So my best friend and I are co-creating a deck of oversized tarot cards.

 We’ve split the major arcana and I’m doing coins and sticks, while she’s doing cups and swords.

I’ve already made a few of them- photos do them no justice- because they are very three dimensional and layered with textured paint, glass, wood, random multimedia, etc- but I’m going to post them anyway.

On a side note, I personally think the esoteric fortune telling custom associated with tarot cards is absurd, but tarot are actually a more ancient form of playing cards- which simply became more and more romanticized as the games they were used for slipped out of fashion, then out of memory. Although I think fortune telling is rediculous, I do think they make a great art project- since mysticism and art blend so prettily.

Anyway, in no particular order- the ones I have done so far:

Heirophant

Lovers

III of Coins

King of Coins

Page of Sticks

 

 

V of Sticks

My wonderful and strange father gave me the coolest Xmas gift, which I opened early at his behest.

What could it be?

I guess he found it on Ebay- he said someone from England found it with their metal detector, probably buried somewhere, though it’s pretty clean so who knows. Anyway, it’s this old cigarette tin filled with all kinds of wierd shit. It’s got a commemerative coin celebrating the 1919 armistace, a bunch of random tokens

(My favorite says on one side: “I smile at you, bad luck cannot harm you*BILLIKEN*” with a slightly racist asian-eyed monkey pictured, and on the other side: “Always buy PEEK FREANS biscuits. highest quality cost no more” )

…There are a few sharks teeth, a fossilized clam of some kind, a couple ancient looking metal thimbles, and some other random flotsam. It’s really quite astonishing. Some people might think of it as junk, but I ADORE it, and it reminds me a lot of the wonderful box of memorabilia in the movie Amilie, only I have no way to find the original owner, and if it was set aside in 1919, there’s pretty much no chance the person who stashed it is still alive. But that’s ok, it’s just awesome to have, and wonder why these objects are in here, and where they came from, and who put them there. Totally, utterly, unspeakably awesome.

"Players Navy Cut Cigarettes"

 

....and all the weird goodies contained therein (The racist monkey coin is visible on the lower left, and the fossil clam on the lower right)

Eyeliner that just won't quit

I have seen a LOT of crazy bus people, and it’s been some time since I bothered to whip out the sneaky camera phone to get a photo of one.

Yesterday I saw a classic crazy cat lady- shopping cart with a mangey black cat atop it, stringy hair, cigarette drooping out of her mouth… but that was out of a speeding car window on the way home, so I didn’t have the chance to document it. This epic crazy however, I did. She was talking to HER DAD who was (clearly) not there, and seemed to be totally in her own world. She was expressive, and jovial, but only to this invisible person- until her neck snapped up, she made eye contact with this guy who’d just gotten on the bus, and for a mere moment she seemed totally un-crazy.

 “Hi!” she said, almost excitedly 

“Hello,” he replied —-

“How are you doin’ today?” she asked

“Fine, how are you?” and then her eyes sort of glazed over and the schitzophrenic babble started up again, only this time it was aimed at someone real.

Oh, this poor man. He was in his late twenties or early thirties, hipstery beard, newsboy hat, not totally uncute, but not remarkable. Anyway, for some reason she just SNAPPED out of this removed state and into a much more involved, outgoing sort of lunacy. She started telling him about how she hated dating, and she just wanted to “wake up next to somebody, you know?”, implying that she wanted all the familiarity of a comfortable relationship- not an unreasonable desire. But then she started sort of… fluxuating- between talking to him and to her invisible father, and a bit to herself as well, it became difficult to tell.

Clearly, she was trying to flirt with this much younger man, who was totally dumbfounded by the attention, and did nothing to egg her on beyond the cursory smile and nod. It became a little pathetic and akward pretty quickly when it became apparent she was trying to hint that he should meet up with her later (describing in detail where she would be throughout the day) and I felt kinda bad for the guy, but it was so hillarious my pity was totally overwhelmed by amusement.

She was saying "That's just how I am!" But I don't remember the context... It was about disliking dating but wanting a comfortable relationship, I do remember that.

I got several really great photos of her, but they were all using my phones shabby zoom lens, so you’ll have to forgive their pixelated ickiness. If I can ever afford a fancier camera-phone I promise to take better people-pics.

Check out the awesome jewelry. I think maybe she was an aging goth or punk or something. She looked (IRL) like she was in her mid-late 50s, or even early 60s- quite a bit of white hair too- but she was dressed like a disaffected 16 year old.

