mind expanding nonsense

Just Drawing

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Sometimes whilst enjoying my nightly ritual of altering  mind states, I like to sit and draw.  Whatever the old pen I stole from work puts down on paper I just go with and see what happens.  No dreaming up a bunch of unrelated verbiage to go along with it.  I don’t like to comment on my drawings.  They pretty much stand (or fall) on their own.  No need for explanation; they are what they are, but then again so is everything.

This isn’t a serious art blog.  Most of the time the verbiage and rants are what feature prominently and the drawings are thrown in as filler.  Sometimes the drawings are the main feature, and the verbiage is filler.  Like this post.

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Schwandal Poofs

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Another set of small drawings I call Schwandal Poofs.  Not to be confused with Wavel Furds or Divel-Fipps of earlier posts.  These are totally different – more schwandal poofian in nature.  It’s quite obvious that my Divel-Fippian period is over and it’s time to explore other areas, while still keeping elements of my Waval-Furd roots.

Sure hope ya like em.  That would make me happy.  So have a puff and enjoy a poof.

Invisibility

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A few posts back, I wrote something about how I’m starting to feel invisible, un-noticed and ignored as I got older.  I also made mention of, like a nasty little boy, adolescent fantasies of invisibility wherein one could do all sorts of forbidden stuff, like go into the girls locker room at school; a fantasy common to most horny little boys along with the wish ya had x-ray vision like Superman.  [I wonder how often he scoped-out Lois Lane?]

Well, I’m not most men are not into that stuff anymore.  Thankfully, voyeurism (and the horns) have worn off by the time ya start getting Social Security.  But wouldn’t it be cool  to be invisible for real, like the guy in the Invisible Man movie.  You could do all kinds of stuff, like walk into any theater, sit down and watch what ever you wanted without having to buy a ticket.  You would have to make sure it wasn’t a crowded performance so some fat-lady wouldn’t come down your row and blop her big fat butt on top of ya.

You could also stay in some pretty nice hotels, just go behind the front desk, grab a set of keys, and voila, you’re livin’ large.  Hitting up the breakfast buffet might be challenging.  Nothing like a floating tray piled high with goodies being a dead give-a-way that someone invisible is pigging-out.

Driving a car could be difficult.  I’d sure freak-out for sure if I saw an apparently driver-less car next to me in the fast lane.  Motorcycles and bicycles are out too.  With all the drones flyin’ round these days, someone might think that they were being chased by remote control, with some geek in Virginia, sitting at his joy-stick, ready to take your ass out.

I don’t think I’d like to be invisible all the time.  If you needed to be seen, you’d have to put on clothes, hat and gloves, and cover your face with bandages, and hope that the cheap shit ya bought at the 99 Cents Store didn’t start to unravel on ya.  That’s what the Invisible Man had to do, which of course meant: he was naked  all the time!

I’d like to turn my invisibility off and on.  The Wife don’t want no invisible hairy ass sitting on her sofa-love seat.  An off switch would be nice, that way you don’t have to stand up all the time.  Even if I put a towel down on my recliner, eating a bowl of soup could be mighty uncomfortable, especially if I dribbled.  I would do all my blogging while invisible; sorta lends itself to the medium.  Doing Skype would be interesting, especially if the person you were Skyping had their invisibility turned on too.  It would be like a plane old phone call, except you could see the phone booth they were calling from.  I think I’d float an ashtray in front of the screen or bend some spoons just to let ya know I was there…and naked.

Below is a picture of me being invisible; must have just gotten in from wondering around in the garden.  The one above is by my six year old grandson Logan; he could care less about invisibility, but just wait.

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Dog TV

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There’s this channel on Direct TV called Dog TV.  I stared watching it lately.  Not because I’m a dog (it’s intended audience), or even because I like dogs, (which I don’t), but because it’s so different from anything on TV.  Now I’d watch Dawg TV if there was such a channel, but this channel is literally something for dogs to watch, probably when they are left home alone.  The programs consist of relaxing scenery, long still shots with few interruptions of dogs relaxing, looking around, or other animals just standing there.  Lots of water shots accompanied by soft music and no voice tracks.  They call this “Relaxation”.  During “Stimulation” (be it morning or afternoon), more active shots are shown of dogs playing with other dogs or just walking around in nature,or in a park.

