Rainbow Brite And El Camino Part 11b

Fandom: Original
Pairing: Brite/Camino
Setting: The Car/Fort Lonesome
Summary: laughing in the car en route to Camino's house
Rating: R for language and depictions
Owned By: Me
A/N- This is an in between scene. Meaning between parts 5 and 11a Why? My generation likes skip around. We believe in the viewer's/reader’s ability to keep up. Blame Quentin Tarantino. (Love that guy/his work!) Seriously? Reservior Dogs and Pulp Fiction are 2 of my favorite films, dude. Guy Ritchie (Lock, Stock And Two Smoking Barrels, Snatch and currently Sherlock Holmes) is like the British version of him. So awesome! Oops, I’m gushing. Let me stop. Anyway, if you need to go back and refresh., click away, my friends. Also, I’ve noticed some inconsistencies in the story and format. Such as: The camera is now a character integral to said story instead of just a note taker or watcher. There used to be chapter titles which I’ve done away with. The story itself was being written in play or script format and Camino And Brite were AKA E.C. and R.B. Also I forgot to mention an important detail. Actually, it was meant to be written in. I will fix that now. As for chapters, titles and abbreviations, they’re gone from now on. I approach my work like an experiment. Then when I’m more comfortable I can do away with what I don’t need. Anyway, sorry for the confusion. And finally this part went off in it’s own direction. But that’s how my muse rolls. It makes me smile and I hope you do too.



Rainbow Brite And El Camino Part 11b

(Back in Orchard Land or Fort Lonesome)

“I hate this thing.” “It smells like you.”
“Brite, what?” “What the fuck does that even mean?”

Camino took his right hand off the shifter and tugged at her oversized sleeve.

“It stinks and it’s ugly.” “It like a rest stop flyer.”
“Thanks.” His laugh lacked enthusiasm.

Brite punched him in the shoulder and gave him a look that said, "That's not what I meant and you know it, Cowboy."

Camino pretended to flinch.

“No, I mean, all it needs is an add below the skull that says, “Eats.”
“What?” Camino glanced over at Brite’s hooded head, confused.
“Gas station?” “Rest stop?” “Oil?” Brite made motions with her hands while she talked.
“Oh.” He finally got her reference and laughed heartily.
“If the fucking skull had blinking lights instead of girly pink sequins-"
"You're girl!" He pointed out. "I know!" "I've seen!" He mimicked her wild hand gestures from earlier in their conversation.
Brite ignored his excited comment and kept talking. "-and the car had an air freshener that smelled like microwave burritos the picture would be complete.”
He laughed harder this time and managed to choke out, “Honey, you’re kind of out there sometimes.”
“I know.” She laughed. “Gotta love it.”

Gotta love her.


After what he felt was an appropriate pause he went in for the kill. "You should learn to drive this thing." He said, they drove down the road. "Get you a set of hand controls." "You'll be set."

What Camino had said was being drowned out Brite’s swirling thoughts. They apparently wanted acknowledgement so they made themselves known.

“Dude, where the fuck are we going?” “To your house?” “We been together, what?” “18 months?”
“Can’t you just say a year and a half?” “I mean, we didn’t have a kid or nothing.”

Simultaneous thoughts processed. Thank god.

“Now who’s out there, Camino?” “Seriously, I’ve never been to your house once.” “What’s going on?”
“You’re avoiding the subject.” He patted the steering wheel.
“So are you.” She said. “Besides, she’d never allow it. The driving thing.”
“Your mother?”
“Yes.”
“She’s got issues, dude.”
“So do I.” “That whole road rage on foot thing.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen that live and personalized.” “This afternoon in fact.”
“Shut the fuck up.”

Laughing at her antics, Camino cranked up the stereo and drove on.

Wading In Caramel (Revised)

Wading In Caramel
2 December 2011

You could smell the ice in the air these last few days
Even though this is Tampa Bay we do get cold fronts
It was like I had a craving for the old ways that I could not shake
But I would have had to trust another shape to name me

Like, "Welcome back to the snow!" "You're still so small!" "So no one here has to think about you getting old!"
"And you're still a shit head for thinking like that. I got to go."


