War Pigs........... in Space

Have I mentioned lately that my mind is...well, not completely twisted, but rather, unremorsefully bent?  And that those bend patterns are subject to change at any random moment?

Today's little post is an example...I put out a blog post a while back remunerating on the Muppet Show's "Pigs in Space" segments, and the other day, I was at work with Black Sabbath's 'War Pigs' cycling over and over in my mind.

Within the landscape of my mind, the two met, hit it off, married in a grandiose ceremony complete with a 10 piece polka band and 5 course dinner (and open bar, because, yea...free beer) before the love-child started to show -  and today's picture is the offspring of that union.

In my mind, earworms invade at their own risk...

I've never before bothered to actually look up the lyrics to this old 'Sabbath song - but today, it was a research item who's time had come.

Given the number of 'military incursions' in process by various countries at any given time - I'd say the lyrics are just as profound now as they were when written.  What is with us humans, anyway?  Status - resources - ego - the cute little blonde chick at the bar - we fight over just about anything. 

Our bio-engineers should stop trying to re-invent the wheel in their never-ending tweaking of pharmacological formulae JUST enough to re-patent the results as "New and Improved," and instead create a virus which increases empathy in humans.  THAT would be a significant advance toward the betterment of all humankind...once the recipients recovered from the shock of being able to feel the emotional emanations of their fellows.

Granted, we'd have to go through the whole "freak out, get violent" first reaction humans generally respond with when faced with anything new - but hey...I'm thinking long term, BIG picture here!


veering left of reality is not an easy road to travel...


For as long as music has been crafted by men and women, they have interjected their messages into the lyrical lines.  It makes sense.  Artists create what they feel.  They anchor their creation with what they know as truth.  Artists create to communicate with the world...or their own little part of it. 

One of my first revelations of music having a message was back in the 80's, while lying on the grass in front of the house with my headphones and my Walkman, staring up at the wonderful early-summer clouds - letting Ozzy howl "Killer of Giants" in my ears.  Guess he hadn't changed much from his 'Sabbath days, as the message was still extremely anti-war/anti-nuke.  Finally, I was aware enough to actually listen to the words being sung.

Holy crap!  A peace-message in an Ozzy song???


I'm a little slow sometimes...


I've spent a lot of time since that first eye-opening epiphany listening - REALLY listening - to aural art for the meaning behind the music and rhythm and beat and meter - sniffing out the actual story being presented.  When DVD's first started hitting the shelves, I delighted in trying to find the Easter eggs hidden within.  Viewing artwork in all its forms took on new dimensions as I studied backgrounds and borders, looking for little details hidden within the larger, complete 'work.'  It was a endearing game of hide-and-seek, and I enjoyed participating.

I've presented myriad versions of 'hide the message' in my own creativity, as well - with small details understated within the artwork, deliberately crafting a story line to be vague enough to allow the reader to draw their own conclusions, carefully framing of a shot to suggest something entirely different.  I'm still running through a stint of abstract photography, and loving every click.




This is one of my favorites - it's a shot of my living-room window in the depths of winter last year.  The outer window was frosted over, so you couldn't see the building across the driveway with any detail.

And another of my favorite abstracts - taken at a concert last winter.  Very Dante's 'Inferno"-esque.


Which reminds me....





...back to them war pigs...


I know why this particular song was rattling around in my brain...long enough and loud enough to make me go look up the actual words being sung.  This song is shouted, sang, screamed or otherwise intoned by an audience of frustrated with the world, slightly crazed and intoxicated fans whenever the band GWAR is setting up to perform...and I just bought tickets for their Milwaukee show the end of November, at The Rave.

If you're not a fan of extremely abrasive /in your face!/ mock everything 'establishment' performances, coated in a thick, slimy (and potentially explosive) film of blatant sexual provocation liberally laced with profanity, DON'T look up GWAR.  Don't listen to their music, don't watch the videos, and most certainly DO NOT go to one of their concerts.

These guys are NOT Lawrence Welk or Hee-Haw...leave Grandma home...

GWAR plays to the heavy metal aficionados, usually the angry and disenfranchised under-30 crowd - the music is fast, loud, and the only intelligible lyrics are strings of four-letter words.  GWAR actually goes BEYOND traditional metal by serving up the popular icons of the day - and dismembering them for the viewing audience while spraying the screaming fans with gallons of fake blood...all while wearing extreme monster costumes which celebrate all things dark, male and phallic.

Relax - they use props, not people!

My first show, GWAR took on God, Hitler and (as it was an election year) Romney vs. Obama.  As I was in the general audience for this show - I was bathed in the (fake) blood of Christ and Obama - and I think Hitler got me a bit, too...

The second show - GWAR did some very strange things to (and with) sex-starved aliens, and denounced the commercialism of the music industry.  Can you guess what else 'sprayed' during this show?








This will be the third year in a row I've braved the crowds of metal fans to witness GWAR in it's fury.  This year, I opted for balcony seating.  Hopefully, I'll stay dry.  











I can't wait to see what they come up with.

