Years have passed, and I am a married father now.

  I am going to jump in and explore trying to become a copy writer. So I am trying to find my niche. Th e first question is what do I love to learn about and could talk about all day? Talking all day makes me think of younger years. It makes me think of late nights in Brooklyn over a bottle of whiskey. But there arte things I love to learn about. Art, film, history, comics, theatre, sociology, philosophy, travel, Japanese carpentry, anything Japanese really, different cultures, different lifestyles, and the why of things. That's what I wrote down. I think there are a lot of things I like to learn about. I like to learn about space. Other planets. I love every class I take, because learning is exciting.

 It can be hard for me to find the time to research things.

 I do believe I have somethig to share with the world. It just has not fully formed yet, because it has been sqeezing out in numerous outlets.

 I am looking forward to my poetry class tomorrow.

Brief words on weighty thoughts

      I am not sure how apparent it has become but I finished watching the new cosmos series. The last episode is about global warming. I have always been concerned about our treatment of the environment, but now it hurts my brain. There is no way to get the world to stop. We are a machine that knows only how to ravage. This world is our Eden, and in our foolish knowledge we are destroying it. What will life be like once we have gone to far? Or how far will we let it go?
       I always liked dark sci-fi, now I don't know. Maybe I need to write one.

Vague dreams of getting off the carbon train

     My blogs sound like the ranting of someone overflowing with thoughts and feelings with no particular clarity. Which they are. I hope that I am able to find some clarity through these writings.
     I have always felt concerned about the environment and somewhat alienated by my culture. I feel completely powerless to what we are doing to the world. How are we supposed to wake up each day and compete with each other for our egotistic desires while we drive this machine out of our exploited garden of eden? I often ride myself for not having figured life out by now, for not being more successful. But I don't know if I am composed of what it takes to be a success. There are just too many things going wrong in our world for me to promote my own existence.
     I am not on the right path. I don't want success, I want the time to make art, the community to be social, and the environment to support the natural world. I can visualize that. A relatively self sufficient artist colony.
    I know a number of people of people who have lived or were raised on communes. The conclusion is that they don't work. People get isolated, people get weird. Major drama ensues. Then they crash and most people move away, leaving some small core of die hard members that either become more mentally remote, or spend their time away from the community anyway. Thus the end. I think one hurtle is this us and them feeling. first of all, people moving to the country in a group probably have some major issues with the consumer based society they are leaving. then they band together and head to some remote place. Us and them. So once the us starts to show cracks they run back to the them.
     I like living with people. If I leave my house I can't just be around people. I can walk the streets. I can pay money to sit in a bar. But I cannot be with people who are letting their guard down and just being themselves. Maybe it is a hold over from school, I spent fifteen years of my life waking up and going to a communal  place. Sure sometimes people are loud and annoying. They are often messy, and then you have to watch them flirt and hear them have sex. But so what, I have experienced all that and we still wake up the next day and carry on. It is the amusement of our lives. Like my friends who watch and talk about their dogs interacting. Just something to do. I also believe that it is in our nature to live communally, That we will work together and are able to feed each other better than on our own, and that we use our resources better. I believe that the road to a more harmonious life style is through group living. That our materialistic society could learn from going back to the land. And that maybe this outlook could solve the us verse them relationship.
      More ranting. It is all just an idea that I have no way to make a reality. But I think about this stuff, because I am trying to find in my own little way a path not to stop or change society, but to forge options. Because the world is being destroyed and I am bummed about it. And I feel like we are all a problem because there is no divergent coarse then the one we are on. There is nothing else to be but a carbon pumping world destroyer.

Sugar coated dreams of homelessness dancing in my head.

     I should elaborate somewhat. Living in my bus is seriously high class for homelessness. I have bed, bath, and a kitchen. I don't really have a way to bathe, but I have the comforts I need. I have not lived in the bus since last fall. I feel like I still remember the negative sides. People who do not like or understanding your existence, cop that want to ticket you into oblivion, because,.. well they don't like or understand your existence. And the loneliness.
     I have not lived alone much in my life. It never seemed like a financially viable option. I am an artist.  what I do with much of my time has never been profitable to my pocketbook. So I have lived cheaply and in houses with often a large number of roommates. So going home to a quiet dark bus, parked on a forgotten street that does not garner much attention was often difficult for me. One of the few times I have gone to a bar just to be around people. But those are some of the challenges of my previous life.
     There were a number of benefits. Wonderful things I got aquatinted to, like freedom. I painted and drew nearly everyday, simply because I wanted to. I want that again. I want to drive to the painted hills just in search of a landscape to soak in.
      Of course if I left my job and did such a thing the gas money alone would render me broke in a matter of months. I wonder how many years it will take to be financially stable. To live from my art sales. Ha, A silly question that not only is a pipe dream, it leads us the wrong direction. Away from creativity. All the most successful artists these days seem to be excellent business people. But being good at business may have little or nothing to do with their art. Art always has to be inspiring to the artist. That is why it matters. Why we work so hard to bring it in to this world.
     Strangely, I really do believe in a paradigm shift in our world. And in my lifetime. 'Cause it has to happen. Our lifestyle has to cease. That is the only reason, we will avoid it as long as possible, but our bubble is breaking. So what does that have to do with living in a bus. Life. That's what it is. When things stop, when the car crashes we get out and start living , right then. And that is the nice thing about living in a bus. Sure I am still pumping gas into an outdated engine, but I don't feel like an engine, out dated, maybe, but myself. How I maybe feel if the world banks collapsed and everything went wildly normal.
      That's one thing, collapse of our system is both incredibly difficult to imagine, and very simple. There maybe mayhem and looting in the streets, and there will also be cooperation as well. People will surely be wandering around talking to eachother. There won't be much else to to. Not until they decided where to start farming. Collapse of our society just seems like our probable future to me. And it doesn't sounds too abnormal to me.
      The question is, once it becomes apparent that it is happening, will we let the present day wealthy try to turn the world into a feudal system again. They're probably working on it right now.

