I'm just a little black rain cloud sang Winnie the Pooh
Eid al Adha… I’m in Starbuck’s after a long think, a bitter phone call, and a nap. Life grows rainy-er.
I’m not sure if it’s Lebanon or just the cold.
This hollow sets in and starts me down that dangerous path of mental tripping. I find myself wondering about my schizophrenic discovery. He was marching around Starbuck’s the other day. I was being my usual analytical self zinging off questions about pie crust and pith of language. We humans do play interesting games. But I digress our subject was pacing around the wall at Starbuck’s with a tome of Schopenhauer. Yes he told me he was walking because our dear philosopher is a walking philosophy.
Today our subject is a painter. He and several other patients were painting in Starbuck’s. What a droll idea! Gauche and Starbuck’s? I could tell from the rush of color in the pictures the unrefined edge and the repetitive representations of a sided bias this was one of those common highly functional cases. His work reminded me so much of a picture of a cat I saw once in a book. A mild mannered tabby transformed into Cheshire cat fame by the schizophrenic patient. It was glaringly similar the flow of the line the reiterative stroke of the pen that ground holes into the paper, valleys for the subject to push out a will that drove out the demons within his skull.
I felt my artistic roots humming with indignation, then the clap and sudden release of the anchor. Yup we artists are weirdoes!
Thank GOD!
The rest of you are far too normal.
As the commandment would have it NORMAL is BORING!
What a wonderful wake up to reality. I like them look in from the outside. Am I the one who is insane? Possibly!
Who would rant and rave this way into a closed box that doesn’t matter the way I do? I am sure those that see me will remind me of the Blog. You will go about marionette-ing these statements and giggling within yourselves.
Wow have we got dirt on him now!
He called himself nuts…
This is far… far too easy you will say to yourselves and then wait to place your slick well thought out ribbing. It must be well placed so that the lord it over you feeling will rush in and supply your much needed ego boost you hunger so desperately for.
Welcome you are to it… but know I expect it… and WILL look down upon you for needing to use it.
I slid out of Starbuck’s as it was closing up for the night…trotted home swinging my new chubby stainless steel mug. It was a weak effort at cost cutting and saving the environment, workers poor washer woman hands and warmth in my coffee but I love its potbelly profile. Now home without my socks and white trainers on I am soaking in the slick oil tanned feeling of my Ron Jon Surf Shop flip flops. They were an airport find. The last thing I bought in Florida. They weren’t expensive, came in my size and thanks to the cloth big toe separator fit all of the hard to fill beach shoe criteria I had. I need to break them in enough to have my footprint shorn into them. Then they will attain the bodisatva comfort that all true oceangoing surfers seek.
I sigh and catch myself thinking would that I could find it more often in life here in Lebanon.
My Mp3 player has given up the ghost and crossed over into that mystic land of nonfunctional warranty expired machinery. I am tempted to wander into another shop and get a 1gig flash drive that would do a bit better during my exercise routines. Which have come to a halt thanks to the bum knee.
Dr. Uncle Sam said I had weak quadriceps and needed them to hold my kneecap in place. My fear is that the cleats on the bike are in poor adjustment and resulted in an overuse injury. Damn it!
I want to be back with the wind rushing in my gloves and leaning hard into corners again. I wish NooBoo would hurry up and get his bike so that hardcore training wouldn’t have an excuse! But patience seems to be a prerequisite here in Lebanon.
12:30 am is rolling along and life seems to have found the quiet hum that sits like a slothful and gluttonous man. It’s only waiting to pounce on me and take my mind for one of those long night rides through humanity and my fingertip’s touch on the truth. Having announced it I am sure you wait for its results… There is, my dear readers, no expression for such traversings. The clapping of fireworks tonight will punctuate the smoothed out luge ride down into a valley of subconscious lipped thinking. I may let go and just slid out into nothing for a while…Translation…I’ll prolly end up reorganizing my Mp3’s and figuring out if I really really need that flash Mp3 player.