I'm somehow required to be close to something I perpetuated but never was
I can't live up to my own legend anymore and I don't want to
Take back the glory, tear down the statue you built inside your brains
Stop telling stories about me like you know anything
I'm not Rocky, I didn't win the gold chain
After three rounds I was out cold laid

In their eyes I was perfect,
But in my mind I wore a mask and gloves
I don't have stars on my skin or stripes or spots or fame
But I wear glasses and slashes and cuts and big stains

When I laugh it doesn't linger because I know what's good won't last

Life is disappointing, transient, dissolvable
Like rain moments evaporate
A sugar syrup that can seize up
If the stalks were solid, they'd stay that way
But now they're lowly granules in someone's cake

Life does not ask
It demands attention and consideration

Why are we so dirty?
Why do I feel like I'm wading in caramel?
I'm so sticky, get this shit off me!

An unfettered life without ego, the fucker will ask again

Can I have it?
Do you need it?
Do you want some?
Why can't I please?
Sex might work better than misery

Shit makes me restless, wishing for my child hood
As if by some magic trick I could take it back and make it better
I'm from Western NY and I was born with a small town ideology
I feel corrupted and lazy
Is this what happens when you move from the country to the city?

Do you become a memory of who you used to be?
A convertible version in mint condition
Is this thing a hard or soft top?
Can I come inside or is the door locked?

I want to be a soul inside a body that isn't so much like me
I'm sour curd instead of milk and honey
In the land of promise for everyone but me
I've stopped comparing circumstances or complaining

Really, what's the point?
I can't figure out how to use it
So now it bores me
Yeah, yeah, flat screen TV!
Yeah, yeah, the hybrid-SUV!

All this music!
The hum and chattering!

Hyper-aware of everything around me to the point of fear and paranoia
These thoughts run my head and I can feel the last 2 healthy cells gasp for breath
Living on the fringes in debt and yet society owes me negative nothing
My eyes itch, my brain hurts from flexing under the weight of my skull cap

These images are pin pricks along my skin
The blood has darkened and become coagulant
A burnt orange crust-like regret has formed on my elbows
The pain instilled, I keep moving without looking
And this soul is killing me because it wants things it cannot have
Objects, feelings, lovers that are beyond my grasp

I did not get up to sketch it out or write it down
But tried to sleep instead without success
When I dream lately it's about my brother in the roll of me
Walking around the streets of Ybor with a sketchpad in his hand
His modified paint brushes hanging out his back pockets
It's so like him to redesign something so basic
Now I know where my foam went and why there's horse hair in my trash can
I smile momentarily before I let it fade
The truth is that's not him but I guess I could see him making it work
Instead of fucking it up like me
Always so close but still so lame
With three quarters jingling in my capri's
I head home in the dark back to reality

I put the change on his stand and say, "It's not much, but it's something."

He nods as I walk away
I shove my revisited campaign for sanity, my crutches into the familiar tight space between my bedroom door and the race
I don't know if anyone ever wins but we're both exhausted and apparently untrained
But I'm not unfazed and I still hate it all the same

Immutable/Message Of Love

Here's 2 shorties for my ladies. (: And I know this isn't Camino 11b, d. I'll get to it, trust me.

Immutable
19 Dec 11

She told me I was a rainbow
But I told her it only takes one blow
She didn't see the gray in me
Only her philosophy
She wanted to test my theory as if it was just a query
She puffed out her cheeks and let it go

Then when I blew out she said, “Oh, no!” “Well, it was fun while it lasted though.”

Your colors are beautiful
Mmm, you glow
Your colors are immutable
And I wanted you to know




Message Of Love
19 Dec 11

According to the data from my lungs these wounds are superficial
No scar tissue is expected to form around the molds they just put in
And I don't know why it bothers me that these parts work better than the real thing
But it does

PVC pipe and the same compounds as Plastique
I could blow up at any second
Yeah that’s me
With a boom, boom and a wink, wink
I breathe out and the world shrinks
I am what god sees from above when no one notices my message of love

Rainbow Brite And El Camino Part 11a

Fandom: Original
Pairing: Camino/Camino's Dad/Camera-head/bits of Brite
Setting: Camino's Dad's Auto Repair Shop
Summary: Camino wants to settle in, but Dad's not having it.
Rating: R for language
Owned By: Me

