One For the Time Being

For the Time Being, I'll do whatever I can do...

That night, I don't know if you knew.

I finish a few deep inhales on a joint...

Drifting in I hear this melody.

Peering into a darkened room...

Donna sitting on a cranberry-settee watching MTV.

It's the first time I see you...

I'm in the balcony at the ORPHEUM.

I sense the displeasure of the goths...

Next I'm up-front at the WARFIELD without any shoes.

Dosed on Peyote Buttons I travel 3 days... 

Much later I'm there at MAMA KIN'S another face in the crowd.

I throw a paisley shirt on stage which you promptly kick off...  

At the KNITTING ROOM I never said hello.

My brother and I stand in the background of that photograph...

On route to BOWERY BALLROOM I'm stranded by the side of the highway.

That night you weren't there...

I send a small black-n-white booklet of etchings to S.W. EDEN.

We're standing around chit-chatting at the PARADISE... 

At the IRVING PLAZA I find my way backstage.

At the 'after party' I feel so fucking lost...  

Outside the TUPELO you're legs are getting badly bitten by mosquitoes.

I travel east towards the ocean...

At the ARMORY I'm such a fucking mess.

  

I see the half-moon shining behind your silhouette...

We toke on another joint at the JUPITER LOUNGE.

And then drive a long way home...

MEM

ERE I AM J.H.

No body reads this shit anymore.

Oh, excuse me. I didn't mean you! Seriously, with all the shit you've got going on, man -- I'm referring to the generic you btw who I can spontaneously assume is -- you!! Because if that isn't true, I'd be inclined to get to know you... but then again that you isn't be reading this, now are you? I always imagined I'd be 'discovered' (and no ladies and gents I ain't willing to  throw in the towel on that one, sorry). For eleven years I sat in that studio covered in mineral spirits and toxic enamel oils completely despondent and absolutely elated with what I had accomplished (most likely in equal measures) and I could always see you walking through my studio door. The hushed silence. The nervous tension. The slow and steady acclimation. The sudden rush of awareness. The stunned look of amazement. The rapturous beauty. Another stunned look of amazement. More rapturous beauty, right down to the check being signed and the dinner plans penciled in.

Such a delightful fool am I. 

I cannot say that I haven't experienced success as a painter. As I recall there was a lot of clamor at 'Art School' about that word 'success' most if not all of those discussions I remember feeling were futile, pointless, or contrived. For something to make 'sense' to me then it had to be indescribable. It had to feel intense... There weren't many other descriptors other than 'cool' in my lexicon. And why should there be? After all IT is all intense and IT is all beyond description. What kind of ARTIST would I be if I expected anything less? I expect I should have no less remorse than the mother who spends the majority of her workday away from her child so she can, you know, earn a 'living' while along she knows the ends will never meet. And she like I have accepted our fate to a certain degree, yet we both still entertain the idea...  there's a higher purpose. 

I cannot expect that I would know...

...this purpose for myself is an abstract idea. The only context that I would assume it could be in is the context of a majorettive global collective identity!! But what does that look like?? Have you seen the Walrus? If you have, then think it could look something like that. If it has a form it could only be described by fractal geometry!? If it had substance or meaning then that could only be what it was imbued with?! I am sure this cannot be proven to be true. And I am sure I would have no better descriptor other than... cool!!

MEM

Homeward James

On way to work

When I think about all the 'things' that I am, I am grateful that I am really none of them. So, here I am the Nightwatchman with my watchful eye, watching the emptiness. Flashlight in hand I wander down dark hallways through spooky shadows and corridors keeping the perimeter clear. Nights move-bye quick. My ritual begins. Outside I ponder at stars remembering when I could locate Drako and Booties. I think of escaping through the woods, making it to the cost and then sailing to Costa Rica. There I would ingest Ayahausca and head South towards the temples. Meanwhile, I am back at my desk. I sip hot chocolate and then type letters out on a tiny handheld screen. Some of these words are finished for me, capitalization is a dream all my "i's" are now "I's" my punctuation more presentable to... who? Another round and few sarcastic remarks exchanged only those on graveyard will appreciate. But I am not this, either. Back inside I return to my desk, pulling out the larger machine I will compose a letter.

MEM

Location:James Terrace,Woburn,United States

Recycled Perspective

A virtual presence is better than no presence at all. Out here in the NETHERSPHERE I contemplate the meaning of meaning, 'good luck' with that some disembodied voice chimes in... 'exactly' i say... So the point for todays blog (btw ladies and gents I have every intention to re-engage blogging on a semi-daily basis and high expectations that i will fail so the chances for success are good!) is undifferention or undifferentiated space, the singularity, unified field... call it what you will, you see these concepts play an integral part in shaping our/my connexion to the greater good, the larger whole, the infinite, divine, the rapturous, even the melancholy and beyond...

Ok, so we're here today in the 21st century, it's a Tuesday, party sunny mid 70's -- the here n now, but look hard n long enough -- and this here n now will become undifferentiated, indistinct from any other here n now, for all time, for all centuries, for ever terrestrial being that has ever existed on Mt. Gia, we are the same... it's a tangible experience just beyond reach... it's a sensation, a beckoning to some higher plane of understanding... something every human is innately wired to understand -- yet not every switch has been flipped... Capacity will always exceed ability, the fundamental essence of the design code... contact that, identify with that... and ask yourself who's life means more than another life... right down the macro-cosmic slide passing every phylum and kingdom along the way...

