Saturday, December 13, 2014

In my dream, part 55.02

In my dream, I am at a banquet meeting in a fancy corporate dining hall that reminds me more of one that might be found in a castle. I am at the head of the table and the department director is sitting next to me on my right. He is dark-haired, cut short, with a pointed, almost devilish-looking beard or goatee. Another, older man is standing behind us, giving a presentation. He is a tall man wearing a gray suit. As he is speaking, he puts a small salad plate in front of the director. It is full of colorful food, like cherry peppers, only smaller. As the man in the gray suit continues to speak, the director eats. When the director finishes eating, the man in the gray suit removes the plate.

Later, as the man in the gray suit continues to speak, he puts down another plate, this time of sliced pickles, in front of the director. Then one in front of me. Then the servers place one in front of everyone else in the hall. We all begin to eat. They are sweet pickles, like the bread and butter variety of which I am most fond.

As everyone eats, the man announces: "This is a sorting round!"

I suddenly realize this meeting is to determine who will be dismissed from the company. The room bursts into a rumble of excited exclamations and conversation. Then the man in gray says, "There is something that you should remember!"

I look over my shoulder at him, then at the director, then back to him and say, "One of us has had one more course than the others." The director's eyes bulge a little and the man in gray smiles.

"Tell them," he says, nodding to the rest of the people, still abuzz. "Tell them," he says again, loudly enough to get their attention.

"One of us has had one more course than the others," I say again, loudly.

The room bursts into outrage. Someone shouts that it was someone in particular, not the director, but I don't catch the name. Several men stand up from their places around the table and bolt from the room through the doors behind the foot of the table. They are going to another building on campus.

--o--

I long ago learned that if I remember a dream, my sleeping self is trying to send my waking self a message. There is something I've discovered that I need to know.

I don't know what to make of this, except that there seems to be some kind of "moment of truth" coming -- probably in my job -- and I should be watching out for it.

Monday, December 1, 2014

In my dream, part 55.01

In my dream, I am in the cafeteria at a mall and my friend Aaron is giving me a bunch of hand me down clothes. They are size XXL, but Aaron has never, ever, in the history of the world been that size in real life. I unfold a maroon polo and see on the black tag in the collar that its size is X(G). As I'm refolding a pair of khaki trousers, Stephen Fry and his wife come up to the table at which I'm sitting. I tell him that I hope he doesn't mind that Aaron gave me the clothes that he had given to Aaron.

Later, I'm entering the mall through one of the anchor stores -- it's a swanky store like Macys or Bloomingdales -- with my boyfriend on my way to work. He is wearing a white shirt and dress pants and has short blonde hair. (I have no idea who this man is in real life.) I walk past a mirror and see that I am wearing a short-sleeved white shirt with a silver name tag that identifies me as "John" and "Assistant Manager" of Musicland. As we're about to cross out of the store into the mall proper, I remind him that he will have to come pick me up after work at 12:45 in the morning. As we part, he turns around and walks back to through the store the way we came. He seems aggravated.

I walk down the mall; it is more like a library or city hall common area. As I start to pass a group of people sitting on benches on the left side of the mall, I recoginze one of the men as a former President of the United States. He is aged and has yellowed, stained teeth. He speaks with a Southern accent. I can't seem to place him though, eventually settling on President Humphrey for his identity.

At the far end of the mall is a throng of people listening to a man with a long beard, in black suit and black broad-rimmed hat speaking. He is talking about a murder trial and is remarking to the crowd -- who are apparently reporters and who are dressed for cold weather in 1940s fashion -- about how it didn't make sense for the murderer to use wax as the substance would easily imprison evidence.

--o--

I must be losing my mind.

Monday, July 14, 2014

In my dream

In my dream my ex-wife comes to visit, but she doesn't appear until the end. She has brought boxes containing many disassembled mechanical objects, but there is no explanation as to what they are. I begin assembling them while I watch TV. Once or twice, I try to turn off the TV, but there is an errant audio signal that remains for which I cannot find the source. It is dark out when I begin.

