Lima Beans

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I could tell you about falling in love with a super cute optometrist who sat across from me in a tiny dark room and told me to look down at her tummy while slowly blinking my eyes.

I could tell you about the wedding couple that held hands while all the guests turned their heads up to the planetarium sky and got chills as they watched a projection of the spinning galaxy set to the most breathtaking Beach House song.

I could tell you about the Russell Crowe movie that I worked on back in April and the movie that I’m  currently working on.

I could tell you all about gotdaughter, my family, my friends, and trips to the frog pond.

I could.  I suppose I really could.  I could give you the meat and potatoes of my life as my dear blogger friend put it, but for now you’ll have to settle for a few lousy lima beans.  I haven’t been in the mood for writing.

Here’s a couple photos from the past few months.

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Wish You Were Here

Wish You Were Here

My mother wrote to me.  “Listen sonny boy,” she began.   “I’m starting to forget your face.  I know you’re strange and all, but don’t be a stranger, you hear?  Won’t you please come back to this place?”

this place, this place, this place, this place
this place, this place, this place, this place

This doggone place?!!

“No can do, I’m sorry mama,” I replied.  “I prefer the shadows, and the rivers, and the quiet, and the peace.  This place, this place, this place.  I’m really sorry, mama.  How’s about instead I send you a picture of me floating through outer space.”

*    *    * 

“Wish You Were Here”
Original by Pink Floyd
Cover by Sparlkehorse and Radiohead

So, so you think you can tell Heaven from Hell, blue skies from pain.
Can you tell a green field from a cold steel rail?
A smile from a veil?
Do you think you can tell?

Did they get you to trade your heroes for ghosts?
Hot ashes for trees?
Hot air for a cool breeze?
Cold comfort for change?
Did you exchange a walk on part in the war for a lead role in a cage?

How I wish, how I wish you were here.
We’re just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year,
Running over the same old ground.
What have we found?
The same old fears.
Wish you were here.

Manchester

Origami Heart

“Manchester”
by Kishi Bashi

I wrote me a book
I hid the last page
I didn’t even look
I think I locked it in a cage
Wrote a novel
‘Cause everybody likes to read a novel

It started with a word
And it started pretty well
About a rare and fragile bird that I couldn’t even spell
On the table
I think I left it on the table

I found the last page in the sky
Cold and sweet, like an apple
I found you and now the story has its proper end

Oh hello,
Will you be mine?
I haven’t felt this alive in a long time
All the streets are warm today

I read the signs
I haven’t been this in love in a long time
The sun is up, the sun will stay
All for the new day

The very last breath of the hero of our tale
Would you only like to guess
Did he truly prevail
In the sequel?
I guess I’ll have to write a sequel

My favorite part’s when I die
In your arms like a movie
It’s tragic, but now the story has its proper end

Oh hello,
Will you be mine?
I haven’t felt this alive in a long time
All the streets are warm today

I read the signs
I haven’t been this in love in a long time
The sun is up the sun will stay
All for the new day

Oh hello,
Will you be mine?
The days are short and I wrote me my last rhyme
All the streets are warm today
I read the signs
I haven’t been in this love in a long time.

It’s been a long time

*   *   *

Yes, it has been a long time.  I am well.  I hope you all are, too.    Now put on your headphones and watch this video you dimwit dingalings!

Angels in the Moonlight

Choo-choo.  I beg a thousand pardons you dimwits.  I’m a little late boarding the whole Valentine’s Day googly gaga (omigosh, grody, like totally gag me with a spoon) rushin’, racin’, zoomin’, boomin’, bustlin’, hustlin’, speedin’ love train.  “Better late than never” goes the saying.  Let’s hope so.

Below is a belated valentine.  It’s from a series of cards I designed seven years ago, which included hand drawn illustrations on the inside cover of cutesy hearts exploding from the eye sockets of skulls engulfed in flames and hearts being pierced by Cupid’s arrow, spewing and spattering blood from the ripped gashes of pulmonary arteries.

Yes, yes.  ‘Tis true.  I’m an old sap when it comes to love.  I’m a true blue romantic that fancies the mushy stuff.  Anyhow, here’s a valentine from me to you with hugs and kisses of the French variety.  XO, dear friends.  Much love to you.  001 I Goth You Babe

I stopped in the small, picturesque town of Saluda, North Carolina the other week.  Small, sure.  But Saluda has experienced quite a boom over the past decade and now boasts a population of 703, this according to the 2012 census.

I do believe I met about half the town as I went wondering about the one block main street, strolling through the art gallery, gift shops, eateries, and the incredibly cool old-timey general store.  I even got the pleasure of shaking hands and chatting it up with the town mayor, Fred.  Helluva man, that Fred.  It was a pleasant lazy, sunny afternoon spent in the small, southern town of Saluda by all accounts, I reckon.

While browsing through the general store, walking past the rows of homemade jellies and soaps and toys and candies and antique hand painted signs, I came across a section in the back containing about two dozen different books displayed on wooden shelves.   I didn’t recognize any of the titles.  These weren’t the classics, the Brave New Worlds and the Great Expectations.  No, these were little known books by local authors, poets, and historians that you’d be hard-pressed to come across anywhere else.

