Revolutionary dreams.

I had a dream last night that I was back at my first job of working at Michael’s arts and crafts. Picking up extra shifts. The other ladies working there couldn’t figure out why I was there because everyone’s hours had been cut short. This was shortly followed by an announcement over the intercom that employees are not allowed to do any employee purchases due to the economy which put a stop to me selecting new pens for my holster. So I begin to leave to store which then the boss and I end up at the front doors at the same time, me leaving, her arriving. She is wearing some kind of garish feather outfit. I could only compare this to that thing once worn by Bjork, except in black.

Outside of the store a revolution has erupted. Citizens against tanks. Digging out little trenches in the mud as people get shot left and right. Soon the new leader is in office with others, all in black military dress. The leader is complaining because after the whole revolution the new idea for how to run the government isn’t working, but the old idea will work, which all the aids approve of using and just saying that they are using the new citizen run government.

Perhaps I should stop watching so much Babylon 5 before falling asleep. It definitely had a 4th and 5th season feeling to it. Sans the space setting, though it just seemed to be replaced with a Fallout 3 Washington D.C..

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Windy Coffee. [part 1]

Fulya was looking at my sketchbook the other day and remarked that she liked the random sketch that I had made of some girl that I saw walking along with a little plastic cup of coffee during the wind storm a few weeks past. As I still have some small pieces of very good watercolor paper [that I had sized to be used for some small frames I had collected but did not have anything to put in them yet], I thought that perhaps I could transfer a little sketch to a little piece of paper to play with techniques. Namely the layering of water colors. Something that I know I have been working on a lot, but practice makes perfect. I also wanted to see how using my new mechanical pencil filled with blue graphite would work in hiding my lines as I initially worked. I forgot to take a picture of the transition between not having the girl inked at all to inking her and starting the background. I was having a hell of a time trying to figure out a setting in which to put her. At first I was th

French underworld tattoos at the turn of the century. The man sports a tattooed mustache intended to foil the prohibition of facial hair in the Foreign Legion. The World of Tattoo by Maarten Hesselt van Dinter. I can only dream of being anywhere near that combination of badass and crazy. Though at that point the Foreign Legion was probably still the best place for criminals to get their record cleaned so perhaps he is as well quite legitimately scary upon all of that. I find myself flipping back to this page time and time again to romanticize the French underground from around 1900. Give him an accordion, a beret, and some braces. Prostitutes who could easily kill you if you ever come up short and tattoo the names of their ‘actual’ lovers between their breasts, close to their heart. Tattoo ‘Je mother fucking t’aime’ in a tattoo cursive along my collar bones.

The adventure continues.

So, I haven't written much lately.. but from the doldrums of the end of semester I then entered a time period of a flânerie across France. A last hurrah. Jessye came to visit again and the tiny room was packed up all into a few suitcases, the largest being named Bertha, and Rennes was left behind, although not before having a picnic in Thabor for the last Saturday market... We got the essentials. Madeleines (where as I reached the front of the line the vendor greeted me with a question of, '6 madelines?') with a few more of that vendor's delicious delights, like those bite size rolls with jams and caramel and chocolate.. Then of course the impossible cow cheese that acted like goat cheese and was rolled in Provencal herbs. And of course a baguette from the amazing bakery covered in tiles. A trip to Thabor with Jessye was never complete without a stop at the aviary. And some people watching. A mohawked punk rocker walks a little girl hand in hand through the park.

High Contrast Grey.

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