Futile

Frame the room in neglected wood and faded paint. Wash it with the cold light of a hopeless dawn, and paint on shadows from the soot caked window pane. The only brightness to be seen is the crystalline gleam of an empty bottle reflected on blued steel. Focus on the man slumping on a narrow bed, hard beside the small table where the remnants of his life reside, and wonder how this came to be.

An Interrupted Lunch

I've never tried to do many still life paintings, don't feel like I'm all that good at them, not yet.  But this one almost came out like I wanted, and of course it leaves the question hanging... what interrupted someones lunch?

The Well, Ch 1... a who done it detective yarn

The law should read “No telephones shall remain operational within five hundred miles of any establishment where tequila or any derivative thereof is served for public consumption...” Or words to that effect. Or maybe it wasn’t telephones at all, perhaps it was a full platoon of errand boys. Errand boys with large metal gongs and flying mallets. Errand boys who got paid by the stroke. Or maybe I should not drink mescal on weeknights. Probably the later. Several small items hit the floor before I had the receiver in my hand.


“Good morning,” I said. I lied. It was not a good morning. The pipe band in the hall had just started a funeral march for the whole of mankind, give or take a few souls.

The voice in my ear laughed at me. “Yea, and any morning where your ass and your boots wind up under the same bed is a good morning. Carson, are you drunk or hung over?” You have to understand this is just Cambell’s normal manner. He never really meant to be a sadist, it just sort of grew on him. Officer Candidate School and three tours on the sand only refined him.

“Mr. Cambell. If you want me drunk you get to buy.” Nobody ever really gets past Cambell.

“Conscious. Not quite up to full speed, but conscious. I have a job for you, if you’re still in the business.”

“You mean a job with tax forms and check stubs or some bullshit where I’ll get shot at,” I asked, getting my feet under me.

“Maybe both. Good potential either way. You want to talk about it?”

Sword of Aggression

DAMN YOU! take your cursed sword and prove yourself a man,
Turn the roses red to black to match your bloody hand!!!!
But do not think you'll ride from ME with murder in your heart
Then ask I bear a son for you to take his father's part.
Sooner would I kiss an asp and beg it death to give
Than bear a child by such as you that evil onward live.
Once I thought you noble, such a fool was I
To miss the glint of hatred found so often in your eye
For those who cherish love above the wail of orphans cry.
Oh yes, I pray my husband, I pray it twice a night
That they will have a champion ten times yourself in might.
I pray that he will slay thee and then not in his turn
Become a monster such as you, a kingdom for his urn.
I wear these veils in hope of that, and for the widow new
Who'll mix her tears with hero's blood shed defeating you.

***   ***   ***

I never got the chance to ask Selene about this, I can only hope my poem does a good job of reflecting the meaning of her photograph.

Law and Disorder

I suppose it's just a guy thing maybe, but sometimes you have to lighten up on the whole subject, take an easy laugh from the tales of they did what where?  You know, lighten up so you don't sink.  For example, you think your job has some delicate points of etiquette concerning dating among the staff?  Try and imagine working at a cop shop with a lady officer who has a serious thing for confessions and one way glass... she's saved your life twice, saved your ass from the captain a bunch of times, but it's just part of her to enjoy the idea of all those badges watching her be a bad girl. What would you do?

The Greats: Fleetwood Mac

I liked the song, the first couple of hundred times I heard it, still like it every now and then, but I'm totally fascinated by the image, the thought... someday when I'm a better artist I may try this one again...

The Greats: Bob Seger

Stormy Sam by CDM.MMXI

I don't think there is a man out there who doesn't know her by one name or another, the one who can hypnotize you with a glance, a gesture, an aura that forms around her when she moves.  Yea, we've all known her, we all loved her, and we all let her walk on by and thought "as long as there's delightful creatures like her it's worth staying on a while longer... she's enough of a dream to make tomorrow worth waiting out tonight."  We all knew her, loved her, and couldn't begin to explain to her what she'd done for us, couldn't begin to think of a way to give something back.  It was mainstreet after all, and soft sentiment held sincere don't play to well, not down on mainstreet.

Point to Pointalisms...

