Coffee & D&B....

Leather jacket, black hoodie, black boots, holy jeans, and some funk D&B playing while I bounce.

The ring of vibration shakes inside my coffee cup and visualized with the brown, smooth, liquid inside.

I forgot how AWESOME D&B can make me feel, make my bones feel, and this is ..... well ....check it out.

(click on the title of this post!)

Detective's Filter

As the dusk light filtered through the front window and passed the lace curtains she stood in the off white light waiting. The door crept open as his eyes met with hers. As they embraced, although it was genuine, his mind was filled with the blood and gore of the murder he'd just seen before. The aftermath of a killer's deed weighed heavy on his mind with the crush velvet of her lips.

It was 2am and he sat up, grabbed his pants, said "you're a doll, but I gotta go", and left out the front door. On his way out the sun was poking it's head again. The rays of light greeted him with little effort as he struggled to push his feet back to the scene of the crime.

Lita Ford

I got to meet Lita Ford! Best Day EVER!

He climbed high above while I stayed stationed below.

He moved on with hatred, but only in my mind.

I shoved onward trying to be more like him.
Don't think about it.
Delete.
Purge.
Move on.
Go forward.
Do NOT look back.
I got caught up in my reminders and got some gum under my shoe.

He woke up.

He says many things that I love.

I am still the same, not matter how much I tried to be like him.

I am still thinking. Now he's thinking too. Oh, what will we do?

Chapter 8 is about to begin. There will be life, full of life.

Stay tuned.

With our Tender Bellies Wrapped in Bailing Wire

For My Best Friend - TMJ
For his solace and soul.
(i know there's a spelling error in the drawing)

Temporarly Paused

Reboot. My system is slow, more ram, more rest, less power to gain more power. There is a time and place when you reflect and know, more than you should, not enough right now, but in time it all settles like dirt in your glass.

28 years and what is there yet to know, so much, so little. Observations of bent bodies and crooked spines. Beauty in what is unseen, but smelt.

This is a wonderful & magical place at times. I might shatter, that's my reality here. It's a dry and brittle climate, but I have my knowledge and education to carry me on this wind.

House hunting again and again. Moving to be within. Nesting again and again.

If I could just steal one tomorrow, I might rest.

Souls of the Past

CALLING ALL SOULS!!! The souls of my past. I'm reaching out to the forgotten few and the many along the way that were there on many unique and solid days. I'm asking and reaching out, to those who have mostly known me better than myself, pull up close with me, enjoy a glass of wine or tea. I'm singling you out. Let's have a memory or two for an appetizer and slip into the main course with some meaty news of the now. Write me something soft, maybe a poem, song, or word. I would welcome your company with open arms and extend my things to you, as you wish. Take or give, just plop down here and tell me a tale or two. It's been a long journey and while we're here let's make the best of it.

Sincerely,

Maladjusted Poet & Midwest Ashed on the floor.

New Work

Lent Success

I used to sit down with some pastels, markers, spray paint, or whatever else lent it’s self to me for the moment, and express these emotions onto a sheet of paper. My life has become so electronic since I left school that I hardly make the appropriate time to sit down with my thoughts and create.

Whatever world has presented it’s self to me is not welcome right now. I’m tired, working too hard, and exhausted at the thought of it. Keeping things simple usually seems to keep people out of trouble. It’s when you start to go in a different direction or push yourself out of your comfort zone that true colors of self come out. I don’t need that mirror now; it will just stand in the way.

Keeping an eye on the prize is difficult enough without almost loosing focus on the other important things. I think about rich CEOs that loose focus with wives, children, and even parents because of their lust for success. I am no where near that level of multi-tasking, thought interrupting, type of success, but I recently had a taste of what could happen if “focus” is lost.

Miss the ones that you should, worship only those that prove themselves, and cherish the journey you are on, the moment, before you make your next step.

Think, Make, Do....MOVE!!

I really can't stand people that can't think or do ANYTHING for themselves. I'm starting a story/poem on this topic. I'm not sure when it will be finished, but it will be long.

With Without With

Tragic roses of crystallized timeline

Left me here

With

Without

With

Him.

Featured in some unpleasant pleasantries

Found us there

With

Without

With

Her.

Gathering in crowds of social persuasion

With

Without

With

Words.

Struggling to feel correct without need to impress

With

Without

With

This.

Crazy talk & Crazy walk…carried

With

Without

With

With

Without

With

On and on

With

Without

With

Cheered

I think that the bag is a good idea.

You are in self-control.

You put it over your head and take a deep breathe.

I do sympathize with you.

It’s a weighted Elephant.

While diligently producing new work, we talk.

I’m totally blocked, death of a shallow man, dismembered bartender.

Failure.

Lets have a literary chat.

Littered through our travel.

Leave it all on the nearest coffee table.

Form Letter.

You win.

Struggled.

Dreams.

Going as high as I can go, I’ve gone as far as I can go.

Waitress.

People are served.

Smug little nose.

Haunted

I can't seem to shake certain things or people I thought were gone. It's all too much sometimes. You wonder from time to time if you'll ever run into people or hear from them again, but it still hits you like a cannonball when it happens.

