Saturday, May 8, 2010
Timetary
Two low rez stock images loaded from the web. Painted in photo-shop. New Orleans icons, masks and ornate raised graves. Spoooky!
The Old Hotel, Part Three
Banty, Carol and I, giggling from sheer animal vitality and sunshine, skip from the porch. Black velvet and cobalt butterflies land on Papa Gordon's pajamas, drying on the line.
At fifteen years old, Banty is way ahead of me in sophistication. She wears a very tight dark skirt. A three inch leather belt cinches her waist, accentuating an hour glass figure. Dark brown, long wavy hair and electric blue eyes. A few pimples. She limps on feet disfigured by the mysterious illness she suffered in her fifth year. The boys are crazy about her. On a chain around her neck hangs the class ring of Bobby, the cutest boy at Weir Middle School.
Carefully, we climb between the barbed wires of the fence. We run across the field, screaming and sweating, and startling the cows just for the fun of seeing them run away. We dodge cow patties. On one pile of shit, a covey of butterflies dance. I think that they are eating cow shit. I am disillusioned, how can such elegant creatures eat shit? The field crossed, we climb through the fence, and out onto the baking red clay road. A little way down the road, we come to the forest path.
I feel a frisson, both apprehension and excitement just before we enter the forest.
It is cool in the deep shade. Virgin pine trees. Thick trunks reach straight and tall to the sky. High overhead, a canopy of blue green needles, underfoot, a carpet of red brown needles. We walk quietly, subdued by the forest grandeur. My consciousness switches to the channel of evanescent mist.
The path skirts a sandy bottomed, clear amber creek. Then, we arrive at the swimming hole. Because of the depth of the water, it is black. Blue sky, white cloud and green pine reflections flutter on the surface. I am transfixed by the liquid color play.
Faintly I hear Banty, "Jan, Jan".
Carol says, "She cant hear you. She is unconscious, nothing in her head but air". They laugh at me and I am saddened with embarrassment.
We sit on the pine needle carpet and light cigarettes with wooden kitchen matches. Banty shares her cigarette with me. "Here," she says, "smoke some of this coffin nail." She fingers the ring hanging from the chain. We swat mosquitoes.
"I saw Bobby talking to that prissy ass Sally Jo. I told him that if he does that again I will break up with him."
Carol says, "I saw him talking to Irene, the slut".
Banty says, "I am gonna kick his ass. She eats cock for breakfast."
I know that they are talking about sex, but I do not understand the mechanics. Burning curiosity gnaws at me, but I do not ask questions. Questions would expose my ignorance, and that, would be just too embarrassing.
"Why did Bernice pay you?" I ask.
"She gave us a dime and cigarettes, not to tell you, Miss Vacuum Head." says Carol in a self satisfied, mocking tone.
"Please tell!" I beg.
"She didnt want us to tell, that her boy friend came to the hotel," Banty's voice glitters with excitement. "We were suppose to watch the kids, while they 'did it' in room 116." She pokes me with her elbow, "He put his dick in her pussy and pumped up and down". She laughs with gusto. I am satisfied to put some of the sex puzzle pieces together.
"We listened outside the door and heard them moaning and grunting and banging." Carol says, "Ha ha. You missed it, Miss Cloud Head. Miss Stuck Up, nose in the air."
"Woo-hoo" Banty yells. She runs and jumps into the swimming hole, clothes, leather belt, and all. Carol does a butt busting, cannon ball into the water. I ease in the icy water slowly from a shallow edge.
Invigorated, splashing and whooping. The black silk water sparkles. We are shiny birds of youth, and the earth is new.
Walking back to the Old Hotel, on the clay road, a car passes us and kicks up dust. Red clay mud clings to our wet clothes.
At fifteen years old, Banty is way ahead of me in sophistication. She wears a very tight dark skirt. A three inch leather belt cinches her waist, accentuating an hour glass figure. Dark brown, long wavy hair and electric blue eyes. A few pimples. She limps on feet disfigured by the mysterious illness she suffered in her fifth year. The boys are crazy about her. On a chain around her neck hangs the class ring of Bobby, the cutest boy at Weir Middle School.
Carefully, we climb between the barbed wires of the fence. We run across the field, screaming and sweating, and startling the cows just for the fun of seeing them run away. We dodge cow patties. On one pile of shit, a covey of butterflies dance. I think that they are eating cow shit. I am disillusioned, how can such elegant creatures eat shit? The field crossed, we climb through the fence, and out onto the baking red clay road. A little way down the road, we come to the forest path.
I feel a frisson, both apprehension and excitement just before we enter the forest.
It is cool in the deep shade. Virgin pine trees. Thick trunks reach straight and tall to the sky. High overhead, a canopy of blue green needles, underfoot, a carpet of red brown needles. We walk quietly, subdued by the forest grandeur. My consciousness switches to the channel of evanescent mist.
The path skirts a sandy bottomed, clear amber creek. Then, we arrive at the swimming hole. Because of the depth of the water, it is black. Blue sky, white cloud and green pine reflections flutter on the surface. I am transfixed by the liquid color play.