A/N- This part is a slight fast forward. Stay with me here. It’ll make sense later. I presume that if you own an auto parts place you can also fix cars. My dad was a mechanic with a creative side. But in some ways he never reached his full potential. I'm not articulating my description right. But suffice it to say I saw him for what he was and thought he could do more if he thought his concepts through. Often, he'd toggle things, (including my scooter which never worked right afterwards.) in the interest of improvement and break them. Ha! The technology got ahead of him, I think. He "fixed" my scooter because it was easier than telling me he loved me.
 He drew an amazing portrait of my mother after they'd called it quits. I'm pretty sure I was the only 1 he showed it to. So that's where this part came from. And yes, his name was Rick. That and my brother's his namesake. Did I mention the  fact there's "Rick's Pawn Shops'' all over the south? They're only real competition is "Waffle House" in terms of sheer number. Heh. Also, Papa Bear as I affectionately called him in my head, really enjoyed going to the flea markets here in Tampa. It's (or perhaps was) a big part of the culture here. I say that because I haven't been to 1 since the economy went to shit. Kind of hard without a car (RIP old girl) or money. Lol. During the last few years of his life, my father helped run a store that was like a pawn shop. He seemed to really enjoy it which was saying something since it seemed hard for him to find joy in anything. We're alike. I gave him the studio I always thought he should have. It's also a commonality in the story between father/son which helps. Actually, he knew I painted and oddly enough, approved. So this is me tipping my hat to him. As fucked up as Camino and his dad's relationship is, it's actually healthier than ours was. But there are similarities and they're there on purpose. Perhaps I'm exercising some demons.



Rainbow Brite And El Camino Part 11a

Rick's Auto was still standing. Camino blinked in surprise and against the cold as he exited the bus. He wore the hoodie with the pink rhinestone skull on the back of it that he tried to pawn off on little miss Brite just days earlier. She wasn't falling for it though. Ha! Even she had standards. That and skinny jeans of the worn black variety, splattered in paint.

She didn't know he painted and if he had his way she never would. He wasn't them. Her. His father. No. They had talent. He had ideas. Thoughts without shape. Nothing concrete. He stared at the faded white corrugated paneling of the rounded top building. The red and white letters blinking on and off. The "u" was missing in "auto" as well as the "R" in "Rick's." And lastly, just to add insult to injury, the "r" in "parts."

So that the sign now read, "ICK'S ATO PATS"


Here we go. Camino thought, as stepped aside for Camera-head.

He walked the short length of the parking lot and up to the door. It was just after dark.


Almost quitting time. Thank god.


He opened the door, heard the bell clink and stepped inside. He took a deep breath.


"Dad?" He called out.

"Be right there." Came the faint voice from the back.


2 days later ...

The old man came up front wiping his hands with a grease rag. Camino was answering phones since his arrival 2 days earlier. The cloth used to be green. it was now soot black. He was beginning to remember why he hated this place. Western NY wasn't a bad place. Sure the weather sucked most of the time, but hey. He mused as he watched icy rain drizzle from the top of the garage door. The leaves were turning already and he couldn't ever remember a time as a kid when it feeling this cold at 55 Degrees. Hell, I used to run around with my shirt off. Six yrs old, running through the corn field across the street up on Jackson Hill. But it never felt right. I always wanted to escape. So I did. Into my head. Sure I hit the 1Oth grade mark and it all changed. I told my friends, or more accurately loyal followers, I didn't want to leave but it wasn't exactly true. I told them that to make them happy. And I was scared. But only of the unknown.


"Your brother ran through the corn field, not you. You were off in your own little universe. In your room with the door shut." “And tell that damn thing to turn on it's invincibility cloak or something, or I'll use him as a fucking coat rack! Jesus! He's there every time I turn my head or look up and I think he's scaring the customers away! And call your girlfriend and mother for Christ sakes! Since you decided to turn off your phone they're calling mine non-stop! And next time you use my studio, clean up your shit, leave me some money for supplies on the table and lock up before you leave!"


Ever since he could remember Dad knew things about him. Could see what he saw. Could read his thoughts. It drove them both nuts. It seemed oppressive and simultaneously destructive because one of them was always mad. They couldn't filter each other out and it made it hard to be around each other. Not without trying to kill each other.


