Making a small part of your life a Country Western Song in 2 very EASY steps….

From the MInd of the Manic

5.5.02

                                                          “Confessions of a River Dancer” ©2013, Robert Redus

“There probably aren’t a lot of actors my age who tap dance.” – Christopher Walken

there is always that point of recall…you know…that place where we can say it all began…John Anderson…the country western singer said… “It all started at a corner table, sipping on a Jack and Coke, and when the sun found us the next morning, we were acting like married folk” 

so some truth does exist that we might have an inkling of what is yet to come….I mean if you grew up in the 1970’s…went to a bar on a Friday night…chances are what you wanted just very well might have happened….wether it was drugs…trips to Albania in a cargo plane…sex…understanding what “Altered” really meant…or maybe being the best man at your best friend’s wedding just across the border with one of the girls you’d picked up a few hours earlier hitchhiking to Oregon….it…the true “it” was all there…and available for a small price at the time…

I once drove a car with 4 other people 3 of whom I’d met earlier that night…(around 10:30 at a bar in Juarez Mexico we left around midnight)…to LA to drop one of the guys off…we had an ice chest filled with beer some mangoes…a potted plant and 1/2 pound of dope…clearly…we only saw the inkling in small sporadic flashes across the windshield….throughout the entire trip…and to this day…I don’t know if anybody in the car actually…owned the car…when the haze cleared…we were at the point of no return and the guy we were dropping off in LA decided….he want to go to Reno instead….none of us had ever been to Reno…

my point is simple….what lies in front of us more often than not….has been there awhile…we’ve either stepped over it…walked around it…ignored or periodically acknowledged it…as if we are really going to get to it….and soon….and we drag it around like a sleeping bag…looking for a place to sleep…for the night

my father insisted I get a haircut every Wednesday night…and three of his army buddies and I would drive over the Zaragosa bridge into Mexico to get a haircut and a shoe shine for .45 cents….we then would stop at a bakery and eat some Mexican hard rolls with butter…buy a few cartons of cigarettes…and because one of his friends had a torrid love affair with vodka…he’d purchase 4 bottles of Oso Negro…you know the one with the little black bear on the chain around the neck of the bottle….we’d hide the vodka and cigarettes under the seat….every time my father passed through customs…. they’d asked him what we had to declare…he would answer….”Just haircuts and shined shoes”…one could easily look into the car and see all of us with really bad haircuts…and shiny shoes….that’s predictability to an extreme….but every Wednesday….I knew what to expect…and I can pinpoint…..starting day

Maybe almost 57 years old has offered up the why I believe this way lately….and maybe it hasn’t…it could be my mortality…or even that fact that I care more about fiber than at any other point in my life…the knowing what to expect most of my life frankly never really mattered….and now there is this need to find where it all started..sure this could quickly turn into the chicken or the egg dialog and it might never have an answer of any substance…and then again…if I ever find out where it started…might just ruin where it’s going…

I once knew a prostitute…who said she was Carol Channing’s sister “Wendy…now Wendy was from Zacatecas Mexico…originally and yes….she did resemble Carol…until she said anything…and once she spoke…it was clear she shared nothing with Carol other than maybe mitochondrial  eve DNA…even though it was not convincing…someone somewhere is telling…someone somewhere they slept with Carol Channing’s sister…Wendy…now that’s a place to start…kind of like John Anderson…. “it all started at a bar in Mexico, I was sitting with Carol Channing’s sister…Wendy…we negotiated a little..she liked me…I liked her….and before you know it”

So….I’d like you take a few moments…think about where something big started in your life….once you’ve identified the event…what’s it look like leading up to it….how did you want it to work out – VS – how it did work out….what did you want to happen after the event -VS – what really happened after the event…you know….were there blood tests…or paternity tests…did you run away…have to meet a bunch of people…say yes a great deal more than you wanted…or did you just nod your head a whole bunch….in either direction…look up alot…cross your arms or realized how little you cared for all of that stuff you once said was valuable as you were sneaking onto the cargo plane to Albania…now once you’ve been here…established some memorable event….my next challenge is…..

Can you make the  lyrics to a country western song from your event…..

here goes mine…:

It was  New Year’s  Eve, 1973,
El Toro Lounge, Santa Fe and I was
with my new friends from New York State 
 
She was a dark haired beauty, laughing at my newspaper hat
with a picture of Katharine Ross taped
right there on the front
I was rolling a Bugler cigarette thinking about paper clips, why dogs bark so much
when
she handed me a napkin with a key in it and her addressed printed beautifully in red ink
Chorus
she never said her husband was a murderer
she never said he was going to be released so soon
she never said I had to worry  much 
just as long as I was gone by next Tuesday at noon

so it all started….right….the rest of the story later….maybe…

“If I talk about something I either talk about it or I DO it… the minute I talk about it it’s lost all it’s drive and all it’s fun.” – Carol Channing

505. March 20th…A fire of Obscurity or an Iceberg of Perspicuity…hmmm….

Art and my thoughts about being an artist, Thoughts from the "Tinman"

“The New Sea of Tranquility” 2011

“What a man calls his “conscience” is merely the mental action that follows a sentimental reaction after too much wine or love.” – Helen Rowland

seppuku is the ritual of suicide…

there is an enormous protocol that goes along with the getting to that place…firstly a dishonorable act had to have been comitted…once that was established…confirmed and decided honor would be regained by suicide…the person responsible had a significant lifestyle change…what they knew was certainly not what they were going to be living up to the day they took their life…they could only wear certain clothes of certain colors…eat with designated utensils…they were free…to do what they wanted…because they were considered an…”honorable man” they were not considered a prisoner….the seppuku was an event…much like a debutante ball with the level of regalia…and hype…

the samurai who was committing seppuku…did so in front of witnesses…dignitaries…his master..etc….he dressed accordingly….sat on a centralized raised wooden platform….contemplated his end…lowered his clothing to expose his abdomen…tucked his sleeves under his knees…so he fell forward…as a gentleman should always die falling forward…the condemed would stab the blade into his left side below his abdomen…pull across to his right and then in an upward motion…the samurai would extend his head and neck forward… this was the sign…the “Kaishaku” (the second cut)…who was appointed by the dishonored would then sever his head…

hopefully….honor was regained….

“I spent most of that time driving through the desert…while he slept…..”wake me up if anything happens”…. he’d say…..I sat on a phone book…thinking of Marcia…and her moving to Mexico that next year…I wondered what 5th grade was like in Mexico….we always stopped at the same place….piss by the back of the truck….had  a Falstaff…beer…he’d let me light his Camel cigarette….I’d watch the smoke disappear in the air…sometimes cough…but more often than not….just be quite….and listen him to tell me about Southeast Asia…and how he was going back there some day….”Going back to Goddamn Vietnam”…..he really said “Vetnam”…left out the “i” but he said a lot of words with left out letters”

Richard Diebenkorn…painted an entire series of paintings on cigar box lids…that clearly illustrated that abstraction can be magnificent with little regard to scale…he originally made these paintings as gifts…not a part of his inventory…and yet they have become a part of his inventory…posthumously…

maybe what starts as one thing …follows it’s course…stays what it is…dies as it is…and becomes something else…because  it gets made that way…not because it has a destiny to be so…but we make it what it is…from what it wasn’t…

there is something very appealing about the nature of obscurity…as the idea that once we recognized and genuinely acknowledge what might be seen as…unimportant and dim…allows for the possibility of perspicuity then to exist…and flourish…

“Art is Art. Everything else is everything else.” – Ad Reinhart