is on display in the Bookpeople cafe right now (Austin, TX). I invite anyone to go look at it. I'm also selling the prints for a very affordable price, so if anyone is interested, LET ME KNOW!
patton.quinn@gmail.com
512.431.1059
Monday, March 31, 2008
Soul Food
Dandelions eat soul food and howling tongues ingest patches of yam fries. Otis Redding's microphone gobbles up his voice: an irrational sun harvest of hopeful liberation.
Home. Soul. Sounds. And filling the belly.
Sam Cooke's urgent intent to nest the bones, ignore the gritty songs of collard greens. Violent intonations fill Motown and the Temptations devour pork chops and savagery and desegregation.
Murmers break bread on the vinyl of the sad.
From the gut, horn heavy, sex songs suggesting attics filled with the temporal nature of all things.
Home. Soul. Sounds. And filling the belly.
Sam Cooke's urgent intent to nest the bones, ignore the gritty songs of collard greens. Violent intonations fill Motown and the Temptations devour pork chops and savagery and desegregation.
Murmers break bread on the vinyl of the sad.
From the gut, horn heavy, sex songs suggesting attics filled with the temporal nature of all things.
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Assigning Meaning
Our money was, at one point in time, backed by the Federal Reserve. (In other words, the paper money represented a portion of gold at Fort Knox.) But long ago, that system became meaningless. The amount of currency printed now far exceeds the actual amount of gold in the Reserve. If a citizen (also oddly known as "customer" to some journalists) of the United States went to Fort Knox to exchange her paper money for gold, she would be rather disappointed when she found out that the exchange could not be made. The reason that might occur is if people realized the dollar is meaningless and someone decided to get the gold just in case the shit hit the fan. But what's funny is that if the shit did hit the fan, gold would be meaningless as well. Gold has no actual physical value. If water runs out, or food is scarce, nobody will care about green pieces of paper or shiny metals.
I'm not an end-timist. I don't stockpile canned food anywhere in my home. (Actually, I avoid buying anything canned.) I'm not even scared of that happening. Not because I know it won't, but because I think it would be fun if it did. An apocolyptic environment would bring whimsical flair to the droningly monotonous times we are living in now. (I admit that to be an exaggeration, but a fun sentence to compose.)
In the age of credit and debit cards, the meaning of paper money is obvious as well (it's meaningless). I rarely even write checks. I balance my account online. All of my "money" is a number in a computer. When money isn't even a physical reality, it's annoyingly apparent how much of an illusion it is. I don't mean illusion in the Hindu "maya," all the world is an illusion, sense of the term. I mean that the concept of money is something we all agree has value; you can't do anything without it and you can do everything with a lot of it (in that sense, you can do everything having to do with buying things with it). I don't know a lot about the history of money. But I do know that somehow we, at least in the U.S., decided that gold had value. And then paper money. And now a card that connects to a computerized account that literally moves a number from one account to the other. We all agree on this. We have assigned it this meaning, therefore it matters.
It is similar with other things. Take the diamond ring. An important SYMBOL to engaged girls in this country. (Or diamond anything: a grill that rappers might wear over their teeth or diamond collars you can buy for your tiny dog from Juicy Couture.) Or what about the car? Very specific cars have more value than others. We have assigned much value to these things, but as far as I can see the only reason a diamond has any meaning at all is because we say that it has meaning. Or because someone sold us a bill of goods and told us it had meaning and we kept on believing it. Some of the most expensive cars are so expensive because they go very fast. Which we have assigned a high value, for no apparent reason whatsoever.
It's almost as if very expensive things have value because of the fact that they are very expensive. The value in that is that other people will see your Mercedes, or giant diamond, or the Yves St. Laurant lable on your handbag and know that you threw a bunch of cash down and therefore are very wealthy (or are dating someone very wealthy). It's a flaunting of wealth that I find excessive in this country, and for some reason excessive in the city I grew up, Dallas. (Although this is, no doubt, everywhere.) We not only assign meaning to gold, paper money, and the objects that those things can buy (the more money put down, the higher the value), but we have assigned value to having a lot of money. Rich people are successful, and they can do anything, and on and on. Everyone wants more money than they already have. Period. Everyone I know wants more money than they have; I include on this list my upper middle class parents and my blue collar (but not factory-worker) friends.
