#dog farts in a galaxy far far away

[eclec-tech]

My own leaky canine just reminded me in his own way that there is now a dog traveling with Clone Force 99—a big one that I'm conservatively putting at about 200 kilos—who could at any point during a hyperspace journey perform her own stealth maneuver and make everyone on board want to jump into the nearest escape pod.

[nosemasters-blog]

II. MORE NORMAL, MORE NORMAL

Once upon a time in a galaxy far, far away, there was a nice girl who loved to be loved and loved love for love itself so naturally she ate aaall the planets, the faraway galaxy in question and others, less important galaxies and then she imploded unto herself in an embarrassing display of an emotional breakdown and became a nice little black hole that sucked everyone in, respectively.

For all of you and all of me who walk this earth with a great question mark upon their heads, it’s alright. I’m sure there are exclamation marks for each and every one of you and me out there. In fact, they’re just like you and me. They smile, love dogs, poop, shave at least some areas sometimes, learn, work, play poker for money and yes, hold most important state secrets. Most important. All of it in this very chronological order. And yes, you may use this as a reference when looking for your own, personal exclamation mark. Good luck with that. Love is awesome. Love is patient, love is kind and love is blind. Roses are red, violets are blue, yes I fart but so do you. Just keep in mind that the previously mentioned exclamation marks usually see themselves as question marks so, as I said, good luck with that, seriously.

On an unrelated note, yesterday I wrote some stuff I thought was funny and there might have been a poem involved and I apparently didn’t save it so now it is officially lost. I told you this once and imma gonna tell you again…technology is a huge, smelly zit. Visuals, people. And now, surely there are great uses for it blah blah medicine blah science blah research blah. But it is mostly designed to alienate, suffocate and help the dumb procreate and defecate on other people’s mental health all the while elevate the feeling that is desolate also kinda perpetuate, accelerate, segregate and activate the most fearful feeling that bears no meaning – hate.

Also, I could have been more careful and save the document but what is this, a witch hunt?

Anyhoo, let us discuss some nice, substance bearing topics. Grab some popcorn, some sort of a drink with a straw and/or a buttock of a loved one or at least liked one (It’s not nice to lead on innocent, deserving butts, aight?). Some emotions are there to express and share, to describe and there are also some emotions that are impossible to. And for whatever godforsaken reason, I tend to (try to) explain everything to everyone and the annoying habit to overshare information about my own, personal, weird emoting capabilities is astounding. YES BRIAN, ASTOUNDING. YOU DON’T OWN THE WORD! GOD!!

For this very reason I think people around me think I’m kind of unstable. In a nice, normal way. Like a slightly larger owl would be if she decided to make a nest in a burrow inside a Whomping Willow. The owl may be considered rash in this very circumstances. Or brave. And also a little silly. Haha…she’s an outcast from her owl pack for she’s the first owl to ever quit owl college. Or how owls call it, college. Father is heavily disappointed, mother has been hunting mice all day, her best friend is a fox (hell yeah she is) so she can’t offer any understanding or advice and to top it all off, she thinks she might be in love with a barn owl. Dammit, Susan…

So, here’s the scoop. She may be a little different and a little confused and she may not assess situations in a staying alive and not dying manner but she’s her own owl. An ownl, if you will. And hey, maybe next time the Whomping Willow catapults her into the Forbidden Forrest she’ll think twice about nesting where no owl nested before.

This story was building up to a nice, meaningful conclusion; it’s not just about wood animals. And if your into that, I do work in a library and would you believe it, we have many books on the subject *not sponsored*. And if you’re into that in a very different, albeit disturbing way, please refer to our nothing at all and lock your doors and force bonds™ before connecting with the almighty interwebs.

How bout we finish this off with a song, eh? You do the rhythm and I’ll sing…

Feelings are many, feelings are plenty, feelings are here to be felt. You can feel happy, you can feel sad, you can feel jealous, crappy or mad. You can feel lonely, broody or good. You can feel bad or misunderstood. But if someone makes you feel like you shouldn’t feel at all, if they make you tiny, if you become small…fuck those people, they suck.

That’s a wrap everybody, great show. See you next season when we discuss discussing and take a look at taking looks. Meanwhile, a great white dame was seen running around the city center with what appears to be a boneless steak from a large, grass fed animal, sources say... I’m sorry, there seems to be a glitch on the teleprompter. A great white Dane, not a great white dame was seen running around an – oh – the steak was not grass fed, I repeat, the steak was not grass fed. More disappointing news after this sponsor from our message.

- fin -

𝑯𝒆𝒓𝒆   is the epicentre of nonsense.

[artdjgblog]

Innerview: Chad Tomas Johnston / The Stained Glass Kaleidoscope ​

June 2008

Art: DJG​

​Note: ​Questions on creativity for a book​.​

The big thing I want to know from you is this: You have worked as a janitor and a data-entry clerk (or something to that effect). Neither of those is highly prestigious. At the same time, you are creating art.

