Gym? Gym who?

One of the only good things about starting up an exercise routine at the local gym is that it gives me a chance to check out some new music on the iPod. You know what an iPod is. It's that thing that you stick in your ears to drown out your bodies screams for mercy.

While getting a lesson in humility on how much I've let my exercise slip, I came across a song I hadn't thought about in awhile: Nick Cave's "One Red Hand". It's just slow enough that I should be able to do a pretty decent cover for it during my guitar recital. I was just about settled on "The Last Farewell", but was nervous because it requires strumming (which we haven't hit yet because the instructor is hooked on classical guitar methods), and it's got a pretty fast tempo.

This one is slow and sinister. Sort if reminds me of my car.

The Shadow Lab

I finished Cthulhu: Dark Corners of the Earth about three days ago, and to make space on my hard drive I deleted the program. I have some screen captures of paintings that may make nice pieces to rip off the walls, but hadn't decided on anything in particular yet.

Of course right away I got a call for art from The Lab. From the release:

"The Lab is seeking visual art, literary, and performance submissions for a group exhibition uncovering the shadow side of art.

Of particular interest are proposals that investigate negative astral correspondences in art history. We are looking for two- and three-dimensional pieces, video, installation, interactive, and experimental works involving anarchic local counter-culture rituals, nihilist esoterica, and an arcane aesthetic in general."

Argh! I just deleted the dang thing, and this would be perfect! Now I'm sure you'll agree that there isn't any such thing as 'negative astral correspondences' and stuff like that, but still if something is calling for dark art, Cthulhu is about as dark as it gets. I'll check it out further and see what pops up for ideas.

Why Is It Always The Crazy Ones?

You're probably reading this post from sometime pretty far into the future, so let me bring you up to speed. Someone flew a small plane into a government building today. He left a message on his website describing his actions for doing so.

Needless to say, it's being reported as 'rambling', which is the trademark phrase to describe all motives for people who engage in such activity.

However, why is it always the crazy ones that, well... kinda make a little sense? From his note:

"If you're reading this, you're no doubt asking yourself, "Why did this have to happen?" The simple truth is that it is complicated and has been coming for a long time. The writing process, started many months ago, was intended to be therapy in the face of the looming realization that there isn't enough therapy in the world that can fix what is really broken. Needless to say, this rant could fill volumes with example after example if I would let it. I find the process of writing it frustrating, tedious, and probably pointless… especially given my gross inability to gracefully articulate my thoughts in light of the storm raging in my head. Exactly what is therapeutic about that I'm not sure, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

We are all taught as children that without laws there would be no society, only anarchy. Sadly, starting at early ages we in this country have been brainwashed to believe that, in return for our dedication and service, our government stands for justice for all. We are further brainwashed to believe that there is freedom in this place, and that we should be ready to lay our lives down for the noble principals represented by its founding fathers. Remember? One of these was "no taxation without representation". I have spent the total years of my adulthood unlearning that crap from only a few years of my childhood. These days anyone who really stands up for that principal is promptly labeled a "crackpot", traitor and worse.

While very few working people would say they haven't had their fair share of taxes (as can I), in my lifetime I can say with a great degree of certainty that there has never been a politician cast a vote on any matter with the likes of me or my interests in mind. Nor, for that matter, are they the least bit interested in me or anything I have to say.

Why is it that a handful of thugs and plunderers can commit unthinkable atrocities (and in the case of the GM executives, for scores of years) and when it's time for their gravy train to crash under the weight of their gluttony and overwhelming stupidity, the force of the full federal government has no difficulty coming to their aid within days if not hours? Yet at the same time, the joke we call the American medical system, including the drug and insurance companies, are murdering tens of thousands of people a year and stealing from the corpses and victims they cripple, and this country's leaders don't see this as important as bailing out a few of their vile, rich cronies. Yet, the political "representatives" (thieves, liars, and self-serving scumbags is far more accurate) have endless time to sit around for year after year and debate the state of the "terrible health care problem". It's clear they see no crisis as long as the dead people don't get in the way of their corporate profits rolling in.

And justice? You've got to be kidding!

