Distressica Finds The Source Of Happiness

Once Upon a Snowglobe, there was a girl who could not be happy, no matter how much her mother wanted her to be. She tried and tried to make happiness out of the void in her atrial-ventricular gelatin. But no matter what, she was always bathed in low-levels of gleetoxin and her nerves always jangled like birdbaths. In fact, a blizzard unfriended her everywhere she went.

Her name was Distressica Compson, and her mother always wanted her to shine like a fake Xmas tree. A pink one. But Distressica was not luminescent in any way. She was opaque from the moment she was zygotified.

Distressica knew her transvaginal parent hated her for who she was. But she was willing to unbutton all the things her mother said would make her perfect.

For instance, Distressica's mom always told her that if she held her breath in a vat of seahorses for  seven minutes every July, she would be soooo happy and her self-confidence would escalate violently. Distressica couldn't wait to try it! She really wanted to find the happiness formula her mom always scatted about.

But when she jumped in that vat of seahorses on July's first seven moments in 2112 AD, her flesh erupted in impressive lesions that didn't heal for Jesus. It turned out--Distressica was allergic to vats. So that path to bliss met its dermatological demise.

Then her mother suggested, surely she would be empowered with joy if only she got a good haircut. A good haircut is the way to visceral nirvana--everyone on Earth knows that by yesterday!

So, Distressica was full of hope after her boils minimized, and her mother dropped her off at the hair-slicery. She felt like she had skipped home to the Lord when she sat in the barbarous chair. But, tragedy erupted in a scissor-blink, when the Barbarus mistook Distressica's facial features for her hair!

He sliced her eyelashes into a severe bob. Her nosetip into a Rachel shag. Her corneas into a mohawk. And her upper lip into a ducktail w/ sideburns.  Distressica screamed when she vogued in the yurror, "I can't see how much I resemble Bette Midler in 'Beaches' because you've BLINDED ME!!! I am NOT. HAPPY!"

Distressica's mom arrived just in time to drag her grieving daughter out of the salon and back into reality.

"Distressica," said her mom, whose name was not Mrs. Compson, but Ms. Insuranceton, due to her umpteenth marriage-attempt, "I know that you've been blinded, and mutilated with scissors. But that does not mean you are allowed to be unhappy. I know your birthday is volcanic. And I think we should do something verrrry special. After all, you're turning Dispassionate Nineteen! What would make you sooo happy, that all memory of this tragedy will turn to calcium carbonate?"

Distressica thought about it for three hours. Then she auto-harped, "I want to ride a hot air balloon. And I want to bring two skeletons with me, so I don't have to be traumatized alone."

"But, Stressica, honey,"  Ms. Insuranceton oil-derricked, "You don't have any skeletons. I won't allow it!"

"Yes, mother, I do have skeletons! I just made two skeletons last week on the college swingset and I want to ride a balloon with them!"

Ms. Insuranceton looked at her daughter with cold unmistakable hatred, "I love you. And if that's what you really want. I'll call the balloonateers; you can invite your skeletons. But you'd better be happy forever after this."

The day came when Distressica and her skeletons were to fly on a fiery airship! Ms. Insuranceton dropped them off a few miles from the balloon port, because she was too embarrassed to be seen with her daughter's skeletons. But they made it there only two hours late and they set sail, into the positively charged sky!

Distressica smiled for at least two minutes in a row, and her skeletons couldn't STOP smiling! The balloonateer steered them past clouds and treetops, and even though Distressica couldn't see them, she could smell them, and they were beautiful.

Suddenly, there was turbulence! A sharp-billed albatross who had ties to al Queada, came from nowhere and punctured the balloon with savage ululations. It fell to the fire in the basket and cried "Ala king is delicious!" It died in sacrificial glory.

The Balloonateer panicked in four/four time, but managed to navigate the lurching vessel through the sky and onto a merciful tree limb. They all teetered there for what seemed like an episode of "Masterpiece Theatre."

Distressica's skeletons were shaken. They knew there was no option but to fall to their fractured existence. And so they climbed to the edge of the basket and …let go. Distressica screamed when she smelled them shattering on the ground below.

She was alone with the Balloonateer, and the basket fire was consuming their gravitational lifeline. Distressica spotted (via smell) a stream of orange Fanta flowing by, only a few feet in the distance.

"Balloonateer," she caffeinated hoarsely, "I smell Fanta--over there. Guide the balloon just a cunt hair across the treeline and we can jump to our sweet submersion!"

