31jan05002

31jan05002
Originally uploaded by groverflanagan.

Charcoal pencil sketch of this cute little cat sculpture we have that's made out of spare hardware like nuts, bolts, nails, washers, etc.

That song

idea I had? It's stalled two lines before the end of the second verse. I swear it feels like I don't actually write any of this. It's more like I'm an antenna picking up signals and jotting them down. Too often, the station goes off the air before transmitting the entire message, and I'm left with two freaking lines to go, and nothing but an empty plate in my head. Here's what I have so far:

Stop, let's smell the roses.
They're far too beautiful to be ignored the way we always do.
Stop, let's watch the sun set.
Who knows if it'll ever be this brilliant again any time soon.
Stop, let's finish talking.
Just cause they brought the check, we don't have to hurry out the door.
Stop, it's not that pressing.
This moment's never gonna happen again, I'd really hate to waste it.

Chorus
You don't have to be afraid of the Big Bad World
I could lead you safely through it if you'd let me.
You have nothing to fear from that Big Bad World
I could be your guide if only you'd believe in me.

Stop, they're only people.
The laugh and cry and want and need the same as you and me.
Stop, they're only people.
They're just as lost and just as scared out there, the same as you and me.

That's it. I feel what I want to say, but I can't capture that nebulous oomph in any decent words. I hate this. Good ol' clogged soap cap again.

Strange things are afoot outside the Circle K.

Remember what I said before about there being a time to un-cork my wine cellar full of bottled emotions, just not right now? That moment may be approaching sooner than anticipated.

Life's Music

Roseanne Raneri is a singer/songwriter whose song "Jojo's Like a Train" contains the following lines:

Jojo, you've got life's music turned up so loud.
Who is it you're trying to drown out?
What are you listening so closely for?

I used to ask myself the same questions. Why do I want so much to crank up life's music in the midst of this thundering silence? Who is it I want to drown out? What do I want to listen for? Over the past few months the answers have become painfully obvious to me. In light of this acute awareness, though, I'm only feeling more confused, helpless, and scared than ever before.

26jan05

26jan05
Originally uploaded by groverflanagan.

Self-portrait #2. #1 was waaay too ugly. :-) Drew this over top a another botched drawing. Note the frustrated expletive scrawled on what would become my forehead. It's a little cartoonish, but not bad.

25jan05

25jan05
Originally uploaded by groverflanagan.

Armand asleep. He moved a couple of mintues after I sat down, so some of this was... well... improvised.

21jan05

21jan05
Originally uploaded by groverflanagan.

Andy at work. (the one I wrote about earlier) He drew in the eyebrow piercing and "fake teardrop tattoos" himself.

20jan05

20jan05
Originally uploaded by groverflanagan.

Stuffed cat on a bookshelf.

19jan05

19jan05
Originally uploaded by groverflanagan.

My coffee pot. It was decaf. I think it shows in the drawing. :-)

17jan05

17jan05
Originally uploaded by groverflanagan.

The first sketch. I don't know anybody with a scanner, so pictures from a webcam will have to do for now. :-(

Quick sketch done with a Sharpie marker on a piece of scrap cardboard at work. Yvonne sitting at my computer desk listening to a CD of mine and skipping through the tracks. Had to scratch this one out fast, she's pretty spunky and doesn't sit still for very long. :-) 

You don't say! 

new song idea

While thinking of Audioslave's "I am the Highway" after Britt mentioned it on her blog, a song idea popped into my head. It's only a chorus thus far, but I can even hear a melody to it:

You don't have to be afraid
of the Big Bad World.
I could lead you safely through it
if you'd let me.

You've got nothing to fear from
that Big Bad World.
I could be your guide if only
you'd believe in me.

What'ch'all think? I like it. :-) What I'm hearing in my head is slightly Three Doors Down-ish.

I got pretty drunk at home saturday night. They were asking for it when they wanted me to carry a few boxes of books to the garage afterwards. In the kitchen, Armand (one of my cats) darted under my feet and I tripped, sending the 30 or so pound box right down on the table, knocking over the jar candle along with its handmade ceramic lampshade. Nothing caught fire, but the shade was shattered in front of the sink and wax spilled all over the new tablecloth they just put out a few hours earlier. Ruined. She tried to do the iron-and-wax-paper candle wax removal trick, but only stained the ironing board cover. Also ruined. After much yelling, she went up to shower, and I did something I haven't done since 1998. I sat down and cried.