Capital is the supreme symbol of capitalism. I stand somewhere in between admitting capitalism is better than socialism and admitting capitalism sucks and we should all become communal, socialist-anarchists. The problem I see is that many people equate the value of a dollar (which we have assigned) with the ability to accumulate things. Accumulating more and more things. Never being satisfied with what you have. The need to consume. This is a form of greed. Not your typical, "all the guy wants is money" definition, but greed--"I DESERVE more than I have, in fact I DESERVE anything I want" definition.
There are countless narrative themes in which people finally have all the money or fame they want, and they are surprised when there is no true peace or happiness there. We could all decide to agree that simply getting rid of things, the ecologically sound way, is of highest value. And then we will finally be happy. (Or not, but we can create that myth and see if it's true.) You see, in greed we can never be satisfied because there is always something else to buy, something else to consume: the new version of some tech device, a new spring wardrobe, a house that we can't afford. But in getting rid of things there comes a point when you just can't get rid of anything else. Except yourself. And that's a good thing.
A common conversation that comes up when my family eats dinner together is variations of answers to this question, "If the shit did hit the fan, what would your role be?" I come from a family of lawyers, and so the talents for foraging and instinct survival are little. Because of my gender, I can fall back on the answer, 'Well I can produce children, so that's a talent." But I can't do much else in the wild, where paper won't fill my belly, gold won't keep me warm, and a Mercedes won't drive me anywhere, unless I miraculously rediscover oil.
I'm not an end-timist. I don't stockpile canned food anywhere in my home. (Actually, I avoid buying anything canned.) I'm not even scared of that happening. Not because I know it won't, but because I think it would be fun if it did. An apocolyptic environment would bring whimsical flair to the droningly monotonous times we are living in now. (I admit that to be an exaggeration, but a fun sentence to compose.)
In the age of credit and debit cards, the meaning of paper money is obvious as well (it's meaningless). I rarely even write checks. I balance my account online. All of my "money" is a number in a computer. When money isn't even a physical reality, it's annoyingly apparent how much of an illusion it is. I don't mean illusion in the Hindu "maya," all the world is an illusion, sense of the term. I mean that the concept of money is something we all agree has value; you can't do anything without it and you can do everything with a lot of it (in that sense, you can do everything having to do with buying things with it). I don't know a lot about the history of money. But I do know that somehow we, at least in the U.S., decided that gold had value. And then paper money. And now a card that connects to a computerized account that literally moves a number from one account to the other. We all agree on this. We have assigned it this meaning, therefore it matters.
It is similar with other things. Take the diamond ring. An important SYMBOL to engaged girls in this country. (Or diamond anything: a grill that rappers might wear over their teeth or diamond collars you can buy for your tiny dog from Juicy Couture.) Or what about the car? Very specific cars have more value than others. We have assigned much value to these things, but as far as I can see the only reason a diamond has any meaning at all is because we say that it has meaning. Or because someone sold us a bill of goods and told us it had meaning and we kept on believing it. Some of the most expensive cars are so expensive because they go very fast. Which we have assigned a high value, for no apparent reason whatsoever.
It's almost as if very expensive things have value because of the fact that they are very expensive. The value in that is that other people will see your Mercedes, or giant diamond, or the Yves St. Laurant lable on your handbag and know that you threw a bunch of cash down and therefore are very wealthy (or are dating someone very wealthy). It's a flaunting of wealth that I find excessive in this country, and for some reason excessive in the city I grew up, Dallas. (Although this is, no doubt, everywhere.) We not only assign meaning to gold, paper money, and the objects that those things can buy (the more money put down, the higher the value), but we have assigned value to having a lot of money. Rich people are successful, and they can do anything, and on and on. Everyone wants more money than they already have. Period. Everyone I know wants more money than they have; I include on this list my upper middle class parents and my blue collar (but not factory-worker) friends.
Capital is the supreme symbol of capitalism. I stand somewhere in between admitting capitalism is better than socialism and admitting capitalism sucks and we should all become communal, socialist-anarchists. The problem I see is that many people equate the value of a dollar (which we have assigned) with the ability to accumulate things. Accumulating more and more things. Never being satisfied with what you have. The need to consume. This is a form of greed. Not your typical, "all the guy wants is money" definition, but greed--"I DESERVE more than I have, in fact I DESERVE anything I want" definition.