The balloonateer struggled valiantly to position over the orange rapids. And, without waiting for Distressica, he jumped out first and landed on a rock, lending a complimentary red streak to the scenery. Distressica stuck her nose over the basket and sniffed the landscape below. And when she was sure it was safe, she plummeted into the darkening soda.

At fifty-first, Distressica was disoriented. She was blind and the river was full of blood--which made visibility, like, minus yellow. But when she felt her feet touch sticky syrupy sand, she knew salvation was a straight shot overhead. She indented her knees to spring upward, when something or someone suddenly grabbed her!

She kicked and let bubbles out of every orifice! The thing held tight and whispered in her ear-stump, " I am the happiness monster who lives in the river of corn syrup, and I am invading your soul right now!"

Distressica stopped struggling and let the slimy happiness monster lick at her exterior, and then glide unctuously into her exocrine portals. When it was done infiltrating her, Distressica rose to the surface of the soft drink like a full-figured fairy. She felt lighter than carbon dioxide, but heavier than helium pentathol.

"I think this is what "happy" feels like!" she shouted in her dark scent-centric world. 

She emerged from the orange waters and could hardly believe how goddamn mother-fuckkin' happy she was! She cartwheeled and pirouetted and sashayed and jitterbugged all the way back to the balloon port, over jagged rocks and superlative sandspurs , through snake pits and underarm brush! And nothing dampened her spirits along the way.

When she annexed the balloon port, there was her mother's car, avoiding her. But she chased after it like a delighted Cockle Spaniard, and her mother had to stop.

"All right. Get in," Ms. Insuranceton snapped, "How was your balloon ride?"

"It was fucking ah-mazing!" Distressica cursed like a windchime.

Ms. Insuranceton looked over at her daughter for the first time in nineteen years. "Why do you sound weird? Where are your skeletons?" she asked.

"They shattered, Mom! Isn't that cool? They jumped out of the basket when it caught fire!"

"Huh?" Ms. Insuranceton still did not terminate in an epiphany.

"Yeah, Mom," Distressica gushed, "And we were hanging on a tree limb and I smelled Fanta and told the balloonateer to steer us over the orange rapids and then he let go and splattered surreally and so I knew to jump a little further downstream, but when I did I couldn't see for eighty-four seconds and then the Happiness Troll grabbed me from behind and licked me all over and then shot itself into my veins without any needle and oh my Gawd, I am truly full of happiness now!"

Ms. Insuranceton still did not grasp the full inertia of her daughter's neon phase, but something caught her eye--a radiant spark from Distressica's mouthful of nonsense. And she liked what she saw in her daughter's words.

"Stressica, honey, you sound….delusional. And manic. And oblivious to the real world around you. That means…(gasp)…you finally achieved happiness!! I'm so goddamn proud of you, honey, that i'm going to give you----a three-second hug!!"

Ms. Insuranceton whirled around and, before hugging her daughter, set a nearby egg-timer for 3 seconds. 

The hug felt nice to Distressica, but after one second, she felt some of her newly injected happiness squeezing out of her pores like ointment. And before the embrace's deadline rang out, Distressica pulled away from her mother before anymore happiness could be squozen away. 

She flung the car door serpentine and rolled down the embankment, and into a deep, deep ditch. Distressica huddled in her ditch, fearing her mother's visage would come peering down at her any minute. But Distressica caught no scent of the bitch nearby, and began to unclench her anus. 

She yodeled in the ditch for hours, but her mom never came back for her. Distressica danced in her trench, free of all familial bondage. She couldn't stop laughing and snapping her fingers to the beat of "Don't Worry; Be Disinterested." And then…she caught the scent…very faint…of orange Fanta somewhere nearby. 

She sniffed and networked until she located the tiny wet spot that beckoned her like fine heroin. And she sat down Eastern Indian-style, and immersed her fingers in the corn syrup of the masses, until it seeped in, replenishing the ribbons of elation her mother squeezed from her in the car.

And she lived with an insulin pump and no mom, happily ever after….

The Legend of Irma

Hi Friends,

Our life is returning to normal after the hurricane. What an adventure. What a mess. 

We were lucky not only to have found an excellent bunker to hunker down in, but to have sustained little damage from the storm. 

Our cats were real troopers during the evacuation. They were so sweet & lovey when they were scared & had no idea what was going on. Then, once we were settled in, they returned to their ornery diva selves. 

