oki,this is the thread to put creative thoughts/pictures whatever...I think a lot of you make art and I would like to see/hear/smell it. oy; I make art everyday. I write too. here's something to start. I realli do hate sleeping alone, my bedroom is creeping with silent sounds :movement: the mice inside my walls squeak&squeal&scutter. Suddenly this overwhelming sense of fear fills this place. I feel frozen; every part of my body is pinned to the bed. My eyes bounce around every corner of the room until they sink deeper and deeper into darkness. The darkness bleeds whispering softly, 'hell is not too far away', swoosh! The room opens with a yawn and down I fall. I frantically clutch onto the sides of the bed with all my might, but it's not enough. I'm being dragged off the bed my fingers loose their grip, my body feels like a corpse being yanked&tugged&flung into the burning flames of hell, the crackling blaze fills my ears like no noise I have ever heard before. The devils laugh. My face is burning, my eyes glaze over but only for a second because then the tears come. Not normal tears; my chest heaves inwards and outwards and inwards and outwards fabricating cries from every pore, so many tears keep falling and falling my bare feet start slipping in the wet. Little by little my tears drown out the flames. My eyes feel puffy but my skin feels soft. The fire is gone but I'm still breathing heavily, though it slows. In and out. A soft creamy white pours through the slits of my eyes suddenly I'm being picked up by a beautiful man. His hands feel like silk the soft creamy white soaks into my whole body. I feel like a tiny bunny being cupped by the most perfect man. Gently he lays me onto the bed and lightly kisses my forehead. My eyes are shut but the light shines through colouring my lids with a mellow slick of peach. It's morning. Everything's ok, 'Lindsay; your stronger than you think'
I come to holding half a bottle of vodka in one hand and a cowboy boot in the other. I’m laying on a hard slab of parking lot next to a maroon Buick Century. The song Here Comes the Sun plays in my head for some reason. Four men dressed as women step out of the beat up red pickup truck. The women all walk like they have dicks tucked between their legs. I pull myself to a standing position with the help of the Buick I’m sleeping next to. I shake my head and rub my eyes. I try to recall whose cowboy boot I’m holding, but I have no recollection of the past 48 hours. It’s brown and tan with little tassles around the edges and a zig-zag pattern going up the side. It’s a men’s size 10. I scratch my head in an attempt to facilitate recall. After a moment, I wake up and realize that I’m standing in a parking lot with a half bottle of vodka and a boot, watching the arriving contestants of a drag contest. Transvestites pour from every corner of the block and flow into the front entrance-a river of masculine shaved legs and shimmering eye shadow. I’ve got to get out of here, I tell myself. It’s like a John Waters film. I buy a breakfast sandwich from the closest gas station and head to the bathroom. My gums are bleeding and white. I smile into the mirror as I wipe the blood off my teeth with the only part of my shirt that’s still white enough to be considered clean. :cheers2:
I was totally pulled into that. It's not what I'd expect from you, the shimmering eyeshadow part. is it true story? oy oki, you answered before I asked. a poem: Too late. The two saddest words in the dictionary. Further and further each time, moving further and further away. That thing bites love and no intocicated merry go round can clear me. And it's so much easier when it's pure and I'm afraid to dirty it and with mud, but we came from mud and from you. And why does everything that feels so good Pollute? And everything that felt so good, gone. Left in memories. In clearing out my wardrobe and finding that T-shirt you gave me to sleep in. Letting my lungs fill with your scent and knowing that it'll never be the same again. And everytime it just makes me run because I am never sleeping alone. He doesn't have to taste as such, Sarah. It's not like he's died before. It's not like were only mud. .................................................
