last night I dreamt I was dating this friend, only it wasn’t a dream, it was the first nightmare I’ve had in years. And when I woke up groaning about the day of the week I was also awaking from a life where I was with him, sharing his waking dreams everyday and nightmares every night. It left me wanting to see him, talk with him, tell him about my dream. Only I can’t because we aren’t friends anymore. And though my dream was short lived, I can’t get him out of my mind. And now I realize it isn’t the dream that’s the nightmare. It’s the reality in which I react to the dream. It is the waking dream, it is life.
P.S. I love this song.
Day 31
Make a path for people to follow and invite people to try it out.
I do this all the time. I make a path to my heart and then people trample on it.
I’m over making paths. I’ll let people find their own way to trample all over my heart.
P.S. I love this song.
I do this all the time. I make a path to my heart and then people trample on it.
I’m over making paths. I’ll let people find their own way to trample all over my heart.
P.S. I love this song.
Day 30
Play time. Work with toys: If you don’t have any, borrow some form a friend with kids, and maybe even work with the kids!
No writing today. Just this song and my lack of motivation.
No writing today. Just this song and my lack of motivation.
Day 29
Make a disguise for yourself, a friend a pet, or an object. See if you can fool anyone with it.
Each day I wake. I strip bare and stare at myself in the mirror as I brush my hair. I inspect every bit of me to see what has changed overnight. Something has always changed. Today my butt sagged a little more. Yesterday it was my boobs, a little less perky, but today it’s my butt. Flatter, droopier, hairier. And there’s a new mole on my back. Mole #347. A tiny little thing which no doubt will grow to be the same size as the others, maybe even larger.
When I am done brushing my hair and adjusting to my changes, I shower. Most on the time it’s a long drawn out shower where I turn up the heat and sit on the floor and let the water burn my skin and prepare me for today.
After my shower I dress. I have all sorts of costumes: business woman, bohemian, young professional, simple, slack, and then there are also the no clean clothes costumes, for when laundry needs to be done and I have run out of clothes in my closet.
And of course after I have found my personality for the day I put on my face paint. Purple shadow and lines, and stick red lip paint to help me look more or less like a clown, but really to cover up the truth.
Beneath it all I’m still lonely.
P.S. I love this song.
Lonely anywhere.
Each day I wake. I strip bare and stare at myself in the mirror as I brush my hair. I inspect every bit of me to see what has changed overnight. Something has always changed. Today my butt sagged a little more. Yesterday it was my boobs, a little less perky, but today it’s my butt. Flatter, droopier, hairier. And there’s a new mole on my back. Mole #347. A tiny little thing which no doubt will grow to be the same size as the others, maybe even larger.
When I am done brushing my hair and adjusting to my changes, I shower. Most on the time it’s a long drawn out shower where I turn up the heat and sit on the floor and let the water burn my skin and prepare me for today.
After my shower I dress. I have all sorts of costumes: business woman, bohemian, young professional, simple, slack, and then there are also the no clean clothes costumes, for when laundry needs to be done and I have run out of clothes in my closet.
And of course after I have found my personality for the day I put on my face paint. Purple shadow and lines, and stick red lip paint to help me look more or less like a clown, but really to cover up the truth.
Beneath it all I’m still lonely.
P.S. I love this song.
Lonely anywhere.
Day 28
Back to school. Use traditional school materials like number 2 pencils or lined paper notebooks to make something nontraditional.
It all happened because she was making me learn math. The most dreaded, fearful, awful subject ever. I was tired of looking at the fractions and much more tired of the sticky palm she kept placing on my shoulder as her high pitched voice squeaks, “Pay attention, Devon. Do your work.” Then she waddles back to her desk like a buffalo and crams a piece of hard candy into her mouth. What flavor was it this time? Spider legs and nose hairs? This happened three or four times until she isolated me in the back, so I could concentrate, she said. But that only made me want to not do fractions even more. So instead I broke my pencils, which earned me a trip straight to the principal’s office. I wonder if mom would be called. I took the long way to the principal’s office. I took the stairs down and snaked through each level through the 1st graders in their reading groups and the kindergarteners in the play stations down to the first floor. On my way I saw a door I had never seen before. It shined red in the fluorescent light. I twisted the handle to see if it was unlocked. It was. I pushed it open and walked into the darkness, imagining cobwebs and staplers. The door shut behind me and I fumbled around for the light to switch on. A chain dangled in front of me and I pulled it, illuminating the space around me. And this is when I saw the most brilliant magnificent room ever. . .
