Do it yourself. And while you’re at it, do it all, don’t straitjacket yourself. This is really the Time of the Renaissance Geeks of the Trans-Genius, where the GEEK is comfortable with any assortment of bustling topics the world has to offer, but in no way, shape or form should the RGTG to be confused with Bob and that church thang.
If I had a hammer,
I'd nail your silent face
to the flapper girl's chest
like a yellow corsage, and tear it down;
turn on your receiver, Tupelo Honey
to love him is to know him, tiny dancer,
the boxer, Polly, she's a rainbow zombie
lost in a whiter shade of pale, tangled up in blue
now that I have a reason to believe a change
is gonna come when I paint my masterpiece
as I turn, turn, turn, turning Japanese
rogue children go bang, divine service,
don't pass me by, don't stop,
do you know what I mean,
do it again, cover me...
like a hurricane, blowing old time rock and roll,
too late for a handshake, I roll over Beethoven,
thunder struck, roll over and over, doing the stray cat strut
to your ritual noise. Yeah. You really got a hold on me.
Yakety Yak. No more heroes. You cannot walk here,
sky pilot, paper plane, ancient name. You remind
me of Snoopy versus the Red Baron, but she's
not on the menu, spotlight, look, she's a phone sex girl
a pleasure victim, til the wheels fall off, a thrasher
positively 4th Street, toys in the attic,
too far gone, a telephone operator,
said so the daily news,
cry baby cry, a dirty birdie,
a dirty punk, chemicals and circuitry
diplomatic immunity, Uncle Albert, Admiral Halsey,
dust in the wind, driftwood, the undefeated, the voice,
don't let me be misunderstood, don't call me white,
the cover of the Rolling Stone, uncertain times under attack.
You ain't seen nothing yet,
keep on smilin' homesick again
the hunger within, the human highway
for what it's worth, friend or foe, fake friends
famous last words with no particular place to go,
first time I ever saw your face, fingernails
running up that hill riding the storm out,
ringing them bells breathless for my brown-eyed girl
give it all girl in the war feeling stronger every day,
you may call me the breeze, but I can't stop
the world dancing with myself, God wrote,
looking for you...record collector,
just like Jim Morrison did.
Thank you for the music, nothing is true,
I get around, I speak American, now you will pay
gimme gimme gimme, glory days, play my game
I walk the line, not what you wanted, I shall be free No. 10,
I'll meet you in Poland, my Blakean year, I won't back down,
If you want to sing out, sing out, rise above, Walt Whitman
won't mind, but if you leave me now, Jim Dandy
In the sweet bye and bye like the early Roman kings
it's not the spotlight, it's the end of the world
as we know it. Kansas City. Is there anybody out there
the night they drove Old Dixie down, just one fix,
just my imagination, keeps getting better,
just what I needed, remember I was vapor
respectable, reelin' in the years
with or without reason...
with every breath you take, so this song has no title.
Okay, we believe you. Meanwhile, we have been swamped holding hands, dodging insults, and writing long personal notes to members of every walk who are struggling to register or to log-in, or to get to the homepage after logging in, or haven't gotten a password, or they've got three, or they get an error message, or can't get into the Members Area, or have forgotten their passwords or they use the wrong passwords in the wrong forms, or they are senior members who like pens and paper, or they are concerned about privacy, or who can't distinguish between language describing an online account and that of a chapter membership...
You know who you are. That's no reflection on you. It could be a computer problem, a browser incompatibility problem, or a knowledge problem. Life is not all plug and play, even if the manual tells you it is. Just to show you we care About your well-being, we'll share a few pointers with you.
So let's see if we can't construct a page that speaks to that small portion of you (about one in fifteen) who are having the problems. This is not your usual website, because the SAMPLEX is not your usual hangout. We strive to be an organization of caring, exemplary folks who desire to do our best by others, by our community, by our nation, and by the awesome power of nature itself.
Part 1. So, let's get down to business, shall we?
Click REGISTER from main menu bar on the homepage.
Fill out form, including the username of your choice, your real names, and your email address, the address where you will receive a system-generated password or choose your own password. Solve the Recaptcha, if applicable. Click register button at the bottom. If successful...wait for email to arrive. Could take a few minutes, Could take up to 48 hours, depending on when you register. Have patience, please!
If you receive an email with a system-generated password announcing you have been approved, you can then use the MEMBERS LOGIN tab whenever you visit the site.
