save me from myself

At times, I forget that I am not the type of person who can just have a fling. Even back when I was young and stupid and drunk and stoned, I knew better. Without any emotional attachment, it is meaningless and empty and nothing more than masturbation. If the situation continues, then all kinds of mixed, contradictory feelings are involved. I would find myself loving someone that I did not actually like and become attached to them when it was very unhealthy for both of us. Face it, there has to be love with sex. Sex is an expression of that love. Maybe I am not as "mature" as some of the others, because I know of people who can just have sex and walk away. I think that the vast majority if those people are fooling themselves. In any case, ALL of my past attempts at sex without love have been nothing short of painful and confusing and have not only impeded my growth, but caused regressions. In my weak moments, I have reached out in desperation only to fail. God has saved me from my foolishness. Therefore, it is not sex I desire so much, but love. I desire touch, not just sex. I need a companion and a friend and a supporter and someone that I can do the same for and to love back. This time alone is needed for me to heal and grow. Perhaps I will know love in a much purer, deeper, higher way than before and also to appreciate it much more. If it was time for me to be with her, then I would be so now. God has just been saving me from myself. No, it did not happen so much in my youth, but it is happening now.
As I have mentioned above, "one who conquers oneself is might." I am my own worst enemy.

Pastels, 2005. More velvet paper, only blue. This is falcon. Love those pug eyes and the facial expression.
 

Pastels, 2005. Black velvet paper. Black velvet has a cheesy reputation, but it is difficult to use. It is very ridged and unforgiving. There is no erasing and pastels are not either. All one can do id be careful, or draw over it. I am not much of a tiger fan, but know lots of people who adore them.
 

self-portrait, 2003. Pastels over watercolor. I originally drew this back in the 70's when I was around 14 or 15. Not sure exactly when because I did not date it. This is showing my inner self, not a horrible evil demon dragon, but a protector, friend, kind, gentle, curious. Not until much recently did I notice the dragon has only one eye. Wonder what that is saying. I drew it the same way back then. Single minded? Narrow vision? Fixated? I remember just wanting to capture that expression, one of innocence and kindness.  

zombies and love

All around me are “couples.” Happy or not, dysfunctional or “normal” or true love, they surround me. Even though I see many that are far from true love, they seem to mock me. It is worse to be in a lousy, painful, draining, dead-end relationship than to be alone, but it still seems “wrong” that I work so hard and I am alone. Last night my son and I watched “Shaun of the Dead,” a funny spoof on the reanimated dead humans turned human-flesh-eating zombies that infect the non-zombies movies. This movie focused on the underlying premise of the movies: brain-dead humans who blindly, miserably, stumble though life. They are like sheep or gulls, that follow the others because they are to weak or ignorant to lead their own life’s. Even if it means destroying (eating) their life’s and those around them. I have been there and done far too much of that. Yet, my temptations to find a sexual partner draw me toward zombieizm. Then, I recall the pain of the past. Then, I ask God, “Well, why not a healthy sexual relationship then?” Others do it. My friends tell me, “You can do that and why are you not? What are you stupid or something? You are only hurting yourself. Get out there! Hunt! Kill!” Last week, I obtained a membership to the YMCA and began a weightlifting class. So far, out of the 3 I have attended, I am the only male in the class. 4 of the women in my weightlifting class are attractive and interesting. In fact 2 are very interesting indeed, yet, all of them are married. This is an example of how it has been for me. I listen to my friends and my hunger, then give in and make an effort to find a sexual partner and that is the result. If I breakdown and go onto one of those websites to find a sexual partner, the result will be nothing. I know, I tried. Just like a woman at work. At first, I was saying “no,” and then, she pushed and made it sound so good and "right" so I gave in and said “yes,” then she said “no.” I am very hungry too, I very much miss human physical contact, I NEED touch, but no matter how hard I try or how little, there seems to always be divine intervention. To be honest, I do not fully understand why. I seek true love and a wife and a best friend and best lover (yes, all in one person, can you image!), not just a fling, no matter how healthy and mature the two of us. It has been over 5 years now for me. 5 years! At one time, I was unemployed and spent 23 hours a day alone in my bedroom of my parents house; alone with no one but my thoughts and depression and loneliness. At one point I just got to where I wanted God to allow me to either live (because I was not) or let me die (because I was all but not breathing). Not dead, not living, just stuck in a bardo, like the undead, only I was not eating and infecting others. So, this is a little frustrating at times. The type of love I seek is hard to find and those others are just feeding their dead life’s. What has worked well for me is to focus on and be thankful for what I do have now and allow for whatever else to come. In fact, saying a “thank you” prayer to God for everything, small, tinny or huge in my life. Sometimes I forget that what God Thinks I need and what I think I need are a bit different at times.

backwards

There was a man I worked with about 8 years ago. Heavy drinker, macho find of guy, greedy in everyway, arrogant, and very abusive to his second wife. Then, one day, she called the police on him and he ended up in jail. Nearly lost his high paying manager job. Did 2 months straight and then another 2 on the weekends. She took all of his money and her kids and their house. Good for her. During my time working there, this guy never talked to me much unless he was being condensing or bragging. Everyone at that place knew I did not drink. Some, like him, liked to rub it in my face and make jokes about me. They also knew I was going to college and some, like him, made jokes about that and made little comments here and there about people they knew who had college degrees and still had lousy low paying jobs. But after he got busted and his life feel apart, he came by everyday and whined and split his guts about how much of creep he had been and how he did not understand, but, boy, he was trying and how does he do it and how he thought his therapy was going well and by God I'm gonna change. Funny, before he joked with his “friends” at work loudly and indirectly to me about what a joke he and his “friends” thought psychology is and a waist of time. Sure, I was polite and made generalized statements meant to encourage his growth, but before his weekends were done, he had another girlfriend. Then he was right back to the same ol' song and dance. (She would become his 3rd ex.) At that time, I had no girlfriend or wife or even any prospects and was trying hard to remove my shortcomings. I was working hard to not fall into “love traps” like I was witnessing everyday with my co-workers. Does not mean I liked it, though. The loneliness was very tough at times. Yes, I know, what I was witnessing was not love, but ignorance. Yet, it made me mad. Why is it that a creep like that easily finds women? Well, as I said, it is not love. I seek true love, not that co-dependant, I can not life without him/her no matter who they are, rubbish.
Today, I still see it, everywhere. On TV, in the stores, on the street, at work. Couples in the trap. At times, I asked, “why them and not me?” I know why. The love I seek is hard to find, not lying around a bar waiting to be picked-up and taken home and discarded latter only to be replaced by yet another. Maybe, I am not ready yet, or maybe she is not, or… whatever the reason, she is not here and I am not there with her. The best I can do is pray, and keep working, and try not to let and anger grow resentment. It just seems backward at times. The good people, the smart people, the decent humans should have all of the “rewards,” not the “bad” people. Do I have a better idea? I guess not, but sometimes, … well sometimes I think it is just backwards. But, how else would we learn?

The decent people do get the "rewards," but where is she? When?

"Unattached" chalk pastels on red velevt paper. Just finished it a few days ago. I usually do not title my work, but I drew this dragon without legs. Just did not want to, but then I thought someone might ask me why. Then, my thoughts went to art therapy and began to analyze what a shrink might have to say about that. "So, you feel unattached, not grounded in reality. Here, take some thorazen and see me next month."  

"visual thoughts"

Today I went to a training class on autism. I learned some new stuff. Cool! One part about it is on my mind. The instructor, who is a PhD, was quoting an autistic person. From my experience, a PhD person has a different point of view about life than most others. (How is it that a person can earn a PhD and be so narrow minded?) Anyway, the Dr. said that the autistic person was explaining their unique thought process and that they are different from a “normal” person’s. The term the Dr used was “visual thoughts.” The autistic person saw clear, vivid images, complete with details, in their mind. I am guessing here, but as apposed to words or numbers or concepts. When the Dr. was saying this, I was thinking to myself, “well, how else does a person think?” In my mind, I see complete detailed pictures. When a person talks to me, or if I read, I see pictures, with fully detailed images. With art, I often have the painting or drawing in my mind first, and then, I put it down on paper or canvas. Sometimes, there is no planning or sketching, just the actual completing. My instructors at college did not approve of this method and tried to encourage me to think and plan first. Yes, I did so and sometimes still do. (Some of that paper is very expensive and unforgiving of mistakes.) However, as you can see from my photos on here, my way seems to work okay for me and my art. For another example, often when I am preparing for work, I see my work place and the other people in my mind. I see myself doing what I am supposed to be doing for the day (if that is set anyway). This is my way of preparing or planning or going over my list of things to do. I am not trying to predetermine my day, just making sure I got it all before I leave the house. I do not see the word "keys" or "glasses" in my mind, but and image of my actual "keys" or "glasses." If I lose something, i recall pictures of the possible sites and mayeb even the object there, not the word "bedroom" in my mind. If I need to plan a route of travel, say in town, I see the road and land marks and images of the possible other roads to travel, not a list of street names. For a brief moment, I thought I was autistic. How do normal people think? What, do they see a list if words and just scroll down it? I have no idea. Maybe I should have asked.