How can any rational individual explain that white elephant conundrum in the middle of our tax system and, indeed, our entire legal system? Here we have a system that is, by far, too complicated for the brightest of the master scholars to understand. Yet, it mercilessly "holds accountable" its victims, claiming that they're responsible for fully complying with laws not even the experts understand. The law "requires" a signature on the bottom of a tax filing; yet no one can say truthfully that they understand what they are signing; if that's not "duress" than what is. If this is not the measure of a totalitarian regime, nothing is.

How did I get here?

My introduction to the real American nightmare starts back in the early '80s. Unfortunately after more than 16 years of school, somewhere along the line I picked up the absurd, pompous notion that I could read and understand plain English. Some friends introduced me to a group of people who were having 'tax code' readings and discussions. In particular, zeroed in on a section relating to the wonderful "exemptions" that make institutions like the vulgar, corrupt Catholic Church so incredibly wealthy. We carefully studied the law (with the help of some of the "best", high-paid, experienced tax lawyers in the business), and then began to do exactly what the "big boys" were doing (except that we weren't steeling from our congregation or lying to the government about our massive profits in the name of God). We took a great deal of care to make it all visible, following all of the rules, exactly the way the law said it was to be done.

The intent of this exercise and our efforts was to bring about a much-needed re-evaluation of the laws that allow the monsters of organized religion to make such a mockery of people who earn an honest living. However, this is where I learned that there are two "interpretations" for every law; one for the very rich, and one for the rest of us… Oh, and the monsters are the very ones making and enforcing the laws; the inquisition is still alive and well today in this country.

That little lesson in patriotism cost me $40,000+, 10 years of my life, and set my retirement plans back to 0. It made me realize for the first time that I live in a country with an ideology that is based on a total and complete lie. It also made me realize, not only how naive I had been, but also the incredible stupidity of the American public; that they buy, hook, line, and sinker, the crap about their "freedom"… and that they continue to do so with eyes closed in the face of overwhelming evidence and all that keeps happening in front of them.

Before even having to make a shaky recovery from the sting of the first lesson on what justice really means in this country (around 1984 after making my way through engineering school and still another five years of "paying my dues"), I felt I finally had to take a chance of launching my dream of becoming an independent engineer.

On the subjects of engineers and dreams of independence, I should digress somewhat to say that I'm sure that I inherited the fascination for creative problem solving from my father. I realized this at a very young age.

The significance of independence, however, came much later during my early years of college; at the age of 18 or 19 when I was living on my own as student in an apartment in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. My neighbor was an elderly retired woman (80+ seemed ancient to me at that age) who was the widowed wife of a retired steel worker. Her husband had worked all his life in the steel mills of central Pennsylvania with promises from big business and the union that, for his 30 years of service, he would have a pension and medical care to look forward to in his retirement. Instead he was one of the thousands who got nothing because the incompetent mill management and corrupt union (not to mention the government) raided their pension funds and stole their retirement. All she had was social security to live on.

In retrospect, the situation was laughable because here I was living on peanut butter and bread (or Ritz crackers when I could afford to splurge) for months at a time. When I got to know this poor figure and heard her story I felt worse for her plight than for my own (I, after all, I thought I had everything to in front of me). I was genuinely appalled at one point, as we exchanged stories and commiserated with each other over our situations, when she in her grandmotherly fashion tried to convince me that I would be "healthier" eating cat food (like her) rather than trying to get all my substance from peanut butter and bread. I couldn't quite go there, but the impression was made. I decided that I didn't trust big business to take care of me, and that I would take responsibility for my own future and myself.

Return to the early '80s, and here I was off to a terrifying start as a 'wet-behind-the-ears' contract software engineer... and two years later, thanks to the fine backroom, midnight effort by the sleazy executives of Arthur Andersen (the very same folks who later brought us Enron and other such calamities) and an equally sleazy New York Senator (Patrick Moynihan), we saw the passage of 1986 tax reform act with its section 1706.

(snip)

"

Admittedly, you need to read the treatment to understand what it is saying but it's not very complicated. The bottom line is that they may as well have put my name right in the text of section (d). Moreover, they could only have been more blunt if they would have came out and directly declared me a criminal and non-citizen slave. Twenty years later, I still can't believe my eyes.

