The Propagation

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May 15, 2005

still life in paraphernalia

At one point in the weekend, must have been this morning, my bedroom, especialy my bed, played host to quite a funny scene. I think I posted bits y/o ‘bouts of it this earlier; now I’d like to the the cubist version of it. But I feel like I got to hit on so many things, wrap up a couple, finish the install, fire one off to Prairie, pick-up my sweater, and generally stink up the place while I see my cell phone on the floor plugged into this charger cord and vibrate to my imaginary calls forward into the form of a snake just stuffed a mouse in it’s mouth, ribs still pokeing through the scales. Now we both, you and I, both of us know full damn well that it’s these freakin’ wordy asidey, tangential derailings that eat through all our time so that at the end of the writeday, the basic facts of my life lie etherly while this etherealish dog vomit thoroughly cranny-stains and nook-putrifies the reaches of all recordable media within my grasp. This could be good or bad. These episodes are (like?) Pelig’s Personal Cocaine-and-Cocaine-Derivatives K-Hole Equivalency which makes little sense to anybody outside of him, i.e. everybody but him and sometimes him too, and which to him are all swirly and beautiful. Could that really be such a bad thing? Could go either way. Gotta play my cards, right. Need the economy to cooperate. Need the children’s prayers. … Need to shut-up.

What I was going/trying to sa y wa/is that instead of the cubist mural of words for the bedplace like I’d like to do, I’ll just hit a couple notes here and move on.
- As stage seting, let me just say that belongings were EVERYwhere, and that anybody who knows me knows me knows that I got like a grid system set up for my shite so that it’s always neat and tidy. Fallout chic is not my chic. Beer spilled, ashes finding floor more often than trays, drawers hanging open and stuff hanign out of them, backpack…none of that is interesting exept insofar as you know how uncharacterisitkc it is een on the most hungover of days, or whatever would keep me from teat and nidying [sic]
- Okay, now we stick on up to the gleamy glints and the glinty gleams off the brushy rectangles of my (first-)(post-)Cubist rendering: The door 1/3 of the bed was stacked up and had the shet pulled back up over. Other 2.3, bare gray fitted sheets. That wide flat matte plain is important to me because everything else (of my gonzaGleams) are color contrasts::
* The Twin Milky Blasts (better than ‘splash’!): Not necessarily by design, but it was eventually apparrent that the plains were home to two major incursions/settlements. When the dust settles, so to speak, these were no more than two sizable radii of the speckley white micro-gravel
* The Sweet Suffocation Stations: In the outer rings of the above, in little satellite scatterings and junkyard piles, were the, surprising huge (well, relatively to their size and potency in the first place) to even me, trash heaps of little torn open micro ziplock bags. Beyond the impressive accumulation of them, their sheer numbers, were the colors in their combinations. Beautiful! There were pink bagetties, some in a darkish teal green, others were clear. Did I pile up a couple blues too? If any at all, not many, but they would have definitely made great accents, as did the speckle-splash sprinkles of the crack crumbs, some still embedded inside the plastic, making for interesting opacities. In the end, they were two nicely muted medical accumulations over the white starbursts, and with the gray behind. I might be overdoing it, but it did look good. Now, in between those in various angles and alignments and scatterbrains throughout the day, were the lighters. My new back the flame off the goods technique lately burns through a lighter even faster. I’d started with a few odds ‘n’ ends of them at various gas levels out and about on and in a variety of surfaces and locations. These were quickly rounded up and depleted, forcing me to turn to and rummage through my trashy junkie museum garbage bag collection for a handful of already burned to the bone disposables. I was just too damn lazy to walk the half a block for a new one. I know I wrote this already. Sorry. God! No. So, basically, I was rotating through 10 dead lighters, barely getting by. It was more difficult to hobble along crippled like that all day than it would have been to walk downstairs. but that wasn’t then, nor is now, the point. The point is the addition of bright and various colors of plastic, and, again, the sheer numbers. Who sits down and employs 10 Bic and generic lighters at a time. (It kind of works because after sitting for awhile, the flame will recharge just an itty bitty touch and then fall drastically again to a nubbin in about a second. It was kind of funny, and difficult to keep track of who or which was next, and frustrating when I picked up one that was still utterly useless, not having recharged that poquito yet, and then another like it, and another. Okay, this has gotten and ended up a tit longish so let me nutshell it (and leave instructions fior how you should interpret/read it all):

Funny/Impressive/Pretty/Pathetic:
Lots and lots and lots of a) crack crumbs, b) torn-open crack bags, and c) lighters, accented by four extremely used (Cajun blackend tips, with honey-brazed centers) crack pipes, my stretched key-ring scraper/pusher combo, and, of course, my beloved artist’s paint brush pusher. Quite a scene. I was going to take a photo. Thought of it at a few points, but never a juncture. Always mid-something. And now it’s all cleaned up! Hooray!

Posted by peligrito at May 15, 2005 6:33 PM

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