Full Worm Moon

Full Worm Moon

Such a lovely name, that Full Worm Moon. Glad that I got a peak at it last night! The photo is not mine.

RIP

At 2:45am on Friday (3/26/10) morning my father finally succumbed to the cancer that had been slowly killing him for ten years. Mom called me at 2am from the nursing home and my sister and I got there just as he was being pronounced deceased. Shortly thereafter my brothers and their wives arrived.
Owing that Dad left his body to science, the nurses placed bags of ice around him and opened the window (it was gently snowing outside). A very strange experience while we comforted Mom and each other.
Every one of us had a complicated, if not conflicted, relationship with Dad. He was not an easy man to love or to be around. The biggest mark he left on me is that it is nearly impossible to say something cruel or cutting to me and have me be hurt in the least. That part of me just got toughened up as a child. Kind of like being desensitized after repeated nerve damage. I don't know.
Anyway, he's gone now, in a way. But there's a legacy that remains in each of his children. Especially my brothers, one of whom Dad took a swing at when Dad finally went into the nursing facility. If Mom's smart she won't have any of us give the eulogy at his memorial service and instead tap someone who didn't know him very well or one of his old drinking buddies.

I Am Right There

Oh, Who Cares #1

Lichen, possibly edible, probably poisonous, grows on the stone wall right beneath a niche where some birds nest.

Whitey's One Trick

Whitey Showing Off, 2010

It's a little freaky how cats can just lift a back leg straight up in the air so that they can groom/clean their unmentionables. I don't want to even think what would happen to civilization if humans could do this. We wouldn't have civilization. We just wouldn't.

Hey Zeus On Velvet

Hideous Lamp, 2010

I really don't know why the crushed velvet lamp shade doesn't have a painting of Elvis baptizing the baby Jesus on it. The whole thing is ruined for me now because for some reason, in my brain, there is an expectation that will never be actualized. Life is so fucking hard.

Just a Ghoul, Looking For Love

Shervin Iranshahr, Scorched...and then torn

The other day I picked up an artist's announcement card at a coffee shop, folded it neatly and stuffed it in my pocket. Later I checked out his website online, bookmarked it, and tore up the card. The torn pieces laid on top of a box of extra staples for a week or so, until I was bored and taped some of them back together. I have zero fine motor skills, as evidenced here. Still, his work is fun, in a ghoulish way(check out his website!), and maybe this haphazard miasma of mine adds some disposable, post post modern element. Yeah, I'll stick with that!

How Do These Things Happen?

Sneaking Home Naked, 2006

Let's say that you went out with your friends one evening and you got really trashed at some bar along the riverfront and then suddenly (possibly magically) you're naked, but you do have a can of black spray paint in your possession. What do you do? I suppose it makes perfect sense to take breaks from the mad dashes between bushes and stop at a cement barrier to record your zany adventure!

As Time Goes By

People Who Are Now Dead, Kissing 1928

People and their hormones, it's like lemmings off a cliff. I have no idea who these people are in the picture, or what the 'S' stands for on the man's tank top. I'm willing to venture that it doesn't stand for Superman, particularly since the character hadn't been conjured yet.
I'm still rooting through my grandfather's old photographs, obviously.

Beagle Poetry

This poem is from Bela's perspective. In my mind she has a thick southern Italian accent. Anyway, we were out walking Bela the other evening and just as she was getting ready to do her business a man rounded the corner walking two large dogs. Bela hates other dogs, is suspicious of them and their intentions, so of course she couldn't leave herself vulnerable by taking a dump and instead dragged us down the street post haste. The first line of the poem is just the offhand comment that I made at the time. MK noted that it sounded like the beginning of a horrible poem, so this is all her fault.


My ass is full of bitter turds
each one an homage to your face
I have feasted on the moldy cheese of your love
and now suffer for all eternity on the shores of Garbage Island