Recently I've heard from two old roommates, old co-workers, and through some vivid dream I've seen an old boyfriend. I'm almost 28 years old. I remember watching some of my older friends in the past go through this age and it seemed similar to what I'm going through now. 28 is a time, I imagine, that everything gets shaken up again and questioned. Hearing from these people makes me think, just a little too much.

Whatever these new contacts come to, or come to be about, they will be met with honesty, true sense, and plenty of curiosity.

...

It is what it is. I appreciate the positive and negative feedback from the last blog. The last blog was a rant. I was angry and I still am about a couple of things, but these are the thoughts,trials, and tribulations, of an artist, person, who is going through this life trying to make "it" what "it" is.

As for anyone commenting on my blog, I appreciate all of the words. It gives me the opportunity to look at things differently. I'm open to constructive criticism. Unfortunately, not everyone who has commented has justified or taken the time to explain where their comments are rooted from. Some people hide behind old, stale, song quotes, meanwhile others just leave me hanging with "mediocre".

Either way these things are a positive. Thank you for taking such an interest in a moment I thought no one would even care about or see.

Until next time.

We came to get started - at the cost of $200.00 an hour

I take after my Mother in one very distinctive way, I care too much sometimes. I give my all to people I allow into my life. In fact, the people that I bend over for are rare and sometimes it comes as a surprise to myself and the person that I'm helping out as to how far I will actually go. There are times, many times up to this point in my life when I've been walked on and looked over after I've gone the extra mile for an individual.

Recently I didn't sign a contract when signing on to work with a photo company and I got screwed over the rights to my photos and maybe even some publication of the work as well. Not only am I too old to know better, but I'm too talented to be taken advantage of. I'm nice, too nice, and only a special few have seen the result of my anger, the purest form of emotion that can come out of a person when it's held in reserve for an extremely long period of time.

So here's the update, my photo rates for jobs or gigs start at $150.00 an hour and extend to $250.00 an hour. That's still extremely cheap in most cases. Everyone needs to take into consideration that photographers, good ones, have to charge for the hours they will be editing your photos. Just because it's digital doesn't mean it's automatic. Just to point out, yes there are pre-designed shitty programs that beginners can use to edit there photos and attempt to make the look "special", however someone that has skills in the extended outlet of editing can do more to a photograph than your average "joe" and then some.

I will not be doing anything without contract. I will no longer take mercy on my friends. This will be the last year for free weddings or "favors". My camera costs more than my first car so I don't need to deal with the dirt from your shoe in my face.

I am for hire. No favors. Thanks for all the work, I'll make sure to get right on it.

Sincerely, Pissed off and Fed up photographer.

Also, if you owe me TAX papers, I COULD REALLY USE THAT INFO RIGHT ABOUT NOW.

Series

Constantly crashing into my mind, like waves, are the thoughts and lack of thought about image. Trying to portray a moment, a story, or a message in a very particular way becomes the most difficult thing at times, especially when you don't want your audience or viewer to mis-portray the media/art.

A couple of months after moving to Las Vegas, Nevada I started a series of images that I simply entitle "skirt". Each image portrays a white skirt traveling to different days, times, and places. There was no pre-meditation to this series. It all happened quite organically and quickly took on a life of it's own.

There is an urge for most people to bring up the feminist movement or vocabulary. Weather they mean to or not they throw out an easy and almost default reading into the "skirt" because I am also a female. It's not that I don't want the discussion to happen, but I'd like to be clear.

With a skirt you imply a female default, an automatic window or door into the subject of a woman and her journey. More for the journey and less for the woman in my particular tale, but most certainly I am trying to communicate a focus on the beauty this subject and object brings to the scenery in each photograph.

The end concept is to "not think", to let go, to enjoy, to remember that you need to stop and notice the things around you, because the one true thing that we have to cherish is the vision we tend to take for granted. Although I've always felt this way I find it easy now to portray this idea through the medium of photography and with the help of an old tattered skirt that has been more places than most people.

Please feel free to look at the rest of this series at www.solidashesphoto.com

Sink Hole

You are the type of guy I used to get into trouble with in Chicago. Although you are also a Hoosier, you're that guy who would sneak up out of the shadows, wink his eye, and swing me into the next song.

There's a group of singers, some Drive-by Truckers, that I know. These musicians sing and play at the beat of lonely loose and wild night. There's an excuse in every song and a proud deliverance in each conclusion of their stories. It's just another town, or another lover, but tonight we'll pretend together.

You are that guy who can just "be". We might not know each other, we might not have "known" each other, but we are positive that tonight will simply be a recipe for fun. Two busted heads, beers, and dancing feet lead us to a wonderful explosion and memory we'd never forget. Good ol' fashion fun, just what we both needed.

You are that guy. Thanks for being so kind. It might turn into something bigger and beautiful, but just in case it doesn't, we still have the night.

Thank you dear dear Midwest for you're people and the good times you've instilled in most of us, because there just isn't anything or anyone like a corn raised, simply kind, sort of person.