During 1987, I spent close to $5000 of my 'pocket change', and at least 1000 hours of my time writing, printing, and mailing to any senator, congressman, governor, or slug that might listen; none did, and they universally treated me as if I was wasting their time. I spent countless hours on the L.A. freeways driving to meetings and any and all of the disorganized professional groups who were attempting to mount a campaign against this atrocity. This, only to discover that our efforts were being easily derailed by a few moles from the brokers who were just beginning to enjoy the windfall from the new declaration of their "freedom". Oh, and don't forget, for all of the time I was spending on this, I was loosing income that I couldn't bill clients.

After months of struggling it had clearly gotten to be a futile exercise. The best we could get for all of our trouble is a pronouncement from an IRS mouthpiece that they weren't going to enforce that provision (read harass engineers and scientists). This immediately proved to be a lie, and the mere existence of the regulation began to have its impact on my bottom line; this, of course, was the intended effect.

Again, rewind my retirement plans back to 0 and shift them into idle. If I had any sense, I clearly should have left abandoned engineering and never looked back.

Instead I got busy working 100-hour workweeks. Then came the L.A. depression of the early 1990s. Our leaders decided that they didn't need the all of those extra Air Force bases they had in Southern California, so they were closed; just like that. The result was economic devastation in the region that rivaled the widely publicized Texas S&L fiasco. However, because the government caused it, no one gave a shit about all of the young families who lost their homes or street after street of boarded up houses abandoned to the wealthy loan companies who received government funds to "shore up" their windfall. Again, I lost my retirement.

Years later, after weathering a divorce and the constant struggle trying to build some momentum with my business, I find myself once again beginning to finally pick up some speed. Then came the .COM bust and the 911 nightmare. Our leaders decided that all aircraft were grounded for what seemed like an eternity; and long after that, 'special' facilities like San Francisco were on security alert for months. This made access to my customers prohibitively expensive. Ironically, after what they had done the Government came to the aid of the airlines with billions of our tax dollars … as usual they left me to rot and die while they bailed out their rich, incompetent cronies WITH MY MONEY! After these events, there went my business but not quite yet all of my retirement and savings.

By this time, I'm thinking that it might be good for a change. Bye to California, I'll try Austin for a while. So I moved, only to find out that this is a place with a highly inflated sense of self-importance and where damn little real engineering work is done. I've never experienced such a hard time finding work. The rates are 1/3 of what I was earning before the crash, because pay rates here are fixed by the three or four large companies in the area who are in collusion to drive down prices and wages… and this happens because the justice department is all on the take and doesn't give a fuck about serving anyone or anything but themselves and their rich buddies.

To survive, I was forced to cannibalize my savings and retirement, the last of which was a small IRA. This came in a year with mammoth expenses and not a single dollar of income. I filed no return that year thinking that because I didn't have any income there was no need. The sleazy government decided that they disagreed. But they didn't notify me in time for me to launch a legal objection so when I attempted to get a protest filed with the court I was told I was no longer entitled to due process because the time to file ran out. Bend over for another $10,000 helping of justice.

So now we come to the present. After my experience with the CPA world, following the business crash I swore that I'd never enter another accountant's office again. But here I am with a new marriage and a boatload of undocumented income, not to mention an expensive new business asset, a piano, which I had no idea how to handle. After considerable thought I decided that it would be irresponsible NOT to get professional help; a very big mistake.

When we received the forms back I was very optimistic that they were in order. I had taken all of the years information to Bill Ross, and he came back with results very similar to what I was expecting. Except that he had neglected to include the contents of Sheryl's unreported income; $12,700 worth of it. To make matters worse, Ross knew all along this was missing and I didn't have a clue until he pointed it out in the middle of the audit. By that time it had become brutally evident that he was representing himself and not me.

This left me stuck in the middle of this disaster trying to defend transactions that have no relationship to anything tax-related (at least the tax-related transactions were poorly documented). Things I never knew anything about and things my wife had no clue would ever matter to anyone. The end result is… well, just look around.

