Love Letters to Japan

Last night I watched a PBS historical documentary about the last part of WWII between USA and Japan.

I was conceived while my father was on leave from the war. I was born the year before the A-bombs were dropped on Japaneses cities. When I was six I lived in occupied Japan. Activities of first grade for me included air raid drills. This is like a fire drill except you line up in fox holes.

I have so many associations and emotions about Japan that it would be impossible to write all about it and still get my home ready for family to come for Easter.

Many mixed feelings. Hyperactive monkey mind running out of control again. The horrible devastation of WWII. The beauty of Japanese culture. The discipline and honor bound pre WWII Japanese personality. The culture that created a national determination that prefered suicide to surrender.

"Shibui" is a Japanese word that means refined elegance. Shibui design is distilled to to the bare essentials of beauty.

"Wabi" is a Japanese word that means, refined rustic. Tea houses are wabi. Built like peasant huts with humble natural materials and superb craftsmanship. The tea ceremony is a ceremonially choreographed group meditation. Every move and every word carefully edited to produce an experience of serene harmony.

And now, the post WWII Japan gives us Anime and Murasaki. There is a focus on being shallow and infantile.

Sorry, I have to go now. Lots to do. Want to get my forest pruning exercise. Leaving you with another disjointed entry.

Have a wonderful Easter. Spring. Life renewal. Winter (death) is overtaken by the vibrance of fecund Mother Nature. Jesus was crucified at this time. Death. Resurrection. We celebrate with bunnies, renowned for their sexual addictions. Renowned for their fecundity. And eggs, symbols of birth, rebirth. May there be death to your personal gunk and rebirth to you light filled potential. Whatever.

Louvre Mask

I took the photograph of this mask in the Louvre. The mask was in a glass case and a reflection of the mask showed up in the photo. I wish that I had made notes on the origin of the mask, and have now forgotten when and where it was made. It is made of terra cotta. The background is scanned French wallpaper with the colors changed in photoshop.

Zephyr

Whatever Happened to Poor Cousin Boo Ray?
A Fractured Southern Gothic Tale

Aunt Tilly drove her beat up old Dodge hell bent pell-mell from Buford County, Mississippi, to New Orleans that drizzly evening in the mid sixties. I guess she had to escape her sweltering moldy family and explosive Uncle Model T before her rocker totally off tracked.

Cousin Boo Ray played quietly with his hot wheels in the back seat. I was all of sixteen years old, with my drivers license and white lipstick. Aunt Tilly let me drive until I scared the holy shit out of her. Then I was demoted to shotgun. Tilly chained smoked Lucky Strikes, gripped the stirring wheel with fingers thin as nails, while jibber jabbering under her breath. She was skeleton thin before it was chic to be afflicted with anorexia. Ahead of her time. She checked us into the Airline Highway Motelarama after midnight.

From the dingy room-smelling of human secretions-she phoned my mother to tell her that I was safe, not to worry. Then hung up on Mama when the phone began to sizzle. We all three slept in one crappy bed. Cousin Boo Ray tossed and kicked. I awoke disoriented, with Aunt Tilly hitting me. She apologized after I shook her, "Sorry, I thought you were Model T."

The next day was a number ten on the weather scale. A refreshing crisp of autumn in the air. I was about to pee my pants with excitement. I had only been to New Orleans once before, to attend a Billy Graham revival meeting with my fanatical Christian parents.

After cafe au lait and beignets Aunt Tilly bought me a padded push up bra for my breast buds. I didnt have much to push up but the bra had flattering foam rubber.

At Ponchatrain Beach Amusement Park we waited in line to board the Zephyr. Aunt Tilly said, "This is a very old roller coaster, I hope that they have replaced all the rotten boards" Sitting in the car with Cousin Boo Ray in the middle we jerked, ratcheting skyward, up a creaky ramp. "Hold your arms up," Tilly ordered when we reached the top. I screamed with delight. Falling, falling. Zooming down.

Boo Ray didnt know what to expect. He was overwhelmed by the force of gravity. After that he was broken. I think that terrifying roller coaster ride was the straw that broke the camels psyche. Too many nights crouching, trembling, under the bed while Tilly and Model T hammered and degraded each other.