(this is my favorite song)

Bus Stop Havoc

I did it all at the bus stop. I dropped off the information at the post office. When the first naked lady of the day exposed herself she winked at the man behind me and filtered through the sunlight as they normally do.

Sinking my teeth into a juicy grape I sit with my phone on speaker mode as I listen to the hold music to the DMV. Golf carts and tennis rackets surround me now and I live freely within my little hut. A turtle, a mouse, and a snake are playing chase in the backyard while I wonder in and out of the kitchen.

Secretaries and robots all function with the same micro chip. The micro chip is about 8GB and you won't get much use out of either of them after 10 years. There's a complicated blue and gray checker pattern that lines the walls of this bathroom. There are monkeys that come to visit this cathedral from time to time. The monkeys are kind, not like the red butted baboons.

Without charge, or a care in the world a red cardinal flies in through the window. There's a blondish red fox with black eyeliner who hangs out around my feet. There is tan carpet and white walls, too many white walls. The sculls of artists' efforts are left behind in living rooms, bedrooms, and office spaces. On Friday the cleaning lady will dust all of the things that stand still.

Moving into the near future there are moments of shattered glass and busted tires. Curious waves of ocean style filter through this girls imagination. Meanwhile, there are Christmas trees and thoughts of electrocution bumbling about. Fingered steal and bleached meanings leave a lot to define still.

Found Notes

#1

"I did nothing special today. I went to work. I stayed honest and true as the minutes went through and through."

#2

Sigur Ros will Scoop your Heart Out and Serve it up for Everyone to Stare and Cry at.

#3

Went home just to wake up and do it all over again. The weekends are when I sin. Love me light, Love me hard.

#4

Peter Pan Honey Roast Creamy Peanut Butter

"normal"

Possibly considered a "normal" day. After waking up, having a cup of 'joe' with my man, dog at our feet, and kitty in my lap I cross into the routine of the day. Grab some clothes, lace up my shoes and have one last tug o' war match with the dog on my way out the door. A bittersweet goodbye from my husband and off I go again.

Driving down the 215, crossing into the west side of town, over the border and into Henderson, NV, I reach my daily destination. My job. My 9-5, but in my case it's 11 - 7. I function through this job with a strange level of pride and understanding. I know at the end of the day there's a reason behind what I do.

On my way home, the sun has already set, and if I'm lucky I got to watch it go down over the mountains. I don't normally have to fight through rush hour, because of my strange hours at work, and I'm home in 25 - 30 minutes.

When I step through the door I look forward to the smell of my home. The bum-rush from my dog to jump up and give me a kiss. My cat meowing insistently until I pet him or give him some attention. And the "hey baby" from my man as I reach the top of the stairs. I never know what we'll have for dinner or how it will be fixed. I never know if we will have to change our plans last minute or not. I never know just how my day will end, but I know just enough to know for sure that I'm home and I've had a pretty good day.

Paitently Passing Through This 2011

2011 -

Here you are. Here I am. You know that with the passing of time I will gain a year and you will disappear. So now I've decided that I won't focus on this year, but next year as a part of my new years resolution.

Finance. Age. Growing Up.

We swim, we survive, we pay, pay, pay. This year I'm gonna keep on paying, but I'm finally going to PAY OFF some of this expense. Debt or no Debt, the idea this year is to get ahead.

I was thinking about going on a bit longer about this, but I think you get the picture.

Book

This book has no beginning, middle, or end; just a juxtaposition of moments, thoughts, memories, poetic failures, morphed dreams, lucid love, transient sickness, and genetic recording. From time to time there's an inspiration that keeps you going. Some days or months you are stagnant in life, love, structure, health, and even intelligence.

Finding a way to marry the old & new has been a battle. When it all comes into focus the exposure can save your sanity. There's no cycle in this life, battle, or system. We live, stretch, cope, and speak within a recognized relevance and propel the muster of gumption between our hours of sleep & work.

Markers, ink ones, staked ones, they are tools. We use them to bookmark, locate, and draw aesthetic flow. Giant numbers, films of films and roadways to somewhere, no where, there, and everywhere. Broken guitars, strings of solitude, and music that provides a religious release.

Houses are built to live, protect, and clothe our naked, exposed, lives. When we shelter ourselves in the inconvenient, convenient, style that America (particularly) is good at we end up, ironically, not having a defense system. Guns. Guns, are the defense, or not. There's a false security everywhere in the world. The entitlement of our current generation will be a significant element to a crumble society, but how will we rebuild it this time?

Mindless rambling of an artist. My thoughts, my river, my time. You read, respond, anticipate, assume, project, and place value. This "book", a symbol, is not mine, yours, theirs, hers, his, it's, or attainable by any atom. Science verses what? How will this book contend with the "BOOK"? How will you add a chapter, sentence. Respond.

Posting, publishing, functioning. I. AM. HERE. Solid, burnt, Midwest, scarecrow, pulsed, and pummeled. Respond.

And then, some days, I just wanna play the slide guitar.

Tomorrow

Tomorrow I shall write you a book.