Der Traum

This is the song that has fueled (as well as haunted) me for the past six months. I wish to God whe/they/whoever were more prolific, but as far as I can tell it's just some girl recording songs out of her bedroom or something. No label, hardly any show dates, no distribution, no plans for any future material. It's a dead end, but a really beautiful dead end.

It's been busy in these parts.

I finally got the new Sharkforum redesign up and now find myself as the System Administrator of the site. That's cool with me – I'm meeting a lot of cool people as a result; artists and other people related to the art world.

I hang out with my bird a lot. When I'm on my computer he plays on his rope toy, which is an enormous hoop thing with blocks, big beads and dice hanging off it that I've got suspended from a ladder near my desk (I have 3 ladders in here). When I make dinner he hangs out in the kitchen with me on the water faucet (it is long and tubular) and drinks water from the spout. He likes to sit on the back of the couch when I'm chilling out, too.

I named him Rommel after the German general, nicknamed the "Desert Fox", and the best strategic mind of World War II. And yes, it is a boy. I got the DNA test results in the mail and it came with a little certificate. I opened the letter together with Rommel because you know, it was a big deal for him to find out what he was. We had a little celebration of sorts.

I finished a new painting but I've misplaced my camera, which is frustrating. I'd like to get a photo of it up on my site; it's one of my best pieces thus far. In fact...I'm going to go hunt for my camera now...

My new buddy came home with me yesterday. I had to drive 2 hours out of the city to get him – the breeder was recommended to me by a woman who used to breed parrots here in the city but no longer does.

The little guy is 4.5 months old. Here he is when I first got him home:

He's good about perching on my hand, and loves it when I scratch the back of his neck. I heard him say "hello" when he was at the breeder's, but he's been practically mute since arriving at his new home. I'm sure this will change as he becomes more comfortable in his new surroundings...

It doesn't have a name yet, and to be honest I don't really even know if it's a boy or a girl. I had the woman take a blood sample to send off for analysis, and she told me I'll get the results by mail in two weeks. (It would be weird if humans required DNA testing to determine if we were male or female)

W gave me one of his extra cages, and has given me tons of advice and information about how to care for an African Grey and have it live safely with me amongst all my paintings and paint cans ("If it eats paint, you just use your electric toothbrush on it. The bird will never eat paint again after that").

It goes in it's cage to eat, but other than that it likes to sit on top of it (as pictured), or on a giant rope-toy-thing that I got for it. I bought a LOT of toys for the little guy; I put some up in and around the cage, and the rest I'll introduce as it chews up and destroys the ones it's got. I'm so happy to have my little baby bird :)

Today was going well until about 10:40am.

That's when I got up and went to the ladies' room. While in there, I was suddenly attacked by my own guts; everything inside of me came spilling out in an incredibly painful event. It was insane. And then things got even Shittier – I started to lose consciousness. Seriously. Still seated, I flushed the toilet, waited a bit, and then struggled to my feet, trying to fasten my pants as quickly as I could, but my fingers wouldn't work right.

I woke up and found myself sprawled out on the floor of the stall with the toilet seat cradling my head. My nose hurt like a motherfucker, so I must have slammed it on the toilet paper dispenser on my way down. I gathered myself up, got out of the stall, and washed my hands as fast as I could – I was starting to lose consciousness again. I held onto the wall and made it to the door. As I made my way out I noticed a coworker's feet behind one of the stall doors, and it occurred to me that she must have been in there the entire time, waiting. You know. One of those people who doesn't like to pee when other people are around.

I made it out of the ladies' room, fell to my knees on the industrial grey carpeting, and crawled my way over to a bank of cubes opposite the bathroom. "Uh, hi guys. Sorry I'm crawling around like this. I know it's fucked up. So, I'm really REALLY sick and I need to go to the hospital. Could you call 911? That would be awesome." The girl sitting in the corner got on the phone immediately. I couldn't really move, so I just laid on the floor.

The ambulance seemed to take forEVER. I chatted with the people in the cubes and gradually started to feel a little better. I was even able to sit up a bit. By the time the paramedics came with their giant rolling bed I was able to sit in an actual chair and began to have doubts about needing to go to the hospital after all. But when they found that my blood pressure was 80 over 60 they dragged me onto their Rollaway and strapped me in. Oxygen tubes were shoved up my nose and an IV was slammed into my arm. Away we went! Down through the halls with all of my coworkers watching with deeply concerned eyes! I wanted to tell them that I was OK, that it had just been a really big dump and I would be fine, but I didn't say anything, and off to the hospital I went.

The emergency room was nice. Much nicer than any I've been to in the past, in fact. And the nurses and doctors were very nice. I donned a hospital gown. Blood was drawn, samples of this and that were taken, and an EEG graphed my heart's beats. There was a rectal exam, too ("She passed out?? Well, better check her ass!!!") That bit I could have totally done without.

At 3pm I was given a clean bill of health and was handed my discharge papers. I took a cab home and then zonked out on the couch.
Yeah, it was a pretty Crappy day.