Anyway, the whole thing was pretty funny, and made me miss the fact that I don’t ride the bus every morning anymore. Of COURSE I much prefer getting a ride, but stuff like this doesn’t light up my morning on days I am chauffered to work, and that’s kinda too bad.
The bus can be pretty stuffy and smelly and crowded and loud and obnoxious and icky, but when this kind of thing happens it really makes it all worthwhile.

Yep, it's official, no one wants to sit next to the lady who talks loudly to her invisible dad.

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So my mother, Linda, would be 56 today, if she were alive.
I was on the bus this morning, and I saw her ghost. I mean, a saw a woman who looked so much like her that I did a triple take. The lady in question was not as pretty as my mom, and had darker hair, but down to the penchant for big glasses and berets everything else was the same.
I took several photos but only two were even remotely usable, since the bus was moving and moving busses make for blurry photos.

Here’s what my mom looked like:

This is my mom shortly before she began her chemotherapy, the day we cut off her hair. It was kind of a "before" photo. There are some really cute "after" ones, too.

Here's my mom (and me!) in 1996

Here's my mom (and me again) probably no later than 1981, Note that her love for big glasses remained strong throughout her life.

  __________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
… and here’s the photos I took of the lady on the bus this morning:

This one's a little blurry, but you can still the very dramatic resemblance.

 

Here's the best one of the lot I took. You can see that they're not identical, but WOWEE, they were sure cut from the same bolt of universal fabric.

Last night I was just dreaming about being in a pseudo-Portland type city, and then it became known that someone had privatized the use of color, and the world and everyone in it were now violating copyright, and were required to pay a fine. Me and a few other dream-friends decided that it really wasn’t worth it, and began wiping the color off of ourselves. It was vivid in its imagry, and I remember getting to a point where there were only a few smears of color left on me.
It feels kind of grossly prophetic, and surely a dream that is a product of my civilization, and reflective of the times.
Then I woke up, and when I fell back asleep I dreamed about zombies. It seems that my recurring dinosaur dreams have been replaced by them. It’s kind of funny, When I was little I had recurring dinosaur “nightmares” (they were scary only until I realized I had the power to alter the dream if it got too stressful)- as I became an adolescent, these departed in favor of nuclear holocaust dreams, which eventually were replaced by the dinosaur/ megafauna (sometimes sabertoothed cats or other giant carnivores) dreams again. More recently though I guess in the last year or so- these have again been replaced by a different type of scary dream- lots and lots of zombies.
I blame it on World War Z. They’ll get kind of scary sometimes, but if I start ot feel like i’m really trapped, I always manage to become lucid enough to pull myself out of it, so I don’t dread them at all. In fact, they’re usually pretty fun, or at the very least exciting.

Anyway my dreams are always vivid on mon-tue night, because Hunter takes Wesley to grandpa’s house really super early in the AM, and I my body basically goes into a coma when I’m not in a the strange, light pseudo sleep that dominates my nights next to a twitching, grunting cave-troll-baby. Speaking of which, Auntie Paris took this awesome photograph of her wonderful daughter Freya playing with a seemingly passive and compliant Wesley. I can only hope they get along this well as they age.

Freya and her little doll Wesley.

Item 1) I just found out that a dear, dear friend was in a terrible car accident (back on Saturday, but I didn’t hear about it till now!) and is in the hospital with a seriously busted face… though thankfully, nothing life threatening. I called the hospital and we spoke briefly but I almost started crying on the phone just from the shock/ relief/ despair/ emotional punch in the face that they were so injured/ not dead, so I didn’t talk for long. They were on a morphine drip, and were going to be going into surgery for several broken (face) bones later this afternoon. Very, very scary.  Sent flowers. Feel helpless and kind of sick to my stomach.

item 2) Shortly after getting this news, feeling very fragile and distressed, doing switchboard service at work for a particular large company (one aspect of my job). I get a call “so-and-sos answering service how can i direct your call?” I ask….. well they want this and such extension and I say “great! Thank you for knowing exactly which extension you want, very helpful” to which they reply “shut up” and “what do you mean by that?!” I say (a bit confused/ frazzled) “I just mean sir that often when people call they don’t know who exactly they want to speak with or just want to talk to “bob” but without a last name… it’s nice when people know exactly where they want their call directed” to which he replies something along the lines of “yeah and I can hear when you talk shit” … I am pretty taken aback at this point “Excuse me sir?” I ask “But I didn’t say anything!” and he spits “Just patch me through”

Wow.

Welcome to November.  

Good thing I don’t believe in  omens. Sheesh.

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