Our own way.

     For me accepting that I am a failure as an artist is inspirational. It allows me to look at where I am at, what I have done, and where I am going, or not going. Other people think it sounds negative. It allows me to ask questions. First of all, why do I even want success and what does that look like. I want some variety of monetary success because I want the time to be an artist. If there is one thing that does irk me it is that all these years I feel held back as an artist simply because I do not have the time, or after my regular work I do not have the energy to focus and grow as an artist. The years go by and this thing that I love, this activity that breathes life into my soul is neglected. Do I care about being a great or important artist? Umm, no, not particularly. I like it as a concept because rationally I know that if someone deemed me as a great or important artist I would not have to work so hard selling my stuff. But that is not a genuine motivation. Wanting to be somewhere so that you do not have to work to get there will never change anything. So I have to learn how to sell myself. Or I can simply focus on creating and producing work that is exciting enough to me to want to promote, or should I pursue my wilder ideas of creation that are interesting enough to make who I am and what I am about vibrant and attractive.
   Really I cannot due any of this 'cause I go to go to work on Monday. But the good news is when I am done with my job I won't be broke, right. So maybe then I can pursue the big dream plan.
    I am definitely going to do it my own way. I have never been a self promoter. There is a Rakim quote, "It's not where you have been, It's where your at." I know people want to know what you have done, what credentials you have, why they should choose you for so and so. But to me that sucks the life out of what was and where I am going. I want where I am to take me to the next step. Is that a pipe dream? Maybe. But maybe if I can actually share what I am doing with you. Maybe if this world wide web thing really connects us all across the globe. Maybe I can feel like I am reaching out to the world. Maybe we can all make art. Maybe we can change the world
   That sounds like a whole lot of bullshit. The time, however, is now. We cannot live in this world the way we do any more. This paradise we call home is heating up. I cannot watch my planet be destroyed in my life time. It is no longer just about being successful as a painter or illustrator. It becomes about living for your ideals. Maybe I do not have the resume to achieve as an artist, but I have the mettle in my beliefs, the foment in character to be an individual in a world driven to conformity.
  It is time we got off the track.

A new leaf

    I have decided to embrace computers again. I have not a,ways had a benign relationship with these machines. As a teenage I would much prefer to hand write a paper then sit down infront of the glowing green screen. The hum of the computer made it hard for me to think, and I felt this voice in the back of my mind choking back a scream. I knew that my aversion of computers would hold me back from being successful in life. I did not care. Every field I liked was moving towards computers, one more reason to be a drop out in society.
    Well twenty years later, I have come around. Mainly because I am done with people. That sounds weird, I will explain. I have so much I want to do, every day I am trying to work on numerous projects. I don't have the time for friends, for a relationship. It is time and commitment. There are so many things I need to do in order to feel fulfilled, and I always feel behind. I have been wrestling with these things my whole life. I am too social to ever have enough time for my interests. Then it occurred to me, conceivably I could have some social connections on the internet. I can't really get into face book. It is just not for me, But it allows me to see the possibilities.
     In some ways this seems like a silly blog. I am a do it or don't do it sort of person. Don't talk about doing it, your wasting your energy. I have tried to get into computer usage before and been repeatedly repelled. Maybe this is the time. May this be a first step to a new relationship to the world. Talk soon.
  -Ta, Julian

What a beautiful morning

        I love them. Mornings like this. Crisp cool, a perfect autumn beginnings. I rode my bike over the bridge, some thing that is particularly special, 'cause I just got the bike and am rarely up and at 'em in the morning.
      So much has transpired since last I was able to converse with you senor blog space as I will refer to you now.
      It is interesting to write as often as possible. Many times I try to write and contemplate something that matters to me. But my brain tends to be rather cyclical in this department. I am always trying to make something happen and am generally about three steps behind. So i am trying to stay focused, amp myself up and work it. Then I sit down to write and realize I have the same thoughts propelling me forward. While what I want to write about are the little moments. The spaces in between, where I can find myself both in my life and outside of it as well.
     The world gets crazier with every minute. It becomes even more important to find the space that sets you free. freedom is the ability to be yourself, and to explore into your definition of what that means. The world will only get more complicated, more of a confusing mess, and more violent. Why? We, as in the human race, have created this scene, predominantly dem whit-ees from Europe and the states. Take a long view. Like the martians in a Phillip K. Dick's story. Colonialism still exists under a new name. The boarders of Iraq were drawn up by England after WW1. We have no place in the middle east and yet we have involved ourselves in shaping their history for a hundred years. the mistakes of the generations before us cannot be erased.
     I am not religious, and yet Jesus' words come to mind. "Forgive them, they know not what they do." Maybe there is a Father in there. But it is so true. Escalation in Hong Kong, to the point no one can back down. Another school shooting seemingly every month. In the center of all the violence in the middle east Israel brashly murders to display their might. Ebola runs rampant. Russia is on a mission to reinstate it's aggressive history. Global warming becomes more apparent as storms and droughts rage. And through it all our politicians become more racistly isolationist, power hungry, and just plain ineffectual.
    My generation has inherited this world. I hope we will start to do something serious to attempt to set it right. I am not with great faith, but will continue to dream. And hopefully i can squeeze out some more beautiful mornings to tool around, wheels spinning, as the air flows over my face and into my heart.

sitting in the bus terminal in Columbus.