To be continued.
It all happened because she was making me learn math. The most dreaded, fearful, awful subject ever. I was tired of looking at the fractions and much more tired of the sticky palm she kept placing on my shoulder as her high pitched voice squeaks, “Pay attention, Devon. Do your work.” Then she waddles back to her desk like a buffalo and crams a piece of hard candy into her mouth. What flavor was it this time? Spider legs and nose hairs? This happened three or four times until she isolated me in the back, so I could concentrate, she said. But that only made me want to not do fractions even more. So instead I broke my pencils, which earned me a trip straight to the principal’s office. I wonder if mom would be called. I took the long way to the principal’s office. I took the stairs down and snaked through each level through the 1st graders in their reading groups and the kindergarteners in the play stations down to the first floor. On my way I saw a door I had never seen before. It shined red in the fluorescent light. I twisted the handle to see if it was unlocked. It was. I pushed it open and walked into the darkness, imagining cobwebs and staplers. The door shut behind me and I fumbled around for the light to switch on. A chain dangled in front of me and I pulled it, illuminating the space around me. And this is when I saw the most brilliant magnificent room ever. . .
To be continued.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Day 27
Dreamland. Use a recent dream as inspiration for what you do today.
This is one of my favorite poems, by Bessie Pease Gutman:
Dreamland isn’t far away;
It’s very near your bed
It’s there beneath the pillow
Where your rest your sleepy head.
How curious you must agree,
That dreamlands here each night,
And in the morning when you wake
It vanishes from sight.
Oh, can you think of other lands
That you might recognize,
Ones you can only go to see
When close shut your eyes?
The time had come to snuggle in
and hug your Teddy Bear.
And off you go together now;
Sweet dreams will take you there.
My night time dreams have been negligent. Each night I wish to lose myself in dreamland adventures but find myself lost in the void of what is my mind. My waking dreams are much more vibrant, as I am sure you have seen from my past few postings. I like to explore the world of the unknown, but only in my mind. In reality I have trouble making the jump. In reality I am lost. My entire life, my dream has been to have a dog. I think I will make this dream come true. Maybe then I will feel much more settled and much less uneasy in my life. Step one: dog. Step two: happiness.
This is one of my favorite poems, by Bessie Pease Gutman:
Dreamland isn’t far away;
It’s very near your bed
It’s there beneath the pillow
Where your rest your sleepy head.
How curious you must agree,
That dreamlands here each night,
And in the morning when you wake
It vanishes from sight.
Oh, can you think of other lands
That you might recognize,
Ones you can only go to see
When close shut your eyes?
The time had come to snuggle in
and hug your Teddy Bear.
And off you go together now;
Sweet dreams will take you there.
My night time dreams have been negligent. Each night I wish to lose myself in dreamland adventures but find myself lost in the void of what is my mind. My waking dreams are much more vibrant, as I am sure you have seen from my past few postings. I like to explore the world of the unknown, but only in my mind. In reality I have trouble making the jump. In reality I am lost. My entire life, my dream has been to have a dog. I think I will make this dream come true. Maybe then I will feel much more settled and much less uneasy in my life. Step one: dog. Step two: happiness.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Day 26
Make something portable (or that seems portable) that normally isn’t.
I made this crazy wonderful machine.
It’s a bed frame and mattress but it’s not what it seems.
It spins around in circles and up in the air.
It takes me anywhere I care.
I’ve traveled to the most wonderful marvelous lands,
To mountains and beaches with pink sands,
To jungles with crazy lions and bugs,
and crazy secret animals called Huffulbooglugs.
They joined with the boll weevil
and together in unison we fought against evil.
I almost lost a finger, an arm and a leg
but don’t worry I didn’t even have to leave the bed.
In fact I didn’t even leave the room
and I didn’t even eat special mushrooms.
I simply allowed myself to get lost
in dreams and ideas and imaginative thoughts.
You should try it one day and you will see
Anything is possible as long as you dream.
I made this crazy wonderful machine.
It’s a bed frame and mattress but it’s not what it seems.