Okay Pops had a point. I left the room a mess. But I was too chicken shit to ask to go in there. Dad was a pretty great artist but had failed to make a name for himself. So the studio was more of a private space now. But not when I was little. It helped us bond. Later on, it pulled us apart. He’d get up my ass about my shitty disposition and equally shitty grades and then I’d throw his failed career in his face. I was in my room and he was in his stupid studio, right?


People never fight fair do they? Why am I answering the fucking phones! I can fix cars! I restored my own!


Camino had sent his dad a Polaroid picture after learning from his mother that he didn’t understand how to use the Internet and E-mail. “Pride and Joy” he’d written on the white outline. Pops never did want to modernize.

“Too new-fangled.” He laughed.

“It’s because you understand the Internet and E-mail, Shawn!” Pops pointed his greasy finger at the young man. “I don’t and I admit it.” “Shell’s off on Paternity leave and I need your help, so stop making fun of me and do it, okay? At least give me that much respect!”

“Why are you standing there talking about invincibility cloaks and shit? You won’t touch this thing!” I lifted the laptop.

“I read, son. Okay?” “You should try it.”

I laughed.

Score, pops. Nice one!

“And I’ll have you know mister,” Pops finger was shaking in Camino’s face now, “I did a pretty good portrait of Gran Wilkins’ poodle last week and she brought me an apple pie, damn it!”

The old man tugged at his beard.

It makes him look old. But I guess he is.


“That’s great, dad.” I smiled at him meekly.

“It is, isn’t it?” He said, shocked at my response.

Hell, so was I. What planet are we on? And when will we be returning to Earth?


“Yup.” I said, reaching out for a fist bump.

“I hate apple pie.” The old man confessed.

“Yeah, but she likes you.” My smile got a little wider.

“I know.” His eyes twinkled.

We both laughed.

grafitti art snobs

Rainbow Brite And El Camino Part 10b

Fandom: Original
Pairing: Camino/Camera-head
Setting: Somewhere along the highway.
Summary: More head musings from our dark hero.
Rating: R for language and descriptions.
Owned By: Me

A/N- This starting to have a slight “Donnie Darko” feel. That’s a movie where a hug robotic looking bunny follows Donnie around everywhere. He disengages from his surroundings and family. At the end, a missile lands on their house, a direct hit over Donnie’s bedroom. He dies, it's apacalyptic, blah, blah, de blah.
A/N2-Chill miss d, kay? i'll get around to describing the head.



Rainbow Brite And El Camino Part 10b

I had come to her house in asshole mode. She had been ignoring me and I didn’t like that. So I started painting out and slashing her canvases. Yeah, that’d show the bitch. I looked around, surveying my path of destruction, but I wasn’t satisfied. Then a brilliant idea occurred to me. Aaah! I got it! I undid my pants and waited. Then I heard the sound. I can’t really describe it. But if you’ve heard piss hit fabric that’s it. I turned slightly and let it fly over her paint table. I pissed on the tubes and brushes there. Into cups and cans. All over the carpet. I smeared black acrylic on the floor, windows, the fucking door.



Did I mention that she wasn’t really ignoring me? She was working. Preparing for her first solo show. Which was happening in exactly 2 days. As I said. Asshole here.

I thought about this as I stared at camera-head, sitting across from me as I ate lunch outside a Mickey-d’s. I got off the bus feeling clauster phobic and hungry. Brite called. I didn’t answer. She hadn’t tried again as expected. Which worried me, despite the situation. Reluctantly, I let it go and called dad instead. Camera-head cleared our table and followed me back to our bus. It handed me a bottle of water. The indigestion kicked in almost immediately after I was finished eating.


“Thanks.” I said. It blinked and nodded. “That shit used to be good when I was a kid.”

“You’re not a kid anymore.” It told me. Only it was from inside my head.

“Why are you here?” “Were you following us?”


A confirmation nod from the seat next to me.


“Now me?”

“Yes. I was. She asked me to keep an eye on you.”

Aaah. Brite. Of course.


The guy behind me looked freaked.

“Who are you talking to?” He asked.


The bus started up. The driver cleared his throat and pulled out.