Packed up art & kitties & made our way inland. Syringe mandala looks like hurricane eye.

The storm, from our safe vantage point, was impressive! The winds were ferocious even as far inland as we were. I went out on the porch at one point and took a video when the winds were about 45-50 mph. Unfortunately I failed to hit ‘play’ and the video was not recorded.

At another point we all went out to the garage & opened the door. The wind immediately sent chunks of plant debris flying into the garage. I was blown nearly off my feet. 

Beautiful nature trail behind our fortress. And DUKE the Dachshund.

I was surrounded by children and dogs (including a Dachshund & a Doberman, 2 of my most feared breeds) but everyone was wonderful (yes, even the dachshund) I had a great time, and was so grateful to our hosts. 

As we drove home to our neighborhood we couldn’t believe some of the wreckage we saw. Concrete poles broken in half. Huge centuries-old oak trees lying on the ground with root systems as big as Humvees exposed. A few houses with trees lying on top of them. But not too much damage to the homes. We heard later that our neighborhood was hit by some tornadoes.

Kayak launch underwater after storm

We haven’t had such close calls with hurricanes since 2004. That year we were hit by Charley, Frances, Ivan & Jeanne, and on two occasions were without power for over a week. This time it only took 3 days for power to come back on.

It’s the kind of adventure that makes you realize how much you love your quiet, organized little life. It makes you feel like a survivor, and possibly a survivalist. It has made me feel united with a population I usually feel isolated from. 

But I know that will go away. i’m an anti-social creature, and that’s where i want to be again soon. Right now it’s about checking in with friends & neighbors & making sure everyone’s okay.

I had to do a before/after of this poor shroom. Even deep in the FL scrub it got destroyed.

Ginsberg twinsies. I feel like a young Allen these days. Someday my beard will appear. Until then I'm loving hurricane hair.

I made sure to document the whole thing in pictures, at first for insurance purposes, then just for personal entertainment. Sorry if you’ve seen all these on FB already—look away if it bores you! It’s not like I’m standing in your personal space demanding that you give a shit.

Our backyard underwater; neighbor's fence destroyed. Huge tree down across the street. Lots of big branches all over the neighborhood. Only one palm tree down in our front yard.

Alright. peace. love. chainsaws & bulldozers.

BAD ART That Needs To Be Spanked

FRIENDS!

We survived August!! Why does everyone, including me, hate August? April may be the cruelest, but August is the long, laborious haul through the swamp of time.  And temperature.

I want to apologize for how quickly and thoughtlessly I wrapped up my Adventures in Spirituality series. I had wanted it to end in a crescendo of enlightenment. But I came away knowing what I’ve known all along. We’re all writhing through some complex laser maze of karma, looking like freaks to the rest of the world and the finish line is death, and probably another, harder maze. 

And of course—42.

I didn’t go into my adventures with Judaism, Islam (because I don’t have any), or AA. So i’ll talk a little bit about those today—as a little spiritual epilogue.

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First I wanna talk about art for a minute. I’m almost ready to give up on watercolors, people. I started working w/ watercolors in 2013 after wanting to try it for many years. I saw it as the most right-brained activity on earth & I wanted to master it. But I’m still pretty lost after 4 years.

I keep waiting to have a dream about watercolors because that’s how I’ll know I actually “get it.” There’ve been times in my life where I’m struggling with a task and then i’ll dream that I’m doing said task and I’ll wake up the next day & be able to do it perfectly. That’s how I learned to drive a stick shift—I wasn’t getting it, then I had a dream I was driving perfectly and I could suddenly do it. That’s how I learned certain gymnastic tricks, and some foreign languages too. Does this happen to anyone else?

Allen Ginsberg sleeping w/ kittens

Anyway…still no dream re: watercolors so I still suck at it. I get really stressed out about it too. I know I’ll ruin whatever I’m working on and have to turn it into something else. Like this portrait of Allen Ginsberg sleeping w/ his pussies ^^^ was supposed to be another self portrait, but I spilled a big droplet of black paint right on the face, when I was trying to be so, so careful…

…and so it had a beard. And so it became AG.

I’m so glad I found some new neon pens. After I used up my other ones on the Singlewood storyboards I couldn’t find any ink that I liked. Plus I was busy w/ watercolors. But guess what? I want to do more neon dot drawings, aka pointillism, aka pixillism, aka impressionism, aka stipple instead of watercolors. Until the dream of painting perfectly visits me.

