Sometimes, Artists Should Not Display Their Artwork

I mean, there’s a time and a place for everything. For displaying an artistic expression of your hideous, horrible, depressed, miserable, disgusting feelings, that time and place should be somewhere that fits. Like in a gutter, in Las Vegas, while it’s raining, softly, monotonously.

Backpackers walkin’ by. Sitting at Java, my computer’s sitting on a piece of lace and my mouse is sitting on a mousepad with a kitten on it.. lookin’ all cute and curious. My neck hurts like I watched an air show yesterday, but all I did was be awesome and enjoy awesomeness, all around me. Yesterday night was Britta’s house concert, to raise money for her trip to the rainforest in Cameroon. She’s going to help a family, who are there help the Baka people. We had a talk a few weeks ago about helping people. Oxygenating people. Or rather, the body. Or rather, the Body.

It’s raining! Coolin’ thangs down. The mango-flesh-colored store-front out there is makin’ me happy inside. Especially contrasted with the red brick above it, and the Grandma-teal in here. I’m in Java. I already said that. Today, I’m going to go buy some things that I need. And then I’m going to do laundry at Mom and Dad’s. And then I’m going to see my cousin get married. At a farm. I wonder if I’ll be tempted to buy a new dress. I wonder why I wrote that last sentence, because I was already tempted about twelve seconds before I wrote it. What am I even sAYiNG? I’m tempted to buy a new dress every time I see a dress I’m not wearing! Wow.

I’m right under a vent, and have chill-bumps all over my body. I’m wearing a very short skirt. WEll, “very” in my book isn’t all that. It’s still pretty short. I’m uncomfortable. There’s a boy here wearing bell-bottoms. Directly, directly, directly from 1975. He has also greased his hair. And his eyes are uncontrollable-blue. I want him to be my date to the wedding. But I am not going to ask him, because he probably would do it. And I don’t really want him to.

Brain-streaming. These are the things I think all the time. Here’s some more: Cuss. I should move. It’s just too cold here. It’ll go off in a second. Just wait. Good things come to thems that wait on da Lord. Don’t be disrespectful when you talk about God. He hears your thoughts. I’ll be disrespectful whenever the cuss I want to, wench. Carla. Please. Calm down. You calm down. No, you. No, you. You. You. You! You! You infinity. Cuss.

Okay. What do I need from da sto’. I need:
a new dress (NO!, no I don’t. CARLAAAAA.)
wart-remover (you just said that on a public blog. are you okay?)
another panel of lace curtains (do you really need that?)
a curtain rod for nook (yes.)
either canvases or big ol’ slabs of plywood
more earrings (Carla.)
typewriter ribbon (YES!)
flowers for window-box (can’t you just steal some from somewhere?)
that boy sitting over there (OH my goodness..)
that boy over there (you don’t need more than one!!?)
carpenter’s pencils (what?)
fishing lures

Oh yeah, that reminds me. I was informed the other day, that fishing lures are inTENSELy complicated little things– which I knew!– but what I didn’t know, is that the COLors are intensely complicated. Like, intensely. So I got this great art project in my head involving them. I wonder how much they cost. Hm. That could be an issue.

Okay, this has been such a ridiculously boring blog. I’m just going to stop now.

1 thought on “Sometimes, Artists Should Not Display Their Artwork”

  1. Haa haa…

    I stopped checking your blog some time ago since you never wrote anything in (on?) it. Imagine my surpeeze and delight upon happening upon this funny entry. It was delightful, not boring.

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