It spins around in circles and up in the air.
It takes me anywhere I care.
I’ve traveled to the most wonderful marvelous lands,
To mountains and beaches with pink sands,
To jungles with crazy lions and bugs,
and crazy secret animals called Huffulbooglugs.
They joined with the boll weevil
and together in unison we fought against evil.
I almost lost a finger, an arm and a leg
but don’t worry I didn’t even have to leave the bed.
In fact I didn’t even leave the room
and I didn’t even eat special mushrooms.
I simply allowed myself to get lost
in dreams and ideas and imaginative thoughts.
You should try it one day and you will see
Anything is possible as long as you dream.
Friday, June 10, 2011
Day 25
Work with nature. Go to your yard or nearby park and collect materials to work with.
On my way to work this morning, I admitted out loud that I would gladly go back to high school, endure the endless torture, teasing, and awkward moments all over again, if I could only relive the summer months. The child inside of me is dying for less responsibility. It wants to spend its summers basking in the heat, sweating out the bad things, peeling off layers of skin, forming new ideas and identities. It wants a life of freedom. Is this normal?
Of course I want to go back to this life knowing what I know now, impossible, right?
I feel unsettled. I feel absent. I feel something’s not right. I feel I’m on the wrong path. Will I feel this way forever? Does everyone feel this way? Is there always something that’s just not quite right?
I know what I ultimately want. It is simple. It is plain. I just don’t know how to get it.
I don’t know how I ever majored in Accounting, graduated, survived. Whenever I think about money I get an woozy feeling in my stomach. Bills I feel in my left shoulder where my neck meets my back. Money a pang in the middle of my chest accompanied by shortness of breath. Whenever I think about financial security I feel it in my heart as it shatters my dreams.
I want the simple life. And no, not this:
But this:
I want to spend my days in a garden wearing a sunhat, in the company of sunflowers taller than I am. Skin covered in dirt. And during the winter, I want there to be snow on the ground and smoke rising from my chimney from the wood burning stove, my only source of heat. I want to eat canned veggies from my summer yield. I want to make my own clothes. I want to have a dog at my feet. Is any of this too much to ask?
My one problem, how do I afford this life of simplicity?
I find it frighteningly ironic that you can’t even afford to have nothing in this world. Is this really how we have made it, difficult to live with nothing?
On my way to work this morning, I admitted out loud that I would gladly go back to high school, endure the endless torture, teasing, and awkward moments all over again, if I could only relive the summer months. The child inside of me is dying for less responsibility. It wants to spend its summers basking in the heat, sweating out the bad things, peeling off layers of skin, forming new ideas and identities. It wants a life of freedom. Is this normal?
Of course I want to go back to this life knowing what I know now, impossible, right?
I feel unsettled. I feel absent. I feel something’s not right. I feel I’m on the wrong path. Will I feel this way forever? Does everyone feel this way? Is there always something that’s just not quite right?
I know what I ultimately want. It is simple. It is plain. I just don’t know how to get it.
I don’t know how I ever majored in Accounting, graduated, survived. Whenever I think about money I get an woozy feeling in my stomach. Bills I feel in my left shoulder where my neck meets my back. Money a pang in the middle of my chest accompanied by shortness of breath. Whenever I think about financial security I feel it in my heart as it shatters my dreams.
I want the simple life. And no, not this:
But this:
I want to spend my days in a garden wearing a sunhat, in the company of sunflowers taller than I am. Skin covered in dirt. And during the winter, I want there to be snow on the ground and smoke rising from my chimney from the wood burning stove, my only source of heat. I want to eat canned veggies from my summer yield. I want to make my own clothes. I want to have a dog at my feet. Is any of this too much to ask?
My one problem, how do I afford this life of simplicity?
I find it frighteningly ironic that you can’t even afford to have nothing in this world. Is this really how we have made it, difficult to live with nothing?
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Day 24
It’s not easy being green. Work only with green-colored materials today. Try working on a green surface for a real challenge.
If I was a man who saw in only green,
what would the earth look like to me?
Would it be a colorful jungle-like affair,
with green bombs bursting off in the air?
Sounds like a scary slimy place
with lots of people who will stare at my face.
I hope they don’t torture and make fun of me
because of the difference that my eyes see.