You will be taken to your personal Profile page. Scroll down halfway or so. Change your password to something you can remember, type it twice, make it at least medium complexity, and remember to click the blue UPDATE USER button at the bottom when you are finished. We understand that for a few of you, this part of the form is missing for some still unresolved reason. If this is the case for you, please use the PASSWORD RECOVERY tab on the main menu bar. You will be sent an email with a link to take you to a form to choose your own password.
But back at the Personal Profile page. Look up at the black bar at the top of that page. Pull down the SAMPLEX tab to click VISIT SITE tab.
This should take you back to the homepage. At that point you are free to visit the Members Area.
You SHOULD ALWAYS be logged in to your account to actually access the Members Area, AND you must use the pair of second tier credentials issued you in orientation or at a members meeting to view the links.
Part 2. I followed those directions, but I still can't log in!
Yes, we hear you loud and clear. You are one of the three percent of the original ten percenters who are still having login problems, even after we walked you through the entire process. But have no fear. We empathize. There are always more reasons why something doesn't work for most of us, and it's not always our fault or your fault. It COULD be somebody else's fault! Imagine that!
The problem could be a server hiccup, or a network slowdown. Take a deep breath. Try again.
Or you might just need to start by trashing your cookies, flushing your cache, and restarting your machine. If you leave your machine powered on for weeks at a time, turn it off, and unplug, yes, unplug it for ten minutes to allow any static build-up to dissipate. Plug it back in. Turn on your computer. Try your browser. Still no cigar? Try another browser.
Perhaps the browser you normally use is just not well-suited for our system. It happens. MSIE 7 is a frequent culprit on modern systems, particularly our WordPress engine. But others can choke occasionally as well. Try another browser. Try Chrome, or Firefox, or Safari on the Mac. Each has been known to help others login where another browser did not, depending on which platform and version of OS you have configured.
If you have completed all these steps, and you still cannot log-in successfully, write us again, and we'll discuss what, if anything, we can do to help. But you MUST describe your problem and the actions you have taken precisely, or there is little we can do to help you because we will be as confused as you are in pinpointing exactly where you are in the process.
Thanks, and good luck! We want everybody to be able to sign on, but we recognize that even the friendliest technology can hamper any of us with limitations every once in a while. Don't sweat it!
Part 3: Accessing The Member's Area
To access the Members Area, log into the site as usual, then hit the SAMPLEX link at the menu bar from the Personal Profile page to get back to the homepage where you will click the Members Area link on the main menu bar. A members page will be returned, but you must have the universal 2nd-tier credentials (a separate username and password that are different from your site login credentials) to access them. This 2nd-tier credential should be given to you at your orientation, or at members meetings on the 2nd Monday of each month. Please do not ask the Network Administrator to give you these credentials, as that defeats a certain level of security we must depend upon, since we in this department have no way of verifying your membership.
There is another way to access the Members Area without logging into the site, but we prefer members not exploit that path. All users should be logged in before accessing the Members Area.
That's it! Happy SAMPLEX vapor trails!
Question: Why must I sweat through two logins just to get to the Members Area?
Answer: We have this two-tier login system because we have an Open Registration at this time. This means anybody can register as a user of our website, but since we do not wish to share our private chapter information with non-members we currently have a second tier login to protect the Members Area documents. If you do not know your Members Area login credentials, please contact the Membership Director, Peta McMillen. She can confirm to the network administrator that you are a member in good standing, or issue you the Members Area username and password herself.
Question: I can't get into the Members Area. When I click on Members Area, I am taken to a page that asks me for just a password, no username.
Answer: Yes, this might happen, depending on how you arrive at the Members Area pages. Just type one or the other of the two second-tier credentials you have been given for accessing the two pages of the Members Area. Only one of them will work, but we will occasionally switch the password on that particular form, so try one, then the other, and you should get in without problem. However, you will still need to type in your Members Area username and password one more time to access the document links.
Question: We have a family membership. I am presently awaiting the up to 48 hours to have my registration processed. Must my wife also register and log in or else have hers or the family membership terminated?
Answer: This online registration at present has little to do with your membership in the SAMPLEX other than confirming the identity of our online users for security reasons. Online membership registration exists solely for the purposes of the website, and is free of charge. Chapter membership for the purposes of conservationist principles and all the fun that follows incurs annual membership fees to support our facilities, including this website. There are no terminations of Chapter memberships for failure to sign-up to the website at this time! Just please list your the membership on your profile page once you register. Good luck!
Question: I am having trouble with the Slide Out Contact Form. It won't send my mail. What am I doing wrong?
Answer: There is a bug in the code that we have no been able to squash. However, we have found that if you quit your browser completely, then reboot it, the form will work again. We apologize for this inconvenience, and will continue due diligence to help make the LCCIWLA web site better as we continue to grow.
