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armoredbaby

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(no subject) [Jan. 25th, 2010|04:22 pm]
I did say I would retire this place -- but I think what that meant is -- I think I noted this -- to keep my art and important creative words in the different journal.

So -- what then to write? I must spice up the twitterings with life bits of more than 140 characters.

Courvoisier paints the wall with her glossy squares upon the living rooms newly painted cranberry expanse. The dogs run about and I have to do the dishes.

3 days off await.

The weather today was rainy and windy.

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(no subject) [Jan. 19th, 2010|11:13 am]
My Live Journal Account, which has been my main mode of blogging, which has served me since my move from Spring lake Heights, to the KH, to the rartian, to the Bunker, to here, the KG342, is now being retired.

Why?

Notes from the Room, as it has been titled, was just about that, especially at first, before Courvoisier arrived and our lives transformed -- as my life transformed.

Initially it detailed my time in that small room in the KH, the abode of T and L, when I worked at the Place and then later as Courvoisier and I grew to have a mutual experience it changed, yet even with the locations changing and situation, it still was a blog true to the times and to me. Even though situations and residences changed and life went on, I did not change and essentially I was till harboring behaviors, outlooks, methods and modes of habit that were all too familiar, not only via crazy lifestyle choices: drinking excessively at times, procrastinating when it came to the real execution of vital creative desires.

Now 2010 I have a truly refreshed head on my shoulders. What I want to detail is the progress I am making solely in matters creative. I am and have been inspired by the insights gained through reading Van Gogh's letters from time to time and would like to somehow have my journal be my Theo.

So -- my new journal will have all of my recent thoughts and a focus on creative projects, successes, failures ( may they be modest and fewer than ever ) inspirations and anything concerning art. My personal music is detailed elsewhere I know but perhaps it shall be combined in this total blog concerning creativity in general, no?

The blog will be here. So all my friends whom have peered into my life will now here only find among the tweets, the casual details of life, notes about the pets and such -- if this is what you dig then you need not worry. The entries though will be sporadic, much as they are now. These entries get ported to Facebook and now they will be perfect for that environ.

So -- anyone interested in these pursuits and what will be the primary location of words I consider of paramount importance so that in the future I or anyone else can recollect what I foresee to be a very important year in my life.

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(no subject) [Jan. 6th, 2010|09:41 am]
Wednesday January 6th... a gray day... radio on in the kitchen, B at work. Gmail open with nothing special in the mailbox, just stuff in the b#llsh#t column. Dogs walked and they ate -- now they play. Moments ago, a quick text to Beeb. Breakfast a small bowl of cereal with a wee bit of half and half so I didn't have to eat it dry.

I am about to map the day, for the first time, really giving myself a schedule to follow, for these days off are meant to be, should be precious, even though the job I have now as far as daytime monkey business ( stuff away from art or other activities ) has withered to really a part-timey situation -- it fluctuates.

So I am with coffee, smoke and an anemic offering of current emails. One such notice, a familiar one, rests in the inbox. A Twitter follower notification.

Twitter followings:

18 followers
0 tweets
following 113 people

Let's click on the link:

Hold up!

Sorry, the profile you were trying to view has been suspended due to strange activity.

Well -- on to the next discovery.

The dogs run around and I am glad that they ate. Some days when Crvsr is off to work, they don't eat. Sometimes they are off put by my energy when I get up. This morning I was even-keeled, placed on their winter clothing ( they get very cold and shiver otherwise ) and walked them, achieving relatively good results, all business taken care off quickly in the frigid air of this mid-January morning.

I have a selection of things I can do, but won't list them here in detail: A website, some art of my own, both for myself and a piece for someone, a painted object.

Yesterday was B's birthday and it was a muted celebration but overall as fun as it could be. We did our usual, but B expressed to me that the usual was fine, for this year was....

