Words words words echo in the wind
Then Bounce back again and again.
Beliefs are words lodged in the dangerous convictions of mind wrecking havoc on human behavior creating atrocities that pull the thread of humanity out of the fabric of being.
Such is the way of the mystical winds that scatter the once was of us.
I just received an e-mail from wordpress, I’ve been blogging for nine years. In that period of time I’ve had about six different blogs. Some of you know how it goes. You get enthused about a subject that winds up either running out of steam or it takes a radical turn into something else and you feel compelled to start another blog.
At this point in my life I seem to be finally letting go of taking it too seriously. That began with the nonsensical name ‘bongdoogle.’ It’s completely dysunctional because it’s nondescript but that’s what I liked about it. It was fun to say and lacked meaning.
Then I fell into my old trap of academic philosophy which is okay but there are a lot better scholars and writers out there than me. So I started doing sub-par cartoons, the humor was there but the drawings were tedious and terrible. No fun.
I also found myself becoming tired of using words, I’d rather read someone else. So I let this blog wander like an untethered camel, and enjoy the freedom to express myself through words and a variety of image styles.
In my old age I’m no longer seeking a rhyme to the reason, I’m spending my time frolicking in spontaneous whimsy.
43 years ago when I was 25 and still a hippie artist, I lived in an old chicken coop that I converted with scrap wood and old windows into a 1200 square foot studio.
I painted in oils and carved stone.
Sometimes someone walks into your life and transforms you with one simple statement, Bender Wall Banger did just that.
As I’ve posted in the past I grew up on the streets without family, something that I now consider a gift that made me who I am. But back then I was uptight, depressed and angry, and most of my paintings reflected that mood. Dark colors, overly serious depressing subject matter. When people who had a normal middle class upbringing would comment on the dark colors and subject matter I ignored them, what did they know about life on the under belli of the beast.
Then I met Bender.
Bender had moved down from San Francisco to escape the tenderloin ghetto and try to clean-up her life in a Santa Cruz mountain cabin. She had lived on the streets since she was 13, she was an alcoholic, a junky and made her living as a hooker. A mutual friend (Diane) asked if I’d help her move.
When she came to my studio and looked at my paintings she asked why everything was so grim. I was floored. This ladies life had been even grimmer than mine, I couldn’t fall back on the old “What do you know about grim?” She forced me to see that while my life was currently very good I was stuck in the ghetto frame of mind. While I was standing in the light I hadn’t left the darkness.
The next day I built a 7 foot sculpture out of scrap wood. A colorful circus ring master with a big smile and his arms in the air. I put it by my front door and joined the circus of lightness.
My paintings became colorful humorous cartoons, in a mystical instant I left the grime behind.
A few months past and Diane stopped by and commented on the radical change in my work. I told her it was Bender’s questioning my grimness, if she could see the light there was no excuse for me not seeing it. I told Diane how Bender changed my life and would she tell her that I’d never forget it. She then informed me that Bender had shot and killed herself.
Sometimes you never get to verbally thank the people who have influenced you the most, but you can do it through actions. So I’m still painting colorful cartoons and every one of them says “Thanks, I’ll never forget you.”
Bright Blessings Bender and may we Merry Meet again.
Humanities transformations take place in the Zen of a time continuum that can’t be known, only seen.
It was a time when kids could run free, it only took one adult in a household to provide a comfortable living, schools were able to actually teach you something, women were treated respectfully based on their gender, politicians kept their personal opinions to themselves and did their job, you could find a file in a filing cabinet in less than a minute, People weren’t politically correct-they were polite and had time to eat and sleep, T.V. was free, you could breathe the air and drink the water, most business transactions could be done with a verbal promise and hand shake, you bought things because they really worked and lasted for years, tramps didn’t ask you for money or food-they asked you for work and the preferred drug was Red Mountain wine or Lucky Lager beer.
Oh it wasn’t all roses, no time is, and some things in life were harder but the living it was easier.
When you live in the country a dog is an asset. You not only have a companion you have a super sensitivity alert device. Tyke can hear a car coming a half mile away and we know because he runs to the window, looks out and gives a few short barks. We know if there are cows or javalina in the yard because the barking is replaced with loud snorting at the front door threshold. We don’t believe in guard dogs because we don’t feel we have anything that needs guarding. Which is good because nobody is going to be intimidated by a dog that looks like he belongs on a Hallmark greeting card.
The greatest thing about a dog is that you never have to wonder what they’re thinking.
In spite of catastrophic weather and other events of nature that threatens humanity some world leaders continue to act like children. Playing with their toys of destruction in a house that’s burning to the ground.
bongdoogle doodles 