Tuatha de Danaan
|Posted on August 25, 2014 at 5:40 AM|
It reminds me of my childhood, I shouldn't go there.
It reminds me of a time of little care.
It's disgusting, not Art, at all...
It's immortal; I must have it on my wall.
I think this guy has his own reality show...
This guy is dead. Do you like it?
I don't know.
|Posted on August 25, 2014 at 3:55 AM|
I think electric lights might be fucking with the bees;
you might think me crazy, but, I know, they fuck with me.
I don't sleep at night without Valerian and Dandelion root,
and they haven't made a tranquilizer more effective than the faery lute.
I'm sure their bras have given us cancer,
burning at the stake: a definitive answer.
The water is poisoned; they'll TAX it extra for that.
Next time, I'm coming back, again,
as a cat!
|Posted on August 22, 2014 at 10:30 PM|
The last days of summer always make me a bit drowsy and sad, I wax poetic. I've been putting a lot of my poetry, old and new, together with my art, photographs, and even dolls, into lots of new greeting cards in my ZAZZLE shop... Mostly Fun...
|Posted on August 22, 2014 at 5:05 AM|
When the moon is darkening
and my life's blood is ebbing
from the mouth of the cave,
the wound that is my soul,
there rides a dark horse,
too fast for me,
through a lush wood
into the light,
if you were to catch him,
if you wanted to ride.
|Posted on July 31, 2014 at 1:15 PM|
I'm reading The DEVA HANDBOOK * How to Work with Nature's Subtle Energies* by Nathaniel Altman; it's very good. Here are some of the best parts so far...:
"Nature spirits reveal the hidden, formative life that works within (and through) all living things in nature. They are, in essence, an agent through which Divine Energy manifests and are a "blueprint" that enables this energy to express itself in the physical world. In addition, devas serve as a type of transformer that "steps down" this cosmic energy and wisdom to a frequency that is usable on a physical level."
"Cutting ourselves off from the land has led to a state that body-oriented psychotherapists like Alexander Lowen, the founder of Bioenergetics, call "ungroundedness." In addition to feeling disconnected from the land, we have also become cut off from our innate "animal" consciousness, which can deprive us of the wisdom and inner security we may have experienced in generations past. The result of this ungrounded state is often insecurity and fear, which leads in turn-as a vicious cycle- toward a certain degree of indifference to the natural world around us." "as the result of this psychic numbing, we tend to limit our participation in the world even more than before, perhaps because we feel powerless to change the situation. Ironically, by doing this, we continue to give our personal power away to the very individuals (such as politicians, industrialists, and other decision-makers) who either set public policy or are actively involved in the systematic destruction of our planetary home in the first place"
"This vital force acts on the air we breathe, the food we eat, and creates and sustains living tissue. It is present through the entire natural world. This is why many of us feel revitalized after a dip in the ocean, a walk in the woods, or a picnic on a lawn or open field. Chi masters often advise their students to go to the forest in order to access chi for achieving healing, inner focus, and self-empowerment." "Love, for example, is a form of energy that exists at a certain vibration. We instinctively recognize when someone shares their love with us, even if they are standing across a room. Wisdom is another type of energy that one can perceive."
The book is also adorned with inspirational black and white photographs of trees, rocks, and other sacred spaces. It is not New Agey, but nearly scientific, thus far, and I'm highly recommending it!***
|Posted on July 10, 2014 at 5:35 PM|
Oh, yes, the crazy giant mushrooms are back, and I swear they are Death Angels too...
|Posted on July 8, 2014 at 9:55 PM|
I watched the fireflies as they awoke,
rising, as if in a trance,
and hovered, until
they realized where they were,
from the cool drizzle;
all upon a golden twilight,
lit by the ethers,
to bid you, good night.*
|Posted on July 1, 2014 at 1:25 AM|
*It's Always Fun to find Moths as Big as bats! Alright, then, let the transformation begin!*
|Posted on June 30, 2014 at 2:00 PM|
Super fun set for yourself or a gift: one handmade card made with my five by seven inch print of an original watercolor painting, Harlequinade, made with canvas type paper, and left blank inside, for a personal note, a two-and-three-quarters by eight inch Foggy Day bookmark print, and a do it yourself jumping Fred sailor paper doll print, who is fourteen inches when simply cut out and assembled with six small brads and twine. Poke the holes with small scissors or a darning needle as a hole punch is too big. This totally fun set was inspired by the following wonderful old films: Follow the Fleet, Damsel in Distress, and Broadway Melody of 1940. These sets are professionally printed on cardstock and very limited to only thirty sets, but I might make-up more Fred sets; (Fancy Fred, Festive Fred...), I sure LOVE Fred! Contact me if interested in purchasing the originals, you will find them listed in the Art Gallery. The original jumping jack is also on canvas type paper with a fancy backing. *Print Set: Ten Dollars* Shipping: $1.50 US, $3.00 Every Where Else!