I have not been good on the birthday thing, as much as I like them, for my fiscal situation has always been strangled by bills and debt. I have not been good at, or attentive to, aptly and promptly remembering the days, even when the birthday in question is my own. I have made it my cause to get better at this, write things down etc., but it all doesn't matter if I don't have even the most meager resources of time or money to prepare something super-special.

Hi, Armoredbaby.

HeidiCabrera (Cabrera_3814) is now following your tweets on Twitter.

A little information about HeidiCabrera:

0 followers
1 tweet
following 295 people

I thought about making her a dinner, but it came down to our usual, a trip to the Matawan Diner.

Armoredbaby photo of old diner sign

The diner is being renovated, half of it stripped, gone and the patterns of sheet-rock plainly visible for a seperating wall has not been erected. We were seated where everyone is now seated, in the gray boothed area that is married to the counter. Normally we are seated in the dining area.

The booths do not have those silly music stations, for the record.

Let me get this straight, I told B that in a few weeks, we will have a situation where we invite people over for her birthday, make a kick-ass dinner and the hell with my birthday, really, I don't care too much to celebrate that this year. I am possessed.

So we were seated, not far from the cake display. A woman next to us caught our immediate attention. She sat with her husband.

Park Place Diner Woman

There are notations:

  • A - Her Breadsticks
    Crvsr got to see most of this because she had a better direct view; the woman was directly across to my right.( I only got to watch the Needy Situation - more on that later )Pillbox husband ate salad bar while all wife had was liver. Yes -- this salad bar has liver, chopped liver like my g-ma would make. This woman -- as B told me, had the liver in a small plastic container and ate it, scooping it out with breadsticks. That was all she had. " How cheap is that?" said B when we left.
  • B - Her Pillboxy Fur hat.
    When I walked in I immediately noticed this. The shade of the fur on her hat, was so very close to her hair color -- I was instantly confused. It looked like she was attacked with a Flobee by a hairstylist known for her radical lesbian cuts. It looked like -- how can the hair be that short and yet so high? What is that? Stop staring! My mind was abuzz with it all -- I immediately addressed B and she, as is her strength, was readily agreeing.
  • C - Her general attire
    It is not so evident in the picture, but this woman, from hat, to hair, to outfit, could be classified in simple Crayola terms, mochaccino. Her gold necklace lay on top of her chocolate mousse sweater-top, the only thing that broke up the scheme -- hell she almost matched the color of what she was eating!
Even though we eat there all the time, this was a fun experience.

Also notable was the Needy Situation -- I almost forgot. OK -- Table in front of the Mochaccino Woman. A couple ate dinner. The woman did not sit across from her man, she sat NEXT to him. B was also on this, analyzing. This gal was pretty in a high-maintenance way, professional looking way. Her fella, older sat on the inside. This weirded me out. I asked B -- what the fk is that? Later she would create a scenerio. Essentially that she thought that it was a kind of "Staten/Long Island" scenerio. Older guy, probably owns a small construction business eating out with a gal who is desperate for the ring.

OK -- I really have to end this now. TV Peru I can hear, as well as the rest of the day calling.
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(no subject) [Dec. 23rd, 2009|07:48 am]
It is Wednesday morning. The morning before the gig.

I have no compulsion to check the email or do any of my usual routine. That has been a silently unfulfilling affair. Let me preface this: I am in an expectant mood. Tonight is the show at the Pony. I am not going to list the address here, as I have countless places, in copious status updates in a gazillion places. This is, for whatever reason a morning to write.

I first want to thank Crvsr for helping me try to realize my seemingly insipid DIY goal, which turned out to be an ultimately frustrating affair.

I have this vision of performing in a full, lush covering of improvisational henna designs. I am determined to realize this and for the record it will not be this particular show.

It started out with a day of errands yesterday. B and I did laundry, a lot of it. She had everything all regulated and planned for effeciency, which is her strength. We did the laundry, performed other errands and things were going smoothly.

One of the tasks was to get the supplies needed. I knew only AC Moore to carry the henna kits. We planned to go there.

The highways were full of traffic -- note this.

So we get to that stage of the plan, mindful that I have a rehearsal at 5 in Red Bank.