In this picture you can see him before and after. I only visited him once at Whitfield, Mississippi State Hospital for Mental Diseases. He did not even know that I was there. Did not acknowledge my gift of Whitman's chocolates in the stunning box.

New Orleans was a thrilling day for me, super cool Aunt Tilly bought me a Mai Tai in a pagan idol glass at the Bali Hai Restaurant and Lounge. I was dazzled by the sophistication of the lounge decor. Back then, in New Orleans, they did not check ID, except for when it was close to election time. And the bra and cigarette made me look older. Tilly got tipsy and so did I.

Back home I hid the bra and pagan idol glass in the back of my closet with the birthday present carton of cigarettes that my Airman boy friend had given me. I began scheming about how I would move to New Orleans after graduating high school.

We did not notice that Cousin Boo Ray was broken until after we got home; and after we faced the family furor fireworks. He always was a quiet boy.

NOLA Kaleidoscope

Two photoshop images using the same elements. The streetcar named Desire, St. Louis Cathedral, and an alligator. The kaleidoscope also uses the Psychedelic Virgin of Guadalupe as a centerpiece.

Having fun with photoshop! Make images, combine them in different ways. I was an artist long before computers changed our world. When I heard about photoshop, about ten years ago, I knew that I must have it. At first I did not even know that to start, you must open a new file. I was immediately addicted. Taught myself during fascinated hours.

When I do something unpleasant, like paying bills, time is heavy, slow. When I paint or do photoshop or garden or spend time with my peoples time is light and flows.

In my ideal world (I have utopian fantasies) we would only do those things that inspire us.

Silver Creek

The robins are here, I watch them from my back porch. They hop in the yard graceful and jaunty. Kind of like Meg Ryan's walk, in that movie where she faked an orgasm in a restaurant.

Yesterday, I did my woods pruning. I call this gardening. I wear rubber boots. (I want a new pair, with a leopard pattern) Cover my head with kerchief and hat, wear leather gloves. I am still dealing with Katrina debris. Dead branches stuck in a string ball of thorn vines. Fallen trees. All this dead vegetation is now rotted and soft so that I can pull the dead branch mats out with gloves. I kick and stomp other debris where it crumbles to the ground. I prune lots of privit. Mark the fragrant Carolina Allspice with bright metallic ribbons.

I look at the changes. Changes that I and my peoples have done. Changes that Mother Nature has created as bushes turn into trees. With my arty sense I envision how this woods wants to look. I collaborate with Mother Nature to create geometry and kid friendly spaces.

Have a flowing day. Peace, Love and Art, Janet

Virgin Lucky Dog

Here is the psychedelic Virgin Mary blessing all the wienies in the Lucky Dog cart.

I have been making prints with my new Epson Stylus 14oo printer. They look beautiful! Rich color and wonderful detail. I get excited when I see the digital paintings on paper. Getting ready to start working art markets. Plan to start at Mandeville Trail Head Market soon. Will post dates when I know when I will be there.

Silver Creek

Spring coming! The clearing floor is dotted with sweet purple violets. My doggie, Harpo, flushed an armadillo. What funny critters. They prove that Goddess has a sense of humor. The creeks are high and muddy after the rain. Maybe next week I can start planting. Want to put out the fig and lemon trees that I have been babying in the guest bedroom. Chickies gave four brown and speckled eggs today.

Hell's Aliens Grand Master

An old friend from Los Angeles gave me the complicated web address and pass words to a highly confidential website published by the Congress of Deep Planet Archeology. My friend asked to remain anonymous. When I asked him if I could blog about the material on the web site he hesitated. "Janet, you may blog this, if you feel that you must. But, I must warn you not to expose yourself, there have been murders! It is just too dangerous."

Dear reader, you will soon understand how I was dumbfounded at the bizarre story revealed on the website.

At great risk to myself, I will tell you the implausible facts of the case. It is dangerous to publish this hidden information, but I believe the world should know the truth.