There are countless narrative themes in which people finally have all the money or fame they want, and they are surprised when there is no true peace or happiness there. We could all decide to agree that simply getting rid of things, the ecologically sound way, is of highest value. And then we will finally be happy. (Or not, but we can create that myth and see if it's true.) You see, in greed we can never be satisfied because there is always something else to buy, something else to consume: the new version of some tech device, a new spring wardrobe, a house that we can't afford. But in getting rid of things there comes a point when you just can't get rid of anything else. Except yourself. And that's a good thing.
A common conversation that comes up when my family eats dinner together is variations of answers to this question, "If the shit did hit the fan, what would your role be?" I come from a family of lawyers, and so the talents for foraging and instinct survival are little. Because of my gender, I can fall back on the answer, 'Well I can produce children, so that's a talent." But I can't do much else in the wild, where paper won't fill my belly, gold won't keep me warm, and a Mercedes won't drive me anywhere, unless I miraculously rediscover oil.
Friday, March 28, 2008
More things I like:
-Animals: Buzzards, eagles (forever and ever), hawks (and people named Hawk, but not Tony Hawk), and bison.
-Parts of animals: ram's skull and deer antlers.
-Material: denim, leather, pine, fur, feather, and human hair.
-Sounds: tambourine, harmonica, train horn and engine, bass drum by itself, snare drum by itself, whistling in the distance, typewriter, and all of these things together all at once but independent of each other.
-Flavors: maize, yam, flour, pork, and hops.
-Places: thickets, woods, ponds, forests, deserts, beach, jungle, mountain, Texas river, or swamp.
-Peculiar Behaviors of People in my Family I Like: Compulsive Hoarding, Obsessive Cutting of Hair, Overdoing it at the Bar (a euphemism of sorts), the Overwhelming Urge to Report Stories to the Paper (journalism), Praying over the Phone, Cursing to People you Should Not, and the Need to Attack and/or Put Down Scientologists and/or New Agers and their Fundamental (so-called) Belief System.
-Parts of animals: ram's skull and deer antlers.
-Material: denim, leather, pine, fur, feather, and human hair.
-Sounds: tambourine, harmonica, train horn and engine, bass drum by itself, snare drum by itself, whistling in the distance, typewriter, and all of these things together all at once but independent of each other.
-Flavors: maize, yam, flour, pork, and hops.
-Places: thickets, woods, ponds, forests, deserts, beach, jungle, mountain, Texas river, or swamp.
-Peculiar Behaviors of People in my Family I Like: Compulsive Hoarding, Obsessive Cutting of Hair, Overdoing it at the Bar (a euphemism of sorts), the Overwhelming Urge to Report Stories to the Paper (journalism), Praying over the Phone, Cursing to People you Should Not, and the Need to Attack and/or Put Down Scientologists and/or New Agers and their Fundamental (so-called) Belief System.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Patriotism and Shit
From the OED, here are some of the listings uder the word 'patriot'-
a person devoted to his or her country; a person (claiming to be) ready to support or defend his or her country's freedom and rights; a member of a RESISTANCE MOVEMENT (my caps) or patriotic front
From dictionary.com-
a person who regards himself or herself as a defender, esp. of individual rights, against presumed INTERFERENCE (my caps) by the federal government
Of the many vague words that get tossed around the political arena, these are the most offensive (not that the words offend me, but that the words are so misused and often people either cannot define them, or everyone has a different definition of the word): 1.) patriotism, 2.) fascism, 3.) communism, 4.) freedom, 5.) terrorism, 5.) zionism and 6.) individual rights.
I'm not starting in on a political rant. Just something to think about. Bill O'Reilly and people like that can easily rub me the wrong way. However, so can left-wing extremists. I'm close to being as left wing as you get. (I support science, I'm borderline atheist AND borderline socialist, I like the gays the ladies the blacks and the Muslims, I'm super-pro-environment, I like the arts, and I don't buy into the culture of fear.) The reason the far-lefters tend to annoy me is that they don't sound very smart when they speak. I mean, if you are so obviously biased that you will not listen to the other side of an argument, then you are sort of a hypocrite. It's like these far-lefters I hear are making a bad name for educated and reasonable liberal thinkers, just like the far-right thinkers make a bad name for educated and reasonable conservatives. On normal news shows, like Jim Lehrer or some other PBS outfit, there will usually be some sort of conservative interviewed for an opinion. They pick the smart ones, you know, that really chose to believe what they believe for specific reasons grounded in education and being well-informed. When I start to listen to the far-far-lefters, when they sound so angry and divisive and reactionary, it's like they are being played. They are being played and they don't even know it.