      I have been in Pittsburgh for the week. I was picked up from the airport by my cousins and taken to my grandmother's compound in Aspinwall. Nuna, as we call my grandmother is a trip. She is an eighty six year old sicilian Jungian phycologist. Her and my grandfather, Papap, owned three brick buildings in a nice neighborhood in Pittsburgh. First of all, Aspinwall, though considered a nice neighborhood always felt like a weird little twighlight light zone trap to me. It is boxed in by highways, and train tracks, and a river. And unless you have a car you literally cannot get out. And there are their three houses, which always remind me of pap, or Tony. Though dead seven years they still house his memory. And may be related to my aunts eagerness to sell them off. Or maybe we just live in a hard time. Tony would be in tears. We were gathered upstairs, in what I would think of as the second building. This is the apartment where Tony died, but when I visited them in my youth they lived next door. In an apartment he renovated to be larger, by building three rooms over a garage port. The room is laid out exactly like the one next to it was. Except here the walls have now been stripped of their photos. The nail holes stand out emphasizing the bareness. But none of this matters, because even though it has been seven years, since Tony's death that this many of the family has been together, it suddenly feels like yesterday. Pap was of Polish and Scottish decent, as I said Nuna was Sicilian. They had five children, four girls and a boy. My aunts and uncle and their spouses love to drink wine and get loud. Their children are not much different, and definitely share that trait. So we were having many conversations, eager to catch up on each other's lives in a manner that made it hard for any one to actually glean anything.
     I need to sidestep this story for a moment. I have been thinking a great deal about our world, about how we exist in it simply to find a way to exist. There are less and less humans who subsist on the planet. And a constantly growing number who have to subsist on the system we have put into place. This, one, lends us to preform jobs that are often not integral to human survival, and allows people who are powerfully stationed in  the system to use the way our society is constructed to their benefit. These are somewhat obvious facts, but they are important to keep in mind when we are considering our own place in society, and when we want to consider changing society in the future.
     I don't usually hazard to think that I could impact the development and course of humanity, and yet in a non ego oriented way it is important to remember that if you ever did have something worth saying, something that does have weight and impact, it would be heard if you were able to say it. And there would be forces to shut you up. Just as those forces have worked to twist, alter, and co opt, many of the important dreamers of our history. It is also important to remember that we have constructed this society for ourselves. Or rather the ancestors of the fortune five hundred club have designed this for them. The point of remembering such a thing is not to hold on to a grudge at the bastards who made this mess. You can do that if you want, but rather to realize that this is our world, and that is does not have to be structured as it is. Yes that is easy to say if you have money and hard if you don't. Ie, dreams are fine for the winners. But in a more intimate way we make decisions all the time. We make judgements all the time, and how often are our thoughts biased by what our society, which is in many ways hostile and cut throat, programed us.
    If there ever is going to be a non violent revolution it will come from inside of us. Our own minds and perspectives will change, as they do all the time. Most notably from generation to generation. But we have to do it consciously. We have to want a better world. And if we really want that. We have to willing to be better. And I am not saying be nicer, be a good samaritan. To be what the world needs. To  take responsibility for our species and it's role on the planet.
    Dammit, I hardly even started talking about my mother's wedding.

broken pieces will never go back together

   Well, spent a week getting ready to fly to Pittsburgh, only to find out the tickets were messed up and I was possibly going to miss my mother's wedding. Since I wasn't there for the first one I intended to make it this time around.
   Going through cha cha changes. My voice is dropping, growing hair where there was not before. Nah, I just wrapping this  up and heading to Eugene after the wedding. Don't know how that will feel, it will either be productive to go back to what is the closest I have to a home right now, or be a distraction. I think I have the mettle and focus right now to weather the laid back small easy going, beer swilling attitude.
    The main thing in my mind is to work on getting shows now, actually. If I start the ball rolling on being an artists, and shifting my image of the place and the places image of me into a full fledged art-tiste. Changing ones image can be a delicate task. One can not force something new on aggressively. And yet, one cannot slip back into old habits. And old friends can make that slide down the rabbit hole look appealing. But when i be painting like a junkie with pigments in his veins, nothing can arrest my development. That's my road. I can feel inspiration brewing.
    That's the way it is. Sometimes you are just in the right space to produce. All I wanna do is smash paint together and smear it on a canvas for all the days. Ain't no one gonna hold me back.
      Bussin' around Eugene should be interesting. Part of me suspects that if I don't find a house to park in I might get broken into. Which is not surprising, simply that after all this time in Portland with out incident.....   But I eat my Wheaties, geared up, and amped on life.
               That was too much. Sounds like some sort of teen warrior, battling inexcusable behavior and poke marked skin. Yeah, insert Judd Nelson fist pump.
       Got to be careful not to unduly psyche myself up here, and then stagnate in the real world.
     I do spend an exorbitant amount of time thinking about mixing paint.
    There is so much to say, don't know why i am stagnating. I have been working on a story. On a world where things are falling apart. And people are loosing it. For a myriad of psychological reasons people are cracking. A world like ours, but where the collective unconscious has reached a boiling point. Disasters are common place, business and food distribution is starting to fail globally. War and disease are rampant. Mainly our world spinning a little more out of orbit. And people start cracking.
   Let's see, weirder than what is actually happening. Maybe someone building their own dirigible, so they can be a floating sniper. We already have drive by's on the white house. I just imagine people flipping out in the streets. Not all violent stuff. Just this sense that the future is fucked, so consequences are not the same. As a global perspective the human spirit is erupting in uncertainty. It gives alot to work with as a story teller. More on this later.
    A guy I know was shot by Woodstock last week. I did not know him well. I did, however, know the guy who was with him. I know we cannot escape violence in this world. But it sucks. People do not deserve to be murdered senselessly. We should not be afraid to go out into the streets. And the wars continue.