Faintly I hear Banty, "Jan, Jan".
Carol says, "She cant hear you. She is unconscious, nothing in her head but air". They laugh at me and I am saddened with embarrassment.
We sit on the pine needle carpet and light cigarettes with wooden kitchen matches. Banty shares her cigarette with me. "Here," she says, "smoke some of this coffin nail." She fingers the ring hanging from the chain. We swat mosquitoes.
"I saw Bobby talking to that prissy ass Sally Jo. I told him that if he does that again I will break up with him."
Carol says, "I saw him talking to Irene, the slut".
Banty says, "I am gonna kick his ass. She eats cock for breakfast."
I know that they are talking about sex, but I do not understand the mechanics. Burning curiosity gnaws at me, but I do not ask questions. Questions would expose my ignorance, and that, would be just too embarrassing.
"Why did Bernice pay you?" I ask.
"She gave us a dime and cigarettes, not to tell you, Miss Vacuum Head." says Carol in a self satisfied, mocking tone.
"Please tell!" I beg.
"She didnt want us to tell, that her boy friend came to the hotel," Banty's voice glitters with excitement. "We were suppose to watch the kids, while they 'did it' in room 116." She pokes me with her elbow, "He put his dick in her pussy and pumped up and down". She laughs with gusto. I am satisfied to put some of the sex puzzle pieces together.
"We listened outside the door and heard them moaning and grunting and banging." Carol says, "Ha ha. You missed it, Miss Cloud Head. Miss Stuck Up, nose in the air."
"Woo-hoo" Banty yells. She runs and jumps into the swimming hole, clothes, leather belt, and all. Carol does a butt busting, cannon ball into the water. I ease in the icy water slowly from a shallow edge.
Invigorated, splashing and whooping. The black silk water sparkles. We are shiny birds of youth, and the earth is new.
Walking back to the Old Hotel, on the clay road, a car passes us and kicks up dust. Red clay mud clings to our wet clothes.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Woman's Back
This image started as an acrylic on canvas painting. A photograph of the painting was worked in photo-shop. That is when the wings were added. Hi saturated color. The original is 24 megabytes. This version completed today.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Iris Eyes Shining
Digital image. Original 23.3M. Stock traditional Japanese picture from Dover Cd. The round thing started as eyes with iris and pupil, but as they were worked and reworked turned into something that looks more like flowers.
The Old Hotel, Dog Days of August
She silly sally down the hall way. Skip and dip. Stutter, flutter. Kicking up little dust clouds. Aroma of human effluvium.
As I leave the sunny corner room, Aunt Kat is efficiently dressing Papa Gordon in his pajamas. Her soothing voice calms him down. Changes his mode from Hell Fire to quiet rest.
I am wearing pedal pushers and a polka dot blouse sewn for me by Mama. The hall is long, gray, receives sunlight only at the two ends. My mind slides to its channel of choice. A dreamy, wordless place. I drift past Aunt Kat and Uncle Jack's rooms, numbers 113 and 115. Aunt Tilly and Boo Ray live in room 117. On the right are a string of desolate vacant rooms. I pass dining room and kitchen, and at the end of the hall, the communal bathrooms. Then, down the outdoor back stairs and through the screen door to the first floor hall. Feet navigating, mind in clouds. The August southern heat is oppressive.
I enter my family bedroom. Hank is driving his cars over Peggy's dolls. Bernice is tuning the radio. Hank grins and joggles to me with arms reaching open. "Sissy, Sissy, read book. Read Buzz Bunny."
Bernice is the babysitter for Hank while Mama works. Mama is secretary a few hours a week to the only lawyer in Weir, Mississippi. Bernice has a cushioned body, a long dirty blond pony tail, pale blue eyes. She is wearing a flowered blouse and a faded green gathered skirt. She sits in a straight wooden chair and turns the imitation ivory dial of the brown plastic radio. The radio emits weird zippy sounds as she scrolls the stations.
Three year old Peggy lurches to Bernice, squeezes between her legs, and tugs at her mother's blouse. Bernice stops turning the radio dial when she finds Elvis singing, "Warden threw a party in the county jail." Her soft shoulders see saw to the rhythm of the music. Peggy is trying to get under her mother's blouse. Bernice lifts her blouse and pops out her huge milk melon. Peggy slurps at the pap while standing on sturdy plump legs.
"Sissy, Sissy, read Buzz Bunny!" I pick up Hank and the book and carry them to the back porch. Sit in big wooden rocking chair. Snuggle three year old boy chub. Read, "Hoppity, hoppity." The over worked electric washing machine spins with death rattle noise. Beside it is an old wringer washer.
The back porch looks onto a big cow field. In the near distance are lines of scraggly drying laundry with butterflies swarming about. In the far distance is a thick woods, veined with a creek. One area of the creek has been dynamited to create a deep black swimming hole.
Hank and I doze dreamily, gently rocking. I dream that I am trying to water a flower bed, but the hose is stopped up. I shake and squeeze the hose, but water only dribbles out.