|Posted on June 22, 2014 at 2:05 AM|
I'm reading a great big wonderful picture book, Starring Fred Astaire, from 1973, by Stanley Green and Burt Goldblatt, all about Fred's career, all the way back to childhood. My favorite quote so far is from 1927 and appeared in the London Sketch, "Fred Astaire--that mild and intellectual looking young man--is the mind of the dance." Fred has always been a major inspiration, not too many people can make me laugh, cry, and clap my hands all at the same time; sometimes while watching I think I get a rush of all the joy he created and shared with us. I already know this book will inspire more Fred art. I can remember watching Ziegfield Follies with my Grandparents, I must've been five years old; seeing it again it's no wonder I turned-out the way I did. There are no computer generated graphics, just sheer talent and hard work. Sure, it must've cost a mint, but probably a fraction of what they spend making bad movies today.
|Posted on June 18, 2014 at 5:10 PM|
I'm reading Poetry of the Ancient World: Irish, compiled by Errol Jud Coder; I've nearly finished it. Although I'm sure that a lot has been lost with the translation from Gaelic, there are poems in here that I haven't found anywhere else. Ancient though it may be, I think From The Triads Of Irelan holds a lot of wisdom, still applicable in today's world, (maybe even more-so than then), so I wanted to share it with You...
From The Triads Of Irelan
Three slender things that best support the world: the
slender stream of
milk from the cow's dug into the pail; the slender blade
of green corn
upon the ground; the slender thread over the hand of a
The three worst welcomes: a handicraft in the same
house with the inmates;
scalding water upon your feet; salt food without a drink.
Three rejoicings followed by sorrow: a wooer's, a thief's,
Three rude ones of the world: a youngster mocking an
old man; a robust
person mocking an invalid; a wise man mocking a fool.
Three fair things that hide ugliness: good manners in the
skill in a serf; wisdom in the misshapen.
Three sparks that kindle love: a face, demeanor,
Three glories of a gathering: a beautiful wife, a good
horse, a swift
Three fewnesses that are better than plenty: a fewness of
fine words; a
fewness of cows in grass; a fewness of friends around
Three ruins of a tribe: a lying chief, a false judge, a
Three laughing-stocks of the world: an angry man, a
jealous man, a
Three signs of ill-breeding: a long visit, staring, constant
Three signs of a fop: the track of his comb in his hair;
the track of his
teeth in his food; the track of his stick behind him.
Three idiots of a bad guest-house: an old hag with a
chronic cough; a
brainless tartar of a girl; a hobgoblin of a gillie.
Three things that constitute a physician: a complete
cure; leaving no
blemish behind; a painless examination.
Three things betokening trouble: holding plough-land in
feats together; alliance in marriage.
Three nurses of theft: a wood, a cloak, night.
Three false sisters: 'perhaps,' 'may be,' 'I dare say.'
Three timid brothers: 'hush!' 'stop!' 'listen!'
Three sounds of increase: the lowing of a cow in milk;
the din of a
smithy; the swish of a plough.
Three steadinesses of good womanhood: keeping a
steady tongue; a steady
chastity; a steady housewifery.
Three excellences of dress: elegance, comfort,
Three candles that illume every darkness: truth, nature,
Three keys that unlock thoughts: drunkenness,
Three youthful sisters: desire, beauty, generosity.
Three aged sisters: groaning, chastity, ugliness.
Three nurses of high spirits: pride, wooing, drunkenness.
Three coffers whose depth is not known: the coffers of a
chieftain, of the
Church, of a privileged poet.
Three things that ruin wisdom: ignorance, inaccurate
Three things that are best for a chief: justice, peace, an
Three things that are worst for a chief: sloth, treachery,
Three services, the worst that a man can serve: serving a
bad woman, a bad
lord, and bad land.
Three lawful handbreadths: a handbreadth between
shoes and hose, between
ear and hair, and between the fringe of the tunic and the
Three angry sisters: importunity, frivolity,
Three signs of a bad man: bitterness, hatred, cowardice.
|Posted on June 16, 2014 at 5:00 PM|
|Posted on June 15, 2014 at 11:05 PM|
The birds like to talk before bed,
as twilight falls
and closes all around
the only flicker,
when the wild streak
pounces up behind.
They are saying, "Good Night".
Then, the still, pink dawn,
it will be, "Good Morning!",
stirring in their nests,
chit-chattering, at first,
then in glorious song.