Crisp despair churns nightly, Virginia reels
assisting so far (with the stern comfort of law)
knotted leaves of deciduous scale die brightly...
dancing the continental congress,
daring to forsake the soil,
a few handsome reviews
begin bubbling up.
Spring wheezes its way across western granite
due north of sad nations, but we praise
only the worst of it. Time's gunpowder
charm, the cracked chill of a lingering
spiked but righteous scrit.
Forests as dense with deer as these lines
climb trick mountain trails of a simpler age
where decay was just another quickening stage
where delay was just another sickening cage
mimicking the sting of death
drawn along party lines.
Roaring past juiced effects of American score,
feted wheels of justice properly seen
melt against fumed highway heat,
each grain hard throttled hubris
a philanthropic ride unto
the scarlet whore
where greatness is measured in cycles
where frankness is buried in game faces
where self-crucifixion is lost to wealth
and this sorry battleground, where art and politics
beat each other up, is cleared of all integrity,
and few are they who appear the wiser...
You bellow peace. I whisper war. You spit war. I mumble
peace. Is there REALLY any difference between your interpretation
of the less staggering conjugations of life, and mine?
This transmission is/was/will be interrupted
by Augustine's phlegm-covered book hurling
across the fuzzy horizon from where we stood, starving, naked, hysterical, corner to corner,
nose to nose, sexual chunks in our well-picked pockets,
and I'm sure we lost a freckle or two banking the surprise
sunrise coasting along the tallest of the Yankee isles,
no man's land to thee.
All good I believe, I believe I think
this is the perilous spot, the one drop
where I lost him, or he lost me. Getting tossed
in the pronouns especially during a bumper crop
is such a sad waste of preventative vocabulary. All
the world's taking medicine to the next level,
or back to the previous stage. I knew better
before I knew good and well
what was the very best for the rest of us...
Communism versus Capitalism: haven't my wife
and I risked the bounty all so many times before,
decreed to charity in the dankest of times, worked
as the most generous of slaves when required
where required to snap the chains off ourselves,
others, and still, after still waters rose,
they receded like tsunami, while we struggle
gently to manifest to spotlight a simple life
without fear of collapse, I swoon al dente,
my central nervous system freakishly frazzled
down to the toes, right through to the freckled skin,
my skin electric, dry, unsuitable for
pickin' cotton or wearin' it.
There should be enough cheese and chocolate to go around.
Whom am I to pick winners and losers? Why should there
even be losers if there are no winners? I have
known many losers. Most have forgotten the sweat of the brow,
but few have ever worn a suit and tie for more than a day or two
in succession. Am I racist, sexist, populist, taking a job
from someone less qualified, less able, more needy,
half as lily but not nearly as dark as I am,
and is there any crossover effect
when I simply walk away and refuse
to take some pitiful but hardworking
wage slave's slot, and keep to myself
my own vision of things created
Who owns the already money and how do I win some,
just enough, not a stick more, a zero sum, a river I swum
an unabashed shame between God, the chastiser and myself? How do I win
without making a loser out of someone else? How do I lose
and thus pace the grace to transcend myself, a winner,
in zen mode as the ubiquitous Nazarene put it,
thus finally attaining...
the most unquestionable of statures?
Submarine munitions officer sunk the philosopher's horn
long ago knee deep in red soil, a lava flow. Nobody died,
but eventually a spoiler, the next generation died,
hanging their profits on a baseline thorn
called the Hitchens' apprehension,
a low rider he supplied
for those of us
quiet, alone, violently, or
painfully pleased, as we learned
that static heroes are not always
the best guide.
SAMPLEX IS THE NAME of the street zine I created and distributed among a certain fan base of Washington DC provocateurs and poseurs in the region's seminal punk and harDCore music scene of 1984-1985. This ludicrous body of half-wit scoundrels, pontificants and prevaricators worked the clubs between Seventh & E Streets and Ninth Street, from "d.c. space" to the "9:30 Club" where fame was chased and fame was made. The 'zine ran eight issues, individually themed, issues which were filled not with the usual confabulated local band lore and raw music sycophancy, but WS Burroughs-inspired cut-ups and collage, cartoons, and other riffs and ripoffs mostly poking fun at the scene itself right from the center of all its purported mayhem, and only the occasional invented or imaginary interview. Each issue consisted of 8-12 pages of tri-folded & heavily stapled panels printed on both sides of 8.5"x14" paper, and xeroxed wherever I could "borrow" a copying machine to print out 50-100 copies each issue. That's a lot of FREE or nearly free xeroxing.