first Thursday

   Well it worked. I mean I will have to go back to the drawing board, the handle will have to be lower. What the hell am I talking about. My art cart of course. It is rather simple. Over the winter I needed a way to show my art. So I came up with these two slats of wood that have notches cut out of them, big enough for a painting to slip in and stand upright. That was for my spot on the street during art walk. Then i decided they charged too much and art walk was bullshit. So I lifted up the whole set up and put it on wheels. Put a stand on the back and a handle and away we go. Art Cart. The thing is it is a cumbersome beast that will wear you down after a few blocks, let alone a couple miles. My shoulders are sore. I might of made a sale if I had gotten a space on thirteenth. But I was just fed up with the fifty dollar rental price. I hate the feeling that if I don't make a sale I am fucked.
    Of course I am fucked. But for entirely different reasons. Mainly because I cannot figure out how to speak in ones and zeros.
     I am going to take a wild turn here and discuss my family and why it bums me out. I feel like I cannot talk about my grandfather, because he was so successful and without trying climbed the ladder right into the white house and beyond. Because he was the secretary of education and I did not want to go into massive debt, like my mother, and never went to college myself. You cannot really say a sentence like that and not sound off some family problems alarms. Of course there are problems, but they have been so carefully avoided, that I have to talk around them to explain them.
    I do not wish to complain, that has no place for me on this forum. I wish I could openly embrace the man who had the largest role in my development. A man that was kinder, more caring, selfless, and perceptive them any one else I have met since. You know when you are with some one and the moment just feels special. It feels like time has slowed down and is smiling at you. The here and now is exciting, but in a peaceful way. I miss him dearly.
     But I have a job to do. Paint and survive. Even if I cannot share my memories, I will hold him in my heart. And I will live on, on the quest I have been on in some way since I shook the yoke of family and home. I used to think Grandpa would understand. would know why I choose to struggle down my own path rather then join society and climb the accepted ladder in the accepted way. Now I don't know. I know he would be captivated by the story that I have lived. But he may not understand it. It may not be understandable.

getting ready for first Thursday.

The morning starts with a dew drop. And I knew we had to pull on boot straps. As the concrete climbs around us, I look beyond. To the sky.
    I don't really say much. Even when I disagree with someone and feel like their words are rather stupid. I avoid arguments because when you engage someone to tell them where they are wrong, your ego gets involved. I have seen it countless times. Someone may know better, but the point of question is quickly lost, and the head to head collision of pride and knowledge turns ugly. My father is a theologian, my eldest brother decided he was atheist when he was six and I was two. I don't know if there is a god, I don't know if the CIA killed JFK or bombed the world trade center. The universe is a vast and marvelous place, with amble arguments to support many opinions. That is the nice thing. People all over the world have have vast and unintelligible views and beliefs. To me none of them are wrong. The only thing that is really wrong is when one idea or world view begins to dominate and create one system. I do not care that fast food chains make a killing stuffing americans with low grade food. I do get disappointed when I go to China and see their stores there, replacing traditional culture. I am fundamentally insulted anytime it is apparent people are putting profits above moral obligations.
   And yes, we know the difference between right and wrong. Right? Do the Koch brothers recognize the damage they are doing for profits. I think so. I think these greedy CEO's have created a competitive environment, where their resumés are lists of new ways to take advantage of people and the world. Are they evil, yes. Do they know it? Somewhere in there, but they surround themselves with like criminals. It happens in a lot of groups. I can be a racist bigot when I surround myself with other racist bigots. It is the history of the world. It is also one of the most important revolutions of the information age. That every thing we do and say, could possibly end up going viral, especially if we are recorded being offensive. Secrecy and transparency have have new meaning and depth.
     I feel like there is a good story in here somewhere. about people, congressmen or something getting screwed my misspoken words, and someone else, maybe someone in ISIS, knowing how to use these modern tools to their benefit.
    Tonight is first Thursday. My last in Portland for the year. I have built a silly little, or not so little art cart. Where I can wheel around my paintings and not have to pay the stupid fees for a cage on the street. It takes a little more to explain, but these parking spot spaces you rent from this art council is really a joke. You get all your stuff to sell together, and take it over there and then hock up fifty bucks for a spot. So the minute it starts you are desperate for a sale. And then everyone walks by you like a monkey in a zoo. A few may come by to look at a painting, but most do not want to engage. And once again you want to shoot your self in the face.

slow start, till I get going

  This day started with clouds. I was supposed to paint but the first moment I groggily became aware of where I had parked, it was the rumble of an old vw engine, I knew it was a Portland overcast. I pulled out a skill I have in such situations, and went back to bed. Now it is already after noon and I am sitting down for my first cup of tea.
   I am on a pier. A long way from the from the noises of other people and their society. Out here I sometimes feel alone. Isolated from society for they do not know and could not understand my situation. there are other presences here, ghosts. Sometimes I feel them, sometimes I do not. The painters who have come before me. Van Gogh, is one of the more powerful phantoms.
    Both of us found our love for art in the world and in the paint. We felt rejected, both self imposed and not, by the art community, predominately because it turned into a social clique of haves, rather than a community. So we did it our own way. Sons of preachers we only had to believe in our hearts. We would find a way.
    fortunately I am not as crazy as he.
    Aahh, the rain has arrived, and I have just made plans to walk a bunch of miles across town. I have always seen elements of my life that are quest like. I have never been able to pursue financial success. It was just not in the realm of my motivation. i want to make a better world. But it will not happen, the intent of people is not altruistic. Humans run the gambit between good and evil. some switch their natures on a whim. But society promotes certain perspectives. American capitalism thrives on competition. We enjoy seeing each other struggle and fight to make it, to get to the top. We promote individualism and independence. And we equip ourselves for this environment. Selfishness is a part of individualism, if no one is looking out for us but ourselves, then we hold on to what we got. We cannot learn to give unless someone shares and gives to us, and we recognize it. All of these attitudes and beliefs foment a mood to a place. Every town and city in America is different, and they all share a similar core through national discussions. Here in Portland we are liberal. Community is on some level generally accepted.
    I lost my train.
    there world is not going to change. There are no avenues that I can see. It is not that our system is solidly built. It is not. Which is why the people running spend so much time and effort promoting it in our minds. It is and always will be as solid as our belief. That is why above anything else television and commercials, media, they all promote our way of life. American as apple pie and football. A burger on a grill instills nostalgia. A fondness for a sunny afternoon that may be a memory compounded on many summer days, maybe one single moment that we felt good, felt at home, or may be a complete fabrication, the American moment we honor. It is about the way the memory feels more than if it is true. It is the same way in our society, our world. Do we feel good. Or has something soured in our hearts.
 

