Blog-a-saurus Rex

"If I get all my work done, I can go outside and play." -my anxious self

I just read the story of Ruth and Boaz from the Biblio. At the end of the book it tells you that she was the Grandmother of King David. When I am reading the book of Ruth I like to picture the excitement of David as he heard his father tell him that family story early in his youth. Later on it was David the Musician, and David the Warrior ,who carried the memory of his family. David the King than had the story recorded. David learned a true respect for the virtues of his Grandmother. So much so that when he was lost in the wilderness and met Abigail, he recognized her strength of character and let all his anger be silenced by her virtue that reflected a image of his grandmother to him. This is just what my mind pictures.

Some one said, “ we might never see him again.” but the source of that problem is not in the “him”, but the “we”. If you are to wait for the “ we” group of life to tell you what you will see and what you will not see, than you might be waiting a long time on your orders to come from your counselors. Your decision to see “him”, is based upon the desires of your own eyes. A collective never shared the exact same view of anything. I recently moved, and there were people that I did not get to say good bye to before I left. I was told by a friend that several of them said, “ we might never see him again.” and in truth I agree with them, because of the distance of their comment. But, the friend who told me all of this, told me that he loved me, and in truth I know that I will see him again. Because he is dealing with the “ him” and not the “we”.

Mental Diamonds of Hope. A Episode in Secrets. The Court Room of God

Every once in a while I wish to open up and write about distinct events and people that are in my life. I am carried away with this idea that I am going to write openly about my discomforts and wonders and love interests and in that I will feel better about revealing all that is inside of my heart. I don't want to confuse anyone if they have never had these urges before, but Ive noticed others taking action on these same unique urges and reaping their due result for their episodes. I think we can easily call it Gossiping, and revealing Secrets. I am more interested in writing about revealed Secrets than I am about writing a anti-Gossip paragraph. The only thing that makes a secret valuable is its unique quality that is placed upon it by you. Often times we reveal secrets that we treasure as our diamonds of mental hope and refuge of our intention, only to have our secrets traded for little value in the audience we select to share with. I am saying this as a reminder to myself to allow my secrets to stay with me longer for self value sake.

How do you meet your friends? Last night I was thinking of how many people must have loved the famous sci-fiction writer Douglas Adams. I was only thinking this after I watched a episode of Doctor Who from 1978 that he wrote the story line for. I was thinking about how a man's capability can draw people to himself so that they will be his friend. The Rockstar ideal. I can make them come to me, or I can go to them. I could break the ice as they say. Its odd to think that we cast type our friends by the benefits they can offer us. I only ask these questions, because I am wondering if I am trying to make a friend for their benefits, or if I am going to be trying to offer them my life as a service.

I was reading two different books today. I found a consistence in them both. The one book was describing a court scene, a cousin was testifying for the life of his dead cousin. A unjust affair had occurred. The young man's case was badly heard by the judge, because it was dealing with accusations against a upper class gentlemen. “This court is a court of Justice” the judge said, “not a Court of Honor. Until the day when the intentions of a man's heart can held as a testimony for him, we will only try the events as they have been known to happen.” The second book was a Spiritual book writing about the Court room of God. The earth is guilty and not one of us has a alibi contained within himself alone. It was awesome to read two different stories and thoughts and to feel the combination of emotions and thoughts in each.

Love, beards, Indians and Diamond Delis

I have a couple of things to write about today. One being LOVE. I went to church last night and the guy talked about Love. The love your neighbour type of love. He told the story of "the good samaritan", you know the one....a Jewish traveler is beaten, robbed, and left half dead along the road. First a priest and then a Levite come by, but both avoid the man. Finally, a Samaritan comes by. Samaritans and Jews generally despised each other, but the Samaritan helps the injured Jew. Jesus is described as telling the parable in response to a question regarding the identity of the "neighbour" which says should be loved. He then went on and used another analogy to tell the story, which I LOVED.

He told the story using cowboys and Indians, rifles and bow and arrows. The indian rides past on his horse, sees a naked cowboy on the side of the road with arrows in his back. He doesn't think twice and picks up the cowboy, throws him over the back of his horse and rides him in to the next town. The town is a cowboy town. The men sit on their porches chewing tobacco, shining their rifles and watch with beady eyes as the Indian rides in with the near dead cowboy on his back. He could turn around, but he puts his life on the line to do good for his neighbour. Thats the kind of good Samaritan I'm talking about! Love extravagantly! (Im loving cowboys, indians, the movie True Grit and beards (fox man attached) right now so this story fit in with my trains of thought of late!)

Last weekend me and liv (my business partner) went down to Wellington (Capital of NZ) to pick up our friends jewelry range that we are now distributing. We had the best weekend with some friends who live down there who took us to this AMZING cafe called "Queen Sallys Diamond Deli". I would say it is in the top 5 cafes I have ever been too. It ties together seamlessly the eclectic, industrial, cutesy look. With full attention to every detail (anchor cut outs in the verandah awning, a carousel horse light, bunting, delish food, gold lettering, vintage lights and handmade signs).

