Thursday, November 7, 2013

All about light

Then I sang . . .
This little light of mine. . .
I also said . . .
When I grow up I will be. . .
A missionary nurse. . .
Did I?

Wednesday, November 6, 2013

It Is About Time

Precious it is

Leonard Cohen, again,

"Everything has a crack,

That is how the light gets in. . ."

Take a knee, just this moment.

This is all.

Just breath or do origami

Love someone, too!


Thursday, October 17, 2013

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








Wednesday, October 16, 2013

Very


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



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

Tuesday, October 15, 2013

Saturday, October 12, 2013

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.

Thursday, October 10, 2013

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:


Tuesday, October 8, 2013

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.


Thursday, October 3, 2013

See?

Shutdown notice

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.

Tuesday, October 1, 2013

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?






Monday, September 30, 2013

Well. . .?


They say you should do this and you should do that.


  • Besides that. . .

 I want to know who the people in Indonesia are who read my blog. I want to know who the people in Russia are who read my blog!

Camel







So, Here EYE am again, thinking. It seems to me that wonderland is so very complicated. North Korea is in charge of North Korea. Cancer is still not as commonly cured as I thought it could be, someday. Nuclear Bombs are still here for us to see what happens with unintended consequences. We shot these off to poison the atmosphere where everything is connected, you would know that for sure if you were only big enough or small enough. The tiles fell off of the old Space Shuttle. We do see farther into space to gaze at the beginning, maybe. Many people do not believe in science. People still starve to death. We can talk to anyone, anywhere, at the worst possible times. I can write whatever I want to write. I can read whatever I want to read. But how do I put all of this amazing technology onto a piece of lined paper, bound in a piece of politically correct cardboard? If I were only Laurie Anderson, she could do it. Her paper would have electronic devices embedded, I just know it. There would be recorded sounds in a chip so that when the book is open it would make amazing original meaningful sound. Oh Oh Oh Superman would be her assistant.
I drive into the thumbprint of God to see a camel.

I enjoy a perfectly beautiful day in the middle of nowhere. I am thinking.




Saturday, September 28, 2013

Oh Superman



Digger Dudley, now that is a name to ponder. Mom says he digs the graves where we are going in the same conversation wherein she tells me that Aunty N's favorite thing to say is, "Isn't this the most elegant thing in the world, this mink collar feeeeeeels so nice."


Distination


The destination is not the goal. The journey is what it is all about especially if you might not know where or why. But I know for a fact that it is who is holding your hand while you are going somewhere that will mean the most to you when you do get there. Clark Kent sits down at your table in the dining car, of course, this part is absolutely true. He teaches you how to play cards. It does not take long to pick-up a bit of finesse and skill and strategy from someone who can fly when you need someone who can fly. It is that navigation skill that you keep close to your heart. You never know when you will really need it, it is good to feel that you can do anything like this, especially when it comes time to don a red cape and fly all by yourself. It is also great to be able to teach the other kids how to do this. It is a great thing when your little sis stands there with her finger in her mouth looking to see if you think this is a good thing or is this a bad thing. Responsible is how you feel. You can not ever ever let someone down. This is a good thing to hold close to your heart, too.
Mom would cry in her sleep. I made excuses for her to the other passengers. We never told her until much much later. I did not really know why she cried. I thought maybe it was that she did not have a lot of money in her purse. Mom never had a lot of money in her purse. She used to say that Dad thought if he doled it out a little at a time that she would have some money left, I mean. Dad was a rocket scientist. That is what my little sis always says. He did work on the space shuttle, the tiles, for sure, but I am getting far ahead of myself with telling this, right now. Anyways, to me he was my superman, for real. He taught me how to know where I am on this planet if I would just look at where the sun is or to observe what stars I could see, then I would know. He pointed out where they were shooting off atomic bombs in the desert. I saw the glow from one on a trip we took one year to Colorado in the car. We even drove through the fallout, for sure, really. This might be what is wrong with me. I just can not figure out why Dad is not with us on this trip.
It is a long way to go all the way to Chicago, first. then on to Grandmother's house. I see a lot of soldiers standing around in uniforms, so I ask somebody, "Hey Mister, What are the soldiers and sailors doing on this train?" It is so dark outside. I look up and all around at the lights and smoke is in the air from their cigarettes making it kind of hazy in the car. I am so tired. Superman is in another car. We met him upstairs where we could see for miles earlier this day. I wait for an answer. Mister Man ignores me. I am still wondering. This sailor with a cigarette in his hand almost touching me, I am afraid it is going to burn me or my mom who is asleep across the aisle from me, well he reaches over my seat to say, "Well, sweety pie, we are on our way to catch a ship bound for Korea." I ask, "What is Korea?" I wish my Dad were here right now. He would know. I wish I had my Encyclopedia Britannica nearby I would look it up. I hate to feel stupid about anything. My Dad always tells me to not be afraid to ask questions, but I am. Mom taps me on the shoulder and tells me to hush. So I do.              
Digger Dudley, now that is what I think about as I am falling to sleep.