0​1) What drives you to create? Since a young age, I’ve always been fortunate to have outlets for creation. Naturally, almost every child has the freedom to play. But, my formative younger years gave me not only the freedom but also the cow and the whole farm. Growing up a farm boy product of the middle of the mid-west, I had room to romp and to roll. Lots of corn row cuts on my face. Lots of bicycle tire tattoos on the hot summer crater face of the black top road. Lots of holes in boots. Lots of arm snags on the rickety tree house scrap wood and nails. Lots of gold nuggets discovered in the cat poop sandbox. I still get kicks from all these things. Fast approaching thirty, I still plan to never grow a harder and complete “adult” shell. If I do it better be candied and with lots of decorative engravings in it. Though, I’m positive I’d just eat it. I have always been housed in my own little shell. I’ve been a big fan of my inner world since I was old enough to process it. The beauty of life is that people can pile a peel of tires on me all they want, but they can’t touch what morning glories I’ve got crowing and climbing inside. And someday when I’m gone perhaps the seeds I do sew on the outside will spread a bit and people can figure out what the heck my insides were all they want. I don’t know and don’t care. But, that doesn’t mean I don’t think about it. I hate to talk this way, like I’m a thinking man. But, I guess I shouldn’t be ashamed to say that I think about the inner tick-tocks. A lot of it is clogged cogs though. Some by me, some by others. I just have to create. It’s how I get oiled and weathered. It’s my lightning and lightning rod. It’s my confessional. It’s my testament. It’s how I scrub my own floors and stink them back up. There is creation in everyone and thing and evolution of that creation at the same time. We’re all positively guilty of dragging a blade, feather duster or spilt paint bucket behind us into the every day world no matter what business is plowed, pillaged or plundered. Every day is different for me. Every day or every time I make something I think about what that certain something would have looked like or would have had me feeling like had I made it yesterday or tomorrow, a month from now or even an hour ago. It’s hard not to think about that stuff, but I can’t help from it. Though, at the same time I generally feel that I’m always making what I need to be making at that time, even if something isn’t a direct hit. I’d like to have the mindset that I’m always making my best work. And after a number of years of making stuff, the act of it almost becomes second nature. In some ways when I’m working and alone, I am closer to MY maker. I feel I’m doing what I’m supposed to be doing. I just have to take the life in, chew it and spit it back out. The process of each stage can be quite the intoxicating affair. But, it’s when I’m in the thick of it, that’s where there is real visual communication for me. I just have to take it in decent strides. I have been at stages with this where it can be controlling. That’s not a good shake. I love how every day is new and unique to the subject of life. Even if it feels the same as other days, it’s still a different notch in the meter. Even after expiration date, one can still influence the path of somebody else’s day by the things or thoughts they’ve left on by the side of the road for somebody else to either run over or stop to pick up. True, sometimes the things people leave behind can be a free tank of gas to the soul, gum on tires, rocks in the rims or a whole darn spike strip. My insides feel different each day. Some days I’m full of gas and some days I’ve broke down all over. I still get up on the same wall that I hug through the night and I eat breakfast with my mouth every morning and put the socks on my feet (unless I feel like an impromptu puppet play). But, my head is always in a different spot and sometimes my gut and my heart too. Sometimes I’ve got a big ol’ mess of ice scream soup and one heck of a brain freeze fart. I tend to approach the make things table under this same light. That is, with always being all over my own map, not with brain freeze farts. And each night I try to get to sleep with my spots smoothed out flat and run together. Though, not always easy. I love how baby dalmation pups don’t have spots for the first little bit of life. I love how they look like little blind wigglin’ rats during those first weeks. They don’t need the spots at first to differentiate one from the next or to say who they are. They just are. All of those little things that I do without conscience, the getting up and the eating and the sock putting…and right now, talking and blahking…these things are flat color like the baby fireman dogs. But, it’s the spots that are inside of me. The spots talk back and forth with light oozing in and out. Each day it seems like there has been a whole new troop of moths infesting and eating away. Making spots is what they do. There is always a new picture debuting in my picture house and sometimes shot with three cameras in several angles (like in the great classic film, “How The West Was Won”). Some days I break the box office. Some days I just break the piggy bank and scrape nothing but dust bunnies and boiled turnips. But, “scraping by” is not just reserved for the bad term. Each day these spots leak a different solution to the make table problems and sometimes you have to go scraping around for them to mix just right. Sometimes it just all comes just right. But, I don’t really see the approach to the way I make things as problems. Of course, sometimes it can be a problem to have something to do with creation and to have others involved. There are times that I don’t see how GOD sleeps at night knowing that he simply just chooses to love me (or his other creations for that matter)…even with all of these spotty feelings and things sloshing around in me. I’m sure that by reading this and/or knowing what you know of me, you’re probably noticing my constant teeter and totter. I’m like a mixed fountain drink at the corner gas station. And there are some days I’m the little left-over sugar water puddle you find rotting out the bottom of a styrofoam cup in the back floor board of a 1984 Ford Tempo. You know? The one with the sagged burgundy roof fabric that always gives you a cow lick as you get into and out of her womb? Back in the ’80s when life was a lot simpler and a week felt like a month and things felt like they actually felt like something, my older brother and I would find the blackest piece of advertising gloss in Mom’s “People Magazine”. I still have dry scalp problems to this day. I don’t have color in my wardrobe, so I suppose I was blessed with an eternal snow day every day. Anyway, what I’m getting at is that despite the little defective box of frosted flakes we clutched to our brows as we hopped out of the womb, my brother and I found an outlet to creation with this. We would place that black space of advertising on the living room end tables (during a break in cartoons and when there wasn’t an audience of MOM, of course) and shake out a snow storm. It looked like a big bang from my personal perspective. An entire little universe of ourselves. I must confess that I’ve been known to still possess this other-worldly talent of creation. I’d love to do a daily blog of this. Why not?! Or, maybe my new goal should be to get into advertising and demand to make more glossy black space for rent to hire those young kids out there itchin’ to get their big galaxies and universe down patty caked on paper… There has been something in me for a long time itching to get out. Maybe my creativity is like a big beautiful bundle of mysterious male peacock feathers that just keeps on wiggling and growing those magnificent colors. I’m always cutting off bits and plucking. Sometimes the bits tickle me good and sometimes they dust me and smack me over. ​0​2) Was there a relationship between your janitorial work and your art? That is, did one influence the other? I was raised with a blue collar. I sure do wish I could say it was turned up and in “cool” mode. But, in a weird way I think it’s the coolest because it is part of my building blocks. And no matter where you go or what you do, you’re roots are still alive and growing. Farming is in my blood. In some ways I don’t feel janitorial work is too far down the line from tending pasture, mending fence and plowing fields. In many ways an employee of a janitorial service is his own boss because he-she is alone and in solitude, just doing what they feel needs to be done to spruce up the place. I feel the work I do as a designer or maker of things is similar. I dust out the mind’s stairwells and kick things down them too. One of the things that would lure me to farming would be this comfort in being alone and just doing the thing. I miss that about being a janitor or groundskeeper. I miss having that freedom of choice of going to a hard to reach spot or a parking space that cars or people rarely touch, though it’s dirty from pure existence, and just being alone and making it look good. There is a pride I take in making things look the way I want them to look. Janitorial work will never go out of style. And neither will people’s idea that a janitor or a farmer, even a graphic designer these days is a low denominator of work and intelligence among the common people. I don’t aim to sound bitter here. I was never bitter in the many years as a janitor. I may have been a bit bitter as a farmer’s son, and only at 16 to 18 as a typical disgruntled teen dying to retreat…now I love and respect my upbringing and my former vocation. I’m made of it all and it has all helped shape me to who I am now. I just find it fascinating how people find it their need to put others in a particular place. While I had some great reception when working as a janitor, it also garnered a lot of talk. Even on the job people confessed to me that they had been trying to figure me out. I found this oddly fascinating that I could consume some of their mind with the fact that I was just working a trade to pay the bills. One woman I bumped into regularly at the parking garage cigarettes station each