Prison art

A morsel of happiness. . .

Sound bites from the weekend: Bowling is a working class sport and I wonder why the uptown girl is hanging with the Bud Light guy but then realize neither are living up to their potential. Like a magnet. And I associate “meek” with STUPID because isn’t that what people mean when they think it? Some even say it aloud Meek. Cringe. Because you are quiet logical pragmatic you don’t have a personality, or the capacity to think, or much to offer the plugged in party down hoe hum don’t sweat the small stuff no consequence mentality. Okay. Fair is fair. Fuck you.

Potential –yes! always inspiration for the possible.

The pull of the moon.

Gravity.

Let us walk on water.

On the bright side I sold a piece of art this weekend. Thank you EAI. The Visa appreciates it too. The other small art kudo is getting a piece accepted into the Recycle Santa Fe Juried Exhibition that opens November 2, 2012 at the Santa Fe Convention Center on Marcy Street. Oh and the beauty of moon rise over the Sangre de Cristos with a lavender fade over autumn in the river down the block with no water. Six (6) inches of snow in Montana as the east coast prepares for Hurricane Sandra and I long to be entertained. Escape. Thank you Gwarlingo for poetry that spikes the senses. James Arthur. Has won every fellowship I’ve ever dreamed of. He looks young but obviously that is unimportant. My friend Mike is a poet. Sometimes me too. The part-time poet. Ha.

Started a fire with one match and I’m a water sign. That is supposed to matter so quite a feat I suppose and I love the ambiance. Lists are made and doilies discussed in great detail. How to stiffen. Kept me busy on Saturday. Research. Wallpaper paste still a favorite but I Google options and really the cornstarch and distilled water is a bust without the addition of glue. Spray starch on the ironing board for next time. Or nada. The 2 cups boiled water with sugar seemed too sticky before Christmas– but I have an idea. The shopping carts filled then emptied. Like the tide. Pearl iridescent. Jog bra. I dream of money and horses and coffee. Sleep is good. An old friend flew to Cuba. Today. Bon voyage. He suggests a dremel with a fine tip for signing the bronze. Signatures are important. Picasso. Sotheby’s. Brenda Roper apparently.

Nothing remarkable still there is happiness. My mother turns 80 a month from tomorrow (which is quite remarkable). Go mom. Happy Birthday. She likes Bingo. Dancing. Cards. Staying up late to watch the news. Spanish rice, pork chops, meatloaf, baked beans with bacon on top, boiled dinner, Swiss steak on Sundays, scalloped potatoes (my favorite), chocolate cake with melted frosting. Milk in our glasses and may I please be excused? No bake cookies. My sister always burnt the last batch. . . but she could pop corn like a queen. Sea salt caramel gelato was not in my childhood freezer. Think I’ll go have a spoon. Or save it. For later. But than again why wait. A storm is coming and all the stars are singing. Twinkle like a prayer. . .

This blog is a creative ramble. An exercise in the practice of expression without censor though I do. A one year ambition of discipline like a script out of context though not without intention. A road construction detour not coherent to a wide audience but that is not the point. The success is in the practice. The I do did fairly consistently. Perhaps next year a new vision. Theme. Focus. Direction. For now a meander. Thank you.