advice to a beleaguered artist

please. don't hurt yourself on my rapier-like wit.

what have I been up to?
well, I'm glad you asked.
I have been:

1a. listening to opera CD's chosen randomly/based on the cover from the CapHill library's fine selection.
1b. not liking the opera I'm listening to.
1c. being wowed by some opera singers' incredible talent of singing notes higher than the piano.
1d. still not liking opera on a whole.
1e. being ok with not liking the opera/considering reclassifying the library's selection from 'fine' to 'totally not my cup of tea.'

2a. committing to memory the following: ABCDEFG. this seemingly basic activity is requiring my attention 5 days a week from 8am to 850am, and still it is hard.
2b. but it is good.
2c. and inspiring me to:

3a. really get crackin on my music career starting with bringing into reality the newest of new ideas for a conceptual band. ready? it's gonna be called HUMAN CLAW. it would require me to move to easternish washingtion and learn to love/play/shred death metal. and find a small handful of other folks to join me. preferably those of british cockney descent because nothing is funnier than a play on words that gets cancelled out aurally, and thereby doubled in hilarity, all due to a thick accent that is inherently funny due to its borderline incomprehensibility to begin with.
3b. or I'll just sell my idea on ebay.

***

in other news. . . my neighbor, Basketball, is slowly destroying/devouring the pair of orange swimming goggles that I put in the hallway's unofficial designated freebox area, starting with the black head strap. apparently, there can be only one black and orange creeper in the hallway, feline or otherwise.

siempre

am i white

i look white

i feel white

not always

Lift Off in 5. . .4. . .3. . .

Hello!

Welcome to the flyer for my show! It's coming up super quick!

This Friday the 8th, next Friday the 15th and the following Friday the 22nd. All at 8pm, all $8, all all-ages (tho the first show is a little mature in theme towards the end).

Proceeds go towards video documentation so that I may put this on the internet in full view of the world!

And Arabica Lounge is a sweet sweet coffee shop.

Let it be known that parking in that area is atrocious.

I will be performing my Slide Shows, all 8 of them in this order:

8th

SPRING FLOWERS

DANIEL DEMON AND EVIL EVAN

WHAT I THINK ABOUT WHEN I'M AT WORK

(+ Special Guest)

15th

LOUD BREATH

MY EURO VACAY

(+The Old Lily Family ie my band!)

22nd

MARGARINE IN THE DARK

UNTITLED

THE NEXT GENERATION

(+Birthday Cake!)

Tickets at the door, or reserve them thru me!

Hope to see you there.

xo,

ilvs

Bathe in my Brilliance

I am prone to enjoy a variety of activities. Including but not limited to brainstorming genius ideas for new projects and then never following thru with them. I spent many an hour well spent in the past coming up with new names for dream bands I would someday assemble and then front. (Like the all-wimmin medieval acoustic folk band called: THE MINSTREL CYCLE. All the songs would be sung in round and rest assured there would be no shortage of crushed velvet.) This exercise is followed the difficult task of choosing to file these ideas under CONCEPTUAL or FANTASTIC, but never ever, under any circumstances, under AIN'T NEVER EVER GONNA HAPPEN.

More recently, I have given careful thought to potential blogs I could start. Including, but not limited to, and in no particular order:

1-RUNNING FOR DIFFERENT REASONS – wherein I chronicle my attempts to figure out why people I encounter out on my run who are running devoid of proper running attire and the accompanying look of determination/pain/glee that I wear proudly, are running in the first place and where to exactly. I would accomplish this by sharply straying from my path and running after the person(s) in question, loudly collecting my data between gasps of breaths. This would mostly serve to satisfy my curiosity and could potentially be quite interesting to the casual blog reader. Provided the non-runner runner stops/does not impede the course of the interview by any hitting or calling of the police.

2-I'M NOT GLUTEN FREE BUT MY GIRLFRIEND IS – I'm patting myself on the back for the amount of clever points I'm racking up on the title alone. And then scratching my head on how to actually follow through with this one seeing as my life is devoid of any person resembling a girlfriend let alone a gluten free one. The closest most gluten free woman in my life right now is my mother. And 'I'm not gluten free but my Mom is' does not for interesting blog make, in my single and would not like to be that way forever opinion. Also, I came to the realization that, because my mother is gluten free, I might just be prone to those same sensitivities myself making the title of my would be blog doubly, even triply false.

