Posts Tagged ‘Mowgli’

I’ve written those (first) two words into a poem—abandoned and reworked and abandoned and rediscovered and (you get the idea)—since I was sixteen.  They have new meaning for me every time I write them. 

Tonight, my newly-formed guitar string finger calluses tap-tap-tapped on the keyboard, as I began to love on my little-novel-that-could again.  I wrote: Momentarily awakened in the moonless night . . .

And on cue, Shortcake woke up, calling to me from the bed.  “Mommy?”  I ran to her, snuggled up and kissed her cheek.  “Mommy’s here,” I whispered.  Sleepily, she put her arm on mine, and said, smiling, “Oh.  There y’are.” 

Then, Dimples woke up, febrile and coughing, with a sore ear.  After ibuprofen and forehead kisses, he smiled and said, “Mom?  My number one favorite thing is drawing.”

I wrote all of the above last night, and returned to Dimples’ side, eventually falling asleep with my ass on his floor and my head on his bed.  And so I don’t actually know where I was going with this train of thought.  Which reminds me.  This weekend, traveling home from a blissful day alone on a snowy beach, I got lost in the boonies of Wisconsin.  I ended up on a windy, hilly road in a thick forest, and completely lost my sense of direction.  It was perfect.  I was so far gone, and did not want to be found.  Except that I really had to pee.  Which reminds me.  I’ve got to tell you about our lost-backpacking-in-a-blizzard-spring-break-trip sometime.  Which reminds me.  Of this, which I’ve posted before, maybe last spring:

 
I’m not lost. I’m exploring. (Jana Stanfield).
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tri-x in holga, dusty neg scan, Mowgli

particularly myself

March 5, 2010

There is no escape.  You can’t be a vagabond and an artist and still be a solid citizen, a wholesome, upstanding man.  You want to get drunk, so you have to accept the hangover.  You say yes to the sunlight and your pure fantasies, so you have to say yes to the filth and the nausea.  Everything is within you, gold and mud, happiness and pain, the laughter of childhood and the apprehension of death.  Say yes to everything, shirk nothing, don’t try to lie to yourself.  You are not a solid citizen, you are not a Greek, you are not harmonious, or the master of yourself, you are a bird in the storm.  Let it storm!  Let it drive you!  How much you have lied!  A thousand times, even in your poems and books, you have played the harmonious man, the wise man, the happy, the enlightened man.  In the same way, men attacking in war have played heroes, while their bowels twitched.  My God, what a poor ape, what a fencer in the mirror, man is -particularly the artist – particularly the poet – particularly myself!

Herman Hesse, from Wandering

 

mowgli, appropriately wild.  tri-x pushed in mamiya c330
mowgli, appropriately wild. tri-x pushed in mamiya c330

doldrums schmoldrums

February 20, 2010

Alternative title:  February is the F-word.

It is still February.  February somewhat sucks.  For a while there, I had decided that I was going to pump Wellbutrin into our village water system, and maybe try to transmit it electronically, as well.  Or Prozac.  Or Heroin.  The other day, a friend read a phone-text and shook her head, laughing.  “Everyone’s depressed!”  And it’s true.  There is some hard core depths of despair happening ’round here.

We are deep into the dark season here in Wisconsin.  I’ve seen other bloggers talk about the signs of returning spring, and I want to throw a chunk of ice at them.  Oh no, honey.  Not here.  Here we do not mention the S word, for fear of a collective breakdown.  Except, shit.  I just mentioned it, didn’t I?  I will now pause for my fellow Doldrum-experiencers to cry with longing for the season that lingers in the distance too far beyond hope.

*  *  *  *  *

Everyone OK?  Yes.  See, that’s the thing.  I think that everyone is OK.  (I’m OK, you’re OK, OK now I’m sounding like a self-help book.  ack.)  I just think that a turn toward darkness in winter is a healthy, natural movement.  Remember?  It is when we fight it that we cause ourselves harm.  I shouldn’t be feeling this way, it is his/her fault, how can we fix this, what is the problem . . . 

