Letting it rip sure feels good, and can be satisfying in a multitude of ways. I guess the first way that comes to everyone’s mind is when breaking wind, and letting loose with one hell of a rip-roaring fart. And what’s just as fun as letting one rip, is blaming it on someone else. “The dog did it,” is my favorite rejoinder, except everyone calls bullshit on me and starts to pointing their fingers. I wonder if it’s because I don’t have any pets, unless you consider the outdoor cats that come over and shit in my garden pets? “Hey, the cat did it!”
The other type of letting it rip that I’m fond of is the cutting loose of inhibitions and hang-ups, and doing something without particular concern for its outcome or how it looks. This is really what this post is all about, but I couldn’t help myself nor resist the temptation to put in some good wholesome all-American bathroom humor. Don’t get much better than that, and after all these years, joking about farting, excretion and bodily fluids, still brings howls of laughter to not only myself, but my grandsons too.
Dig this: I actually got paid to watch people piss into little jars. No shit! When I was a probation officer, I had to drug test some of my clients. That entailed a urine test, which had to be monitored by myself or another co-worked, cause a lot of these folks on probation were unsavory characters and couldn’t be trusted. A cold, clear sample was usually a cause for concern, so I had to make sure his urine went directly from his Ying, right into the Yang jar. I never had to test women for some reason.
Well getting to the point, while still savoring all things flatulent, these are the first drawings I’ve done in about two weeks. Seems like after a three month run of drawing my ass off (and actually featuring drawings of my ass in some posts), I kinda flamed out a little, and was hesitant to get back into drawing again. Now I generally set a pretty low bar for myself when it comes to quality and my art, but a blank piece of paper was a little daunting after a two week hiatus. I mean like, I felt I drew everything there was to draw. So I got some small pieces of paper (about 4 by 6 inches in size) and just let it rip. That was enough to get me going again, remove the blockage, and let it rip.
What’s that smell?
In my ongoing series of new posts featuring old material. I thought I’d share some of theses gems. My post about trashy chics was so warmly recieved by everyone (except women), that I thought I’d do one more. Either that or not post anything at all.
But how can one be a serious blogger and not post stuff? And in the blogosphere, it’s use it or loose it. Cause everybody has a two minute attention spam (that’s when they’re really concentrating), and will move onto something new at the click of their mouse. [Is their a metaphorical link to the picture on the right?]
Capitalizing on this phenomenon one can easily go back into their Archives, retrieve old stuff, and pawn it off as new, and nobody notices. Kinda like trashy women. When ya see one going by, you just know you want some of that stuff. But as soon as a new, shinny-er model rolls by, well ya forget about skank A, and immediately move on to skank B.
So, not wanting to be left behind sitting alone on a blogosphere bar-stool, You gotta post something or forever be left behind; even if it’s old and been used before. Nobody reads my older stuff, and a lot of people haven’t even seen my recent stuff. So it’s all new stuff to them. Ain’t it still fun to fool people? and this isn’t even a political blog. We’re doomed if Obama loses.
When you don’t have any thing new to share, one can always go into their archives and serve up some old stuff. That’s what I’m doing right now, cause I’m having ‘writers block’ except it’s with my drawing. It’s quite obvious that I’m not having real writers block, cause I’m writing about drawers block.
So, with an endless supply of clever bullshit to share, but no new drawings, I’m posting some of my older pencil favorites. Now I don’t wanna just paste up some of my older stuff, and say , “Look what I did”. Hell no, where’s the challenge in that? [Actually the challenge would be to draw some new shit, and not just display old shit with a bunch of bullshit]. So I decided to do a Trashy Women series. Don’t get much better than that.
I know, and you are welcome. It’s all my pleasure. Anyway, and this is no secret, but all men like trashy looking women. Yes, we are pigs, but possibly that’s how guys were evolutionarily hard wired. Back in the caveman days, when everybody was hairy and had a slight stoop when they walked, it was hard to tell the difference between male and female cave-persons. So when the females came in heat and wanted to breed, they had to do something special, or else all the cave men would just hide out in the back of the cave masturbating all day long. Nope, they couldn’t just rely on them pheromones, cause everybody was filthy back then, never took baths, and stunk to high heaven. [I wouldn’t touch a Neanderthal with a ten foot pole].