The birds know how
to give thanks,
within their green cathedrals,
as The Eye peeks out
from the sky above.
|Posted on June 14, 2014 at 3:00 PM|
|Posted on June 6, 2014 at 9:50 PM|
The Doll House Museum in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania is a charming establishment and can be rented for parties too: Doll House Museum
|Posted on June 3, 2014 at 4:50 PM|
It was late spring of 1347,
a murderous hailstorm rained down from Heaven.
They say it comes from the ports,
the dark pestilence, known as, Le' Morte.
Now sister Anne is dead,
brother Spence, to follow,
they'll be buried in the trench outside of town tomorrow.
No Last Rites, nor funeral to mourn,
only a pocket full of posies, the dead, adorn.
Here comes the doctor
with his bird mask;
he'll poke them with his stick,
what more can we ask?
The boils, they fester,
poor Spence, he roars,
Black Death, he comes, settles the scores.
The bells, they've stopped ringing, the reason, they say,
the dead are so cumbersome,
they'd ring night and day.
The sheep are out wandering,
the horses are dead,
flies, fleas, and pestilence,
have replaced the black bread.
The lord, too, is dead,
I've heard it said,
nightmares and witchery plague his lady
while she sleeps in his bed.
1348, still a land bestricken with woe,
God's wrath has stricken all,
and whence shall I go?
|Posted on May 23, 2014 at 2:40 PM|
Eleanor just told me
that women have a small army of angry children,
clawing to get out and take over
but, believe me,
Eleanor speaks for herself,
and makes me howl in the night,
in the dark,
when she's craving salty bones:
|Posted on May 2, 2014 at 12:40 AM|
As tainted as Point Pleasant seemed, Woodward Cave is sacred: good spirits a plenty. We stayed in a cottage just yards away from the mouth of the cave, and about twilight I swore I saw a misty blue spirit drift out from the totem pole. I had only slept a couple of hours the night before, so after returning from Penn's Cave, passed-out until after one in the morning. That's when I went out on the porch and experienced lots of wyrd things. First, looking out towards the cave and the totem pole, I could see lots of strange movements amongst the mist, more blueish shapes, also there were oval patterns of gold bars flashing in the dark. Then, right alongside the cottage, where the car was parked, I could hear several bodies walking through the gravel drive. At first, I got really spooked, but then, I got a very warm feeling in my chest, and started experiencing all sorts of wonderful expressions through my mind's eye. I do have Seneca ancestors, and I felt as if they knew this and were welcoming me. I got the feeling that it was a seriously sacred place, also that they liked my pajamas, which is pretty funny, as they are intricate green patterns of jewel tones, and I do think the ancient Natives would have gotten a kick out of them. First, I felt one in particular that was right alongside the porch. He liked my smoke, (I was smoking). He said his name was Ghost Bear; actually, he said his name in Seneca language, which was something three syllables, with an Sh, and lots of vowels, but I knew what he meant. He had a bear skin headdress and showed me that he had killed a big mean brown bear that also haunted the spot, they were entwined, or twin spirits, something like that: his totem, he related this all to me. There was also a Medicine Man who wore a buffalo headdress with short dark horns, and he also told me his name: something with a Ch, ai... Anyways, he seemed to have a lot to talk about, as I think he followed me back into the cottage, as I got all of these different impressions from him while I was in the bathroom, and the door opened and closed on it's own, as if he had followed me in. First, he was telling me that if I made a rattle I could call them. I do know how to make Native rattles, as my Grandpap made them, but all the while, in my mind, I was discussing with him how I'd make a different kind, with magic spirit rock chips, instead of dried berries on the rattler. He was telling me how the animal skin was crucial, as it carried the spirit of the stag on the drum part, but I doubt my rattle will be made of skin and gut. Then, we discussed magic wands and the Great Spirit. I think there was also a woman wrapped in a cougar pelt, and in my mind's eye I could see a whole community of long wooden houses, dark and smoky inside, comfortable. I got the feeling that these guys were from the 1640s... Anyways, there were other spirits that moved through the cottage too: all good. A British soldier named Jonathan Edwards, but not the Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God one, and Ralph Bellamy, from the 1940s... All very wyrd for me to get all these names and stuff... Anyways, there was no way I was going back to sleep, so first made a video in the dark of all of the happenings, and if You look closely, You will see the strange movements in the dark, out there, then, another, of the cave at sunrise. You can see all of these videos here: The Cave . I also made dream journals and a couple of post cards from the get-away, here:
|Posted on March 11, 2014 at 2:40 PM|
|Posted on January 5, 2014 at 9:30 PM|
I've been at it again, making little treats and favors for Mardi Gras, Valentines Day, Saint Patrick's Day, and Easter! I think all holidays deserve a little something to make them special and memorable. Check-out my ZAZZLE shop for all sorts of new treats.