Along the way, she comes up with a workaround. She told me that henna is also a hair dye -- her Mom would use it on her when she was a kid, a muddy smelly affair she recalled.

She offered that we might get the material at Sally's Beauty Supplies. One store is right up the road. We went there and the girl at the store who plainly thought we were a weird pair, showed us the "Henna" dyes. One was Bigen along with another. B did her best inquiring about the products. The gal did her best dealing with us and we bought the dye. Eventually we went home and for some reason I researched the practice of this dye for the usage intended by me. it was not a good move.

So -- I had a choice -- I couldn't find it fit to apply this product having read what I read. It was not advised. I had a choice. Go back out and get the product and I thought since B's car is more modern and faster, she could go back out with me. She was not pleased. She argued that only some people who are probably allergic get a reaction, but I, seeing the possible irritation that might come, could only imagine myself having a lasting reaction that would rub under my skin at work, where all day as of late I am charged with doing tasks that rub my clothes against my skin.  Nonetheless she agreed. So we went back out, returned the dye to Sally's and went on to AC Moore.

Funny -- I said to myself, " Mark -- wouldn't it be a kick in the head if they did not have it, AC Moore?"

The roads -- clogged with lategoing Christmas shoppers, were a nightmare, with every U-Turn along the way filled around the curve with people/cars.

I know B was most likely worrying for me, about the time and my having to get to rehearsal. Her face was not one of pleasant countenance. As usual -- she ignored my attempts at trying to inquire. And for the record once a woman has the face on -- it is wise to respect it -- do whatever it is you must but respect it -- like the defensive markings on an animal -- it is there for a reason. As we drove in the left lane -- planning to go down the highway a fair way -- we passed by Micheal's -- a competing store to AC Moore.

" Can't we try Micheal's?" she asked as we passed the store with no way of cutting over to get to the the place which is MUCH closer than AC Moore. I told her I didn't even recall a Micheal's being there. It has been so long that I have gone to any store for anything regularly -- and I simply did not know the store was there. We proceeded to AC Moore.

Of course -- we got there after a host of time-consuming U-Turns, she with the face and me thinking how silly this must seem, my desire, to her.

We get there and they don't have the product I need. Great.

We go back -- and of course -- we have to get on the other side of the highway. More u-turns. It was close to 4:00PM.

My original intention was to have B do the patterns on me -- thinking -- she does make-up -- she has a steady hand.

Finally we got to Micheals -- we had called and they said they carried the product and had it in stock.

I went in -- and got it.

We came home -- and I went immediately to rehearsal -- which ended around 7 -- immediately I was on my way home.

Being that B did not have to go to bed until 9 -- I thought and then asked her " Why don't we try it now?"

Now I know that I am , as B puts it " hypercritical." But she agreed. I mixed the solution with the powder -- let it set and eventually B placed her first design on me.

It was a bit thick and though I am as stated HC, I looked at it and it HAS to be a frustrating affair. I say that I don't mind but will still give guidance as far as spacing is concerned. Applying the henna can be compared to piping a cake and to get the thin steady effect one must squeeze the bottle and move.

B said her hands were not strong enough to be steady -- to maintain control over the elements needed to apply and I was frustrating her -- mind you as silly as my pursuit might seem -- I know B wanted it all to look right -- face or not. Eventually -- it came down to me applying the designs myself, crudely. I should have just done my hands, but I was ambitious. You know though -- I am glad B placed her design on me -- very glad -- and in the end these are things we can look down the road and laugh about. I know this and adore the fact that she tried and as stated that I have at least one of her designs on me.

Result: my designs -- some stuck -- some did not apply as well as I'd have liked consequently it has been a so-so affair.

Conclusion: I learned this: I will go here next time for my Henna supplies. I also have thought I would like to apply Henna on other people placing my mixture of classic Mehndi with my own crazed patterning.

Again -- I want to thank dear B for going along with me -- as frustrating as I can be in my quest for inexplicable adornment. ON to the day -- and for some maybe I will see you at the show.