There is no problem.  There is no spoon.  These Winter Doldrums have brought me some really nasty-but-good, awful-but-helpful, raw-but-fresh stuff.  Stuff that productive spring will do great things with, surely.  (shoot!  S-word!  hope!  sorry!) 

But, oh . . . . . spring.  Spriiiiiiiiiiiiing.  Maybe it is not actually so far off?  I mean, it is currently snowing.  And everything is still deader than dead.  And the sun does still set before 6 pm.  But . . . shoot!  I’ve done it again!  Sorry!  Moment of silence.

*  *  *  *  *

And in case that pathetic little attempt at inspiration doesn’t do it for you, here are some pictures that might.  They are not spring-ish in the least, but they are happy, I think.  (?)

crack

Do you know the joy of this? Can you hear it? Feel it under your feet? yesssssssssssssssssss. This is, perhaps, the best part of winter. (aside: I asked my husband, showed him the pictures, and he said, "that just looks sad." So maybe I am totally off on this?)

crackshoes

Ecstasy, I tell you. Sheer bliss. crrrrrack.

lick

And, of course, there is the licking of a big hunk of snow. (Dimples) Who can resist that?

And a few more.  I gave up putting them into nice little black rectangles for you:

callick

I'm just going to assume that this was not in the driveway. (Mowgli)

walk

And I learned something last weekend. Running in the winter can be fun! Avoiding the poorly-shoveled spots was honestly fun. Like an obstacle course. I'm serious! (Shortcake)

name

And name-spelling in the snow. There are few things in life as thrilling as a big stretch of undisturbed snow that you are about to have your way with. (Kiki)

 

Use Your Illusion

February 19, 2010
Illusions are art, for the feeling person, and it is by art that you live, if you do.  (Elizabeth Bowen)
tri-x film in mamiya 645af.  mowgli and a girlie friend.

tri-x film in mamiya 645af. mowgli and a girlie friend.

Today I’m thinking about illusions.  The illusions of vision, of art, of social role, of relationship, of should, of connection, of separation, of possession, of acceptance, of proper, of religion, of comfort, of security, of emotion, of praise, of beauty, of insult.  Hey!  Another one of those lists.  I haven’t gone all there-is-no-spoon yet, but I do think I’ll go on a quantum physics kick, now that you mention it.

I’m thinking about how we can become so governed by those illusions, and about what would happen if we . . . weren’t.  If we accepted their function when appropriate, loved the illusions for what they were, and then gratefully let them go in due time.  “Arigato Zaisho,” if you know what I mean

I’m thinking, and letting go of a few other . . . thinkings.  Oooh, I have a lot more to say here, but I’m operating under the illusion of time, so I must go.

Have the illusion of a happy weekend!

. . . and post a cute picture of my kid.  See?  Just like you thought I couldn’t.  Suckas.

Except in the shot, he has just told me that he is Anakin, who he likes because, of course, Anakin goes to the dark side and becomes Darth Vader.  And maybe that’s not normal.  And maybe it’s not normal that it makes me proud when he says these things.  And so, just forget the whole normal thing, already.

mini-me + light saber on tri-x in mamiya c330

mini-me + light saber on tri-x in mamiya c330, neg scan

I’m glad my villain-loving genes run strong in him.  There are other similarities, too.  heh.

DSC_0565xx

And to quote Nina’s little boy, “I like being negative; that’s my favorite of all!  Oh OK, I’ll be positive when I’m done being negative.  Now, as I was saying…”

And so as I was saying, the villain is almost always my favorite, too.  Not only are they just plain cool, but they’re also just so beautifully complex.  Right?  Surely you have a favorite villain.  Tell me.  And your answer can’t be Terri Fischer.

Cue Obsession

February 2, 2010

grace1914

This is a photo of my great aunt Grace on the beach in 1914.

How gorgeous is this?  I could stare at it all day.

Except instead of stare at it, I’m going to develop a roll of film and print out staff paper. *

Because I’ve got my music back. 

I don’t know what happened, but some dam burst in my head.  And suddenly, it is all MUSIC!MUSIC!MUSIC!MUSIC!MUSIC!MUSIC!MUSIC!MUSIC!MUSIC!MUSIC!MUSIC!MUSIC!MUSIC!MUSIC!MUSIC!MUSIC!MUSIC!