A little diddy to start the day

Don't know what I am doing today. Don't know what I am doing tomorrow. Don't know what I am doing with my life. No wait, I am painting. I am making art that help me cope with a world that i find has no meaning, no direction other than destruction. Wait, where Americans, we are builders, that's what Obama says. And that's what we do build structures and infastructure and infostructures. But how much of the world have we paved over. What has our world design destroyed in it's implementation. Am I living in the past. I don't think so. Rain forests in Brazil are not living in the past. What is left of them is our future. My lost life may not be linked in with the rest of the world, But it has meaning in the questions it asks. In the doubts I live with. Sometimes that is all you need. I am out here on the street where I have always felt at home. Let art live and breathe. Time to hit the street. Ta, for now

I may have gone off the deep end here.

  As our country prepares to send troops back to Iraq I am plagued with thoughts and concerns for the human species. Are we going into another war because this Islamic organization called ISIS beheaded a journalist, or because they have no regard for American authority and threaten to sell oil not to us and not in US dollars? How much is our military used as world cops and how much does our government emphasize this angle, and our duty, in order to use the weapons they make, make more money, and control the international market? Clearly there are some bad guys involved in ISIS, but our own government's inability to look in the mirror makes me suspicious about who might be the bad guys in a larger sense.
    Surprisingly I bring this up to talk of art. The art game is a silly one. I feel well established as an artist. I have high standards and feel content with the products I am creating. And people tend to agree. But selling these works of art is a whole different ball game. People like the idea of art, the like to see it, see me painting in their city. But spending money on it is a entirely different issue. People have other concerns. They have to pay their rent and bills, and then they want to go out and have a nice dinner, drink fancy beverages. Enjoy their life. Who wants a picture on their wall, it doesn't even have sentimental value, yet.
    People only buy art when they already value art. Most people don't. At least not the way I do, doesn't see paintings as windows into other worlds constructed in color. I have a new bent. I need to help people realize the value of art. It is more then a picture on a wall, a large shape in a park. The true importance of art is in the mind. Art changes the way we view things. A life of study has given me more reverence for the world than my pacifist minister father ever did. That is to say art has taught me love, and wonder.
    When we get caught up in material things, our own survival and comfort we can forget about our internal world. I was leaving a ministry distributing food boxes on Hawthorne a cop had polled up and was patting down a shirtless homebum. I crossed the street and a guy pushing a shopping cart approaches me. "'probly a fight. Every time they put a cake out or something there is a fight over it." I thanked what ever deity does or not exist. I thanked her for my mind. That I was not hopelessly dependent on alcohol or drugs. That I dod not have pent up anger or abuse issues. That I did not have a desire to fight anyone over a cake. That my spiritual connection to this wondrous planet truly excites me.
       Art has changed all of us. We forget and take it for granted. Just imagine a world without music, you have never heard music. Architecture is not one of my preferred arts, mainly because buildings are designed with a prison format. Meaning the spaces we live in are intended to be as many comfortable cages stacked on top of each other as possible. My grandfather would take me to Frank Lloyd Wright buildings as a kid. I remember Falling Water. That house with a tree growing through the center of it. It was peaceful. The idea of incorporating the serenity of the forrest into the design of a structure, that is architecture. Art elevates us.
      A hundred years ago the world was just getting into World War one. Cars and planes were both rather new inventions. Our lives, and our world looked a whole lot different. And so were our minds. There are some things that never change. Our desire for love and a sense of belonging will be eternal. But in other ways our brains are literally wired differently. And how much have these creative endeavors helped to develop that. Clearly technological innovations have played the largest role, factories, machines, computers. Nineteen fourteen was a simpler time. But not a simpler world necessarily. We were not one world, we were many, many worlds. Those places are for the most part gone. Now we must wrestle with a larger sense of the whole. Now art is more important then ever. Why? It is our only salvation.
     I could go on about the higher ideals of art, striving to achieve a out of reach elegance, wrestling with creation and destruction. But I also know that art is based in ego and self affirmation as much as it is in a quest for a higher state. And this makes it even more essential. Creation of art allows us to be absorbed in our own thoughts and self while still searching and questing for something beyond us.
     To most people art is a product of a wealthy culture.

