Pure Fiction

 This is what it is.

It is all pure fiction.

Me? Write? Really?

I play with words.

I play always and all ways. Words are important for me to survive. This is why

when my honey points

to the dashboard light

which sometimes says, "Airbag On," I laugh.

Life and living is nothing but fodder.

Doodee Doodee Doodee Do

Very

Trying. . .to. . . send. . . very . . . .. . . . . . .!

(In case you are wondering what this is about). . . .

Say It

Say what you mean

Mean what you say

CIPHERTHIS

Inconsist

 In the 1980's I was smitten with notebooks created by Peter Beard. I stumbled upon a book about his sketchbooks and how they were such an integral part of his life. This was about the same time I started reading all of Isak Dinesen's books. Out of Africa became one of the most important (for me) books I read in that decade. Then the movie of the same name came out. I discovered that Peter Beard also had a fascination with her. At about the same time, I decided to take a trip to Alborg, Denmark with my sister. A collision of sorts came about in my creative life. My ancestral home is Alborg. 

So, I have struggled against my respect for books and my artistic mind wanting to create a journal ON the pages of Peter Beards book. To this day, I still struggle with this urge. I still have not done it. But, I still might do it. It is another thought experiment that will not go away.

The funny thing about this is that in doing research on the railroad system in the United States and Europe for this writing project I am working on I discovered that Peter Beards great grandfather was founder of the Great Northern 

Railroad.

This story I started seems much like a snowball rolling down a hill because the more I do the more I find to enhance it. Also, it is becoming what I think about most of the time.

I wish I might have taken this more seriously.

One of my truly favorite books is "Atlas Shrugged." by Ayn Rand. This also is always on my mind. I do not understand how come we do not have a rail system, today, that would resolve many problems our country has regarding fuel and infra-structure. Not to mention the power struggles that are unbelievable. 

Like the Beatles sing in "Imagine."

My fourth grade teacher told my mother that I am consistently inconsistent. If you are one of those who read this blog you know how true that is. I still can not make up my mind about commas. I love Gertrude Stein because she got away with doing what I do.

This blog is sort of like Peter Beards journals. I just lolli gag around because I do it because I can not not do it. My new love is taking photographs with my mini-ipad. This is like carrying bottles of ink and watercolors and type and fiber and beads and and and wherever I go.

I am sure I am just like everyone else.

I am writing this off the top of my head, today, so forget about the form. It is what it is.

What is a cloud?

This "book" is supposed to be fiction. It is becoming more real than real. The avenues presented by what I am thinking about have led me to some interesting ideas.

 1. My library card. That was the most important thing to me when I was four years old.

2. My own personal library is out of control.

3. I have six Kindles. Not all of them live in my own personal space. I share my virtual library with other people.

4. My visual thinking is hooked into sound; by that I mean when I am occupied by something that is automatic, like driving a car or knitting, I can see in my memory exactly what I saw when I was listening. I fall asleep listening to either music or a book. I have done this all of my life.

5. I have been reading or have read: all of the below live on my Kindle. I have many other books about books.(real) I do not know why I am telling this. I do know that I embrace experience. I see this as amusing. My sense of humor is great. When I have no access to physical books, it is a wonderful thing to be able to grab it from a cloud. Space is always on my mind. I am a minimalist with a lot of things. What really strikes me is that then you die. I wonder about that, too. Is there a cloud in heaven? Or are we just the cloud. Until I find that out I will enjoy the process of reading and living.
 Amazon:

Gunpowder Tea and me

Bobbie Casey 2013-1950's?

This day on this train heading for New Mexico I will not forget. The Indian chief came into the dining car where we were having luncheon with mom when Superman asked if he could join us for there WAS an empty seat, after-all. The Indian chief told us that we had better get on with it for a dust storm was on the way and we would be right in the midst of it soon enough. I was stuck on the dessert menu. I really wanted to taste the gunpowder tea. I could see the chef at the middle of the car surrounded with what looked to me to be steel everything. Shiny and hot he looked to me. Man I was really happy to be a little kid right then, except my little sister kept kicking me under the table. I still do not know why she did that. The Indian Chief came back to tell us all about the landscape and the people who dwell here in this desertscape. I made up this word, I think. The animals and vegetables and minerals and how each needs to survive. Even rocks disappear if enough water comes along long enough. You can imagine what I was thinking. . .an Indian Chief, Superman, Mom, 2 girls and a man in a white tall hat plus a gillion other people sitting around eating and moving at the very same time. We were all moving down the tracks as fast as this train would go. It is pretty hot in this place, too hot, I think. When I grow up I want to paint and draw all that I see or think I see. I think I see more than anybody else. I notice things. I notice the looks on everybody's faces and I figure out what they are thinking, I think so, anyways. When I tell my sister that, she thinks I am making up stories. They are real to me. Mom always tells me to relax. It is going to be alright. But I keep having a feeling that that is just not so. This thought I am keeping to myself, though.

Reading Railroad

Reading Railroad

Monopoly,again, just thinking about how something so tiny, 

so subtle, so below the surface of consciousness will affect 

your entire life. If I ever have a question, if I wonder or 

wander in the maze of my life, it comes to the same place,

those light-bulb moments pregnant with possible avenues 

to explore, can it make or break it?

My mother used to tell me if I asked a question to go look it up in the Encyclopedia, now I Google it.

I still say, "Whatever you do PLEEEEZE don't throw me in that brier patch," when that is exactly what I want.

It is a language of symbols, something means something, it really does. A language all of ones own. Sometimes, it does not come easily or in a timely manner or maybe never.

Or maybe when you least expect it. It comes in a dream or a daydream, fuzzy at first, but suddenly it becomes crystal clear and you wonder why you didn't think of that before, now. I am on the Reading Railroad.

See?

Thought Experiment Transfixed

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Atchison,_Topeka_and_Santa_Fe_Railway

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Atlas_Shrugged:_Part_I



"Just do it," Laurie said. Sigourney and I both looked at each other and smiled. "Call Warren Buffet," said I.

Have you ever done a thought experiment? Frustration is the theme right now in the news. I am not inclined toward the right, after all my Mother is left handed. Actually, I can not tell my right from my left hand without looking to see which one is making an "L" which is quite silly, I suppose.
I imagine what it would be like to really have a vision for the future and to make it become a reality.

A fictional story is what I AM doing, I still can not figure out how to put all of this on actual paper to make it work.
A friend once said I just need to paint a picture of what I see in words. Good advice.

So here we are, the train has stopped. We have a break. We step off of the train for a bit. Mom holds our hands to guide us to this beautiful blue eyed Indian girl dressed in quite a different way from our minimal sun suits. She has jewelry. Beautiful silver with turquoise stones, tiny stones lined up in several rows. Hopi is what she says. Mom lets us try them on. We look at her and she smiles. "We will take these," says she to the girl. I am in love. I love riding this train, I love the landscape passing by our windows, I love the movement of the train, I love the small train stations. We step over to where they are selling sandwiches and Mom buys us lunch. I always feel so much better after I eat. My little sister grins up at me, showing off her new ring. So this is Arizona.

Laurie and Sigourney Encounter of. . .

Leaping off a tall building

Yesterday, I met Sigourney Weaver for lunch at the Plaza, she was late, as usual, I called her house and they told me she was walking and would be here soon, thank goodness, she did show up. Our conversation was a catalyst launching my mind to go where no man or woman has gone. We were talking about Laurie and how much she loves her dog. The leash she uses, Laurie, I mean, is quite a wonder to behold. Pure genius. I would love to be her dog, a Jack Russell Terrier. Can you imagine what this leash can do?