bluecityveins

a free ride inside my diseased mind.

Blue City Veins – The Nocturnal Art Journals I

*Disclaimer- All misspellings, bad use of grammar, wrong tenses, and other such acts of English atrocities from here on in have been manufactured on purpose. All so called “errors” are protected under the thin foreskin veil of “ART”. (and laziness)
Blah………………………..

November 8, 2001, 10:16 am

Well here I am. I Finally made it out of the province of my birth. Not only did it give me birth, it wanted my death as well. Greedy bastard. I can’t believe I fell asleep and crashed my car into a ditch. Well I can believe it, but I almost don’t want to. That was a close call. It happened near the border of both provinces. What side of the border was it on? Remind me to check that out later. I wonder what this near death experience means/meant? which one, witch which is which. Maybe it means/meant I should start drinking coffee. Perhaps it was a test. My gauntlet of sorts.

It’s odd writing to and about oneself. I feel like a pervert. Well I usually feel like one, but even more so now. Lots of things make feel like a pervert. For example, making popcorn makes me feel like a pervert.

Back in the old province I lived with a roommate. At night I would get stoned and have strange popcorn cravings. However it was always to late at night to make some. Being noisy and all. As a solution to this problem I would take the popper, bowl, fixings, and such to my Maroon coloured tempo situated 3 stories below my apartment, peacefully parked in a frozen and snow covered waste land. I would then proceed to plug a long orange extension cord into a grey coloured exterior car plug outlet and sit in my freezing maroon car stoned out of my mind at 3 am. Anxiously waiting for the little golden corn seeds(I despise the word kernel) to make that little magical “popping” sound.
I had an idea during one of my many peculiar popcorn popping adventures.
Wanna hear it? Sure you do.

The Idea:
A car that perpetually exudes copious amounts of popcorn while running. Or a C.P.E.C.A.P.W.R for short.

Here’s how it works:
The driver would sit in the car naked (mandatory) and eat popcorn while being able to pay full attention to driving. The pop corn would fill the car to mouth level so the vehicle operator wouldn’t need to use it’s hands when feasting. The popcorn also serves as a protective barrier incase of an accident. Much like packing peanuts, however those are not a food source and should not be consumed. A new batch would be popped each time the driver exited the vehicle. The old popcorn would then proceed to spill onto the streets thus feeding birds, raccoons, and other assorted city wildlife. Win Win as they say.

I still feel weird making popcorn inside my apartment. It’s mostly the sound of it that causes problems. Everyone knows your making the damn stuff. Likely thinking what kind of looser makes popcorn at noon. I’m sure in their minds they picture a guy in his shorts, hung over, blood shot eyes, long messy hair, wait, that kind of describes me. Nevermind…..

4:12 p.m.

This art school sucks! It’s my 2nd month and It hasn’t progressed much farther than a kindergarten crafts class. I’m one of the few people that didn’t come here directly from high school. Most of these people aren’t artists, they are pre-pubescent infants playing with scissors and listening to horrible top 40 music.

The amount of material waste is outstanding. This whole program is a total scam. The teachers give us lists of crap we need to buy for each class. The only place to buy this overpriced junk is at the college art store. A large percentage of it is not even used. I hardly have to buy anything, after class I scavenge what’s left behind. I spend the money I save at the true educator,The bar.

We should be using cheap materials, the simplest crap, so we are not afraid to go nuts and experiment. I am full of rage. I might have been happier being a slave cleaning toilets. At least I could pick the music I listened to. This is a generation of spoiled brats.I will do enough just to pass and work on my own stuff. blah. ART u bastard!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Lyle.

P.S.
I made a deal with one of my art teachers. I can use my journal entries as part of a class project, however it has to relate back to my experience with art somehow. Now that I have to think about art its going to wreck it. Such puckery!!!

couch

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