I didn’t have anywhere else to be.  I had all the time in the world.  I began picking up and riffling through some of the books, amazed to find that several of them had greetings like “Enjoy!” and “Thank you for reading this book” scribbled on the opening pages by the authors, followed by their autographs in ballpoint pen.

I read a couple of the introductions but one of the books in particular captured my interest.  It left me standing there holding the book in the back of the musty smelling general store, reading page after page.  It was a book called “The Sun’s Gonna’ Shine In My Back Door…Some Day!” by Charles O. Hearon, Jr.  The book is a collection of rough and raw, wild and silly poems and short stories, coupled by beautiful shabbily drawn pen and ink illustrations of smiling suns and grazing horses.  I had to purchase the book right then and there.  It’s a real gem.

Charles is no longer with us, but his words live on through those lucky enough to stumble upon them.  It’s not my favorite poem in the collection, but I thought I’d share one of his poems pertaining to love and loss and the likes.  It’s a poem called “Angels in the Moonlight.”  There’s not a date given for this particular poem, but it’s most likely from the 1920s or 1930s based on the dates given for some of his other poems.  I hope you enjoy.

Angels in the Moonlight
by:  Charles O. Hearon, Jr.

I see angels in the moonlight
I see my dead dogs in the moonlight
I see dead horses and mules picking
Cropping silently in the pasture
In the moonlight.

I hear wagons and freight trains rattling in the moonlight
I hear teamsters crack and drive in the moonlight
Long ago I met you in the moonlight in a dell
A brook and flowers too.

You went away into the moonlight
And now I go and wait for you
To come back through the moonlight.
You don’t come back for reasons
But you are there as close as the smell of honeysuckle
As friendly as the sand.
Funny stuff moonlight.

Thunderstruck

Thundersruck

It’s been twenty nights and nineteen days spent in solitude at the North Carolina cabin.  It hasn’t all been solitude.  I’ve met a few folks along the way, like the lucky son of a bitch I caught hiding underneath the back deck two mornings ago.  Lucky, because I didn’t knife him a good one right in the gut.  No good, rotten, trespassing, hill-jacked, creeping fool.

True story.  You can hear everything in the mountains.  If you close your eyes at night and sit still long enough, you can even hear the deep soothing hum pulsating from the magnificent bright burning stars.  “Hmmm-mmmnnn.  Hmmmmmnn,” they go.   You can hear the violent winds, the creaky trees, the chirping birds, and the snorting deer.  It’s quiet here at Lake Lure.  You can hear pert’ near everything.

I heard it all right.  It was 8:30 in the morning.  I was laid out on the couch reading a Nicholas Sparks novel, dabbing away at my welling tears with a soft tissue, when I heard a car idling and then heard footsteps coming from the back of the cabin shorty afterwards.  I clearly haven’t watched enough scary movies, because my first instinct was to go outside and investigate the whereabouts of the strange noises.  It never even occurred to me that the footsteps might be coming from a person hiding out on the premises, and most likely, were coming from a mass murdering psychopath who preferred to take his victims by way of chainsaw.

I walked outside and the foot-stepping culprit came out from underneath the deck.  He was wearing a woolen hat and women’s silver sparkling gloves.   He looked up at me standing on the deck above and nervously said hello as he made himself known.

I said hello back, complimented him on the sparkly gloves, and then asked if I may inquire why a strange man was hiding out underneath the deck of another person’s property.  The gentleman gave the completely logical explanation that while his girlfriend drove up to her house to get some stuff, he thought he’d pop a squat at my cabin, get cozy, prop the feet up, being that the cabin is usually vacant and he didn’t expect anyone to be home, and being that he didn’t want to take the chance of running into his girlfriend’s husband at her house.   He went into a long, unsolicited explanation of the triangle love story – the illicit wild love affair he’s caught up in –  including projections of how the story will end up.  *Spoiler alert*  After some trials and tribulations, he gets the girl.

It was a bizarre exchange.  Even in solitude, in a cabin in the middle of nowhere, I can’t seem to escape these weird encounters that seem to follow me around everywhere.  I think they call that “life.”  I listened to the trespasser’s heartfelt confessional, standing in my flannel pj’s and gave him some take-it-or-leave-it advice.  I gave him some other advice as well, and advised him not to hideout on my buddy’s property anymore.

His mistress beeped the horn once.  That was his signal.  I walked him to the front of the cabin, waved to the mistress in the front seat chomping down on an apple, wished him a good life, and the two lovers drove off into the distance.

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It’s absolutely gorgeous here on the mountain even in the dull and drab month of January.  It snowed a few inches the other day.  A rarity anymore I was told by an early morning walker that I ran into as I was taking in a sunrise by the partially ice frozen lake.  I haven’t been taking many photos during my stay.  I’ve mostly been reading, relaxing and lending an ear to the occasional troubled trespasser, but I did put together a video and slideshow highlighting the snow storm.  Nature sure does kick ass.  Nature leaves me thunderstruck.