Dress by CDM.MMXI

Afternoon of Three Clouds

I doubt anyone who knows me would believe how much I wish I could live in a simple world again, a world where I might spend a spring afternoon enjoying the warmth of the sun, the green of new grass, the beauty of my woman, how much I wish I could fill all of my thoughts with the simple fact there are only three fluffy little clouds in the sky...

The Greats: Kenny Rogers

For some reason I think her given name was Lucille, that Ruby was just her nick name. But, that's just a hunch on my part based on two songs and human nature. Kenny never said the two songs were connected, but if she was a real person it makes sense he never would.

Semper Fi

Dare you look beyond the glass when ghosts are out to play?
Have you the heart to hear the tales we souls delayed portray?
Ah, I see you have some courage, so follow me my man
I’ll lead you to the very spot where Poe once took my hand.
He’s really such a gentle soul who stayed on with us here,
I’ll introduce you if you’d like although he’s hard to hear
Whispering as he does you know, hiding in his tears.
I warn you though, keep you close, for there’s a few about
So sad and bitter in their ends their glance can give you gout.
Yet really for the most part we are as were in life,
It’s just that now we only wake beneath the full moon’s light
To wear again our mortal form and walk a bit by night.
Me? Oh, I could go to heaven, there’s no sin bars my way
But I really can not leave just yet, 'tis hope that makes me stay,
I’m very sure my sweetheart will have to pass this way
When fallen heroes free are set from battle’s wretched play.
You see I crossed so very young, to illness so they say
Although I really don’t recall so much about that day.
But still I know I gave my word to wait for him right here
Until the redcoats have all gone, till freedom rings out clear
He’ll be a marching with lads away at Archer's mill.
But that’s enough of me, pray what has brought you here?
Alive and frightened it would seem, although there’s naught to fear
To knowing full you’ll still be you beyond your mortal years.
Have you a dream that fills your soul? That’s really all you need
If you should find yourself with us who find we can not sleep
Until the vows we made in life we’re able full to keep.

The poem is words found to fit the picture, and the picture was pieces that found each other mostly by chance, the results of those accidental meetings  actually a bit of a heretics faith, that we will indeed be ourselves after our mortal years have run out.

Twisting Fate

Maybe someday he'll break that line of fate, maybe someday he'll escape hell.  Maybe someday so will I.  Maybe.  But I'm not going to hope to much, hope just makes it hurt worse.  There will always be someone who needs while I just want, there will always be someone like that.  There always has been.  They practice being needy, they have shrinks and preachers and guru and all those kinds of people to help them practice being needy, that help them perfect their helplessness.  And he, and I, we don't think about being weak and needy, we just think about trying to keep them alive, and we live in hell for our efforts.  Fate sees to that.

Remnants of a Fever

Very much a case of just dropping in to see what condition my condition was in... to steal a great line from a great old song.

2011: Break it in like you want it to run...Erotica or Porn?

What is erotica? How is it different from pornography? Perhaps a rhetorical question hung as bait, certainly a challenge to define in short form as if any definition could ever be more than a justified opinion. Still though, with your permission I'd like to take a swing at it, it is my hobby to attempt such definitions.

A Diverging Reality

A huge portion of our nation's current problems have for a beginning the function of divergence. The size and complexity of our society and the degree the public media is emphasizing this complexity is over-running a very significant portion of the populations ability to hold a mental image of the society they live in. It is simply beyond their level of abstract intelligence to grasp even a working framework. Their vision and version of reality is diverging from full, shrinking back to a sustainable level well short of representing the dynamics of the world they live in. In a nation governed by some dictatorial oligarchy this phenomenon of divergence would be of little consequence, but to a nation built on the concepts of democracy such divergence will likely be lethal if allowed to escalate beyond balance.

There are those who have been and continue to enhance this entropy in order to exploit it for political gain. With greed for power as a motive they have either maliciously or most unwisely betrayed every trust placed in them to deliberately limit and prejudice the perspectives available to the diverged individuals since it is a relatively simple matter to direct their choices at the ballot box once control has been established over their perspective and range of perception.