But if they do, it is because I see through green lens
or maybe it’s the drippy green boogers that hang to my chin.
My body is tinted seasickness green,
woozy waves wash over me each time I breath.
My hands all monster-like straight down to the hair
that grows out of each finger and under the nails.
I scratch my face with my file-like nail
And off flakes a few of my green scales.
I breath out of water, so I’m not a fish,
and I guess I am filling my own little niche.
The niche of green monsters, creatures and things
but don’t worry my bark is worse than my sting.
I’m actually a friendly green giant of sorts
And the only thing that oozes are my few little warts.
Trust me when I say I am just like you,
The only thing that’s different is I see in chartreuse.
If I was a man who saw in only green,
what would the earth look like to me?
Would it be a colorful jungle-like affair,
with green bombs bursting off in the air?
Sounds like a scary slimy place
with lots of people who will stare at my face.
I hope they don’t torture and make fun of me
because of the difference that my eyes see.
But if they do, it is because I see through green lens
or maybe it’s the drippy green boogers that hang to my chin.
My body is tinted seasickness green,
woozy waves wash over me each time I breath.
My hands all monster-like straight down to the hair
that grows out of each finger and under the nails.
I scratch my face with my file-like nail
And off flakes a few of my green scales.
I breath out of water, so I’m not a fish,
and I guess I am filling my own little niche.
The niche of green monsters, creatures and things
but don’t worry my bark is worse than my sting.
I’m actually a friendly green giant of sorts
And the only thing that oozes are my few little warts.
Trust me when I say I am just like you,
The only thing that’s different is I see in chartreuse.
Day 23
Waste not. Dig in a recycling bin for all of today’s materials.
The world is my oyster, and the scrap yard my land of fortitude.
Pat Brenner, knew no other life. To him there was no other life to know. He lived, breathed and would die in that scrap yard, full of rusty old cars, abandoned refrigerators, broken machines, and other disregarded junk. It wasn’t worth anything to anyone but him, but that didn’t bother him much. His life had become to him, perfect.
Now Pat wasn’t always a scraper. He had been born in a large city, far away from this country stuff that he was so fully immersed in now. He had a decent job at one point in his twenties, wore a suit, drove a fancy vehicle, took girls out on dates, but that was forty years ago. Pat was changed.
To him that alternative life never existed. Everything about it he had forgotten, except for her, of-course.
There is always a girl, is there not? Most of the time there is always more than one, but not for Pat Brenner. Pat only had one girl, and like I said that was forty years ago. But of-course he couldn’t forget her and her emerald green eyes. He also couldn’t forget how it ended. Night-time, darkness, rain, the blood on her polka dotted dress, death. He had killed her, not purposely mind you, but it was him none-the-less. He had been the one driving.
He had also been the one drinking, and the one to walk away scratch free from the scene. Into the pitch blackness of the night, away from it all, Pat Brenner fled never to return to that city again. He had taken the best thing about that city, and destroyed it. He had come here, to this scrap yard, and created his own life of fortitude, forever repaying his debts, and living with his burdens and recycling his frustration with the world into that land.
The world is my oyster, and the scrap yard my land of fortitude.
Pat Brenner, knew no other life. To him there was no other life to know. He lived, breathed and would die in that scrap yard, full of rusty old cars, abandoned refrigerators, broken machines, and other disregarded junk. It wasn’t worth anything to anyone but him, but that didn’t bother him much. His life had become to him, perfect.
Now Pat wasn’t always a scraper. He had been born in a large city, far away from this country stuff that he was so fully immersed in now. He had a decent job at one point in his twenties, wore a suit, drove a fancy vehicle, took girls out on dates, but that was forty years ago. Pat was changed.
To him that alternative life never existed. Everything about it he had forgotten, except for her, of-course.
There is always a girl, is there not? Most of the time there is always more than one, but not for Pat Brenner. Pat only had one girl, and like I said that was forty years ago. But of-course he couldn’t forget her and her emerald green eyes. He also couldn’t forget how it ended. Night-time, darkness, rain, the blood on her polka dotted dress, death. He had killed her, not purposely mind you, but it was him none-the-less. He had been the one driving.