Crystalline Clarity

Today, I turned to one of the several blogs I've started following, in search of inspiration that didn't have to do with the biennial national obsession of donkey vs. elephant.

have I mentioned lately that I HATE politics?

I may have relieved myself of the constant badgering of political radio and TV ads by cutting my cable (years ago...) and listening to nothing but CD's in my car (again - years ago, and the only improvement since then is the introduction of the iPod) - but them sneaky bastards still found a way to pester me - through my daily mailbox!

Come to think of it - I'm none too fond of my mailbox, either - except when I've ordered something online and the tracking notice says "Out for Delivery,"   (THOSE days,  I race home from work as fast as (the police) will let me, and almost rip the box off the wall in my haste to have goodies in my hot little hands.)  My mailbox usually holds only advertising flyers, credit-card come-hither's, and bills.  Most everyone nowadays communicates electronically - either by phone or email.  Letter writing is a serious lost art.

My mother was one of the last hold-outs in this long-ago art form, but my older brother and his kids corrupted her when she moved in with them a few years ago. 


the SQO once set about delivering a long dissertation to me on why we have such a long and diverse history of advertising mail in this country, the reasons behind the initial legislation and price structures, paired with the problems we face with today's incarnation of the US Postal Service, and twisted it right back to that obsession with elephant vs. donkey - but I wasn't really paying attention - I was too busy with my paper-cutter at the time, turning all this paper-waste into confetti.

 

                                   

                                               Junk mail make great snowflakes...





I found rich inspirational pickings in the blog-o-sphere with the help of Karen Lynn Sandoval again over at her blog:  Art Photographer | Life Blogger |


It was a little thing - more of an afterthought or casual mention in her writing - crystal healing.  It was buried in a post about a reading marathon she partook of.  She noted 2 books on the subject, and a inconveniently-timed shopping trip to find palm stones.

At the time of her blog-posting, she had several palm stones on a sunny ledge in her home, soaking up the bright sunshine as she snapped a quick photo.


I've incorporated crystal methodology into my personal world/work views for decades.  Like Karen, I was intrigued by a book I found - mine was in a New Age section in a local bookstore.


                        I have to laugh at the term New Age.  Newer than what?  Most of the practices
                        and/or methodologies discussed in the average New Age section of your local
                        bookstore are far older than a lot of things we call traditional - such as Christianity
                        and Western Medicine.  Methinks someone got it backwards.


I've done a lot of research since that first book on crystal healing, and a lot of experimentation.  I befriended several stones which I whammied up when the need was intense, either for myself or someone close.  Most of my stonework is cobbled together from:
1) personal intuition
2) meditational communion with the stone
3) a LOT of visualization, and
4) rough research on the web/within books from 'experts' in the field who explain the metaphysical properties of each stone.

My primary focal stone really surprised me, as I didn't consciously decide on it, didn't research it at all, and didn't seek it out.  My lovely Lapis sought ME -touched me from across town- when my need was intense.  I just had to be receptive to the call.




And that, my friends, is the story of the day.


I do remember having a bad day.  In fact, I recall having several bad days all glumped together like gum stuck in your hair.  A sticky, messy, stringy, miserable stretch of time.

I wasn't sleeping well.  I wasn't eating well.  I couldn't gel thoughts into cohesive structures for more than a few moments.  Everything in the world was sharp and bright and deafening and edged - dragging across my nerve endings like a red-hot razor blade.  I was over-reactive to everything - even the self-contained psyche of the cat.

Of course, when I'm going through an episode such as this, Murphy rears his ugly head, and sends friends, family members, co-workers and close confidants to pummel me with their abrasive attentions.


These are the times I swear I would do well living in a cave...as long as it had central air...


Sooo - everything was bright and cheerful on this particular Saturday late-spring morning...everything except me.  I was too busy trying to still the whirling maelstrom going on inside my head.  Operating purely on instinct, I was drawn to the tracks behind my house.

I needed solitude - and nicotine - and food - and caffeine - but mostly solitude.

The tracks behind my home were a seldom used railroad spur - little worry about trains, no worry about other people.  I'd watched the tracks all fall and winter long - so I knew the trains were infrequent.  I had never seen a walker.  Exploring those tracks was something I had wanted to do, but had successfully avoided since I'd moved into my apartment.  That pesky sweat thing...and winter, had kept me indoors.

After the slightly wobbly walk, balancing on the tracks themselves or crunching along on the rough gravel under-bed - I reached a quiet place.  Off to the side of the tracks was a huge boulder, forcefully ripped from the Earth and cast aside to make way for technology.  Brown and unassuming, it perched in the middle of a tangle of winter-weathered grasses.  An indentation in the rock beckoned me to come sit.

I made my way across the uneven landscape - introduced myself to the rock with a touch, clambered aboard, and settled myself into a comfortable sitting position.

Turned my face to the sun.
Offered the elements permission to have their way with me. 

           Earth.
                       Sky.
                                 Sun.
                                             Wind.

And listened.

The alone-ness was very comforting.  Soothing on my nerves. 


Did you know that there's noise in solitude?  That even silence has a voice?  Layers of sound piled one on top of another.  You can dig your awareness down to the lower layers - it's tricky, but my instinct said this was the right time to do so.