So the cave women had to do something special to gain the cavemen’s attention. That usually entailed putting food or flowers in their hair. Wearing a string of shinny objects around their necks, or even fashioning stones in their ears and noses. Well, sure as shit, my Cave brothers fell for it every time. And much to their later dismay, found a litter full of cave kids running around which they had to support.
Thank God for evolution, cause we’ve certainly come a long way from them Cave Man days. But you know what? The same stuff works on us guys today. When I go fishing in the Sierras, I sometimes use a “spinner”, which is a shinny silver or gold colored lure, with a tiny spoon, that spins when you pull it through the water. Well them trout just go nuts when one of them things goes by, and they hit it hard. Well men are no smarter than trout. There we be, content in a peaceful stream always looking forward and accepting anything that floats down stream to them. But as soon as that bright flashy object goes streaking by, we decide “I gotta have a piece of that” and, like a stupid fish, bite it, and bite it hard.
I don’t know about you, but I never read my own blog. Why waste my time reading that crap, I wrote it. But one day, when particularly well medicated, I started going through some of my older posts. Don’t know how I got there, but that’s the power of good medication (I was spaced). But then I started reading them, kinda like for the first time, with a new set of eyes, and I started to blow my mind.
Frankly, I couldn’t believe the amount of random non-sense and just plain blithering bullshit that laid* therein. Boy, was I impressed. Here was some old fucker, drawing this 60’s laden, pseudo-psychedelic cartoonie soft porn, and matching it with sexually charged innuendos about things without any socially redeeming values whatsoever, and plastering it all over the Internet for the world to see. . I could dig it!
*And speaking of getting laid (layed?). I thought I’d lay this one on ya. Do you ever go back and read some of your earlier posts? If you don’t, do so (seriously). Take some time to go back and read some of that stuff; kinda like with new eyes, but not rose colored glasses. It’ll blow your mind! Especially when ya see where you were at a few months ago, or even last year, and where you’re at now.
Damn, it blew my mind what I was putting out there for world wide consumption. Talk about the lifestyles of retired geezers. It was fairly accurate as to who and what I really am, or where I was at then.
What also blew my mind was to see the difference from where I was at then, to where I’m at now. [I think I said that already]. Wow, things do certainly change. Nothing is permanent. Growth? Who knows? But it is very interesting to look at. Kinda like that “Permanent Record” they always told ya about in school that you didn’t want to ruin with a bunch of mis-deeds or offenses.
Give it a try, it might blow your mind.
I thought I’d do a post with no words. This is it.
Coming up with new subject matter is no easy task here at Hansi’s Hallucinations. It’s not like any of this stuff is actually appearing in my front room (thank god). That’s why I keep coming back to the name thing. Sometimes I can’t just close my eyes, dream up some weird crap and then draw it. Sure wish there was some kinda magic potion or herb that you could take to hurry some visions along 🙂
So, if you hit on something that is working for ya creativity-wise; might as well do it again. And if ya do it twice, why not thrice? Trilogies sure worked for Star Wars, Lord of the Rings, and all them stupid soap-opera laden Twilight vampire movies featuring nothing but a bunch of horny teenagers.
When you do something a fourth time, well then you risk beating it to death [already done that,,,see my post “Beating Hansi To Death]. It’s when you just say “fuck-it”, and go for number five, that you’re driving it into the ground.
But here’s the one redeeming factor: If you’re driving something into the ground, at least you’re still driving. And I don’t know about you, but I’d much rather drive than be a passenger.
WARNING: If relief from suffering, the cessation of pain, having a general sense of well being and doing so legally offends you. Don’t read this shit!
Well it was another fishing trip for me and my Buddy to the Psychedelic Sierras this past weekend. And on our way to Lone Pine (home of Mount Whitney, the highest peak in the contiguous United States), we had to go through the town of Mojave, in the Mojave Desert. The town isn’t very big; in the middle of nowhere, it’s pretty much just a string of gas stations, fast-food joints, cheap motels and a liquor store on just about every other corner. Next to the main drag lies the Southern Pacific switching yards, where mile long trains await departure on cross-country rail routes.