I remember reading about the stock market crash before the "great" depression and how there were wealthy bankers and businessmen jumping out of windows when they realized they screwed up and lost everything. Isn't it ironic how far we've come in 60 years in this country that they now know how to fix that little economic problem; they just steal from the middle class (who doesn't have any say in it, elections are a joke) to cover their asses and it's "business-as-usual". Now when the wealthy fuck up, the poor get to die for the mistakes… isn't that a clever, tidy solution.

As government agencies go, the FAA is often justifiably referred to as a tombstone agency, though they are hardly alone. The recent presidential puppet GW Bush and his cronies in their eight years certainly reinforced for all of us that this criticism rings equally true for all of the government. Nothing changes unless there is a body count (unless it is in the interest of the wealthy sows at the government trough). In a government full of hypocrites from top to bottom, life is as cheap as their lies and their self-serving laws.

I know I'm hardly the first one to decide I have had all I can stand. It has always been a myth that people have stopped dying for their freedom in this country, and it isn't limited to the blacks, and poor immigrants. I know there have been countless before me and there are sure to be as many after. But I also know that by not adding my body to the count, I insure nothing will change. I choose to not keep looking over my shoulder at "big brother" while he strips my carcass, I choose not to ignore what is going on all around me, I choose not to pretend that business as usual won't continue; I have just had enough.

I can only hope that the numbers quickly get too big to be white washed and ignored that the American zombies wake up and revolt; it will take nothing less. I would only hope that by striking a nerve that stimulates the inevitable double standard, knee-jerk government reaction that results in more stupid draconian restrictions people wake up and begin to see the pompous political thugs and their mindless minions for what they are. Sadly, though I spent my entire life trying to believe it wasn't so, but violence not only is the answer, it is the only answer. The cruel joke is that the really big chunks of shit at the top have known this all along and have been laughing, at and using this awareness against, fools like me all along.

I saw it written once that the definition of insanity is repeating the same process over and over and expecting the outcome to suddenly be different. I am finally ready to stop this insanity. Well, Mr. Big Brother IRS man, let's try something different; take my pound of flesh and sleep well.

The communist creed: From each according to his ability, to each according to his need.

The capitalist creed: From each according to his gullibility, to each according to his greed.

Joe Stack (1956-2010)"

-resuming comments:

Look, I'm not going to make the typical "while I don't condone his actions..." speech. I'm just going to say that from what I can tell the guy wasn't specifically wrong about anything. It would be one thing if he was convinced that aliens were controlling his thoughts through telepathy. But he didn't say anything like that. Essentially, he decided he couldn't live with the current state of society, and saw just living as a twisted validation of the right for the structure to exist. His complaints and concerns aren't necessarily wrong really.

So I don't know. Why is it always the crazy ones that seem to have some good points to make?

The Webmaster Tarot

You know, there's a reason that paintings shouldn't be done in one day. One of the nice benefits is that it gives you a chance to stumble upon new techniques and new effects as you're madly splashing the paint around the canvas which has suddenly turned into the texture of a damp sponge.
Of course, there are times when you don't want to spread your artistic wrings by dealing with painting crisis after crisis. Sometimes you just want the painting done and over with.

This is one of those times.

Because of a variety of factors, I was supremely pressed for time on this project. This is my entry into the "99 Bucks" show in Palm Springs. Earlier this week I had the idea of making a new tarot card with a figure of a computer technician. I'll be the first to say this isn't the most revolutionary idea I could have come up with, but at the same time it's ripe with possibilities for creativity. After kicking around the idea a bit more I decided to do a card for "The Webmaster", where I'd paint a heroic figure floating before a pyramid of icons representing various social networking apps. Of course, I started painting earlier this evening, and the deadline is TODAY! AH!

Well, it actually made it under the wire. But barely. I'm pretty happy with this painting. If I had some more time I'd have cleaned it up but as it stands now I think it looks pretty sweet. I still am planning on creating a new Tarot deck sometime in the future, but this is a nice start! The painting itself is 5" X 7", so there's not much room for detail. Since I was rushing, I cheated and used ink to put some fine detail in.

