I know, now, during this magnificent low, is the most important time to keep working. When you can't find a reason. That is reason enough to keep moving forward. And it's time I committed myself to something for longer than a couple of months. Something specific, I mean. So I will have a new graphic and a new clip for Clammr tomorrow by the afternoon. I slept a lot today because Doc and I were spatting at each other, so I could stay up for a few hours and do the work tonight.
I've figured out the interface of Adobe Audition enough to make cutting 18 second cuts out of the middle of audio poems is getting to be easy and flawless, I'm ready to start trying the "fade out" of the last half second of the clips. Just to punch them up a little and make the transition to the next clip easier on the ears. Since I never know what the next clip will be. I think they just run them with a random algorithm.
I don't know why I'm going all out on the graphics. I think I'm using this as an excuse to try out new techniques with Photoshop. I have no other real reason to make art on the computer. And I'm rusty on the Photoshop. I rely on expensive filter packs to do the busy work that I know how to do but don't want to bother with. That should not be so.
With two exceptions, the pictures I most like of my eyes are when I have the "crazy eyes". Something telling about that.
Doc went out to get taco seasoning because I was going to make Epic Nachos. He called about three minutes out and told me to meet him out front. It's spring, I don't wear pants, getting me out front takes an act of congress. I knew something was wrong. As he pulled up, I knew something was REALLY wrong, the big-ass truck sounded like it was running an industrial vacuum, over the normal sound of the engine. That was the bad noise. The noise it made before it broke down and had a tantrum on the freeway when we went to pick up Boomer. We have to get rid of the big-ass truck. We just don't want to put the $ into it to fix a truck that basically advertises a gang affiliation that we are not really claim to.
I'm hopefully waiting for a Fiat dealer to have a trade-in sale, but I've been waiting for that for a year. Doc wants a Honda or Toyota. We will be raped on finance charges, it won't be easy. Our insurance will quadruple, at least, plus the car payments with no credit rating. There used to be a place in town that advertised if they couldn't get you approved for financing, they would give you a car. They stopped doing that a couple of years ago. I guess they had to give away too many cars. Las Vegas isn't a known fab credit rating place.
I will miss the big-ass truck. I still miss my little red punk girl truck that we should have kept. It would probably still be running. We sold that before we left PA.
So, that's a grown up thing that we have to do. That we are in no way prepared to do. Why don't they teach this shit in high school? Finances for Grown Ups. How to do taxes, how to take care of your credit, how to buy a car, how to buy a house, how to rent a house or apartment. We need a little practical shit in with our Algebra and Chaucer.
My head (low blood sugar) and my butt (sciatica) are killing me and I'm in between sedatives, in a sort of pharmaceutical dead zone, so I took one of those blasted Tramadol, and will soon have a yogurt for the blood sugar issue. I kind of forgot to eat yesterday and today. See, we'd know if I was Diabetic, but I'll humor the cute RPN and get the blood work done. She pointed out that back surgery was the logical alternative. I'm not overly fond of that idea. As long as I know the pain isn't a sign of more damage being done, I can live with it. The whole "circuit running down my leg" thing is an interesting and not entirely unpleasant sensation.
I don't want to be a 46 year old hipster. There, I said it. I know of someone who has become one, and I ache for him. On the one hand, it's cool he found a "thing" to fit into. On the other hand, he's in his 40's. It's hard for me to keep saying I'm a punk rocker when I can't get near a mosh pit because my ribs crack when I cough hard. And I do things like call lawyers for help with the "system", I'm no longer fighting it with crass and brass. All I have left is my poetry and art.
Like my hand designed, one of a kind gay pride jewelry that's been for sale on ebay for nearly two years. I sell about two pieces a year. I don't even feel pride over my jewelry anymore.
Did I ever tell you why I left the poetry site I was all into? I got into a poetry discussion with someone who couldn't defend the piece we were discussing rationally, so he went and looked around at my site and saw the small bit of art I have up on it (mostly art journal pages), and then insulted it, using words I would ordinarily like applied to my work. And he was a so-called intellectual, and he went straight for the ad hominem. It bummed me out so much, that I just couldn't go there anymore, these were not the types of people I wanted to read my work, and it was killing me, reading their stuff. Teen angst and adult magic fairy worship. I just couldn't go back. Yeah, I'm a baby, but I just got a bad vibe from all of the people I interacted with there. I even left two contests I created un-judged. I have a feeling the people who entered left soon after I did.
This Tramadol is bumming me out.
I worked on rebuilding my play list last night. I got 94 songs. What takes time is that the songs are from discographies, so once they are copy/pasted, they have to be renamed. Time consuming, but it's worth it. I got through thr 00's and the 70's and stopped in the 80's at Joan Jett.