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(no subject) [Dec. 10th, 2009|07:13 am]
I go to check out Lenrakos journal. Crvsr gets ready for her Thursday, the " business show " day.

CBS 880 AM morning radio. I want to hear the forecast but all I have caught so far is everything but,but it is coming up to 8 after the hour -- traffic and weather on the eights.

I have my drive to the DT,up in Somerset.I am going to leave early -- I full expect traffic on 287. It is my least favorite NJ road: consistently congested in various patches, depending on which time you are on the road. Today I expect to be in a patch of congestion. In certain areas it gets quite BQE.

Crvsr gets ready -- I put on my shoes. Radio, sounds of the morning, cars and in our case dogs.Daisy watches, like some sports spectator.
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(no subject) [Dec. 9th, 2009|08:58 am]
An absolutely wet morning. Wild wind, sheets of rain making patterns and waves across the parking lot. The dog walk was a mercifully brief affair with even Dash knowing a sense of urgency.

Standard morning. Daisy is bored, skampers about wanting me to engage her, Dash sits on the couch. Daisy goes back and forth, to me, to the toy. Both dogs don't eat so much. We have thought that maybe this food is getting to be beat for the pooches.

WNYC, I should shut it off -- I am not interested in information. I am not interested in hearing about the weather, snow for some elsewhere, rain and flooding for others.

I try silence. So now -- the sound of the weather, my typing, even the clock in the bathroom. I write here for I felt an urge to make an entry, as the dogs and I stood outside in the blustery, shitty,beginning to look a lot like Christmas MY ASS -- weather.

I have spoken about Monrovia. Monrovia is a code word for a rather ordinary job I've taken for obvious unspecial reasons. It is a job in a warehouse. I make what one would imagine one makes for a job of this nature. I have a schedule that gives one no "life" but don't care. Today is the second day off from this situation for this week, this period. I have done this kind of work -- engaged in this cycle of "jobbing" for my whole adult life. What are the things that I think about? I have thought lately ((*** as I go from aisle to aisle picking expensive pants, shoes and other apparel, placing them into a tub and moving on ***)) about the sheer number of experiences I have had -- across the board -- this is not just a remembrance of specific jobs.

Tomorrow I go for a drug test for this experience -- no piss in a cup, just a swab. I think about DNA and other things but all in all do not give a shit. I wonder how much to disclose here, and one part of me says, man, in this era or error, of fantastic stories of celebrity failure and or sudden death, does anything matter? This, my Live Journal entry/entries post to Facebook. I have set it up that way, so it is not the "distant" outpost that it once. My Live Journal, this area I carved out to write in back in 2003 when I arrived at the KH. People whom have not seen me in years and know NOTHING of my life - yet have become my friend FB wise, might just come upon this and engage in a bit of fractured incomplete discovery. In the end -- as is evidenced by this entry, I have to write, why else does one write I wonder? I don't write too much about deep, inner feelings. I imagine a typical little girls diary ( the one with that little cute lock on it, the kind one can get at a Hallmark store or wherever that kinda shit is sold ) posted on the school wall every day as she has written it, every one seeing her entries: would she write differently?

I tried to keep a journal once when I was in middle school. I now wish I had and that feeling of once seeing my entries to that brief journal, of personal rediscovery, is mainly why I write this one. I don't know what happened to those pages, I think I rediscovered them while in high school.

So here I am -- I hear Captain Peru, otherwise known by me as "The Sentinel" doing whatever the hell he does Wednesday morning. His main activity in regard to us, to our experience of him, is, during the winter shutting the door to the outside so it locks. He minors in vestibule tidying.

So -- second day off. I express myself here. I am glad on this shit morning I do not have to trek up to where I have to go for this ridiculous DT. How can I be surprised though? LOL I mean -- there have been times in my life I have sweat about the DT. One guy at work told me he thought he might have failed. He mentioned he likes herb. He must be about a bit over 20 YOA. He is the one guy I talk to at Monrovia.