It's very hard to listen to someone, like Bill O'Reilly, throw around a word like fascist (about liberals). For one, I'm guessing he never read George Orwell's essay, "Politics and the English Language." Or maybe he did, and he suspects his viewers never did, which they probably did not, thus he can get away with misusing the word. I mean the word is amost meaningless, just like the word 'freedom'; one is an appeal to fear and one is an appeal to emotion (both logical fallacies). Did you forget the logical fallacies class from college? (If you never had that one or didn't finish or never started college you can easily google 'logical fallacies' and find a list of fallacies that people, knowingly or unknowingly, employ in their rhetoric.
I guess my point is this: sometimes liberals get into trouble when they let the fanatical right stir up too many emotions. They want to fight back, they want to yell and pout and prove their point and be right. But the best way to prove that you're right is perhaps to disprove the arguments of the other side, subtley and with ease and confidence. It's so easy to deconstruct someone else's arguement once you see the holes in it. However, if youre talking to a super-smart republican, there may be no holes in her argument, perhaps just something to learn.
a person devoted to his or her country; a person (claiming to be) ready to support or defend his or her country's freedom and rights; a member of a RESISTANCE MOVEMENT (my caps) or patriotic front
From dictionary.com-
a person who regards himself or herself as a defender, esp. of individual rights, against presumed INTERFERENCE (my caps) by the federal government
Of the many vague words that get tossed around the political arena, these are the most offensive (not that the words offend me, but that the words are so misused and often people either cannot define them, or everyone has a different definition of the word): 1.) patriotism, 2.) fascism, 3.) communism, 4.) freedom, 5.) terrorism, 5.) zionism and 6.) individual rights.
I'm not starting in on a political rant. Just something to think about. Bill O'Reilly and people like that can easily rub me the wrong way. However, so can left-wing extremists. I'm close to being as left wing as you get. (I support science, I'm borderline atheist AND borderline socialist, I like the gays the ladies the blacks and the Muslims, I'm super-pro-environment, I like the arts, and I don't buy into the culture of fear.) The reason the far-lefters tend to annoy me is that they don't sound very smart when they speak. I mean, if you are so obviously biased that you will not listen to the other side of an argument, then you are sort of a hypocrite. It's like these far-lefters I hear are making a bad name for educated and reasonable liberal thinkers, just like the far-right thinkers make a bad name for educated and reasonable conservatives. On normal news shows, like Jim Lehrer or some other PBS outfit, there will usually be some sort of conservative interviewed for an opinion. They pick the smart ones, you know, that really chose to believe what they believe for specific reasons grounded in education and being well-informed. When I start to listen to the far-far-lefters, when they sound so angry and divisive and reactionary, it's like they are being played. They are being played and they don't even know it.
It's very hard to listen to someone, like Bill O'Reilly, throw around a word like fascist (about liberals). For one, I'm guessing he never read George Orwell's essay, "Politics and the English Language." Or maybe he did, and he suspects his viewers never did, which they probably did not, thus he can get away with misusing the word. I mean the word is amost meaningless, just like the word 'freedom'; one is an appeal to fear and one is an appeal to emotion (both logical fallacies). Did you forget the logical fallacies class from college? (If you never had that one or didn't finish or never started college you can easily google 'logical fallacies' and find a list of fallacies that people, knowingly or unknowingly, employ in their rhetoric.
