MARCH 30, 2010

It has been a week now since the motorcycle incident that took the lives of my friends. A week of feeling closer to the spirits of the dead than the souls of the living. Closer to the wisdom of those gone than the words of those left living. Do we ever come back?

SOME PORTFOLIO ADVERTISING DESIGNS

I have been approached from more than 8 points of the compass, once from heaven and twice from hell. The next invitation may come at any moment, may last years or may come in the final hours of breath. The tenacity of the quest will reap the vision of deliverance found in consummate conviction and devotion.

MIRRORED PAST



Fragment of mirrors
at our feet
You move
so I can stand where you are
to see refractions
of your universe
Sun
Moon
Scars
and how your perspective
has changed
as you've moved on
and you share
the reflections of your past
as you remember them
As we keep moving round
new ones found
Knowing in time
we'll eventually find
pieces where we were just
spent time
discovering us

THE HILL

When we first met we flew off the hill with a vagabond abandonment. Laughter was an envelope of warm current of air that lifted us, gliding and drifting in the reminiscing and sharing of our pasts. With each flush of discovery, we would sail upwards, until the time came when our feet would gently caress the earth once again. Gathering our memories, we would ascend lightly up the next slight hill, only to joyously leave the top and soar over the plush cushioned meadows beneath. Over and over we would do this, half the time of every hour would be spent flying. Then, as the weight of familiarity and those hardships of the road up the hill increased, the hills became harder to climb and seemed more steep. After years we asked ourselves is this all there is, the climb, the throwing over the edge, the long walk up the hill. Somewhere we decided it wasn't worth the daily climb, that the thrill of the fall was gone, and that the next time we made it to the top we would just stay there and make it comfortable. Until the day of the accident and I awake falling, either having been judged or by turning over in a dream. Frantically clawing the sky, not remember this feeling and how close panic is to ecstasy.

Sunday morning, and you woke up alone.

COLORS


She tells me about a dinner that she had with a
friend
and it sounds so animated, and she is so full
of life
and color

Tells me about some of his many
-no doubt many-
whimsical observations of things that occurred
that they both shared
and I wonder if she ever shows the colors that
we shared
together

And I feel
jealous
and envious
of this friend
and her color

She, repeating lines
Me, crossing them
with crayons.

DYSLEXIA

The guide at the museum said that,
in the art world
Friedrich Schroder-Sonnenstern
Henry Darger
Simon Rodia
Clarence Schmidt
Karl Brendel and
Antonin Artaud
are still considered
outsiders.

SUBJECTIVE

A friend of mine wanted me to paint his portrait. "Trouble is, I don't know if I want if of just me, me and my bike, or me and my new girlfriend. What do you think?"

"Well", I said to him, "Bikes come and go..."

THE WAY


Animals
Volcanoes
Rivers
Rain
Wind
We no longer fear
Media
Money
Fashion
Entertainment
Politics
for we are intelligent.

I like and welcome all kinds of feedback on my work, so I thought I'd post the latest. It comes in response when I was looking for a referral for a computer tech...

"I just checked out www.crissum.com web site, not too thrilled to see that site. It leads off with "Spiritual Leader" which does not set very well. I do not like You Tub or visit sites like that, so may not be of any help."

SPIRITUAL LEADER


Sea shell comb in her hair
organic peasant blouse
recycled jeans
and at the end of her arm
a braided hemp leash
attached to a pug puppy

She said, "I saw him and thought
he was so peaceful
and content
I had to get him.
I named him
after a great spiritual leader."

Around the world
in the early hours
while multitudes bow
to the East
chanting
and others
sing in pious praise
and earnest prayer

I awaken
to the shriek,
the muttering,
the stomping,
the muffled thwap,
and the yelp
of Buddha.

JEANNETTE'S (JX) MUSIC BOX

This is a music box I carved for Jeannette. It plays 6 different songs:

Somewhere my Love
Singing in the Rain
Dance Ballerina
You are My Sunshine
The Anniversary Waltz
Over the Rainbow.