The top-most layer of noise is human, of course - traffic, sirens, speech, music, construction, etc.  We really are a noisy bunch - we attempt to drown out the natural noises of the Earth to prove our superiority over it.

I'll leave THAT lecture for another day...

Under the cacophony of human sound are noises more in tune with the natural - the wind, the trees and grasses swaying, animals moving through the brush.  The Earth has her angry tones, too - water roaring in full flood, fire raging in its rush to destroy, thunder shaking the sky - but these weren't in residence on this occasion. 

Below this natural symphony is a dull, constant static we call white noise.  Most of humanity can hear this layer subconsciously, and react to it on an instinctual level.  Subjecting oneself to this static, even generated by artificial means, is very relaxing.  Most humans can't go any deeper then the layer of white noise, or refuse to believe deeper levels exist within the realm of human hearing.

My instincts say they are wrong - it's time to go deeper.

The layer directly under the white noise exists for those who seek it.  It's difficult to find, hard to attenuate yourself to, almost painful to experience.  This deeper layer is slippery, evasive, cunning. 

Sheesh - it's tough to explain this...

There really aren't words or concepts for this deeper layer of sound.   In my experience, it's a sharp/soft/blend/mix of part/noise part/feeling part/pure/diluted contentment/playfulness/connection.  It's turbulent and mellow and soothing and soporific and energizing all at the same time. 

And, speaking of time - I've found it has no meaning once your awareness is within this deep level of sound.

It's difficult to reach this level of awareness because you have to let all the surface and white noises wash over/through/above/around you while not listening for anything in particular, but everything in general.

Confused yet?  Yea, me too.  I don't know how to get you there - I just know I've landed/floated/ experienced there on a few, rare occasions, observing all 5 traditional senses blending together - at this level of awareness you can feel colors, taste sound, smell sunshine, and hear chaos  -

This is the layer where interconnections are formed.  EVERYTHING is connected at this lower level.

I drifted, with no goal in mind other than to experience, for time outside of time.

Something twigged my awareness.  Connected.


???


I slid slightly upwards - on the border of the white noise and this underlayment - and understood direction.

North. 

In reality...


And that's when the surface noise of the world - all the human stuff - abruptly crashed in on me  - painfully snapping me back to the blunted awareness of 'reality.'


Ouch...

Maybe someday, someone out there with experience flitting in and out of this layer of awareness will come along and teach me how to gracefully move between the layers - until then, I'm stuck bungling my way through.


I stretched tight muscles...I'd been sitting long enough for my feet to fall asleep.  It was only after I took inventory of my bruised psyche and pins & needles of restored blood-flow to my legs that I realized I could still feel that new twig - the new connection formed under the white noise. This new connection had stretched through the noise into 'reality,' and, while patient, was growing insistent.

I had to go north.

Soooo....grateful that I'd stuffed my wallet in my pocket, and my keys on my belt, I made my way back up the tracks to my car - and off I went.

Following the connection.  Having direction - A call - A mission - A duty - this did wonders for the irritation I'd been going through.  It was like a cold, soothing balm on abraded skin.

Ahhh...Calgon, take me away!


The lead lead - to the mall.


WHAT????? 


If there's one place on the face of this Earth that I despise with every fiber of my being, it's the mall.  Any mall.  It's filled with people!  With ALL the crazy consumerism!  And STUFF is more precious than anything else!   And the icing on this cake is an emotional punch of lust/greed/envy/desire/want... Want... 

                                  

         WANT!!        

   UGH! 

I'd sooner cut my own arm off.

Sometimes, trust comes hard to me.  Here I am, sleep-deprived, hungry, un-showered, buzzing both physically and spiritually from a very hard empathic week, running completely on instinct, contemplating walking into a building FILLED with humans filled with consumerist impulses at a time when I was already overloaded.


Diagnosis?                          Completely.  Barking.  Mental.


But something was in there - something that reached through the various layers of noise and touched me. Connected with me.  Trusts me to find it.

I circled the mall parking lot - looking for a space, completely on instinct.  Trusting that instinct.  Feeling out where the call was closer.

I walked in the door.  Felt the emotional wash of a concentration of people.

Pursue the call, or go home and sort all this out?  

Trust the instinct...

Focusing on the call allowed me to walk through the surface emotional wash, much like I had when dropping through the noise layers.  The call captured my consciousness, and as long as I held onto it (like a drowning person will cling to a rope) I found I could move through, or allow the surface wash to pass through/around me without an impact.

I felt myself slipping into chameleon mode.

Up.

A conveniently placed escalator raised me to the second floor.

Left.

Walking, barely there in 'reality' down the hallway.  Sliding through the crowds, not touching, not feeling, not impacting.

I don't think I've ever been this deep in chameleon mode...before or since.  I probably could have bumped into someone and they wouldn't have noticed.

Right.

Into a store selling Egyptian-themed carvings, glassware, jewelry, papyrus drawings, clothing, incense...stuff.