This SAMPLEX blog is in honor of those earliest days of brutal self-punishing self-publishing. New stripes, but the sound, the fury, the beat go on...
PS: Look for reproductions of some of the original SAMPLEX pages here, later, as we post them.
I follow you regarding the craps hinted in the previous message. It's true that "you can lead todays lefties around by their dreadlock hair-extensions with the smallest tug". But at the same time we easily can admit that most of the people (doesn't matter whether they are lefties or whatever) really don't give a damn about the revolution a bunch of US had been theorizing (here or there).
I think what disconcerts me about the statement above is that it seems to take for granted a division between those who can "theorize" and the working class. If you are feeling a gap it isn't an intelligence gap it's a class gap; it's not about support for radical change it's over trust and sincerity in those who claim to know better what is good and bad and their good intentions to realize it. It's not because ordinary people do not or can not understand the workings and evils of the system it's because they know them much better: "intellectuals" more than often lack real knowledge of just what it is like to be born into trapped, exploited, cheated and abused neighbourhoods.
I'm working class and all the people I work with are working class (in fact at the moment every last one of them is black working class) and I can tell you a clear and certain factthat I have heard more genuine insight, shrewdness and sincerity from the mouths of common people than from the pens of middle class and academic "vanguards of the working class", or from the white-people-with-dreadlocks brigade who are rooted nowhere and ultimately committed to nothing as a result.
But there is nothing wrong or pointless about "theorizing", though it's a word I do not find helpful. Discussion ought to take place to try and deepen understanding of how everything works. Those who can do it should do itand take a clearer perception of conditions back to the communities in which they live and work. Everyone needs to think, so why snip off the activity of thinking, call it theorizing and divorce it ideologically and socially from its application in daily life?
I need to add though that not a lot of what takes place on lists like this, or seminars in colleges or in all the other supposedly intellectual theatres where this "theorization" is supposedly taking place...is anything of the kind. On the contrary it seems to be a battleground where people hone and refine the very things they claim to be against; find new excuses to obscure the truth and divert others from coalescing around it. It is class war over the spectacle. It would be nice to have genuine discussion once in a while but in the absence of true common roots or listserv mediation it isn't very common.
Asperger: "People are enchanted and mesmerized by "the apparent" of the spectacle and that fucking pseudo(?) "objectivity" is good and is enough from their point of view. They feel comfortable being trapped inside the great show of appealing-consuming-producing-exploiting and so on. The spectacular society is reassuring for their simple and mechanical minds."
I can't begin to tell you just how condescending and spectacular a cliché that is. Instead I'll say something potentially more interesting. Human existence is existential: there must be something to fill the void and to structure everyday life, and there must be an ideological framework, a worldview, only within which all words, phenomena, values and beliefs acquire a place and a meaning and a value. Worldview, and all the habits that stream forth from it, is as fundamental and material a necessity as food water and air. It's the way we are made.
Therefore ultimately there is no complete distinction possible between what is spectacle and what is situation; or what is recuperation and what is detournement and so on. There are only inherited models from which to construct models. Very little truth, if any, is ahistorical; all ideas, appearances, meanings and values must exist in a perpetual war over ideas, appearances, meanings and values.
What is eternal is the wisdom of good conductof seeing and revealing the truth in all its partiality, of understanding the common interest of fairness and distributing needs and opportunities with equity. What is eternal also seems to be that which I call "original sin" -- the tendency to imitate and repeat evils and errors, to reiterate imperfect worlds from imperfect worlds; bad habits of mind and behaviour that not having been perceived for what they are cannot be rooted out: "karma". Thus life is not really composed of true and false images nor even right and wrong values so much as right and wrong choices. From the existential point of view, to be free means to be condemned to choose between the good and the evil within alternative possible actionsendlessly. No wonder they fall back into the provided routines, spectacles and social clichés: it is so much easier to have something that tells you what to do than to have to face each and every moment in a cosmic abyss of uncertainty.
And these "theorizations" you're referring to are simultaneously an attempt to defend an Ideology of distorted self-serving de/perceptions at war with the attempt to add and revise it with new understandings of the truth. The fact is, the "Left" (whose name itself is as spectacular a piece of nonsense as you could ever hope for) has been struggling with the contradiction between its moral outrage for the world's underdogs and the fact that the underdogs will not meekly back them up in return ever since it robbed the working class of its politics, at about the same time it started robbing rastafarians of their hair-dos, the genuinely homeless of their squatters movements and so on. All the class rhetoric and fashionware and shrunken heads by which today's radicals identify themselves have been stolen from somebody elseas if by possessing their tattoos and music, hairstyles and footwear you could somehow take power over their souls and legitimize yourselves.
