write

wrong

another weekend at the track

pace

aesthetic outburst

"You can ride down an old country road


and see a house painted purple


with Milk of Magnesia bottles
hanging from the tree.


Thousands of them.


l saw that in Florida once.


That man
had an aesthetic outburst.


He just had to say something.


He was desperate,
and the only tool he had


was a thousand Milk of Magnesia
bottles,


which he probably drank
every one himself."

Jim White - Searching for the Wrong-Eyed Jesus.


That's what I wanna have. (The aesthetic outburst, not the milk of magnesia.)

I got a lot a stuff.

i'll have to go back

Sometimes I get distracted.

I usually have folks around who inspire me.

A long time ago I had a folk who not only inspired me, all the fucking time, but also encouraged me. And when I slacked on makin some crappy art, I got chided and harassed and prodded to produce.

I always think of that really fondly.

I'm (sheepishly) motivated by that kinda praise.

Anyways.


I'd abandoned the weeds on this side of the house for a whole month. My little guy, for some reason, insisted on sitting in my lap [aka in my fucking way] while I worked. Possibly THE most awkward way to get the weeding done, but it reminded me of when he was a tinier baby, and would actually sleep in my lap while I shuffled along the edge of the garden.

Somehow we make these things work, and for some ridiculous reason it's worthwhile.