“No one.” I gave the dude a slight dismissive wave, turning around.

Rainbow Brite & EL Camino Part 10a

Fandom: Original
Pairing: Brite/Camino

Setting: Inside a greyhound bus as well as Camino’s head.

Summary: He remembers the 1st time.
Rating: Light R for references to sex.
Owned by: Me

A/N- I have no idea if there’s a bus route, greyhound or otherwise from Tampa to Texas. The idea started as another story idea which I then realized I could use to continue this 1. I may still use it anyway. I did try to search it on the internet but didn’t get anything concrete. Anyway, it’s a minor detail that doesn’t detract from the story. And I’m sure Midland exists somewhere. I wrote this part for my mother. It contains imagery that most people can relate to. She secretly wanted to catch me in the act, I think. And was disappointed that she never did. So here ya go, ma!

Couple other notable things. Camino is drifting. By that I mean, he’s not quite awake or asleep. A state I’d refer to as half in, half out. So the school bus sequences are when he’s almost asleep. The Greyhound parts occur when he’s almost awake. And he’s flashing back and forth. OK?? I’ll figure out how to explain the camera-head later. But yeah. Iiiiiiittttttssss Baaaaaaaccccckkkkk! Oh and Shawn. If you’ve read parts of my unfinished novel “City Of The Three” that’ll make you smile. Still have it. But it’s on a floppy. We’ll see if I decide to rip off my own character in a more literal way. Stay tuned.

Rainbow Brite And El Camino Part 10a

I woke up crossing over the border to Midland Texas. My mother had dropped me off at the bus station. I fell asleep somewhere between Tampa and where I currently was. I left the Camino in the possession of its rightful owner, Brite. I had dreamt of her and had woken as if from a nightmare. I turned in my seat, disoriented, expecting to see her beside me. I blinked, because a few seconds before consciousness fully registered, I looked up and saw mint green on the roof. That was weird. I hadn’t been on a bus since freshmen year in high school. And this definitely wasn’t that. It was life. Harsh and gritty.

When I first met Brite, not only was I a cocky little shit, someone who acted generally superior toward others, but I had all these misconceptions about what her life was like. What it was like to be handicapped. That she was naive. Inexperienced in certain areas? Yes. She had never denied that. But the sex thing? That was an eye opener. She was nervous and so was I. We laughed a little and figured it out. Then right when it was getting good, her mother walked in.

“Hey, I just came to get your laundry …. Oh!”

She was shocked I think. Hell, so was I. We were arguing as is our way. And one thing led to another. Mom couldn't get out of there fast enough. And Brite had enough sense not to say anything or stop her. But mother and daughter were tight. So they'd definitely talk later.

My imagination started to speculate on what the talk would entail. "Hey, is it normal when ..."

Brite slid off of me, effectively snapping me out of my mental fog, taking the condom with her as she rolled over. I reached beneath the covers to retrieve it and smiled at her. She pulled down my RAYS jersey, which was oversized by about a mile on her tiny yet curvaceous frame and downward dogged it off the side of the bed. She stood, giving a peak at her ass. Then my prized garment flopped down past her toes. She slid across the floor, using her arms to propel forward. She wasn’t crawling but scooting. I heard her get up. She swore, several times in fact as she removed the hamper from her bathroom.

I started laughing.

“Shut up.” She huffed as she made her way out of there, back into the bedroom into the hall.

She set it outside the door, shut it and smirked unhappily at me. The mood was gone.


“Damn it.” She said. I blinked again. She opened my hand as my body came back to the present. She held out the car keys.

The bus rattled and swayed as it lumbered down the highway, loud and obtrusive. I was surrounded by mint green again. Ugly hunter green booth seats that smelled of leather, sweat and body odor in general. I couldn’t wait to get out of there. It was making me ill. My generation would refer to it as smelling like ass. Yeah that about covered it.

“Sherri,” She looked at me as if she’d been punched, but without flinching she answered. “Shawn.” Real names meant something was definitely up.

“We talked about this, baby.” I smiled sadly as I pushed back her small fisted hand. “No you talked.”

“These belong to you.” I let the statement hang in the air and fade.

I put my hand over hers and let my fingers grab and linger. Jesus help me. I really do love her. This was gonna be a long ride. She dropped the keys between us. Like I said.

