Quickies

Sorry, this ain’t about fast, brief sexual lesions liaisons, often elicit, which are designed to be meaningless in nature, yet very satisfying, dripping with lust and wet with a passion that can drive ya right out of your mind with ecstasy. What do ya think?  I got a dirty mind or something?

Well let me tell ya, dwelling on sex all the time, is not what preoccupies my time.  Nope, gotta leave room for eating and resting.  Working out, pumping some iron at the gym. Then there’s hanging out with my buddies.  Also, can’t forget getting stoned and going to the $3 movies.  Then watching cable TV political shows in the afternoon, and getting so pissed most of time, I just wanna yell out, “Fuck You”.  After such a full day like that, who’s got the energy to get laid?

See, one has to keep some balance in their lives, lest everything spin out of control, and become unmanageable.  Don’t want that.  Especially after a thirty year career in Corrections of watching people totally loose it and fuck-up big time.  Hell no.  Everything in moderation, even when it comes to obsessing about sex all the time.

So these quickies are really about drawings.  Drawings done very quickly… No sex involved.  Unless of course, they screw with your mind a bit 🙂

AAAAAAAAhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!

As you can tell (hopefully), I didn’t do the above drawing.  Nope!  My time has been consumed with kitchen bullshit, leaving my creative juices severely impaired.  So I ripped off my nine year old grandson, and posted some of his work.  It’s not the usual high quality, quirkely drawn, pseudo psychedelic mammary laden fare you’re come to expect, yet still pretty damn good, and, loaded with different layers of meaning.

Now, I don’t have a clue as to what he meant by this one.  All I could figure is, he left out the “shit!”, after Aaaaahhhhh!!!  But then again, at age nine, he doesn’t have quite the potty mouth that grandpa does.

Maybe it’s a picture of a sword swallower.  They always say “Aaaaahhhhh!!!” before they do anything.  It’s hard to figure out what other people mean to express in their art, cause I’m always projecting my own baggage onto their work.  That picture above looks like a thumb sucker to me, who, while  constantly denying he had the habit, like Pinocchio, found his appendage growing in length the more he abused it.  It would be a trip if politicians found their appendages growing in length the more they misused them.  Kinda like someone spiking the municipal water supply with Viagra.

Running One Up The Old Flagpole

I tryed this on my Blithering Idiot blog, and it worked so well, I thought it was Hansi ready.  What I did was randomly choose a drawing from my Archives, put it in a post and spontaneously write whatever came to my mind, regardless of  weather or not it made sense or held together as a cohesive hole whole.

And speaking of weather, sure looks like God is sending a hurricane to the GOP National Convention in Florida, to punish them for their Ms-deeds miss-deeds and how they treat women.  Sure as hell ain’t no global warming!  Got to be The Almighty at work, and She’s gonna be workin’ out on the Republican Party.  I bet She considers them worse than them Sodomites who lived in Gomorrah.  If I was a little more conservative, I’d sure be on the watch for some fire and brimstone raining down on my ass.

Making Decisions

Thank God I’m done with that idiotic number series.  It served it’s purpose by providing me with a lot of blog fodder and weird shit to write about.  But now, having shot my wad creativity-wise, with a major burst of work.  I’m wondering what’s next?  Stay with the same old stuff or try something new?  Maybe more introspective?

Well, introspective won!  However, having totally forgotten what my great flash of self insight ( a counterfeit version of true insight, which involves no Self), I’m left with what I’m dealing with now: Making decisions.

Boy…making decisions is hard.  Especially when it comes making decisions about yourself and what you’re gonna do in the future.  Not that the future is some nebulous far away thing.  At age 65, the future could  come in a pretty short time, and end up happening sooner rather than later.  That’s why I gotta be real careful, and use a little wisdom, cause there’s little margin for error.

Anyway, doing this whole kitchen re-model thing, has been about making constant decisions, each of which will impact yet another.  When I was a probation officer, I was making decisions all the time:  Prison or probation; How much jail time; Give this guy a break?  That was easy.  It was other peoples lives I was messin’ with, not my own.  Plus, I was getting paid to be a mindless uncaring bureaucrat, and encouraged to be an ass-hole on top of it.  So no problemo.

But this whole decision making process has been…Okay.  What started out as a fearful march into some unknown (and cause of many a bum trip), as become a growth experience.  One of education and exploration, discovery of alternatives, choices, and with  an increasing grasp on the subject, a gaining confidence to move forward without fear.