Next time I'll let it dry before adding the gloss top coat. Sigh. See that fuzzy cape he's wearing? It's not supposed to be fuzzy. It's the ink bleeding into the acrylic. Yes, it's a cool effect and can likely be used in multiple other paintings. But I don't want that in this one!

I tidied the paint up a few minutes ago with Gouache but I'm still grinding my teeth. So close to what I want! But close enough that I'm entering it into the show. If anyone asks, I'll say it's deliberate. I'll say that since the main character is nude he was cold and needed a fuzzy cape.

I become a movie mutant?

Two things I know about the movie Hirokin:

1) It a poor man's Hercules.

2) It has mutants.

The first bit of knowledge came to me while watching the online trailer for the movie. It's pretty bad, no doubt about it. That's not a value call either, I'm not saying that it's a wretched movie which contaminates the audience and everyone who comes into contact with the film. The graphics aren't that hot and the scenery is dreary. But it does have hotties in cute slave-girl outfits which makes up for a lot.

Secondly, they had an open casting call in VV for mutants. Now I'm up for a groaner of a film more often than not, and the chance to be in front of the camera for one of them is just too much temptation to pass up. Sure, I'd play window dressing for a historical drama, but the idea of shambling around the desert covered in scars while the hero looks wistfully off into the distance if just awesome. Good grief. How could I say no?
So I threw on my post-apocalyptic best and made my way down to the casting call to have my photo taken.

The movie is off to a rough start in VV because of the recent rain. They were planning on shooting in the dry lakes around here that it never occured to anyone that they might be muddy planes due to the rain and snow that hit the area last week. I don't hold them responsible. Who on earth would bet money that it would rain up here.
But it has, and it did. And right now the dry lake beds look less like a horrific vision of the future and more like a healing mud sauna. So they're giving it a month before shooting to let the place dry out before moving the mutants in.

I'll post when it happens.

Another Day, Another Artistic Deadline

The Palm Springs Art Museum does something pretty cool put on by the Artists Council. The name of the event is 99 Bucks.
The philosophy is simple. Small blank canvas' are passed around to a wide variety of folks who do something creative with them. The artwork is then gathered together and displayed at the gallery unsigned and anonymous. All artwork is sold for a flat rate of $99.
There are two main twists.

First off, no one is sure who painted what. Famous people participate in this event, so each work has a chance of having been done by a known public figure.
Secondly, not all of the famous people are known for their art. So there's an equal chance that a certain work will be painted by Ringo Starr, Angelina Jolie, or Mr. Snuffles the painting cat.

So while it is intimidating to have something displayed alongside a well known artist, I think I can hold my own against Ringo. Heck, I'll even give Mr. Snuffles a run for his money.

What I'm really concerned about is the fact that the canvas is small and rough. Each canvas only measures about 5"x7", which means the image is going to be pretty small. So this will need lots of fine detail to keep it from being a collection of paint smudges. However, this is being painted on normal canvas, which is a rough surface that actually swallows fine lines and detail work. Somehow I'm going to have to not only come up with a fitting image, but use some technique that will allow me to show complex details on a grainy surface.

In two weeks.

Cthulhu Success!

Yes! Cthulhu : The Dark Corners Of The Earth does have paints worth ripping off the walls! I really wasn't sure that was going to be the case. The images are about 2/3rds of the way through the game when the player investigates the Marsh house during a raid lead by Hoover. Yes, THAT Hoover.
Up to this point, all the paintings were in and around Innsmouth, and invariably moody and dramatic, but unfortunately completely unsuitable for painting. Washed out black and white photographs are great for setting the despairing tone of the town, but a drag to paint.
With great good luck, the horrible Marsh family has enriched themselves with occult gold, and have thereby furnished their crumbling mansion with images more lending themselves to the brush.
I'm still not sure which one's I'll paint, but I've got three or four to choose from and will post them later on.
I'm very happy about this because it looked like there wasn't going to be any good souvenirs to be had after an extremely unsettling and creepy adventure. Getting out with your sanity intact is fine and everything, but a painting would be ideal!