My one dollar set of 573 stickers, purchased on an impulse at a Dollar Store, has received an alarming amount of use thus far. At first, I could use my stickers for things the enabled me to keep my fey "above the fray" view of stickers. I designed that nervousness.org exchange in which I asked to send a poem in "an envelope decorated with silly stickers".
This morning, though, I become concerned that a form of cuteness alien to my usual being has crept in. I hope that any kind reader of my journal has long ago realized that I am an extremely average, non-cute person. When I walk, sparkly things do not seem to exude from me the way that they do from anyone cute. Yet, when I am less than thrilled with the sketch and slogan I placed on the reverse side of the neat photo of a fish swimming in coral that I am mailing to a postcardxer, what could be more natural than slapping a tiny gator sticker and a tiny snail sticker right there on the card? When another postcardxer asks in her self-description to receive stickers, I happily oblige. I affix an elephant exlaiming "Hip Hooray!", as well as a red and black spotted leopard who says, as leopards are wont to do, "Amazing" in red lettering. Instead of the letter "o" in the recipient's name on the address portion of the card, it is but the work of a moment to affix little circle stickers containing blue, rather fancifully shaped penguins. On the photo on the other side, a hatband is completed with a seahorse, an earring becomes a honeybee, and someone's shirt acquires a mystery butterfly.
The odd thing is that while I am perfectly willing to look down on myself for sending stickers, I actually somewhat enjoy receiving a few stickers. A regal tuxedoed frog or a smiling star can make a bit of whimsy more, well, whimsical. I am not quite yet ready to change my bio to say "please send stickers", but stickers are well short of water torture for me. So somewhere in my self-sticker-editing is some deep message for me about self-image, sticker-consciousness, and just what it is I've pasted to my soul. The message eludes me, though, and I am hopeful it will be appended onto an adhesive sticker I receive ere this mortal coil bounces me about just like a slinky. I used to love slinkys. What could be more natural than a spring, of no use other than to just be a spring? The Zen of Slinky. I like that idea. I am someone who, like many, finds Zen fascinating. I am probably the least zen-like person that I know. But if I could design my own line of stickers, I'd have an anteater that says "Wicked Zen, Man!". You might puzzle why I'd add the "man", because that is an affectation that those of my generation always scoff at a bit, as being rather a hippie way of speaking (though it can sound charming from someone ten years older or fifteen years younger than I am). But you have to realize, anteaters use a slightly different dialect than you or I might.
I'm cleaning up my art room from chaotic to merely sadly disordered, in anticipation of scottm coming over to help me do some recording. My vast array of rhythm instruments, diatonic keyboards, kazoos and electric football fields is at the ready. I like that old Brian Eno saw about how mistake and accident are an essential part of the recording process. One should incorporate and not start over as to any mistake. I have not yet worked out what one does if the entire enterprise is a mistake.
My fifty state stamps has state birds on the back. 6 states have the cardinal for a state bird. 6 states have the mockingbird. My favorite state bird is Utah--the California seagull. That's because this bird has a historical story. When Utah was still struggling to get off the ground, a huge plague of locusts beset the saints. Then a miracle took place. Seagulls came and ate the locusts. I saw this really cool statue once in Salt Lake City commemorating the event. In Arkansas and Texas, the two states I consider home,the state bird is the mockingbird. I love mockingbirds, but, let's face it, all they really do well is mock.
I began reading Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain. I hope I can draw on whatever side of the brain I need to draw upon to learn to draw.