From Bonnie Jones Davisson
September 27, 2009 at 10:58am
You are such an inspiration Gabriel! I will call you that because it suits you as you are. I am so sorry to hear about your mother's struggles. One thing my siblings and I did was to pamper my mother as she was - a true queen. In her latter months, we would go into the nursing home and just crawl inro bed with her, holding her close just to hear her heart beat. We are a very close family, and it was all because of her. She was our sun, and we were mearly planets made from her stardust.
Yes, David died in his sleep. His heart just stopped. He was a type A, head of the gyn. dept. in Thomasville GA. If I go, that's how I want to do it. I remember in one of my attempts at leaving ths Earth, I was guided by David for 3 days, as I spoke French the entire time. Strange what the mind will do. Mutt is simply that, a Mutt. I hear he also has heart troubles, but his boxing days were over a long time ago. He and I had an affair during his boxing days, but my true love was David. I sincerely think had Bobby not been around the two of us would have connected. Mutt has 2 boysHunter and Fisherwhich speaks volumns as to Mutt's lack of sincerity and unimaginable ego. Were it not for his mousy wife, Robin, his sons would be wild and free, much like Luke's. Good grief! I have told you more buried secrets of my life than I have anyone else! Why do you have my trust so easily?
I have not been on Facebook much lately. I am preoccupied with my daughter's wedding. As a highly gifted child, she is rejecting all tradtitional ceremonies, and is insisting on wearing a pair of $400 knee boots under her dress - of which I thought looked cheap. Intervention meant going to Athens and visiting flower shops, which she finally conceded as beautiful, but is still stubbornly rejecting the cake, which I will do anyway. She will thank me when she's older.
I am also preoccupied with changing pain medication doctors and doing physical therapy. I am also studying with a Jehovah's Witness, of which I have 2 sisters who have practised the religion for over 40 years. Too much has come to pass that they have said would to ignore this religin as not being at least worthy of a second look. I also like the way they are always studying the Bible. Their worships on Sundays are not ranting and ravings, but actual talks by various elders who constantly refer to the Bible to support their subject of the day. I was amazed that in Genesis, it says that the Earth shangs in the heavens as if on a string. Why didn't the Pope KNOW that when the church banned Copernicus to house arrest?
Many exciting things happening right now. I will keep you posted.
Your friend and confidant,
Woman, oh, woman. Well, with every note, Bonnie, you come with both barrels loaded it seems. That's a good thing. Thanks for the update on the Daniel brothers. Tragic, in David's case. As stated earlier, I didn't actually know Mutt, and I had no idea that you bounced around with him at some point. I do appreciate your honesty. Very refreshing to find someone who finds redemption in detail, and craves loveliness despite the reckoning one's path in life often brings...
The story of your mother, of course, is a warming example of what family life can be. Cling to the memories, dear woman. Life is fleeting, and we make of it what we dare within the circumstances we may wrestle and the choices we can muster. Unfortunately, my family never quite measured up to those many ideals we sought, rugged individualists to the core, each of us, beginning with a hardcore alcoholic father and a mother of seven who never REALLY wanted to mother, but chafed an entire life craving to exude ideas of exceptionalism while denying her often troubled, even troublesome yet striving children the same. But after all is said and done, I guess she did her best, as did we.
But here we are, 24 fat and lean years later, still tied in knots, madly in love with each other, best friends forever, and rarely seen in public without the other except during the weekday when she counts the beans in her big office while I chip away at the art world. Her already elderly parents were scandalized by all the brute stylings of the wedding we planned ourselves (mostly me), and for that small over-indulgence I am regretful, but it WAS indeed a unique event.
I hazard to make any remarks about your daughter's choice of wedding apparel because you may be right. The boots may indeed look cheap. Cheap is a fashion choice with its place, its own context and subtext, it still must fit and flow.
I too, am strongly opinionated about fashion, although I am somewhat of a slob myself except when I reclaim the magic. Then I can't fail to strike an erstwhile artistic pose with compliments swirling. In another life, as the saying goes, I might very well have aspired to a life of fashion design. You may remember from high school some rather odd choices I wore to class. Checkered pants, golfer's attire. White shoes, perhaps. From junior high forward, my bold clothes tended to set me apart from the general population, a trait I still maintain to some degree.
