Sure wish it would rain.
Thank God the bedroom has air-con
Category: travel, thailand
Slapdash Artist
I was put here for a reason. Part of that reason is to invent new things for other people to enjoy. Writing, acting, photography, painting…whatever I can dabble in.
I have a short attention span, so dabble is the operative word here. Never known for rigor, I try my hand at many things in the hope that one or two of them will please me and maybe someone else. Most of my output suffers from a lack of Quality Control. This probably explains why I’m not rich after a relatively long life in the creative arts.
I’m not lazy, but I am scattered. As I approach my seventieth birthday, I find myself living on social security in Thailand, where things are cheap enough to allow such a thing. Where things are inexpensive enough to allow a dabbler to live a life of relative freedom from want.
I’ve just returned from the art supply store where I bought another $3.30 canvas. I will spend less than an hour splashing paint on it and wiping it around haphazardly. Then I will photograph it for posterity and consign it a closet someplace in this ramshackle house, where it will be discovered after I am dead and disposed of in some way that seems appropriate to the finder.
The problem I face in putting all my eggs in the “artistic creativity” basket allows me to wonder what I should be doing with myself when inspiration fails me. Sometimes inspirations fails me for an entire day. Then what?
Most people enjoy numerous avenues of diversion, but not me. I take no interest in sports or politics, and do not read mysteries of adventure novels. If it’s not art, I’m not interested.
So I’m a bored elitist. For one who can barely hop, my bar is set too high.
Michelangelo had the patience to rub a slab of marble with an abrasive cloth until it turned into a human figure. I can’t be bothered to wait for oil paint to dry, and so must rely on acrylics. My numerous creations escape my recall. If I can’t remember them, why would anyone else notice?
On The Street Where I Live
It’s been getting up to a 105 degrees in the afternoon, so in the hour before sunset, people dare to venture out of their homes for a quick stroll around the neighborhood. We just moved here two days ago. It’s much quieter here than where we lived before, but a little spooky/lonely, as well. Here is the shot I took this afternoon at the end of my lane.
at least I know I’m not in Iowa anymore
THE SOCIAL CONTRACT AND ME
MY CRIMES AGAINST NATURE
If I’m going to be a criminal, I want to do something to attack the social fabric that tears a really big hole, one that will be remembered for years. Fuck propriety. Where did following rules ever get me?
Some people talk about a “social contract” as if it had been drawn up by lawyers and signed by witnesses. From what I’ve seen, it’s a bunch of unspoken agreements designed by those who have to exclude those who haven’t.
If I want to have sex with barnyard animals, that’s up to me and the critters. If I want advice, I’ll ask for it. Of course you’re free to accuse me of crimes against nature, but I think you’re talking more about yourself here than about me or Nature.
By the way, I don’t want to have sex with animals, that’s just something that came to mind while I was writing. A lot of what I say surprises me. I’m the first one to hear of it as my fingers dutifully type what the voice in my head dictates.
In fact, if the noise in my head were audible to others I’d surely be jailed or hospitalized before the day is through.
Idyllic Afternoon
at the leper colony
Wat Doi Kham
Dr. Science Remembers Paraguay
I was living and working in Paraguay when I heard that George W Bush was eager to purchase a large tract of land in a country that had no extradition treaty with the US. I showed him an attractive acreage near Capitan Miranda, a town that just happened to have been the home of Doctor Josef Mengele, the infamous Nazi Angel of Death. Bush wasn’t as sold on the Nazi connection as I thought he might have been, but he assured me that Rumsfeld and Cheney would be, and were eager to come visit. He assured me that Paraguay was “their kind of place,” and we even went so far as to make reservations a the Tivoli Hotel, a Bavarian-styled structure with a good swimming pool and plenty of secretive stone rooms to do…whatever in.
Yes, when the rats flee a sinking ship they all do it together. Kissinger himself has the best contacts all over the world, and is constantly turning down offers of asylum in countries that promise to forget and forgive, and actively honor his legacy while keeping him comfortable and safe.
