I finally did it!

After months of sitting around and talking about what I wanted to do with The Dungeon (as we've nicknamed my studio), I finally woke up this morning and did it! Take a look! To the left is my painting area, and moving towards the right end are my sewing, jewelry and glass tables. Fantastic, no?

Process

sleepless ravings

How many nights, how many hours have I spent sitting in bed watching smoke swirl and mingle over the lamp, rising from the incense on the table, the pipe in my hand? How many pages have I filled with bored, illegible scribbles? How long have I spent staring blankly at books I don't want to read, clothes I don't want to put away? By three am I intensely dislike everything around me.

When you can't sleep, it's always three am.

Some nights I lie in bed with the lights off, singing long, slow songs in my head. Every so often I'll stop to guess the time. I'm usually right.

Mr. Durden has already explained to us how insomnia makes everything a copy of a copy of a copy. And while I do agree with him, I wish to emphasize the "everything" part. As the night wears on you go from one tired copy of yourself to the next: a copy of a copy of a copy.

Are you there god, or do you just suck at your job?

I have a theory. No, not even a theory. A passing thought, just an interesting tidbit...I think (passingly, you understand) that we have disproved the existence of God. Or, at least, that we've proved the god that most "major" religions worship has not been hanging around our universe lately. According to these various peoples there is a kind, forgiving, rather grandfatherly god who just loves to watch out for us, right? However, most people don't realize that they basically believe in the same things, so they continually fight over whose god is better. Okay, so, here's what I don't quite understand: how does god feel about all this? Cause, see, if I was god, and I was as awesome as we seem to think he is, I don't believe I'd want anyone fighting in my name. I'd like to know what kind of god allows (him/her/it)self to be used as an excuse for so much violence. Just, you know, a thought...

For all of you photographically inclined folks...

I did a shoot last week with one Ryan Chahanovich, a sweet, enthusiastic hippie from Austin. I think you should go take a look at his blog. Not only because there is a glow-in-the-dark picture of my arm on it, but because I really like his work. And because he got me a decent bottle of wine when he could have bought a three dollar bottle of shit.

Peace y'all.

long lost riding hood

This is a super old version of Little Red Riding Hood from France. Notice that the girl does not actually have a red riding hood of any sort.

There was once a woman who had some bread, and she said to her daughter: take this hot loaf and a bottle of milk to your granny. So the little girl set off. At the crossroads she met a bzou (werewolf).

“where are you going?” he asked of the girl.

“I’m taking a hot loaf and a bottle of milk to my granny.”

“Which path are you taking, little girl? The path of needles, or the path of pins?”

“The path of needles,” she replied.

“well, then,” says the bzou, “I’ll take the path of pins.”

They set off, the girl amusing herself by collecting needles, while the bzou raced ahead. He arrived at the grandmother’s, killed her, put some of her flesh in the pantry and a bottle of blood on the shelf. The girl arrived and knocked on the door.

“Push the door,” said the bzou. “It’s just closed with wet straw.”

“Hello granny. I have a hot loaf and some milk for you.”

“Put them in the pantry. Eat the meat that’s there, and drink the wine.”

As the girl ate a small cat said: “She is slut who eats the flesh and drinks the blood of her granny.”

“Undress, child,” said the bzou, “and come into bed.”

“What shall I do with my clothes, granny?”

“Throw them into the fire my child, you won’t be needing them anymore.”

“Oh granny, how hairy you are!”

“It’s to keep me warmer child.”

“Oh granny, those long nails you have!”

“To scratch me better, child.”

“Oh granny, what big shoulders you have!”

“The better to carry firewood with my child.”

“Oh granny, what bug ears you have!”

“All the better to hear you with my child.”

“Oh granny, what big teeth you have!”

“All the better to eat you with, child!”

“Oh granny! I have to go badly! Let me outside!:

“Do it in bed, my child.”

“No, granny. I want to do it outside.”

“All right, but be quick.”

The bzou tied a woolen string to her foot and let her out. When the little girl got out the door she tied the end of the string to a big plum tree in the yard. The bzou became impatient and said: “Are you making a load out there? Are you shitting a load?” When he realized that no one answered him, he jumped out of bed and saw that the little girl had escaped. He followed her, but he arrived at her house just at the moment she was safely inside.

peanuts/sweet potato fries/guys

on peanuts and lifelong hatred
It seems that I've been a little behind the times for the last nineteen years. Have you ever figured something out, only to find that 3,567,224 people know about it already? Well, I have just made a fascinating discovery: peanut butter is really good! I've spent my entire life being repulsed by the smell, taste, even thought, of peanuts and their butter. If, when I was little, my mother had given me a choice between "green things" (which must be said with a proper six year old sneer) and a PB&J for lunch, I would have eaten the vegetables. Maybe if she had done that I wouldn't have hidden my veggies under my booster seat. I hated peanut butter that much.
I remember working at a smoothie shop, gagging every time I made a peanut butter smoothie. On Halloween I would trade all of my Reese's Cups for candy the other kids didn't want. I could never pin down what it was about peanut butter that was so repulsive. Macadamia butter, almond butter, cashew butter, hell- even vegan butter, were all okay with me. But peanut butter?
Then, a few days ago, for absolutely no reason at all, I ate a spoonful of crunchy peanut butter. And I loved it.

on sweet potatoes
Take a sweet potato and peel off the earthy skin. Cut it into thick slices, then to matchsticks. Drizzle them with olive oil, dust with salt and pepper, toss them with your hands. Food is more honest when you touch it. When you don't prepare it with care you feed only half the body's hunger. Bake the sticks on a sheet pan in a 400 degree oven, turning them often so they brown evenly. Take them out when they are done, not before, and certainly not after. Be mindful when you eat them; expect to melt. They're good.

on the subject of men
I think that dating guys may be one of the stupidest things I've ever tried.