That said, my tastes range from traditional upscale lines to street punk debonair. Without embarrassment I have all but dressed my wife for 26 years. Admittedly she resisted early on, but grew to appreciate the benefits. She of course now solicits my eye, and recognizes that I love quality with flair. She sometimes admits the truth that she exudes no taste whatsoever, if anything, maybe classic Tom Robbins cowgirl blues couture. So, if daughter's boots are shiny vinyl high kickers, I say, yuck to cheap, kitsch hooker glam. No way. But if they are matte black thigh high combat boots, with luxurious white quilt-stitched silk gripping her, she'd have my vote, as long as she matches it with a black silk headscarf appointed with red rose to regale her hair in something other than a stale 1950s-1960s bouffant that is so popular with the wedding planner set for decades. Of course, I'm presuming she has long hair, but even if she doesn't, a similar treatment would probably be agreeable. This is all fanciful speculation, of course. Can't quite kill the punk rocker aesthetic I wholeheartedly embraced I suppose.
OK. That was me in Project Runway mode. Please pardon me, if I've insulted you, Bonnie. Perhaps I should share. At the Sue & Gabriel wedding in 1985, no holds barred punk rock motif all the way, my wife and I boasted a square black cake with a pirate's skull & crossbones on top in mockery of all the scripted storybook marriages that then and now fail at a 50% rate. She called all over the city of WASHINGTON, DC for black roses. None could be found. Florists thought she was crazy. We ended up spraying silk red roses black. Nowadays, authentic black roses are found everywhere, roses actually bred to be black. Yup, we were part of a trendsetter generation, for better or worse. But here we are, 24 fat and lean years later, still tied in knots, madly in love with each other, best friends forever, and rarely seen in public without the other except during the weekday when she counts the beans in her big office while I chip away at the art world. Her already elderly parents were scandalized by all the brute stylings of the wedding we planned ourselves (mostly me), and for that small over-indulgence I am regretful, but it WAS indeed a unique event.
As for the Jehovah's Witnesses, I too, have extreme experience with them. But I will delay that deposition until the next letter.
Thanks for keeping up the resistance, Morales. Just know that the busy silence of we who are marked to fall always proceeds the clashing of the cymbals, while those of us who warned the others (now laughing and mocking, hissing and despising our herald) will have witnessed the fullness of truth, not theyand by inertia or grace will be prepared to shield others from the amplified atrocities as they arrive. That's the extent of whatever hope I have remaining because I have learned that minds are not changed by the politeness of social stability but by the harsh tongues of upheaval and crisis. This country will probably awaken when Europe implodes, but I believe that America is also marked for crisis, a result of having become sadly corrupted and from our national potential far have we strayed.
Don't fear the Marxist-Islamofascism creep, however. Resist it wherever we can, but don't expect any sudden miracles quite yet. People still treasure their fool's gold, reflecting among the dueling mirrors of social consciousness that they've done the math, not quite realizing they've only been using imaginary numbers while letting the real digits slip away...
And allow me this opportunity to insist that I am not naive, no matter what I choose to paint or wrestle into inconsequential line. It's rather obvious by now that I frittered away that excuse six senses and a million miles ago in a taste of trench madness. I may be a fool, but I'm nobody's fool.
Bob Amerson and I become close friends that summer, but this was a small town, and this was what happened in small towns back in the 60s where few homes ever locked their doors, even when folks left town for a few days. Boyhood allegiances shifted quickly without warning, without rationale, without lasting impression in those days. Childhood innocence should be so easy for kids today without ending up in a grave.
I've been aware of this sleepy right eye since junior high when it first started popping up into school photos. I didn't start short career in sandlot boxing, until a bit later, but I did suffer a couple of black ones put there by Bob Amerson immediately after school while we were in the sixth grade. But I picked myself up and met the usual in-town ladsDavey Ryals, his brother Terry, Terry Simmons, Reggie Sawyer, Jimbo Caldwell, Louie "Mooches" Davis, Ronnie Wright, Jimmie Pitts, Tommy Hall, a fews others I'm sure, and Terry Kennedy, the one girl who lived just behind the field, while the rest of us just walked or rode our bicyclesat the ballfield for a pickup game just as was expected nearly every day. Bob did not. I was also surprised to see Donnie Findley there that afternoon, but none of my own brothers were there. If they were I don't recall. But I apparently had earned the applause of the whole squad of twelve to fifteen boys already slinging hash on the field. Sure, I suffered the usual bouts of self-consciousness at school over the next few days, but nobody ever ragged me. From the best I could tellrolling around the ground (near the tree roundabout where kids who rode parked our bicycles) swinging punches, landing a few, ducking others, before getting pinched by the ears and led to Principal Huff's office by Mrs. Middleton who had taught us both two years earlierthe crowd of twenty-five to thirty, best I could reckon, was split fifty-fifty. But nobody ever ragged me. Bob showed at school the next day. He didn't seem any worse for wear, no shiners, no nothing. But nobody ever ragged me. Bob Amerson and I become close friends that summer, but this was a small town, and this was what happened in small towns back in the 60s where few homes ever locked their doors, even when folks left town for a few days. Boyhood allegiances shifted quickly without warning, without rationale, without lasting impression in those days. Childhood innocence should be so easy for kids today without ending up in a grave.