afternoon said to me, and after researching my story for months, “I just couldn’t put it together. It didn’t make no sense to me why you’d be wanting to do this kind of work. You seemed friendly and intelligent and come to find you’ve got things you’re doing on the side, well it just had me wondering.” I wasn’t upset with her telling me this. I appreciated her honestly and she just had me oddly curious…even within my own person and broom shuffling. I even feel that people in the art world (what little puddle I’m in) found this janitorial aspect of my creating as quite fascinating or strange. It’s not that I chose janitorial jobs as a means to put myself on display nor to play a particular “ideal” in order for people to talk or raise eyebrows. I just enjoyed cleaning house, I suppose. Many people close to me didn’t know how to handle my dropping out of design school to work bottom rung janitorial jobs in the early hours of 2002. But, I knew in my heart that it was exactly what I needed to be doing and it was crucial for me to do it right then. It was my time. I also knew that I needed to place trust in something at the time. There was at least to me a blind comfort in cranking the somewhat padded strings up on around the empty spool of a heart I had at the time. It made things make a bit more sense and comforted me just to try to get settled the stirred dust of my head while my body pushed a makeshift mop or broom on autopilot. And if it didn’t make sense to others, well, let’s just say I just tried to hold my head up the best I could and stay focused on ahead down my own paper trail odyssey. Openly, I would recommend anybody to try janitorial work, especially if you are looking for a simple care-free environment. It’s still a job though and can still wear you thin at times. But, for the most part janitorial positions are pretty easy going if taken with the right mixture of work ethic, responsibility and frame of mind. Maybe I’ve just been fortunate to work in some great places? Of course there are always the literal “crap” jobs. Cleaning out women’s restrooms at a 24-hour call center is possibly the worst, but it still paid the bills for a bit. And if you do a great job scrubbing those bathrooms, you can get moved up pretty quick like I did. And sometimes you’ve got to find the humor and ridiculousness in mopping up overflowing toilets. One time in a men’s restroom with over an inch of standing toilet water, I came out of the stall with my mop in hand as somebody passed by. Now, if I walked into a restroom with standing water, I’d definitely just hustle to another restroom to do my business. But, some people don’t care and just make obvious comments like, “Geesh, that there’s a lot of water on da floor”, as they look at me oddly. I followed this with, “I’m just waiting on Noah now”. It took some time for what I said to register. The guy was probably thinking of if he knew anybody with the name of Noah. But, after a few minutes it had him laughing as we shared urinal cakes and rubber duckies. I’ve worked in many various places with my janitorial jobs and have gotten to meet a lot of interesting, hardworking and diverse individuals that have all helped fuel my extra-curricular in some odd way, shape or form. I was even involved with monthly potluck dinners at one janitorial job. It was an amazing way to fellowship and bring together our little piece of the night shift community. The job site environments themselves were very inspiring to me as well. From junior high to my last year of high school I wanted to be an architectural designer of sports stadiums. That is, until I realized I was horrible at mathematics. Coincidentally, I got to somewhat fulfill my early dream as I pulled the trash for one day at my favorite baseball stadium design, Kauffman Stadium, home of the Kansas City Royals. I once won a Royals baseball essay competition about my love for the sights and sounds of going to this ballpark and here I was getting to pull the trash! It floored me when I got to the ballpark at dawn on that Tuesday in April of 2002 and could see the sun hit the green grass of the infield, and to think I was one of the few people there in that gorgeous testament to modern architecture and design, watching the natural elements bounce into and out of it. Moving on, I pulled the night trash and buffed the floor at an award-winning sports architectural firm for a couple of months. This was incredible as I got to see the pre-production and scale models and I sneaked a few little things home from the dumpster. I can honestly say that I did some work for a sports architectural firm. My longest post at cleaning was at the Kansas City Board of Trade. This was a unique place to work and oddly connected me to my farming past as this was the building that all the trades went on. It still dumbfounds me how that whole system of loud talking works, but I just enjoyed being there cleaning up and running errands. It was a job that I could have easily stayed at forever. And I was appreciated and people even took an interest in what I did out of uniform. I even designed a few posters, sketched and studied while I was on the clock. And there was a ton of great stuff to create with or to collect. But, one of my favorite things was to find things while cleaning, like hand-written letters or notes. I even found money a few times. I also enjoyed finding creatures that spoke to me from their confines in the pavement cracks. Certainly, it was a scary thing to just up and quit college to become a professional cleaner, to go into hiding to tan a new hide. But, for the first time in my life I was really carving my own initials. It may have been a selfish beginning, but I think that everybody needs to follow their heart more. If you trust in that, then you’re putting your trust in something higher that the heart strings are connected to. I just trusted that and worked hard at work and at play and kept my eyes open. In some ways janitorial jobs taught me to open up my lids even more. Design school had opened up new worlds within and around me. But, I think a lot of kids go straight from the comforts of the design lab and into full-time positions at design firms and they end up losing something that they had a good grip on months prior. It’s not that those types of professional atmospheres are bad. I think that everybody has a different approach to their life’s work or trade. Working in a design firm just never spoke to me at all and I’ve always been very protective of my craft since the early days of voluntarily locking myself up in my room or sandbox to create. Visiting many design firms from 1999 to 2001 had me worried sick about the idea of being stuck in a career that didn’t feed me the way I wanted to be fed. I didn’t want to eat at a trough. I wanted my own mini buffet and at my own leisure. And by the last couple of semesters of college, I was a wreck of a slushed soul from this and everything else that life had to offer. All of my eyes had become a bit closed up again except for the one that shown to me that something inside of me needed to explode. And I only knew of one way that could get me out. I suppose it’s safe for me to say in tree sap honesty that my brain has always been running backwards and forwards and catty-whompus since day one. I realize this now especially because I have come to see some of the ice bergs upstairs a little bit better that took me years to get to know. I sometimes wish I was in my early twenties again (only to have more time to MAKE), but I think I’ve gotten a better grip with age and life learning. Even though I still don’t quite understand what exactly makes me tick-tock and run, I can at least try to appreciate my masonry work and work at mending it in small clumps. Sometimes I think what makes me really run are hounds nipping at my ankles. Though, the dogs are sometimes good as they snap with ice pick claws the clamps that can chain me to some things. But, those same claws also dig into me. It’s not that I ran from problems or obstacles nor did I take the easy out and quit something important like a college education to sweep parking lots. I had exhausted myself in that particular stage of my early twenties and needed to mobile my shell before I got dragged down for more than good. I had something screaming inside and I needed to find the right spit can to collect it all in. Despite my own understanding of my actions, I do feel that a lot of people felt I was throwing myself away in order to pick up garbage. Actually, what I was doing was saving myself. With janitorial positions, I just knew that they were speaking to me just right and I was able to speak through them with my own work and I found comfort at that important place in my life. My design odyssey had me working for independent musicians. I knew of the occupational wallet hazards of such a sound decision before I made my move from slacker college design student to slacker somewhat professional designer. I just knew I was supposed to be in a Kansas City, MO ghetto living with a band (and some) in an old decrepit pile of an orange house and making stuff through the night and sleeping in my janitor outfit to go have some peace with thinking and making on the job too. And I wanted the stability of a fixed income, yet without a lot of the baggage that most people deal with in the day job day dream. Being young and dumb is one thing, but I felt that what I was doing was justifiable to my pocket book, the work force, my real work, and most importantly to my sanity (and others’ sanitation). ​0​3) What is your goal when you are creating something? That is, what are you striving to achieve? The marriage of a man’s inner workings to a blank space is incredible to me…when it hits just right and is of the moment and a spark of life happens. You can tell when something’s speak is whole and true because of the immediate connection you share with it. I gather this whether it’s a piece of art, a song, a movie, a writing or a bowl of sugary cereal. Heck, I can walk seven minutes to work and feel something so much bigger turning the keys and mashing buttons all around me. And when something man made speaks, you can tell that there is soul source