more dreams

I did not get much sleep again last night. I had this dream about demons. No, I could not “see” them, but I "felt" them. The feeling was of a very heavy, dark, evil, bad energy. Of course, they were taunting me and I could hear them. They were in the basement of a house (not my own), so I went down in with them. I surrounded the room with a blue light that the demons could not get out of and began to shrink the light. There was a wall and I pushed on it with both hands until it became a small box. I kept shrinking it down until it was completely gone. I went back upstairs and got in bed (this time, it was my own bed), but more demons came after me and woke me up (in the dream). So, I did the same by surrounding them in blue light and shrinking them down until they were completely gone. Then, I woke up (in "real") and went back to sleep and had a dream about chewing tobacco. I have those drinking and smoking dreams at times. They are very realistic were I can taste them and smell them and feel myself getting intoxicated. (I quit smoking 25 years ago and drinking 15 years ago) When I wake, I am very scared because in my dreams I just use so easily and freely like I used to back in the day. This is the first time I have had a dream about chewing tobacco. Yes, I used to, but only on and off. They came out with this herbal stuff that has no nicotine in it. I was doing that for a while, but stopped. I went to the store with a client yesterday and saw the chew I was using in my dream. Yes, I felt an intense desire to buy some and use it.

dreams and lack of sleep n'nat

I did not get much sleep last night. To begin with, I was not tired when it was my normal bedtime. I read and did some drawing. I have one last piece to finish and frame. I will have 18 pieces for the exhibit in April. I think that is a good number, but I am thinking of maybe a few more. 18 makes 9 which is a very good spiritual number. However, 21 makes 3 and 3 is my best and favorite number. Still, I was not tired so I watch some TV for a while. That new show "Medium" was on and I watched it. When I used to watch shows like that, I would have all of these "feelings" about me doing something like that in some way. (I used to watch "Millennium" when it was on and "know" that I would be someday.) I just do not feel that way anymore, but I "see" and "talk to dead people" all the time. Maybe it changed, but "they" tellme it will still happen. Anyway, I finally got to sleep, but woke up after only about 2 or 3 hours of sleep. There was this intense wave of energy flowing through me. It felt very good and exciting... I am not sure how to describe it. It was not totally sexual, but somewhat. It was a feeling of extreme happiness and joy, but not the kind that makes my eyes water (ok, cry, but a happy cry). It was going though me in waves, but not out of me, just flowing within in waves. It gave me goose bumps and scrambled my thoughts. I could not see clearly what was going on and I thought I was going back to sleep and begining to dream, but I kept waking up. Then, I smelt smoke. Smoke from a pipe. Not store bought tobacco, but the pure natural type. Sweet, kind of bacon flavored, and not bitter like the toxic stuff from the cigarette manufactures. Then, I could smell sweet grass. I have smelt this before and the guy began talking to me. (when "they" first come to me, I usually “smell” them first. My grandmother always smells like her cooking. The smells are very uniquely her. She was the best cook ever! It is so wonderful a reminder!) He is an old Native American man, a tribal elder, and he has helped me from time to time in the past 5 years. He does not look like the old type, but a modern Native American. He just has on regular clothes and no feathers and stuff. He looks to be in his late 50’s with full thick dark hair and no grey. His hair is short though, not long. Anyway, he said he had bad news. He told me that it would be over a year before I got laid and that there would be no one but my wife for sex. I said, "then that means I will not met her for awhile," and he said yes. This guy first came to me in a group of elders. 12 of them, which is the usual number for a tribal counsel of elders. He helped me to “see” the truth at the times when I was the most angry and resentful. When he was telling me this, I "felt" like it was wrong. That is how it works, usually. A demon will come disguised and tell half truths, but then my intuition tells me they are wrong and then I can "see" their true nature. Then they are “taking care of” to not bother anyone again. When this guy was talking, I saw in my mind "behind" him a woman and happiness. Not a wife, but... not sure who becuase I did not "focus" on her and it did not matter, so I began to speak to tell him I knew he was lying and he started to tell me that he hates me and that I am big piece of sh_t and that... In the past 5 years, I would have agreed with him. In my heart, I would know it as truth. But my heart has been hidden from me, behind a wall of pain and fear and self-loathing and recentment, and I could not clearly "see" anything. This morning, I did not feel like a piece of sh_t. It felt odd and not so comfortable, like a new pair of shoes worn for the first time. He left, smiling. At first I thought he was a demon, but with the help of "others," I realized he was just testing me. I actually laid there in bed and said aloud that I am not a piece of sh_t. Not once in my life have I ever said that, not once. So, I could not get back to sleep and read again for about an hour. But my sleep was broken and I got up again after an hour and drank some cold water. Then, my sleep was still broken. Too many crazy, uncomprehendable dreams. So, I got up early and came to check my e-mail. I still have some growing and healing to do, but this was a big step for me.

Letter from a Russian dating site

This is an e-mail I received this weekend from a Russian dating site. Sorry to offend anyone, but there is some truth in this letter. I have placed my comments and feelings in parenthesis. I do not ask anyone to agree with me nor do I wish to offend anyone. These are just my opinions and the opinions of an outsider to this culture.

"Let me help you to have an impression of what you will find in a Russian wife. The Russian woman likes to look pretty. She likes to dress well when she walks in the city street to her destination. She wears a dress and pumps, or a suit with a blouse and jewlery. She is concerned about her weight, her hair, how she presents herself. She thinks gym clothes are for the gym. {(How many times do I see people wearing sweats in public? Even to work? Look at our youth. They walk around with their underwear hanging out. Boys in jeans that are 3 sizes to big that hang down to their knees and their boxers pulled up past their navels, exposing 90% of their undershorts. Girls wearing low cut jeans that barely cover their butt cracks, do not went they bend over, and pulling their thong underwear up so all can see. To me, this is tasteless. I love sexy underwear and women and I wear boxers myself, but to show them off in this manner to me shows a lack of class and self-respect.)} In Russia, she doesn't have a choice to stay home to take care of her husband, house, and children - for her, it is a dream. There, she willingly works to help her family to survive. {( In this country, both spouses need to work to survive in our economy. In my generation, the attitude of family first has greatly declined. With each one since, it has gotten less and less. "Toys," big cars, big houses, these are foremost in most Americans minds. We tend to think of ourselves first, not our familes. I have a son, he is more important to me than my own life. I quit my job to see his football game. Can any of you say that? No, becuase we need to feed them and pay for our cars to take them to school and pay for our celephones so we can feel they are safe. Yet, we are too busy to share our time with them. I know more and more each day who do not feel close or even a large concern for their children. )} Education is important, a good occupation is an asset. Many women know 2 or more languages and hold degrees from universities. {( In the 1970's, a person could drop out of high school and get a job that paid $30-40,000 a year here. Not any more. There are 100s of 1,000s of people, who are stuck in their meaningless jobs who can not go elsewhere becuase of their morgages and cars and children and lack of education. With each passing year, more and more jobs require college, not just high school. Even fast food places require high school diplomas or GED. Yet, look at how many young people still drop out of school. We say we want higher and better eduaction. But ask any person who works in that field and you will discover just how little the government and others think of education. Less and less money is available each year for education. How much less will there be after this war is over? Oh, do not give me any of your self-rightous crap about how important this war is, becuase I am just as upset and mad as the rest of you about 9/11!)} Each Russian woman I know is willing to learn - to learn English, to learn about cultures, variouscuisines, philosophies, politics, to learn in all aspects. {( How many people do I know here that want to learn about the rest of the World? Very few. Most people here do not care anything about anywhere but here. They think that the only way to think is how they think. Most of them can not find Wyoming on a map, let only Russia.)} The Russian woman's attitude about herself is feminine. She expects to be treated as a lady, she is the weaker gender and knows it. {( I completely disagree! Weaker?! No way! Yet, shilvery is dead.)} The Russian woman has not been exposed to the world of rampant feminism that asserts it's rights in America. She remains sweet and tender with a softness that is absolutely desirable. Yet she is strong, she flourishes with a spirit that goes deep into a history that embraces a gypsy balalaika dance, a vodka drink, a covered head in a cathedral. Her eyes can speak of the trials and hardship of a struggling country, but they can laugh with the indomitable spirit of mother Russia. {(I have a friend who lives in the Philipines. We talked about this. In her words, American women want to act like men, not as women, in order to display strength. I agree. I have always been for equal rights, always! I am at the age were I have seen it go from one end to the other. Yet, there is so much lost. These extreme feminist speak at lenght about how awful men are and yet they want nothing more than to be one. I have no problem with androgyny. I have been told many times that I am more feminine in characteristics than male (not my looks). Good for me! I feel balanced. Maybe there should be more men like me. Yet, I love a woman who is strong and independent and yet, looks like a woman. There are lots of other countries women are treated horribly. That needs to change. It still happens here, to a lesser degree.)} Imagine if they laughed with you and gave you all they had! All Russian brides shown in the photo gallery are marriage minded and available for correspondence. {(I heard a statistic that said over 75% of the people on American dating sites are married! Sounds a little high, but still, I bet it is around 45%.)} Russian women who were registered at my site stay in constant contact with me and it helps me to keep data base up-to-date. I hope you enjoy our personalize dating service and the profiles of the Russian single women. I really hope you will be intrigued enough to take the first step to a happier and more fulfilling life, future and destiny. "