I guess my point is this: sometimes liberals get into trouble when they let the fanatical right stir up too many emotions. They want to fight back, they want to yell and pout and prove their point and be right. But the best way to prove that you're right is perhaps to disprove the arguments of the other side, subtley and with ease and confidence. It's so easy to deconstruct someone else's arguement once you see the holes in it. However, if youre talking to a super-smart republican, there may be no holes in her argument, perhaps just something to learn.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
I Have Changed: A Current Event Manifesto
I don't understand how such a drastic change could occur inside the time continuum of one month and inside one person, but it has. For so long all I have cared about is myself. What am I going to do? (WIth MYSELF, with MY TIME, with MY ART, with ME, ME, ME??) I kept telling myself that I wasn't THAT selfish. That I wanted to do art to "help people and to help the world." That I have "good intentions and ethical motives." When really, it has been some time now that I have felt, creeping up from the depths of the darker chambers of the earth's core up through my heels and into my physical system, a drive for greatness, for fame, for popularity, for recognition and for respect. If I had all the success in the world in whatever field I wanted, but my intentions were for fame and recognition, I'd never be truly "happy." I put quotes around the word happy, because I'm not of utilitarian persuasion; happiness and pleasure are not my end goals, nor do I believe that success, even with the correct intentions, can bring happiness. That is a comparative equation that most Americans believe in: success = happiness. But I wonder if even happiness = happiness. Or if happiness might fail to live up to its expectations after the life-long pursuit of it. (A good bumber sticker, no? "Happiness doesn't even make me happy.")
I have wanted to be a writer probably since I was 12, around the time I attempted to write a children's story (titled 'Sara Silly')...but failed because I couldn't come up with a plot. (I vaguely remember tears and the tearing up of pages.) I have wanted to be a comedian since I was about 20. I did a brief stint in L.A., where I tried to "break into the comedy world," only to end up back in Texas. (For reasons that mostly include a suicide attempt that mostly had to do with perceived failure.) There was also the drumming phase; I quit because I knew I'd never match Elvin Jones, the drummer for John Coltrane. There was the art phase, which never passed. Oddly enough, I've never felt a sense of success or failure in the art world, perhaps because it's more of a hobby for me and less of a, "if I'm not the next Picasso I think I'll kill myself attitude." It seems that this idea of success has been on my mind for a while. I have understood for many years, or at least been frusterated by, this idea that success is very important to Americans, and this is very much defined in terms of how much money one makes in her given field. But it's not just that. It's how much recognition one has in her given field. (Tina Fey is a successful comedian because she makes money at it, everyone knows who she is, and she has been given numerous awards for her contribution to her craft.)
I have had conversations with others about questioning the importance of success, as well as the definition. (I.E. Maybe success is joy, or living life with confidence, or having a loving family, or perhaps just not commiting suicide.) The funny thing is this that opposite success is failure. Opposite any definition I create for success is always failure. If being happy is my definition of success, when I'm sad (with or without cause), does this mean I have failed? What about the impoverished child who grows up to never do a thing but deal drugs to make ends meet, is she a failure? There are so many examples of this, I feel like I've made the point already. It makes absolutely no sense to charge someone with "failing" at life. Unless, of course, you had every opportunity to have some kind of success--whether it be emotional, financial, spiritual, or creative--yet you refused them all. It's not that individuals fail, or that systems fail individuals, it's that we are born into a system of thought that defines "success" and "failure" and places emphasis on one more than the other.
Recently I have become obsessed with current events. I can't get enough BBC, PBS, NPR, Harper's, Seed (a science mag), and other websites and books here and there that I devote much of my free time to. I have a renewed interest in what's going on: politics, cultural events, globalization, technological breakthroughs, and the state of the environment; I think critically about all of this. It's like my eyes have turned from gazing inward to gazing outward. I spent so much time trying to express myself that I had nothing left to say. I spent so much time worrying about if I was ever going to "make it" or "find success," which made me very unhappy, which made me only think that success would make me happy, which turned into this vicious cycle of failure and regret and depression.
There are people dying in different places, for different causes, in wars and in unjust practices. I need not say where, because it's everyhwere. Pollution, population growth, and urban expansion threaten the biodiversity of the world. There are inventions helping people who are blind to see. Access to information is as easy as touching a button (if you are so lucky to own a computer or live in a villiage where there is a computer). I'm not writing this as some sort of, hey guys, let's change the world manifesto. Nor have I given up my "art" to read the newspaper. I have realized that if I don't know what's going on the the world, it will be impossible for me to express anything, it will be impossible for me to create anything of any real meaning, and it will be impossible for me to relate to anybody else on the planet. I have this urge now to constanty know what's going on on the planet. It's somehow very important. As I read and become more entrenched in the modern world, this sense of failure somehow slips away. Maybe because I feel like I'm connected to people or a that I'm part of something. I'm participating in this grand event that will one day be history, but I can also take part in it. I may not ever publish a novel, but I CAN vote. I may not ever be on T.V., but I have the opportunity to travel, to learn about other cultures. I can be a representative of my culture (and possibly build bridges between people). If I'm so busy making sure everyone knows how great I am, will never be able to see greatness in other people (especially if I judge them according to my own measure of personal success). I suppose though, that this sense of failure dwindles as I read more about what's happening in the world because I begin to understand that's it's not really that important. That I might make a some sort of masterpiece, but that masterpiece will never break the Chinese control of Tibet, that masterpiece will not feed the starving child in Kenya or the homeless person down the street, that masterpiece will never change the rate of climate change. All that masterpiece will do will feed by fat, massive ego and make me very unhappy.
