Here is what appears to be the second piece in a series. If I get to number three I guess I’ll have to name it something.
Many years ago I purchased a book called House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski. It is 700 plus pages of nightmare inducing insanity. There are many different fonts, margins are all over the place, some pages are blank, some are written sideways or upside down. It is filled with footnotes and appendices. Notice I’m not telling you what this novel is about. Frankly I’m not sure. However, it is the most perfect mishmash of pages ever to repurpose into art. I am not destroying a book, I am immortalizing it. And in the process, not making it any less difficult to read, really.
My process starts with ripping out pages, cutting them up, painting them both sides with a mixture of acrylic paint and matte varnish, and sticking them on a canvas. In a pleasing artistic fashion, or in a bizarre confusing mess. Or both. Then layers are added until it’s time to stop. That’s actually the hard part, telling myself, okay, this is good, leave it alone and walk away.
This daylight saving thing should not be screwing up my schedule since I don’t even have one anymore, but things like eating and sleeping have not been by the clock this week. I’m far behind in replying to comments and getting through e-mail and sometimes I watch crime shows first thing in the morning with my coffee.
There, that’s all the secrets you’re getting out of me today. I have a book to cut up. And that’s something I never thought I’d say.
If there is such a thing as a serious artist, I’m not it. If it feels like work, I don’t want to do it.
This was 1% work and 99% fun. I am in love with the colours.
Maybe I’m going through a phase or maybe I’m still feverish and delirious from a couple of days spent this side of miserable with a stuffed up head. Or maybe it was the other side of miserable. It was the bad side, anyway. I consoled myself by watching multitudinous episodes of Netflix crime shows, congratulating myself on not being a murder victim. See, there’s always somebody worse off.
It’s a beautiful sunny March weekend! Hope you’re having a good one.
These are from The Idealist page on Facebook. There’s a lot of seriously inspirational stuff there. There’s also this.
If this is a trick question, my answer is that I would be exactly the age I actually am whether I know what it is or not. But if I had to take a good look at myself and figure it out with a wild guess, I’d say fifty. (I’m a bit pathetic at guessing anyone’s age). Then I would look at my adult children and wonder why I gave birth to the first one when I was ten. This is assuming I recognize them of course. Who knows what else I may have forgotten.
If this question is asking how old I would LIKE to be, there’s no magical time in my life to which I wish to return. Life goes on with ever new challenges and adventures. If I could make time stand still or slow down I might opt for that. The older I get, the faster it flies.
I am right-handed, but do a lot of things with my left hand, and so I used to tell people I was ambidextrous because ambidexterity sounded like a very impressive thing to have. I have a son who is left-handed, so I will pretend he got that from me. If it’s genetic, I will then be forced to admit he got it from his “actually ambidextrous” paternal grandfather.
One of my more interesting useless skills is the ability to write backwards, so that you have to hold whatever I wrote up to a mirror to read it. Or perhaps you have the interesting useless ability to READ backwards, in which case, here’s something useless for you to read.
This has less to do with being left-handed or ambidextrous than it has to do with childhood boredom and writing secret messages in code when you’re too lazy to think up a real code. I am an expert when it comes to finding the easiest way to do something.
My mother loved my name, as mothers do, but I always found it lacked sophistication. So I would change it to Lindsey Maive MacKayla. And although you may think that must be some random pronouncement right off the top of my head, I actually used a name generator to come up with it. The suggestion for a pen name if I were a romance novelist is Libby Anne Funnyflower. Seriously. Does it get any better than that? Well, yes it does. I have been advised to write science fiction as Lilliana Mars Spencebot.
Hey! How did you find that out about me? Okay, if you must know, I use the dishwasher, drawers, closets, cupboards, rooms with closed doors, and throwing things down the stairs into the basement.
I am grateful that W got well enough from “the worst cold he has ever had in his entire life” (this is how he describes every cold he has ever had in his entire life) to travel by plane to Ontario to visit his parents and celebrate his dads 93rd birthday. I am looking forward to a nice quiet relaxing week on my own, doing nothing, with no interruptions of my chosen nothingness activities. It takes concentration to do nothing right. And I am an expert at that too.
Yeah, not really. Sorry to get you all excited for no reason. It’s just that I’ve been watching many episodes of the tv show Suits on Netflix and the theme song is now solidly embedded in my brain. The lyrics are great. I think it’s all about working all your life for money, and more money, and never enough money. And while you’re making all that money you never have time to enjoy all the things you’re making the money to enjoy. This could be all wrong, but it’s a show about lawyers who deal with millions of dollars in suits while wearing suits, and I must think it’s good because I’m halfway through season three.
Anyway, good song for a Monday morning for all you people out there doing the greenback boogie.
Greenback Boogie by Ima Robot
See the money wanna stay, for your meal
Get another piece of pie, for your wife
Everybody wanna know, how it feel
Everybody wanna see, what it’s like
Baby wanna be a queen, well alright
We all deserve the finer things, in this life … …
So working on a little job, in the night
It’s forty dollars an hour when I, see the light
The boss say you got a little time, and oh my
He’ll be working in a small box, till he die
Me, I gotta be free, all my life
I want a little cream cheese, in my pie
Yeah! I’ll step back, while you go dance
The greenback boogie Mother f*ing boogie
Now I’m putting on a big wig, walking hard
Hanging with them big pigs, all them dogs
Got me a couple ideas, straight from God
I want a bean pie Order me a bean pie
I’ll even eat a bean pie, I don’t mind
Me and Missy is so very busy busy making money
All step back, I’m ’bout to dance The greenback boogie
The greenback boogie Boogie now for me … … …
Say, it’s far better, when you give it away
It’s called the greenback boogie What people don’t say,
I say It’s better, when you give it away It’s called the greenback boogie
Don’t give it away now, I say It’s better, when you give it away
It’s called the greenback boogie Don’t give it away now, I say
See the money wanna stay, for your meal
I’ll say it’s gonna put some love, in your life
Don’t you really wanna know, how it feel?
Everybody wanna see, what it’s like
Babe you wanna be inside, it ain’t lies
We all know there’s better things in this life
Yes I’ll step out, on your expense
Doin’ the greenback boogie Mother f*ing boogie
Boogie oogie oogie Greenback Boogie
Come on back to paradise Come on back to paradise Come on back to paradise Come on back to… Come on back to… Come on back to paradise Come on back to paradise Come on back to paradise Come on back to… Come on back to…
It’s the greenback boogie It’s the greenback boogie Don’t give it away now Don’t give it away now, I say
It’s better, when you greenback boogie Well don’t give it away Well don’t give it away, I say
It’s better… It’s the greenback boogie Don’t give it away…
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