Friday, September 27, 2013

Laurie Anderson on Delusion

Going Someplace?



The night came soon, too soon. The night was long, too long. Forever was a long time for two little girls thinking of the news that came yesterday. Riding the railroad was only on a game board. Thinking of 39 and one half hours just to get to Chicago is forever if you do not know what an hour is; how to measure time; what is Chicago?
Why does he want us to go? What is wrong with us? Why does he lock us out of the house? Does he love Mom and us?
The day was hot and sunny, the wind was blowing hard, these winds they make people crazy so the Indians say. I hear this from Mitch, he tells me so. The train is shiny and red in spots. Red is my favorite color, read is what I like to do with books. My library card is in my pocket book which I am upset because I cannot use it where we are going. I got it when I was four years old. Mitch says there are books on the train, though. My sis is too little to read, yet, but we are trying. She can play monopoly if we help her. She just won the beauty contest at the library auditorium, we took Can Can dancing lessons there, too. Dad is holding Mom’s left hand and carrying a large suitcase in the other while we follow behind. I do not like the smell of the train. It smells just like the bus smells and I always get sick and throw up. Oh man, this is too much. Why are we doing this?

And so it goes. . .the book thing. Sharing as I go. Too bad I have a flat tire.

The new Kindles came out this week. OMG what am I going to do? I want the 8.9". There is not enough band width to go around as it is. . .way too many gadgets dinging in the dark, already.
What a world I see, now. New glasses. Now I am full of mega anxiety knowing the dirt is there. I thought my abode was beyond clean, already. You say, "Take off the glasses?" Well, I called my honey adorable and his friends now call him doorbell. His hat I am knitting is almost done. It was started before I got sick. It is getting to look like fall.  His hat and the need for it.

xoxo Bat Bird

Monday, September 23, 2013

Time Transfixed



While my daughter is on her way to the radio station where she is to do a demonstration of how she cooks a gourmet fusion eggplant dish for a very famous chef, really, I am thinking about how I can get the above video to play on lined paper, real paper. . .It seems to me there is a collision of time going on here. I am stuck in time, really. Soon I will get the live radio program coming from the west coast while I sit here typing on the east coast via the internet. I am lol that I will listen to someone (my daughter) cooking on radio. Video would make more sense, right?

CHAPTER ONE

I recall a very warm summer day in SO CALI laying belly down with Mitch and Rhonda and my little sis on the cool raised cement porch playing monopoly, their dad was playing, too. I almost had a monopoly of the railroads. I took this game very seriously. I had to win! Strategy was everything. It was getting late and time to go home. The dad said so. We couldn't go home because our parents locked us out of the house.: )

I, meaning me, am waiting for my new glasses to come. If I mistake punctuation marks, it is because I, meaning me, can not see them.

Friday, September 20, 2013

Pure Fiction


AN OPPORTUNITY?

I really really love to read fiction on my Kindle Fire. I wonder what it would be like to be in Calgary creating this month? Hmm a month. How would I create a month? How could you create a motion book on a piece of lined paper bound inside brown cardboard?

What happens when Warren Buffet buys a railroad? 
What happens when Elon Musk builds a tube?

What happens when 2 little girls go to visit Grandmother on 
The El Capitan Santa Fe Railroad to Chicago?
In 39.5 hours 
What happens. If you divide 39.5 HOURS by thirty one DAYS? 
it
would be one with 8.5 hours left over.
APPLES AND ORANGES
What would two little girls do in 8.5 hours?

HOW LONG WOULD IT TAKE TO GO IN A TUBE FROM LA TO CHICAGO IN A SUPERSONIC CARRIAGE STUCK INSIDE A TUBE?


XOXO BUSY BIRD

Thursday, September 19, 2013

Petrified Bird :}

A piece of duct tape. . .is what I need.

Where I am getting off of BART then stepping in front of the super shopping center is a man who preaches about the end days coming soon. He always scares me like that feeling when I encounter yet another bear. Petrified is the word I use to describe what happens to me. It seems I am again petrified.
My Thoreau world as I have known it seems to be coming to an end. Or maybe I have to change, again, to accept it all?
A friend tells me not to resist for if you do that which you resist will surely come to you. Now that last sentence could use some punctuation, right?
Ok, I am not resisting!
Does that mean that the ATV park will disappear?
The sale was made final, yesterday, does this sound passive, in voice I mean? Truly, the acres, that join my wonderland, purchased by a man from North Carolina will be made into just another ATV resort.

