a beautiful day to say

whatever there is to say, and say it again
because the first-time didn't really make it here
(maybe the words did...or some of them, but not the weight or the meaning)
it AaaaaaaLL leeked out on the way home.


All the bumps, and all the jolts.
my shocks are worn and bent.


Begone doubt and rage! (pleeeeeeeeease!)
it is NOT your fault and the words were not as important as the feeling within/behind/around
the words.
By the time i wind down for the day, i am wound up with silence, solace and no urge for creativity left to foster remembering any that i had during the hustle of the day (the brilliance of a momentous inspiration).


There is a vague thought of being sober of religion. sober of dogma. sober of shame.
shit.
that's all it is i guess. that is means to be sober of SOME of the things i have been fighting, or rather, reckoning with. It's not all negative, really. I sort of cherish all these memorized scriptures, idioms and standards I have attained and withdrawn from to look at, and yet not fully shed. Whoo is it getting hot in here...

Horoscope of the Day

We are sick of being special. (disclaimer: feeling rather dry today. read with a salted palette)


There are no cameras following you out the door, watching you get in your car and spying while you buy groceries. There are no thoughts in the produce-stacker's head about which bunch of carrots you or I will want to buy. The carrots are all the same, piled in a pyramid, because bounty is seductive. It is basic marketing, not unique love-vibes directed to your personal needs. 


The local transportation bus sports a banner that asks if you are "job hunting? RTD is hiring!" They already know you are job-hunting; unemployment rates being what they are. They are not offering you a job, but the opportunity to trudge through yet another de-humanizing cross-examination only to hire fifty people and waste five-hundred other people's time.


Job applications smell like lottery tickets smelling like college credits smelling like a dog's promises to never pee on the carpet ever again.


We desire work, desire rest, and desire inspiration. 
Inflicted with disease, discrimination, stress and thousands of other "special" circumstances that face living creatures, no one is exempt. 
There are ways to cope most of the time. there are also ways to change what we can change.


You are your most influential judge. 
If you are not convinced of something, you probably won't respect it. If you want to be convinced of something, you can still operate under it's rules. 
Whatever you want to do. 


So, what do you want to hear? 
Want me to agree with your conclusions? okay:
You are an alchoholic; you have low-self esteem, ADHD, and are bi-polar and struggle with anger, baby-making hips, constipation and can't seem to afford anything, ever. 
Baaaaaad job, people. 


Does this help you accept yourself?  Are you sure that your inherently evil soul is satiated with the failure of the suit you embody? 


Are we not totally sick of being told to rise above our disabilities and conquer our peers? Aren't we tired of having to be special?
Speciality is what drives evolution of species. Not the flourishing of species, but the next stage...the morphing, weeding out of the weak, and the glimpse into the future of that species. If everyone believes they are that future, don't we ALL dwindle and become extinct? 


Granted, we are not the only species that appear to be wiping ourselves out (with war, individualism, destruction of resources, etc); we see it in other species too, including plants. Some of this appears to be genetic. Some of it just instinctual. The table is piled high with carrots, they are cheap and we are drawn to it's bounty. 
When a tree is under stress, it produces as much seeds as possible, to ensure the future of it's species. blah blah blah.


What are we so worried about being special for? Isn't this absurd, insane and somehow beautiful existence enough? What is with this driving need for greatness. And not just for greatness, but greatness above other greatnesses? 


Hi, my name is Sally. I'm a Virgo, moon in Capricorn, with a Capricorn rising. I eat THIS way and I like THIS music and i CARE about the right things. Great for me!
Oh, and I work on a farm and am going to start my OWN farm; it will be utopia and will feed the world! woohoo!!!


Well, that felt good to get out. You might think i am hopelessly cynical or simply toying around with existential issues. I don't know about that. I am cynical, for sure and it keeps me passionate when the stressors get too high. However, the whole argument with "specialism" or "chosenness" is something i have had issues with for awhile. Lately I have noticed alot of folks obsessing over being the ideal of their ideals; often labeled "savior complexes." I would love to hear your thoughts! I'm serious. I won't be mean, unless you already think i am mean. then, i guess i am mean, or whatever. 

s-t-r-e-s-s

is spelled out in my afternoon dreams today. 
terrifying.
things i didn't know i was capable of thinking.
like anger more intense than ever felt accompanied by circumstances vile, absurd, dire and trivial altogether.


i guess i have chosen my line of work. and it is work, capital W.
work and not art. and not the stuff of higher learning, adventure, and a few other unknowable loves. i chose it freely and do not regret it. and i am mourning the losses deeply.
watching them escape. pieces of me escaping me. rejecting me for somewhere nurturing. fair enough. these dreams are tearing me up...    anyway.


former options morph into impossibilities. one for each of my 26 years.
now i just want a bit of sleep. some time with a book, before passing out completely,
and a little energy to write one goddamned letter.
still...it feels like my cells are all splitting in stupid ways. tearing from the inside, when i can't decide what to do with a free hour. a random gap in time; a hole to fall into.
each is a tiny hell housing a devil for each desire.
each a purgatory of ungraspable longing.


yes, stress. you are indeed the predator of our species.
scooping up the wounded of the pack to give em a slow one.
installing the fear, an everlasting download of time that appears to turn on a wheel
that we can stare at
waiting for something to change.