OK -- what I was thinking about during the rain:

I have all these thoughts in my head and they are not judgemental -- I am not kicking myself in the head too badly. I am just marveling, perhaps inappropriately with entirely too much attention on some of the choices I've made.

I primarily think about -- let me get to the fkn point -- about how many jobs I have had. Mind you -- I am an artist/musician and people, usually during whatever job I have had say the same thing: "you are so talented -- wtf are you doing working here?"

I don't know what to say or at least I didn't. Now I might say -- some people are the grasshopper and some are the ant, and some are genetic mutational bastard of both.

Outside of paying creative gigs I have been: a dishwasher, house cleaner, chimney sweep, HVAC monkey, lawn technician, house painter, retail drone many times over, basic foods service person, arts and craft store employee a few times, telephone survey person, construction cleanup, warehouse drone. As I write this I could get very specific but why bother? Retail is sufficient. Whether it is at a mall or a convenience store -- it was what it was what it isn't. Jobs, jobs jobs.... G, RG's guitarist calls them "Joe Jobs."

This job I am careful. I let NONE of my personality out -- I don't talk, I don't draw suspicion to me. Things are different now and my clearheaded nature is apparent at every turn of the aisle. I may have even written words like this before, but those were misrepresentative. I am quietly polite to those I pass in the aisles but I am not chummy with anyone. I know that one musician who I spoke of, I played him some of RG's stuff and he liked it. I played it very matter of factly after he had played me some of his stuff. Like musicians sniffing each others ass, like dogs, the exchange of band material. Standard. One goes into the others car and me - I hope for the best. Oh how it stinks to hear some pure shit. This guy did not curse me with that experience though, he had some very flavorful guitar going on in his experience, with a kind Nick Drakey feel to it without being thiefy -- just so happened his chord choice made it that way.

I could talk/type more about it but it is just after 8 and I want to paint. I have this piece on the wall that requires attention now.

I thought about making a YouTubian documentation about doing it -- but won't do that.

It is a canvas, with an old Sony Trinitron schematic used for repair glued on to the surface. On top of that, one spring or summer day, I spilled ink in a spattered pattern of drops. This morning I am going to be attending to that work in progress. Sometimes things just call to you. It now hangs on the wall by the dining table.

I will take a picture of it when I am through with todays "treatment."

Entries like this feel like "station identification" announcements -- this is MSUN, owned and operated by Minerva industries, broadcasting at a frequency of 342B yadda yadda yadda."

I do not only think about other jobs at work -- for the record. I record vocal ideas for song melodies into my phone and think weird ideas. For example -- I sat in my old-ass van ( the J3A or the Peelie )and as I ate a quiet, cold lunch I looked at the particular configuration of dents and structural surface damage to a fellow employees car. Immediately I thought:

Like those ridiculous Cruise Night situations -- why don't they have for shitzingiggles, a "Piece of Shit Night."

Everyone could bring down their old beater and prizes could be awarded for various categories,such as best use of duct tape, best rust, best taped out broken window, most clutter in car. So yeh -- on to that painting!
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(no subject) [Dec. 3rd, 2009|08:03 am]
For those who have not seen it, whom might only be exposed to some of my creative doings via this Live Journal area, I give you this: The first video for RiotGod. I know I have placed this elsewhere, various places. And though this will be, this note, posted to Facebook, it will be without the embedded video.





We had this footage sitting around forever. It was shot with my small Samsung camera. The first challenge of this was the battery, a small thin number coming with the camera ( discontinued model ) and it would hold only a small charge. For each individual shooting of the band members, it would remain tethered to the cord.

Bob had wanted this to be a blue/gree screen affair, but we lacked proper material. We used utility tarps, sporting wrinkles, all in all, absolutely ineffective for the desired function, but they did cover the small rooms wall at Red Bank Rehearsal.

At first, like an idiot,I thought I will paint in a background, painting it uniform blue. This was a frame by frame affair and my initial optimism was highly poisonous. It ate away time.