Noise of flip flops and screen door slam. "Where have yall been?" I ask Carol and Banty as they jiggle from the hallway to the porch.
My sister Carol is eleven, two years my junior. To my humiliation, she is more developed than I am. She always wins our rivalry fights because she is meaner and stronger willed than I am. Her bangs frizz over her high forehead and tweezed eyebrows. Mischief jets from her blue gray eyes. The sides of her hair fall obediently straight to poufs of tight curls just below her ears. She wears a blue boat neck blouse and a gathered skirt sewn from cotton by Mother. She eats a Snickers bar. "We wont tell you!" she snickers.
"Bernice paid us a dime to keep our mouths shut," Banty says. "And," she says waving two cigarettes, "look what else she gave us." I beg to know why they were paid, but they will not tell me. Banty says that we should go to the swim hole to smoke.
I carry the sleeping Hank to the double bed where Peggy is napping. Bernice is singing along with the radio. "One for the money. Two for the show. Three to get ready, now go cat go."She tosses her pony tail in rhythm.
Dozo saunters in. Sniffs. Lies down beside the bed and immediately falls asleep.
As I leave the sunny corner room, Aunt Kat is efficiently dressing Papa Gordon in his pajamas. Her soothing voice calms him down. Changes his mode from Hell Fire to quiet rest.
I am wearing pedal pushers and a polka dot blouse sewn for me by Mama. The hall is long, gray, receives sunlight only at the two ends. My mind slides to its channel of choice. A dreamy, wordless place. I drift past Aunt Kat and Uncle Jack's rooms, numbers 113 and 115. Aunt Tilly and Boo Ray live in room 117. On the right are a string of desolate vacant rooms. I pass dining room and kitchen, and at the end of the hall, the communal bathrooms. Then, down the outdoor back stairs and through the screen door to the first floor hall. Feet navigating, mind in clouds. The August southern heat is oppressive.
I enter my family bedroom. Hank is driving his cars over Peggy's dolls. Bernice is tuning the radio. Hank grins and joggles to me with arms reaching open. "Sissy, Sissy, read book. Read Buzz Bunny."
Bernice is the babysitter for Hank while Mama works. Mama is secretary a few hours a week to the only lawyer in Weir, Mississippi. Bernice has a cushioned body, a long dirty blond pony tail, pale blue eyes. She is wearing a flowered blouse and a faded green gathered skirt. She sits in a straight wooden chair and turns the imitation ivory dial of the brown plastic radio. The radio emits weird zippy sounds as she scrolls the stations.
Three year old Peggy lurches to Bernice, squeezes between her legs, and tugs at her mother's blouse. Bernice stops turning the radio dial when she finds Elvis singing, "Warden threw a party in the county jail." Her soft shoulders see saw to the rhythm of the music. Peggy is trying to get under her mother's blouse. Bernice lifts her blouse and pops out her huge milk melon. Peggy slurps at the pap while standing on sturdy plump legs.
"Sissy, Sissy, read Buzz Bunny!" I pick up Hank and the book and carry them to the back porch. Sit in big wooden rocking chair. Snuggle three year old boy chub. Read, "Hoppity, hoppity." The over worked electric washing machine spins with death rattle noise. Beside it is an old wringer washer.
The back porch looks onto a big cow field. In the near distance are lines of scraggly drying laundry with butterflies swarming about. In the far distance is a thick woods, veined with a creek. One area of the creek has been dynamited to create a deep black swimming hole.
Hank and I doze dreamily, gently rocking. I dream that I am trying to water a flower bed, but the hose is stopped up. I shake and squeeze the hose, but water only dribbles out.
Noise of flip flops and screen door slam. "Where have yall been?" I ask Carol and Banty as they jiggle from the hallway to the porch.
My sister Carol is eleven, two years my junior. To my humiliation, she is more developed than I am. She always wins our rivalry fights because she is meaner and stronger willed than I am. Her bangs frizz over her high forehead and tweezed eyebrows. Mischief jets from her blue gray eyes. The sides of her hair fall obediently straight to poufs of tight curls just below her ears. She wears a blue boat neck blouse and a gathered skirt sewn from cotton by Mother. She eats a Snickers bar. "We wont tell you!" she snickers.
"Bernice paid us a dime to keep our mouths shut," Banty says. "And," she says waving two cigarettes, "look what else she gave us." I beg to know why they were paid, but they will not tell me. Banty says that we should go to the swim hole to smoke.
I carry the sleeping Hank to the double bed where Peggy is napping. Bernice is singing along with the radio. "One for the money. Two for the show. Three to get ready, now go cat go."She tosses her pony tail in rhythm.
Dozo saunters in. Sniffs. Lies down beside the bed and immediately falls asleep.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
I Talk to Trees
SPRING! Drink in the beauty of spring green leaves and sparkling flowers. See it, feel it. Enjoying beauty has a holistic effect on your being. Taking time to appreciate spring will make you feel better. A minute or two will lift your mood up a notch. The better you feel, the better you perform. Could have a spiral effect on your whole life.
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