material. There might be a hand-me-down system for putting it together on the outside, but you can tell when the halls of sincerity and honesty are opened up. You can tell when somebody’s exposing their bones and-or studying their bones and sharing observations of their world in a much bigger world with other smaller worlds encased. Whenever an incredible song, movie, writing…piece of nature or thought…speaks with just the right lens it can be like unwrapping a gift made special for the birthday boy or girl. And every day could essentially be a birthday in this way. I love the discovery of new things and to think that I could have found this many moons back, yet wasn’t in the right frame of mind or reference or reflection until the day I consumed it. I think that we should celebrate every day like this idea that every day is completely new and is perfect to us because it is in the now and we couldn’t have registered with it in any other place, point or time. Every day is different with me and my inner workings are never wound the same each day. And every day I’d like to think I’m getting more and more oiled and weathered at the same time. Life’s lightning is always ready to strike and I’ve got to play lightning rod too. It’s a hard balance on some days. But, I just want to approach each day within my own little arts and crafts section of the basement with the idea that I’m doing my best work and best that I can living down here. There are moments with creativity, when one can feel like a buried burrow. Especially when the older you get, the younger the clock gets. It’s easy to get overwhelmed and hard to match the pace of what the inside is screaming to the race outside. And I can’t pull the all-nighters like I used to. With my own art I try not to make it a chore. I try to make time for it and to always keep it in my saddlebags, within reason. I wish to give a paper trail that is of me and for others at the same time. I’d be a liar if I said my art wasn’t for me. It is and if I didn’t get something out of it or enjoy it, then I shouldn’t be doing it. But when others can wring something from my wash cloths, then that means so much to me. I really want to leave my little print on every leaf I pass, that is, if they all wish to hold my ink. Though, sometimes with deadlines and a full schedule that houses a day job, marriage and life stuff…well, making stuff can get a little rushed out and flushed out. It can start to feel like a same ol’ song and dance side show. Though, to look at the other side, you just do your song and dance while you’re here. We’ve all got one and some people never fully see it realized. I’m thankful to have what I feel are the proper fitting shoes and I just now would love to find a way to keep them on in a full-time manner. But, to keep on poking at the other side, I feel that there should never be a set switch to creativity. It’s not something that should be crammed into an eight hour day. My creativity doesn’t tune-out the minute I leave the house or get set in my current cubicled job of data entry. It can sometimes be charged in different ways and in peculiar ways. Though, sometimes with making things you’ve just got to recharge from over-exposure. I found out last year that it’s ok to say NO and it’s ok to take a time away from the table. I even learned this with a personal eating diet and schedule change. You can probably tell from a lot of my past work or “periods” when I’ve either been struggling or am bored, tired or am just way too constipated by life’s tap dance and life only. I think it translates to the end product, but I also believe it’s very much a testament of the experience and sometimes it can really speak in good and bad scoops. I think that it can happen to anyone and any profession, even full-time moms and dads. It’s not just something that happens to an artist or graphic designer. However, sometimes with art, the exact opposite can occur when you can feed off the energy of life and turn it into something else…something positive. It’s not a smooth relay, but fortunately I’ve been able to feed life to the creative torch. I’m at a place in my life where I just want to set my fire to everything. Stacking up seven years of attacking what it is I do in a professional manner, I’ve received a shiny little brush fire of praise and achievement. I’ve got a small band of pilgrims around the globe attracted to my blemishes and blandishments. I’ve been very appreciative and excited, even though some of my past responses or replies to this sort of thing have been a bit sheepish. I’ve always had trouble taking praise because I’m extremely hard on myself and it can be a very surreal experience when people take up with something that I’ve made and make it part of their experience. What could be worse, I’m always in strict competition with myself, but it’s also part of the discovery and making nature, I think. Again, a healthy balance is needed. Lately though, I’ve just been more excited for the idea of creation and making things and sharing things. But, sometimes it can be easy for things to lose their context and meaning with everything so I’ve got to start believing in umbrellas and nap time blankets again. The minute you make something and put it out there on the platter (more like, the buffet) you’re giving up a huge chunk of yourself exposed to the world. It’s just part of the game. That is, unless you’re painting in a cave or somebody out of connection with society just making stuff without an audience. I guess it would be like folk art. Things made by untrained folk artists really floor and inspire me. Their education is from life or from a higher calling and they must tell this story and a lot of them don’t start telling until later in life. It’s almost like they go back to being a kid again. I love this. They simply must MAKE and play. I try to strive to make for making’s sake. But, it can at times be hard being that I have had formal training and have had a fair amount of praise from the art and design community, so it’s easy for ideas to be pushed too hard and easy for the world to interfere. I do my best though at just doing what it is that I doo-doo. Finding beauty and inspiration in folk art makes me just find something inside of me and lead it on out at its own will and without whips and horse wranglers. Last summer I went from the Museum of Modern Art in New York City to just across the street to the American Folk Art Museum. Both are incredible houses for the arts, but it was the stuff in the less crowded, less artsy-fartsy American Folk Art Museum that really floored me the most. I had been studying a lot of the work for a few years, but to see it in the flesh was astounding. There is something very immediate and wholesome to it. Something so pure that is rarely touched by a so-called “professional” artist. And it can really challenge the thinking as to why we are making and putting outrageous price tags on things. But, it inspires myself to just try to speak the best I can and from a place inside of me. Talk. Talk. Talk. Talk. Blahk…I’m not skilled enough to strike up much debate on the issues here and I hate over-doing-it. I just enjoy folk art and regular art…and whatever else speaks. Anyway, the results can be ugly sometimes when you release something out there into the world. It can be personal poison when you clean out your ears. Everybody’s got an opinion and the opinion inside the messenger can be the worst. Everybody these days is a critic. I’m guilty. But, I don’t make stuff to be recognized or critiqued. I don’t make stuff so others can save me some glossy pages in their design annual. That stuff is great, but the work to me would be dead and done if I ever got to that point. And it would be hollow if I was just cranking stuff out for the approval of others. That’s one of the reasons I feed off of everyday influences and mood swings. I don’t want to spin the same wheels over and over. That’s one of the reasons I don’t wish to chase another man’s dream working in a design firm. I wouldn’t mind helping to hold the ladder on some cloud shaping a bit, but I’m not going to be their spotty dog that fetches design over and over and over. I’ve felt that once before even within the confines of music design and am just now at a comfortable place again with what I’m doing. But, there’s always a different dog nipping. Sometimes it can be pretty dumbfounding whenever something of myself comes out of me and then transcends the basement steps and flies the coop. It’s great to share the stuff, but I’ve felt an unexplainable emptiness at events like award shows or my own solo exhibition openings. The only way I can decipher it after much chewing is that, once it leaves the basement and my little world it’s really beyond me. I’m not a parent, but I suppose the feeling is similar to releasing a child to winds of the first day of school. Once they leave you, they are vulnerable to the rest of the world. And now all of this has got me thinking about what I’m really doing. See, my struggling is out in the open now as I’m passing myself back and forth with this writing and I’m on display for all to gawk at. Still, it’s just part of the trade. I’d love to be able to not have a clock tower and to not be hanging from it. I have a hunger to just make stuff all day and on my own time (well, when I’m not watching movies, eating or doing life stuff). I do have a hunger to share the work after the hunger to create it has passed, but at the same time it’s hard to get a good grasp on that too. And to do my work full-time I have to get the work out and about even more. A lot of my work has seen more of the world than I have and it’s all really exciting. If it can affect others and make somebody stop to get an itch of inspiration or a tickle, especially in our short attention span world, then that is a wonderful thing, I guess. That is a great thing and something that I don’t really have any control over. I just try to be a human being with a hunch back that needs its juices popped. And I’m dangling from that clock tower right now as Sunday supper is almost on the table and the dusk is dawning…and a new week of the day job sits and starts to melt me in my own stomach acid. -djg