Well, Singer, deterrence is not a big headline grabber, but it does change the dynamics of who does what to whom and when. And besides, yes, indeed there are quite a few instances on record of someone "successfully" defending themselves and others against intruders, but of course the liberal media avoids these stories, and sometimes even the surprised homeowner is hauled into court to defend himself against charges, while the intruder skirts off. It's an outrage, Josh. Criminals use and abuse guns all the time, and yet the system coddles them. Meanwhile law abiders are demonized.
But man, ALL the arguments on this issue are old news, if you've truly been honest in researching it. You know them. I know them. We've each made choices. You have your sense of moral high ground. And I have something just as awesome. End of story.
The following is a thread that Facebook captured, the only thread of its kind in my spotty career, a very special thread to me, for obvious reasonsI am being praised, harangued, and supported by several important women in a fury of words I have never experienced, before or since, in such volume or impact. Thank you, all you funny, sunny, honey girls. You're my blistering awesome public. There are a few others, but they were here for these three days. Now, go, don't be a distraction. I have much work to do, most of it far away from a paint brush or canvas. But I trust, yes, I trust one day most of you will understand more fully what I cannot say today.
I debated taking out the timestamps, but decided to leave them in rather than create a story out of whole cloth, when most of social civilization recognizes and respects the Facebook model, and willfully shares its information with the Internet, despite the periodic outrage of privacy and intellectual property rights advocates. Show here goes. Chances are I will frame in a bit of ad lib, but I think that the time stamp may make that difficult for both format design and creative considerations. So be it.
Shannon Koehler Fleming at 7:18pm July 1
No goodbyes to the art world, your art is amazing, and has to keep on coming, the real estate is just a side project, one that I hope will fund many more paintings, oh and pay the bills...
Char McNair Bafalis at 7:55pm July 1
Bullshit...the Gabriel I know will never quit...come on...keep driving everyone crazy!! love ya...but hate quitter's.
Gabriel Thy at 8:10pm July 1
Thanks Shannon, but I'm a bull in the china shop gone berserk. Can't fathom under what skies I'm doing in real estate, but yes, it's about money. Nobody's buying my art these past couple of years and the irrational optimism vanished. I've sunk tens of thousands of dollars into a means of observation and expression which earns me at best a small peace of mind, a mere fragment of what's left of a failed or perhaps recoiled intellectual, but in the post Warholian world, if it doesn't sell, it ain't art...
Matt Sesow sells. Gabriel Thy does not. So it's off to the gristmill for me...
Working real estate paper will not come easy for me, at this point in my life when I am so preoccupied with other projects, and there are no guarantees there either, but I will give the sector all the muscle and energy I've got left after sinking heavily into debt chasing the paint and the word only I can define as my own.
Individuality of imprint seems to be my driving force. Bittersweet doesn't begin to describe the pain, but it's all I know...
Or the words I left out of this response.
Gabriel Thy at 8:27pm July 1
Who's quitting? You bought two pieces at my very first show. Thanks. That was fab. But I haven't seen Charlotte's Harlots at a GT show or studios since. Can't paint AND put in seventy hours a week hustling up listing leads, something that frightens the hell out of me, by the way. Char, my dear beautiful bombastic belladonna, I haven't QUIT anything. But I've been stonewalled plenty. Life is tough, that's all. And I'm getting too old and too harried to keep throwing Sue's money down a drain...
Gabriel Thy at 8:28pm July 1
Part-time painter? hah!
Shannon Koehler Fleming at 8:48pm July 1
oh god i hate that shit, true expression and creativity, can't put a price on it, but that's the point you need to get paid....so, ....but you know the real estate profession may inspire some new artistic ideas or things to write about, lord knows people and their ways can inspire, haha, or infuriate, or drive to the depths of insanity, a good start in the art world...well keep on keepin on or just fuck it...happiness is underrated...i want it no matter what the price.
Gabriel Thy at 9:14pm July 1
Yeah, Shannon. You nailed it. So did Char. And guess what, so did I. Who knows what form the future will present? You both know I'm just stressing about this new direction. It's damn scary, right Char, me? Real estate agent? In what parallel universe? But here I am, licensed, affiliated, and erect with marching orders, supported by a team of great new people. What more could I possibly need?