I remember, with clarity, flashes of things - snapshots of what I saw imprinted on my visual cortex/nasal passages/auditory canals/fingertips/taste buds.

Racks of pyramid-shaped paperweights.
A waist-high statue of Anubis.
The rough edges of a papyrus-drawing of Cleopatra.
A glass-enclosed case of perfume bottles - bright swirls of red and green within the delicate glassware.
The glass case, smooth and cool to the touch.
A marble topped table, cross-hatched into a chess board. 
Marble chess pieces strategically placed to emote a game in progress.
Eastern music wailing from the speakers.
Shelves on the walls of books, statues, scarabs carved out of bone, stone, fused glasses.
Crossed swords suspended above the shelves, bright brass winking in the lights.
Nefertiti with her tall, blue crown.
A strong perfume smell of various cones and sticks of incense, thick on my tongue.
A hookah in the corner.
King Tut's death mask.

Stop in front of the jewelry counter - cold steel and smooth glass. 

Several elongated slices of Lapis Lazuli - smoothed, polished, drilled, ready to encase in a precious metal setting and wear.

I found you...

The shopkeeper removed the one I pointed to from it's soft fabric display, laid it in my hands.

INSTANT release.  The tangle of other people's emotions dropped away, the white noise crescendo-ed into the sound of crashing surf, then faded to...

silence. 


A credit card swipe and a signature later, and my new partner would never leave me again.

Death by Bouncy Ball

Just to clarify - I took this picture with my eyes closed...

"I swear, I didn't think THAT would happen!!!"

Yea, famous last words, usually intoned with a degree of awe, shock, and slurred due to the heavy drinking done beforehand.

A variation of the first utterance would be "Whoa...whodathunkit???" depending on the amount of alcohol consumed, the length of time it took to consume it, the body-weight of the consumer and the amount of resistance they've built up over years of soaking their brain cells in beer.

If coma-by-beer is imminent, you may hear 'Whooooh!  YEA!" along with a string of four-letter words interspersed by sounds that don't correspond to any known language.



Did I mention that Wisconsin takes its beer as seriously (if not more so) than its baked goods? 



Wisconsin was home to Miller, Old Milwaukee, and Pabst Blue Ribbon beers once upon a time.
We've got micro-breweries in half our cities.

We've a lot of small towns in this state that can only be pronounced when the tongue is slightly anesthetized, lest you risk biting said muscle when trying to twist it into the proper contortion to pronounce  Oconomowoc, Manatowoc, Waukesha, Menomonie Falls, Sheboygan and Mukwonago.

Our pro-baseball team is called the Brewers, and they play at Miller Park (renamed for a HUGE pile of money when they rebuilt the stadium).

Another good (or bad, you decide...) alcohol-induced distinction Wisconsin held for years was the town of Watertown.  For decades, this little town, population 20k-ish, had 'more bars per capita than any other city in the world.'  I lived in Watertown for many years, and can confirm the title's accuracy.  Even today, you can't go more than 2 blocks in any given direction without finding a drinking establishment in front of you.


Safe to say, Wisconsinites are steeped in barley and hops from before we're born to after we've been put in the ground.  You can hear the livers within the state collectively pickling on any given warm summer night after the bars close... but you have to really listen.

shhhhh...hear that?

The University of Wisconsin/Madison (UWM) was known for years as THE party campus in the US before some puritan college administrator got a wild hair up their ass and started demanding muscle to tamp down the shenanigans.  I think it had something to do with proximity to the Capital Square, a bare mile east of, and a straight shot up State Street, away, and some busybody worrying about the 'public face' of higher education in the state.

Or maybe, they got drunk, and took a vow whilst dealing with the 'morning after' hangover.

I hate when that happens...

Yes, I realize that at any college in the States, you will find, on any given Friday or Saturday night, a kegger party or two (dozen) as very-young adults, on their own for the first time in their lives,  make the same bad decisions their parents did at the same age, and learn all about the consequences of those decisions.  Sometimes, dubious herbal substances make appearances at these same gatherings.

"higher" education at it's finest...  

At UWM - they didn't limit themselves to Friday and/or Saturday night.  Keggers on campus were every hour, on the hour, 24/7/365, excluding summers where everyone went home to drink.  You could set your watch by the sound of a new keg being tapped.

Well, a long time ago, on a campus far, far away (spacial/relative proximity irrelevant in story mode) there was a battle against those who frowned on hops, and those who celebrated the cold, gold, carbonated beverage-of-the-gods.  They were called the Dry's, and the Wet's.

After years of vicious fighting, in which much beer was spilled, many tongues (and fingers) wagged furiously, many mind-altering substances tried and celebrated, and far too much moral outrage exhibited, the Wet's and the Dry's came to an uneasy settlement which caused the cessation of hostilities.

The daylight hours were dedicated to study and education.  The nighttime hours were for recreational substances...and never the twain shall meet.

In Wisconsin - beer IS a solution
                                 (this tagline brought to you by the Chemistry Department at UWM)



Every college campus has a street or avenue or park 'dedicated' to the college after-class scene - where the young-adults gather for social purposes.  In Madison, this is State Street - the mile-long stretch of road linking the university campus to the Capital Square.  It's filled with little shops offering food, drinks, snacks, books, religious icons (big or small, we offer 'em all...), decadent desserts, clothing, recreational glassware, and oddball boutique-y/artsy items unique to denizens who congregate nightly. 

