Watching It Burn

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I was reading Meg Hitchcock's blog yesterday. I stumbled upon her blog through my wife, who has been following her for a while now. Anyway, I was reading something she wrote a couple of years ago, about destruction, and it struck a chord with me. She's a fine writer and an amazing artist, keenly observant and intelligent and quite mad. I was smitten.

Anyhoo.

Destruction.

So feared, that. The loss of the thing we believe we need. For happiness, for safety, for keeping things the same. But without destruction there can be no renewal, no room for growth, for what is trying to be born.

What Meg said was that we need to begin seeing destruction not as the end of a thing, but as a needed first step in the birth of something new.

It's obvious, I suppose. 

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Like a lot of obvious things, it's easier to articulate than to embody.

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I love destruction myself. Okay, that's not quite accurate. I am fascinated by it, that's closer to the truth. It thrills and terrifies me, both.

And I suppose it's because I know that I'm not immune from it. I will be disarticulated and disassembled in the end, turned into worm food, all my precious thoughts and tender longings. My fierce heart stilled.

That day is waiting out there, who knows how near or far.

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In the meantime, I yet live and love. All the more wildly for having to lose it. 

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It don't seem fair, but it does seem fitting.

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Namaste.

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This Message Is Brought To You By SaranWrap

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I don't know, man.





It cracks me up.





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I been living too much to write anything or do any artwork. Seems like all I have time or interest in is reading all of your blogs. And then not commenting.

The modern guilt.




Well, fuck it.



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Since I found out that my daughter is going to have a baby, I've become a total mellow-cat. Everything I used to spend all this energy worrying about I just don't give a shit about any more.


My nervous little poodle has been knocked unconscious.


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He looks pretty bad, too.




Might not make it.....



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All I want to do is be outside. That, and not wear pants.



I'll be gutting fish on my desk pretty soon.



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Namaste.



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Red

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Be her.

That's the goal.

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Namaste.

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The Woods Are Lovely, Dark and Deep

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Despite all evidence to the contrary, I still believe.

I'm not saying what.

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Ha.

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I feel lately like I'm hanging out in God's waiting room. 

Maybe I'm going to step out onto some kind of talk show set in a minute. Or I'm going to run out onto the football field and crash through a big banner held up by hyperactive cheerleaders.

Or he's going to take my liver out.

Do brain surgery.

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You don't get to know which it's going to be.



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Namaste.



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Leaving The Garden

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Sometimes suffering looks like prayer.

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Back from a few days in the desert with my little brother. 

Yay, shooting!

We have a good time out there. Shoot all day, sometimes late into the night. Learn a lot, teach a lot, push each other, work hard, laugh and take it easy together. When it's just the two of us we talk a lot about family, how we came up together, what we think it means to be a good man.

It all comes down to love.

And the path of the warrior.

They're intertwined.

Now my brother is a much, much more serious warrior than I. Where I dabble and play in fits and starts, he puts his head down and plows ahead, ever deeper, ever stronger and more capable. For every hour I've spent in the gym he's spend a month. For every hour in the ring I've got he's got a hundred or more. He has more heart and grit and determination in his little finger than I've got in my entire soul.

He both inspires and rebukes me with his example.

I love him without condition. And pity those who would cross him.

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Since my return I've been working with the Woman on The Verge on the trailer. Painting painting. Installing trim. New flooring. New table. 

It looks freaking awesome.

She did a bang-up job on the mad stenciling. Detail and drudgery and madness all while contorted and smashed into a shoebox with odd angles and hard corners.

That lady. Tenacious as a pit bull and gifted as aphrodite.

Do I love her bad?

Fuckin' eggs, bacon.

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Here's a peek at what we done:

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That enough color for you?

It's like a goddamn magic carpet ride in there!

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Still a ton of stuff to do, but she's coming together. Can't wait to take her out again.

Hope you have a happy fourth!

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Namaste.

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