[deeppressurecorgi]

Last Sunday, Mom decided to go see the new Guardians of the Galaxy movie, the reason why I cannot possibly comprehend. She’s not a Marvel fan as far as I can tell from the limited browser history I have access to, and before any of you say “because of the talking raccoon,” I’ll have you know that Mom prefers talking squirrels. Squirrels, people. Rodents. Not raccoons. Not the same. Get it right.

Anyway! We got to the theater and it was packed, as summer blockbusters go, so Mom and I got a seat on the aisle towards the front, which is great because it meant maximum feet-watching potential for me. We were just settling down when it happened. It almost always does, and if you were to give me a cookie every time we have this conversation, I’d be one of those bloated blimp monster labs you see with everyone and their uncle. He just appeared next to Mom seemingly out of nowhere. A Man. It doesn’t have to be a man, mind you. But this one was.

This man seemed fairly ordinary, and appeared to be there with his family. As soon as Mom was in her seat, he started staring at me. I’m very good at ignoring people by now, but it makes Mom uncomfortable when people stare at me for a long time. Finally, when he had gotten over his overwhelming shock at seeing a real live dog several feet from him, he pointed at me (rude! I’m not a “thing,” please don’t point) and asked Mom “Is that a service dog in training?” And kept up the pointing!

Here’s how the following conversation went:

What I wanted to say: “Well, it does say so on my vest, sir. Very observant. I am indeed the product my outerwear advertises.”

What my dumb Mom said: “Yep.”

What the guy said: “Has he been to a movie before?”

Me: “HAVE I BEEN TO A MOVIE? SIR, I HAVE BEEN TO FIVE MOVIES, EIGHT LIVE THEATER PERFORMANCES, AND A CONGRESSIONAL HEARING. SIR, I SAW AN OPERA WHEN I WAS A MERE FOUR MONTHS OLD. I SAW TONY-AWARD-BEST-MUSICAL-NOMINATED COME FROM AWAY WHEN IT WAS IN ITS SOLD-OUT RUN IN DC. I SAW SWEENEY TODD, WHERE THEY OPEN THE SHOW WITH A SIREN BLAST THAT PROMPTED AT LEAST TWO OLD LADIES INTO SCREAMS. I SAW COMEY START THIS WHOLE LANDSLIDE NOW KNOWN AS RUSSIAGATE FROM UNDER A CHAIR IN A GOVERNMENT BUILDING. I PROBABLY HAVE A MORE LENGTHLY RESUME THAN YOU IN TERMS OF OBSERVED ENTERTAINMENT, BUSTER.”

