sometime you just might

I felt no sense of relief, no burden lifted when the last job application was sent out; yet, I cannot say I was expecting a rise of that emotion and therefore did not feel disappointed either. There was work to be done around the place, as well as an empty drafting table. And errands to run, all in response to another hard deadline next week, this one with some potential for fun. So there's that.

The weather has been spotty, clear skies off and on, rain, sleet and a little snow in between, so I've alternated between the yard and the barn, cleaning up the branches and suckers pruned from the fruit and filbert trees, or building shipping crates for that east coast exhibit in a couple months. Not too exciting, but I do have some photos.

I sat in the barn a while thinking about this task. All of these long suckers on the filberts destined for the burn pile seemed to have more potential in them. Right now they're bound with bailing twine and I'm thinking I'll leave them like that and slap this title on the pillar: (For full effect bind with green briars.) To clarify, the parenthetical would be the title. There's a reason that may be too hard to explain at the moment but seems to coincide with running notions of bathos and abjection. Good lapsed Catholics might understand.

This crate contains the emulsified art magazines and a small box of coyote bones. I used recycled one-by-twelves for a reason, as I intend for the shipping crates to be part of the installation. I think I need to put a patina on those fresh cuts.

OK, back to the weather. I don't need much of an excuse to stay indoors when the rain and cold persists, which is pretty much what today looked like for the first half. But, like I said, I had errands, including a trip to the barber, and as is often my habit, a ride around the perimeter of town "just to see."  Well, I saw.

They're up and flying because of my mischief. And when I returned home, I discovered a use for the Photoshop diffuse filter.

But I'm getting ahead of myself, because after shooting these photos, I didn't want to go home right away. I wanted one more photo.

 And even though I have been on this road and seen this view a hundred times, I realized I needed the drive and this shot more than just want it.

Recreational player redefined

I know, oh yes, that the free play games, the pale ghost left for many of us, may be a conversation better left unsaid, perhaps like one's favorite porn sites.  Even to imply...

And yes, the victories are shallow, hollow and the denominations garnered fallow.

So, why do people collude?

As I've mentioned in the past, I've been playing a lot of O-8 and for a little variety, Five Card Draw, both Fixed Limit.  (Why anyone would want to play these as NL games is beyond me.) I've noticed in the O-8 games that people get very upset when some nut case comes to a table and raises or re-raises every hand. "There goes the game." The same holds true in 5 Card. I've been at a passive table playing the latter and been chastised for raising AATT from late position. People want to see the flop or get a draw for every hand just to see if they hit, which, to my mind, is the height of what it means to be a recreational player. Almost.

Add to that, there are some tables on which any hand won is followed by a bevy of "nh," "n3," "VVNH," etc. Maybe the last is called for when one has quads or gets paid off handsomely for a better FH or scoop, but otherwise, gimme a break. Not surprisingly, some of these tables are chat-fests, and, indeed, it is evident that many of these players are very familiar with each other, using first names, talking about family matters or, in the case of one player, complaining about how grossly overweight she is while confessing to eating three boxes of Girl Scout cookies in one sitting. I shit you not. And then there's the player who relates the problems she is having with her 15 year old daughter, yet she can be found in a low limit 5 Card game at any time of day or night. Figure that one out, lady.

Along with all of this chatty familiarity among players, I've noticed in one 5 Card game the occasional typed "d" or "db" where the betting among the regulars all but stops, leaving only one of them and the aggro or stranger in the hand. It took only a few hands to realize what was happening.  Why?

It goes against my online nature to pass judgement on how people spend their free time, even if it appears that all they have is free time to play poker for no monetary gain whatsoever. And, I can even tolerate the limp fests, although I refuse to accommodate their style. The same goes for the excessive chat, as long as they can type fast. But the cheating? I have begun to avoid the table where these players congregate, although I do wonder if the site should not be informed.

Lazy fuckers.

The last month

Slowly but surely I am incorporating more figurative and landscape features into these pieces.  As I have said before, I draw, paint and sculpt when words seem to prefer to remain under the bed. The above-mentioned demarcations (object and horizon) can be seen as tenuous, exploratory steps toward a more concrete expressiveness that may very well play out elsewhere. I'd prefer to maintain a mere suggestive quality to the drawings, but I'll tell you, sometimes I just want to write all over them too.

The jig is (almost) up

 In the final stages of the last job app. Just need some clarification on how exactly to fax images and expect them to come through with any resemblance to the original digital images, let alone the actual work.