I have wanted to be a writer probably since I was 12, around the time I attempted to write a children's story (titled 'Sara Silly')...but failed because I couldn't come up with a plot. (I vaguely remember tears and the tearing up of pages.) I have wanted to be a comedian since I was about 20. I did a brief stint in L.A., where I tried to "break into the comedy world," only to end up back in Texas. (For reasons that mostly include a suicide attempt that mostly had to do with perceived failure.) There was also the drumming phase; I quit because I knew I'd never match Elvin Jones, the drummer for John Coltrane. There was the art phase, which never passed. Oddly enough, I've never felt a sense of success or failure in the art world, perhaps because it's more of a hobby for me and less of a, "if I'm not the next Picasso I think I'll kill myself attitude." It seems that this idea of success has been on my mind for a while. I have understood for many years, or at least been frusterated by, this idea that success is very important to Americans, and this is very much defined in terms of how much money one makes in her given field. But it's not just that. It's how much recognition one has in her given field. (Tina Fey is a successful comedian because she makes money at it, everyone knows who she is, and she has been given numerous awards for her contribution to her craft.)
I have had conversations with others about questioning the importance of success, as well as the definition. (I.E. Maybe success is joy, or living life with confidence, or having a loving family, or perhaps just not commiting suicide.) The funny thing is this that opposite success is failure. Opposite any definition I create for success is always failure. If being happy is my definition of success, when I'm sad (with or without cause), does this mean I have failed? What about the impoverished child who grows up to never do a thing but deal drugs to make ends meet, is she a failure? There are so many examples of this, I feel like I've made the point already. It makes absolutely no sense to charge someone with "failing" at life. Unless, of course, you had every opportunity to have some kind of success--whether it be emotional, financial, spiritual, or creative--yet you refused them all. It's not that individuals fail, or that systems fail individuals, it's that we are born into a system of thought that defines "success" and "failure" and places emphasis on one more than the other.
Recently I have become obsessed with current events. I can't get enough BBC, PBS, NPR, Harper's, Seed (a science mag), and other websites and books here and there that I devote much of my free time to. I have a renewed interest in what's going on: politics, cultural events, globalization, technological breakthroughs, and the state of the environment; I think critically about all of this. It's like my eyes have turned from gazing inward to gazing outward. I spent so much time trying to express myself that I had nothing left to say. I spent so much time worrying about if I was ever going to "make it" or "find success," which made me very unhappy, which made me only think that success would make me happy, which turned into this vicious cycle of failure and regret and depression.
There are people dying in different places, for different causes, in wars and in unjust practices. I need not say where, because it's everyhwere. Pollution, population growth, and urban expansion threaten the biodiversity of the world. There are inventions helping people who are blind to see. Access to information is as easy as touching a button (if you are so lucky to own a computer or live in a villiage where there is a computer). I'm not writing this as some sort of, hey guys, let's change the world manifesto. Nor have I given up my "art" to read the newspaper. I have realized that if I don't know what's going on the the world, it will be impossible for me to express anything, it will be impossible for me to create anything of any real meaning, and it will be impossible for me to relate to anybody else on the planet. I have this urge now to constanty know what's going on on the planet. It's somehow very important. As I read and become more entrenched in the modern world, this sense of failure somehow slips away. Maybe because I feel like I'm connected to people or a that I'm part of something. I'm participating in this grand event that will one day be history, but I can also take part in it. I may not ever publish a novel, but I CAN vote. I may not ever be on T.V., but I have the opportunity to travel, to learn about other cultures. I can be a representative of my culture (and possibly build bridges between people). If I'm so busy making sure everyone knows how great I am, will never be able to see greatness in other people (especially if I judge them according to my own measure of personal success). I suppose though, that this sense of failure dwindles as I read more about what's happening in the world because I begin to understand that's it's not really that important. That I might make a some sort of masterpiece, but that masterpiece will never break the Chinese control of Tibet, that masterpiece will not feed the starving child in Kenya or the homeless person down the street, that masterpiece will never change the rate of climate change. All that masterpiece will do will feed by fat, massive ego and make me very unhappy.