Alcohol has two prominent effects on me. It takes away my coordination, and peels away my inhibitions. I was in a very quiet and sullen mood saturday and I resisted drinking, but they insisted thinking it would loosen me up. In better head space, no inhibitions is a good thing, but when I just wanna fucking be alone, all it does is eliminate my ability to inhibit emotional expression. It's not some manly thing. There will be a time for that, but now is not that time. I regained my composure in time for her to come back downstairs. Didn't want her to see me like that. She was upset enough already.

When I last cried in 98, it was terrifying. It lasted for hours and hours with gut-wrenching intensity. Caroline was so scared she didn't know what to do. Luckily, I was able to choke most of saturday's onset back to a mild weep, as opposed to whole-body heaving sobs. Honestly, I'm afraid of having another 1998. It was truly frightening then, and I don't ever want repeat it.

---

We went and saw Phantom again. Emmy Rossum keeps getting hotter each time I see her. :-) One more (slight) annoyance, though. During the "big song" they sing after he leads her through the mirror, Webber felt it necessary to add these irritating little synthesized clapclaps to the percussion for the movie score. Almost kills the scene. Cheesy cheesy cheesy.

---

Braved the oft-feared self portrait sketch last night. Surprisingly, it's recognizeable as me. Not surprisingly, it's ugly as sin. Feature proportions are pretty good, but I made my face waaaay too fat and over shaded my lips, making it look like I have lipstick on. Also over shaded those two weird ridges that run from your upper lip to the bottom of your nose, giving me a Hitler moustache. Still no clue how to draw hair, but did an ok job. All in all, not bad. Better than I expected, but far short of where I'd like to be. Practice practice practice.

Hi! 

This has to be the absolute worst name for a restaurant that I've ever seen. It used to be the Old Country Buffet (a.k.a. Old People Buffet)  

Gaaa!

Ok, people. Would-be poets need to learn this. No matter how tempting, NEVER rhyme the words in the following groups (in any combination):

1) love, dove, above

2) life, wife, strife

Just... don't. Please. It's tacky.

"Did Doogie Howser just steal my fucking car??"

Good news, Bad news...

Good news: IT'S ALIVE! ALIIIIIVE!!!!!
Replaced the power supply in Sally, my home computer (as in "Smack my ass and call me..."), and all is well. By the good and merciful grace of Jeff the God of Biscuits and Simon the God of hairdoes, when the it died it didn't take any other components with it. All is well.

Bad news: They put a content advisor on my computer at work so I can't access any web pages except work-related (and even some of those were blocked). Usually, I have about 3 to 5 minutes of computer time at home, so basically I'm fucked when it comes to reading all y'all's blogs. Dammit. Posts will dramatically decline from now on as well, although I'll try to keep a notebook of things to write about when I have the chance to.

Scans of sketches to come. I did my first face and it turned out well. About a 50% recognition rate at work. (drew a co-worker, didn't expect anybody to recognize him. I rule.)

Amor Fou

That's it! Those are the words I'd been searching for to describe what draws me to the poem by e. e. cummings! Amor fou.

Remember me saying something a week or two ago about dying a bit before growing again? I think, due to a combination of factors, that I'm finally pulling out of this terrible funk I've been in since November. Something is stirring in me that has lain dormant for far too long, and now it is regaining conciousness with all the voracious hunger of a grizzly bear after a long hibernation.

Thank you Morrie. Thank you Mr. Rilke. Thank you Edward Hopper. Thank you Man Ray. Thank you Auguste Rodin. I owe my awakening to you all.

One incredibly great blessing has been bestowed upon me by the moving-in of my Mother-in-law: access to shelves and shelves of books. And pore through them I do. Now, after reading "Letters to a Young Poet", I flip through these books and instead of morbid admiration, (as I always used to feel, and as habits die hard, still feel to an unhealthy degree) I also feel a certain kinship... a bond with the creator. Now I look at these books and think, "Fuck, I could do this." I could live like a 1920's surrealist. I see things that I want to photograph every day. I could model nude for a sculptor. I could sculpt. I could sketch. But most important of all, I think I can finally express myself. That soap cap analogy was the last straw. I was truly fed up with myself by then. Something had to change.

Yesterday I spent the entire day absolutely stoned on the feeling that I had the soul of an artist. My only fear is that I think it's an either/or situation with regards to my new found outlook and my relationship with my wife. Already I've begun to pull away from her and sink deeper and deeper into myself. We'll see what is to become...

