The Whole Kit ‘n’ Caboodle

Sideshow Shrub I

One fine day
in east upper Tennessee’s Bitch Holler,
I came across a shrubbery
who deferred to me on every dang decision I made.
I mean, I assume it did.
It never actually told me so,
I just figured it had that kind of vibe.

Based on that recommendation
from my local cosmic ombudsman
regarding the malice factor (or lack thereof),
I scooped down and started
collecting this fine specimen by the roots
as tenderly as a mongrel like myself possibly could.
I more likely than not snapped a good few
tendril roots, and for that
I apologized profusely all the way home.

The burlap sack smudged dirt
all over the passenger’s seat of my
monkeyshit brown ’89 Corolla. ‘Twas then
that I surmised it could go no other way
if I wanted to get my karmic alignment
back into okay shape.

And not much time had not elapsed before
I realized the beauty of lugging around
genuine Bitch Holler dirt
in my beat-up and grimy ol’ import.

Pep Talk

Every day starts with relatively infinite possibilities, then gets narrowed down as the minutes march on. Such a sentiment is more widely-held by the younger set, those fortunate ones who haven’t whittled and winnowed away their enthusiasm just yet. Fledgling adults seem to have an inherent audacity for tirelessly pursuing various pies in various skies, relentless endeavors repeated remorselessly (whose results range in reliability).

I recall a time in my life when my brand of audacity was to compose thoughtful and robust sentences. The verisimilitude and substance of said sentences was inconsequential, as long as I was doing something in the literary arts. This brazen approach yielded numerous charming products, some of which may contain the universe’s secrets when stretched out to a nanometer’s width (who knows?).

Nowadays, that zest has all but extinguished itself. The audacious spirit is suspended in amber, a fossilized vestige of my past humanity. But at least I have records of this triumphant hubris, because I WROTE IT DOWN. Just the way I’m writing down this little thought experiment right at this very moment. Period.

Ooh, how audacious. Might have to just keep writing these things in order to spite myself. If I’m defiantly demonstrating my worth as a wordsmith on a semi-frequent basis, perhaps I’ll once again perceive myself as such (instead of lollygagging around with some namby pamby excuse as to why I’m supposed to be a writer but the world around me is too fucked up for me, blah blah blah).

I suppose I’ll issue myself a challenge. Keep writing like this, ya moron. Don’t you remember how good it felt once you’d finished polishing up these turds and putting all the tags and categories on them? Yeah you do, especially when those turds had metamorphosed into some sort of precious mineral (or at least clean-burning fuel source).

Okay, good pep talk. Unsure if this is helpful for anyone out there in the big ol’ world, but if you’re feeling burnt out on “life”, maybe this naïvely cynical take will make you chuckle for a second.

A Good Find is Hard to Man

A good man is hard to find, but we mustn’t forget
that oftentimes a good find is hard to man.

——

Petey: Hey Joey, take a look at this while I go to the ice cream store. 

Joey: A look at what? That thing?

Petey: The find, yes. Good Joey.
Be right back.

Joey: Why do they always gotta have a man on this find? I guess if it’s a good find like they said, but even so. Who’s gonna swoop in here and try to take this find? Just yoink it and dash off? Yeah right, no way.

*8 attempted robberies later*

Joey: Wow, I guess a good find IS hard to man!

——

And there you have it folks. Simple manpower and relative awareness were once again all it took to prevent the theft of a peachy find, a real keen one. Nyeah, see.

I’m a Coward

Vignettes upon other vignettes seems like a decent strategy for an extended, focused work, but after you get one or two of them stacked up, any kind of theme you may have cooked up is pretty much null and void.

Now, how to avoid this quandary? Well, for one, just start with a single vignette and give it some decent bones instead of flitting to the next visionary tree branch.

So what, then? A single vignette doesn’t seem like anything that would merit further exploration. Really? Well, to me, at least. But if there’s anything I’ve learned about my artistic self over the past decade and a half, it’s that I need to keep pushing for an idea or composition even if it seems like I’m beating a dead horse (or any quadruped of equal or lesser value in a retail setting).

Turns out, I’m a little different than the average bear. If one were to judge my relationship with normalcy based only upon my previous two sentences (yes, they’re MINE, you can’t have them), this passive observer would immediately note my usage of animal imagery to illustrate my points. Is that odd?

I very rarely find myself making analogies that involve human subjects. Is it because I find humans inherently boring? Well, yes. But why is that? Could it be the ambient enslavement to a dying world model that props up megalomaniacs as they continue to rape and pillage the world without a single twinge of regret? Yes, that. People are small. Animals have no need for any of that contrived bullshit, and never have. Granted, their typical experience is nasty, brutish and short compared to that of the average human, but there is certainly a large gray area that both man and beast inhabit wherein the nasty, brutish shortness of life is quite similar.

So we have a system that rewards greed and callousness while forcing our better angels to atrophy and wilt right off of our shoulders. An appropriate question would be the classic “why?” Numerous thinkers have dealt with this inevitability, and there are likely myriad valid hypotheses. It would seem as though beating their heads against their respective cognitive brick walls must yield a certain quantity of usable results when it comes to acquiring an undergirding of purpose in their lives as they navigate through uncertain absurdity. Or, at the very least, they develop effective coping mechanisms for somehow circumventing the latent treachery and “becoming their best selves” in spite of it all.