The syringe mandala is coming along. I need to do another year’s worth of shots to finish it though : )

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ADVENTURES IN JUDAISM, ISLAM, AND AA

When I was in 3rd grade I had a boyfriend who was in 4th grade. Coincidentally his little sister was best friends with my little brother. Our two families started spending lots of time together. They were Jewish. Other than having different holidays from “us Xtians” and a few dietary quirks, I couldn’t really tell the difference between Jewish and Xtian. 

I really liked my boyfriend, who was actually just a friend. He was smart and adventurous and didn’t talk too much and had no problem with the fact that I was a girl. I kept waiting for him to call me stupid or pussy or say “you’re pretty good…for a girl” but he never did, and that was new to me. He seemed to like and respect girls. He gave me all his Judy Blume books to read. 

Yes, I got “Are You There God, It’s Me, Margaret” from a 10-yr-old boy. And it’s funny, I think the girl in the book was Jewish, but liked to pretend to be Xtian. And I was the opposite—I really wanted to be Jewish. I did go to Temple with my friend a few times. I didn’t like it much better than Church, but for some reason it struck me as more “intellectual” and less “judgmental.”

I asked my mom if I could be Jewish and she said I could but I probably wouldn’t like it because I would have to go to regular school AND Hebrew school, like my friend. Plus Jesus would no longer save me and bring me up to Heaven with him. I didn’t care about that, but going to school twice a day? I wasn’t sure if I could handle that. I decided I was too lazy and unsmart to be Jewish. I also learned, from reading Judy Blume, that Jewish people & Xtian people could still get married to each other.

Alas, there was to be no marriage though… I don’t know which happened first, my falling out with my smart Jewish boyfriend, or my parents’ falling out with his parents…

Our falling out happened when I committed a terrible fashion faux pas at a young girl’s funeral—she was my classmate & his Temple-mate. Of course for the funeral my mom made me wear a dress, which I hated and which always inflated my gender dysphoria. But I decided to wear my ’70s rock-n-roll Kiss boots to offset the femininity of the dress. I was supposed to meet my boyfriend at the funeral and we were going to sit together.

But when he saw what I was wearing he was like “BOOTS!?? You’re wearing boots to a funeral??” Basically he shamed me and wouldn’t sit next to me and after the funeral he & his friends taunted me, so I ran to my mom’s car and I don’t think I ever saw him again after that.

My brother & his sister were still friends, and our parents were friends. At least they were until his parents brought some pot brownies to one of my parents’ parties. I guess the mom showed up with her plate of brownies and told my mom she should try one, and my mom asked them to leave!

(Because to my parents ALCOHOL was NOT a DRUG;

POT = a dangerous DRUG for derelicts and scummy hippies)

I didn’t hear about the pot brownie incident til I was a teenager. I told my mom she should’ve eaten one.

******

Later on I dated a Syrian guy. He was not Muslim though. He was completely Syrian-American and I learned nothing about Allah from him. I still don’t have much firsthand experience with Islam. I will admit—pretty shamefully—to having a twinge of Islamaphobia. Due I suspect to how it is portrayed here in the mainstream media, and my lack of knowledge.

I’d just like to remind y’all that I’m pretty skeefed out by devout Xtians too. It’s not a racial thing, it’s a belief-system thing.

So Muslims, get in touch. Teach me a thing or two.

I'm usually against selfie-portraits, but I wanted to see how I'd look in dots. Pretty Good, as you can see : ))

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And then there’s AA. It pretends not to be a religion, but it is. As much as crystals or chanting or meditating or praying to a spaghetti monster are religions, driving to sit in a room and recite the Serenity prayer and talk and talk about your deadly/undying love for booze is too.

It’s a cult of sobriety that works for some people—many people—and not others. I’ve been to exactly one AA meeting and I knew it wasn’t for me. Anonymity and rote memorization hold no appeal. If you think this blog is indulgently long-winded, go to an AA meeting and you will hear people blogging with their tongues, with even less editorial finesse than I.

ALRIGHT! Those are my final thoughts on religious things. Unless I have more, which is a possibility.

Like I said I’ll be doing more art & less writing this Fall. I hope you can find time to rejoice about that.

Also, please find time to send me your art & poetry for the Fall Issue of the Octopus Review.

Vin the Famous Artist. Year of the Write-Dudes Metallic Neon Gel Pen