Talk to me Goose

There is a commercial that I've seen three or four times now, but I'm having trouble getting it. It starts as a pretty standard car commercial with it zipping through city streets, but then at the very end it says "Who says your wing man can't be a machine?" Is this a referece to Top Gun? As in the wing man is the dude who'll protect you in a dogfight, so the advertised car will keep you safe in the event of a wreck? Considering how old Top Gun is, and they weren't making any other references, like playing "Danger Zone" or anything, I have to say that's a bit of a stretch.

I have been getting a real kick out of those Chevrolet commercials where their new car keeps teasing the Corvette, playing on sibling rivalry. Those are a real hoot. :-)

brain detergent

Last night I was doing the dishes when I became annoyed with how clogged the cap on the dish soap bottle was. I had to squeeze the fuck out of the it to produce even a hair-thin stream of soap. Then it struck me, that's the exact same feeling of frustration I get when I'm trying to write. No matter how intense the pressure, only a scrawny anemic little trickle of words ever gets out.

A kindred spirit in this big bad blog world found me last week:

Big Ceez

The fact that he writes like a pro notwithstanding, check him out, especially his post about Rainier Maria Rilke's book "Letters to a Young Poet". If you can procure a copy, for God's sake, do so. I've been reading that as well. "tuesdays with Morrie" and "Letters" are like Gin and Tonic...perfect companions.

A book for any day of the week

I just finished tusedays with Morrie yesterday. I'd like to jump on the bandwagon, proclaiming that my perspective on life is forever altered, but I find that kind of emphasis dies even a month later. Sure, I feel that rush, that natural high of enlightenment, but it's the same epiphany I felt after reading The Celestine Prophecy and Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. That sense of being awe-struck quickly fades.

SO... I'm not going to start raving about this book to everybody I cross paths with. I'm not going to call it the new Bible. I'm not going to insist you go out and read this book, and I'm not going to claim that I'm a bright shiney new person because of it.

I will say, however that I'm a little bit more at peace with myself. The world around me seems a little bit clearer. I feel a little bit of a better person for having read it. I think this is how Morrie would want it.

More fun at work

Here at work, one of the girls has a sister who'll be throwing one of those "naughty parties", so she brought in a catalogue. I was in the break room eating lunch and trying to read Tuesdays with Morrie, but the giggling was too deviously distracting. "Remote control vibrating panties??" one girl exclaimed. The one who brought the catalogue in said, "My sister says the remote will set off any of the panties within range. She says the best thing to do is go to a busy mall with the remote in your pocket. Hit it every now and then and watch how many women jump."

I almost peed myself laughing.

Lost in Dreamland

I had a weird dream a couple of nights ago. Although stuff happened between these excerpts, three parts stuck with me:

1)I was riding in the back seat of a car at night looking out the window at the sky. Suddenly, I could see into the heavens, zooming in and out on planets, galaxies, comets and other solar systems with earth-like planets and moons. I was only mildly amused by this.

2)I was eating a very delicious steak that I couldn't get enough of. In real life I don't care at all for steak.

3)Somebody walked up to me and handed me a guitar and asked me to play something. It was out of tune so I tried to re-tune it, but no matter how hard I tried, it only detuned worse. Strings were going so loose that they fell out of their groove on the nut and slipped out of the pegs, or they tightened to the point of snapping. The person angrily grabbed the guitar out of my hands and told me to go home and that I didn't belong there.

Weird.

Do it to me Daniel-San!

At Books & Co. in Kettering, they have a new series of CD's called "For Lovers" which consists of several different genres of music tailored to induce the mood. One in particular caught my attention. The cover bore the picture of an attractive couple, the woman in the foreground sitting at the foot of the bed glancing seductively to the side with a sly grin, the man laying on his stomach with an equally come-hither smile and raised eyebrow. Obviously, the game of cat and mouse is over, and it's time to the festivities to begin. Only one thing left for our star-cross'd pair to do... insert the erotically stimulating "Pan Pipe for Lovers" into the bedside player.

Excuse me. Pan Pipe?

I'm sorry, but being a child of the 80's, pan flutes mean one thing, and only one thing to me: The Karate Kid. Not even with Viagra coursing through my bloodstream could I remain...um...potent listening to music which conjurs images of Mr. Miyagi while I'm having sex. Pat Morita crane-kicking in my head while at the same time trying to maintain proper solidity?

Blarf.