Creative crutch that it is, I just love it.
But more like a couch than a crutch. I can nestle up and draw a mostly willing model who pretends not to know the difference between my leg and a conveniently located chin-scratcher. Especially the cats that stick around awhile, giving you all sorts of chances. The lines are all curvy and smooth. Plenty of attitude and every darn bit of it, totally justified. No apologies here. I really do love drawing cats. 
Even though they make up what i lack in budding characters, story-lines and letters i planned on fleshing out. what else can i do when it just doesn't come? and a cat walks by?
so i draw more cats every time i draw. walking projections of my creative constipation of all these formerly exciting ideas i had. They vanish faster than fresh salsa in my brain's tiny-sized bowl, then projected onto cats.
fair is fair.

oh yeesh!

Everyone, i would like to say that i am sorry to disappoint.
On all individual accounts. On all broad-ranging fronts. 


It has been ** days since my past blog-fession.


I have virtually abandoned my Etsy account; a lovely little fling (that i do not regret, by any means). I may re-activate it later. we shall see.
I have burned more bubbles in my skin, from not wearing enough UV protective layers. To my body, i apologize the most. 
I have not kept up correspondences with my people. 
I have painted bad pictures, and painter worse ones over them. 
I have attempted to write a story. again. A repeating sin...someday i'll give it up.
I have gone to work with a hearty passion to perform with strength and efficiency; 
Whilst, I return to my home with a glazed-over gait, stacking big plates on top the smaller ones in sheer laziness. 
I have sat for hours to repair this abandoned perennial bed, digging the noxiously connected roots with a slow enjoyment...instead of calling, or writing, or blogging.
I have rejected a documentary, within the first five minutes. It was about the atom bomb and made me furious, wrathful. (No more "footage" please, shock-doc-jerks!)
I have rejected all Louisville Coffee-shops, though i've only tried one of them. It felt temporary and inferior.
I have carried my plants in and out, in and out of the appartment between the sun and the wind and snow. they are going to be all splotchy and imbalanced at maturity. 


But...


Has it really only been two weeks since I moved to this new town?
Where are all my favorite places to curl into the worn carpet? where is the heavily-beaten jogging trail and the alleyways full of strange and awful, city crap? Where is Happy Gate chinese take-out? Where is the noise? 


crawling back to normal here.


and it may take some time.

Etsy? ...you betsy.

Hi again.
So, you know that handmade masonjar-cozy-thermos thing i carry around with me? oh. 
Well...a couple years ago I decided to heavily insulated a mason jar so that i could take my snobby coffee with me to work, in the chilly mornings and have it still be hot when i got there. It worked! And so well that i've used it every day since, filling it with soups, teas and one time i jammed it with pasta and olives. Actually, you can put anything in it....wine, fruit, granola. i think i've put as many food groups in my jarmos as there are food groups. I digress...
A Jarmos nice to have because i never have to use a 'to go' cup (in mall-girl voice: it's like totally green! omg!) plus, if the jar ever breaks mason jars are so common to replace. The cozies are machine washable, but i prefer hand-washing in the bathwater, because i worry about the threads wearing out.
Why am i telling you this? 
Enter Lisa to say "Here's the thing...:"*
Almost every where i go, folks express their interest in this jar-thermos (now dubbed 'Jarmos') and some even ask me to make them one or suggest i sell them. Different people sell things on a hand-made website called Etsy, so i checked it out. 
Anyway, i made an account, so if you know someone who does want one, you can direct them here!


oooh...shameless plug for online entrepreneurism? meh, I'de call it testing the waters of demand. 
If no one wants one, they won't buy one. I'm not going to pay my cell phone bill with the 4 dollars i make on these things. Just thought you'd like to know.