He had also been the one drinking, and the one to walk away scratch free from the scene. Into the pitch blackness of the night, away from it all, Pat Brenner fled never to return to that city again. He had taken the best thing about that city, and destroyed it. He had come here, to this scrap yard, and created his own life of fortitude, forever repaying his debts, and living with his burdens and recycling his frustration with the world into that land.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Day 22
Create a bridge. Connect two things in a creative way. It could be small enough for an amoeba or big enough for an elephant to cross it.
I have been carrying around an unfinished painting since summer of 2007. I can’t bring myself to paint over it, but I can’t bring myself to finish it either. It is of the most beautiful bridge scene I have ever witnessed, over the Grande River of Seville. It is sunset and there are men fishing for their dinner.
A few weeks ago, I dragged myself to the craft store to purchase some oils with the intention of finishing this painting, but I walked out empty handed. Financial security once again kicked me in the ass and stomped on my dreams of ever finishing this painting. Is this going to be a lifetime struggle? Eat for a day or paint for a day? That is the question. That is the never ending question.
Hopefully one day I will finish this painting, but if I do what will I carry around to remind me of my fragmentary dreams?
I have been carrying around an unfinished painting since summer of 2007. I can’t bring myself to paint over it, but I can’t bring myself to finish it either. It is of the most beautiful bridge scene I have ever witnessed, over the Grande River of Seville. It is sunset and there are men fishing for their dinner.
A few weeks ago, I dragged myself to the craft store to purchase some oils with the intention of finishing this painting, but I walked out empty handed. Financial security once again kicked me in the ass and stomped on my dreams of ever finishing this painting. Is this going to be a lifetime struggle? Eat for a day or paint for a day? That is the question. That is the never ending question.
Hopefully one day I will finish this painting, but if I do what will I carry around to remind me of my fragmentary dreams?
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Day 21
Write a ten-word love story. Bonus: Illustrate it!
Love story number 1: You had me at hello, but we couldn’t endure immaturity.
Love story number 2: Three years. You turned our relationship into a joke. Butchery.
Love story number 3: Sweetest guy I've ever been with, but can it last?
The truth: I wanted to be loved. Turns out, no one has.
Love story number 1: You had me at hello, but we couldn’t endure immaturity.
Love story number 2: Three years. You turned our relationship into a joke. Butchery.
Love story number 3: Sweetest guy I've ever been with, but can it last?
The truth: I wanted to be loved. Turns out, no one has.
Day 20
Buy or make some clay and then use it like you never have before.
How to make homemade clay:
2 cups flour
1 cup salt
1 cup water
1 ½ tablespoons vegetable oil
Mix the salt and flour together in a mixing bowl. Slowly add the H2O and oil. Mix together until smooth.
Place the dough on waxed paper to shape.
Cook the dough on a cookie sheet at 250 degrees for 45 minutes to an hour. Allow to cool before painting.
The Claymaker's Diary
I will never forget the first time I immersed my hands in the cool thickness of that artistic mud. I pulled off a clump of clay and threw it on the wheel. I had no idea what I was doing. I only knew the clay felt smooth in my hand. The wheel purred as I pushed it to life. I wrapped my hands around the small cube and pushed slightly, but it was too hard. The top of the block whirled off splattering clay all over my apron. More clay to dry onto the mud drenched dressing. It was much harder than it seemed. I labored over that wheel for hours, long after the class had finished, the teacher had locked up and left for the day. I sat in almost darkness watching my clay gloved hands shape the mud. My block of clay turned into an oddly shaped bowl. It resembled a piece of Tupperware melted in the microwave, but to me, it was a masterpiece. An Andy Warhol of clay bowls. Today that piece sits gallantly on the desk in my studio. It seems to emanate prestige to all the other pottery, the pottery that I sell for hundred of dollars. I could never sell that lopsided bowl. It's not worth anything, to anyone but me.
How to make homemade clay:
2 cups flour
1 cup salt
1 cup water
1 ½ tablespoons vegetable oil
Mix the salt and flour together in a mixing bowl. Slowly add the H2O and oil. Mix together until smooth.
Place the dough on waxed paper to shape.
Cook the dough on a cookie sheet at 250 degrees for 45 minutes to an hour. Allow to cool before painting.