I’m not sure if it’s Lebanon or just the cold.
This hollow sets in and starts me down that dangerous path of mental tripping. I find myself wondering about my schizophrenic discovery. He was marching around Starbuck’s the other day. I was being my usual analytical self zinging off questions about pie crust and pith of language. We humans do play interesting games. But I digress our subject was pacing around the wall at Starbuck’s with a tome of Schopenhauer. Yes he told me he was walking because our dear philosopher is a walking philosophy.
Today our subject is a painter. He and several other patients were painting in Starbuck’s. What a droll idea! Gauche and Starbuck’s? I could tell from the rush of color in the pictures the unrefined edge and the repetitive representations of a sided bias this was one of those common highly functional cases. His work reminded me so much of a picture of a cat I saw once in a book. A mild mannered tabby transformed into Cheshire cat fame by the schizophrenic patient. It was glaringly similar the flow of the line the reiterative stroke of the pen that ground holes into the paper, valleys for the subject to push out a will that drove out the demons within his skull.
I felt my artistic roots humming with indignation, then the clap and sudden release of the anchor. Yup we artists are weirdoes!
Thank GOD!
The rest of you are far too normal.
As the commandment would have it NORMAL is BORING!
What a wonderful wake up to reality. I like them look in from the outside. Am I the one who is insane? Possibly!
Who would rant and rave this way into a closed box that doesn’t matter the way I do? I am sure those that see me will remind me of the Blog. You will go about marionette-ing these statements and giggling within yourselves.
Wow have we got dirt on him now!
He called himself nuts…
This is far… far too easy you will say to yourselves and then wait to place your slick well thought out ribbing. It must be well placed so that the lord it over you feeling will rush in and supply your much needed ego boost you hunger so desperately for.
Welcome you are to it… but know I expect it… and WILL look down upon you for needing to use it.
I slid out of Starbuck’s as it was closing up for the night…trotted home swinging my new chubby stainless steel mug. It was a weak effort at cost cutting and saving the environment, workers poor washer woman hands and warmth in my coffee but I love its potbelly profile. Now home without my socks and white trainers on I am soaking in the slick oil tanned feeling of my Ron Jon Surf Shop flip flops. They were an airport find. The last thing I bought in Florida. They weren’t expensive, came in my size and thanks to the cloth big toe separator fit all of the hard to fill beach shoe criteria I had. I need to break them in enough to have my footprint shorn into them. Then they will attain the bodisatva comfort that all true oceangoing surfers seek.
I sigh and catch myself thinking would that I could find it more often in life here in Lebanon.
My Mp3 player has given up the ghost and crossed over into that mystic land of nonfunctional warranty expired machinery. I am tempted to wander into another shop and get a 1gig flash drive that would do a bit better during my exercise routines. Which have come to a halt thanks to the bum knee.
Dr. Uncle Sam said I had weak quadriceps and needed them to hold my kneecap in place. My fear is that the cleats on the bike are in poor adjustment and resulted in an overuse injury. Damn it!
I want to be back with the wind rushing in my gloves and leaning hard into corners again. I wish NooBoo would hurry up and get his bike so that hardcore training wouldn’t have an excuse! But patience seems to be a prerequisite here in Lebanon.
12:30 am is rolling along and life seems to have found the quiet hum that sits like a slothful and gluttonous man. It’s only waiting to pounce on me and take my mind for one of those long night rides through humanity and my fingertip’s touch on the truth. Having announced it I am sure you wait for its results… There is, my dear readers, no expression for such traversings. The clapping of fireworks tonight will punctuate the smoothed out luge ride down into a valley of subconscious lipped thinking. I may let go and just slid out into nothing for a while…Translation…I’ll prolly end up reorganizing my Mp3’s and figuring out if I really really need that flash Mp3 player.
posted by otterinaround at 4:10 PM
2 comments
