blog history of the project
Time travel is available now, see your local time professional for details. I know a bunch has happened since my last post, but in some sense i’ve fast forwarded to this moment, with a residual smear of color and emotion persisting. Now this, cut to, 6 months later. Time travel is readily available in one direction only, at least for this cosmonaut. So, was i off planet, in rehab, kidnapped, awol, out of commission? Nope! There has been progress and groovy developments, I just haven’t been reporting. Lets see how 20/20 hindsight really is.
I’m actually not allowed to blog, there’s too much else in the queue, priority one, hurry the fuck up and get it done sort of stuff. So let’s just keep this a secret, just you and me… k?
Where have I been? Did I fall into a snowy crevasse with roots tangled deep in the Earth’s crust, complete with dinosaurs and giant leathery mushrooms? Was I captured by aliens, pirates, glorious lithe amazon dance warriors with jewel encrusted sword hilts and sleek merino wool butt floss? Say what? In a word, have you missed me?
I’m back… but as I mentioned, let’s just keep it on the QT for now. [QT noun, informal, secretly; stealthily: she’d better get there on the QT. ORIGIN late 19th cent.: abbreviation of quiet]
The story! My GOD man, tell us THE STORY! Drag it out of me, go ahead. I can’t deny you anything oh world, oh mirror, oh imagined audience. My friends, fellow earthnauts, strangers, exotic manifestations of consciousness. What I have to say must go beyond the realm of the human, I want to talk with all my fellow creatures, to all the shapes that presence takes, be it mountain or mouse, my ears are open my mouth closed, speak. Monsters from the ID.
I’ve been attempting to create way to much at once. One must CONSTANTLY or at least CONSISTENTLY consult the council within, the multiple voices who ride along, the many mes. <- That’s me plural BTW, not the spanish “month”. So I’ve been wandering, a little out of touch with the wise ones, slogging / playing. Here’s a partial list of incomplete projects.
- Artist house dry dock
- refinish the red oak floors
- repair and paint great room walls
- skin the bio domes (before snow flies)
- heat sink barrels and water supply
- transplant and establish winter gardens
DOG is known to most of you, details on progress will be offered in subsequent posts, (promises, promises), but don’t just skip ahead and blow off the rest of THIS post, heavens no. That Mr Bond, wouldn’t do.
I am about regale you with the must mundane of details, my life “as is” with it’s little indiscretions, ritualistic hygiene events, countless Tasty Bite packets consumed in guilty seclusion – all this shot through with veins of sparkling treasure. Look now, unfolding in your inner eye like a glittering flickering flower – a cluster of threads, precision anodized aluminum pipettes, each an event of my life. Baubles of glass and brittle obsidian, black cables of carbon nanotubes that are safe when used as directed, a great bundle of shadow rivers and dark crystals, connected. Tendencies to exist, dropping and dipping across the unspace between this and that, here and there.
As you unsee this indescribably complex and arresting thing, seemingly infinite and unfathomable even though your only 9 and the cheap plastic egg is still rolling into your palm after u put in your quarter and turned the silver knob thing. Inside the cheap plastic egg is something impossible, you know this is very wrong. Not wrong in a spooky monster sort of way, but wrong in that how could an entire universe be inside that plastic egg and dare you twist the egg open, what then? No way should you show this to mom (or anyone), even if she is the best, coolest mom ever who actually listens to you and want’s you to be what you truly are, the unicorn mom. Even the unicorn mom would freak at this, because the egg inside is power, destiny and a Kali rave to charbroil even the brightest little hero. Wealth as poison, golden sword thrust through the heart and both lungs. She would worry and well she should – you’re worried! Best not to share this crazy grown up twilight zone magic pocket cosmos problem with anyone, you’ll be the only one eaten then, the only casualty. Bye mom and uncle Billy, sis and with one decisive twist – zip!
That’s what my boring little ho hum is like. Just like that. Every breathe has significance, pointing to what you’ve always known and were just waiting your whole long life to confirm, conclusively, “see I told you so”, totally validated, vindicated, varitas. You did see a flying saucer that one night kissing in the back seat of your parent’s 79 Ford Nova with what’s his name, the theater kid. “So it goes” as Kurt used to say before the first/last trip to Tralfamadore.
Enough snake oil friends, let’s get to it. Main course.
This summer Ben showed up and we put our noses down to finish this movie, this journey. DOG. At the end of the summer Ben returned to Kalamazoo for more college. The house was gutted for the better part of the summer, as I started sanding the floors in – get this… May. Couldn’t find a reliable floor sander to come and do that work but I’m unstoppable, got an agenda, rolling on. I’ll damn well do it myself. Ok, well it’s a fuck load of work to rent the shit and sand and
This summer saw nearly the end of the roto for DOG. Yes – nearly, almost, just about. Not quite yet… done.