The Claymaker's Diary
I will never forget the first time I immersed my hands in the cool thickness of that artistic mud. I pulled off a clump of clay and threw it on the wheel. I had no idea what I was doing. I only knew the clay felt smooth in my hand. The wheel purred as I pushed it to life. I wrapped my hands around the small cube and pushed slightly, but it was too hard. The top of the block whirled off splattering clay all over my apron. More clay to dry onto the mud drenched dressing. It was much harder than it seemed. I labored over that wheel for hours, long after the class had finished, the teacher had locked up and left for the day. I sat in almost darkness watching my clay gloved hands shape the mud. My block of clay turned into an oddly shaped bowl. It resembled a piece of Tupperware melted in the microwave, but to me, it was a masterpiece. An Andy Warhol of clay bowls. Today that piece sits gallantly on the desk in my studio. It seems to emanate prestige to all the other pottery, the pottery that I sell for hundred of dollars. I could never sell that lopsided bowl. It's not worth anything, to anyone but me.
Monday, June 6, 2011
Day 19
Create something that floats on water (it doesn’t have to be a boat).
Things that don’t float:
turds
Dead bugs
Sunglasses
Earring backs
A coke, but not a diet coke
Dead bodies
Bricks
Bathing suit bottoms
Things that don’t float:
turds
Dead bugs
Sunglasses
Earring backs
A coke, but not a diet coke
Dead bodies
Bricks
Bathing suit bottoms
Day 18
Work with the things you find in your car (or a friend’s car if you don’t have one).
It was the summer of my dreams, a boy, a dog, a glove box full of cash and drugs, my beat up Volkswagen and the open road. The wind ruffled through my long hair immersing every aspect of my body and soul. I felt exhilarated, free, and care free. As much as I could be with 40 grand of college debt and only as much cash as was stuffed in my glove box behind me.
The boy in my passenger seat winked at me when I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. His emerald eyes like a rare gem emanating desire. Did he really love me?
The dog hung its head out the window. It’s tongue flopped out the side of his mouth and his ears mimicked my hair and flapped in the wind. It must be nice to be a dog.
We were driving west. Road trip. Desire for something new, obscure, different. Part of me knew we would never find it, but we still had to dream. We weren’t too old for that yet. So that summer we let our dreams keep us young.
It was the summer of my dreams, a boy, a dog, a glove box full of cash and drugs, my beat up Volkswagen and the open road. The wind ruffled through my long hair immersing every aspect of my body and soul. I felt exhilarated, free, and care free. As much as I could be with 40 grand of college debt and only as much cash as was stuffed in my glove box behind me.
The boy in my passenger seat winked at me when I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. His emerald eyes like a rare gem emanating desire. Did he really love me?
The dog hung its head out the window. It’s tongue flopped out the side of his mouth and his ears mimicked my hair and flapped in the wind. It must be nice to be a dog.
We were driving west. Road trip. Desire for something new, obscure, different. Part of me knew we would never find it, but we still had to dream. We weren’t too old for that yet. So that summer we let our dreams keep us young.
Friday, June 3, 2011
Day 17
Make something inspired by and/or that goes over an eye (yours or someone else’s)
I often imagine the time when glasses were unavailable. I think about how the older sister from Little House on the Prairie eventually went blind and wonder, did she just need glasses? I imagine myself groping around without corrective lenses, hands always out on front of me reaching for the unseen. I am legally blind without glasses or contacts. I use to walk around my college campus, I’d slip my glasses off my face and tuck them into the neck of my shirt where they’d hang. The faces of passing strangers would sneak up on me like ghosts, their eyes and mouths dark, black. Were they even alive? Are any of us alive? Maybe this is where my theory of the living dead came from. Maybe this is how I figured it out. Maybe this is how I realized. We are all dead. Stuck. Waiting. What’s next?
I do not cover my eyes anymore. I do not need to. I see the truth, and the truth is death.
I often imagine the time when glasses were unavailable. I think about how the older sister from Little House on the Prairie eventually went blind and wonder, did she just need glasses? I imagine myself groping around without corrective lenses, hands always out on front of me reaching for the unseen. I am legally blind without glasses or contacts. I use to walk around my college campus, I’d slip my glasses off my face and tuck them into the neck of my shirt where they’d hang. The faces of passing strangers would sneak up on me like ghosts, their eyes and mouths dark, black. Were they even alive? Are any of us alive? Maybe this is where my theory of the living dead came from. Maybe this is how I figured it out. Maybe this is how I realized. We are all dead. Stuck. Waiting. What’s next?
