August 22nd, 2002

abstract butterfly

Mail art and simple kindness

heymaggie sent me the coolest copy of a self-portrait she did some years ago. It was a wonderful indirect reminder that I want to send something to the butterfly art mail art call she posted lately. Of course, I also need to get all my nervousness exchanges done--I was relieved to see on a review of my "your page" that while I have a palpable few, they are largely solvable, and I have been chipping away at them. Of course, I have not one but two things to mail to gregwest98, one of which is actually ready to mail, but in the sad way I have managed to handle this, I've had a package in my car for months which lacks only postage, taping and an address to get into the mailbox. I hate that notion that I treat one of my oldest friends so poorly. But then that reminds me of the sealed envelope to voodoukween which has ridden similarly sealed but unmailed for weeks. For someone who likes to pontificate about keeping commitments, I sure need to keep a few. Especially when the mails the last few weeks have brought so many simple kindnesses. I do not think of myself as an exotic orchid or a particularly verdant iris, but I sure bloom my own little bit of prairie weed bloom in the face of such kindness. Yet my seeds seem planted among the rocky soil of a very stressful work schedule right now, and I need to get them into the damn fertile soil and out in the mail. But right now, I must focus on work again!
abstract butterfly

Better to be a correspondent in Hell than a silent prince on Earth

The best way to solve this Nervousness.org exchange deficit is to mail. Late night hand drawn picture of Texas weeds in a scorching yellow sun--be off to bashibazouk, way out in Ireland. I release you from the bondage of my home, and send you, like Moses, among the bulrushes of the world! Still, no matter how much mail art I send, I will never be as cool as the character which Bill Murray plays in the movie Tootsie.
Redwire Station

in my personal hell

We are all chaffeur-driven in long SUV limousines, which sideswipe bicyclists without remorse, and whose radios are constantly set on misogynist raps. We are escorted into loud, smoky bars, where women in stiletto heels tell us that we should not wear glasses, as they make us look intellectual.

In the afterlife we learn all the secrets we failed to "get" on the earthly plane--"coach WAS always right", "you WILL go to hell for this", and "if you keep your head in a book all day, you'll never get ANYWHERE". Except Hell really is somewhere, sort of.

In Hell the cubicles are identical, and desktop figurines are forbidden. Virtually everything is forbidden in Hell, except team spirit. In Hell there is so much team spirit we all groan in unison. Data entry is really big in Hell, but the commute takes longer than the work day. Television in Hell is really not that different than television on earth.

In Hell, one always gets to have the last word, and then has nausea afterward. In Hell, one can be a true pioneer, plunging aimlessly through the brambles. In Hell, family values are important, and sold on the open marketplace as often as possible. In Hell, all social problems, for that matter, are trusted to an open and free market. Psychologists in Hell focus a lot on dreams, because Hell produces some impressive nightmares.

Britney Spears is very big in Hell, and all the losers there say:
"man, she is HOT". In Hell, Audrey Hepburn stars in the life of
Jennifer Love Hewitt on the Hellishlifetime Channel. In Hell, people love Mall Rats and hate Dogma. Aside from films, though, dogma is pretty popular. Hell has more churches than anywhere other than Las Vegas. They have charming pederast preachers who preach a lot of fire and brimstone. Gambling is legal in Hell--but the odds are damned favorable to the house.

The smokestacks in Hell are pungent, but the odor reminds some people of cigars, and others of old shoes in the rain. In Hell everyone is really good at a quick retort, but nobody remembers to kiss a loved one goodbye. In Hell, everyone can draw, but all the pictures look the same. Culture Club released its 50th album, but the band members are all fourteen year olds now, prefabricated like Menudo.

Hell is filled with certainties and cutting wit. In Hell, she told you so, and didn't you realize it could never be? In Hell, the Republicans win every election, but anarchists knock out the air conditioning all the time.

I dreamed I woke up in Hell, but it turned out it was only CNN.
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