Take a look at any Russian dating site and see. Becuase of their economy, their way of life, most do not have the resources to take their own photos or have a computer at home. Many do not have telephones. I can remember a time in this country when not everyone had a phone. I am not that old, just 45. Most young people in that part of thw World marry and live with their parents until they can establish themselves. It is not too uncommon to find them leaving home for the first time after their 30's. They need to pay a professional for photos. If Americans had to spend our hard earned money, money we need for food, not toys, and if we know that their is little chance of sucess in finding a good spouse and we know that everyone esle is well dressed and groomed, then perhaps we would take more care of ourseves. In that part of the Wolrd, there is a different ratio of men to women than here. The male population was greatly decreased in WWII. Drugs and alcohol, crime, unemployment are more common than here and here it is pretty bad. It is hard for a woman there to find a faithful man who can take care of his family. One thing you will find very little of on their sites are questions about a person's income. It is family and love and loyality first with them. Why is not here?

Do you want to people. I do. But face it, our outward apperance is a relfection of our innerself. You look like a slob, then most likely you feel like a slob inside. On the same token, many use plastic surgry and expensive clothes to make themselves feel better when they are very unhappy inside.

What do I know? I learned a lot of these in college, but I have lived it mostly. This is just my opinion.

bad with the good

Some wonderful events have been happening to me the past few weeks. It is nice to see some things coming to me after such a long period of nothing to very little. But, in the past 3 days, some "bad" stuff has happened. When I was shopping for a new frame for an art piece for the show, the battery in the car died. As you know, this is not my car, but my mother's. I had my cell phone and my father was home so he just came and jumped started it and I got home. It could have been worse and not much better, becuase it was a nice day, not snowing or high wind. He got there in less than 10 minutes and it started right up. It could have been something more expense or difficult to repair. Oh yes, I do my own auto repairs, unless it is too complicated for me. In actaully enjoy it. I had to work in the drive way, out doors, in the dark to take the old one out. I had to buy the new one ($67) which is a good price, but with my job having cut my hours down to 9 a week and I have not stared with my new client so, I need to conserve money. Again, though, it was not too cold and it came and went in quickly. I did not even make my knuclkes bleed which pretty much is the law in auto repairs. I could not wait until the next day becuase my mother was going somewhere with my father's truck and I had my appointment at the YMCA. Cars break. That is just a fact of life. The worse part of it is that I do not have the extra money. My mother gave me some of it back, but then I had to buy dinner for last night with the money. This is just a reminder that I need my own car, but, I am very grateful to have parents who can help me out. One good thing about this, i do not feel any angry about this. I am cool with it. I wanted to be grumby about it, but I just reminded myself about the good fortune with this (weather and all) and how I enjoy fixing things. Then, two days in a row, I get harassing phone calls about my credit card bill. They want $4,600! I only owed the card company $2,400. Don't think so! I told the guy that called the first time the truth, I am starting my new business and I can not pay until I get a client base. He said they offered me a settlement of 60% if I paid it all in one payment. That always makes me laugh. If had that kind of money at one time, I would have already paid it off. I thought that after we got off the phone that it was settled for now. But, at after 8:00PM last night, I get another call from them. Different person, same conversation. I was wondering why she had to call after I had already talked to someone else there just the day before. Probaly a ton reasons on their part, just not mine. You know, I would love to pay my bills. I am not the type of person who makes bills and does not pay them. However, I can not right now. Slowly, eventually, I will, but for now, I wonder what God is trying to tell me with these phone calls?

more again on art

My stuff is ready for my show. I have one more that needs framed and one more I would like to draw still. I spoke to the arts manager at the YMCA yesterday. We talked about their art programs and I suggested a drawing class. Well, now I am an art teacher. I have an appointment today to work out the details, but it will be one night a week for an hour and a half. I have been around many good young artists who have good talent. They draw very well, but very few of them have work that is 3 dimensional. This is what the class will focus on for now. She said they have had many requests for a drawing class, but not for beginers. I will incorporate some other information as well, like the differences between good quality materials from KMart stuff. Shading, light sources, light values, preportions, balance, symmetry, all of the stuff one does not usually learn in our high schools here. I did not get much sleep last night. I have not been getting much lately. My dreams have been very "busy" and I wake feeling tired, but satisfied in a way becuase the tasks were completed. During the day though, I am tired and I feel like I have not gotten much rest. Last night though, I dreamt about the art class. I woke with tons of "ideas forming in me head." ( an allusion from the movie "Time Bandits") I tried to relax and go back to sleep, but I had a difficult time of it. I had a girlfriend along time ago (I was just out of high school) who's mother had a saying she liked to tell me. In her opinion, "There is no greater sin than unused gifts." She felt that God gave "gifts" for a reason and that it was an act agaisnt God to not use them for their Purpose. She and her family knew I took art classes in school. I actaully painted a mural on my gf's door. I knew her mother was trying to tell me to do something with my art. Well, since then (we broke up after 3 years), I have gone to college and completed over 45 credit hours in art. I am only 4 classes short of a BA (3 are art history). I have done some teaching before and sold a few things here and there, and now, well you know the rest. I see her mother once in a while. I think she would be happy to know her words took hold within me.

"I Once Was a Man Who"

I wrote this poem nearly 5 years ago. It captures my feelings at the time. I had worked hard for nealry 10 years, doing whatever I could to improve my emotional and spiritual self. One day, I discovered that I had finally gotten somehwere, that all my work was paying some rewards, and I was truely happy for the first time in my life. For that 18 month period, I did not become compacent and stop working, but I was not for the VERY FIRST TIME I CAN REMEMBER in my life, I was not depressed. Sure, bad things happened, but it was just water off the ducks back. I was living life and loving and growing and just BEING. Then, one late October day, it was gone.


I once was a man who had a choice
I once was man who was not alone
I once was a man who tried to right all of the wrong he had done
I once was a man who only wanted to help those in need
I once was man who thought his life's experiences were for a reason
I once was a man who had Purpose
I once was a man who had great hopes and grand dreams
I once was a man who felt that one day his life would be better
I once was a man who knew right from wrong, Bad from Good, Heaven from Hell
I once was a man who thought he knew God
I once was a man who thought he was part of God's Plan
I once was a man who thought he understood
Now, I am not.



The road back has been long, and very difficult. In fact, I can not say right now at this moment that I am back. Nor do I beleive I will ever be back. That might be for the best. I can see now where some of those old things were flawed. My foundation was solid and steady, but some how the higher structures were weak. Somedays, I still struggle a little with "good and bad, heaven and hell." I have noticed that the higher one's growth, the older one gets, the more one learns, that things are not so black and white, but grey. They were before that day in October, but it seemed to be less confusing to me.

There has been one theme in my life that has been very persistant: change. Oh, not your reguar small changes or even some partical major ones, not any of the garden varities. I am talking about complete genicide. I work to get myself to a good place, and then, in a matter of a few brief moments, it is ALL gone. Not even one single drop of water in the glass. Then, more hard work only to have it happen again. As a child, we moved often. We moved just often enough to make it more difficult. If we had moved, say once a year, it would not be as hard becuase there would not be enough time to get established with friends and to become comfortable. There are many other examples, but not now. This last time, ever single part of me changed, even on the inside, and to the core and beyond. ALL that I knew and trusted was gone. Somedays now, I still have trouble trusting. For a while in this past 5 years, I felt like Job from the Bible. A part of some cruel bet. Job got his "stuff" back, but different. Was he stronger for it? Will I be? Right now, I wonder. Sure, he was and I will be, but right now, I wonder why? Asking why is not good for a person who is not ready to hear the answer. The answer is still forthcoming for me, eventhough I feel I am ready to hear it and to LISTEN and to accept. I am not a person who believes that we should not question why. I am not one of those small minded Christains who thinks we should accept without asking. I do believe in faith for no reason. I also know that why is a difficult question. With some patients and understanding and an open mind and an open heart, why will come. I do accept God without question, but a truer deeper faith comes from asking why, provided one does not get lost. I have been lost. I have been angry. I have harbored resentment that sunk the ship to the bottom of the bay. It is not a pretty sight. I wallowed there for a long time gathering rust and barnilces and lost a good deal of myself to decay. I have had to rise back to the surface, barnicles and all. Today I guess I found another banricle that I need to remove. A small word of advise, do not allow any barnicles to grow. They have roots and when you take them off, a piece of yourself goes with them. Then you have this open wound that needs to heal. Sometimes, they do not scab over and leak puss for a time. Chicks do not dig puss ozzing sores. It is all for a Reason. A Reason that is not always clear to me, but becoming more and more understanding.