There are no 'chain' stores on State Street...the vibe is very intimate.  Very organic.  Very REAL.  The entire stretch is steeped in a Bohemian energy generated when people withOUT wealth have to use their creativity and imaginations to entertain themselves, instead of buying their entertainment pre-packaged and mass-produced to create income streams for the few who can buy into the system.  
I had the opportunity to walk the length and breadth of State the last weekend in September, to feel this intense vibe personally... properly chaperoned by two who have adopted (or is that the other way around?) the location.  I have to say - that vibe alone is intoxicating... no beer necessary.

Oooooo - what you said!!!


I can't wait to go back, armed with more than my little iPod for a camera, to attempt to capture the flavor of this little pocket of free-spirit energy.  As a whole, we humans really need to cherish these pockets, and figure out how to make them grow withOUT exploiting them for their 'income potential.'

But for now - I'll share the few photos I did manage to take with the iPod that are acceptable to the photographer within me.

I found this dragon-ship in a rock shop. 
Does anyone else see the humor in the term 'Rock Shop?' or is it just me?

This particular rock is a boat, carved from a single piece of jade.  Only the $400 price tag kept me from immediately adopting this ship to sail home with me.



Sadly, carving things out of rock are not part of my creativity package - I just have to be happy with looking, drooling, and photographing.

 
Another jade carving in the rock shop - a TEA set.  How could I NOT snap a photo of this one??

I may be back to the rock shop to capture more images of this one, and incorporate them into the blog.  Stay tuned!

 
Here would be the resident water feature on the square.  I've found 'wealth' delights in adding artistic water pieces any time they want to impress the masses.  Any time I find such an object, I make it a habit to introduce myself to the water spirits of the place.  So, I played with the water for a bit - shook hands with the resident spirit, as it were - and snapped a couple of quickies after thanking the water for contributing to the vibration of the area.

I WANTED to capture the Capital dome backlit by the sunset, but the scene wouldn't cooperate with me - the angles were wrong no matter where I stopped to frame the shot.  This was the best shot I could get of the dome and one of the statues lining the square.

Someone parked a few circus wagons at the junction of State Street and the Square - this one was one of my favorites with the heavy gilding making the carved figures pop against the rich blue wood.

My kids took me to this little, hole-in-the-wall pizza place for a respite against all the walking we were doing.  This place sold pizza by the slice.  Not impressive-sounding?  The slices were HUGE.  They hung off the edges of a regular dinner plate.  I couldn't finish my single slice of Ham and Pineapple.
And the toppings?  More varieties than I could count. 


I captured myself in this shot - I'm in the left (appropriate, no?) corner of the mirror.

 

I love to decorate with light - so did some of the shops on State Street.  These 2 pictures show one window-decoration where the shop-owners showed off some of their very-impressive light fixtures. 










I really, really, REALLY want this one!!!!

I love the mix of old-world and high-tech blended together around the Capital square.  You can see this mix all up and down State Street.

 

Part of what makes this particular photo 'work' is the mix: it's both over- and under-exposed in the same shot.  I actually stood in the middle of a side street to capture this one - with the kids watching for cars coming up behind me.  I had JUST enough time to frame, shoot, and move out of the way of the car racing to catch the green light.

"But wait!" you cry, angered at your computer screen. 

WHERE DOES THE BOUNCY BALL COME IN???

Oh....that...

I bought one recently, when visiting a little hot-dog shack with my youngest son.  He originally snorted and rolled his eyes in true teen fashion, disbelief radiating from every pore that his MOTHER would go to such lengths to embarrass him by purchasing a toy crafted for children - not the young-adult he's aspiring to be.

Once we got through the posturing, the teen image maintained and the illusion strengthened, we bounced the thing back and forth in the parking lot - enjoying ourselves with this simple sphere of rubber.  The amusement was had for the bargain-price of three quarters fed to a glass and aluminum machine and a simple twist of a handle.


The ant, unfortunately, suffered a painful and rather surprising end as the ball crushed him to a tiny moist spot on the pavement.

GOTCHA

This has been another 'slightly to the Left of Reality' brain wandering...

"They" Suggest...

Who is this 'They,' anyways?

"They" tell you that sugar is bad for you.  
"They" tell you that tobacco will kill you.
"They" tell you that you must brush your teeth 3 minutes 2 times a day.
"They" tell you that taxes are good.
"They" tell you that illegal drugs are bad.
"They" tell you that (insert something here) ad nauseam ad infinitum.


"They" tell you not to think for yourself.


Personally, I think "They" should live their own lives, and stop telling 'Them' how to live theirs.


 


"They" say that to get your blog read, you must have 
                                1) followers and 
                                2) regularly scheduled content. 

Well, duh. 