“Sir.” Someone was shaking me. “You dropped your keys."

Cloth seats. A/C. T.V. Radio. Driver chattering on his C.B. Fat guy with robot camera head sitting beside me. Oh yeah, I’m going home to work for my dad. Yippee.

Here's Where It Gets Fun

I’m going to be all over the place with this entry. So forgive me and try to keep up. I went to Sweettbay the other day as per usual. I was supposed to get mom doughnuts. Had I known that going to the deli would be like entering the 5th level of hell, I would have bypassed that area and went for the already boxed variety. I have a hard enough time picking things up that are for lack of a better word, squooshy. (Jelly, custard or cream filled.) But you add frosting to the mix? That’s a messy disaster waiting to happen. So I have to use those stupid waxy paper things to pick them up. Well, they get squooshed and there goes the frosting. Add in a public bathroom floor and a box that won’t cooperate by holding its shape? And it’s just over. It makes me feel so small. Like I am incapable of accomplishing the simplest freaking task. Well I knew it was over. But I still had to pay for them. So I tell the cashier what’s in my bag but not to take it out. She charges me for a half dozen and my tuna and drink. I leave. There’s trash cans with the swinging door tops embedded to the walkway with concrete situated outside the automatic doors. I could have just discarded them there and should have. I could have called home and explained but neither likely scenario appealed to me. Either no one would have picked up and I would have ended up leaving a frantic, rambling panic filled message, (It was getting dark at which point my ass has a big red x branded to it.) or mom would have actually answered and told me to explain, ask for help and get a new batch.

And let’s just say I was done handling that situation. So I bring them home, explain and mom throws them out herself. Two days before that the screw and bolt I’m using on my crutch cuff came loose. These crutch cuffs were poorly sautered and snapped. First we used plastic ties, but they snapped too. So mom used some screws and bolts she kept from other equipment. You know how you build stuff and there’s extra parts? Yeah that. It works ok but needs to be checked and tightened. Well when I left the phucker was clicking, which is always a bad sign. I remember thinking I should of packed my tool kit. (tape and some leather raw hide shoe laces.) It works well enough to get me home where mom can use torque and pliers at her leisure. So I end up walking up to the check out with my shaft in one hand and my cuff still on my wrist. It’s happened enough over the last year. Just not there, that way. I can usually rig it in the afore mentioned bathroom or out on the bench. There’s and indoor sitting area with vending machines outside the 1st set of doors. But I did not have my kit. So they sent me to the customer service area which is behind and around the corner of the last check out line. So I waited until all costumers had been dealt with, and pulled out my screw and bolt, which I thankfully caught. Now here’s where it gets fun! They put it in backwards and taped it wrong with the thinnest masking tape I’ve ever seen. So I spent like the next three hours getting what I came for and I thing I did not. I could not find the cranberry juice or tape. I sometimes drink the juice to combat my digestion. I do not recommend it unless you’re absolutely desperate, which I was. Because holy crap is it sour! I have always had issues with my digestion, stemming from being severely premature. I have never had what is considered normal bowel movements. But sometimes the constipation becomes intolerable and I was at my breaking point. You have to use different foods and drinks because I thing does not always work. Glucerna gives my a headache behind my eye. So that’s out. Sry D. Graham crackers work sometimes. So do prune juice or plum smart. But not always. Green veggies or fruit work, but are slow. So is yoghurt and fiber pills Cereal or other products with extra fiber added. Last resorts are suppositories or pills (oh god, no. ) or black coffee straight or with kero syrup and creamer or whipped cream in it. Pancake syrup works too. So I go up to check out and the stupid tape I finally found (duct tape is up to 7 bucks. Ridiculous!) a stronger, thicker masking tape, will not scan. So cashier lady puts the number for the bar code in manually. I retreat to my beloved bench with my backpack. One of the managers who helped reattach my cuff (sort of) put my bag beside me because she knows what’s up having seen me under better conditions.