There are two problems with mankind that I’ve found to be universal. The first is Ignorance. I step off the bus and into the cold night air. I carefully step around a puddle of human urine as I make my way through the parking lot and into the darkness. I pull out a forty of Steel Reserve from my bag and twist off the top. The familiar roar of highway 183 welcomes me and I walk beside her. Cars pass rapidly as I traverse the rocky shoulder. Prejudice is a form of ignorance, too. This is how it works: It’s making a decision about someone before becoming aware of the relevant facts. A business man would never engage in apparent prejudice, because this would be bad for the bottom line. Bits of brown paper bag stick to my fingers as I switch hands and shift the weight of my backpack from one shoulder to the other. I throw my head back and take a big swig and I can hear somebody’s car stereo booming as they pass. Two motorcycles race by. Sometimes it’s not as obvious as a big hand painted sign tacked to the front of a trailer park proclaiming ‘no niggers or mexacins!’ Ever notice that the commercials during ‘black’ TV programs include an all-black cast? In case you didn’t know, subtle racism can be employed both for demographically sound advertising and a gain in profit margins. Ketchup splattered across the side of my face as a hamburger hit the wall beside me and disintegrated into tiny hamburger bits. I turned to see the tail lights of a red pickup disappear into the darkness as I wipe my face with my shirt. I take another sip of my forty and lick some of the ketchup off my fingers. I stop for a minute to wipe the ketchup off my backpack with the bottom of my shirt. I chug the last bit of the bottle and throw it in the grass. Jarde was sitting in the armchair, sipping a glass of jack and coke when I came in the door, expounding on the virtues of the DC punk scene in the eighties with Adam, who sat across from him in a rocking chair, holding a joint in one hand and a bottle of Shiner in the other. Jarde spoke slowly with a southern drawl. Jarde is from a deep south east Texas town where prejudice is equal opportunity. There was a show on TV about zombies attacking the sovereign island nation of Cuba where the women were beautiful and the living dead ripped skin from bones on rocky beaches. A vacationing couple reluctantly take on the helm of part time zombie hunters. The joints stopped circling eventually, and glasses emptied as we all settled in for the night. Zombie hunters with shotguns traveled from ramshackle hut to beach and back again, blasting the heads and torsos from the flesh-hungry undead. I dozed off at one point, feeling comfortable amongst friends, who were spread across the living room in various states of consciousness. My head drooped over the arm of the couch and I drooled into a little pool on the carpet. Zombies eat the head off a pretty white lady and a few other people, including local law enforcement. Survivors take shelter in a farmhouse with a sample of Cuban locals and wait it out until morning. :cheers2:
Here is the most recent song we wrote, bf wrote the music and I came up with the lyrics.. but I hate how writing out songs never does them justice... V1 You whisked me away to a foreign land and I didn't make a sound We smiled as we sank into the sand and laughed as it sucked us down And if the life so simple takes you in comes the surf to rouse and wake you A blast of clear and salty thought ch And as we dance along drawn to the warmth of the sweet swan's song Something you always knew grabs you by the heart and devours you So now release your fear there's nothing you can lose if you enter here V2 The train slid in at 10 past 2 I met you at the gate The world back then seemed so damn huge compared to our mortal state And after that the time went flying You cannot live until you're dying so don't forget the cost of life
I wish I could find better art pics, but here are a couple my tattoo hippie art I get a whole room with high ceilings at my new house to paint and make jewelry.. yeeay!
thanks, it's not done yet, but we are working on getting a lot of stuff recorded. I will def link some when we get further into it your art is amazing btw, I love what you're doing with color and shapes. I might bite some of your ideas
you should post some videos if you have any of you performing zilla sad clown sketch I did tonight,,,I will have to find better pictures of my arttt
Maybe I will get someone to record us next time we play, or just do a vid for you guys... that's an adorable clown Lux, and NP I would totally buy a print... or even an original if I had the $$, I love having original artwork.
parts of one big painting: and these voodo type teddies were nailed on. about 20 of them monoprinted with
deal, maybe we can split a 12er Lux I like your style, it is kinda morbid bohemian or something... can't pin it but it's original and cool.