3-YOGA FOR ASSHOLES – Not what you think. (and pardon the misspelled sanskrit that is to follow) But really, what are you thinking when you read that anyways. . . This blog would be a personal narrative of my journey as a fledgling yogi, in two phases. Part one would focus on my struggles with figuring out how a normal human twists and bends themselves into odd shapes without expelling air from the now fully compressed system, with much attention on my intense focus on those particular muscles exactly that are responsible for me not fully embarrassing myself/making ujai breath an unpleasant experience for everyone. Part two would take the reader thru the annals of my more dedicated yoga practice as I try to solve the puzzle of how to pinch no or very little fabric of my yoga pants betwixt the flesh that hugs my sits bones as I pass thru chataranga and emerge ever gracefully into full up dog. A riveting account indeed.

But never fear, dear readers, these ideas, while perhaps never destined to see the full light of day (tho the potential exists still), come from a fully active idea factory called: my brain. Where there is one, there shall be more. Like ants. Or roaches. Only more awesome.

check out bird's lament

Over a week has gone by and I have nothing to say? Nonsense. I've just been busy in preparation for my soon to be officially announced shows next month.

. . . And there goes another half hour. I think I just figured out how to put some music on this puppy. This puppy being the blog in general. Check out the link above. Lemme know if this works. This is what I've been working on the past day or so. If you have not heard Moondog, the Viking of 6th Ave (not Moondoggies, they be different), I highly recommend.

And GarageBand is actually pretty fun. 'Cept that it cuts off the titles of the samples you use, so 'Bird's Lament' became 'Bird's Lame.' Very funny GarageBand, very funny.

Ok, off to work. Best to you all.

say cheese.

I think it is time I get a camera. A digital one. Then I could document interesting things in my goings abouts town. Like that one house that has built a platform in their tree in their yard, for what purpose originally, I know not, but the current role it plays is 'perch for large dog.' Well, more recently 'dogs.' Plural. There is something a little unnerving about walking past a six foot wooden fence and having a dog bark at you from above.
Also, I could take photos of this:

How cool is that? I found it whilst google image searching 'lunar eclipse.' I seem to have missed that moment in the sky, a bit of obscurantism on behalf of the cloud cover. Tho, not sure if a lavender winged being in the sky would freak me out more than a domesticated canine hanging out in the arbors.

costume drama

let's add beard to that, too. costume and beard drama. that's what my life has boiled down to this past week. in preparation for the upcoming holiday show (see last post) I have been cool as a cucumber in the snow. working steadily, but confidently. writing and performing what I have written is something I have experience in. wearing a costume and fake hair on my face, not so much.

friday of last week, day to finish all costumes as indicated by my pencil marked planner, was somewhat of a learning experience/debacle. i did end up finishing all costumes, save for a few snaps and the sewing of the split that ran up the back of my robe to my waist, but not without falling into a pitiful pit of despair, practically estranging my best friend/co-performer in all my flailing. I can't help but think that my costume is so pretty because I used up all the ugly during the process of making it. but I got it done. and all I had left to do is memorize my lines. and then last night happened.

my friend was suppose to drive up from white center to tutor me in the fine art of fake beards. nasty weather and an eye infection colluded in the prevention of me receiving her assistance. nonetheless, I forged ahead. i got a scrappy beard trial #1 done, and feeling kinda meh about it, I washed it off for a clean slate to try beard option number 2. I did not get to beard number 2. what happened next was a rare occurrence of my smarts brain separating from my get it done brain. in the process of applying said fake facial hair (using spirit gum and clippings from a large fake brown autonomous braid) I was rinsing my hands off in the sink. the gum was coming off easily. get it done brain did not register the fact that the gum was still wet when it came into contact with water. so when it came time to remove #1, I reached for soap and water, bending over the kitchen sink as I peeled chunks of hair off me. the hair came off with a bit of persuasion, but the spirit gum, well, turned on me. it's like the combo of water and soap chemically altered the gum, effectively amping up it's adhesive qualities, fusing it to my face in a this would be cool, maybe come in handy some day even, if it weren't my face kinda way. you know when you get a sticker wet to peel it off and just the paper part comes off? that's kinda what was happening. but on my face. rewind to last week, standing in the costume party supply store, chatting it up with the employee there about beards, I opted for the larger bottle of spirit gum and not the smaller one that came with extra packaging, presumably with directions printed on the back, and with it a small white bottle marked SPIRIT GUM REMOVER. ah ha. fast forward to last night, just after same best friend/co-performer googled 'how to remove spirit gum,' I found myself back at the kitchen sink, swabbing my cheeks with alcohol soaked hand towels for the better part of what seemed like forever. owie. file under yet another lessoned learned. . . me thinks tho, as much as I favor realism, jesus might have a drawn on beard. at least until my face forgives me.

