tonight I went to my first strip club (I've been to the claremont lounge but that place is in a league of its own) the pink pony is a real strip joint equipped with at least 20 fine looking women. I was suckered into a couple lap dances from a hot young Gypsy named Bianca. she was one of the few with real tits. i got to feel my first fake tits. they belonged to a tall and stacked woman named Mimi. all in all it was a good night, good food at Dante's (wasn't it the 2nd level of lustful hell I'm doomed to?) on the pirate ship then on to stripper hell/heaven whatever. I'm a bit inebriated so I'll sign off now.

When I'm all down on myself you're there but when I ask bout sumptin kinda happy it's like.... where is everybody? Regardless I still miss you damn yankees, and who knows hodown, I may be coming your way... maybe. I'm about to make another video... one i promised an organization. It in memory of an action figure... Bruce. I lost him in Portland

PS
did anybody watch the maypop video? look at the little title opener i made for it.

Dagblastit
by Casey McKinney

Hung almost 5 times before bothering
to get to know you. I tend to avoid
looking at the work of people I dig.
So often the shit sucks (then there you are).
But as I told Ben today, I'm perplexed,
because the mix you have is just too much:
Country yet modern. Weird yet not crazy.
Pretty, but thankfully are not perfect.
Spent a year trying hard to gigolo,
not get snagged, sucked in, or whipped as they say,
but damnit, think you've done it. Another
Georgian too. What's up with that? Peaches
of death will grab my one good testicle.
They'll squeeze too and laugh - that's what I figure.


Sounds about right... but I can't be objective. What do you (e:strip)pers think? Does this poem stand on its on? and what's up with the not perfect? hah, I've been watching Dr. 90210 so I know quests for physical perfection are serious concerns for many folks. Some of those folks are nuts. This woman on there today wanted to have a big old diamond placed right under her skin on her arm, this on account of the fact she'd become more active and couldn't wear it all the time. Reminds me of Egyptian Pharaohs gettin' buried with all their things when they die. Somehow the burial before death seems worse. The doctor wouldn't do it so the woman just had some cellulite dug up with metal sticks. crazy.
here's a link to more of Casey's poetry. I don't like poetry an awful lot but Casey knows that.

This flower (Passiflora incarnata)



produces a fruit. I found one of these fruits in the woods yesterday, kind of strange finding fruit in November. I'd never seen this fruit before so I thought it was an exciting find. I thought it could have been lepracaun stool ( ).
My Mama called it a maypop. Apparently this plant helps with all kilnd of ailments, including sleeplessness and PMS .
I made my find into a video. It's a boring video, I guess. Kiah didn't like it. here's the link anyway

It strange that I get so excited from finding food in the woods. It makes me realize how capitalism commodifies the most basic things and makes naturally occurring things seem untrustworthy. Yes, I was afraid to eat the fruit but I did save the seeds. The pod was full of seeds. The fruit had a lime outside and a pumpkin inside.

I got fed up and walked out of the house. I wanted to go down a grown up path in the woods but Kiah followed me, a five-year-old in flip-flips. I told her to go back in the house but what is television compared with tagging along after your "crazy aunt Robin?" I worried about the briars and brambles finding their way into the open parts of the Kiah's shoes but I was determined to continue my original pursuit despite being shadowed by a child. She asked me, "Do you even know where you're going?" I looked down at my house shoe clad feet and I realized that indeed I did not. I asked her "Do you know where you are going?" She said, "Yes, I'm following you."

My Dad and Grandpa.


Grandpa with a fatter man

Welcome to the Gothic South
A picture of Grandpa's grave taken in May 1956


Same grave... with Granny added. I found this picture on my Lil cousin Taryn's myspace page.


My Granny looking younger than I've ever seen her look. She may be holding my Aunt Wink.


Wink and Dash with other mill town kids.


My Aunt Wink and Aunt Dash in 1948 I think.


Wink and Dash, my Granny made the white dress.


Mabye McGee? my Granny's brother who died on the beaches in 1944.


Aunt Wink with my Daddy, I think. Wink was in her 2nd year at Duke when her Dad died. Wink's Mom (my Granny) had a nervous breakdown and Wink moved home to help... I think. All this shit happened before me, you know?




I want to work with these images but some of them are so strong on their own, like the one of Wink and my Dad. I would really like to make this family history into a documentary but a documentary that wouldn't alienate people who arn't so affected by the stories as , oh lets say... the filmmaker. hehe
I'm not sure how old stories and old pictures affect my life but I know they have. I feel like it's something that needs to be shared in a throughtful orignal way. It's going to take work... lots of work. My two Aunts, Wink and Dash, are in poor health these days. Wink is about 80 and Dash is a little younger.