Mom: “Yep.”

Me: “LADY. THE RESUME. YOU ARE IGNORING THE RESUME.”

Guy: “So he’s not gonna bark?”

Me: “DID THIS BOZO SERIOUSLY ASK IF I WAS GONNA BARK? WHAT DOES HE THINK HE’S PLAYING AT? HOW ABOUT YOU GO PICK ON ONE OF THOSE 75 BILLION KIDS SITTING BEHIND YOU PICKING THEIR NOSES AND SPILLING THEIR POPCORN AND COMMENTING ON HOW WONDER WOMAN LOOKS TOO OLD? YOU’D THINK IF I HAD SOMETHING TO SAY, I WOULDA SAID IT WHEN COMEY BLEW HIS STACK AND GOT THIS SHOW ON THE ROAD. BELIEVE ME, I’VE GOT BETTER THINGS TO DO THAN YELL AT A MARVEL MOVIE THAT REFERS TO RACCOONS ‘TRASH PANDAS.’”

Mom: “I sure hope not.”

Me: “I can’t even with you right now woman.”

Guy: “Okaaay….”

Me: “I’ll show this dude. Watch me be the world’s quietest service dog. I’ll be quieter than it is uptown after Phillip dies. I’ll be quieter than the song Matilda sings when she gets pissed off. I’ll be quieter than a sedated trash panda. I’ll be so quiet your ears will bleed with the sound of my utter, complete silence as I SHUN YOU, OLD MAN.”

I was so quiet, I didn’t even watch the movie. I didn’t sniff for crumbs, I didn’t perk up during any of the loud parts, I just stayed there on the floor in my quiet, silent, isolated service dog bubble. I was so committed to this I even avoided farting on this chump’s feet. I just laid there and plotted my silent revenge, willing my mother to comply with my plans. Finally, after two and a half hours, the lights came on. Time to see what would happen. The guy looked down at me. He looked at Mom, calmly watching the credits, minding her own damn business. Finally, he dared speak.

“Wow, he did really well!”

REALLY SIR. NO WAY. I CAN’T BELIEVE IT. I TOLD YOU I WAS A PROFESSIONAL. I PROVED MY STUFF. THAT’S MORE THAN YOU CAN SAY ABOUT YOUR OFFSPRING DOWN THE ROW WHO GOT UP AT LEAST THREE TIMES TO PEE, BECAUSE APPARENTLY HUMANS AREN’T SMART ENOUGH TO DO THEIR BUSINESS BEFORE THEY ENTER A PUBLIC BUILDING. I DID FANTASTICALLY.

I waited with baited breath as mom responded.

"Yep. He’s a great dog.”

No shit woman. I am a great dog. I am 2 eyes, 2 ears, 4 legs, 1 tail, and 46 pounds of good dog with the the brain and the heart of 1 future service dog. Someday, I’m going to be the greatest guide dog there is. But for now, think before you comment on my abilities, oh-so-wise human. I do, in fact, know what I’m doing. Even if I do let Mom handle the talking. Maybe it’s better that way.

With that, Mom picked up my leash and we exited the theater before wise guy could say anything else. I walked with my tail high and my gait proud. And then I peed all over the parking lot. People, you should try it sometimes. It’s so much better than going in a public building.

[bouncingtigger10]

New Post has been published on The Bouncing Tigger Reads

New Post has been published on http://www.tiggerreviews.com/darcie-tells-us-about-cornwall/

Darcie tells us about Cornwall

Darcie Boleyn

Can you tell your readers something about why you chose this particular topic to write about? What appealed to you about it?

When I’m plotting a romance novel, one of the things I have to consider is what trope or tropes I would like to include. Often, the tropes come organically from the characters themselves and their backgrounds. With The House at Greenacres, I had a vision of the main character, Holly, returning to Penhallow Sands for a funeral, emotional and anxious, clutching a baby to her chest. This developed into the knowledge that Holly and her ex boyfriend, Rich, have been separated for some reason, and now, the thing that brings them back together is Holly’s grandfather’s funeral. I enjoy mixing tropes in my stories, so I combined the lovers reunited trope with the secret baby trope. I also wanted to write a story about what it’s like to come home after time away, about how emotional it can be to return to the place where you grew up and to see it from a different perspective.

How long do you think about a topic before deciding to write about it? Do you have a set of notes or a note book where you write down topics that appeal before making a decision as to which topic this time?

I write notes all the time and have notebooks all around my house as well as notes on my phone. I might not start working on an idea properly for months if I’m already working on a different project, but it will often be bubbling away at the back of my mind, waiting for its turn to be nurtured into a novel.

How long does it take to research a topic before you write? And for this book?

I did a lot of reading about vineyards and contacted a vineyard owner to research for The House at Greenacres. It was fascinating to learn about how a vineyard works and how wine is made. I researched before writing and during to ensure that I got the finer details right.

What do you read when you are ill in bed?

I rarely get to read in bed these days as I have two children and three dogs, so if I am ill, it’s time on the sofa in the lounge. I read whatever is next on my TBR pile as I have a very full Kindle and a table piled high with paperbacks.

What have you done with the things you wrote when in school?

I was always writing poetry and prose as a child and I still have some of them stored in the attic. When I was 12, I won a school poetry competition with a poem about Wildlife in Nature and I had to stand up in front of the whole school and read my poem out. I won a £12 book token and I was delighted. I also wrote a project about guide dogs when I was 13 and really enjoyed researching the topic as it meant contacting charities and speaking to people with guide dogs. I think that project is in the attic too. I’ll have to take a look…

Do you have any pets?

