Sorry, I Over Simplified It

I can see a creature.  It's feet are cold, very, very cold.  Meticulously cold.  The rest of it's fine.  But it can't go anywhere. I'm not sure how i know all this, just from looking at it.  Maybe it's the way the sun is blazing down on it, but it's shivering.  Actually shaking, desperately.  It's hands jerk, it's face, full of strange lines that would imply it's been twitching like this for some time, but not it's feet.  They are the feet of an infant.

"It's a creature, but it has hands, feet, and a face, why not call him a man?" You ask.  Well, friend, because it has no eyes.

"Then he's a freak.  But not inhuman, have a little charity."  Okay, sorry, i over simplified it.  What it has instead of eyes is what make's me call it a creature.  It's heart seems to have grown over where the eyes should be.  Out of the heart, which is miraculously still working, juts about a foot of slab.  The edges are rounded.  This slab doesn't seem to be too heavy, despite the fact that a full city sits on it, and a smaller town hangs, upside down, from beneath. 

You're speechless.  But is get's weirder. The constant shaking doesn't seem to affect the city.  However, the town seems to be fully aware.  Gravity still works like it ought to, and they're hanging on for dear life.

"All right, hold it right there," You say, "that's all fine and well.  But, come on.  Am i really expected to believe this?  Seriously.  How come i can't see any of this?"

Because you're the creature, and you don't have any eyes.

Epic Distillation of a Life

A little while ago a bird died.  It's body is now rotting somewhere. I don't know what kind it was, how old it was, or whether it was female or male.  I'm not being melodramatic.  Creatures die all the time and nobody knows, that's the way things go.  I'm not an animal freak, I don't go on rallies.  However, I do respect life, and when i saw that bird, killed by a tricky glass window, I saw perspective.  I took a photo, and am posting it in the hopes that it might do the same for you.

A birds life is a simple one.  But ours, well, it's easy to get caught up in our own drama, and forget to live. The bird couldn't have unfinished business.  We can.  Life = Unexpected.  The bird didn't know it was going to die, but because of it's nature, it was ready.  It did all it could, so it's death isn't sad.  Maybe I'm nuts.  Or a sicko.  I hope not.  I think you can never have too many reminders to suck every last drop out of life.

The Kazak Won

Oh tiny children,
While your arms are so cold
Sit, and you'll swell
And the flies will grow bold

But ah, if you'd sing
The Kazak demands
They eat out your eyes
And chew on your hands

So silent you stay
And angry they become
But his pact won't bend
The Kazak won't succumb

In fear grow larger
And avoid the conflict
But, unforeseen lust
Sedentary addict

The pact, come to end
But you beg to stay on
"I so love it here."
You happily yawn

So, onward you sit
With no pact to stop them
The flies can attack
From a.m. to p.m.

Continue to feast
And oh my, how you wish
You hadn't listened
And licked off his dish

For he always knows
And a game once begun
With the Kazak
Is for him a game won.

A Note: When i wrote this, there's a obvious meaning of person or country, but i think a part of me was also thinking about Ben from LOST.  

The Times of a Fat Man

This is a scrap Lynic gave me within an insomniac night. 

The Times of a Fat Man

This one is one of Lynic's better experiments, reminding me why i let the free loader stay. This i think had to be strongly infused with my subconscious.  While i am still slightly unsure of what i meant by it, i think it is worth exploring in future works. Click on it to read.

Today is Different

So let's say that today is different.  You wake and find yourself lying on the top of an autumn hill.  The grey grass is long and still. The air is thin, but not cold.  You stand.

Before you a silent land drifts by.  You realize you are watching time pass.  A thousand times faster and yet somehow in slow motion.  You shudder.  You watch as a man with a bow glides across the plains.  He beckons to his fellows.  They begin work on a building.  More building flower up around it and people flock to the new city.  The world around it cracks and begins to fall apart.  More people run to the city of safety.  But the man, now very old, uses his dying breaths to construct a massive wall around and over the city.  The people left outside perish.  The people inside forget.  Insanity sets in.  The dead world watches as the city destroys itself from the inside out.

You turn away.  It is too much to watch.  Your forehead feels very hot.  You put up your hand and when you touch it, it is scorched.  A voice whispers to you. "Save the city." But you are very tired.  As it dashes towards it's own peril, you realize it is in miniature.  The people are only about as big as your thumbnail.

As you lean over the city you see that their rage and terror is caused by the wall. They cannot breath.  It wouldn't be hard to knock it down.  It's about as big as a popcorn bowl to you, but you really are pretty tired, and your begin to think this is a dream.  Perhaps if you go back to sleep, you'll wake up in you bed.  But the choice seems more serious than that that. 

You decide you must save the people, but now your arms hang at your sides, and your feet begin to give way.  With a desperate jerk you manage to knock the wall down as you fall.  Black.

When you open your eyes, three large heads look down at you.  "It's a miracle." one says.  "I've never seen the like..." The rest of the room comes into focus and you see it's a hospital room.

Baldy and the Older Than You

An icing, pressed down by the thick warmth of my retro heater, swirls on the floor.  Like a vague sense of dark prophesy to a common man, it makes me pull my feet up off the floor and cross them in my chair.  My hair is pulled back and feels tight, i fear a headache.  Thoughts of the bald entertain me.  That is the purpose of this blog, after all.  A daily shave, a skimming, however mean, of the thoughts that set in before they disintegrate back to wherever they come from.

So, today my razors an old one.  It's got a thin black handle of painted wood, where the blade is content to sit for some time without rusting.  I'm going to pull out some ideas from my recent past and discus one of my visual thoughts: 

Older Than You

The original image that came to me was one of a wizened man. Dull skin clung to him, as if it had shrunken before the rest of him. Thin hair drifted in a summer afternoon breeze.  He was sitting at a park table, surrounded by oblivious kids, all playing wildly.  A single sign of fall rested meekly on the table, a cracked leaf.  He was looking at me intently, as if trying to tell me something.  The title came to me, older than you.

The image was a strong one.  Perhaps the most striking thing was the contrast of motion.  The whirling kids, the sly breeze, the sunlight, and his hair all drifted in a complex pattern around his frozen face and intense eyes. 

As time passed and the image developed in my Mental Cellar (dubbed Redcap Twist, and run by the muse, Lynic) the leaf blew away, the children where called in by their mothers, and a thick mist settled over the park.  The image stilled and the sun was pulled down low, shedding a grapefruit orange into the mist.  The man pulled out a cigarette, lit up and revealed a grim tongue.  Far longer then it ought to be.  The story was over and i knew what i needed to draw.  I completed this drawing sometime in late November 09.

This was a man from the future, and evil hung about him.  But he wasn't evil himself.  He wasn't sent, he hadn't come, i doubt he was even really there.  That would explain the children's utter lack of recognition.  But what interest to children have in the future? Perhaps the wise would be warned. At any rate, the viewer is the only one to see the man, and that binds them.  The man is a ravaged rock star, transported to a virgin world in which he is not allowed.  But when have rules stopped a rock star? In a moment of paradox his nature and that of the park sideswiped each other and i doubt the shadow of that encounter will ever leave that park table. Get what you will out of it. To see it larger, click on it.

Thank you for reading,

(My pan name will appear here once i have decided on an appropriate one)