The only road I've ever known

       Start today our with some cheese ball with extra wiz. What the ef hole am I doing. Got no plans, got no future. None that I can foresee at least. My cash is dwindling and i still have not figured out any avenue of sales. I was walking earlier wondering what I was still doing here, I should just pull up and go back to Eugene. My mind is divided. It is a thought path I don't even want to go down, cause it keeps going in circles. And I am left feeling isolated and concerned. I wish I had the gas money to hit the road. Eastern oregon, Vancouver Canada, California. But that is just it. I made my move. I came to Portland and now my moves have to be defensive, retreat. Idon'twannoow. I know that there is some way to make this work. I know that I need to hook up with other artists. I know I will eventually survive. Like a young gay man coming out, I know this won't kill me. I know it will slowly get easier. Just got to take it day by day. It is my own advice to fire fighters on a long hike. Never think about the destination, just focus on taking another step. I am good at that, treading water. Developed a chip on my shoulder over the years. Realized I don't actually open up to people that often. When you are willing to sink below the normal standards, to be broke and live in a vehicle, sometimes I have to pretend. Who am I kidding I always have to pretend. It is not that my life is hard or bad. It is fine and that is one reason to put a happy face out on the surface. But we can get in the habit of pretending everything is fine when turmoil is boiling inside. And then we can find ourselves without the worlds or an air of comfort that we need to say "I'm worried" or "This is stressing me out." It is sad really. There are so many people on the planet, and our own habits can make us feel like strangers among our own friends.
      I have been thinking about our fickle minds, how I wish I had just done that one thing, but I couldn't do it until I had done that other thing, to gain the perspective. I peruse artists residencies. And I wonder how anyone has the money to do this. It is either a little free time or a little free money. I never have both, not in the first thirty six years at least. I should call about working, but I don't want to give up my life, my painting whenever I want to. Actually I want to be painting whenever I don't want to as well. I keep on thinking, just bring the paint into your heart. Just live for it. It is that easy. But each day i spend more money on food, on this cup of tea sitting next to me, on life. and the more I tell myself I should refrain the more I feel I deserve it. A respite from my own drill Sargent, John Singer it would be.  Of course all these ideals do not add up to human survival, and the cycle of self stress and a dash of me against the world self pity slips in, useless. Attitudes will give you wings or bury you in a hole. And that is the concern right. That I screwed up 'cause i came at it with the wrong attitude.
    At least now I am trying. I rejected the art world in my twenties. I was way too cynical for my own good. I was a hater. The whole thing seemed like a rigged popularity contest. which sounded just like something else I had hated, high school. Now I don't care. When you know what you want, really know, you can just look past things. There are a great deal of major problems in the world, on all levels and in all things. But how could I let my feelings about it stop me from doing what I love. I am selling my artwork for a hundred to a hundred and fifty a painting. Way below what it is worth. But should I get all butt hurt and bent out of shape. Bottom line, I made something and I enjoyed making it. So I don't have the money to go to a bar and get a drink. Is that really a problem, or am I just jealous because I feel like every one else can, 'cause when your out and about everyone else seems to be well off. It is just some silly competitive attitude that is holding us back in the first place. Was I a hater, or a lazy dreamer, too afraid to get burned to take the risks, or just a kid, needing to do it his own way, to make his own mark. Thinking I didn't get a leg up, just 'cause I didn't have anyone to talk to. 'Cause there was too much to say.
     Foolish. That fickle mind again. A child then and a child now, still afraid to get hurt. Wish I wasn't. What would I do if I was fearless. Embrace homelessness and become a sidewalk painter. No money, no ego, just creation, art under the feet of people. The real message in every piece. Stop, collaborate and listen. Art folks. art will save the world. not me, not the artist.  am only an avatar, pausing in this human form to allow the energy of creation to surge through me. And I will be gone and forgotten.

Tai chi with David

Yesterday was David Carradine day fro me. Woke up after partying with Zach and he popped on the David Carradine Tai chi work out. I have always wanted to do Tai chi, and clearly there is no better way to be introduced to it then from the sunny southern California master, the legend of laid back intensity. Yeah dude, power from the eighties in the from of neon spandex, mustaches,  and the silent asian super master. Then, to conclude, we did the Carradine meditation in the horse stance. Master Carradine informed us that the mind was like any other muscle, and if you worked it tirelessly with out giving yourself rest then, it like any other part of your body looses it's suppleness, it's vibrance. It grows weary. This struck a cord with me. Due to my situation, living on the streets in my bus, I feel like I should be painting, not just everyday, but all day. I know that the harder I work, the more I am out there, i can accelerate the long road towards being a self supportive artist. But I don't paint every day. I often get caught up in banal activities of feeding myself, getting on and doing searches on this machine, or visiting and catching up with friends. While the more judgmental side of my brain is critical of these sidetracks, David Carradine reminded me that these things, this easy going attitude I am sometimes known for is not necessarily a bad thing, it could be keeping me young. this is a major time of transformation for me. Not only am I focusing and growing as an artist. I am growing as an capitalist American. Which is something I suck at. My sales pitch hoes something like I would like to make ten dollars an hour for this art, but if you like it I could continue to drop the price. Not a very smart capitalist, digging myself in a non sustainable price hole. But I have a sales pitch that I recognize sucks. These are big steps for the likes of me. I realized once i decided to try to sell my art I was a capitalist. No matter what beliefs I have the bottom line is I live and work for money.
   On the topic of beliefs I find that mine are more in retaliation to a larger system. My eldest brother once called me an anarchist, but since we stopped communicating after I broke his door off the hinges when I was seven 'cause I wanted to play with him and his friends. They had an atari. So I don't think he knows me enough to nail down my political beliefs. Since I cannot really do it myself. I am an environmentalist. I believe that if human's do not make an active choice to act as steward to the land, this little cancerous race has no chance. Beyond that I see systems as way to view the world, and I believe in diversity. My problem with capitalism is it's need and insistence on complete domination of the world. My problem his Anarchy is it gives no positive future human aspirations. My problem with Communism is it insecurely rejects all other ideas, beliefs, and modes of thought. Socialism, well, if we consider socialism as a system attempting to address human needs to work together and receive the benefits of mutual survival, I have no complaints. But while many governments have socialist elements, and programs, I know of no country, that is model to base off of. So it seems like a mute point.
     I tell myself that I moved into the bus because I knew I could not make rent while developing myself as an artist. But I am able to make it work because I have always struggled with living in a expensive, prosperous, ruling country. I frequently felt more comfortable in foreign countries. Weather they were wealthy european counties progressive in their support of art and thought, or poor villages encased in jungle where art is seen on par with magic. Every country besides America values the unexplainable, the intangible, and recognizes that art delves into that realm. As an american all that hokis pokis stuff has literally no value. If we cannot sell it or buy it, or at least market it, it has no meaning and can go to hell. Can we sell hell. Why not, isn't that what a military industrial complex specializes in.
    And really that is why art does not succeed in america. Look at all the big names. Some of their stuff is nice, but they are all clearly rather masterful at selling themselves as artists. They recognize they need to do big flashy stuff that grabs peoples attention. I would go down the list, but I am bad with both names and spelling. I will leave you with one last unsettling image. Me, sitting on Zach's little back porch over looking an apartment courtyard. The warm sun rays beaming down. I feel like a melting popsicle, having just showered and wearing nothing but a towel. And in the center of this dripping melty fruit stick are the steady words of the Kung Fu master, release the negative thoughts, and give your brain a break.