I guess one of "They's" public guises has to be the ever-so-quirky and much-quoted Mr. Obvious.  Without followers, a blog has about as much chance of being read as discovering the secrets of the universe in the symbol used by a long-dead hunter in the Amazonian river basin used to keep track of his stores of anaconda piss.

Useful stuff, anaconda piss.  "They" say it can cure cancer, but only if aged to perfection.

I think I'll pass...thanks.

"They" also suggest ways to get those followers that have little to do with actually connecting with people who will regularly read your blog, and everything to do with directing more attention "Their" way.  I actually found a guy selling his 'blog coach' services the other day.

ad content may be slightly modified...

One of the double-edged swords of the wider Anonymous Web is anyone can manufacture 'expert' status with enough chutzpah, clever typing skills, and a passing affinity for Google-fu.  Having the anonymity of instantaneous electronic communication allows the worst trolls, wackos and attention-whores to successfully masquerade as an expert in just about anything. 

And even if you DO find a genuine expert in a subject which interests you, they've so successfully removed themselves from the bulk of humanity to focus on that subject that they oftentimes suffer from extreme tunnel-vision, and are worse than the aforementioned trolls, wackos, and attention-whores.

"They" tell you to pay no attention to the person typing out this blog...she's a Satanic thinker, for God's Sake!

"They" are right about the regularly scheduled content thing, though.  From my own personal experience, if I don't see frequent new material on the  blogs on my follow list, they fall to the bottom of my list and out of my daily curiousity.

So, with an eye to the horizon,

I shall endeavor to place more

 slightly to the left of reality                           

musings in my blogging.  
Just whatever is on my mind.

Are "They" sure "They're" are ready for this?

WHAT is Mightier than the Pen???

It's amazing what you can find when you start typing in strange requests of Google.  Today, I found a gem in a pen refill.


I work in an office.  While working, I use a pen...frequently.  Useful things, pens...as they are handy for jotting down notes, doodling, scratching hard-to-reach-places, pointing at things, and a host of other spur-of-the-moment things you need that slender object in your hand to do. 


 
                I have a favorite pen.



Within everyone's lives, they acquire 'favorite' things - stuff that they use or gaze upon on a daily basis.  It's hardwired into our brains to recognize things we come into contact with repeatedly, and to attach a feeling of familiarity to them. 

With that said - I'm attached to this favorite pen of mine. 

This particular pen was received as a freebie from a marketing company years ago, pre-branded with the company's name on its shiny red barrel.  It was addressed to the owner of my company, who preferred the cheap plastic ones he could chew on - so I acquired it in his stead.  Funny enough...about a week after the pen (and the included marketing come-on) arrived at the office, I received a call from the marketing company wanting to know how "He was enjoying his free pen."

Dontcha just love salesmen?

Well...I enjoy my lovely little pen M-F, 9 to 5, excluding Holidays and Vacation time  - it has a nice feel and weight to it that you don't get from your cheaper disposables, and continue to buy the replacement ink cartridges for it.  Alas...the name of the marketing company and salesman who called those many years ago has been lost in the darkest corners of my memory.   

But I still have the pen.

Would you believe  -  -  I've chased co-workers across the office for my pen?   Quite unconsciously, a borrower will occasionally attempt to become a thief - especially at the beginning of the work day before the coffee has kicked in. 

After 7 or 8 years of superb service, my pen has become quite unique amongst pens (the 'I've been front line on several wars' finish is very unique) so it's easy to single out from the plethora of cheap disposable Bic ballpoints inhabiting my co-worker's desks, even when I don't catch the thief in the act.


Well - the refill ran out of ink today.  Yea, it happens.  It just shouldn't have happened so soon based on my normal usage.  


 
Soooo - frustrated with my brand of ink refill                        - into Google I go.



THE first thing to show up?  This gem

I haven't had this good a giggle in a while.  The level of snark - NINJA.
I'll be giggling all the way to Office Depot to find a new refill.





sorry instructables...it won't be a Mont Blanc.

Oh....What a Tangled Web we Weave...

October.  Harvest season.  The time when the plants have completed their life-cycle, and are preparing to die or go dormant for the long winter sleep.  The squirrels, chipmunks, and other rodents tear madly about from tree to ground, location to location, in a last frantic burst of gathering nuts and seeds to sustain themselves in the long, cold months just ahead. The trees shift from summer green to the reds, oranges, yellows and browns of the Autumn palette - and are filled with birds preparing to migrate to warmer climates.  (smart freaking birds, if you ask me...)  

Empathically, this is my worst season, even as I peak with creativity (how can I not, with all the activity and color around me?)  I keenly feel the shift in the Earth from growth to sleep.  I want to join with this cycle.  I want to sleep all winter, too...

Damn this whole 'human' thing!

The calendar culminates the Harvest Season with All Hallow's Eve - Halloween.  As with every other holiday in the States, we've turned this one into a commercial orgy of "buy, buy, buy!!!!!" - but this season is also paired with "scare, scare, scare!!!"

People spend a ton of money on Halloween - on candy, costumes & decorations.  Parties are planned and thrown, new recipes are researched and experimented with, pranks are schemed up and instigated.  Movies are rated for their fright-factor, and the blood (simulated, or course) flows both on the screen and on the watchers.  Sometimes other, more genuine bodily fluids make public appearances, as well.