Genetically human to human variation is less than 0.5% yet no two snow flakes are quite alike. Yet the cause or meaning of individuality must somehow not predominately be a factor of genetic differentiation... the odds would seem to suggest otherwise. So this innate similarity might suggest what?? A brotherhood between all men? A common collective experience? If so then we might expect to  observe cyclic nature, look at the Mayan Calendar... or the Zodiac... or the I Ching... or the TAROT... every system describes the same 'experience' in relationship to that system. If we existed at the hight of Mayan civilization - it is the parameters of experience that would shift, not necessarily the human experience...

MEM

Nethersphere

It's all neither here nor there. Here's my process: wake-up; goto sleep. wake-up; drive to work; drive home; goto sleep. There are subtle deviations, shades and sometimes even very bright variations to this routine, but for the time being that's it. And what's worse sometimes what seems to occupy the 'in-between time' of these varying extremes matters even less and less. Is this a problem? Let's say I manage to accomplish a shit-load of work and feel very grand or even a little inflated about what I've written or painted, blogged, designed, whatever - how does this contribute any more or less to my process? I'm sure the answer will come to me in my sleep.

postscript: the hunter-gather of antiquity may have not shared the same existential dilemma , although perhaps troubled by dreams of charging saber-toothed tigers, his/her bounty was measured by the warmth of the fire in his cave, and the bear meat in his belly.  Similarly, hearing myself vent all this pseudo-nonsense gives me ample insight into my own un-satiated needs and my somewhat desperate attempts of placing this all in the context of a 'higher purpose'.   

I can sit here and babble as long as I like, but the script is all linear. I believe a revolving pictorial symbolic-system is much more effective in communicating meaning. The abstract connection between non-pictorial language and that which it represents, I think is the basis for much of our species alienation from nature. It's like we're engaged in a constant game of Tetris - everything is always falling around us and we're desperately trying to stack it all up for time runs out.

The best example to describe the semiotic disparity I often feel trying to connected to this 'greater whole' is summarized best by the semi-inquisitive question knocked around, "Do you believe in God?" Of course my reply is always non-sensical, but profound (in as much as I believe it is): "God is a three letter word." To define its literal meaning reaching back to Catechism is helpful where 'god' is defined as all knowledge, all power, and all presence. So, it is clear from this perspective that a god cannot be devisable, there can be no 'thing', 'aspect' or 'position' which is not 'GOD' accordingly.

The essence of what I'm getting at here, is that we seek to understand understanding as we understand it. What's unseen or unrealized is not inherently embraced in our social or cultural paradigm by anyone other than those who dare peer behind the veil.

MEM

On the Cloud

"'Ere I am J.H." Know what it's like to get a song stuck in your head? I visualized the post hours ago driving home from 3rd shift - and it's maybe alright something to the effect absolutely nothing like what I had in mind. I've been off fuckin facebook (and I remember something about a new perspective enabling a less cynical bla bla bla) and for that matter off-line for about a year - and let me fucking tell you did that FEEL gooood!!! 

I'm on the cloud, man. And the cloud wants information to be free... dig it? 

What a trip. On the cloud you're like on 24/something. You could almost say it's a premonition - but hey I'm not that pretentious... So, yea fuck this is what happens give the boy an iphone... and LQQK... now if I can just stay off the porn...

Goddess Love & Goodness Bless,

MEM

Media Mind's Eye

MEM23

The collective conscious informs my meme; I shall need all things.

Corporate capitalism has deforested the garden; made sick oil slick seas.

Your technology is upgradable; on the cloud information wants to be free.

Even though I am still employed at $11.45 hr; I fear the root of all evil in a big way. My debt is always with me; Apple's iphone and ipod, they comfort me.

The drive-thru is open 24 hrs; despite my better judgement.

Verizon bombards my head with radiation, and I've gone over my minutes days ago.

Surely I will not out-live my student loans, and I dwell in this house until Bank foreclosure or tax sale.

Echo Lake

Our excursion through the Kangamangus Highway on Monday, June 29, 2011 began the day before, inspired by views of Lake Winnipesaukee. Riding North towards the Notch is like being inside some kind of a dream on this perfect summers day, in fact traveling this route of Northern New Hampshire is often reoccurring in my dreams.

[caption id="attachment_30" align="alignleft" width="150" caption="Winnipesaukee"][/caption]

As we approach Franconia the terrane becomes more surreal, the trees greener and smaller, the sky deeper and larger. Turning of the Highway to the visitor center for the "Old Man of the Moutain" (which nature reclaimed May 3, 2003) we are pleased to discover the first of several memorial sculptures where dedicated only weeks before. The sculpture gives one the impression when viewed at a particular angle what the man himself looked like up there on the cliff before he slid down... The idea behind this memorial is very keen. There had been some talk of 'rebuilding' the man, as New Hampshire's identity was in crisis. The eight bevels align five or so miniature representations of 'rock' all of which culminate when viewed 'just so'.

The day finishes of with a sweet spot as we pull off for gas and are greeted with a small mural paying homage to Betty and Barney Hill, somewhat notorious abducties in the 1960's.

[caption id="attachment_28" align="alignright" width="150" caption="New Sculptures"][/caption]

[caption id="attachment_25" align="alignright" width="179" caption="Old Man of the Mountain "Re-dux""][/caption]





[caption id="attachment_22" align="alignleft" width="143" caption="Myself, and my sister Stephanie"][/caption]


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