So I procrastinated, left the video footage on the backburner, the stove itself placed in storage so to speak.

Eventually I would return to the project. We had footage -- I assured the fellas from the get go: I WILL make this work.

Then for the time that I had After Effects ( before my laptop took a dive ) I thought I would do all these wonderful effects. Nope.

All I have left is my Ulead Media Studio 7.

Thresholding, placing that effect on the sections of video I had divided up into 30 sec portions, created a nice retro look. There was a quite a degree of drawn out preproduction on this -- irrespective of the bailed on "paint the video like a madman" technique. Exporting the effected red and black video snippets though was a quick affair at 30 sec. a pop, so that was good.

And this video sat -- in drydock, forever.

On this Thanksgiving I was looking at another band's video, how simple it was, and this drove me mad,upset with my languid avoidance of our only video to date.

So in 6 hours, I quickly did what I had to,placing the video to the track and readying it for upload. My extensive preproduction did help, all organized into folders.

I had no time code, it was all eyed out and this would prove frustrating... nudging the tracks incrementally and previewing them repeatedly.

I had an idea with the thresholding ( the process that creates only two colors for those not knowing ) that would place all kinds of stuff going on in the background, but as it came together, this made the video look cheap, rather than retro and cool. The song is inspired by the movie "Silent Running" and I had taken elements of that 70's movie and stored them away, clips of Bruce Dern, space shots, other things; I use those clips in some portions of our stage visuals. I did not want any copyright stuff to go down YouTube wise, so that was nixed for this effort.

So now, it is done and I am happy. Nothing else really for me to do while members of Riotgod tour with their other bands.

The next video will be a quicker affair. Now Thursday -- on to the things I have to get to one by one, for Friday through Monday I, for the time being, experience my time in Monrovia, the code for my temp position day job. I don't think about going out, I don't think about anything except -- well in one regard -- my goals, real goals, and two simply getting there to the job, getting home and bit by bit constructing and realizing my new realities.
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(no subject) [Nov. 29th, 2009|04:00 pm]
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(no subject) [Nov. 27th, 2009|04:01 pm]

  • 18:30 Happy Thanksgiving. Greetings from myself and B... Thanks to Steve and Mary for a terrific dinner and to the family. Julie Bess swings away. #

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(no subject) [Nov. 26th, 2009|05:37 am]
It is early and my eyes and ears are hyper-sensitive, 4:34.

I don't know where to start, various thoughts, usual par I think. My mind is flooded.

Thanksgiving morning. Crvsr has to work today. She lies in bed and I have not taken the dogs yet for a walk. I cannot be certain I really want to be up yet.

I am trying to adhere to a routine,which for me for some uncertain amount of time, will be to get up unconscionably early, owing to a temp job I have taken. I won't get into that now. It has less than admirable hours, but that is that. That is all I can say for that now. Tabeeko the cat is up with me. I thought, well take the dogs out, on a usual morning they would be right up with me, but I left them in the room. I cannot be as quiet as Crvsr can in the morning. Tabeeko stares at me and sits at my feet.

Lately it is as if this cat wants to do nothing but eat. Look -- I cannot play with her now and if I were to, the only "toy" she really has is that wand of shimmery, shiny strands which is and has been out on the balcony. Every toy she has is and will always be consumed and ruined by the dogs. Yes even the shimmery wand toy is suspect. Lately, Tabeeko even tries to play with the glow in the dark dog ball, but god forbid she runs after it and perhaps draws it into her fat belly to attack in that cradled back-paws flurry, the dogs would soon be all over her. Usually I will roll it across the floor and if the dogs are not immediately interested in it she will give it that intense beginning run immediate casual drop off of interest finish, as if acknowledging the dogs with that " Oh -- right -- you guys are still here." cessation of interest.