It seems to me that writing periodic diatribes bemoaning the state of things is probably not the way to go, based on the sporadic evidence I’ve collected throughout my life that all points to an inherent pointlessness.

And maybe it truly is all pointless, and the vast majority of human creatures never confront that particular dataset in their short, fruitless/feckless lives. The “ignorance is bliss” model sure leaves a lot to be desired. If we only have a brief flicker of life within each of us, I would wager that it’s irresponsible for anyone to remain unenlightened as a default state of being.

Perhaps the average person’s capacity for all this gobbledygook is just quite limited, and they’re better off simply participating in their direct surroundings, shaping their communities and whatnots. However, I have yet to be convinced of that. Sure, community-building is a non-negative endeavor (unless it purposefully excludes/ostracizes others), and we are the kind of animal that seems to default to a pack mentality in order to “survive.” But hey, survival of the species is a given until we blow ourselves up or become self-loathing to the point of exterminating “the other” as a form of “racial duty.” I don’t think we’re QUITE there yet, though all the earmarks are certainly present.

I would argue that the average person is capable of reaching the point where they’re acknowledging the violence inherent in the “pack animal mentality,” and a certain voice or inclination allows them to stall or abort their mental/social development in favor of a cowardly lifestyle that involves selling out for an occasional treat. But, of course, that occasional treat becomes mundane and unrewarding after a bit, necessitating different, more frequent treats if they’re to avoid disillusionment.

Enter big tech, who’s developed an effective method for addicting humans to intrinsically-valueless trinkets and dopamine hits, all at pennies on the dollar and with a more-effective delivery system than at any previous time in human history. This model allows humans to still exhibit their same level of natural, comfortable cowardice while deluding themselves into genuinely believing that this is a “real way of life.”

On a certain level, most people must understand that they’re complicit in the destruction of everything we painstakingly built over millennia, so what gives? Back to the greed and callousness.

This is why I find it difficult to believe that rehashing the same old argument has any sort of merit. This creates a clear division between toiling in inherent pointlessness and striving to find a purpose (any purpose at all) that has actual, tangible value. Does that mean that people need to construct their own frameworks for genuine purpose, rather than consuming idiotic pablum until their eyes bleed? I would say yes.

So why am I still going on with this circular diatribe? I’m a coward, just like the rest of ‘em!

Spectral Phenolysis

“Spectral Phenolysis” — Ballpoint Pen, Watercolor Pen, Acrylic Paint Pen on 271gsm smooth opaque cover (white)

This is a pretty special piece for me to declare finished, because my automatic tendency is to turn it into mud and quickly give up. But no more! Now that I have reliable methods for imparting yellow and white (and various other hues that once scared me), I can really just let loose. This one is actually the first of its kind to have this particular combination of utensils: uniball jetstream 1.0mm baby blue ballpoint, numerous kuretake brush pens (zig real color bristle), white sharpie acrylic paint pen.

Thanks for your patronage, it means a lot to me. Soon I may begin the machinations of selling these babies, which definitely excites me (because let’s face it, money is nice to have sometimes).

Whoever’s out there reading this, just know that you’re a spectral being without conceivable limit.

Cheers,

Aidan

MY JAM


When you’ve been
and done
and seen,
what else is there to glean?
Everyday frustrations?
I’m not saying
a person should give up
once they’ve figured out
everyone more or less
looks like everyone else, but
it would surely help if some of us did.
That way you give the newbies a chance
to waste their time and monies
on fanciful ways to manipulate air
that stimulate economies
and float boats–
don’t act all surprised
like you didn’t know
late stage capitalism is MY JAM.

Cookie Clicks

In a previous life (which is a maudlin way for me to admit that my life has been segmented into unequal emotional epochs, and this particular slice of life stings with the pith of some sort of intense citrus) I called myself an English Writing major.

I used to periodically patrol around looking for a different kind of “writing app” within the iOS and OSX environs—of course, there were numerous ones that got my attention, and I probably tried a half a dozen. At the end of the day, they are all attempting to do the same thing: help this dumb human try to wrangle its thoughts together in appealing ways (according to syntax and taste). I can’t knock that intent, and people gotta eat, so I’m willing to overlook how discombobulating this scenario has been for me.

Ya see, when faced with a multiplicity of writing applications that each have their own unique worthwhile feature, a rudimentary ape such as myself cannot overcome the amount of choices to be made in order to approach square one of the creative process. I’m distracted enough times over the course of my average day to where I don’t need even more contrivance spewed upon me (from my own computer, for chrissakes). Combine that with my neurodivergent brain and we’ve got a serious blockade forming on the horizon. 

And what has this rambling accomplished? Probably nothing more than a yawp into the void we once used to think would be the apparatus to bring us all together. That was a larf. Were we just so naïve to believe that interconnectivity would improve our social mobility, allowing us to be tricked by the next generation of swindlers and snake oil salesmen into gleefully giving away all our liberties for little dopamine cookie clicks? Probly.

I swear I had a point when I started this thing.

Now that we have reached the point of full-societal multitudinous laptop writing program ubiquity, there is simply no way for me to choose a robust application. I must revert back to a rich text and sticky note mentality! It turns out I’ve learned just enough in this life in order to type words at a fairly chipper rate when I set out to do so, but that skillset fills about 85% of my computer capabilities. The remaining 15% is a Pandora’s Box of chaos that’s best left alone.