Becoming knowledgeable in the subject you’re gonna be deciding upon sure helps.  Breaking a kitchen down into parts and processes, each researched and evaluated,  not only made life much more easier, but defined the roles Me and my wife would assume.  The Wife: chief architect and planner.  Me: financier and venture capitalist.

Artistic credits go to Hansi for his usually fine fine, super fine ink work; grandsons, Logan for his clever use of stickers; and Branden, for “Crab”.

Nine

If you’ve been following this number series on this and my Blithering Idiot blog, you’ll notice that I’ve been using the same drawings but featuring vastly different commentary on each blog.  Though I tried, I couldn’t come up with anything better than the spaced out mindless babel featured on the Idiot post of the same  number.

Eight

I just got done doing some rough drafts on my Blithering Idiot blog, and thought, “Hey, I’m still in a creatively festive mood, why not crank-out a few Hansi’s?”  [Please, no jokes about Hansi and ‘crank”.  I never touch that stuff…it’s bad news]

Well having come up with a blank, I thought I’d tell ya a little probation story about why (non-herbal) drug use is bad.  “In the day” ( I hate that phrase, it’s still ‘the day’ for me goddammit), I wrote a lot of probation reports for  judges to help them when it came to sentencing persons convicted of crimes.  Well, I had to interview this one fool who got ‘popped’ for drug use.  See, he was at home, getting higher than a kite on methamphetamine [Meth or Crank] when things started going south on him.  He started hearing noises coming from his attic.  And although he had be home all night and had little more than a crawl-space up there, surmised that those noises could only be burglars.  And, if you’re being burglarized, what do ya do?  Well call 911, and have the police respond ASAP.  Sure enough, Mr Einstein called the cops, they showed up, didn’t find any burglars, but did find him under the influence and arrested his ass for being under the influence, which in California, carries a mandatory 90 day jail term.

Guess you might say he Ate some shit on that one.

Now having cleverly worked the number eight into this post, turn your computer screen onto it’s left side and check this one out.

Seven

The only thing that comes to my mind when I think of Seven (besides the fact that it is the luckiest of all numbers) is that line from the Coasters song Charlie Brown…”Seven come eleven down in the Boy’s gym.”  That Charlie Brown, he sure was a clown, shooting craps in the locker room.

So instead or writing a bunch of nonsensical bullshit, heavily laden with bathroom humor, sarcasm and down-right filth, yet lightly seasoned with a touch of herbal madness, which often results in constant distractions;  the herbal goddess induces short term memory loss (not a bad thing if it doesn’t become permanent), so by forgetting everything you once knew, everything becomes new again, because you’ve forgotten that you’ve ever seen or heard  it before, and in being new to you, all sensations create a sense of fascination and exploration in the timeless present moment.

Anyway, being unable to remember what I just wrote, I thought I’d just post these two drawings

Six

Another idiotic hand drawing.  You can tell I’m right handed, because I always draw left hands.  And I only draw left hands because I can’t look at my right and draw it too.  Of course I could try and draw my right hand, but I’d have to drop my pencil real fast, look at my right hand, pick up my pencil again and then hurriedly draw what I saw until I forget, and have to but down my pen and look some more.  And, as you can see, when drawing fingers really fast, you’re not paying attention to rigid shit like numbers.  Things can get out of hand doing that.   ha ha ha (that was so stupid I even laughed myself).

Guess what, and I’ll be dipped in shit, if that ain’t exactly what happened when I tried it.  Now if you’re a mutant, you probably think I did just fine, and accurately portrayed a human hand.  But then again you’re a mutant.  And not like everyone else.  You’re different, and people can tell.  So they don’t trust you and assume you’re only, and rightly so, planning nothing but evil.

See, if you’re different, there’s got to be something wrong with you.  You’re not like the rest of us.  And there’s more of us than there are of you.  So you better watch-out and keep your mutant ass in line.

But what if the mutants started to out-number the normal people?  That could never happen, of course.   Unless all them mutant folks didn’t go to work, and layed around the house all day  fornicating and collecting welfare checks.  With ten kids per Mutant-Mom, normal people could end up the ones being the mutants.

What does all this have to do with the Number Six?  I don’t know either.  This whole series thing was just an excuse to draw and then babel on about it.  Working pretty good if ya ask me.

A six-pack sounds good right about now.

Five part 2

Sure as shit I did space out and wrote an earlier post on the number Five.  I hate it when that happens.  Damn.   But why waste a perfectly good post.  I’m sure as hell not gonna do 5 number Five posts;  that’s an idiotic idea.