Those who have perpetrated this injustice on the nation they claim to love may well have sounded the death knell of Democracy in the 21st century.   A population of individuals who cannot formulate or maintain a mental ‘map’ of their society is at risk to every social ill imaginable. There is some critical percentage of such individuals in a population beyond which Democracy can not survive, the causal link between vote and response is broken. Trust becomes impossible, there is no rational basis for it. The law degrades to become nothing more than the fangs and claws of the monster who lives in the dark behind the door. Every function which depends on the individual understanding and empowering the relationship between himself and his society is at risk as perceived reality diverges from actual reality, for the individuals who do not and can not view society as a rational creation to be dealt with in a rational manner will revert to dealing with it in the manner of any frightened person struggling to survive: force of arms, and the more the better.

This is not totally a matter of professional liars manipulating ignorant people with illusions, the truly dangerous part of this scenario are the elements of repression and tyrannical thought that do exist within our society to threaten freedom, the elements found in the primitive and feudalistic competitions of the corporate entities who operate most freely in the shadows of ignorance. The converged members of society have trouble admitting such elements exist, it is a frightening thought. The diverged members have no trouble seeing what is moving through the shadows of their ignorance, but have no way to communicate this to the remainder of a population who do not want to know. Both are at risk, and for one cause or the other both are nearly helpless.

Friend Freedom on Facebook

Facebook. What an obscene monster.

Since the function of FB is simple gossip, excuse me, "social networking" ( rather than software serving in the capacity of a tool such as Excel or Autocadd or Fortran v10^6), they do not actually market a product, but rather compete with any number of other social contact sites: churches, clubs, campuses, bars, anywhere people might congregate to socialize. That FB exists as a club in the pixel forest does not negate the fact that those who populate that club are already citizens of their respective nations and pursuant to their prime citizenship are guaranteed certain rights, including the right to expect their nation defend them against any who might attempt to negate those rights by force or fraud, by deception or manipulation while they are within their own territorial borders.

The point of attack is to set into juris prudence that the rights of citizenship are defined according to a person's physical location, setting events within the pixel forest as no different than those experienced in any other part of the land. In essence, acknowledge that FB's terms of service will stand as the law of Facebook-land, but that since Facebook-land exists within the territorial borders of (substitute your particular land) the United States the Constitution demands several things: that Facebook-land is subservient in all regards to the Federal Government of the United States; that the law of Facebook-land is subservient to and must in practice fully comply with the rights and freedoms guaranteed under the Constitution of the United States to it's citizens; that if Facebook-land wishes to peacefully coexist then Facebook-land assumes the burden of proving compliance to the terms specified above, or risks being considered an alien invader preying upon the citizens of the nation and open to being physically attacked by any or all elements of the military acting in defense of the land.

But that's not likely to happen. Wake up, people. FACEBOOK IS A BUSHITE THING, a brilliant end-run around the fourth amendment to the Constitution (no need for illegal searches when the fools will put anything and everything you might ever want to know concerning the state of their lives on the internet where The Gestapo, excuse me again, the DEPARTMENT of HOMELAND SECURITY [a fully owned subsidiary of Halliburton Corporation under contract to the Federal Government] is both able* and fully allowed to monitor every transmission searching for "terrorists"), and equally is the absolute perfect medium and method for harnessing and controlling "group think" as it is called as a fully controlled and incredibly effective propaganda method. If you never write a letter snail mail, if you haven't spent any face time sharing air how do you know that your friend from fourth grade who lives half way across the nation actually said what you read in a post with his name on it? How does he know that you actually said what he read the same day?

Ya'll read Orwell and Huxley just like I did. Can't you recognize what they were talking about when it just deleted your artwork because it didn't meet their "terms of service?"


*just like people have no real concept of the power involved with nuclear weapons they have no real idea the power in the truly big computers, those bad boy Cray's the govt. runs, nor do they have any idea how effectively code written from the test scores involved with modern psychology bastardized could sift the entire content of internet traffic for any attitude desired or proscribed, nor did they connect the dots when in the late '90's the www2 was created allowing the entire internet to be echoed with one bit flip into the domain of those Crays. Hi, ya'll... I want a tall boy Budweiser, a foot long submarine on Italian bread, hold the olives, and two sides of 'tator salad to go with it. All I ask is that the assassin you send to get me is a good shot intent on making it a clean kill. Thanks.

