kanji

15 January, 2006
i guess the wind just... pushed me that way.

ever wake up in one of those moods where you must move? something in the back of your mind compelling you, with no real voice?

i guess the word is "impulse"... more spontaneous than a "drive", less disciplined than "will".

in the past twenty-four hours, the barometer has been erratic, too. and the thermometer. sun and warmth and shirtsleeves replaced by two pairs of socks and flannels and snowshowers. that would fuck anybody up... but it did mess with me, tangentially.

on my way to pick up the mail and make tracks to somewhere that would actually have a copy of Turbo_Tax (so i could start fantasizing, real-time, about changes... in latitude/longitude, climate,and warmth of a different source, with real $ to consider), that's when the impulses ignited.

i've written before about how i feel about rainy day-trips in the car... it somehow calls for RubberSoul-era JohnLennon vocals and Rickenbacker twelve-strings. making my sticky tracks to Grey Town, i was giving serious consideration to turning back, and going home to find some of that... but instead, i attempted temperance by turning onto main street, and pulling across from the train station for a photo i've been meaning to take forever.

that put me directly in front of the ArtCenter's front door. i'm sure i was a spectacle, as i'd slid across the driver's seat to the passenger's, slumped against the door to get the right angle that said everything. after the snap, i decided i'd walk inside... previous trips were usually to drop off program guides for the radio fund-raisers, with hasty retreats so as not to wear out my welcome.
it was a good place to be, inside. it was busy in the back with some children's class, not like the mausoleum i'd expected... where the only sound would be my feet, creaking across the old wood flooring of this ex-furniture store.
they were exhibiting the local high school teacher's efforts, as well as his students. his stuff reminded me of that late-afro'ed-wolfman-looking TV-artist (cough*BobRoss*cough)that created scenics in thirty minutes, but with about five more pounds of paint applied. make that ninety minutes.

not the students, though. i saw Lichtenstein-twists, StuartDavis send-ups and one that should be in many thousands of CD jewel cases... that's the one i bought. punky-funky-GangOfFour-ish, brash and ominous.

it was all innocent enough... i was having a nice chat with the curator's assistant, her little girl studiously studying the paintings and asking questions about them. i went on about how shitty it used to be with no outlet for artistic ability in a small town, except for the two-lane that took you away from here. how the Center looked like it was here for the long haul--impervious to town councilmen who brag about "not taking these children to raise", those greasy, sycophantic Jurassic Fuckers...their noses so far up each other's asses that the view never changed for them, so it shouldn't for anyone else, either. "art" was for their wives to play with while the tranq/amphetamine buzz wore off... and before dinner or the kids had to be picked up from private school.

that's how it used to be. maybe.

hence my "issues".

flunking art in the tenth grade gave me "issues", too.

she walked away for a moment, and that's when the lightbulb went off. since the pricetag was less than than that of an evening of drinking, and the effects would last much longer, why not do something about it? so. i asked her how one would go about buying from the gallery. and did.
it won't come home until the exhibit closes, but there are ample bare walls in this mausoleum... and, perhaps it shouldn't just "stay" here, anyway, but continue being exposed.

everybody wins. artist sells to appreciative buyer,and an ego/talent boost. gallery gets to stick "sold" on the nameplate. and i got the best buzz, ever, without smoking something or eating something or rubbing something on me.

i sure could've used Me about thirty years ago.

i still wanted to get that Turbo_Tax, though... so i'd feel like i wasn't completely irresponsible.

therein lies the Downfall.

thanks to this bucolic rural scene that i described, earlier, there's only one place on a late Saturday afternoon to find anything like that, other than CVille... yes WalFuckingMart. or so i thought.

no sooner had i placed the first foot inside the door, the country equivalent of the Pearly Gates of Merchandise, i got light-headed. the glaring white of the floor and the supernova store lights and the delightful JerrySpringer ambiance made me physically ill, right in the pit of my stomach... as if there was a pincushion in it.

"way to blow a good mood, Ska-T."

and the bastards didn't have what i went there for. and TurbieTwists ain't it either, lady.

for once, it wasn't satisfying an impulse that brought me back down to the earth, with a crash.

even WalFuckingMart couldn't screw up that "high".

.


hit me with your rhythm stick




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