So, I decided to put some stuff up someplace, just in case you couldn't wait.

one.
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untitled (n and b)
untitled (blue skys, bomb)
untitled (eye in the window)

image

I was at Paper Boy the other day and saw the work of Shannon Tudyk, really interesting paper paintings, the show is up for the duration of the month and one really should check it out.

And speaking of work, many people have expressed interest in viewing my sculpture work. I'm hoping to have a section for art up on this site sometime soon, but for the moment I have some photography up at portfolios.com. This is old work but its good work.

And what.

The number of images, the number of the parts of the soul and how many parts of the soul, how is it divided? One hundred images, one hundred parts of the soul, what fraction of the soul is that?
How many images until there is no soul left?
Is the soul returned upon destruction of the image?
Or is the moment truly looking for the soul, and could it possibly have the soul?
Could it be both?
And is death the eventual end of the image, the soul, the end of waking moments?

The image. Is the image maker a thief of the soul? If the image maker alters the moment, what does that do to him?

Can we say the future has no soul, it is constantly created during the past and present and is not part of the future. Since the future moment does not exist until time catches up with it, soul and image do not exist any further than the
Present.

Once upon a time, there was Bob. Bob was an elf, not just any kind of elf, Bob was a ladder elf. Whenever someone needed a ladder, Bob was there to surprise you with one. You never saw him, but he was there. Bob sat in his little big warehouse shop making ladders all day long, day in, day out. All sorts of ladders, short ones, tall ones, retractable ones, you name it Bob was your elf. Bob lived a happy existence for many, many thousands of years making his ladders, until the age of your great grand parents. It was about this time when hardware stores started selling ladders, short ones, tall ones, retractable ones, all sorts of ladders. No one needed Bob any more; he was an elf without a mission.

This made Bob the ladder elf an angry elf, a bitter elf. Bob swore to all that's tall and out of reach that any time someone bought or borrowed a ladder that he didn't make, he would steal fifty cents from the pocket of the person responsible. Sort of the anti-tooth fairy. This was relatively easy considering Bob was only two feet tall. Bob also started to place his ladders in strange places so people would be forced to walk underneath them, causing bad luck. This brought Bob many moments of joy. Whenever someone saw him placing a ladder in a strange, uncomfortable place, like that of a Volkswagen, Bob would threaten them with kicking their ass, and he could do it to, he had a hell of a flying round-house kick.

So the moral of this fable is: whenever you need a ladder, just say something out loud first, maybe, just maybe Bob the ladder elf will bring you a nice new hand built wooden ladder. If you buy one, he will steal your fifty cents and maybe kick your ass.

Sometimes I have too many ideas, ideas for stories, ideas for big art projects, ideas for living spaces. Lots of these will most likely never get done or will take forever to finish. My dj-5c dispatch vehicle for instance, I've had it for more than seven years and its no where near finished. My big metal box on wheels called a postal jeep.

Anyway I have way too many story ideas that may never get finished. For instance "Bobby Typewriter" a story I've been working on for at least five years about a typewriter repairman/ custom builder who has a sexual fetish involving typewriters, I keep getting hung up on details. Where he lives, his back story, how he made his computer and telephone, why he listens to books on tape in the most literal sense. (He rewrites a book, taping the sound of the typewriter used.) I end up not writing the story and work on an entire universe for the story, becoming an anti-story, the original short getting lost in a sea of details. Sometimes this works out for the better, a short five line blurb becomes a fleshed out story, and sometimes it just takes every thing away from something that is best suited to be a short thing, a poem of sorts.

As most of my writing, I am never satisfied with the way the story is going so I put it away and return to it later, I'm not good at finishing a narrative, I'm a quick and to the point writer, short, short story kind of thing.

And then there is the weird stuff, the real non-narrative stuff like the moment image stuff. It's just free form writing that I do every once in a while. I'm not even sure if anyone would care to read it, I just keep doing it. I think I have books of that stuff, writing about nothing and something at the same time. The good thing about that stuff though is every once in a while I'll come up with a story idea and I'll run with it, even if it's just the back story to something else, it's worth writing it down.

Non-moment is not a convincing thought. Moment is always, it is always the past, always the present. Non-moment created by the cancer, or the effect of the cancer, is not real, the only non-moment is in the future, which will become moment as soon as time catches up with it.

But if the soul is being eaten away, then maybe non-moment can exist as a concept, the altered moment?

Non-moment as a description tool or concept to describe an event that may or may not be happening. Non-moment is not the event; it is the term to describe it.

Moment is the only event.

I am an enigma wrapped in a riddle wrapped in a thin layer of fat.

Kind of like bacon.

I have a design submission on threadless.com. Entitled "rider." Check it out, vote for it, or comment on it.

Today I was at a convenience store when a woman simply said "Richard Dreyfus. You look like Richard Dreyfus, circa jaws." That is all I have to say about that.

Hmmm. This was going to be an image post today. I am still trying to figure out this stuff, not being big on technology and all.

If you were wondering, "Moment. Soul. Image." was something I wrote at a bar awhile ago. I have two parts still to come and will post later. Part two is titled "Non-Moment" and part three "Moment. Soul. Image. part II."

Moment. It is true emptiness, looking for a new soul. Moments go by one after another, forever. Moment will never become eternity. Moment is the past, moment is the present.
The soul is the past. The image is the past.
Are images moments of the soul, are they looking for the soul?
When the image is changed, altered, is the soul changed, altered?
Is the moment new?
Is the image real? Does it exist, or is it just a record of the moment.
A record of the search for the soul?
The creation of an image, the creation, recreation of a soul. The telling of a moment.
Could it be said that every image is a bit of a soul, or search for it.
Or does the image create the disease. The creation of a cancer that eats away the soul, the moment, turning the image into a non-moment.


The.