vehicular automobilic shlobble-gob

             Image above was scanned from the faded blue paperback manual, shoved in the glove compartment of the 1996 F-250, which is quite amazingly, in our possession. 
It has not quite sank in that we actually have a vehicle now; and not just some little automobile, but a heavy-duty TrrrUCk! with two fuel tanks, a v8 and a cab that, when parked, is a good two feet above my head- before climbing inside.
             But hey, you remember Ol' Tooth... that primer-grey, beefy beast with not a hint of a muffler?
Well, you will be relieved to know that THIS truck is much more reliable and hopefully even a long-lasting one. Even so, it feels illegal. I peek out my window every so often to make sure the Department of Transportation isn't slapping a ticket on it. As if its mere existence is a violation to the city somehow. But no, it is more-so a violation to myself! Afterall, though we only drive it when we need it (which will soon be everyday, once i'm farming and hauling things in it), it is a gas-gusseling change in our lifestyle. 
           Okay okay, calm down saltron, your ideals haven't entirely flown out the window yet. 
Just think of it as an extra large power-tool. Take a deep breathe and keep reading the manual. 

sketchbook gluttony

"Nothing is...

as stifling to success in agriculture as inflexible adherence to someone else's rule."


-Eliot Coleman


I've been reading this guy alot lately, upon recommendation of my future boss and of other farming/horticulture sources i've consulted over the last few years. In my opinion, his views and practices comes as close to permaculture as an organic, commercial/market gardener can get. 
Having had a crush on permaculture for some time, this appeals to me. Because most folks in the U.S. are unable* to incorporate permaculture techniques at home;we end up paying Whole Foods (i.e. whole paychecks) prices for some things or just going conventional for the rest, because it hurts the pocket. 
However, for folks who have the time and energy to invest in their living spaces, i would recommend Food Not Lawns** or anything written by Eliot Coleman, really. He lives in Maine, a primarily zone 5 region, but  makes it clear that variations on his particular experiences are easily incorporated to vastly different climates. (Denver/Boulder is a dry zone 5)
Because I am embarking on a new life of farming, I am anxious to really feel the differences between my city-dwelling life and that of the country (sitting on a tiller, hand-harvesting, hand-weeding, washing, driving trucks, pruning, picking, being covered in dirt CONSTANTLY.) My mother will be thankful that i finally have good reason to smell like a musky rat... besides not bathing. here you go, mom. 
I am thoroughly excited about growing things i've never attempted: Asparagus, Mache, Artichokes, Burdock Root, Daikon, Boc Choy (pac choi), etc...


O', I will miss this crazy city. 
Denver...you smashed-up, gritty anarchist visionary-lover. 
In a way, I am abandoning the projects I still love. Freeschool, Denver Zine Library, CopWatch potlucks, trips to Pablo's Coffee and the best bike shop ever.  
I will miss the collectives of all creeds and colors and phobias and obsessions. I will miss Terese. I will miss the stenchy Ol' Platte. 
But open land awaits. It beckons to kick my bright-eyed ass, straight to China. Will I come back for seconds? Hell yes, i will.
Making decisions. 
Making transitions. 
Taking steps.


*By unable, I mean, that the majority of folks either work WAY to much just to break even or don't have the energy, knowledge or opportunity to realize how they might grow their own food and how easy it really can be.

**Food Not Lawns outlines how one can adopt permanent culture on a household, or even Appartment size, level. It is good for ideas, but should be translated to one's particular situation and with things in mind (such as climate, availability of seed, knowledge of land and water-rights, etc). I would also recommend 'The Urban Homestead' by Kelly Coyne & Erik Knutzen, which can be found at the library.

winter's gruesome babe

I was finally able to enlarge the comic I had posted earlier.* 


And darlings, Pleeeeease read it left to right and then top to bottom, instead of scrolling down immediately to view the pictures, like the person who flips casually through a grahic novel they aren't sure about; for shame. 
I command you to enjoy this experience!


*located below, past the regular postings. 

Pull Up a Five-Gallon Bucket & Make Yourself Comfortable

Sixty-four times twenty-four hours until work begins again. 

With a truck to buy and a move to make out of Denver. 

With meetings to attend, meals to prepare with violent

creativity and a bit of volunteering at this or that event.

With walks to take in the snow, to the store; to the rec. center. 

With a daunting amount of material to read in preparation 

for agriculture. 

And a brain packed with divergent interests,

misplaced passions, energies and emotions.

That chunky, pink Royal with a stubborn margin release

won't lend my fingers the dexterity to continue manually.

My handwriting floats in and out of legibility and the front

steps have been swept too often of the fresh snow. 

I return humbly, to the electronic world, to give birth to:

a 5 page essay on feminism I screech out one

Washington Park, windy afternoon here; 

a comic series I coughed up in early January, there.

It is not with boredom, but with focus that I embark here.

Focusing on not all the pressures to do it all, but on the 

desire to begin one thing, and proceed to the next.

feel free to find a warm corner, a thought to pick, a witty jab

and any what-have-you's you might find clinging to the unswept ceiling

of these entries.