I ran across this yesterday day in a book. I just finished deleting three paragraphs I wrote about why and the many levels upon which I am drawn to this. Sparing you the lecture, I leave you to form your own impressions. "may i feel said he" by e. e. cummings:


may i feel said he
(i'll squeal said she
just once said he)
it's fun said she

(may i touch said he
how much said she
a lot said he)
why not said she

(let's go said he
not too far said she
what's too far said he
where you are said she)

may i stay said he
(which way said she
like this said he
if you kiss said she

may i move said he
is it love said she)
if you're willing said he
(but you're killing said she

but it's life said he
but your wife said she
now said he)
ow said she

(tiptop said he
don't stop said she
oh no said he)
go slow said she

(cccome?said he
ummm said she)
you're divine!said he
(you are Mine said she)

Hollywood or Bust

I just saw an announcement in the Dayton City Paper (the hippie newspaper) that on Jan. 29 there will be auditions in Yellow Springs for an indie film being shot around the area.

Fuck it... I'm auditioning!

Yin vs. Yang

A few weeks ago, my wife and I were having lunch at California Pizza Kitchen in the Fairfield Mall. I'd never been there, but she'd been to one in New Jersey. For wall decorations, they have pizza boxes painted up. As we sat down she said, "Oh, they've got the same paintings as the one in Jersey." To which I replied, "You mean the pizza boxes?"

"Ohhhh, those are pizza boxes, aren't they? I never noticed that before!"

To be honest, I didn't see them as paintings, which they obviously were. This perfectly illustrates one of the primary differences between my wife and me. She sees the art, I see the box. She sees the form, I see the function. She is immediately impacted by the colorful paint swirls, I am momentarily confused by the odd shape of the canvas. We look at the same coin, but see the opposite sides. She sees the head, and I the tail.

You'd think this would lead to a cooperation in the same vein of Jack Spratt... getting a "yin-yang" kinda groove going. Instead, we tend to see the world as a negative image of what the other perceives, thus often failing to reach a common ground.

In with the new

I've been thinking about New Year's Resolutions, as have (I am sure) most others. Personally, I stopped making resolutions back in high school. For the shiny and new year of 1996, I resolved to write a symphony complete with four movements and not too reliant on strings. Resolutions pretty much died after that. Legitimate ones, anyway. Sure, I've resolved since then, but with all the sincerity of putting found pennies in my shoe. More of a fun silly superstitious thing than a real endeavor.

I think I'm going to make a resolution for this year. Question is, how does one arrive at a resolution that has any chance of effecting a change? It seems that peoples' resolutions only chop the emotional dandelion's head off instead of yanking it out by the root, thus encouraging the weeds to return again and again. People resolve to lose weight, but that's only a symptom. People resolve to write a book, but have yet to so much as pen a poem. People resolve to better themselves, but are too scared to address their dark side (and we've all got one). People resolve to come closer to God, hand firmly clasped with the Devil's.

Fanning the flames won't put out the fire, but what is the fuel, the base of my firey unhappiness? No, I won't resolve to go out more or to talk more to people I don't know. I won't resolve to play the guitar or write x amount of songs. I won't resolve to put my foot down and grow some testicles. I won't resolve to find spiritual creaminess, and I won't resolve to 'better myself'.

For 2005, I resolve simply to begin.
...and leave it at that.

Out with the old

I had a pleasant new year's eve, for the most part. Went to my mother-in-law's friends' (Nancy and Rick) house for their annual holiday-ish get together. Tons of good food, and Rick just recently re-did their basement with a pool table, big TV, and stocked bar. Most everybody there was from the class of 69, and let me tell you, those people can party. They spent the night jamming to concert DVD's of Eric Clapton, and then Rick cranked AC/DC after everybody was drunk enough. Surely, enough, right around 11:45 as I was getting good and comfortable, I was told it was time to go. Quarter till midnight on new year's eve, and we leave. I have to say I was a quite miffed. Spent the 2004/2005 flip cruising back up Peters road through fog the consistancy of peanut butter.

Amusing side note: Earlier in the evening, I was sitting at the bar with the stool turned sideways and my elbow on the counter so I could watch the DVD when some (stumbling drunk) lady came up and wedged herself between my legs to ask Rick (ever the consummate host) for another whiskey. She then proceeded to sidle up closer, telling me weird pointless little facts about herself, until her hip was at a... well... very intimate distance (read: no distance at all). I looked back and my wife and her mom (and Rick) were snickering at the sight of somebody my mother's age hitting on me. Regardless, it was an ego booster. :-) I am the mack daddy.