I need chocolate.

wolfs

A friend sent this to me:

An elder Cherokee Native American was teaching his grandchildren about life. He said to them, "A fight is going on inside me.....it is a terrible fight and is between two wolves. One wolf represents fear, anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self pity,guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego. The other wolf stands for joy, peace, love, hope, sharing, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, friendship, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith. The same fight is going on inside you, and inside every other person too."

They thought about it for a minute and then one child asked his grandfather, "Which wolf will win?"

And the grandfather said, "the one you feed."

What a difference a frame makes!  

water color, 1982. Watercolor was difficult for me back then in college. It is a hard medium to control. I think that at that time in my life, I was into control and not able to go with the flow. I feel that I am in a better place now and would do much better work with watercolors.  

"Here For Me"

When the days been long and the night even longer;
When trouble will not pass me by
And there are no tears left to cry
When I am too tired to try;
I leave my sadness and sorrow behind
And take a special journey inside,
Inside to a place where no others can go,
Where the trees are tall and green and filled with the scent of peace
And the birds sing their songs
Their songs of pleasant joy.
As I find my pathway to serenity;
The clear blue sky fills with orange, red and purple clouds
And a calm breeze whispers a welcome
A welcome to the coming rain
The rain that washes the blues away.
The pathway takes me to a cave
A cave that smells of burning cedar
Cedar that welcomes me to solitude
Solitude by the warmth of the glowing
The glowing yellow, orange, and blue flames of tranquility
A fire that invites me to sit and stay and
Where no one can harm me and I can sit and think and be myself and live
Live without care and feel only peace and love,
No one tells me how long to stay or when to go away
Because in here, in this cave, it's only me
Me and peace and calm and nothing
Nothing but the sound of the fire's crackle and the rain
The sound of the rain washing all the pain away and leaving
Leaving everything clean and beautiful.
I listen to the sound of the rain as it cleanses,
The sounds of the water as it splashes on the tree's leaves,
Onto the pedals of the flowers,
Through the cracks of the rocks,
Into the crevices in the ground.
The cry of distant thunder calms my heart as the thunder tells
Tells all pain to go away, not here, not today.
And when the rain has stopped and the sun appears
Appears from above the trees upon me;
I raise and stand at the entrance to my cave
And look down on the valley of love
The valley that is filled with all of the beauty I love;
I love it's tall, green grass and white and multi-colored roses
And a soft flowing stream of cool, clean water, a perfect dream.
The lizard crawls down from the tree to greet me
To greet me and show me the way back
Back to a better day and a cleaner, healthier me;
And as I walk by her side, she reminds me
Reminds me that this place will always be
Always be here for me!

And another.... 

Dragons in my view are proctectors, teachers, and inner strength. Many cultures view dragons as evil demons. In these drawings, the dragons are the woman's inner-self, in my image, not of evil. 

Another in the series. Note that they eyes are of abnormal size. The Japanesse use this thechnique to express innocence. I wanted to say that these women can "see" things beyound the "normal" person.  

This is one in series. I wanted to just use one color and lots of negative (empty) space. There are six done now, and plans for 2 more. This one was drawn/painted 2004. Chalk pastels over water color.  

Black ink, 1982.  

Charcoal, 1999.  

This was done in my senior year in high school. I received honorable mention in the fair that year, 1977. This is opaque water colors. Yes, it is Gene Simmons of Kiss. I was a huge Kiss fan back then. The walls in my bed room were covered with Kiss posters. I took a "play production" class that year as well. For the make-up section, I painted my face like Gene's and left it on for the rest of the day at school. My art teacher (which was my last class of the day) gave me an "A" for the day for the make-up. I still love their music!!! (and so does my son:-) ) Ace is one of my favorite gituar players. I love his unique sound and playing style.  

David Bowie from a photo in 1975. Pastel over water color, 1982.  

Colored ink, using bamboo brush and pen set. Drawn in college 1983. There is a glare from the camera flash on his right leg that is not a part of the drawing. Sorry.  

ok 

Just finished this one yesterday, 1-14-2005. This was orginallly drawn/painted in 1988 (see "more about art" and other blogs on art for deatils). Chalk pastels over water color and opaque water colors for the details (eyes, lips, etc.). She is just an image from my head and not a "real" person. This will be on display (and for sale) at my exhibit at our local YMCA in the month of March, 2005.  

The painting in question (see Witch Hunt in Wyoming) Now, I feel like a fool for trying to repaint this. I did not change anything, except to paint over the red I used in the mountians and rock formations. If you look closely, one can see some red just below the tiger.  

lifesize selfportrait, 1999 

"Selfless Spirit"

The more I learn of spirit
The more I become enlightened
The more I understand
The more I can care
The more I can help
The more I love
The more I begin to see
The less I am self

"A Very Simple Dream"

In this short life time of mine
I've had a special dream
Very simple dream, yet so hard to find.
Every person I ever met
Every one I spent time with
Every woman I thought I loved
Every relationship I ever had
Ended with the knowledge of only knowing
What I did not want, not what I wanted.
One bright day, at the end of yet another
I finally realized just what I wanted
I knew that if this person were possible
If all of my needs and desires could be
That I would have my dream
Very simple dream, yet so hard to find.
I've spent many long, lonely nights
Many troubled and tired days
Wondering if she could really be
And how complex she would have to be,
Just as complex as me,
And how could she ever find me?
I endured with pain and loneliness
I waited with excited anticipation
I asked, I begged, I laughed, I cried
Wondering if she would ever be by my side.
One day after I'd forgotten to try
A loving voice spoke to me
From behind beautiful sparkling blue eyes
There she was to my complete surprise
She was standing at my side.
Yet, it was not to be.
So, again I am in search of that dream
Very simple dream, yet so hard to find.
If there are no more tomorrows or todays
Nothing left but the yesterdays
I will know that my dream
Very simple dream, is one I can find!

"We Return"

We return to each other
After a very hard time.
We spoke of anger and lies
And hate and love.
We spoke of hardships
Dealt by each other.
We spoke of many things
That bothered us from before.
Things that were never mentioned
But should have sooner.
Together agreed that
Our love is still strong.
Now knowing what went wrong
And had we spoke sooner
We would still be as one.
We know that we needed:
To have better communication,
To have better understanding,
To have better courage to say
Without the worry of loosing
This beautiful love we share.
We spoke of apologies
For things we did or did not.
We spoke of wanting
Not to do and to do them again.
But to worry about yesterday
Does not help today.
All that we can do or say
Is that when we have the chance
We will try not to make
Them effect tomorrow.

More art stuff...

There has been lots of art stuff going on for me since the 1st. It feels like old times, like back in college with deadlines and a need for lots of productivity. A few years after Lu, well, about 3 or so, I tried to get back to art. It was hard because I felt so restrained. In my mind I keep worrying about my subject matter. I guess it is not hard to figure out. I was going back to a goal I had at one time. I mentioned Vargas. I had purchased a book about him in college. He talked a little about his technique. He used a combination of watercolor and pastels. He would sketch her, lay down a base of water color, and lightly fill in the rest with chalk pastels. I wanted to do some work in this manner. I had done 2 in college, but wanted to continue. I was not doing a pin-up girl or nudes, but just portraits. I did a few rock starts of the time, David Bowie and Terri Nunn (who is from the band “Berlin”). So, in 1988 I just choose some portraits and began doing them. They sucked. So, I moved on to something else. I had bought 2 drawing pads in college made for pastels and colored pencils. High quality paper that was colored different shades. I had not used it much, so I got out the Prisms (my expensive, very high quality colored pencils) and did some portraits. Those came out very good, but, still, to me they looked restricted. Maybe it is just me because I know that my heart was not totally in it. Anyway, I stopped. The juice just would not flow. I have had a chance for others to look at those drawings from then. They get good reviews. I can see where it was just pure talent and not anything from the heart. That is nice to know, but not enough for me. I tried here and there after, but my heart was not in it. Before Lu, I did lots of art all the time. Then, it was like someone kicked me in the nads and I puked it all out. So, when I went back to college, I was in my last year, 1998/1999. I had some room for classes and I thought about getting a second BA in art. I did not need much, so I thought I would do it and then move on to a Master’s. (right now, I need 4 classes to get my BA) Lu and all of that was not in my mind when I registered for the classes. I wrote that story, “Witch Hunt in Wyoming” in a writing class about 3 years prior and thought that maybe I had worked through it. When the classes started, I was rusty. But, I found my river of creativity, yet, I was still restrained. The water was still dammed, although draining. The water has began to flow more freely as time went by, with each new piece. In the last 2 years, I have done some more art. The river is flowing, but not a rage like before.