I am feeling kind of tired,not fully awake and in a limbo. I awoke and Daisy was in some uncomfortable ( for me ) position. Sleeping with her, not so much Dash, but her can be a very uncomfortable affair, as if you are sleeping with a warm bag of sand in your bed. She is unmovable and yet during the night will adjust herself into positions one might only be able to classify, in regard to effect on humans, as "Chiropractor Prep." So -- I am up.

Sometimes I will wake up with ideas, and yet I cannot spring up and get them down: I have this comic-y piece I am working on that at once I know is important to me, yet too, conspicuously exists to me, in full glare as a project that will not garner me, I imagine ever, any cash. Things are all about cash now in some respect but my skewed thinking in that regard, my flawed methodology and execution lends this to be a frustrating affair.

Note: I don't know what the neighbors are doing but it sounds like someone is wrestling furniture somewhere within the confines of this 4 apartment configuration. Who the fuck is that and what the fuck are they doing so damned noisily at 4:52 AM? Is it the mystery guy down to the bottom right who we never see? Is it Sweet? I don't think it is Captain Peru.

I hate feeling tired but not tired. I think I could fall asleep on the couch right here if left to lie in this semi-silence. Sometimes I will get up and simply have ideas in the night -- and must write them down -- this currently feels like one of those situations. It can often happen if I have had more than the recommended amount of sugar or food too late in the evening, which I foolishly did.

Now Courvoisier's alarm is going off. She, as a rule, sets her alarm to go off an hour before she has to really awaken, doing a sleep button dance.

I did not want to wake her up-up this morning. Man -- I hate this feeling a combination -- stop. Normally to lessen this feeling, the one now most certainly identifiable as having eaten too late last evening, I will shower. If I become too noisy or noticably awake, Dash will get up and go off the bed and on the bed, Daisy she will stay in bed as long as possible. You have to tug at Daisy to get her out of the bed.

Thanksgiving 2009.

As Crvsr and I walked last night to go and pick up a bottle of wine ( a Shiraz for todays visitation ) ** ** ** ** sleep button pressed || we mentioned in conversation that this was, for some, a night of the year to go out, no work tomorrow! Let's go out and get hammered! Let's go to some fkn club! I remember there were certain clubs I would go to and become my usual fkd up goonish self on the pre-Thanksgiving night. I have grown to look back on the colossal lost period of my 20's so harshly and with disappointment. It was during that time that the pre-Thanksgiving night would "matter." Usually though, I was never one of those cats that really appreciated the Wednesday for the merit others applied: having the next day off. In my ridiculous experience, most days back then were days off.

Hey! Hey! -- no c*ntish self-centered pity talk -- it was what it was -- let me rocket back to what matters -- oh I think that is Mr. Sweet who is making this early morning racket. WTF are you doing bro!!!! Redoing your fkn kitchen?? That guy keep up a spy's appearance and is rarely seen. It sounds like he is furniture wrestling and I fight from going and banging on the wall -- it is too close to Crsvr's actual wake-up. Just keep calm Mark -- ignore that and the cat's plea for food. ** ** ** ** sleep button meow meow meow.

I am alive and awake Thanksgiving 2009.

I am thankful for my terrific girlfriend and friend Crvsr, without whose understanding and love, I can honestly say would position me in some lesser, unknowledgable place. I never knew life would go down as it has and as it stands I dig the "whatever it is she has - that she has - that I like." She has helped me through some quietly difficult stuff and I am not talking obvious shit, like classic, ridiculous stuff which I won't get into now, I am talking little things and via these little micro-lessons I then become less of a oblivious prick, which enables me to be a better person, for her and in the long run, for everyone I come into contact with.

I am thankful for the family and friends we have, both Crvsr and I don't ** ** ** ** sleep button 5:26 think a list is appropriate, this is not some album liner note, some awards speech. Today, when we drive down to have our meal, after Crvsr is done with work, that aspect will be plain.