In July of 2008, archeologist exploring a labyrinth of tunnels beneath Los Angeles, discovered a luxurious underground bunker mansion. They found a subterranean structure encompassing 33 opulent rooms with fantastic furnishings.

The mansion had its own electrical system powered by magnetic waves from earths core. The advanced technology was eagarly examined by engineers.

Scientist discovered many mysterious machines. Artifacts inventoried included some of the earliest Harley Davidson motorcycle models. Enigmatic electronic equipment baffled the explorers. Strange machines with unknown configurations of micro technology were studied by a handful of scientists from the electronic and engineering fields. The scientist were skeptical but after careful examination, they had to concluded that these were devices for interstellar communications.

Lying close together in one large, beautiful room, the scientist found 69 unusual skeletons.

Autopsy of the skeletons brought even more unbelievable surprises. The humanoid bones fit into no known anatomical categories. It was whispered that the remains were human/alien hybrids, but none of the scientists wanted to risk their academic credentials by asserting this implausible fact.

The professors only had a few short days to examine the bunker before the ACI (American Control Institute.) heard about the find and sealed the site. The explorers were captured and transported blindfolded to a site more secret than area 54. Most of the archeologist and scientists involved endured painful cranial "treatments" at the hands of the ACI Department of Memory Enhancement. Which is code doublespeak for a team of vicious memory erasure experts.

Gilbert Ford, PhD, eluded the ACI captors. Then, he escaped by sailing with his wife and children to Belize. From a secluded villa he was able to contact other members of the Congress for Deep Planet Archeology, and publish his findings and photographs to the top secret website.

Dr. Ford's extensive research lead him to courageously propose a theory about the case. He believes that circa 1948 the bunker was home to a highly unusual motorcycle gang. The members of this club were human/alien hybrids.

Beings from a distant, as yet undiscovered galaxy crashed their ship in Death Valley about 1922. Unable to return to their home planet they resigned themselves to life on earth. Traveling by night they made their way to Los Angeles. They called themselves Hell's Aliens.

Earth women were recruited into the club where they were treated like Goddess Queens. Just as all earth women should be treated.

Unions between the aliens and human women produced a small race of extremely intelligent and superbly athletic beings. They built their bunker mansion and lived covert lives of creativity and joy.

They were able to mingle in the world, disguised with motorcycle helmets. They founded Harley Davidson, invented and developed motorcycles. Hell's Aliens could ride like the wind.

The ET's saw the stupidity, the confusion of humans. They empathized with the suffering of life on earth. They saw great potential for the human race. They began to instigate reforms. The Hell's Aliens discovered gentle, meditative, mind enhancing techniques. They meditated as a group and sent positive love vibrations to the whole human race. IMAGINE was the name given to the meditation project. These vibrations helped humans improve emotional intelligence, decision making skills, and interpersonal skills.

They were on the brink of wonderful evolutionary changes. They would help humans create paradise on earth. The potential was there, it just needed a little, psychic nudging. AND... more time.

The Hell's Aliens maintained their anonymity for several decades before being discovered by the ACI.

In the few years that operation IMAGINE was performed astonishing changes occurred. Small groups and individual humans benefitted from their interventions and took evolutionary psychological jumps. A lucky few people absorbed the vibrations and began to fulfill the utopian potential that Goddess intends for her humans.

Sadly, the peaceful Hell's Aliens were gassed in their beautiful bunker mansion. The hybrids were stalked by the ACI. Poisoned gas was released, contaminating the dwelling for thirty years. They were killed by ignorance and prejudice. (A typical occurrence on earth.) They were destroyed by human fear.

I was able to download this fantastic portrait of the Hell's Aliens Grand Master before my computer began to crash. The image degraded to a certain extent but I restored it with photoshop.

Dear reader, I understand your difficulty in comprehending this implausible incident. I, too, could not believe what I read. Then a strange peace came over me and all the puzzle pieces fit in place. I knew that this was not just another alien hoax. I knew the full truth.

Please let me know how this effects you and what you think. If you have any information about Hell's Aliens or the subterranean Los Angeles bunker mansion, please share your information.

We need to investigate this occurrence. The future of the human race depends on it.

Aunt Moonbeam and Unkle Apple Skelly