So, the number Five?  I just drew a picture of a hand (which coincidentally has five fingers), taped a $5 bill to it, and took a digital photo of it.  Really creative, I know.  But hey, my mind has been filled with a lot of  kitchen re-modeling bullshit, and I’m finding myself having to pay way too much attention to stuff like cabinet sizes, faucets, granite counter tops and garbage disposals than I’d like.

See, unlike my  Hansi’s Hallucinations blog, there’s not a lot of room for error or THC induced “creativity’ when it comes to kitchens.  I gotta know exactly how many cfm’s a range vent will suck out of the house and how many square feet of counter top I’ll get outta that $1500 slab of granite.

Well, dip me in shit once again.  You won’t believe this, but this is actually my third number Five post.  I did totally space, and do a completely different one Five on my Blithering Idiot blog.

Five

I can’t remember if I’ve written something for the number five.  If I haven’t, this is it.  See, I don’t/didn’t write these number posts in order.  I usually write them out longhand in pencil in front of the stereo blasting some weird shit I’ve downloaded.  That’s why I’m all over the place, bouncing from three, to seven, back to four, and then typing and saving all this crap as a rough draft in Word Press.  That’s pretty cool, cause it allows ya to be in the moment, and write blog posts when ya feel like it, but may not be  ready to post.  Like this one.  Five is one of the last numbers I’ve written.  So there’s no logical progression, except when it comes to the math.  And the drawings, which I did in Ascending and Descending order, two years apart.  You might say I go both ways.

Oh well.  five is five, and there’s little more than can be said about it.  If  I already saved a number five post in my Drafts, this one will be a part 2.  But a 2 part post would really only be appropriate for the number Two.  Get it?  Two posts for number 2.  I could go back and do 3 posts on number Three, and maybe 4 on Four, but 5 on Five?  I’d be way behind if I did that, unless I got lucky and was so spaced out, and found that I’ve already saved a shit-load of Number five posts.

But I’m pretty sure this is my first five post.

Four

Four, I know, what a bore.  Reminds me of when The wife and I had young children.  There were were four of us.  And socially, there were usually four of us, consisting of another young couple with kids, who we’d get together with on the weekends.

Now, The Wife and I hang out with “empty nesters”, couples whose children are grown and out of the home.  And, who have grandchildren.   But we don’t see them very often, cause they’re always making pilgrimages out of town to see their grand-kids.  So weekends are shot to hell.  Instead of getting together and partying with all our Social Security recipient peers, they’re off all over tar-nation, busily trying to make up for all the poor parenting we did with our kids, by doing an 180 degree opposite with the grand-kids, taking advantage of the god-given second chance to do it right this time around, and over-indulge their little asses and spoil them rotten.  The actual grand children are often delighted, but their parents sit there and wonder, “who the hell is this old couple, cause they ain’t the parents that raised me.”

Well, that was quite a rant.  So back in 2010, I was working on fine tuning my eye-hand coordination and becoming a better draftsman drawing wise (but not necessarily drawing wisely).  I drew from photographs and art books, in a deliberate attempt to get better.  [Also known as deliberate practice.]  So you can see from the 2010 series, that I was trying to do a serious study (or at least half serious study) of the figure.  And what was really cool was: when I got good enough at it, I could then chuck it all and go back to my favored ‘cartoonie’ style; kinda like Picasso did after his Art Academy training.

What I wish I could do now, is mentally fax an image in my mind onto a piece of paper, with no drawing at all; could happen some day.  But alas, like my sex-life as a teenager, the use of my hand still plays a prominent role in all my art activities.

Well, I don’t know how all this got from a social commentary on 1980’s child rearing, to an art study, to the same old filth I gravitate to so often.  Must be evolution; onward and upward 🙂

Hey.  If ya want a completely different version of this post featuring the number four, go to my other blog,  The Blithering Idiot,  and see what that fool has to say.

Three

Three.  More than two, and twice thrice as many as one.  Three is the first odd number, if ya don’t count one.  Anyway, I’m in a kinda “triune” mood (and I don’t mean tree-some for all of you with dirty minds who only think about sex all day long), and had a huge flash-back on my religious up-bringing.  See, I was raised in the church.  the Lutheran Church, to be exact.  Not that I was a pastor’s son or anything like that.  God forbid.  No, my parents were raised as Lutherans, so me and my sister were raised as Lutherans too.   We weren’t ‘born again’ or anything like that.  Just waste your whole Sunday going to church Lutherans.