It’s funny how they never show dogs sniffing each others butts, peeing on something or taking a dump on my front lawn.  Maybe that’s censored.  Or…part of an elaborate behavior modification to train dogs without the use of a rolled-up newspaper.  Teaching them lessons like: don’t tear up the furniture; never shit in the house; don’t smell other dogs butts; and Never hump a human’s leg.

I usually watch Dog TV with the sound off, with one of my records blasting away on the stereo.  They sure show dogs some interesting stuff: cascading colors, varying light patterns; it’s kinda like having a light-show going on while you’re listening to the Stones.  Sometimes I wonder what are dogs thinking when they watch this stuff?  “Boring!” or “I’m getting the munchies – where’s that bag of kibbles?”.  All I know is, dogs are either total idiots, or secretly use psychedelic drugs.  How else could they watch this stuff for endless hours without chewing up a few pair of slippers.

What I haven’t watched yet is their late, late night show “Bad Dog”.  This one features dogs unsupervised and in heat.  One can only imaging what goes on there.  I’d stay up and watch it, but usually I’ve long since fallen asleep.  That’s about all the “stimulation” this old dawg can stand.

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Listening To Music #2

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This is what I drew while listening to Jimi Hendrix’s  “Cry of Love” and Chris Isaak’s “Blue Hotel” albums (on vinyl of course).  Sure was a lot of blues crying for love in those two hotels.  Chris Isaak can be be a bit depressing at times, what with his hauntingly mournful moans of lost love and relationships turning to shit (“Funeral in the rain” a case in point).  But, he has a great guitar player backing him up with a ton of reverb-laden licks.  Hendrix is always uplifting (‘excuse me while I kiss  the sky’).

This part, what you’re reading, is the afterglow, the drawing over with – a little pillow talk.  Sometimes after a particularly zesty session of drawing I’m exhausted.  Don’t wanna lay around and talk.  Just wanna get up, put on my clothes and get the hell outta here.

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Divel-Fipps

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A lot of times I’ll do these small, tiny, itsie-bitsie little drawings I call Divel-fipps.  I suppose I could call ‘em small tiny little drawings done in ink and embellished with colored pencil, but for some reason I prefer Divel-fipps.  What’s in a name anyway?  A name lets ya know what something is, yet only in a limited superficial way.  One name can apply to many different individual things.

divel-fipps 005Donovan sang, “First there was a mountain, then there was no mountain, then there was.”  Pretty trippy mind-blowing stuff.  Best understood in a zen-like way.  When I first see a mountain, I think, “Oh, a mountain.”  When I take a closer look, I see rocks and boulders, trees and shrubs, gravel and a multitude of things including animals (and if the animals are in heat, you could even call it a ‘fucking mountain’).  The mountain is really an aggregate of things piled up on one another (including the animals if it’s that time of year) and unique unto itself, to which we affix a label and call  it a mountain.

The same thing goes for Divel-fipps.  First there was a Divel-fipp, then there was no Divel-fipp, then there was.

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Listening To Music

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I listen to music every night.  Kick back, put on the head-phones (or blast it on the stereo if The Wife isn’t home), and focus on an album or CD, really listening to it.  Paying attention, not just daydreaming, although that happens a lot.  If I wasn’t subject to a rich fantasy life, there would be no Hansi’s Hallucinations blog.

I got the rock and roll bug back in 1958 when I was elven or twelve years old.   Started listening to AM radio and buying records.  If it rocked, I loved it.  Chuck Berry was the King of Rock and Roll; early Elvis was good too.  My father called it “jungle music”.  I’ve had the bug ever since.  Can’t get enough of it.  It either grabs ya or it don’t.

Listening to music is like stepping into another world.  I call it the world of music.  I do all my drawing while listening to music.  It’s kinda like a sound track.  Here’s a photo of my stereo getting a full-blast workout.

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