Actually, it’s rather annoying.  I mean, seriously.  I must have ADD.  Just do one thing already, right?

But the damn . . . dam.  It’s as if it was always there, the MUSIC!MUSIC!MUSIC! building and building and building, and it just reached this threshold, and fwooooosh.  I can’t really stop obsessing about music right now.  It’s quite obnoxious.

I do tend to be fickle, of course.  And so, surely this too shall pass.  But for now, there is nothing more pressing in my life than to learn to play the electric guitar, and more specifically, to play this one song on it.  And maybe one or two more.  Luckily, I know a guy.**

It was impossible to not be musical growing up in my family.  For as long as I can remember, up until I left the house, it was always MUSIC!MUSIC!MUSIC!MUSIC!MUSIC!MUSIC!MUSIC!  For the rest of them, it still is.  But it hasn’t been, for me, for whatever reason.  I mean, I’ve got a piano sitting in my living room.  And I play it sometimes.  And I’ve even played this one song on it.  But the full moon, and the thought of an electric guitar, these were the last two straws.  Or water molecules.  Or whatever.

fwoooooooooooshhh.

I’m not predicting future mother-of-four rockstardom or anything.  Just, MUSIC!MUSIC!MUSIC!MUSIC!  until I’m bored.

 

* You should know that I forgot to pick up Mowgli from school while searching for this.  Doesn’t the red flag for clinical psychosis have something to do with being unable to perform daily tasks?  shit.

**I’ve known these people for a couple years, and never took the time to listen to their music.  Don’t make the same mistake, go listen right now.  Scroll down and find Hello, Hospital.  RRRRRRRRRRRROCK!

Moving On?

January 22, 2010

I’m just sayin’.

It could be summer now, if it wanted to be.

I’d be O.K. with that.

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holga tri-x early fall '09

Nina

January 11, 2010
You’ve met my friend Nina before, haven’t you?

This is the illustrious Nina:

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Nina + crew, tri-x in the mamiya 645af

 

And Nina’s Palette is her new website.

Nina is my friend Jessica’s sister.  You’ve met her before, too.  And here she is, headless.  Ain’t she purty (despite the dust on this negative scan)?

img401

Jessica and her Yashica. Me, and my tri-x and my Mamiya. Arigato.

And to complicate things, they also have a younger sister who is also gorgeous and fabulous.  (And she’s my little brother’s age, so I’m working on a set-up plan, because then we’ll be related.  Except she would be all, “Yeah, dude.  Get in line,” and he would be all, “whatever.”  So forget it.  Forget it, already!  And anyway, this is all about Nina.)

BECAUSE, LOOK!!!  She is featured in OnMilwaukee.com today!

A few weeks ago, Nina and Jessica kidnapped my children and helped them make self-portraits on 16×20 canvas.  And besides being blown away by the joy of it (the art, of course, not the missing children), I felt a little inkling of you are on to something here, my friend.  It was the collaboration with kids that I sensed, I think, and I knew she was in her element. 

fischer kid's self portraits 11-21-09

Shortly after, she created this beautiful painting with her son, Malachi.  When I saw it, I had chills.  And also maybe I cried a little.  Or a lot.  Do you ever get that feeling, when someone you love touches something within themselves that you know is soul, and is purpose, and is divine . . . and then shares it with the world?  Oh, it is a really good feeling.  An all-is-right-with-the-world feeling.

Go read her story.  I think you might just cry.  A little.

ninas

collaborative acrylic painting by Nina and her son, Malachi

name that emotion

January 3, 2010

hello.

i am feeling

exceptionally

(fucking)*

crabby

today.

and also sorta like this:

TAF_1220x

 and in the good moments,

more like this:

TAF_1270x

 

(*yes, mom.  necessary.)

The End

December 29, 2009

 

in celebration of 2009 (such a good year),

TAF_0809x
(mowgli)

as it teeters on the edge of december,

0TAF_0188x
(dimples)

and then escapes into 2010.

TAF_1069x
(kiki)

. . . the end.

0TAF_0213x
(shortcake)