What is this place we call our world, and why do we let it get so fucked. Not actually a history lesson.

      Meaning. I think that is all I have ever really searched for in all these days on this planet. In some ways it is so simple, a purpose, a direction, a reason. And in some ways it is the hardest thing to wrap my extended digits around. It is why I have always worked hard at my jobs and yet lost interest so quickly. Ultimately that sense of purpose is what has made me throw everything I have into being an artist. But today it is calling in a different way. On the eve of new war, new violence, and new suffering. I am wishing art had the power and influence to do something. To hold back the hate that we are spawning between these countries, and these ideologies. What comes to mind is how easily ISIS or whatever group or people are being killed by American bombs will be able to spin this. It becomes more and more a holy war, and we the in the church of Capital are sending a strong message that we are better, that we should be running and profiting from their country. Listen, I know their are many sides, many casualties, people are being killed, and for the wrong reasons, because they are not with this violent movement. Kurdistan would of fallen if not for America's support. But this is pure madness. We have to trust our leaders, but I have no way to believe that they will go against a track record that goes back since their founding. Ultimately because we are a military industrial complex no matter how much we pretend to be on a humanitarian mission any one can claim we are acting in our own interests, because we are.
     Now how do we find meaning in a world where our government has been getting in or getting out of a war every decade for a hundred years. Our own personal meaning is mute is the face of these atrocities. And yet what do we do? I protested the war in Iraq while living in New York. Did it help, possibly in some miniscule way the world was able to see that the city of New York and the country of America was not dead set on slaughtering brown people. But hat is not much consolation.
     But really what does one do? Apply to do humanitarian aid work? Maybe, possibly some research is in order. really you are still not going to do anything to help the situation, but to put a face on the atrocities. Hell, maybe that is what I should do. Sometimes an artist needs to put a face on something, put it in perspective. Hmmm, maybe my life will take a turn. But if I do do that, and get a job doing some relief work I hope i am not surrounded by religious types.
    Some people look at me living in my bus as some sort of pariah, sucking on society and lazing about. If they realized how much every action, every movement of my life was a quest. Searching for a role that does not feel shallow. ISIS has been recruiting a younger generation by appealing to how hollow and empty living in these ruling first world capitalist countries is. America's response is essentially if you are foolish enough to go against us we will kill you, no matter who you are. In many ways by saying that the CIA or whomever writes these things is just playing into their hands. They are saying we do not give a shit if our society is meaningful or spiritually satisfying, we run this world, and you don't cross us.
     To someone like me it just seems sad. I know meaning is not a universal thing. You cannot put a band aid on the hole in ones soul. And if you did it would look very different from person to person. For me finding meaning right now would be painting every moment of my life, besides eating. I crave expressing myself through such a malleable medium as paint. Unfortunately my mental life is dominated by finding ways and becoming emotionally entangled with the act of selling this art. I do not expect the world to give to shits about my own dreams and quests, but I do wish that there was a little more interest in why we do things and not such unabashed drive to grab wealth and power for ourselves, the individual. It is the dark side of our individualist freedom.
     Reminds me just how much we are like the empire in Star Wars. Damn, we need an emperor who shoots electricity out of his fingers. And I want a storm trooper outfit. Every American deserves one.