As I scientist I was fascinated to hear that Nazi UFO research and mind-control experiments involving psychoactive plants had continued on after the war in both Paraguay and Argentina. Ground-breaking research that dares to delve into the unorthodox and possibly illegal always grabs my attention. I could imagine spending a delightful evening sharing my results with Rumsfeld and Cheney, while a Bush happily played with blocks on the floor. After all, it was Rumsfeld who back during the Ford Administration got Aspartame approved even after it had been banned as a sugar substitute. First developed by the Nazis as a nerve agent, and now rechristened as “Amino Sweet Natural Sweetener” it was merely the first triumph in his legacy leading up to the events of September 11, 2001.
Yes, these boys would be happy in Paraguay where land and human life is cheap. Alfredo Stroessner, the dictator of the country for more than 35 years, had a personal torturer, who would let him listen in via telephone to torture sessions that he couldn’t attend because of his busy schedule. Stroessner had a permanent suite at the Tivoli Hotel, and often entertained teen-age beauties by the pool.
The Rock’s Giant Heart of Gold
LOL! Latest Funny Celeb Pics!
Just as much as the rest of us, celebrities like to have fun, but sometime the onus of their public status weighs heavy on them. Their publicists warn them not to do anything too silly, and not to have an unattractive picture go viral on social media. The stars become glum and withdrawn. Fearful of making a lasting bad impression, remaining home-bound, finally venturing forth for only the most closely-scripted media events.
Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson feels an obligation to his fan base. He wants to appear only in ways that would inspire and impress. His generosity is legendary, though the gentle giant has gone to great lengths to keep his acts of charity a secret. Few know that he donated one of his lungs to a child who needed one. “It’s OK, you’ve got two!” was all the Rock had to say on the matter. Doctors barely stopped him from donating both kidneys in another incident, despite his insistence to “give until it hurts.”
“I don’t mind dialysis,” said the highest-grossing movie start on the planet. “Gives me a chance to slow down and read stories to kids. Or if there’s no kid nearby, I can inhale pure oxygen to help my remaining lung do its job better.”
Indeed, the only photo of Dwayne at a dialysis center shows him with tubes inserted into his massive arms, an oxygen mask on his face, and an enraptured child in his lap, listening to a real celebrity read the antics of “Curious George.”
Fun comes in all shapes and sizes, flavors and textures, and for Dwayne Johnson, it doesn’t get any more fun than this.
Sexy Fruit
Is it just me, or does this mangosteen turn you on? I can’t figure out if it’s the plump, juicy ripeness of it that reminds me of an eighteen year old girl in the blush or her beauty, or the resemblance to the swollen nether regions of a baboon in heat. In both cases, it’s instinct on rampage that makes me find this so attractive. The fact that I’m 69 years old has little effect on my perceptions. My actions, yes, but not my perceptions.
In some ways, this dirty old man is more appreciative of the beauty of youth than ever before. I even find the bodies of athletic young men pleasing to look at. I haven’t a gay bone in my body, but I think I would spend a happy half an hour gazing at Michaelangelo’s David in the Uffizi in Florence. I was there last year, but the crowds of Chinese tourists dissuaded me from paying the entrance fee.
\
Center of the Universe
Sometimes I catch myself thinking that my life, my plans, my grand enterprises, my little schemes are more important than those of the people around me. The woman washing her face in a commercial on TV in this coffee shop in which I am sitting is a common fool, but I am an undiscovered genius.
If only there were justice in this world, I would be the one on TV! Somebody would be paying me big bucks to peck away on my laptop.
Then, in saner moments, I realize that there is beauty all around me. That other people are often more diligent and hard-working than I, and quite often more physically beautiful. The fact that I’m creeping up on age 70 allows me this new glimpse of humility.
What if I’ve already lost the race for money, prestige and power? Would admitting that be so bad? Would I become crestfallen, humiliated, utterly defeated? Probably not. Sure, I can still entertain reasonable hopes for a future, but it’s time to let the other fantasies go.
dancoffeypostdotcom 