So, in the past few weeks I have been preparing for my exhibition. I have some old stuff and some new to put in it. I found those pieces from 1988. One I am redoing, well, is nearly redone.

Last night, the waters raged.

"Sea, Air, Land"

The lake is not separate from the river.
The river is not separate from the sea.
The air is not separate from the sky,
As the land is not separate from the earth.
The sea, the air, the land
Are not separate from you or me.

A FRIEND'S GIFT

You were such a great friend
With a warm loving glow
So full of life and happiness
And so eager to enjoy
Every experience both new and old
Your presents brought to all
Love beauty delight and joy
With ill for no one or no thing
You were a friend to all

We all were so sad to see you go
And everyone has missed you, oh so...

I have grieved for you in my own ways
And think about you everyday

Others may see it as wrong
For they don't understand
But your death has given to me
A very special gift
One I'm not sure I can repay
It took from me an evil desire
That was destroying my life
And those around me

Others may not agree
And I understand
What your death has given to me
My life has been changed
In so many positive ways
And it is put myself back
On the path were I am supposed to be

You have helped me in so many ways
Through out each good and difficult day


(Yes, another one about Shanon)

"DURGE"

Blazing fire logs
Scruffy puppy dogs
Marching pollywogs

Budgie white cage
Swimming fish engage
Lizard green rage

Fur illuminate sheen
No tail esteem
Mouse chase dream

Trampoline jeans
Tangerine beans
Black leather teens

Jumping dive stage
Dressing no age
Music metal gage

Multi-facet scene
Feet cover green
Mountain grass serene

Crusted drifts of snow
Blowing freeze go
Spinning mind slow

Golden leaf tree
Bumble yellow bee
Blueing green sea

Trout fishing streams
Deer hunting deems
Sporting favorite teams

Orange blue call
Big cheering tall
Oval shape ball

Blue maroon ice
Stick rubber device
Lord Cup twice

Blissful thought beam
Trazadone dream
Trudging in gleam

Inside up down
Take a look around
Try to tell a sound

Purple color haze
Wasted only daze
Clouded lonely maze

Best only son
Many years fun
Not even done

More about art

In the past, I have sold a few peices. Some for pretty decent money, but not enough to earn a living. (Unless of course, I sold several peices a month, then mabye...) One of my art teachers said a person can go two ways with art, to make money or have lots of time off. He was taking about either going commercal or teaching. For some reason, I am not comfortable selling my art. It is not the reason for me doing art. Creating is my reason, no, not a reason, but a purpose, a need, a need as important to me as eating or breathing. Art is in the doing, not the end result. I do art to please myself, not others. If others like it, I am glad, but I do not need approval. Of course, when I was in college, I had to be concerned about grades. I drew or painted lots of different things; still lifes, trees, flowers, etc. All of that helped me to grow as a person not just an artist. So, anyway, I have some sellable stuff and some peices I am okay with parting from them. I have spent most of my free time since the 1st preparing my work; matts, frames, touch-ups. Those things are importnat sellers, yes, but more important to me, they help display the peice. They look finished and proud and ready to tell the World how beautiful they feel they are, and why not? I am a modest man. I do not blow my own horn (for if I could I would never leave..., just kidding). However, I recognize my ablilites. In college, even at the larger university, I felt like I was in the top 3 in my classes. In fact, in my advanced drawing class, there was only one person who was better then me. (She alreday hada job lined up after graduation drawing intenal organs for some medical publisher. How cool is that!) But most of the others had talent in their own ways, just as I do with mine. Okay, I have gotten off track a bit. I do not like doing art for the sake of selling it. In fact, I find that my creative juices are hinderd by it. Cowboys, horses, cows, frames with barbed wire, those are very popular here. Maybe some of those people do that stuff becuase they like it and becuase that is what is in their hearts. I think most do it so it can sell. Then, it is not art, but decoration. Who am I to say what is and what is not art? It is only my opinion afterall.
So, now I have a delemma: what do I charge for my work? Part of the procedes go to the YMCA and I want to be able to make a contribution. This place does a lot of good stuff for the non-rich people in this city. My son played lots of sports there and spent many summers there. They are good to the disabled people and the edlery as well, not just the youngsters. I tried to pay some mind to the other artists and their prices, but to be honest, most of the work was not so good. I have "professional training" as they say. I know about balance and flow and I know lots of the technical terms. My work has evolved over time to reflect this training. Any person who knows art in this manner will recognize it in my work. So what? Does that make me better? Yes and no. Becuase I have better technic, does that make me better? Oh yes, but in a way, no, too. My stuff is not "realistic"meaning it does not look like a photo of something. Why would I want to do that? That is what cammeras are for, right? With my work, I am trying to reproduce a feeling, an emotion. However, I admire those who are very skilled at this. Back before we had quality photos, art was the best way to go. In fact, one such person, Vargas, has been a big influence on me. (For those who do not know him, he did lots of "pin-up girls" back in the 30's and 40's and even into the 60's) Again, I am off the rail here. Anyway, some of the pricing was out of line. There was a photgrapher who had some wonderful photos, very moving and technically soild. Yet, his prices were very high, I thought so anyway. His work was matted, but un-framed. Trendy I suppose and of course the buyer can pick out their own frames. Okay, so in the past, I have just given most of my stuff away, free, here you go, you like this so much, it is yours. But then, I have a few peices I would never sell. Okay, so sell at what the market will bare I suppose. There are a couple of pieces that I would not mind keeping now that they have a nice frame, so, maybe a little higher on the price? I know if it is a decent price, it will sell. The people who are buying support the YMCA and who knows, maybe my art will end up in some closet somewhere (which is no different than what I do with it now). There is a lot of it that I wish was in someone else's storage unit or closet than mine though.
Anyway, this is my first solo exhibit. Some mistakes will be made, perhaps, many. Perhaps I will come home with all of my stuff wehn the month is over, but I do not think this to be so in my heart. If someone really loves a piece, but does not have the money, then of course, the price will go down for them. Will those people speak up though? I will speak to the person at the YMCA who handles these shows and see what she has to say about it. She is a very nice woman and I am sure she will have lots of opinions to offer.

Letting go

For many years now, my son has been my friend. For much of this time, he has been my only friend, spending nearly all of my weekends and holidays with him. He is dating now, has his own car, and is in 10th grade. The past few months, his weekends with me have consisted of him going to see his freinds and only spending a few hours with me here and there. I am very grateful that he has a good life and I am even more grateful to have such a wonderful son. It is a time for me to begining letting go and to accept a change in our relationship. Yes, I knew this would be coming and yes, I know all of the other stuff of how he will always be my son. I could be sitting here now writing about the unimaginable, his death or a trip to jail. Anyway, right now it hurts. This weekend we went to a movie like we often do. The movie was not one I was much interested in, although it turned out to be an okay movie, but, it was his choice, just like it always has been with us. I would have rather went to see "Sponge Bob" or "Shark Tail," but those days are gone. I miss them sometimes, but I relished every second of them when I was there. I spend a lot of my free time alone, nearly all of it. I have no friends to go to movies with or hang out. I have just nearly always waited for the weekend and gone with my son or, ocassionally, go alone. This transtition would be much easier if I was not so damned lonely already. But I will do as any good parent does and just be there when I can, be supportive and enjoy those precious moments when I do get to be with him. It is not like I will never see him again, it is just hard right now at this moment, at this exact point in time. Maybe the glass is emptying so that it can be filled with something else.

"Streams in Mind"

The mind is a steady flowing stream
That flows on and on without stop.
The rains of experience continue the flow.

The stream does not always flow smoothly

There are bends of distractions,
That cause the water to alter it's course.
There are rocks of interruptions,
That cause the water to skip and jump.
There is misconception filled dirt,
That clouds the clear water.
There are strong winds of preconception
That dilute the rains purity.

There are too often un-useful dams
That are made with these elements of cause.
When the elements are built into issues of concrete,
Then the dams begin to grow,
Blocking the waters flow,
Causing lakes of discontent,
Drowning the environments soul.
The lake seems smooth on the surface.
But there are turbulent currents and undertows,
That are churning and swirling underneath,
With no place to go and no mind of their own.
The stream never stops it's flow.
Sometimes the lakes just continue to grow,
Never allowing the waters true flow.
If the water is allowed to flow on it's own
Life in front of it will grow;
But if the water builds and begins to spill over
And the dam begins to erode and crumble, then explode;
Bring with it all of the rocks and dirt and concrete;
It will destroy all of the life in front of it,
Rushing hard for miles,
And if it can over come all of the dams
The water will, again, find it's smooth flow.