This morning I deleted my Myspace profile. I'm on a roll!

I never use Myspace - it's ugly, slow and hard to navigate. But the real reason I got rid of it is this: when I do a Google image search of my name, this sort of crap pops up. I mean, honestly. When people search my name they should get images of my artwork, not images of sparkly, pouting, thumb-sucking girls dressed in wonder woman outfits. It's certainly not representative of me and I'd rather it didn't get served up as if it was.

You know, it feels really good to have these social media sites out of my life. I've always felt a little at odds with them, a little exposed and a little exploited by them.

The acupuncture treatments have proven to be very successful for me. It's so cool how everything in the body really is interconnected.

On Friday the woman who I've been getting acupuncture from did some "cupping" on my back. That's where they put cups on your back and suck the air out of them so your skin gets massively suctioned (removing bad stuff from deep within you). I have round bruises all over my back now, it looks pretty crazy. But I'm feeling a lot better, so I hardly care.

Last night I deactivated my facebook profile.

I feel so liberated! No more ex-boyfriends or psycho ex-friends pestering me with "friend" requests or wacko messages ("last night I had a dream that you were drunk at work. Like, REALLY drunk... I think you should seek help"). No more losers from highschool inviting me to take the newest quiz/challenge, join the latest random sub-culture group or play time wasting games! I no longer have to read updates informing me what ex-coworkers ate for lunch, what they saw on television, the time they went to bed, or the deep thought they had while doing laundry!

I am free.

It's been a long time since I've finished a new painting. I think it's been a month, maybe more. Anyway, I tried some new things in this one. The size is double what I was using in my recent work, and I'm using curved lines for the first time, too. It's kind of chaotic, with a lot of static, but I think I like it anyway. You can click the image for a bigger view.

This deep thought brought to you by Hacker-Pschorr

I'm going to get accupuncture today. I've always wanted to know what it was like, and now I get to find out.

I've had a lingering dry cough that's come and gone for the past 8 years. It's the worst at work where I have to sit all day and can't move around, but it follows me everywhere. I've been to several doctors and specialists over the years to try to get to the bottom of it but they just prescribe more inhalers, nasal sprays, and even the little purple pill called Nexium (in the belief that my cough might be caused by acid reflux). I don't know what to believe. I really have no idea what causes me to cough. Asthma, bronchitis, GERD.... who the hell knows.

I'm giving Chinese medicine a shot. Maybe needles and herbs will help me where pills and sprays have not.
Here's hoping.

There was a span of about two days back in December 1998 where I did not - could not - speak. Sure, I could respond to simple questions with a "yes" or a "no", but beyond that, communication was far too involved for me to engage in.

"I'm not your girlfriend anymore?" I'd asked him. "No. You're not." Over and over. It played relentlessly in my head. Five years of life with him behind me, and I could not conceive of a life without him. It seems trite now, but at the time my entire future had evaporated with this small exchange.

I remember sitting on my parent's couch for hours, just looking out the window. They were concerned of course, and tried to draw me out of myself, but from my vantage they seemed so distant, almost like a show on TV that on some level I knew I ought to be watching, but could not remain focused on. My thoughts were elsewhere; I was processing events, words, and scenes from the past. My head was a flurry of activity, but turned completely inward.

I ate dinner, and I even remember watching a movie, The Paper Chase, which was about students in law school. My parents understood what had happened and were gentle with me, trying to lighten the mood with smiles and humor. I could smile weakly in return, but then I'd be lost again inside myself. It was hard to stay in the present; it hurt too much.

I remember my mother turning to my father and saying, "It's like she's grieving." She couldn't have been more correct.

Inside my head the gears were slipping. I was trying over and over to process the information. Trying to imagine a life alone, and completely failing. It was a puzzle I had to unravel, but couldn't figure out.

On the second day madresal  came to visit me. We were old friends, and she was determined to help me. She piled me into her Geo Tracker and drove me around for a bit, finally ending up at a Barnes & Noble bookstore. She pulled me over to the Astrology section, pulled out a bunch of books, and began to tell me about my future. She'd been into Astrology when she was in high school and knew all the nitty gritty about planet alignments and such.

She fleshed it all out. My house of career, of relationships, of home... she gave my future form and texture. She created a scaffold upon which I could see myself rebuilding my life.

And even though my belief in astrology up until that point had been flimsy at best, my mind finally stopped slipping its gears and I slowly sat back down in the driver's seat of my life. That was years ago, and I still couldn't tell you if I honestly believe in astrology. I suppose some days I do and other days I think it's a crock. But I'll never forget how it got me through that horrible time in my life, how it gave me hope that there could still be good things ahead for me, regardless of what I might be going through in the present.

This is heart breaking:

Fire destroys one of the country's largest private collection of African and African-American art

Ok, WTF. There are millitary jets screaming over my studio every two minutes. Are they seriously already preparing for the air and water show? Christ. It's MONDAY MORNING. Couldn't they have at least waited until Wednesday or Thursday?

Or a day when I'm not laid up in bed with the Bronchitis From Hell?