Sunday, March 9, 2008
Birdhead
SO--I'm showing some art at Bookpeople starting on the 29th of March. You should drop by and see!
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Things I like. Ode to Sugary Love.
Twittering heartbeats and smacks on the lips. Orange peels and lemon zest and kiwi frosted moonbeams. Sopping papaya blood.
Sugar plantations raining clouds of polluted skittles and smooches. Horny winds catch dark chocolates and guzzle cinammon buns and wrap sweet hugs around pretty people. Beach sand imbibes the organic fruit smoothie of the lunar tides and munch on little hermit crabs who wallow and plunder under maple syrup like foam of waves.
Asteroidic peppermints fall on planet earth and people smile and hold hands and the preserves hold peace in its pocket for just a second.
And Jolly Ranchers, and Mambas, and Laffy Taffy and delighted three-year-olds ruining their teeth, but laughing anyway.
TCBY was my favorite place to go when I was eleven. With my girlfriends. And we laughed. And my Dad took us there. I got chocolate and vanilla swirl with oreo cookie toppings. I wish my Dad would say to me now, "Hey Patton, do you want me to take you to TCBY?" But he's diabetic now.
And I ate lots of candy with Anne, and now she's gone. She broke my heart into tiny little M&M pieces.
Nothing melts my heart more than a plate of mustard greens and kale. And then a dark chocolate bar for dessert.
Sparkles and shiny things and glitter and my remote hope to taste a Coca-cola on a road trip while holding a guitar and a bandana. Just like America...right?
Jelly bean disasters and the chaotic decision between Gummi Bears and Gummi Cokes...or Gummi Worms? Too hard a choice.
I liked fruit roll-ups, but I was much bigger on grape popsicles. And I knew my mom loved me because there was some popsicles in the house.
Hot fudge---say what? Yes, I want nuts; yes, I want cherries; yes, I want whip cream on top; yes, I want hot fudge. But the best was all of that combined and put into a waffle-cone bowl. (Shout out to Willow Brook Country Club in Tyler, TX, and to my Grandmama who actually let me eat that.)
Sugar plantations raining clouds of polluted skittles and smooches. Horny winds catch dark chocolates and guzzle cinammon buns and wrap sweet hugs around pretty people. Beach sand imbibes the organic fruit smoothie of the lunar tides and munch on little hermit crabs who wallow and plunder under maple syrup like foam of waves.
Asteroidic peppermints fall on planet earth and people smile and hold hands and the preserves hold peace in its pocket for just a second.
And Jolly Ranchers, and Mambas, and Laffy Taffy and delighted three-year-olds ruining their teeth, but laughing anyway.
TCBY was my favorite place to go when I was eleven. With my girlfriends. And we laughed. And my Dad took us there. I got chocolate and vanilla swirl with oreo cookie toppings. I wish my Dad would say to me now, "Hey Patton, do you want me to take you to TCBY?" But he's diabetic now.
And I ate lots of candy with Anne, and now she's gone. She broke my heart into tiny little M&M pieces.
Nothing melts my heart more than a plate of mustard greens and kale. And then a dark chocolate bar for dessert.
Sparkles and shiny things and glitter and my remote hope to taste a Coca-cola on a road trip while holding a guitar and a bandana. Just like America...right?
Jelly bean disasters and the chaotic decision between Gummi Bears and Gummi Cokes...or Gummi Worms? Too hard a choice.
I liked fruit roll-ups, but I was much bigger on grape popsicles. And I knew my mom loved me because there was some popsicles in the house.
Hot fudge---say what? Yes, I want nuts; yes, I want cherries; yes, I want whip cream on top; yes, I want hot fudge. But the best was all of that combined and put into a waffle-cone bowl. (Shout out to Willow Brook Country Club in Tyler, TX, and to my Grandmama who actually let me eat that.)
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Little Creatures Like Me are not of this Earth
This is a recent illustration of mine. More will be added later.
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