Dear Joe

boogadda boogadda boogadda!

dear melissa

some stop-animation, puppetry, etc. for your love

warming you up



Sugar Skull by Paul Alexander Thornton

dear melissa

I try

I am not a writer. I am the type of person who wants to be. My father is that type of person too. I am because he is, maybe he was because his father was. However, despite my lack of talent for writing it still does me good. First of all it feels good. Catharsis (I like to use words like that) through pen on paper, it makes me feel like a deep clearing breath, like when my figurative heart is all torn up and the ship has sailed or I missed the boat or I am late for a very important date.

People reach my words. They walk up and touch them. Not the writers really, not, especially, the good writers. And it is not a self-depreciating thing because I appreciate me, my effort, my spirit of refusal to submit and then sometimes (just sometimes) my submitting.

Mostly I fall short because I try to capture the truth. The elusive truth. The truth you can only experience (for people like me), but cannot write. But I do try. I try until I am tired and exhausted and feel a caffeine-like crash and must sleep or run or eat a lot of food. And when it is all over (whatever 'it' is), it feels better, at least for me and maybe for you too. If you too that is a miracle and I believe in those as hard as I can.

Dear Joe

Fried Chicken for 40, Cole Slaw, 20 lbs of Potato Salad, five dozen Buttermilk Biscuits. All from scratch.

Your move.

Dear Joe

A rare one, better than most, one of my favorites, I pull his thin volumes from my pile of dollar-minis, I send this to you.

http://penrod-pulaski.livejournal.com/53732.html

dear melissa

Publish Post
http://www.underwatersculpture.com/

this is something Id love my name to be associated with, I guess Im going to learn how to do some sculpting

Dear Joe

RIGHT HERE

dear melissa

I want to be your weave

Dear Joe

GOOD GRAVY pt 1
THIS right here. Let's bookmark it for the next, hm, 3.5 months.


GOOD GRAVY pt 2
i freaking made this swiss sauce

you want the recipe, don't you.

dear melissa

MARCEL THE SHELL WITH SHOES ON from Dean Fleischer-Camp on Vimeo.

Melissa......stop animation coming soon.....soooooooon!

Dear Joe

Here it is here it is here it is here it is!

http://vimeo.com/10066407

yessssssssssssssssssss

dear melissa

an entirely new era

Dear Joe

I need a new wallet.

dear melissa

just for reference here is what happened during our conversation last night:

Melissa: yeppers, although with this hangover i dunno, that little dago is out for my blood i start working for him at the end of the month, after kelly leaves

Me: There should always be at least one dago who is out for your blood around

Melissa: that's like a barometer for whether or not you're living a full lifedoes a dago want ur blood? good, you're having a good time

Me: ahahahaand yes, it should. though if you are the dago should someone still want your blood and if so who?

Melissa: i cant answer these complicated italian questions, dont you have a Mario bros handbook around somewhere

Dear Joe

look at this shit

http://www.flickr.com/photos/melissastanley727/4743309413/

it's all about the tags, and what the hell.

pink floyd
wish u were here

dear melissa

The common man he wants to grow

But he does not know

What he does not know

He seeks the vestige of his friends

With little faith that hearts will mend

He writes this sobby dribble trash

Making him all more the ass

His hands get rough and head less dense

While wishes and dreams lose all sense

The common man he wants to grow

He tells his Father, he tells the road

The common man I thought was not me

But I did not see, I did not see

The common man he wants to grow

But he does not know

He does not know

Dear Joe

I thought this would amuse you.

A food-community on the old LiveJurnalz is accepting applications for moderators. This was part of my application submission:


Q: Why should we pick you out of everyone who applied?
A: This week I baked eleven loaves of bread, studied thai cooking ingredients, read My Life in France AND the new Bourdain book (medium raw) (twice), stole a case of wine off a boat, and replanted my balcony herb garden. I know the difference between this community and (another, similar community), and what is appropriate for each. I think people who only want traffic to their personal blog are a pain, that's not community. I believe that excessive use of the term "om nom nom" is a crime. Food porn is exactly that - it's porn. It should arouse and inspire, and occasionally be slightly disturbing. And lastly, I know how to create a f***ing lj-cut. I've been using lj for 10 years.

dear melissa

I tumbled about you, I honor you :o)

a few months ago one of the greatest influences and friends and loves of my life, Melissa Sue Stanley packed up her life and moved to Switzerland. To a tiny town nestled in the mountains filled with the most amazing cheeses, breads, etc.

we stay in touch as one does with a close friend. We write letters, we skype, we email and facebook status update and share a blog exclusively for keeping up with one another. I do not typically share these letters on this blog because it is such a very different format.

Dear Melissa I miss you greatly you. You have taken with you to this new land a piece of me. One that I was happy to give up to see what you could mold it into. Whisper it secrets and great truths and then I can come pick it up or you can mail it to me and I will be better again.

The year has been a carousel of transition, but it stops every now and again and we can try to stand on our feet and see what change has transpired. And if we remain still enough we an actually see some of our struggle, our pain, or losses spin off with the wind.

Letting go....oof....not the best thing I do and yet it has become one of my strongest lessons and best assets Ive ever acquired. Of course I am still learning.

Layers and layers of messaging. This is written for Melissa, for Maggie, for my Father and Mother and Sister, and for you. You know who you are right? Beyond our limited capacity to see and experience the world is a that great, great open universe in which we are all connected. Doors open and close, carousels start and go. We are all full of fits and starts and perhaps I am now embarking on my next.

Just listen to the melody of the carousel, get lost for a minute, step carefully and hold someones hand, smile, it will be all too soon before the ride is over.

dear melissa

Domesticity Isn’t Pretty

My father told me he would always help me find my way home. I have reached a point in my life where I would like to or perhaps need to build my own home. I miss the idea that used to visit me of bringing to life my own family. It seems to have taken a temporary vacation. Tickets for a return trip are scarce. I suppose that is what happens when we deconstruct our identities. I begin to see a sad boarded up house, wood planks blocking the windows, broken down car in the driveway, weeds overtaking everything.

I used to keep a list in my wallet titled “Good Thought: In Case of Emergency.” I pulled that out tonight and it read:

1. Keep playing the game, just keep playing the game.
2. Driving down the highway, in traffic, do not switch lanes. Have patience, things will begin to move at the right speed again.
3. Listen to Amsterdam music, close your eyes and go there.
4. Sing everything you know.
5. Write until you hands cannot work anymore.
6. Run until your legs cannot work anymore.
7. Think of all the people who love you, write down their names and why.
8. Remember you have to let go a little sometimes if you want people to come back.
9. Go to a bookstore.

I realized I’d written that list almost 10 years ago when I was just coming to terms with my sexual identity.

I am not a crier. I wish I could. Thoughts of my family can sometimes induce tears, but they are almost always stifled by an unconscious resistance. As I read through the list I began relating to that scared and pressurizing feeling I felt at 15, eyes welled up, maybe I let one tear escape, sniffle, sniffle, cough and resume control.

I then thought of that home again, seeing now piles of lumber and hammers, nails and screw (all neatly organizes of course). The silhouetted figures of a husband and a kid and a dog (okay, Samson was definitely there too).. One piece of furniture to move in, my first real kitchen table.

My hands are ready for the labor. I am ready to make the first strike now. Bruising, scraped, swollen thumb be damned (I am not too good at the construction thing), but it will be my own home.

And you will come to visit. Will you come to visit? And you will sit at my kitchen table. And maybe you can help me build it stronger, make improvements here and there. And you, you will give it the name ‘home.’ And all of you will bring me home..