I do! I have three dogs – two British bulldogs called Spike and Zelda and a rescue greyhound called Freya. They are my writing buddies as they join me in the study and snore gently while I write. As I’m home alone all day, they are good company. As for funny things, one has to be the farting (especially the greyhound!) and the other is that Spike often sings along to my music. I also have three bearded dragons called Andrew, Loki and Cheeky.

What, in your life, are you most proud of doing?

I was a teacher for twenty years and once, when I went for an interview at a school, the governors asked me what I was most proud of doing. At the time, my daughter was only a year old, and my answer was having my daughter. Of course, that wasn’t what they were looking for (they wanted something teaching related), but it came straight from my heart. My children are my greatest achievements, along with marrying my husband, because I never thought I’d fall in love so deeply. Nothing is guaranteed in life except for today, but being able to love is one of the greatest gifts of all; being loved in return is priceless. However, in terms of my writing career, I’d say I’m most proud of being published. I always dreamt of being an author, but never thought it would happen. To date, it has been a wonderful, exciting rollercoaster. I am proud every time I finish writing a book and every publication day. I am grateful to the publishers who have accepted my work and to the readers and bloggers who read my stories and support me. I am grateful to my agent for taking me on. I am grateful to my family for being the centre of my world.

Thanks for hosting me! J X

Author Bio

Previous Books: Summer at Connwenna Cove, Christmas at Conwenna Cove, Forever at Conwenna Cove, Love at the Northern Lights and Love at the Italian Lake

Darcie Boleyn has a huge heart and is a real softy. She never fails to cry at books and movies, whether the ending is happy or not. Darcie is in possession of an overactive imagination that often keeps her awake at night. Her childhood dream was to become a Jedi but she hasn’t yet found suitable transport to take her to a galaxy far, far away. She also has reservations about how she’d look in a gold bikini, as she rather enjoys red wine, cheese and loves anything with ginger or cherries in it – especially chocolate. Darcie fell in love in New York, got married in the snow, rescues uncoordinated greyhounds and can usually be found reading or typing away on her laptop.

Author Photos:

Twitter: @DarcieBoleyn

Amazon (UK)

Kobo (UK)

Google Books (UK)

Apple Books (UK)

[thatguysamaniac-blog]

Acid rounds is a semi regular, irregular spot on TGAM for games we have beasted from start to finish. Cunzy: Theme to this week then is there? Richie: Yeah, I am old and I have been getting some SMW nostalgic feelz recently. It happens every so often, this game is so heavily inscribed in my DNA.  Occasionally it works it way up through social responsibility, financial woes and my crippling suicidal depression, and I get prangs to play this chirpy early 90's platformer again. To my mind I have beaten this game at LEAST 5 times, and by beaten I mean doing every level getting the alternate colour "96" Cunzy: It is a great game and to my mind Super Mario World really mixed it up. It's the technical Super Mario game as evidenced by the Super Mario Maker SMW levels I have no idea how to beat with spin, run and toss tech. Richie: SMW itself touches only very lightly on tech the tech you mention and is more forgiving than its predecessors on heart breaking fuckery. Mario Maker should really be treated independently, as it's own beast and just expands on some of the AWFUL fuckery things they could have put in the original game. Keep in mind also the Mario Maker only has a fraction of the items and enemies seen in the original game too! The most challenging tech in the original game can be found in Star road, where they stretch the awfulness such as P-Balloon floating (Sic Flappy Bird) and Yoshi time berries. Super Mario World is odd, there is tech in there that when I was younger even through magazines was never ever properly made clear to me in it: The Bonus Block This block appears in only three levels stands out as its green with a star on it, What does it do? Super Mario World introduced to us brand new "!" boxes which can give direct power ups with out the need for Mushrooms first, and the yellow rotating block the brick that spins around allowing you to pass through it but then stops and becomes solid again, and can only be destroyed by spin jumping. So what could this stand out green one with a star do? I mean its rare, its so different so it must be special, right? Nope. Sometimes it gives you a coin, sometimes it gives you a 1-up (depending on number of coins you have). I mean, that is WEAK. 1-ups are not exactly few and far between in Super Mario World, they are super farmable in Forest of Illusions and, I mean, 1-ups can just come out of normal blocks. Why does this exist? Chocolate Island 2 Fuck this level man, some bullshit mechanic whereby you can only progress to certain areas using coins/Yoshi Coins and... Well nowadays you can just look up the exact requirements for exiting that level, but man back in the day... When you completed that level and then you exited the level and did a wee loop around and came back to the level entrance was akin to the same sort of middle-finger at you as the dog in duck hunt snickering away. Cheese Bridge Equally as infuriating! This bastard level involves a nasty mechanic of flying UNDER the final goalposts*. A trick which involves a timed cape divebomb and last minute pull up, just at the right point so you dont: a) hit the post and complete the level b) die *Note you can also do this by getting to the end and then just "jump-abandon" Yoshi, however if you do this, I have to judge you as a human being. As maybe I don't need you in my life Cunzy: Where does this rank in your all time list of best Mario series games (excluding Sports/Party etc.)? Richie: Fuck, its hard to rank these I mean this one has to be my all time favourite (I havent played Galaxy or Odyssey, so reserving judgement for when I may be able to play them at some point.) Super Mario World Super Mario 64 Super Mario Bros 2 Super Mario Bros 3 Mario Sunshine Super Mario Bros + Lost Levels. Um, there is a plethora that should also arguably be in there with New Mario Bros and the RPG and Paper, even Mario is Missing. So I have just chosen a very debatable core of Mario games that are my faves. Cunzy: I ponyed up for those stupidly expensive and limited use NES controllers for the Switch but, Science has proven that I'm better at NES games with NES controllers. There's a plethora of ways to play SMW, is it sacrilege not to play on SNES with a SNES controller? Richie: Hmm... I'm gonna say yes. I have played it with this, and its pretty flawless, but I cant really imagine this on a 360 controller as the D-Pad is king... Plus well those feels with teh SNES controllers! Cunzy: That music tho? Richie: Oh Man that music! Such a great Soundtrack relentlessly chirpy with your normal over-world song! Excellently sinister for Castles and Fortresses! Atmospherically Echoed for the underground caverns! On Man so great... Pro Tip! the music changes and gets more percussion beats and such when you get on Yoshi... Check it next time! just jump off an on him! Love and Yellow Yoshi Stomp farts, Richie X

http://www.thatguys.co.uk/2019/03/acid-rounds-super-mario-world-snes.html

[sheilaswithissues-blog]

Gaseous

Dear Sheila,

The husband is currently asleep in a hotel room above a Mumbai nightclub, which is pretty much the most 007-esque sentence I’ve ever typed. However he isn’t there to chase some eccentric zillionaire baddie, but to head for an academic conference where they will be discussing, I dunno, quasars and galaxies and stuff.