So, I intend to go on as I always do, with peace in my heart, which is all anyone on this planet can ever do who already knows the only thing known for sure is that everything changes.




I am still wearing my $1.00 flip flops, but fall is around the corner and my cowgirl boots (red) will come back out upon my feet where I will still be walking in the woods. I imagine I still have some tranquility coming for a little while. I saw a tiny blond puppy yesterday hiding on an abandoned site which I am trying to catch and bring home. Somebody just dumped these puppies up here. Wish me luck.

xoxoxo The Petrified Bird :>


Saturday, September 14, 2013

A Thank You

A link in my previous post is well worth watching. I love that guy. He makes me smile.

Now, for today I want to talk about this blog. It is an experiment. I had a blog previously which had many readers. I got sick and stopped for quite a few months. I would not tell you this because I do not want sympathy. I do not need that. I tell you this because I want you to know that I have changed the way I see life now. I saw THE white light. It was just a slit of incredible light shining through. I do not know what it was or is and that is not the point. To me I felt it was a very visual message to me. I got it. Just live the way I want to live and that that is so OK. And I am still here.
Now, these are my thoughts, today:
I wonder how many people are swayed by the counters we have on our blogs? Do you write to get comments or do you write what YOU want to write? Do you show your work?
As a visual "artist" I put it out there, some of it. Some I do not. I like to tell how I do things in case it helps someone else. I am no expert on anything. I just have fun. I like to see an idea become concrete, as in something that is here on this planet, that was not here before, maybe the molecules were here? but they are re-arranged by me.
I was a teacher of children for quite a few years. Now I am not because of health reasons but I still love doing that and it really makes me feel sad knowing that that is not my life, anymore.
This is part of my life, the blog, I mean.
I get so inspired by things that other people do show to all of us in this blog world. I love the freedom we have to do whatever we want to do. I enjoy reading and knowing that there are people in the world, all over the world, who do so many interesting and exciting things. Thank you all for this!

xoxo Grateful Bird

▶ Neil Gaiman - Inspirational Commencement Speech at the University of the Arts 2012 - YouTube

Thursday, September 12, 2013

Endless Brain Chatter




Inside the trunk we found three sheets of paper with
some images tied in a pretty but old and stained Satin bow.


 
 

 


October 1906,

I don't have much paper left.

I find myself stuck in a gully of The Rio thinking I hear a flash flood from off north of here. I expect this is the last thought I might have. I believe it will be saved in the cloud. My foot is broken but not the spirit dwelling somewhere in what is left of me.
The last human being I saw had a blazing fire going, smothering some pots with layers of dung and shards. I picked up a few along the way, shards I mean, tiny black line work reminding me of my sweet mother and her perfect little writing style. Once, I met a china man who wrote with black ink and a brush, purely beautiful, I thought. What a waste that he was a slave to the opium den. I guess the railroad left behind more than just metal rails and wooden walkways and houses from the Sears and Roebucks Catalogue.
I am thinking of a vessel I saw in the front parlor of a lawyer. It was about 6 foot tall made of porcelain. One of the most remarkable things I will probably ever see. I think about the idea that someone painted with care this thing which is just another thing, not even good for holding water which is what I really need, right now. Cool clear water now that is such a simple thing given to us for free. But, when you cannot get up to even get yourself a ladle of water a container ain’t much use, after all.
 
 
I was to take the train in the next town into Santa Fe where the Indian Market for the fall is going on. The pawn jewelry that I bought on the North Rim is to be sold there. The Blue glass beads from Russia and the African beads I trade for Navaho blankets will be good for nuthin if I can’t get some help pretty soon. I don’t know if a prayer could even be heard out here where there is not much but Buzzards flyin in a circle way up there right now, but not for long.
I think how every living thing has a purpose on this earth. I guess all I am is food for those blasted buzzards.
The muslin sack I keep in my pocket has enough tobacco for a few last smokes. The paper is still dry and I can still flash a spark for the matches on my denim pants. I’m thinkin to ration these out to track the time or is it the other way around.
The last fire before that other last fire was something to behold. That black as sin fryin pan has seen its days full of trout. Last time we caught 150 in just a couple of hours. The water itself was almost freezing come down from the snow covered mountain near Flagstaff. We gutted those fish and put them on the stringers of rope one guy just made that day. We took the whole load of fish up to the cookfire. When we threw them in the pan full of mutton fat they sizzled and sent sparks a flyin. Sure wish we coulda had a photographer along, what a thing to think upon right now. I guess I must be hungry too. So I see are those blasted buzzards. You would think I am the only live thing around. Well, come to think of it I must be just that, otherwise, someone would come to help. I forget whilst I am thinking that it is inside my head and not out loud. A mistake I am makin by not sayin what I am thinkin. Now that would bring a laugh to those who left me behind because I converse in this diabolic manner with no real point or end.