So thats all. As per usual I'll attach a few pictures. Words are always better with some visuals I think!

I.Protein and Chocolate fix problems II. Bike Techs III. Adventures in Story Boarding

I am waiting to get ready for work. I woke up early and ironed all my clothes. I have prepared myself with a nutritious breakfast of protein, vitamin C, and Chocolate Hazelnut Nut Butter spread. My cloak of mid morning sleep is helpless to contain me.

I am taking my bike to the bike shop today. I have a possible loose back chain ring. This causes my pedals to fall when I place too much resistances on it. The bike is a fixed gear and resistances is one of its most primary necessities. I hope I get a good bike tech to look at her.

I have finished writing the script. I was than told by a friend who is a video maker, that the script needs to be plotted out with illustrated drawings and further descriptions. The process is known as Story boarding. I have done story boarding one time before for a brief job I held. After turning in my story board to the boss, I could tell that I did not have the concept fully mastered. Never the less, failure at a project only gives you a respect for it in return. I have a fourteen page script. I am on page three of script and I have twelve pages drawn out for it.

My dream featuring William Shatner and other thoughts.

William Shatner and I are sitting inside of a College sport's team office. He is behind the head desk and is in charge of a college football team. We are talking over the coming game, and William is showing me a large piece of card stock paper that displays both the teams football helmets with the letters VS. directly between them. The opposing teams helmets are white and their logo is three large letters on the side of the helmet. William Shatner wants to put their schools letters on the side of hid team's helmet as well. It is at this point that I know that William is making all this extra effort because this is his son's school. William was able to easily get the job, because he is a famous movie start and the school is a small private school. Because the school is a private school it does not have three letters for its school name but four. I can remember the letters being FLCC. Not only are their too many letters for the helmet, but William's font for the lettering is terribly desperate looking. Rather than making the letters solid as the other teams, he has boarded each of the black letters with a large white boarder, followed by another thin board of black around that. The font just screams out, “ I am from a private college!” I tell William I don't like the Font. We both agree that the letters are too much and the font as well. We are both just sitting in contemplation in the office. I than suggest the William that he should use the “ number of times viewed” numbers from his viral youtube video of him kicking that guy in the face with a round house. My dream than shows me a video from youtube channel screen of a very young William Shatner wearing a white komodo ,being backed up to a wall by three other men wearing black komodo's. One of the men tries to bull rush William running from the bottom left corner of the screen to Williams right hand side. The man is on only on his third step when Shatner's round house meets him powerfully across the side of his face. The man's body goes limp instantly after the hit and he falls forward in his motion and straight to the ground. The video ends and I look at the number of times viewed 6, 078, 582.

 I say that art work is a self portrait. But all artwork has a audiences, that can be as small as one and as large the whole world. We see their faces flash before our eyes the second we create the idea. Art begins with a idea. And the audience is often born right beside the idea. Imagine the most wonderful party you are going to throw. It is a log cabin next to a lake, you have it for a day and night. Already my mind is filling the cabin with my friend's band who will be throwing a secret show in the woods and everyone will be dancing. I already know who I want to be there at the log cabin in the woods. Life has a audiences. Life is art, because life is a self portrayal. But when we separate the audience from the artwork we loose the passion we have for the dream to create. When you are living your life who do you wish to see it? 

 I am at a critical point inside the book I am currently reading. The story is on a American Colonel in the days when George Washington is still in waiting to accept his position as The United States first President. The Colonel leads a attack that takes the British off guard in Kentucky. He inspires his army of volunteer backwoods men to enlist  in the militia army longer so that freedom can gain its strength to take its course. He expresses a fear in the Constitutional Congress to act in their affairs with passion. He is correct in his assumption, his victory takes effect, but not one of the volunteers is compensated. The Volunteers find open hands for needs, but no support after they help. Years later the Colonel is left with no name for himself, but inside of him still burns the fires of war. Since his actions were not rewarded, he turns back to his initial actions to reward himself with a thrill of life. Fifteen years later he has accepted a commission from the French to take back New Orleans from the current French Government for the Peoples Republic of France. He is hurt by America and is turning wild eyed to a country and a people he knows little to nothing about. The promise to him is that he will be rewarded and that all people will be treated as they desire. It is a heart sinking story, to hear of passion gone off course.

The book is " " The Crossing" Winston Churchill

Act One. "Look me up under a Chapter, and on a page" Act Two. Over emphasizing positive expressions. Act Three. Squirrel in the Attic.

I moved today. It was a seven hour drive yesterday and a seven hour drive today. If I had my way I would have dragged out the time. Placing your junk into boxes is shameful. The act of occupying one place and now occupying another is a mystery. “Chapters” is what we entitle them. And I talk as though my life is a book. What where “Chapters” called before they were called chapters? I am leaning on the explanation of someone elses creation to categorize my life. How would I feel if someone was to approach me and to tell me that I was now a past chapter of their life?

 I was writing my thoughts down about, “ Dreaming” (inspirational thinking). I had to stop writing the thoughts out, because each sentences started with the word, dream or dreaming. I was having right intentions, but over expressed a internal notion I felt and only gave my thoughts a frame work by saying “Dreaming” eighteen times.