Later, because I'm rearranging furniture in my apartment -- not my current dwelling, I might add -- I have to partially disassemble one component, a tricky, complicated assembly that looks like it goes under something else to make it work.

Later still, when my ex-wife appears, she is mysterious. It is clear that she is ill, though she seems very robust. She says that what the device is will become clear and then spreads a large number of golden gear-like ornaments across the table. I'm still mystified of course, but then she produces a small wheel and affixes one of the ornaments as a covering for the hub bolt. It is a golden skull. I remark that I like it, and she says that she knew I would. 

With the introduction of the wheel to the picture, it's now clear that all of these components are part of a baby carriage. The gears are ornaments for the sides and hood. She asks me what I think the pattern should be, so I start o draw a very futuristic looking pram. She says, "That's enough!" at several points, half joking that my drawing is ludicrous, which it in fact is. It's also pink and blue.

I never got so far as drawing the pattern that I envisioned, but I knew it was going to be the Big Dipper and Polaris.

--o--

There were also a lot of fragments from last night: a gigantic interior space like a stadium, trying to drive home after what ever event I'd gone there for, going over a waterfall in the car. There were also many more details in the dream about my ex-wife, colors and textures, and furniture. Electronics stacked on a table. Writing on my computer on a desk that faced out the window of my living room. All of it was cast in a bluish, greenish light and felt sterile.

I have no earthly idea what I'm trying to tell myself this time. Any ideas?

Sunday, May 18, 2014

Dragonfly and Horse

In my dream, Dr. House is sitting with a young boy at a child-sized table and chairs. They are drawing pictures. House proclaims his to be a dragonfly, although it bears no resemblance to one -- or to anything, for that matter.

The boy replies, "Well, mine is a horse."

House then tells the boy, "Yours is a horse because a horse is a strong animal. You've also drawn the horse rearing up, so it's strength is apparent to anyone looking at it. Also, and this is important, if you add imagination to strength, the horse can fly. That's why you drew it with wings."

I awakened from the dream with a clear image of the boy's horse picture. House's drawing was just a scribble and -- because he's a pretentious ass -- he christened it with the most unlikely description he could think of.

Clearly, I'm watching far too much House on Netflix.

Monday, May 12, 2014

Twitter is dumb





Twitter is very, very dumb. I've been doing my very best to help it along over the last few days too. 

Every now and again (read: at least daily, oftentimes much more often), people tweet things that I think are ripe for parody. So I parody. While your mileage may vary, I am mightily amused. And easily.

Follow @Spinoolean and @JGabarronIV. No profanity!

Saturday, March 15, 2014

Beati omnes idibus Martiis

If people can go bonkers for ridiculous observances like "Pi Day," I can celebrate the orgy of blood and death that occurred in 44 B.C. when Julius Caesar was brutally murdered and the great Roman Empire was born.

What kind of tree does one decorate for this occasion? What cookie does one bake?

You know, but you won't tell me!

Sunday, March 9, 2014

The Fairy Feller

"He's a fairy feller."
~Freddie Mercury, "The Fairy Feller's Master Stroke," from Queen II

I had an idea to illustrate a favorite song's lyrics as a storybook. The song, written by Freddie Mercury for Queen, appeared on Queen II and is called "The Fairy Feller's Master Stroke." It is a delightful song, based on a painting of the same name by Richard Dadd. The painting itself is lush, filled with delightful fantasy figures caught in the act of celebration and debauchery.

I may yet go through with the project, but I'm caught in a lingering moment of doubt and strangeness. To create illustrations based on a song based on a painting seems...redundant somehow. I suppose artists have had stranger notions than this one though.

For the moment, that's all I have to say.

Sunday, February 2, 2014

Stoner Superbowl

I draw a commemorative poster for every Superbowl, but historically they've always been in the future. However, the potential for this year's model was just too good to resist.