Ewwww. 

At one time, the neighbors who lived on the first level of the home I was sharing were REAL Halloween nuts.  It was their favorite holiday, and they decorated like fiends.  They had tombstones in the front yard, hanging heads in the backyard, cobwebs in the hallways, coffins and zombies and witches and skeletons and anything else you can think of scattered about the house and grounds.

 

They even had the flat witch on her broom stuck to a tree, which never fails to elicit a chuckle from me...




The also threw one hell of a party...costumes mandatory.

I was coming home from a night out with the SQO the night of their party.  By the time I was coming up the street, their party was in full swing - the alcohol was flowing, the music was rocking, the party-goers all over the house and grounds.  As I turned into the driveway, my headlights illuminated a pair of men dressed in dark blue spandex body suits with bright yellow boots, matching letters on their chests, masks covering their eyes, elbow-length gloves, and coordinating 'undies' in the crotch region - superheros who had left their capes at home.

Unfortunately, in the uncertain light from the street and my sudden illumination from the headlights - all that got bright was the yellow portions of their costumes.  My first and immediate thought - 'Are they wearing diapers?????'

Thanks to the Halloween deities that my windows were closed, because I couldn't help but blurt that one out. 

Halloween - It's one hell of a holiday - especially with shenanigans like these.



The teapot and I are celebrating Halloween this year with a web Zentangle design.  This is one of the most complex things I have done with 'shop to date.  It involved a layer mask and a distortion file, and a couple of alternate filters to give it the look it ended up with.  I'm quite pleased, even if it really doesn't invoke 'scary,' suggest the harvest season, or pretend to be a diaper.  It's a web, and webs are significant to the Halloween spirit.

That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.

The pebble I picked up recently (see Zen and the art of Photography) turned out to be a VERY fertile seed.  I've started creating Zentangles on my computer.  Not traditional, as I use electronic means instead of doing it the old fashioned way, putting ink to paper, so I've obviously forged back into my field of weeds to blaze my own trail in this artform.



 
This is the web design all flat - before I distorted it to fit around the teapot.

 These next 2 are actually the same grid and the same patterning within the grid lines.  On the left is the straight grid, and I gave it a fuzzed texture - it almost looks like carpet.  


The one below has a twirl and some additional filters added to it for a decidedly darker look.
 




But wait!  I was talking about Halloween!

For me, Halloween stopped being an "Oh my GAWD!  I can't WAIT!' holiday when I decided, in my 13 year old, teenaged brain, that it was too much work to design a costume, figure out how to/actually go through the work to/ craft said same, and then to walk around the neighborhood at night to beg for sugar.  



See, I didn't get to just run down to the store with the parental units and pick out something ready-made. 

If I wanted a costume, the entire blueprint had to come out of my head.  I had to come up with the concept - what I wanted it to look like, how it was going to be constructed, what materials I'd need, was I going to be able to breathe and see and walk in it, etc.  

The whole shebang had to be crafted.

It wasn't that we were poor, or my parents were uncaring or unavailable.  They were always ready, willing and able to lend assistance (one year, my mom sewed me a green jumpsuit because I wanted to be a martian) and they bought the supplies I'd need (the robot was a fun year - I got to save boxes and old coffee cans, and use tools, wire, and spray paint!).  

They were teaching me to think, and design, and explore the ordinary things around me with a creative perspective.  This pile of ordinary STUFF could be transformed into something unique and special with a bit of ingenuity and work.

They turned me into the creative machine I am today.

They did good.

Zen and the art of Photography

I found this adorable frog sitting in a yoga pose in my SQO's sister's back yard this spring.  He was just contemplating life in a classic yoga pose, arms resting on legs in lotus position, fingers touching to create a circle, surveying the backyard and springtime in Wisconsin.  Then I came along with my camera and 'shop skills, and introduced him to the finer points of tea consumption.  I hear he is now up to 8 cuppa day of Earl Grey, sun-warmed and liberally laced with honey to attract flies. 

I've received a bill for the added grocery expense...sometimes photography can be expensive in weird ways.

But, I'll do just about anything for a Zen fix.

My workplace has been on a wellness kick since they reviewed the insurance costs last year.  We got the typical posters on the lunch-room board for 'how to eat healthy,' 'how to sleep healthy,' 'how to quit smoking,' etc., which are pretty typical fare in Corporate America:  easy to find, pre-chewed, and ready to regurgitate on command.

This is where a lot of Corporate America stops, rubber-stamping their wellness campaigns and patting themselves on the back for a job well done. All surface, and no real substance. 

A more honest sign would have 'This PSA brought to you by the Health Nazi's who believe they know more about your body then you do.'

**warning** political content detected!  Subject change NAOW!


My company's HR department likes to think outside the box, and aren't afraid to put in the work to do so.

In January, we were all invited to 'walk to warmth.'  Pedometers were offered free of charge, and the participants counted their steps.  Once a week, we reported our steps, which were then totaled together, our combined efforts mapped out in miles, and our progress to a destination charted.  Each week, we'd get a rundown of how far the group had walked, where we now were in geographical terms, and a little bit of history about the location we had made it to.