It was my last day inside of the house. The house of my Grandparents who had kindly given me room and board for free over the last seven months. I did everything as I had always done. I found a good and simple joy in sitting down on the couch to watch a television program with my grandparent while drinking microwaved coffee. I loved being able to sleep one last night in that old familiar bed. Waking up in the middle of the night, hearing the squirrels running in the attic. Since my childhood, I told myself that I wanted to live there in that house, in Oregon, and I did. I have found myself often in the middle of places and acts that I have always wanted to do. But, it is only after that I realize the full extent of my scenario.

Genius!

Ok, So last night I went to the BEST concert of my life. Sufjan Stevens came to New Zealand, and unleashed his creative genius on us. He came out onstage with his band in neon outfits and blazed into their 'Age of Adz' folk, operatic, pop space odessy. The stage show was sooooo AMAZING, like nothing I have seen, and kept us enthralled with space ships, oversized diamond props, feather boas, and during his EPIC 20 minute finale hundreds of different sized and coloured balloons dropped from the ceiling. IT WAS INCREDIBLE! Not sure if any other gig will ever compare. Big shoes to fill!

Pretty much I think the concert, was a culmination of what I dream my life will be. Glittery, joyful, kooky, loud and with a touch of folk and banjo thrown in.

Writing.

Writing is not necessarily something to be ashamed of, but do it in private and wash your hands afterwards. Robert A. Heinlein

I am currently reading the Crossing, by Winston Churchill. He has just taken me on a journey down the Mississippi River. I feel at this moment that I have never heard of it great river before, but as of now I can never forget it. Like I have just encountered the emotions of a grade school crush. That I have ran to the defense of a girl and now I am being asked why I have stood up to protect her. The emotions inside of me are jumbled and to produce a answer at this time would only lead my audience to taunt me for the conclusion of my undeveloped thoughts. I care about this River more today than I did yesterday.

 I am writing a script right now for my cousin. We are involve in a amateur film making contest hosted through his church. It is very exciting, seeing young people work together in teams. I have gotten stuck a few times in the progress of writing the story, and I confess that it is no where near complete. I grabbed a writing idea from famous Director Akira Kurosawa. In the 1980's he was fired from Toho Studio and he could no longer get anyone to front him the money to produce his latest movie. In the waiting time, of not knowing if the movie would ever be made he himself went through the movie and painting images of how he saw it to be made. Yes, the description is Story Boarding, but the director himself was making his own images for his movie from what he saw. Two days ago I was stuck on the not knowing how to advance the script, so I brought out my sketch book and started to draw. After I was done drawing I realized that the picture in front of me was a image that I wanted to be seen inside of the film. So I went back to writing and wrote the scene I had just drawn out. Kurosawa's film “Ran” was finally made. George Lucas and Francis Coppola gave him the money to make the film.

Tricky Tricky, European Facebook, and 30 days and counting

Art is a tricky thing and making art is a tricky thing as well. You can begin a project that you want to stop, but for some odd reason you plague yourself with the need to finish. A practical rule that I repeat inside my own head, is that the thing that is stopping me from the next accomplishment is my last and greatest victory. It is our victories that hold us back from setting out on our next campaign.

I was talking to CJ about how much I enjoy walking to the grocery store to do my shopping. He said that in cities all over the world people walk through and around their towns. Since that conversation I like to imagine my walks to the grocery story as though I am in Europe in a small village. I can imagine the need for walking is related to the social aspect of the village. It is as powerful as a young persons need for Facebook. In fact villages around the world, they don't have Facebook, they have Walk To The Grocery Store Book.

I submitted my picture to the Boise Weekly on Monday of this week. I should hear word in the next thirty days as to whether or not they want my picture. It is now Thursday and I must admit that I check my phone often with the idea that I will see a new voice message indicated on there. I like the tension that this experiences is producing inside of me. To one thought I think, “ I could have done a lot better on that picture.” but to another thought, “ Man! Its a picture of a guy stabbing a monkey with a knife! Who won't want this as a Trapper Keeper ?"

Act I. Guy Cutting a Monkey with a Knife

I am submitting this picture for the cover of the Boise Weekly. The reward is that you get to be photoed and post a artist statement next to your picture. It feels like thought graffiti on the social brains of the city. 

Act II. " Get out of the road you little beast!"

Driving a couple of nights ago, I saw a cat crossing the road. I braked till the animal acknowledged that it must turn its walk into a trot. It was at this point that I began yelling at the cat.

“ I hit cats!”(pause) “ I hit cats!” In my history of driving I have never struck a animal. It was earlier this week that on dark car drive home I had a encounter with a cat. The car in front on me braked and something appeared directly in front of me. I thought it was a cardboard box, but it was a cat. I turned to the left and braked. I convinced myself that the cat made it free from death from my car. A day later I looked to see my brand new front license plate of my car dented and a quarter of a inch size rip in the metal. The facts lay before me, and tonight I gave a clean witness to my crime. “ I hit cats! Get out of the road you little beast!”