I do not cover my eyes anymore. I do not need to. I see the truth, and the truth is death.
Day 16 -Part 5
Make a unique print by cutting up a potato or sponge, and use it to stamp on a material of your choice.
After a while of silence Bart and Jamie got up and went into the back alley to smoke a cigarette. Genie and I stayed at the booth, with the pistol, the candle and the pile of maps. I sat in silence with her as she studied each highway, bypass, road, and street.
“They were shooting people over in our neck of the woods.” Bart said out in the alley. “We woke up around 3 to the firing of guns and explosion of bombs. We slipped out of the back door and came immediately here. They had already been here. Trashed the place looking for people.”
Bart was packing back and forth , his hand shaking violently as he dragged his cigarette like he was being timed. Jamie put his hand on Bart’s shoulder to calm him down. Bart stopped pacing and looking dead into Jamie’s eyes. “They killed everyone, those bastards.”
“Who?” Jamie asked. “Who’s killing everyone?” But Jamie already knew the answer to this question. The new military. Jamie rubbed his head in angst. It’s worse than he had thought.
“What are we gonna do?” Bart kept going. “What are we going to - .” He was thinking about his family.
“Look man, we’re gonna be straight. Genie’s gonna be straight, Diego’s gonna be straight, Your gonna be straight. You gotta be strong for those two women in there. We are gonna make a plan, figure out where the fuck to go and get the hell outta this town. But first, you have to be strong. You got it man?”
He shook his head. “Yeah Man. I’m just. . .”
“I know, I’m scared too, but you’re smart we can figure this out. Now, what have you seen? Tell me everything.”
“Not much man, just that. I got the hell outta there. What was it like on your end?”
“Quiet, like everyone was hiding.” The calm before the storm.
“I heard an announcer on the radio say it was as far North as Silvana and he had a cousin down in Sacramento he couldn’t get in touch with. I heard all this right before the airwaves got dispatched. He was telling people it was the rapture. Telling us to pray to our god for forgiveness. How have we not seen it coming? The military’s been swarming all over the place the last few years. Showing up randomly in their uniforms replacing every single street cop. Man you remember when we fucking hated street cops, we’ll there aren’t any more around to hate. Now it’s the fucking military. They’ve swooped in here and turned us into fucking target practice. They’re everywhere too, they were all over NY when I was up there last fall. They are taking us all out. Shit’s collapsed and they are taking us all out and starting over.”
“We don’t know that man.”
“We knew our government was going to collapse, but we didn’t know the logistics or how people would react. Our government has collapsed and this is how they’ve chosen to deal with it.”
Bart was right. It had been happening for years. The increased military involvement on every level. The decrease in state and local funding coupled with the increase in military support. The continued recession. The unemployment rate has been increasing since the housing bubble collapse. It is greater than 50 percent. And the poverty level is much worse. It was well known that the collapse of our economy was happening in its own time, but no one ever knew when the collapse would actually happen or what would happen after. Did they throw the master switch, turn everything off, completely shut off access to funds? How has it occurred so quickly? Or has it been occurring elsewhere and we just didn’t know. They have the ability to control it all. But wouldn’t we have noticed? Have we all been so blind?
Jamie told me all of this after our dinner of baked potatoes, raw vegetables, and hamburger buns. Genie had been resourceful, she took inventory of every food item at Frankie’s. We ate the food that would go bad first and the food that could be eaten without being cooked. It was a well rounded meal for what we had and after 6 potatoes I was stuffed.
Jamie and I pushed the bench seats together and made a bed one for him and one for me. I snuggled deep down inside of my sleeping bag and turned to him.
We had sat silent all day camouflaged in our surroundings to avoid being noticed. The boys had decided we needed to lay low for a few days, let things settle down. That made me nervous. Each breath I took I felt like something was gaining on me, getting closer, sniffing me out, hunting me. I had failed with getting through to my family and finally Jamie told us all to turn off our cell phones. Save the batteries, he said. We took the batteries out of our phones and laid the pieces in a pile on the table. Later Genie put them all in the front pocket of her book bag for safe keeping. We had decided to take shifts watching the doors. Every two hours we would change up. Bart was on first shift. We were all scared. All shaky and it scared me that any of us would have to stand guard with a rifle ready to shoot down intruders. But we all agreed, I mean how could we not? It was their life or ours.