Back in 2002 I did a series of paintings called "Guns and Butter". They were plain color fields with stenciled objects spray painted on them; the stencils were of things that are glamorous yet bad for us; specifically, guns, wedding cakes, and my old '68 Dodge Polara. It was a pretty nice series, and I had a couple pieces sell.

Pink Magnum was bought by a girl who's father had killed himself with a magnum handgun. She called me up and asked to meet with me at the cafe where I was showing, and we spoke over coffee. When I found out why she was buying my piece I felt awful. I didn't want for her to be reminded of the loss of her father every time she looked at my painting.

But in those days I was desperately poor. So I took the $100 and handed over the painting.



The second painting from that series sold six months later when I showed my work at Around the Coyote. I'd been positioned in a horrible stairwell in a studio about half a mile from the epicenter of the festival, and very few people wandered by to see my work. Generally they were just kids out getting drunk or people who wanted to do something "cultural" but who had no real intention of buying any art. I sat on the hard steps of the stairwell the entire weekend, and endured the awful behavior of the women who's studio it was. They had a tendency to bully in a passive-aggressive way, and in order to keep the peace I'd had to go spend $40 I didn't have on wine and cheese. But I think the real reason they were so mean to me was because I actually sold a piece, and despite all their art degrees, I don't think they did.

A charismatic middle aged woman with a small entourage of family and friends came through on Saturday afternoon and she was immediately taken by Pink Cake. I don't remember if she actually bought it on the spot or if she came back for it the next day, but I do remember that after she made the purchase her son came up to me. "I don't think you know who my mother is," he told me. "She's a big collector. The fact that she bought one of your pieces makes me think I should, too." He told me about how his mother had either helped to found the Intuitive art movement or if she was just a massive supporter of it. In any case, she was apparently a Big Deal.

The part of this story that kills me - well, there are actually TWO parts of this story that kill me - Number One is that I lost the check she gave me for the piece, and Number Two is that I never had a chance to photograph the painting before I handed it over to her.

Two years later I actually found the check she'd written out to me, but rather than cash it or save it or even bother to write down her name, I destroyed it, feeling that it would be rude to cash a check so long after it was written. If only I could go back in time and stop myself from shredding it - I could have at least saved it as a souvenir. But all that's in the past now. Abegetan.

I come across a large insect struggling on the sidewalk, about an inch long, maybe a bit bigger. It's a cockroach, and two of it's back legs are smashed. It's a hot, muggy August night and the creature must have wandered out from the safety of the cozy drain it's been living in for the past decade, only to be partially mashed by an errant shoe or bicycle tire. The thing is trying to maneuver itself, struggling over and over to move it's oozing legs and walk, but it makes no progress, and it's antennae twirl in agitation. I watch it for a moment and I wonder if it is in pain? If it is afraid? I know it can't have long to live in its condition, smashed up like it is. It must have a nervous system. Of course it does. Of course it has some sense of distress. So that's it, down comes my shoe and I smash it as hard and solid as I can. There, it's done.

I look up and see that I am near a ritzy club with all sorts of slinky girls hanging around outside the entrance. They wear satin hot pants and silky dresses paired with high high heels, and I feel so different from them. Gold Diggers; they're the future Wives of America, the future Mothers of America, laughing loudly as they're gently petted, prodded and shepherded around by their boyfriends.

And I'm the cockroach mercy killer.

My lungs are in pain tonight and I'm not so sure this bronchitis is going to go away on it's own after all. Monday I will go see a doctor if my condition has not improved; walking Pneumonia is not something I want to deal with.

So, a few months back I got this crazy idea in my head that I was going to design a blog from scratch. Well, I've finally done Exactly That. And I'm crazy proud of it because honestly I didn't really know if I'd be able to pull it off or not, but I did. And it wasn't half as hard as I thought it would be.

And what was the whole point of that? Well, I'm going to re-design sharkforum.org, and before I did that I had to know I could re-design it.

Well, now I know that I can, and it feels good.

Dust eaters
24"x12"

I've been sick the past couple of days. I stayed home from work, hoping that I could take it easy and get better faster. I'm still not better, in fact I can tell the cough has moved deep into my lungs and morphed into bronchitis, but I'm basically functional and I didn't feel good about having to miss yet another day, so here I am back at work.

I'm drinking water like it's going out of style, trying to ease my throat. I was sucking on candy, too, but I stopped that because I doubt the sugar is good for my teeth. I'm on my fifth? sixth? can of La Croix.

Also, I am so sick of having to run to the bathroom to pee.

Robots that can eat human flesh??

Prescription worth 1000 ounces of gold, 20"x20"

The new one is a little intense, really vibrant with a lot of stuff going on.

I took the day off today and have been working away at my paintings. I think back to the days when it used to take me months to finish a painting... It was brutally painstaking and often the paintings began to feel burdensome, like determined monsters that weren't going to let me out of their claws without a long, drawn-out fight. I'm glad those days are over.

I have a headache and should probably go out for a walk or lie down. Instead, I sit here doing neither in my indecision.