It was weird finding a box of my Granny's things. I found her old costume jewelry and it brought up a memory sharp as a knife. When I was a child I loved more than anything, to ramble. I would get in trouble with my Mama for going through every cupboard and drawer I could reach.
Now one day I was going through my Granny's costume Jewelry. My Granny doted on me an my sister so it wasn't a big deal, until... I came across this necklace.



I decided that the locket was one of the most beautiful things I'd ever seen so I promptly went into the living room and asked my Granny if I could have it after she died. This was good logic on my part because I figured no one would want to part with such a lovely trinket while they were living. My dear old Granny didn't see it that way. I can't remember what she said I just know she was pissed off. I learned that is is not considerate to remind elderly people of their impending death, no matter how much you crave a certain commodity.

The moral delima now is... do I take the locket?
look here how my Granny adored me.

I was just reading a job call for someone to teach Transformative Language Arts at Goddard College. I've VERY interested in the job, more so than any other post I've read about but I'm not sure if I'm what they're looking for.
Thanks to all of you for the job advice. the quarterlifecrisis.com site made me feel a bit better about my situation. but Vincent I can't really borrow a book when I'm in Georgia!
back to Transformative Language Arts, I wonder if my involvement in this site could count toward that. I've been participating in this Transformative Language Arts project for quite a while. I hope some of the things I write are at least a little insightful. I do enjoy oral history and I've tried to make use of it with this video and this one I don't think they help to change society much... more so they reflect on it. Guess I'm not there yet.
I'm planning on scanning tonight. I found my long departed Granny's old photo album. I'd like to work with the images by incorporating them in with modern day video of her old mill town. I was looking at the pictures of my nieces from Halloween the other night and thinking about how much documentation has changed since the first half of the 20th century. maybe I'll post a few images later tonight.

I'm starting to go insane. I need a job. I need a job. I need a job. I don't want to work! ahhhemmm, Labor!

fuck it!
anything is better than living in my parent's house. Jesus give me the strength! offff god damn like I'm a christian. I'm freaking out. Yeah, I look pretty god damn calm sure but inside I'm freaking!


I need to know. How do y'all go about getting jobs?
The university has ruined me! ruined ruined ruined. You would think that a 25 yr old with an MFA may have a bright future but out of the 100+ places I've sent my resume to I've had three interviews (all in Brooklyn) and gotten one job (at a coffee shop) but by then I was on the way to Portland.


If I hear my brother give me the being an artist is like being a professional bass fisher (his dream) analogy one more time I'm going to shoot myself in the fucking head.
If you were a good fisher you could live off your fucking fish. Who cares about the millions won in tournaments? is that what makes one a successful fisher? Idiot!

anyway.... any tips that you peeps have for me, as in, how I can get a fucking job. What is the right attitude, what is the right way to go about it, what should I do to this good damn web site to make it commercially viable and so on, some alternative career solution,please let me know.
(e:Jenks), I have a fascination for medical imaging, can you tell me more about that? I would really just like to do my own brain scanning experiments in my (imaginary thus far) studio but maybe there is a job that would make that goal more practical. It's interesting how the brain reacts to different stimuli, images and other sensory shit.



so don't get me wrong. I love my family but it's to much for me living with them. to high stress makes me depressed.

Kiah is going through an "I'm telling" phase. It is bad considering how I love to pick on her. She just went and told my Mom that I refuse to help her get her cat toy out of the tree. Before that she told on me for not giving her the cat toy when she demanded it. Of course she had no interest in the toy until I picked it up. I don't understand that. It's programmed into her. She doesn't like something until someone else wants it.
It reminds me of how guys say that girls are interested in guys with girlfriends over single guys. I got into a little verbal tiff with a friend about that subject a couple weeks ago. He argued that's it's a stability and security thing but I think, assuming that is the case, it must be something more primal, similar to the impulse that makes Kiah pitch a fit for something she's discarded the minute someone else shows interest in it.


Other than that...
A couple days ago upon waking I was lying around in the bed. The dog hopped up with me and I laid her on her back, tucked her in and started rubbing her belly. Then I started singing:
"That's my job, that's what I do
Everything I do is because of you
To keep you safe with me...
That's my job you see."


About that time my sister popped her head in the room and started laughing, rhetorically exclaiming "You're singing Conway Twitty to the dog?"