Needles to say, Mojave is a place to take a piss (or more correctly, leave a piss, as I prefer not to carry bladders full of urine with me on long trips, makes everybody grouchy), get some gas and stretch your legs. So as we leave town to head up the eastern Sierras, what do I see but a small sign that reads Prop 215, with a small green cross below. Bingo!
Okay, FYI. Prop 215, or Proposition 215, was the ballot initiative passed by the enlightened, humane and compassionate people of California in 1996, that made the medicinal use of marijuana legal with a doctors recommendation. I know, groovy, far fucking out, and thank you Jesus. And although Hansi seems like a mellow, playful type of guy, he’s really a very sick old man who suffers from a multitude of ailments, who had his special doctor recommend an herbal treatment alternative to the dangerous crap that has more side-effects than benefits, that the pharmaceutical industry cooks up in their trail-park labs, and sells to an unwitting public at exorbitant prices.
Anyway, rant aside, after seeing that sign, I immediately made a hard right turn into a small parking lot. And lo and behold, out in the middle of the desert we find the “Chronically Inclined” marijuana dispensary. Thank you again Jesus, and Buddha too! So, having our medical cards handy, we parked and went to the front door, where some heavily tattooed guy (who looked like one of my former probation clients) with a serious look on his face, asks us for our drivers licenses and medical marijuana cards.
Now I don’t know about you, but this was the first time I’d ever been in a dispensary. I know, hard to believe. But you know the old saying about giving a man a fish today, and he’ll be hungry tomorrow; but teach a man to fish and he’ll never go hungry. Well, when it comes to herbal medication, old Hansi certainly lives by that motto, and I ain’t just talking about growing trout.
Once inside the ‘showroom’, our minds where blown away. It was like being in a candy store for
dope fiends poor souls seeking relief. They had everything from pipes to jars full of OG Kush and Blueberry Haze. The place reeked with that sweet skunky smell of THC laden weed. I was getting high just being there. Well we did a little shopping while there (for clones only), and were soon on our way to have a great time fishing in the California’s glorious High Sierras.
I hate graffiti! All it takes is one little shit-head with some spray paint or a Sharpie pen, to ruin property and create an eye-sore in the community.
Another thing that I hate is getting a bunch of bullshit in the mail. And especially bullshit which comes included in my monthly bills. You know what I mean, a bunch of advertising wanting you to buy some crap or another. Hell, I can barely pay the bill itself, why the hell they think I wanna pay for even more stuff ?
You may be thinkin’, “Damn old Hansi is having a real bummer.” Well, no way Jose, not with my medication. I don’t wanna have a bad attitude, I like thinking positive. And there’s nothing like turning two negatives into a positive than by doing a little graffiti on some of the stupid mail I get. [What a shit-head]
I guess you can tell that I’m not too fond of Bank of America. Nor did I find changing medical plans a very satisfying experience.
Okay, you just may have noticed that I’ve been doing a lot of drawings featuring my name. Maybe I should change my blog’s name to Hansi’s Fascinations instead of hallucinations (same difference). But here’s the thing, Hansi is not my real name. The one on my my genuine Los Angeles County birth certificate doesn’t have an i at the end. But when you’re a little Hans, that’s what you’re called. And what do you call a lot of Hans? It’s called beating Hansi to death. If a little is good, a lot is more than plenty.
Maybe I’ve gone over the line with these two. Look a little pornographic to me. But I got a dirty mind. Well not actually dirty. Filthy yes, but these are pretty clean drawings.
What. More Hansi? Hell yea! This is Hansi’s Hallucinations, and if Hansi be hallucinating Hansi, well what do ya expect? It’s the best of both worlds.
Anyway, this isn’t about that. Its about mixing writing with drawing, kinda like cubist Georges Braque did at the turn of the last century. And being totally ensconced in my own mind right now, I’m seeing visions of Hansi, not to be confused with Hansi’s visions, which are more like hallucinations than anything visionary. Letters floating above a background of mixed images. Maybe I’m on a theme or series. Maybe its like doing a thirty days of Hansi challenge; one Hansi drawing a day for a whole month. But no, that would be more Hansi than I could even stand.
Maybe its a rut. But drawing the same thing lends itself to subtle explorations (as if any of this shit is subtle), and that sharpens your skills, even thought it’s drawing the same thing over and over again, but differently. Right now I’m exploring color. Moving from black and white to a world filled with color. Not unlike switching political parties from the right to the left.