Two states legalized marijuana for recreational use last year. Those same two states' football teams have achieved the Superbowl this year.

The Latin on the poster means, "Eat everything."

Go, team.

Sunday, January 12, 2014

In my dream, version 12

In my dream, I was touring a neighborhood near my dwelling. It was a bright and sunny day. The street was lined with neatly kept, single-storey homes, well-trimmed lawns, and middle-aged trees that were full, healthy, and green. There were a few people about, and a few cars parked in the street. I traveled first downhill on one street, turned right for a block, and then right again. This street was curved like an "S" and was uphill.

I was riding a unicycle.

Later, after dark, I came to a busy, four-lane street. I mounted my parked unicycle and darted across the street, being narrowly missed by two cars, one of them yellow.

Still later, I came out of a pub with my friends and, like you do after an evening at the bar, began scampering up and down the roof peaks of downtown residences. The other three got ahead of me and I fell down a skylight into the bathroom of a townhome. The skylight was about one foot square.

I came out into a hallway and surprised a woman who was home with her young son. She thought I was an intruder with malicious intentions, but I managed to say something that calmed her immediately down. I offered to draw her son a picture.

As I was contemplating the art I was about to make, the woman's husband came home and, seeing me, was outraged. I told him the first part of my story, about falling through the skylight, but he wasn't having any of it until the woman offered him an explanation that defused him. I thought, "Well, that's how I got in explained. Now for the rest."

After this, I became obsessed -- still in the dream -- with the picture I was going to draw: a gigantic Brontosaurus-like dinosaur surrounded by tiny, tiny trees.

When I left my new friends, my pub friends had just pulled up outside in their car, intent upon rescuing me from whatever trouble I'd gotten myself into.

When I woke up this morning, I thought that I should write these down. They were quite vivid. But between my bedside and the lavatory, they were gone. Forgotten. Then, a few minutes ago, I saw an image from the production for an opera where two men and a woman were on stage in their underwear, and that caused me to remember my dream, because also last night, after the events above...

In my dream, there was a young man in only a dress shirt, necktie, and socks on a stage.

Dreams are weird.

Tuesday, January 7, 2014

Obtuse


Monday, January 6, 2014

en•GENDER*

For a couple of years starting in 2007 or so, I decided to have a 15-minute creative action every day (please see Carol Lloyd's Creating a Life Worth Living). The project was to create a collage from found images on the internet to illustrate Merriam-Webster's Word of the Day.

The rule that I set for myself demanded that the only search term I could use was the word for that day, even for the text used in the image. This led to some later amendments for words that resulted in unusable images or no images at all, especially for the text ("grandiloquent" was one that I had to break up by syllable to find images of text). My searches also sometimes led to some unforeseeable ickiness: I don't remember the word, but my first search netted nothing but photos of open surgical wounds. Delightful.

I didn't miss a day for over two years, and at the beginning of the third, I decided to start creating my own images.

This change resulted in some interesting typography designs, a lot of them resembling Art Deco, of which I'm very fond. They were also often shockingly literal, which was and still is disappointing. But every now and then my imagination would fire in an unexpected way, as it did when the Word of the Day was "engender."

I'd forgotten about this illustration. I giggled a little when I saw it again after all this time.

Being easily amused is its own reward.

*Blogger didn't allow me to put the superscript "n" in the subject. Yes, I'm bitter.

Saturday, January 4, 2014

The Dark Knight


Wednesday, January 1, 2014

Noo Spinoolean Tarot - Darkness

I don't usually stay up this late, but I thought I'd see 2013 out and 2014 in. So far, I'm having trouble telling a difference.

This year, I pledge to:
  • Read the biographies I bought and take notes.
  • Fill my technical pens with ink and draw with them.
  • Say "Twenty-fourteen" instead of "Two-thousand-fourteen."
  • Get younger, thinner, richer, and taller.
That's good enough for starters. In truth, I have a ton of plans and lack the discipline to achieve them. But I aspire.

Happy New Year, Everybody!