inner thoughts on my outward appearance

the other day at work, one of the dancers approached me, i was alone stage left. 'hi,' she introduced herself, smiling, hello, i said, i'm ilvs, 'you're name is elvis? really? that's so cool,' and proceeded to hem and haw about. .. something. 'you look pretty cool, and i was wondering, well, how do i go about this?' i didn't quite get the i'm hitting on you vibe, so i kept listening, 'well, we are in seattle visiting for a few days,' maybe she's gonna ask me where the gay bar is? 'and well, i'm wondering if you know where we could get some friendly green herb.' (ok, not verbatim, but close) ah ha, pot. she's looking for pot. and they elected her to talk to me because i, out of all the 6 or so stage hands, look like the hook up. what? that is not how i want to be seen in the world, nor is it how i want to be seen. cool, yeah sure maybe. pot dealer? no. i wasn't even wearing patchouli. i laughed it off in the moment, 'uh, actually, i am the wrong person to ask, i wouldn't know where to get it. you're barking up the wrong tree.' i told her i would stealthily ask around but in all seriousness, i wouldn't even know where to begin to ask. so i didn't.
i mean, i guess maybe i have a negative impression of who it is that partakes, (lots of great people smoke pot (i love bob marley, he is exempt)), or rather it's just not part of my world, i can think of maybe one person i hang out with that does. and i have no interest in it. i value marijuana for it's medicinal properties, but for it's fun times? not so much. also why you won't find me downing entire bottles of rubitussin for kicks. i have more personally fulfilling things to do with my time.
then, the next day, my coworker relayed to me that, while talking to a renter in my absence, trying to figure out if i was who they both knew, he, renter, described me as having 80's rocker hair. and that sealed it, she then knew for sure that i was the person in question. hmmmm. 80's rocker. . . pot dealer. . . not sure what to think of this.

on a side note, i have decided to partake in the 'write a novel in november' quest. foolish? maybe. difficult? yes in fact. but by the end of the month, i shall have a 50,000ish word rough draft of what is to be novel #1 of n# of novels. this, unfortunately, coincides with me running out of already written haiku to post. as in, in order to keep posting to reach my goal of 575, i must begin actively writing new ones. i have enlisted the help of 'the haiku handbook' in order to motivate me. all this to say that i am writing a shit ton right now. so, if you're gonna judge me, hopefully with detached observation and an open heart, probs my writing is a better insight, not my drugs and rock n' roll exterior.

i thought about it for a long while

making dreams come true

a worm hole is the only explanation I can give for my grievous absence. that, and work. of both the paid and art variety. I performed at Bumbershoot! a new slide show! it was nerve wracking and awesome and a dream come true. and being the first act of the day, the green room was packed with snacks. bonus!

this is the first year in 5 years that I have not worked the event. odd, but it felt weird to be there and not be so physically exhausted and sleep deprived. but it is an odd that I can definitely get use to. I recall many a morning biking to work feeling the exact consequences of my actions: working 12+ hours days lifting stupidly large awkward things, sleeping not my preferred 7+ hours, washing, rinsing, repeating. for like 2 weeks straight. one particularly beautiful late summer morning, I, bleary eyed, tired, was stopped at a stop light on Denny and Fairview. I looked up to the billboard and as soon as I registered what it was about, I almost burst into tears. it was a freaking WA Lotto ad where a guy in a glider has strapped a chicken to his chest, to show the little fowl what it is like to fly. (ok, all I could find when I googled 'lotto ad chicken guy in glider' was the penguin version. but I think if I had seen this one, I would have totally lost it right there in the street. I love penguins.) I think it was the caption, I can't remember it off the top of my head, that pushed me over the edge. something about making dreams come true. on any other day (for reals, ANY OTHER day) I would have thought nothing more of the ad than it being super clever. but take away my sleep and suddenly I am unable to control my emoting.

so instead of an emotional breakdown, this year for Bumbershoot, I drove myself almost to the point of throwing up with nerves! ah well, it wouldn't be a festival without some type of physical or psychological strain. and yes, totally worth it. see you all next year.

oh, what have I signed up for.