In the meantime I’m left here with a dog with gastro, two noisy birds and a temperature forecast that includes one upcoming day of Hell On Earth.

Luckily I have my parents nearby to look after me. My retired, elderly parents, who are incredibly fit and active and energetic, still looking after their youngest child. The embarrassment …

I am coping pretty well so far, notwithstanding a dog regularly producing evil, eyeball-shrivelling farts (I have been literally lighting matches) and sporting a sizeable post-surgical wound, currently protected by a series of adorable bandanas. She looks so cute in them, and seems to like them so much, that I suspect they will become a permanent fixture.

My parents have been kind enough to lend me several of my father’s old bandanas that he used to wear to protect his neck while playing bowls.

(They include one with a jaunty pattern of marijuana leaves. Should I be worried?)

I put a red one on the dog yesterday, which looked very pretty, until she wandered innocently into the cockatoo’s line of sight, and all hell broke loose. It seems that to a cockatoo, a dog in a black, green or blue bandana is perfectly acceptable, but a dog in a red bandana is an Apocalyptic Sign Of The End Times.

Since the hubs is away I am free to eat all those high-fibre foods that his IBS cannot tolerate, so yesterday I celebrated with a meal that included brown rice, split peas, lentils, cucumbers, zucchinis, and heaps of spices. My plan was to sleep with a window open and hope not to asphyxiate the dog.

But as usual she was not to be outdone, and produced a series of farts overnight that made the paint on the ceiling wrinkle. I had to put lavender oil on my pillow.

Love, Sheila

[bouncingtigger10]

New Post has been published on The Bouncing Tigger Reads

New Post has been published on http://www.tiggerreviews.com/things-are-very-green-for-darcie/

Things are very green for Darcie

Can you tell your readers something about why you chose this particular topic to write about? What appealed to you about it?

When I’m plotting a romance novel, one of the things I have to consider is what trope or tropes I would like to include. Often, the tropes come organically from the characters themselves and their backgrounds. With The House at Greenacres, I had a vision of the main character, Holly, returning to Penhallow Sands for a funeral, emotional and anxious, clutching a baby to her chest. This developed into the knowledge that Holly and her ex boyfriend, Rich, have been separated for some reason, and now, the thing that brings them back together is Holly’s grandfather’s funeral. I enjoy mixing tropes in my stories, so I combined the lovers reunited trope with the secret baby trope. I also wanted to write a story about what it’s like to come home after time away, about how emotional it can be to return to the place where you grew up and to see it from a different perspective.

How long do you think about a topic before deciding to write about it? Do you have a set of notes or a note book where you write down topics that appeal before making a decision as to which topic this time?

I write notes all the time and have notebooks all around my house as well as notes on my phone. I might not start working on an idea properly for months if I’m already working on a different project, but it will often be bubbling away at the back of my mind, waiting for its turn to be nurtured into a novel.

How long does it take to research a topic before you write? And for this book?

I did a lot of reading about vineyards and contacted a vineyard owner to research for The House at Greenacres. It was fascinating to learn about how a vineyard works and how wine is made. I researched before writing and during to ensure that I got the finer details right.

What do you read when you are ill in bed?

I rarely get to read in bed these days as I have two children and three dogs, so if I am ill, it’s time on the sofa in the lounge. I read whatever is next on my TBR pile as I have a very full Kindle and a table piled high with paperbacks.

What have you done with the things you wrote when in school?

I was always writing poetry and prose as a child and I still have some of them stored in the attic. When I was 12, I won a school poetry competition with a poem about Wildlife in Nature and I had to stand up in front of the whole school and read my poem out. I won a £12 book token and I was delighted. I also wrote a project about guide dogs when I was 13 and really enjoyed researching the topic as it meant contacting charities and speaking to people with guide dogs. I think that project is in the attic too. I’ll have to take a look…

Do you have any pets?

I do! I have three dogs – two British bulldogs called Spike and Zelda and a rescue greyhound called Freya. They are my writing buddies as they join me in the study and snore gently while I write. As I’m home alone all day, they are good company. As for funny things, one has to be the farting (especially the greyhound!) and the other is that Spike often sings along to my music. I also have three bearded dragons called Andrew, Loki and Cheeky.

What, in your life, are you most proud of doing?

I was a teacher for twenty years and once, when I went for an interview at a school, the governors asked me what I was most proud of doing. At the time, my daughter was only a year old, and my answer was having my daughter. Of course, that wasn’t what they were looking for (they wanted something teaching related), but it came straight from my heart. My children are my greatest achievements, along with marrying my husband, because I never thought I’d fall in love so deeply. Nothing is guaranteed in life except for today, but being able to love is one of the greatest gifts of all; being loved in return is priceless. However, in terms of my writing career, I’d say I’m most proud of being published. I always dreamt of being an author, but never thought it would happen. To date, it has been a wonderful, exciting rollercoaster. I am proud every time I finish writing a book and every publication day. I am grateful to the publishers who have accepted my work and to the readers and bloggers who read my stories and support me. I am grateful to my agent for taking me on. I am grateful to my family for being the centre of my world.

Author:

Darcie Boleyn has a huge heart and is a real softy. She never fails to cry at books and movies, whether the ending is happy or not. Darcie is in possession of an overactive imagination that often keeps her awake at night. Her childhood dream was to become a Jedi but she hasn’t yet found suitable transport to take her to a galaxy far, far away. She also has reservations about how she’d look in a gold bikini, as she rather enjoys red wine, cheese and loves anything with ginger or cherries in it – especially chocolate. Darcie fell in love in New York, got married in the snow, rescues uncoordinated greyhounds and can usually be found reading or typing away on her laptop.