Good grief, Charlie Brown.
Marianne Royals Wynn at 7:51am July 2
very black and white of you gabe, extremely dramatic.
Marianne Royals Wynn at 7:57am July 2
oh gabriel, you will continue to paint, not because it makes sense, but because you must, it will quiet your mind, and drive you. very few people make enough money from their art to become rich. also, having a day job (which is scarey) doesn't unmake an artist. this economy is the pits though, and thats just the way it is. Art and real estate will make a comeback when the economy does. until then, let them eat paint.
Gabriel Thy at 8:24am July 2
Well said, Marianne. But you know I'm know dilettante. I'm in all the way or I'm not in at all. And dramatic, yeah, I'm either stoic on the diastolic and ruthlessly dramatic on the systolic with no middle ground, beat me with a feather. Comebacks may not be in our future from what I read, but it rarely hurts to be salt and peppered by folks with a nominally cheery outlook, despite their questionable math skills. Thanks.
Gabriel Thy at 8:28am July 2
Truth is both careers are full time full body contact sports. Half ass is as half ass does...
Char McNair Bafalis at 12:14pm July 2
I so agree with Marianne..your art defines you...so now you will make real estate your muse...who doesn't need art on their new, freshly painted walls? As for Charlotte's Harlots..touchet"....one can lead a horse to water.....when can you have another viewing.
Sue Hedrick at 6:04pm July 2
Gabriel is and has always been an artist since the very day I met him, and I am sure he will always be.
Erin Murphy at 10:51pm July 2
Gabriel - as Sue says, you will ALWAYS be an artist (you can't help it) and what you do for a living is irrelevant.
Marianne Royals Wynn at 12:51am July 3
well, i don't have any math skills, but i do have a day job that puts a roof over my head, and i am a fucking artist. but sometimes i feel stuck in the talking heads song, once in a life time, but what the hell aren't we all walking contradictions. and sue is right, and always has been.
Marianne Royals Wynn at 12:52am July 3
i disagree with the idea that real estate could be your muse, architecture perhaps, poetry, painting sure.
Gabriel Thy at 8:21am July 3
Was Arthur Rimbaud still an artist long years after he penned his final line, then running guns and slaves in the African desert, losing a leg to cancer, mad with death at the ripe bloody age of 37, found in bed clutching his money belt like a whimpering child with rag doll?
Besides, it not about labels. And contrary, Marianne, to your comment that not many make it rich, extreme wealth I do not seek, but crawling out from the depth of debt we have sunk into giving this old man an identity muster is important as is a name of mild intellectual regard in the field, always a thing of vanity, but rarely as stiff as it sounds. As a kid nearly universally acclaimed most likely to succeed, I frankly have failed rather miserably as a human achiever, and let's also note that it is those damned early expectations that make us who we are, that inform our passions and our hurdles, that color our landscapes and number our fixations. And haunt us until the end of our days.
Gabriel Thy at 9:28am July 3
Thanks for all the LOVE guys. You know I could drag these discussions out forever, but there's no real point to that. Yet, one last blow. Each of you have MADE my point. How can I possibly devote the kind of time and disciplined sprints I am told in prep classes it will take to succeed in the world of real estate, even if I had the energy of three ballyhoos, when my natural need to write and paint and politik and shove aside the world - as an artist with severe notions of what it takes to succeed on his own terms in the art world - will not be easily suppressed?
And believe me, I would like to succeed on both ends of this candlestick...
Don't believe art is an attitude. Art is knowledge executed in such a way as to profoundly effect the senses and knowledge base of those experiencing it.
Punk rock thrived on attitude, but how much of greater PR perspective was genuine ART and not just simply an exercise in celebratory decadence and costumed alienation?
The same with so many of these peace, love, and understanding movements. Nothing but artificial constructs made up of lingusitic and jingoistic chants, charms, and spells meant to jiggle the curtain of reality just long enough for some petty transaction to be conducted.
My intellectual demons run long, they run hard. Will I ever be able to overthrow them long enough to carry off some mainstream industrial-stength service professional racket?
Marianne Royals Wynn at 10:11am July 3
life is just so damn hard sometimes, but you are magnificent.
Gabriel Thy at 10:28am July 3
Aw, gosh. You're still that sweet and sour artsy hippie chick you always were, dear Marianne. Thanks for maintaining that flair and swatting me with it...
"Ignorance and virtue suck on the same straw. Souls grow on bones, but die beneath bankers' hours.""