Re: Born again.  I can see being born once, but twice?  I don’t know about that one.  It could take ya being born thrice, to undo your second birth should you decide to change back to normal.  Thank God, when you’re dead, you’re dead, and only have to do that one once.

So as a youth, I went to Sunday school, Luther League, a Lutheran High School, and then on to a Lutheran College.  You’d think I ended up being super religious with that much exposure to Lutheranism.  But unlike too much exposure to radiation, it sorta wore off the older I got.   I was eating that stuff up in Sunday School.  Not so much as a teenager in Luther League, although I still knew my desire to screw Patty Nelson was probably sinful (but easily forgiven).  In high school, I started to question it.  And In college, threw the baby out with the bath water.  So, as you can tell, it’s had no lasting effects on me other than mild neurosis and a fear of  lakes of fire.

But looking back on it now, and safely from the outside, the thing that tripped me out the most about the whole thing was the concept of the Trinity; the three in one Triune God.  [You will note how cleverly I tied in my subject matter in with the drawings, while keeping it only mildly blasphemous].

As a kid I knew the pecking order as far as godly powers went.  it was God, Jesus, and Superman.  But the church had the nerve to tell me that Superman was not real, and the third guy was the Holy Ghost, and although different persons, they were all the same one god.  I could handle one God,  that’s what the Jews had back in Old Testament days.  And boy did God ever do some serious ass-kicking on those who thought He was other-wise, like Baal.  And, He did it all by himself.  But as soon as New Testament times rolled around, up pops Jesus, who not only claimed to be God’s son, but God on earth himself ( I know, pretty hard to believe, huh).  That was pretty hard to swallow, because I always wondered what Jesus was doing during those wrathful Old Testament days.  Probably sitting on the edge of His heavenly throne, just begging his father to let him into the game.  The Holy Ghost was a mystery too.  I was never quite sure who or what He was, and it seemed like His only super-power was the ability to get people to speak foreign languages.  Pretty far out.  I sure wish I had the ability to clean up my language.  But I don’t, so fuck it.

So, the number Three is shrouded in mystery for me, and for even some of my college professors, who thought it was a mystery too.  I’m glad I’m moving on to number Four.  Hmmm.  the Four Noble Truths?

Number 2

This is my next post in the number series I’m doing.  I just don’t know  which two I should post.  There will be two.  Because if you’re posting and older drawing with a newer one, then the result  will always come out to be two. [I really can’t explain it either].  So if ya do ten posts, you’ll have twenty drawings.  That is, if ya stick with the rigid, follow the rules, narrow, never varying two drawings per post format.  If not, well you might end up with as many as twenty-three or twenty-four.  Who knows?  But this is really an exercise in compulsive behavior, and when in doubt, You gotta go, with what ya know.  Hence, the number Two.

I thought I’d write something thoughtful, considering the many aspects of the number (all two of em), and reflect on the spiritual implications:  and how two can work together as one, and in harmony, become one.  But the first thing that came to mind was some bathroom type humor about having to “go number two”.

But all that has slipped my mind.  Two bad, maybe I had one too many.

Number One

Two years ago, in May 2010, I did a series of pencil drawings at the end of one of my sketchbooks.  I only had ten pages left in it, but didn’t know what to draw on them.  I guess most of you can tell I don’t draw from life, but rather from my imagination (or horrid nightmares).  And when I’m particularly lucid and have a clear mind, I don’t have shit to draw.

So, without giving  all my secrets away, I closed my eyes, and after remembering why I closed them, came up with the answer. If I had ten pages left in my book, I’d do a count-down, kinda like in the 50’s when they launched rockets and spaceships into Space, and work the number of the page into the subject matter of my drawing.

Well, being momentary lucid again, I thought I’d reach into my bag of tricks and do it again, but in a totally different manner. Instead of starting with ten and working my way down, I thought I’d start with One and work my way Back to you Babe up.  [Bet nobodie’s thought of that before.] And this time, use ink in the new drawings.  That way everything is kept in balance and won’t spin out of control  and bite me in the ass, like when Jack went up the hill to do Jill and his marriage came tumbling down.  Or Humpty Dumpty, who too lost his balance, and ended up so fragmented that even the strongest of psychotropic medications couldn’t put him back together again.

Therefore, (you can always tell when someone is wrapping things up when they say ‘therefore’) with the blogosphere being the perfect venue for obsessive compulsive behavior, I’m gonna be posting a series of number drawings featuring an “Oldie” and a new one in each post.  This is the first ONE by the way.