And speaking of color, The Wife went to the local 99 cent store and bought a cheap kids water-color set, for 99 cents (such a deal). She unleashed the three year old grandson on a stack of paper, and he started cranking out “Paintings”.
He’s seeing visions of Logan, and like grandpa, is incorporating his name into his work too. The one below is a volcano. Scary.
First of all, let’s get this out of the way. I’m not Hansi. This is a guest hallucination. My name is Sean. Hansi is my Dad, so I’m half a Hansi (maybe that explains why only half the stuff on my Dad’s blog is too embarrassing to read).
There’s plenty I remember about Hansi from when I was a youngster. He made waffles on the weekend for breakfast, when we were lucky. When we were unlucky, he made scrambled eggs.
Hansi was the less strict parent, so when I wanted to ride my bike across town for something, I’d ask him instead of Mom (now that this trick no longer applies, I can share this tidbit). He also taught me about “mental health” days, although that was a lesson I would not come to fully appreciate until I was older. Like right now, for instance.
A mental health day, of course, is like a sick day, except the problem isn’t physical so much as mental. Namely, going ‘mental’ from working too much. When my Dad needed a break from the “House Of Pain”, he’d call up, feign sickness, and viola! A free day off! I didn’t quite get it when I was 10, but I get it now!
Fast forward 22 years, and I needed a mental health day. My Dad had the “House of Pain”; I’ve got “The Spice Mines”. It is a cubicle infested cave where the “Man” makes us slave away under his whip and paycheck. Now, I gotta say, my job isn’t terrible. In fact, I’ve got a good job. At my Dad’s urging, I didn’t just go to art school and be an art major. My folks needed me to be able to support myself some day so they could turn my old bedroom into a storage room for all their stuff. I went to a “top three” Engineering school, and managed to finagle both a Mechanical Engineering degree and an Art degree. As a result, I’ve got a fine job as an engineering professional.
Like I said though, sometimes I need a mental health day. I realized I needed one the other day when I was sitting in on a conference call, and doodled this into my daily planner. It is loosely based on reality, with a few exaggerations for effect:
I looked down at what I had drawn, and realized I might be a bit burnt out from slaving away in the Spice Mines.
This was on a Wednesday, so I took inspiration from that lesson from Hansi, and told the boss man that I wasn’t going to be able to make it in to the Mines for the next couple days. Double Mental Health day!
Mental Health days do work wonders for one’s mental health. I woke up on Thursday refreshed, and able to focus on my own work. I make woodblock relief prints, and I recently got my hands on a bunch of sheets of mylar. Having four Mental Health days in a row at my disposal, I got to work; art-work that is.
When the sun rises on a mental health day, it seems to rise a little brighter and warmer than usual. I channeled that sunrise into this print, to make use of the natural translucence of mylar.
What I love about this print is that it looks different when hung against a wall, and when hung against a window, allowing the sun to shine through it.
Mental health at work, courtesy of a little life lesson from Hansi.
Thanks Sean. You can see his artwork on his blog Sean Neprud.com scroll down and check-out his work. Especially the last one where he builds a fort in his front room. He’s still my little boy.
This post is being re-blogged from my other blog The Blithering Idiot. I don’t know about you, but I’ve been seeing a lot of ‘re-blogged’ posts, along with guest posts, on a lot of Blogs lately. Pretty cool way of not having to come up with something new; just copy something old. Or, better yet, have someone else do all that hard work for ya, and have a “guest” post something. And there’s nothing better than being a guest on your own blog, even if he is a Blithering Idiot.
This is a little study I did on the drawing of hands. Hands are difficult to draw well, but not really. You just got to remember that it’s Five fingers, not four or six. I think the thing about drawing hands , at least for me, is not really ‘looking’ when drawing them. Drawing is all about looking and seeing, and if ya don’t look, you ain’t gonna see anything.
So I’m trying to draw hands with a little more skill. Cause if you get hands and feet right, everything in between just sorta falls into place. I guess my downfall is, I try and get boobs and butts right, and draw in hands as an afterthought.
I think we should all give The Blithering Idiot a big hand for the job he did on Hansi today. For it was truly, a great hand job.