She asks if I’m ok. I placate her. She leaves. I unzip the furthest compartment of my bag and retrieve one bottle of juice and the tape. I set the bag aside, still open. I open the bottle and drink it. I sit it on the bench, upright and empty. I grab the offending crutch and get to work with my tape. The manager comes back out and notices what I’m doing. I explain that I’m reinforcing her the job she already did because I have a long walk home. I thank her. She leaves again. When I’m satisfied my shaft is stable enough, I get up. The juice bottle rolls off underneath the bench, almost out of reach. A customer comes out, ready to leave. She freaks slightly, I shoo her away. I get the bottle and throw it away and finally leave the damned parking lot as the sun sets. So when I went to get the doughnuts, I had my tool kit. Something still happened. I leave with my sewer doughnuts and encounter the same dude I saw on the way there. He looked like Tyson Beckford, {super model, black and oriental background.) only shorter. I’ve always had a thing for black and bald/oriwntal/latin men. And lately, for whatever reason, they notice me without much effort on my part. He was just walking along with his ear buds in, listening to his Ipod. He smiled at me. I smiled back. It made me think of Senior year in high school, which while fun, (because it was the last 1.) was also angst ridden and confusing. I was in love with my best friends. Rene’ (a guy, Latin) and Jessica (a girl, white.) It sucked because I was painfully aware of 2 things. They regarded me as a casual acquaintance. And neither one of them liked me like that. Yesterday all that dude did was walk by and everything came flooding back. It got me thinking. I’m not attracted to white men. And maybe I’m bisexual. Or just mostly gay. But then again, the idea of sleeping with men terrifies me. But not the idea of a woman. So I don’t really know. I liked it better when I wasn't confused.

No Dice Dude

I've been really depressed for like 2 mos. now. I'm even sleeping during the day again. No one noticed it. But that's normal. I hate my situation right now. I tried shutting myself in and getting it out through creative means. No dice dude. Mom got sick over my birthday and this whole debt crisis. God, wtf? What a blur. What was it 3-4 days?? Anyway, 1 trip to the ER and a surgery later, she's ok. It was a repeat of the last time. Me being left home, not knowing what was going on. Took 2 days just to find which hospital she and my bro went to. It totally suxked and needless to say I did not feel much like celebrating when they got home. 4 infected teeth later I've come to 2 conclusions. How dare the gov't manufacture a crisis and threaten my survival and mom needs some freakin dentures! I feel useless.I freaked the puck out. It hurt not being able to do anything and knowing she didn't want me there. Who takes a cab to the hospital? My mother. That's who. Can someone magically conjure up affordable health insurance and a nice used car and send them our way??

Plastic Houses And Blue Branches

Plastic Houses And Blue Branches July 2011

You’ve got these tiny plastic houses all lined up in a row
As if red and green boxes mean everything
But I don’t really think so
See, this is not Boardwalk or Park Place
These are the railroads located in Shit Town USA and that’s on a good day
Defiantly I carry around my canned peas in a beat up backpack
It’s gotten warped by rain over time and has broken zippers
But it’s been loyal to me so I keep it close and loaded
And I try to act tough, like I don’t feel anything on the inside
Like I don’t need to paint or write to breathe
I come off as controlled and numb but it’s the opposite
You can take me to school at this game of life three days out of seven maybe
But I am not some cut out figurine and certainly not a monopoly
I am fortunately unique
There’s iridescent purple duct tape on my crutch cuffs
Blisters on my palm and thumb
Forgive me as I spill out the contents of my can onto your precious board for review
Your scrutiny doesn’t really bother me because I’m leaving anyway

I’m already out your door into the street and dreaming of better things

You’re wasting your time yelling at me saying I’m a moron
I’m not listening
There’s too much on my mind
Too much to forget
I’m floating above the ground
I’ m dragging in the sky by my head
I’m not dead, so let go of my hair and stop staring

It’s natural for me to land back where I stand

No, I’m not a cat, it’s called astro-projection
It’s out of my hands
I’ve come down back to the land of the living
Thanks to the awful truth and people like you
And now I’m sinking in dread
I should of learned to smoke to release some stress
But I guess I’ll have to settle for the usual suspect
My medication is a cup of coffee
So I’ll let it go for now because I’m home

Drop my bag on the floor

Walk over to the refrigerator
Cross off canned peas from the list

I was climbing blue branches and eating plastic houses today

But I’ve never enjoyed being kissed

My imagination’s either a waste or a well
I really can’t tell

Thank You Goodbye

Not Gonna Happen

I have been fascinated with graffiti (otherwise known as street art) ever since I could remember. Even as a kid trapped in a small town in Western NY that I thought I'd never leave. I was being taught that anything that was illegal was flat out wrong. Morals and risks, checks and balances and Jesus saves and all that shit. I was taught that if you smoked out it was just as bad as if you smoked crack. Which is of course, ridiculous. Don't get me wrong, kids need structure, and I do love god, but indoctination is something else. I'm mostly disappointed in myself for being so pliable.