my sister signed up for a marathon. she preceded this news with a 'I just did something crazy.' I braced myself for the news and tried not to imagine her atop some high precipice with an elastic cable strapped to her body. (yes, bungee=crazy). I sighed at the thought of running many miles and wished her luck. before my brain could even thought bubble the words 'yeah, no thanks,' she asked me to be her running buddy. dead in my tracks I stopped. uh, I will think about it, was my reply.
and I did. but my past peripheral experience with marathons has left me with the pretty sound opinion that that is really not for me. a 5k thru the woods with 5 friends is a good time. 41.85(ish)k on concrete with a ton of sweat wicking tank tops and mesh lined shorts wearing strangers? not so much for this one. I will be supporting my sis in other ways, monetarily, nutritionally, cheerleaderily.
but, in the spirit of things done in excess. I have signed myself up for my own sort of crazy. a literary feat of endurance in the form of WRITING 575 HAIKUS. (why 575? cuz that's the 3 line syllabic formula for a haiku.) I got started/inspired in April, Month of Poetry, and cranked out over 50 of them. so why not just write 525 more? and so I shall. originally, I was giving myself till October, which is when the marathon is. but I have not been able to sustain the pace of writing that I started at, so I'm giving myself one year from this past April. and to monitor my progress, I have started another blog:
FIVEHUNDREDSEVENTYFIVE.blogspot.com
five seven five was taken. and I didn't, until just now, think of using numbers instead of spelling it out, but no matter. it has begun. and ok, so far, as of this posting, there are only 5 haikus listed, but I'm just getting warmed up. many more to come. . . I just spent a few solid minutes debating on turning that last sentence into a haiku but thought better of it. . .
if you want to support me in this endeavour, check out my haikus and comment should you feel moved.
and if you want to support my sis, check out her link:
http://afc.aidschicago.org/NetCommunity/Page.aspx?pid=906&frsid=12657

oh, for the love of all things furry, cute and feline.

that's it. that is the nail in the friggin coffin. I mean, I knew these people had it all funny, their priorities, what with their love of all things singularly auto and their overt disdain for the real -as in not that glossy mag pretty- life creature of motion that is public transportation. and just when I thought they were to redeem themselves with the construction of what is to be the hopefully oh so useful cap hill light rail station, the rug is unceremoniously yanked out from under me.
what am i talking about? well, I answered their sirens call for artists to transform their work space into a thing of beauty by submitting a beautiful, eloquent proposal for a giant banner of BABYSEAL (in a spoof of the Chloe apartment advertisements) and it was summarily REJECTED. I, BABYSEAL, have been rejected. nobody puts BABYSEAL on the corner of john and broadway. and that person is SDOT.
it is time to implement. . . PLAN B. (as in BABYSEAL).
stay tuned.

'wearing my pen down to the bone.' or 'i'm blaming it on the lighting.'

well, i am happy to report, that after a shy handful of figure drawing sessions, replete with generous guidance from man at the helm, jed d, that i have graduated from level one of the sketchy school of Egon Scheile, where my stick figure blobs have crawled out of the Precambrian crayola muck to grow arms, legs and sometimes even muscle definition to march upon off grey sheets of pen and colored pencil pastures. which is not to say i have fully mastered this thing called PROPORTIONS. quite the contrary. looking at my drawings one would question whether or not the sitters actually had real biological limbs at all, much less proportionate ones. or if i had just returned from the scene of some misfortune involving an elvin dwarf, a 4 story building and free fall. but my improvement is steady nonetheless.

tho, upon reviewing my handiwork from one such recent session, i thought for sure a capless pen had run havoc in my pannier and tagged several of my notebook pages. but no, upon closer inspection, the clumsy scribblings turned out to be my full fledged attempts at sketches of human beings. funny, i don't remember being in the presence of such skeletally improbable naked people. . .

but you look so peaceful when you sleep

i cut off a tiny part of my left pointer finger (on accident) whilst cutting celery for stew. not deep enough to induce bleeding, but enough so that it feels like there is maybe the thinnest layer of thin skin serving as barrier between the world and my raw nerves. . . .but that's not why i write.

one time i asked a friend to come to my art opening. photographs i had taken (in corvallis), to be shown at the coffee shop i frequented (interzone).  

'what are they of?' she inquired casually. 

'they're of you. sleeping,' i deadpanned. a moment of silence. 

'no, really, what are they of?' she persisted.  i think i had her convinced for a few seconds, then i caved.  they were of streets and alleyways and graffiti. but that'd be creepy if they actually were, yeah?  i always thought i'd be funny, invite your friends and roommates to your art opening and make a big deal about it, then when they get there all the photos are of them sleeping soundly or of them doing stuff (nothing, uh, 'personal,' tho...) in their rooms when they thought they were alone and the angle is all hidden camera/surveillance style cuz well, that's pretty much what it was. imagine the look on their faces!

that being said, i wouldn't actually do this for real. but really, the only thing stopping me from going thru with this idea is the HIGH CREEP FACTOR. it never occurred to me, all these years, until maybe just now, that i could just as easily GET PERMISSION and oh i don't know, stage the shots and get just as good of photos if not better due to the whole consensual aspect of it. 

but where's the fun in that.