Get real dude

The fluid reflected the light. It looked like digital roots emanating from his trunk. At that moment he wailed. Where are we? Do these seconds shape us?
    The seconds were ticking. There were a couple of dudes half a block back that were thinking of pulverizing me till I was laying on the street oozing out fluid, weather it be piss or blood, I did not want to find out. But there was this poor guy laying on his back, his large belly arcing across the air, and the river flowing below him. There was not much they could rob from me. I suspected that they had a gun, or maybe I was just trying to justify leaving this guy. I felt a split in reality. The person who stayed and the person who left. Not that I imagine myself braver than I am. But there is a kind of person who achieves things in the real world. It could be making their mark or helping a guy whose been beat. And there is a kind of person who does not do either of those things. I am starting to feel like the latter. And in a way those two, who were calling back to me to come to them, on a completely different level they got my number. They are saying, Hey you bum, your not an artist, let's teach you a lesson. And the punches rain down.
    It is not actually that there is another time or another self occupying that time. It is that this shell of a body and this time in this world is a tease. Locked a breath away from my own aspirations. My ability to abscond with the money has always rendered me without funds to pick up a check. It is getting redonkulous. Like right now I am hungry, my head is sorta floaty, and I am supposed to write something good. Shit.
    Being homeless is sort of great. You have sank so low in society that their is almost no way back in. Ya Know. I ain't gonna get no regular job, I am homeless. Can't work and be on the street at the same time. Just ain't natural. In someways it helps me as an artist 'cause no matter how far I fall I might as well keep trying. Keep looking for my next step.
      And the game continues.
    I was never a very crafty player. Ever since we were wee little ones Gabe would speak to about the higher ideal of art. He would sermon on the death of selling out for money and not keeping to the principles of creation. Where odes this get us, artists in our own mind, exiled and alone on the fringes of a city that could care less for our existence. That sounds a bit dramatic.
      The other problem is that I do not actually have any examples of what an artists life looks like. I assume they make art and someone helps them sell it for an amount of money that allows their business to continue. But that is the extent of my vision into the realm of success. Rather shameful actually. For someone with a working class demeanor it is hard to conceive of how people who are comfortable and wealthy exist. So I cannot sell to these people. I don't even really like these people. some of the kids I went to high school with who seem to have no idea just how cooshie and privileged their lives are make me sick. But of course I am thirty six and live in a bus.
     So how am I going to sell my art.. I am not. Not here. Not in Eugene. I need the internet to help out. Need to restart this with a long term plan. NOt some long shot in the dark. I think that is what is getting me down. My attitude is wrong, the whole thing was not sustainable. Even if it worked once or twice it could not keep making money's over and over. So this is where I am 'sposed to be. Back at this drawing table.

Damn, just another day of indecision

   Some things I can never quite balance, my desire to be social yet not drink and smoke, my desire to create in isolation and yet not have a way to share my art. My whole life I have wrestled with this. Of course college is all about creating these environments for students, and I probably should of gone, but I still have lingering resentments with my family and I hate debt, like with a passion. Even the little bit of it that I am in now drives me mad if I think about it. My mother was always in debt, juggling cards from one to the other. Stressed me out even then. Well she would freak out about how screwed she was, and she was. Wait I am not going down this road again.
    I am going back to Eugene. The reason that bums me out is there does not seem to be any future there. Here in Portland I am homeless, painting and doing alot of this, waking up in coffee shops writing my thoughts. But I feel like something could happen. I feel like I may make a connection, may sell a painting, may meet an artist. It seems like the future has potential. Weather that potential is coming into fruition does not seem to matter so much. It is enough to get me out of bed and into the world. Eugene does not have that. So am I stepping into my own depression pool, where I will sink down into the wet Willamette valley, no purpose, no direction, craving paint but missing my muse.
    Of course it only has to be for a few months. That could be the time I need to get a website up and an etsy account.
     I have been working within myself to stay focused and try to be almost an archetypal artist. This person who lives to create and is in many ways sustained on that desire. It has started to burn me out, I feel lost and floundering. I know my place is out there.
     I should join some artist community somewheres.

relax, breath, and maybe I won't be such a mess

    I tell myself to stay on track, don't loose your focus, get her done and all that jazz. But maybe i am going about this all wrong. Maybe my simple attempt to stay focused, maintains a serious demeanor to my nature and does not allow me to see all the possibilities, to react and alter my actions by the events around me. Maybe I am building  personal cage, like the ones everyone else living around me lives in. One of those protective little bubbles that lets no one in, keeps me safe from odd comments and unwanted judgements. Being an artist is about casting down these walls and living in a dynamic world. Too bad I suck at that. Maybe if I was not raised in such a frigid uptight city like Boston I wouldn't be  naturally wrapped in this callous armor. Nice considerate people don't fuck with you, they observe and listen. And then there are the people who just have to be all up in your shit. I am coming off to stern and clear cut here. Many people approach me painting and are completely cool about it. What I am trying to say is that there are crazy weirdos who make us build up these defenses against the world, and those people go away, but our defenses don't go down. It is nearly instinct for me to not engage people on the street, to keep my head and eyes ahead. While if i feel rejected by this or any other city, I have to question myself, how much have I really done to be accepted in the first place.
     This gives me a moment to complain about the digital realm. Americans naturally avoid communicating, as part of an extended avoiding conflict by never going near people in general. But now that we have this whole new world we have even less reason to want to communicate out in such a savage place as the street. We can eradicate all human contact if we wanted.Why bother it is only going to be painful. Ha. We have just made it too easy to avoid each other.
  DAMMIT
    Am I going to move back to that hippie hamlet? I do not want to, but there is only so long I can live on the streets in the bus in the city. Dude cop was right. It is a lifestyle that could of worked in the seventies or even eighties. But not now so much. Which really heightens the issues of our time. America in general and Portland in particular is trying to grow, make money, look cool and hip and be an awesome place. While at he same time inflation is spiraling out of control, college prices are ridiculous, unemployment is high and rents continue to climb. Our society is telling itself a lie where ever the world is not shitty enough for it to be obvious how much BS that lie is. Portland happens to be one of those places. Mainly, television is our torch. As long as the news hour does not depress us, and our shows keep coming on, we will continue working and eating. And the world spins on.
     Maybe Eugene will not be such a bad step. The reason I wanted to leave in the first place was I was done with the partying scene. Eugene was just too little and I felt like there was nothing of interest to do there.  No women to meet and try and impress.
      The real core of my thoughts this day is that I have not actually embraced being an artist living in a bus. Yes, I do not know what tomorrow will bring. That is not a problem. Yes I have to think about what I am doing for the winter. But Eugene will be there. Nothing is going anywhere, except maybe me.