Fred

I'm going to be busy for the next couple of days with Fred. As it turns out, I must spend the weekend with him, atleast four hours each day. Yes, I've done the calculations right. On Monday, I shall send him across to those people to take a look at him. They'll tell me if he looks alright or if he needs to be taken care of a bit more. Their diagnose is important although for most part, I have to rely on my own senses. That, and a whole lot of images for reference. Fred the frog, on his lily pad...I've never lived a frog's life, how else would I know about a frog's day?

The book cover got approved, I have to do fourteen hand painted illustrations by Monday.
Yikes! I can't complain about having to stare at images of frogs and toads..all gooey and eeky etc..Never had a soft corner for them folks.

I do realise how surreal things are when I talk to my friends and we discuss what we've been doing. So, while a friend sits half way across the world and works on his thesis (management science = rocket science for me), while another friend cooks a great meal with turkey for Thanksgiving, while yet another one works out some user interface dilemma, while another one does some more model tests for yet another ad film, another one takes care of his new born baby boy without a name, another one travels two days to meet her soon-to-be-groom, and yet another one does things I have no idea about, I for my part, sit here and make illustrations of Fred the Frog on his lily pad, hopping, booing, showing off his muscles.

How surreal is this?

Surreal enough to make me see the various hues of life.

While I try and see which colour works best for the lily pad....

Apparently,

...

This is for Coyote's poem, 'Topography'.

Hmm..

Joy is such a wonderful thing, if we accept that like most other things, it isn't going to last forever...










It's 5:30 p.m. and the sky is a dark blue, the moon is peeping out from behind the curtains, preparing for it's show.

Aye Aye!

Someone wants to buy my painting!
I won't put it up here.
It is one of my favorites and since I've never sold any of my paintings before, I don't even know whow much I should sell it for.
But hey! Someone wants t o buy my painting!!

I'd made it one night, suddenly waking up from sleep at 4 a.m.

What I really want to do...

today...

~ listen to dire straits
please baby
je suis desole
will you miss me
goodbye windflower
manifold de amour
the next time i'm in town
the way it always starts
one way gal
smooching
suicide towers
railroad worksong
sax

~ drink fourteen cups of black coffee, neither too strong nor too sweet

~ forget the ill-mannered boy from last evening. he really does need to grow up. and he needs to stop whining.

~ pull out (and find) twenty three old newspapers with undone crosswords. sit and do each one of them.

~ paint something while listening to the above mentioned music.

~ sit on the floor cushions in the corner with a book (i'll think of which one, later) and fall asleep while reading it.

what i need to do today

• get work ready to show greg tomorrow
• finish those three book covers and submit them by tomorrow
• clean up the work desk
• darn some things
• forget the question asked in jest.

sigh!

i hate this painting i made two years ago.

.

Blue nude, Picasso

When conversations turn into soliloquies

Simple questions asked in jest
topic changed pronto
lest
I shudder
and utter
white truths
on black nights.

Took a while to reckon
the power of grey,
it beckons
to keep roaring silences meek
lest
the panoramas I seek
slowly but surely, leak.

Let it rest
we'll just talk in jest.

Crash boom, it sang

I want to listen to stories today.

The second half

My eyes
can see
images written in time
getting blurry.

Words fail me
as I write again.

I miss the sea.
I miss many things.

My past has become
glorious
in my present.

Let it grow white
let it get washed
away
by those very waves,
waterless waves,
that filled up my present
in the past.
let it get bleached out
in an all consuming white.

And then
I will
fade out
too.