After a while of silence Bart and Jamie got up and went into the back alley to smoke a cigarette. Genie and I stayed at the booth, with the pistol, the candle and the pile of maps. I sat in silence with her as she studied each highway, bypass, road, and street.
“They were shooting people over in our neck of the woods.” Bart said out in the alley. “We woke up around 3 to the firing of guns and explosion of bombs. We slipped out of the back door and came immediately here. They had already been here. Trashed the place looking for people.”
Bart was packing back and forth , his hand shaking violently as he dragged his cigarette like he was being timed. Jamie put his hand on Bart’s shoulder to calm him down. Bart stopped pacing and looking dead into Jamie’s eyes. “They killed everyone, those bastards.”
“Who?” Jamie asked. “Who’s killing everyone?” But Jamie already knew the answer to this question. The new military. Jamie rubbed his head in angst. It’s worse than he had thought.
“What are we gonna do?” Bart kept going. “What are we going to - .” He was thinking about his family.
“Look man, we’re gonna be straight. Genie’s gonna be straight, Diego’s gonna be straight, Your gonna be straight. You gotta be strong for those two women in there. We are gonna make a plan, figure out where the fuck to go and get the hell outta this town. But first, you have to be strong. You got it man?”
He shook his head. “Yeah Man. I’m just. . .”
“I know, I’m scared too, but you’re smart we can figure this out. Now, what have you seen? Tell me everything.”
“Not much man, just that. I got the hell outta there. What was it like on your end?”
“Quiet, like everyone was hiding.” The calm before the storm.
“I heard an announcer on the radio say it was as far North as Silvana and he had a cousin down in Sacramento he couldn’t get in touch with. I heard all this right before the airwaves got dispatched. He was telling people it was the rapture. Telling us to pray to our god for forgiveness. How have we not seen it coming? The military’s been swarming all over the place the last few years. Showing up randomly in their uniforms replacing every single street cop. Man you remember when we fucking hated street cops, we’ll there aren’t any more around to hate. Now it’s the fucking military. They’ve swooped in here and turned us into fucking target practice. They’re everywhere too, they were all over NY when I was up there last fall. They are taking us all out. Shit’s collapsed and they are taking us all out and starting over.”
“We don’t know that man.”
“We knew our government was going to collapse, but we didn’t know the logistics or how people would react. Our government has collapsed and this is how they’ve chosen to deal with it.”
Bart was right. It had been happening for years. The increased military involvement on every level. The decrease in state and local funding coupled with the increase in military support. The continued recession. The unemployment rate has been increasing since the housing bubble collapse. It is greater than 50 percent. And the poverty level is much worse. It was well known that the collapse of our economy was happening in its own time, but no one ever knew when the collapse would actually happen or what would happen after. Did they throw the master switch, turn everything off, completely shut off access to funds? How has it occurred so quickly? Or has it been occurring elsewhere and we just didn’t know. They have the ability to control it all. But wouldn’t we have noticed? Have we all been so blind?
Jamie told me all of this after our dinner of baked potatoes, raw vegetables, and hamburger buns. Genie had been resourceful, she took inventory of every food item at Frankie’s. We ate the food that would go bad first and the food that could be eaten without being cooked. It was a well rounded meal for what we had and after 6 potatoes I was stuffed.
Jamie and I pushed the bench seats together and made a bed one for him and one for me. I snuggled deep down inside of my sleeping bag and turned to him.
We had sat silent all day camouflaged in our surroundings to avoid being noticed. The boys had decided we needed to lay low for a few days, let things settle down. That made me nervous. Each breath I took I felt like something was gaining on me, getting closer, sniffing me out, hunting me. I had failed with getting through to my family and finally Jamie told us all to turn off our cell phones. Save the batteries, he said. We took the batteries out of our phones and laid the pieces in a pile on the table. Later Genie put them all in the front pocket of her book bag for safe keeping. We had decided to take shifts watching the doors. Every two hours we would change up. Bart was on first shift. We were all scared. All shaky and it scared me that any of us would have to stand guard with a rifle ready to shoot down intruders. But we all agreed, I mean how could we not? It was their life or ours.
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