Teddy Bears and the Good Woman Blues

I make no bones about it, I am a dirty old man. I like looking at pretty women without their clothes on. I like it when they portray passion for me, some longing so deep there simply is no substitute for the lover they dream of, somehow it is a reinforcement of the idea and ideal of fidelity between hearts. But almost as much as I enjoy my little touch of voyeurism I enjoy watching how others respond to the same subject, the same stimulus. There is a great deal to be learned about people, individual and culture alike, by what they find attractive where the sexual meets the social in the realms of the erotic.

It never fails to amaze me how many different things end up getting set into that realm, how many things really totally unrelated somehow find representation there. It is also such a comment on our society how much the spectators often reveal of themselves to no more of a prompt than a pretty girl willing to forego physical modesty and be undressed in the sight of others. It says how much is locked away behind some outer covering, be that covering cloth or conventions of silence and propriety.

Often enough what emerges out from under those covers is cause for a chuckle, as often as not at myself as well, and in truth I've learned a good amount about myself from dissecting some of those chuckles. Other times what emerges can set such a poignancy, put a deep touch on things far more a matter of the common humanity than anything from the playful and risqué. One time in particular has stayed in my thought, a time my muse was being 'mother' to one bunch of her boys, a rainy day mother entertaining her kids in the house. For the final fifteen, twenty minutes of a two hour show she'd had probably twenty guys, grown men all, fawning at her feet behaving like spoiled little boys trying to out-do each other to win favor from the momma figure she was portraying. The subject was her collection of teddy bears, she was filling time by taking them down off the shelf one by one to show them to the camera, and the boys were competing by trying to remember each bear, its name and when acquired, trying to demonstrate their devotion with the details.

It came time for the end of the show, the traditional bye-byes had been said. It appeared she was reaching to cut the feed and end the broadcast… but she missed, or the command didn't take… the video stayed on for another couple of seconds before she realized she was still broadcasting. What came onto her face, when she thought she'd restored her privacy, was shocking. Not a shock of vulgarity or anger, it was the shock of seeing something you might have hoped for, but not expected. I saw her wearing all the signs of a case of the good woman blues, that sad little smile that turns down just a bit at the corners, the soft shake of the head. For those few seconds it was so clear, so unmistakable. If it was deliberate, an act, then she deserves an Oscar. It was just hanging there in ten foot neon to be read by anyone willing to suffer with understanding what they saw.

…What am I to do with this? They are so lonely, so desperate. They ask after everything, anything really, they memorize the names of my teddy bears. What am I to do with this, what can I do with this? They memorize the names of my teddy bears…



…from the dreamweaver archives…

Eden's Child

I read so much about the man-woman interface, and yet at times I think those who do the writing are hoping they can generate enough words concerning just the man and the woman that both forget there is always, always a third soul watching every act of sex and hoping it will become an act of love.

Art is Cold Company

 

Art isn't company, not really, particularly when the art in question is your own.

Pipe Smoke 1

So many folks are looking at our world with confusion approaching despair.  The problems just seem so deep set, so intractable.  But they're not, not really.  You just have to approach them with two thoughts in mind: first, do what no one would ever think of doing, the radical thing, the unimaginable thing; and second, make sure the thing you've decided to do will in absolute concrete and literal fact increase justice, real justice, the balance of effort to reward, responsibility and rights.  For example, the welfare systems of the United States.

Fixing welfare is easy… if you want any form of public assistance the back side of the deal is that you will relocate.  Get 'em out of the damned inner cities and put them to work doing what ever they are able to do… and pay them what their work is worth, hire them some French union folk to negotiate for them in good faith with the farms and state highway departments and industries who will be buying their labor.  If they live in the rural areas and drive a cowboy Cadillac based on nine illegitimate children they go the other way… into the cities to help rebuild the blight.  Or better still, put 'em to work building and rebuilding the rail systems while there are still enough resources in the country to get that critical job done.  Stir the pot, and stir it hard as you turn the fire up.  But the one constant is that where ever they had lived they live there no more… break, burn and bury the culture of living on the public tit, deprived of a most primal of human rights, the right to say "this is mine because I earned it in fair trade!"  You'll probably lose 1 in 5 to psycho shock, but still cheap at the price… the remainder will be restored to full human rather than losing them all.