But I didn't get real heavy into it, as in regarding the process as as art form, until I was in my mid 20's. And saw wild style over the internet for the first time. Tes One who is from Tampa, (smile) BASK whose pieces are more like 3D pictures or sculptures, Banksy, (from England, smiles again) who does whatever he wants or has to to make a statement, (just google him, peeps.) and last but not least, Shepard Fearey, (yes, that be his real name) who is most famous for his Andre The Giant OBEY pieces. But most recently, he's gained fame for the blue and red Obama poster which he apparently lifted from the original photograph, then photoshopped it and blew it up. He's being sued by the photographer who originated the image. Uhm uh-oh. And might I add, lol. BTW, Mr. Fearey has an arts degree. But while he seems adamant about not committing copyright infringement himself, he gets mad when other artists use his stuff for a base to their work.Which I think is hypicritical. That aside, I like his work.

I don't agree with 2 things. Tagging people's personal property, (houses, cars) or infringing on other people's work. At least, not without permission.

I also like Delta, whose work is so tranformative you can't tell there's even letters involved anymore. They look like industrial sculpture sketches or something. (check out his t-shirts) They're different from his early wall work and amazing. I also like Swoon whose work is more like 3D portrait than graffitti, I think. And light graffiti? Just wow.

There was this dude from Prague who did stuff based on shape that I liked too. Damn. Can't remember his name. Parskid, Eyesuck's Alex Pardee and his collegue Robert Bowen. These last 3 have gone legit and now paint. But these are just a few of my favorites. Street art is on the rise again. Most likely because of the wars and economy. Grafitti has a politital bent too.

It says, "Hey Mr. Government man, we're still poor and struggling and these are the real issues that concern us. We the people who are still here. Go ahead and  drink your vitaman water and tweet behind your pregnat wife's back. We're not going away."

And I couldn't be happier about it.

Which leads to the 2nd half of this installment. I have always created what I consider to be grafitti. Just never on a wall. As in out in public. Yeah, that apartment thing was a distaster. Thankfully, I didn't leave any evidence.  Mostly it's due to the fact that I'm too old to start, although I know about dudes in their late 30's and mid 40's who've been doing it from the start. But can you imagine me walking around with cans and paint sticks (also see buffalo markers) in my backpack?? While on crutches?? Come on, seriously?? I'm too old to pull a Mr. Brainwash. He sucks by the way. Can you say overnight fraud? (See 'Exit Through The Gift shop') But I do like his relative, Space Invader. His stuff might be ripped from another source, but his tecnique is unmatched. And who in the hell would carry the bucket of rice glue and broom??
Not me obviously. I might as well be wearing and ad for the cops, in that case.

A flashing LED screen that says, 'Arrest me!'

I just have been thinking about it. A lot. I can't seem to get anywhere doing things the right way. I've entertained such ridiculous ideas as one of the above mentioned showing up because they like my work and want to take me arounf the city putting my stuff up. I already said it was ridiculous. So go roll your eyes somewhere else.

I have folders overstuffed with random sketches and ideas that I conceptualized before I gave a fuck what anyone else thought. Some excellent stuff too. Original.

Wait. Before you go off on me, let me just say I don't carry an ego in the vane of "I'm the greatest artist of my time."

It's not like that. Believe me. I just remember when it was just about the expression and that's it. And I miss that. I have yet to find anyone out there that does it like me.

If I had the luxury of being inconspicuous, I'd make some stickers and start sticking them up around town. But since I know from experience that there's about a 15 second window before someone notices me, not gonna happen. Stay tuned. Maybe I'll talk about RL in the next post. But who wants that?

Chuck It

yay!