It occurred to me  today as I craft yet another opening paragraph specific to the institution that I am engaged in a very sophisticated form of begging. Pandering, panhandling, not much difference, and, mistaking a passion as an avocation instead of an advocacy, I wonder if I might have missed my calling as a politician. But then I would have to be more measured in my misrepresentations than the license of fiction or fantasy allow.

Nevertheless, there is a strategy implemented that the above hapless amblyopic myope has recognized, if not for its practicality: I have nothing of real value to offer save my wit. The tragedy is that only insiders can appreciate the irony cum pathos, commiseration readily forthcoming but in that they already have theirs, necessarily powerless to help.

A most unbecoming attitude, frustration magnified and disillusion that corresponding, merciless (should the last bit of hope stray into its path) fine point of light.

But just in case, I suppose I should start preparing for an interview.

Between two points

I may have missed a deadline. 20th received or postmarked? No idea, but I suppose a phone call on that date will set me straight. A longer shot than the distance it has to travel anyway.

Options are beginning to run low. Some idea will come to the surface by the end of the month. Should. After that, I'll be wearing my snorkel gear for a couple weeks. It's a long way to swim to see a new granddaughter.

Word on the street is that this is a fairly good read, despite a typo and omission. Been a while.

Overheard

At the Market & Deli, which means packaged, processed foods, energy drinks, beer and cigarettes. The two women, the cashier and a customer are in an aisle. The customer is talking loud and fast, one sign, with a raspy voice and no teeth, two others.

"Yesterday I came to town with a full pack and they're all gone. Family is all in town on account of my cousin dying."

"He died?" asked the cashier.

"Yep, drowned in the river. It was in the paper this morning. You didn't see it? Not on the front page but back in a section.  Shame too, him gettin' out of jail just Thursday. So, I'm here just giving comfort to the family."

Don't ask. Too late!

Landscape

Seascape

Effort

I am tempted to think of myself as working in relative obscurity. I am, except one will note the qualifier.

There are people who are looking out for my best interests. I assume the rest are busy.

The first round of job apps are out, another three waiting for me to get motivated, freed up, and, quite frankly, in better health. I don't know all that piled on this last few days, the bullies. Persistent lot, they. (That's the thing with bullies, see? It's not random after the first time. Random is more manageable. Remember that.) Anyway, I've turned a corner and shaken at least one off my tail and hope for more insight later today. So, I would expect to be back up to speed by tomorrow. 

A more subtle qualifier, there, for I have not been idle in my waking hours. I'd show you, but Blogger seems to have other ideas this morning.

Call it what you like

It's been a week... no, over. Eight days since last. A time for contemplation mixed with action then more contemplation, which is not the same as inaction. Nor absence.

In short, I have been thinking about past intimacies gone sour, whether predisposed or ... always... which may in part account for what the Chinese call "dampness" on my tongue and the scattered pulse, the heart swimming elsewhere in stagnant waters. No wonder, this persistent chill despite the hot shower and having toweled-off as thoroughly as possible.

There are times, as I have mentioned before, where words fail, histories play out, and though recognized as such, contain new components that elude elucidation. New (dare I call them) monsters, gremlin-like ankle-biters stinging shins raw, poetry at its most passive-aggressive. Words fail the doing, evidenced by trailing shards of serifs.

It is best not to speak of such battles, the glory in distraction.

"Howdy, folks!" Lonnie shouted as we came through the door. Fifty-some people turned to see. Lonnie was sitting at the counter when we walked in to the crowded cafe. New to town, we barely knew Lonnie, for he had been the tow driver who guided our vehicle to our new home. We blew our radiator just shy of our destination and Lonnie had our rapt attention for two hours after a fifteen minute tow. "Small town," was my only comment afterward to the wife, as I was more familiar with Lonnie's propensity than she.

"Hey, Lonnie. How are you?" I asked as we spotted and moved toward the last remaining table toward the rear.

"Just fine," he answered. "Did y'all get a chance to have that radiator fixed yet at the shop I told ya was the best?"

"Yes, and thanks again for your help."

"Aw, was nuthin. I seen plenty of bad cooling systems in my day and I could probably have fixed it myself but I have to be ready at a moment's notice for a tow..."

The waitress handed us our menus and we alternated between looking at the offerings and glancing up at Lonnie, for even though he was a good forty feet away from us in this filled-to-capacity but quiet lunch room, he continued to talk, adjusting his volume for the distance.

"... and they had all five kids in the car with them..."

This went on for a couple minutes and mixed in with other quieter conversations that had picked up again after we were seated, until further down the counter a woman began yelling, at first unintelligible, fighting for a volume over Lonnie's.

"You're just talkin' to hear yourself!" at which point the room went quiet again, Lonnie included.

What does a relative stranger do with such a truth?