The mind is a steady stream
That flows on and on, without stop,
With the rains of experience, continuing the flow.

"Talk to Me"

When you say you'll do anything,
To keep are love alive,
What does that include?

Leaving alone when I'm mad
Joining in when I'm glad
Understanding when I'm sad
Forgiving when I'm bad

Can you understand and not agree?
Can you be completely honest with me
On how and what it is you see?

Let me know when your mad
Let me join in when your glad
Allow me to understand when your sad
That I can forgive when your bad

Just say what you feel and what's going on inside
And not hide behind what you think I might decide
Or what you think I want you to be.

All I really want is for you to talk to me.

“With great power comes great responsibility”

Any Spider-man fans out there will recognize this slogan.

I just finished watch Spider-man 2 on the DVD I got for Christmas. Oh sure, I saw at the theater before, 3 times. Spider-man has always been close to my heart. As a kid, he was on TV. Had his own live-action series back in the 70’s. I do not remember much of them, but I do remember the cartoon versions on Saturday mornings. It was apparent to me even then, even before I knew about depression and self-doubt, well, not in those words anyway. I knew it alright, but not like I know it now. I am drawn to the anti-hero, the guy who is misunderstood, appreciated by few, loved by even fewer, and disliked by some. Yet, very few know his secret. In my heart, even when I was 8 or 9, I knew I was different from everyone else. How am I different? Well, hard to explain. I am just not the average guy. I do not think it is ok to steal or lie to get ahead. I do not think it is ok to take advantage of others. I do not think fame and fortune are the tell all of our life’s, that we should be judged upon. I do not envy other men for their long lists of sexual accomplishments or their long list of expensive toys. I remember that T-shirt that was popular in the ’80’s; “He who dies with the most toys wins.” Wins what? A trip to hell? Several life times of try it again boy? I saw one that came out latter that said it better; “He who dies with the most toys… still dies.” I never fit into any clicks at school or at work. I fit in only when I drank and acted like a moron. Okay, I still act like a moron at times, but I found out I can do it sober. Saves me lots of money and headaches (get too many as it is). I never really followed fashion too much. Oh sure, some of it at times, but if you buy your clothes at K-Mart, you have to dress like the others. I can not afford K-Mart these days, I need to go to Good Will or Salvation Army. In the mid ‘90’s when I was working hard to find myself, Spider-man was on again. Very good animation, better acting, much closer to the comics. Oh yes, still have my Spider-man comics (although I had to re-buy them because, you know, Mom). So, I discovered why I liked him so much. I am Spider-man. Talking to myself, doubting, struggling between doing what is right and what I want to do. Always wanting MJ and not ever being able to have her. Of course, he finally does. Most days, I am Peter Parker. Smart, but a dork. Am I a superhero? No, well, .. maybe to some. Perhaps some of these I work with and teach and help, maybe they see me as a least decent guy. Perhaps my son does too, but maybe.. have to ask him I guess. Seems I have a Gift for being that guy who helps others, those certain “special” others. Would I rather do something else? Some days, when I am being cussed out and hit and yelled at and flipped off and spit on, sure, you bet. But I can not, not that I am saying I do not have a choice. When I am not doing this type of work, I have lots of guilt. Then, I hear Uncle Ben's voice in the back of my mind, hollering at me to do something more important with my time. Then, some days, I feel like I have no choice and that my “Gifts” are a burden. I wonder if Stan Lee ever felt this way? But when I am there and things go well and one them learns something and does it all on their own without my help or prompts or tells me they love me or laugh at my corny jokes or whips my butt in Monopoly, then there is nothing better!

I just wish Mary Jane Watson would show up. Gotta love the red hair:-)

In case any of you are wondering, I am more Marvel than DC. Love the Dark Knight, too, though.

Tantrums the seguel

I am so tired right now. This overnight shift is running me down physically and emotional.

My “tantrum” a few days ago is still lingering, only now, I am trying find that place I was before the depression and frustration got the better of me. I am reminded of JFK’s words: “Ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country.” Well, I am asking God what I should do for God. If I just let my situation slide and allow for it to work itself out, fine, I feel better. However, it seems wrong to not be active in my part. All I can do is my part and then God do the rest. When I look at the whole picture, my current situation, it is overwhelming. No way can I do it on my own. Sometimes, I feel like I have been forsaken. Even Jesus had his moment of doubt and pain, but I have had a tendency to wallow in it. That wallow became a vise and a way of life and it is taking me time to get out of it.

The World sucks when I look how some people get all the stuff. They get “rewarded“ for their hideous morals. They will never know love like I do and that would suck more. I know I have to help create those things, but I also know that it takes time. I forget sometimes. Do I want a huge house and lots of toys? No, a nice house and a few toys, but mostly love. Love from a woman, a wife, a best friend, a best lover, a companion who is all the same person. Pretty tall order these days, so I must learn to be patient. I usually am, but at times,... well, those times come by less and less and they stay for shorter and shorter times.

All I can do is be myself. When I was younger, I tried being others. Did not work out so well for me. If I am in bad mood, then I am in a bad mood. I try to not be, but life happens. If I had it all figured out, then I would not need to be here, I would be on a different plain of existence trying to figure that one out.

Some days, I just do not get it.

"When I Think of You"

When I think of you
I wonder where you are
I wonder how you are
I wonder if you are fine
But I already know

I fear for you
But I'm not afraid

I worry about you
But I'm not absorbed

I think of who I'm missing
But not what I've missed

When I think of you
I wonder where you are
Knowing that I shall be there
Some day, in some way,
In my own time

I think of how I knew you
But how I didn't know you

I think of how I loved you
But, also, how I liked you

I worry that I won't see you again
But know that I can

Your in my thoughts
Your in my dreams
Your in my past
Your in my present
Your in my future

excuse me World for venting!

Ok, sorry!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Count my blessings and foucs on what I have and not what I do not have, be possitive, yadda yadda yadda.

Thank you.