We made it from Wisconsin to Pasadena, FL, in a little more than 2 weeks (we have some people who walk a LOT).  Since then, we've wandered around the US, occasionally crossing our path, and are finally heading home.  Boy, are my imaginary feet sore.

I can't say that the Walk to Warmth campaign got me to walk MORE, but it did give me a baseline on just how much activity I'm (sadly) not getting.

I love to travel - metaphysically, at least.  


A new wellness initiative they have been working on, and just introduced, was the discounted membership rates at one of our local gyms.

YES!

I raced to the place and plunked my monies down.  Not, as you should realize by now, to go sweat on their wall-o-torture equipment (the dreaded elliptical, treadmill, free-weights, etc...) but because this particular gym has a pool.

I absolutely LOVE swimming laps.  I don't go fast, I'm not in it for the energetic splashing or beating the clock or any of the other 'macho' crap that people attempt to get out of their workouts. 

I drift.

           I glide.

                       I create as few ripples as possible. 

I silently flow from one edge of the pool to the other, back and forth, pacing the pool, as it were, much as a person paces the waiting room of the hospital when their significant other is in the operating theatre.

Except I don't have the stress and anxiety of the hospital-pacer.  My pacing is freedom.

Why?

When I synchronize my muscles and my breath in a repetitive cycle, my mind is free to wander.  I have times when I think of financial, household, personal, or other concerns that are eating my mind.  I have times when I compose a new story line, or trip down the fantastical rabbit-hole to somewhere I haven't been before.  Sometimes, I brew up a hot cup of tea for a new blog post...

I also have times when the mind simply goes dormant, quiet, an impartial participant/observer of each clear moment of NOW as it happens, there but separate from the automatic body-motions as I glide, stroke, glide, stroke, glide my way through the water. 

This is my Zen.  Achieving thought through no-thought.

I'm sure there are other, more knowledgeable blogs and articles out there on how to 'properly' achieve Zen, who would scathingly lambaste my attempts as a milquetoast attempt with NO foundation in their granite-set rulebook, but I really don't care.  When I swim slow laps, the body goes on autopilot, the mind crystallizes into the now, and Zen becomes my reality.  

See...I don't wish to travel on an already established road, either metaphysically or in, for lack of a better term, reality.  I choose not to follow rote instructions, diagrams or beliefs.  I have studied, and incorporated, bits and pieces from the 'establishments' into my life journey, finding that each has a piece of the ultimate answer (hint...it's not 42) but have lost the way by dictating the minute, day-to-day actions as one-size-fits-all.

Step off the path, put down the holy book, and stop with the rote formulae handed to you by others as a 'go directly to enlightenment' card.  These are human trappings, and if you focus on them, you limit yourself.

And, if you see a figure in your metaphysical journey, making their slow way across an ungroomed field of weeds, stop for a contemplative moment and let me join you for a spell.  I can't guarantee we'll walk the rest of the road together, but, for a time, we can experience things in concert.

Thank you for reading the 'slightly to the left of normal' ramblings...



Let's get back to all things Zen.  My cursory, slightly mad exploration of the 'net turned up an interesting blog. Art Photographer | Life Blogger |

A special nod to the author of this blog - Karen Lynn Sandoval - for documenting your journey for all to see.  I came across your path, and found it absorbing.
 
Karen does many things...including an art form called Zentangle.

I do remember reading up on Zentangles quite a while ago, and my initial, brief scanning of the quickly available data available on the web gave me a completely WRONG idea on what the art  encompasses.  I thought one simply put pen to paper and drew abstract shapes until a piece of art emerged, following the unconscious design of the creator.

Yea - I was completely wrong.  About the only thing I got right was the pen to paper bit.

Zentangle follows a very precise set of rules.  The area in which you work has to be 3.5x3.5 inches.  The paper has to be white, unadorned, handmade or commercially available is the artist's choice, but the less occlusions or texture on the paper the better.  The true tangle is devoid of color - only black and white...and no pencils allowed.  Mistakes are incorporated into your design. 

Create a border first, freehand, so you don't go outside the lines (remember "the lines are our friends?).  Then start with a 'string' (a few lines drawn within the border) where you will attach your tangles.  You then begin applying your patterns.

And the patterns of Zentangle? - they are many, varied, and precise.  People study these patterns.  People teach these patterns.  There are books and videos and schools for these patterns.

You create your tangle with single-minded focus on the pattern you are choosing, blotting out all other considerations and concerns while you put pen to paper.  This encompasses the wonder of Zen - concentration and mindfulness on the moment, crystallizing your attention on the now, instead of the everywhen.

Have I said lately that Zen is a beautiful thing?


I may just have to take the essence of tangling, and put my own spin on it.  I stepped onto Karen's well-traveled path, picked up a stone, and now contemplate what to do with the pebble in my pocket.  I can hear it nattering in my metaphysical ear even now.

With my love of all things 'shop - I can't wait to see what I come up with.