I am thankful for knowing that my sister has a good life with her family. I think about my nephews and how little they see of me. I can't even imagine having an uncle like me when I was little. I don't know what "like me" is, but I figure the long hair tattoo aspect will serve most as enough of a "Well...." You know even without those classic "differences" I recall that uncles always led to "indicators" anyway. My father's older brother was always the one with the "handshake." He would grind my small hands knuckles together; he was the one with the moustache, he was the one who lived in Jersey.

Crvsr texts me -- " I am going to get up."

( Oh and I did run downstairs to "see what was up." It was T-Sweet,taking out the bins that "got him situated." He apologized. )
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(no subject) [Nov. 21st, 2009|04:01 pm]
  • 08:55 Good Morning Crvsr ö Lucy in the Sky w/diamonds plays. Dogs sleep, their food barely touched. Fine. #
  • 09:03 Classic rock goes away. Coleman Hawkins steps in. Commercial radio sucks. And too does the anemic, limited NYC interpretation of classc rock #
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(no subject) [Nov. 21st, 2009|10:19 am]
I am inking with the antique nib holder, quill whatever you call it, an ancient promotional item for the Clark-Hutchison Shoe Company, New York; brand, Bonnie Lassie shoes.

I am fascinated by this nib holder. I looked up the company and found 2 references to it. One reference is from a New York Times article from 1912, and another was from a publication called the "Boot and Shoe Recorder" from 1921, digitized by Google. Total views before me? Zero.

It is one of those times when you simply think " Where the hell has this little item been, when was it last regularly used?" I mean this seems like the turn of the century version of the bank pen. And after it was deemed useless -- who saved it and why?

I got it at a flea market and first told about it in this journal a few years ago. Lately and in the recent past when I have "inked" I've used archival pens such as Micron and Faber-Castell PITT series.

For this latest, culminative and cumulative work, for a stretch, I have chosen to again use pen and ink. You see, I went to school for this back in the day and fell in love with the process and pen and ink was the ONLY process for some time. I have video of me inking from way back and still have the ruler I used in college, with the same 20 cents of nickels on the back of it

Note I use Scribefire right now -- and this is my first YouTube insert -- very convenient -- lets see if it works in Live Journal -- I guarantee a no-go. (WRONG)

I came here to write about the nib, while a significant portion of bristol recently filled in with ink dries. I have had to relearn the patience and matter of process and have committed errors that during my more familiar days would have been avoided easily, so while this patch of bristol dries I thought lemme see if I can see ANY link to this Bonnie Lassie Shoe, or the Clark Hutchison Company.

Very little found.

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(no subject) [Nov. 20th, 2009|04:03 pm]

  • 23:34 Inking and I mean dip pen, on hot press Bainbridge board is one of my favorite things to do. #

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(no subject) [Nov. 19th, 2009|04:01 pm]
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(no subject) [Nov. 18th, 2009|04:01 pm]
  • 11:28 Dash eats part of Daisy's treat. She ignores her full bowl of food. I make no effort to intervene. Classical music and dishes at 11:30 #
  • 12:43 Riotgod myspace.com/riotgod is soon going to be back in the studio. This is a BTW tweet! #
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(no subject) [Nov. 16th, 2009|04:02 pm]

  • 16:19 En route to our soire? in Chester... UP THERE #

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(no subject) [Nov. 12th, 2009|04:01 pm]

  • 22:40 Wow. If you are watching Top Chef -- WTF did Eli just serve up? Wow. Will it beat Robin's wack-ass dish? #

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(no subject) [Nov. 11th, 2009|04:00 pm]

  • 08:40 News Dishes. Gray Sky. 140 characters seems like Tolstoy this moment #

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(no subject) [Nov. 10th, 2009|04:00 pm]
  • 16:43 Now playing in my universe: Gotan Project Notas Lunatico #
  • 16:47 Now playing in my universe: Gotan Project *Domingo*Lunatico* #
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(no subject) [Nov. 9th, 2009|04:00 pm]
  • 13:25 Feels like Spring here today in NJ USA. Waiting on P1. Cartoon in car with ball point pen. #
  • 14:31 Antenna magazine is nothing more than a ridiculous pseudocatalog. #
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