Letter to a friend

There is something I would like to tell you about. It has to do with money. This will take some time, ok? Sorry, but I need to vent and to ask you your thoughts about this my friend. In order to make it through college, I had to do a lot of creative things to make it by. I did not get much student loan money nor grants or scholarships. In fact, there was a point when I was angry about this. Women get the majority of the money. White males are at the bottom of the list and there are very limited scholarships. At the time of my writing class, I was using a computer at one of my 3 jobs. They did not even have Windows ‘98, so anyway, I had to go after hours to do my typing. Then, one day, I got a credit card in the mail. I did not have to fill anything out or go through anything, just use it. So, I bought my own computer with it. I did not have enough room and I maxed the card out, but, I was working 3 part time jobs and somehow I was able to come up with enough to get a printer. Then, I moved to Laramie. It was a huge leap of faith because I did not have a job nor anywhere near enough money to support myself, but I felt like God would be there for me. God had helped me out before, but I was only getting just barely enough to get by on. So, I quickly ran out of money, but Kerry was there and I moved in with her. I was working, going to school and she was understanding. We started our own little business, a space at a flea market in town. I ended up taking care of it and selling nearly all of my personal possessions (things that meant something to me), then after I graduated, I got a second job. Through out this entire time, I was struggling to make my child support payments of $300 a month. I never missed them. I struggled to pay on that credit card, but as you know, if one only makes the minimum payment, they will never pay it off. Plus, I paid for food and the cable TV and other stuff. My car broke and I did not have money to fix it. I borrowed my mothers old car and ended up keeping it for over 4 years. Then, when Kerry kicked me out, I was broke, ok? I had the credit card, the student loans, child support, rent, food. Do you see? Then, the 4 months of no working. Then, I got sick and racked up over $3,000 in medical expenses. Ok, so, I moved back here and then 18 months of no work. Then 2 months of work and then another 8 months of no work. My mother's car broke and cost $1,300 to fix and then again that cost $700. More illness that I owe nearly $5,000 more. Susan said she would, without my asking, take less for the child support. Then, when Trevor moved in with me, I did not pay, but she did not pay me. Then, she told me if I would let Trevor move back in with her, that I would not have to her pay her again. It was Trevor's choice, not her's or mine, and he did, but I do not have the money to pay. Legally speaking, I owe her a huge amount of back child support. They do not need my money. They have a very large house and 3 new cars and a cabin and yadda, yadda. However, if she wanted to push it, I could go to jail in a second for the money I owe her. I have not paid on that credit card in 5 years. I owe them almost $3,000. I took out several cash advances to pay for food before I meet Kerry. So, I have over $8,000 in medical expenses that was handed over to collections a few years ago. I owe the card and back child support. I do not own my own car. I have not had an eye exam in over 15 years. My glass are so scratched that I am better off without them, even though I need them to drive. I have not been to the dentist in even longer. I had a filling fall out about 10 years ago. God has been here for me and Guided me and Pushed me to where I am now. So, this money is not my doing, is it? I did everything I could to get work and pay these bills, but nothing! Am I wrong here? Working for $7.50 an hour is not cutting it. Forget about all what I owe, how I am ever going to get my own place? There are no American women who will date me in this situation. Even if I had money, I would not get dates because of living with my parents. Can you understand my frustration? Some of the new work, if I get it, pays $35 an hour. Even that is not enough. Why do I have to crawl and fight to get myself out of here when God put me here? There was a drawing at the Mall, win the car or $25,000. (No, I did not win it.) That would pay my medical and credit card and get me an old used car. What about the rest? My child support is $400 a month now. Legally speaking, I owe her this money. If I win the lottery, or become rich in some Miracle of God’s Wonder, she will take me to court. I will gladly pay her what I owe her court or no court. When I get the chance, I will as I will with all of my other bills. I am just frustrated! I am wondering why if God put me here then why do I have to get myself out? Maybe God will help me, but when? I am getting crumbs when I need the whole loaf. My credit is shot. How will I be able to buy a car to transport the clients around? If I get big, how will I be able to buy homes to house my clients? Or myself? How can I date? Face it, even if I have a huge penis and I am the best looking, most talented, nicest, smartest, most decent man in the World, no woman will date me if I do not have money. Even if they would, how can I? I have no money. I am just really frustrated! How is this fair that I have to work my ass out of this, one little tiny piece at a time, when God put me here? It is not fair!!!!!!!!! But God does not care about fair or right. What am I missing here? Just Trust, right? I have and look at me. I’m a loser!!!!! There are more important things in life than money. I have worked hard on being those things. You can see that I am a decent man. I have those qualities that God favors, yet, I still need money. In this life, everyone needs money. I keep seeing Paris Helton every where these days? Flavor of the media month. Look at her. Psychically speaking, she has all that most people in this moronic world desire to have, well, to me she is too skinny and I do not find her pretty. She has no need for money becuase she has wealthy parents. She has never been poor or had to eatten out of dumpster (oh, yes I have!). She is a stupid spoiled whore!!!! She has no personality, no brains, and no morals. She has been caught on tape being a porno queen and yet, she has a book out and an acting career, fame and fortune, and … so what?! It is the wrong morals and this World is ruled by Satan. That is why people like her have money, but not true love. She and others like her will never know true love. When I die, I will be in a better place. I will hopefully have learned my lessons and not have any bad Karma to pay. I will be on the Thrown of God, at God’s Right Hand. So, why would I want to still live here? Paris will be in “hell.” But I do not have true love either. I could have sex with all the dirty whores I want, but I would pay the price. I do not want to just have sex, I want love. There is no love because I do not have money. I do not have money because I am not a stupid spoiled whore, a cheater and a liar and a sinner. I have been a good boy and trusted God, and I still do not have money or love.

In all seriousness, what am I missing here?

Please, God help me to understand.

more about art

Perhaps God was trying to tell me something then, and now.

Recently, I have been showing my art to others. It appears as though these people are more educated and more interested in art than most of the others from my past. They have been asking me “what it means.” Not even at college was I ask this, well, not much anyway. We talked about techniques and improvements we had made and progress from beginning to end of the piece. Until Lu, I never had a second thought about my subject matter, only that I did not want to do the same stuff as everyone else. I did not want to paint horses and cowboys. There is just way too much of that here and I do not like cowboys anyway. I route for the Native Americans. All I was really doing was expressing the images in my head, nothing more. When I went back to college and earned my BA in psychology, I learned some new information on subject matter in art. There is a part of psychology called “art therapy.” The original intent was to help Vietnam veteran/ PTSD victims to express their emotions when they could not do so verbally. It was highly successful and produced some magnificent art. There are numerous studies that show a direct link to those who have emotional issues to artistic abilities. It is also used to help identify abuse victims in children. The children are asked to draw themselves and their families. Other than the obvious, the psychologist looks for things like missing body parts. There are formulas that they use to make determinations. A few years back, I did a portrait of a woman and noticed after I thought that I was done that her nostrils were disproportionally small. So, does this mean I am feeling like I can not breath? I am feeling oppressed? Who is oppressing me? Do I hate women and wish that they can not breath? Is that a statement of my past relationships with women? I just forgot about it. But we can not forget good old Freud, can we? What am I repressing? Do I hate my mother? I had a very good literature teacher in college who taught us about analogizing vs. anal-izing. Anal-ize being putting far too much person inferences on the author’s work and making ridiculous assumptions about the piece. I just forgot. I have not put much thought into the meaning of my art. I was only trying to express the images in my head and hopefully to get an emotional reaction from someone. So, I guess I should feel complimented that I got such a huge reaction. Perhaps I should do some growing and be more cognizant of what I am trying to say and not just focus on the creating process. Maybe I will find that I do not have anything to say, then maybe I will just not show anybody my work.

This morning I was trying to remember why I was attempting to repaint that painting. It took me a long time to recall. In college, we seldom talked to each other about what our stuff meant. We spent lots of time talking about our progress and growth and the whole process from beginning to end. We would have an exhibition at the end of the semester. Their was a little studio at the end of the art wing that we displayed our work. Each student picked out their best pieces. We only had enough room for one or two each. Our finals class was us gathering in the studio and talking about our work. So, we would have to have nice frames and yadda yadda because it counted toward our grade. That painting was there. Funny, no one asked me why the lion was eating the lady and why I was satanic and why I put all of the blood in it and where was my cape. My instructor said he did not like grades and wished he did not have to do so. Therefore, he graded us on our efforts, showing up to class, participating, but not on subject matter or content. In fact, the one time I did paint a western type scenery( every one raved about it and I sold it for $300), he said it would be the best piece in the show but it was too “typical.” I took it as him trying to tell me not to sell out. Anyway, we had a substitute for a few weeks while I was working on my lady and the tiger. This guy taught the evening art classes and it was very good because he offered us all a different perspective from our other regular teacher. He pointed out that my work was chromatic, meaning it lacked in color variety. He ask me for a suggestion, so I thought of using some red. He and the others agreed. So, I added some in and thus Satan was reborn. The red made it a much more interesting and vibrant painting. Ok, so I remember now that I was repainting it to remove the red. Now, when I have the time, I will finish what I started, only the red is going back and so will be some blue.

“A Witch Hunt in Wyoming”

