12 April 2009
This entry begins at six-thirty on Easter morning, the bunny has officially died, and Christ has risen again. I find this holiday to be a wonderful reappropriation of the Pagan fertility rituals of spring. I have just finished watching Alexander (2004), directed by Oliver Stone and starring Colin Farrell and Angelina Jolie. I started out thinking about how cheesy and poorly written it was, and left it wanting to watch it again. I am glad to find out that it plays again on the 23rd of this month. I have been busy with some new writing exercises, and reworking of my blogs, lately. I need to be more disciplined with my reading and writing, these days, and have begun some new modes of behavior, in an attempt to instigate a better pattern of behavior. The results will be transferred over to my letters to you, I am sure.
Before I forget, I wanted to fill in for part of the above entry, by saying that I learned that the pretty orange pills that make me ill are Soboxan™, which I will research further, before this letter is sent to you. I took half of a pill, the other night, and ended up hurling my guts up, twice. I can say that the buzz is not worth the whole sickness aspect. Maybe that is why I never was attracted to continuing with my heroin experimentation. Strange, but I have not talked to Mary, again, since that first date. I guess that we did not connect enough in person to continue the relationship online. I have been burning through attempts at friendship like they are kindling on a bonfire. Maybe my cyberspace persona is suffering from an identity crisis.
As the sun begins to rise, I begin ruminating about making a run to the storage space, to switch out some old computer equipment that has been stacked up in the living room, for some of my art supplies. The Usual Suspects begins, on the channel that was playing Alexander. While I am writing to you, on one machine, I am watching the AOL chatroom on another machine. Yes, I have three monitors running at once, while I pay attention to each one. Maybe I am simply celebrating my attention deficient disorder. I find the card that gives my storage space hours, and it is, in fact, open, now, so I begin preparing for a quick run over there. I realize that it is only 37 degrees, and consider waiting a few hours before I make my move. Checking the weather forecast on this machine, I learn that it is only going to be a high of 42 degrees, today. I guess that I should enjoy dressing in layers for the last few moments of the winter season. Rather than pack up the computer, I think that I will just go over and get my printmaking materials. It has been months since I visited the storage area, so this is a good exercise for me. I will return shortly.
I return, a short 30 minutes later, after switching a box of computer equipment for the box of printmaking materials. I have been jonesin’ to work with my prints, again, so I am excited for a change, to be reveling in my supplies. My friend Andy, who was my first publisher, has been working with paperweights, and I find, in my grabbing, a perfect piece of glass to experiment with, in the same fashion. Okay, so maybe today is all about rebirthing, after all. My toys and supplies looked lonely, but still intact, in the storage space. I realize how much I miss having a workspace, in this tiny apartment. I should make it a goal to find a new place to work, again. It is almost as if my thoughts have been clearing up, lately, and my focus on a path rejuvenated. It would be nice to break loose of the rut that I have been in, for too long- a year or more. It would be nice to feel like I know my identity again.
As part of my endeavors, this week, I should find my way to the post office, as I have several packages to go out. I have been horribly uninterested in snail mail, in this last chapter. I think that I burned out on it, two or three years ago, when my printed magazine experiments did not work out. As part of this transition, I feel like I need to be inspired again, to play with the notions of snail mail. I pull out my framed piece of glass, my impromptu worktable, from the closet, while saying Hello, to Mama Slutcat, who has made my closet her private room, lately. I wonder if my box of baby towelettes is in this box. I unpack the box, and they are not. I need to be careful not to get ink, everywhere. The nice thing about living in a run-down apartment is the notion that I do not have to worry about ruining the carpet, like the new house environment of old. Now I have a bunch of supplies scattered on the floor in front of me, and my thoughts are spinning with potential projects.
It is now noon, I have been working on new magnets, while watching The Sopranos, then professional basketball, and playing games on Faceplant, I mean Facebook™. After talking to one of my online friends, I began looking at the recipe book, for a bean or vegetable casserole. It is an active day, and I am craving some adult liquid libations, and art supplies. A couple months ago, Little Julie sent twenty-five dollars worth of art supplies in the mail, but wrapped them in brown paper, instead of investing in a box, and the supplies were lost in the mail. Meanwhile, I have become desirous of making new print blocks, even though I have broken up with Little Julie, the art student. I am just about ready to find a new piece of ass, following the upset of our breakup.
So Jesus came out of his cave, and I wonder if he saw his shadow, or if it will be another six weeks of spring? I wonder if Bugs Bunny has anything to do with the death of winter. I am taking a break from this letter, upon my short return, to take care of some other tasks. I will return, just like Jesus!