We are all offered tests to our beliefs. Sometimes, no matter how strong our faith is in those beliefs, they may become lost, perhaps changed forever, or hopefully, even strengthened. In the last week of May, 1985, I received one of those tests.
Taking a quick glance out of my living room window, I observed Marty, boxes in hand, approach my front door that Friday morning. He entered my cold, cluttered house wearing a puzzled look upon his face. Looking around at the mess, I left my box that was on the dinning table to meet him. His eyes meet mine, searching for an explanation while I took the empty boxes from his hands.
“Hey,” I greeted him, speaking slowly, placing the boxes on the bare floor. “Thanks for the boxes and coming by on such short notice.”
“Hey, no problem. I like having Friday’s off,” he answered jokingly. His eyes returned to the mess. “So, what’s going on?” he asked carefully.
“Damn landlord kicked us out,” I answered, walking back to my previous, unfinished box. Because we have been close friends now for over 7 years, there was need for him to ask the obvious next question. “He called this morning and said he’d kill us if we weren’t out tonight when he gets here.” My box was now full and the top replaced. Picking up Marty’s boxes, I began walking toward the stairs into the basement. Marty followed. “I need to get the rest of this stuff down here before Mom gets back with the truck.”
“He said he would kill you?” The surprise in Marty’s voice was genuine, but it made me feel a little apprehensive about it. In the recent few months, we had talked many times about how much of jerk this landlord of mine is, but my mind set was on being attacked and had turned into defense mode. Really, I think Marty’s tone was more of disbelief, disbelief that someone would do such a thing. It seemed hard for me to believe, too. “Really?” he added after we entered the disorganized basement.
Marty and I were a lot a like in many ways, although not physically speaking. He was up front and honest with most people as me, although not as frank as me at times. That honesty went along way with our friendship, even though we disagreed on some things. Taking the lids off of one of Marty’s box, I quickly proceeded to do some more hasty packing.
“Lu said ‘You have until six tonight to get out or I’ll burn you and your bitch of wife out with a blowtorch and shoot you both with my shotgun.” Marty was now helping me place my art work and other belongings into the boxes.
“What’s his problem, anyway? Did he give you a reason, or was he just being his usual?”
“Remember when I told you about the realtors that came over Tuesday to inspect the house?” I began to explain, reliving the events of that day and the phone call from this morning. On the Sunday evening before this, Lu had called us and informed us they had placed the house on the market since we would not purchase it. The realtor was to come on Tuesday morning to look at the house. Since I did not have to work it worked out well for me to show them around as he asked of me. On that morning, 5 car loads of 4 realtors showed up, not one as he had told me. When they finally left, ever light in the house was on, the bathroom faucet was running water at full, and most of the closet doors had been left completely opened. Lu called that night and said that more would be coming again the next day and would I show them around. Since I had to work, and it is a renters right to refuse, I told him no. He became very insistent, but I reminded him that we would be out by Sunday and they could show it all they wanted then. Surprising, he was agreeable with me, but he had no choice. “Well, he said that they told him that we had satanic paintings and devil masks hanging up in the basement. He was out of control angry. He was so mad that he couldn’t talk straight.”
“What paintings?” Marty began to say something else when the door bell interrupted us.
Hesitantly, we both walked up the stairs carrying the few boxes we had packed. My thoughts were fighting the images of this huge man and his gun and his blowtorch and his extreme rage. Why would he use the doorbell, then? Even though I have received praise for my active imagination, it can also be a shortcoming. My anger and my disappointment and shock and all of those emotions flooded my mind with a lake of fire that was being dosed with gasoline. When I reached the top of the stairs, the site of a police officer extinguished the flames with relief. Marty stood beside me as I explained to the officer my reasons for calling them. Providing as much detail as I could, the explanation took nearly half an hour. By then, my wife, Susan, my mother and my pregnant, younger sister had returned and stood in the doorway. The officer made notes as I told him that our landlords, Lu and his wife, who lived in Fort Collins, had put their house up for sell. They wanted us to buy it, asking several times, but we were not in a position financially to buy a house. We had only moved in here 3 months prior and our lease still had 3 more months on it. When we learned of their wanting to sell, we immediately began looking for another place. We had already found one about a week before Lu’s threatening call and had already begun the moving process. We had informed them at that time that we would be out by that Sunday. Apparently, that was not soon enough for Lu. I repeated to the officer the exact threats Lu had made to us and about our concerns for our safety. Lu’s wife was a friend of Susan’s sister’s friend. Susan told us many stories about all of Lu’s violent behaviors and his alcohol and cocaine abuse while they lived here. After explaining to him Lu’s reason’s for wanting us out so soon, I showed him the painting and the sculptures in question.
The officer’s only remarks were that they would contact Lu and that they would patrol the house on occasion today, “but in the mean time, I would suggest you get moved out of here before tonight,” he added then left without waiting for further comments or questions from us.
“What does he mean ‘Get out before tonight’ ? Aren‘t they going to help us! What if he shows up and we’re not done and he tries to kill us? What a bunch of crap!” The panic in Susan’s voice had evolving into anger. “Why the hell do you paint that devil carp for anyway?!” she yelled as her anger and stress turned into tears of frustration. “Why can’t you paint trees and stuff like everyone else?!” She stomped off to our bedroom.
“None of my work is satanic!” I yelled back. “We’ve been married for three years! Have you ever seen me do anything remotely resembling devil worship?!”
“You shouldn’t yell at her,” my mother upbraided me, using her condescending tone. “She’s right, you know.” Good ol’ Mom, always taking everyone’s side except mine.
“Oh, don’t give me that garbage,” I snapped back. “He said there was a picture of lion eating a lady with blood all over it and that we had candles in the shape of a pentagram on the floor and chicken blood everywhere!” Frustration was beginning to take hold of me. This outburst was not just about this moment, this event, but for a life time of non-support and false accusations from my parents.
“Well, why would he say that?” she replied in her ‘I-do-not-believe-you,’ accusing voice. In the past, I would retaliate with rebellious zeal, but I was trying to be a better person now and not be the angry young man anymore.
“Mom, you’ve seen the painting before,” I answered in calm voice. “It was one I did in college. Yeah, there’s a lady in it, but she’s not being eaten by a lion and there’s no blood. Bedside’s, it’s a saber-toothed tiger. And those masks are pieces I made from clay of animal faces in sculpture class.” Mom was not really listening and I was getting tired of defending myself to everyone, so I just went back down into the basement. Marty and my sister followed me.
“Did he really say all of that?” my sister asked me after we arrived in the basement. It was bad enough that I had to keep my all of my art work down here, hidden from view, at my wife’s demands. Now, all of this! There was an elderly lady in one of my painting classes at college. She was retired and had nothing else to do with her time but take up a hobby. Her choice was painting. Good for her! She painted her children’s houses from photographs that she had taken. To be frank… they sucked. Everyone agreed, even the instructor (although he was very coy about it), but the final product is not the reason for art. Art is in the doing. Living in Wyoming, there is a lot of Western art around, yet, most of the students painted different subject matter. Subject matter is not overly important either, the technique is as are improvements. This lady took it upon herself to be the class critic. She would walk around during class and give unsolicited “advise” to all of the students. One day she asked me, with lots of sarcasm, were I got my ideas. Before I could answer her, she said “I think it’s from eating to many donuts before you go to bed.” The elderly, retired, Japanese woman who was painting beside me quietly commented, “How rude.” I quietly agreed with her.
“He said that we were performing satanic rituals and that we wanted to drive all of the buyers away so we could buy this place cheaper. “
“He’s been watching too much “Scooby Do,” Marty replied.
“We wouldn’t buy this house even if we could. You can just feel the evil in this place! I hate going into that bathroom up there!” Frustration was building with each word and each item I placed into boxes. “Who does he think is to judge us anyway? All those stories Susan told me about his drinking and drugging. Coming home late and beating the hell out of his ex. Why she went back to him is beyond me. Did I tell you he served time for nearly killing her? He came home drunk one night, tied her up while she was in the bathtub and nearly beat her to death! Right in front of their 2 year old little girl!”
“I feel sorry for her,” Marty commented.
“He said I was putting on the masks and dancing around in a cape and masturbating.” More packing and frustrations from me. “There is nothing like that here! He was just here last night and did a complete inspection of the whole house. He said it looked fine and ask if we would reconsider buying. I know he saw the painting and everything else.” Becoming angry and venting was not being any different than Lu. Telling myself to be calm was working, but the thoughts kept breaking down the barriers. “He just got madder and madder. By the time we got off the phone, he was completely incoherent.”
“Realtors are funny people, Tim,” Marty explained. “They want everything to have that perfect little ‘All-American” image so they can make their sale.” He would know since his mother is one.
“Agreed,” I answered. “Ol’ Reverend Lu just exaggerated everything. All he had to do was ask me to take the painting down instead of making a big issue of it. It’s not like they were going to be showing it before we moved out Sunday anyway. The sad part of this is, I think he’s more than capable of doing it, you know?”
“Well, I find it hard to belief that a person who’s not even a Christian themselves can be so hateful toward someone who they think is satanic,” my sister added.
“Why do people make the wrong assumptions about things they know nothing about, anyway?” Marty asked.
“They’re just weak,” I answered. “Persecuting others with their misguided beliefs.”
The move was completed that day, thanks to a lot of help from a lot of people we knew then. It was all in the new house, but not unpacked yet. The old house still needed to be cleaned, but it was late and we were afraid to go back. Lu had not shown up as promised at 6:00, but there was plenty of people for him to answer to there at that time, but not now. Susan was very tried and upset, so she went to bed on our cold waterbed. I went to the basement to relax. Reflecting on the day’s events, I began to wondered how this witch hunt thing had gotten so out of control. It had even spread to people who I had known for along time and who knew me well. In my heart, I know that I am Guided by a Higher Power, being God. I am not satanic! Yet, how would I prove that in a court of law? I was glad that I did not have to try, tied to a burning stake. Are the days of witch hunts and burnings and killing the falsely accused really over? Or are they just modernized?
That day, a few things were lost. No person possessions, but I lost a days wages. A few days after, we talked to Lu again. This time, Susan listened in on it. He was just as belligerent and angry as before, refusing to pay back our $350 damage deposit. So, I lost that, too. Susan asked after the phone call was over how I could be so calm the whole time when he was calling her names and being such a jerk. He knew not what he had done, but I was more disappointed in her. All of them had just allowed there fears to consume them. My faith in my marriage was lost that day, as was my creative desires for art. Susan and I got divorced three years after this. Susan suffered from stress and was physically ill for weeks following this and lost more than one days pay. All of my confidence in my artist talent was lost. I questioned my reasons for why I painted and drew everything I had ever done. There was even a half-hearted attempt to repaint that painting, painting over the original, taking out most of the red in the back ground. However, it is now setting in storage, uncompleted. Some of that art, that was once proudly displayed and praised highly by my instructors and fellow students, has still not seen the light of day since being packed all those years ago. It took me over 10 years to find my desires to create again and it was tough for a while being myself. To this day, I think twice about my subject matter instead of letting it flow as before.