I designed a "stop" pull switch for each one. It even came with a little music book I carved! When the pig kissed the penguin the back of the piano opened up, revealing a place for a ring. It had secret compartments and even secret compartments in secret compartments. I used about 5 different kinds of wood and each key on the piano was also cut.

DARNELL


...then I was going out with this dude named Darnell. He was a speed freak who liked to cut with acid. One night I came home and all the lights were off in the kitchen, an empty blender was going and the electric hand beater thing was flipping around in the sink. It was the only thing I could see in the moonlight. I flicked on the light and went down the hall to the bedroom calling, "Darnell!, Darnell! You home?" I go into the bedroom and ther's Darnell, candles lit all over the place, sitting bolt upright against the wall, cross-legged on the futon, chewing on razor blades.

Slow foot traffic night on the Ave tonight. Saw my homeless friend from last week (not the crazy one). I was playing a waltz and I heard someone clapping after I played it. He was at the corner and he clapped. I spoke to him last week, he was a victim of a traumatic brain injury. Walks with a limp. Wears white high tops. Nice guy, but gets confused easily. Thought I was from Scotland. You can tell he wants to talk, but, as he is easily confused, gets frustrated because he gets confused easily and doesn't remember all that well. I enjoy his company when he comes over to talk. So innocent. Just wants to relate, to have that contact, and who doesn't?

Had a woman come up and asked if I the song I was playing was "Country Gardens", an old English dance tune. She was correct. She was so happy. She came back later and the name of the song I was playing. I told her it was an original. She seemed so disappointed, like I just denied her the chance to play the next round of Jepardy or something. "And Jerry, what do we have for our fine members of our studio audience today?" Yeah, thank you for playing. lol.

Spoke to another guy whose mother used to play. I explained to him how the bass buttons worked. He was also a musician. He hung around a while.

Another couple of kids came by that were really a pain in the ass. "Excuse me, excuse me, excuse me..." while I'm playing. "Can you play Smoke on the Water"? Actually the riff of that song does sound good on the accordion, especially with effects, but it was just the fact that they were drunk and I thought he was going to fall on me, and was bugging me in the middle of the song that kind of pissed me off.

Otherwise it was a really quiet night as far as foot traffic goes, and I didn't have much energy and played only for about 2 hours. Haven't had time to work on any new stuff this week.

Stuck to waltzes; lowered the brim on my hat and watched the pavement, emersing myself in the study of women shoe fashions, the behavior of toddlers, little children and dogs. Some would make the claim that this is all there is to life.

CHAINS



The black pond of January, waiting for a bus,
to take me home
propped up against the road sign, like some
urban scarecrow
with the heart of a tin man, pumping smoke
a black man passed behind me, clutching a box
in his desperate hold
chains hanging off of it, chaffing their gold
asking me how I'm doin', not breaking stride,
moving
Can't complain
How are you?
Awful man
Awful
Gotta sell these necklaces and chains
Gotta sell 'em man

Turned his back to face the wind and walked
away
I kept on leaning, waiting for the bus that
never came

THE QUEST

The troops were advancing
and it was inevitable
we were to fall
when an old woman from the village
approached me
took my arm
and led me to the forest
where I met a man
not of my tongue
who motioned that I must follow him
and that I have been
summoned to her.

The woman made provisions
and we left the forest
through the desert
over mountains
Occasionally messengers would come
with news of her
and what was ahead
and speak to the guide
of the adversaries
we would encounter
of other customs.

Years passed
the guide and I never spoke
but communicated through the seasons
and the elements
never knowing if the next forest
the next moon
would be the last one
that I would see
without her.

The evening came and he led me to her
and my greatest challenge still lay ahead
For this journey and the traveling was all I knew
now I had to abandon the traveling
and not look back
or it would continue
for eternity
never to be satisfied by any destination.

From my mentor's scabbard
I drew his sword
and my arm
guided by my lone heart
laid his purpose
and the quest
to rest.

Busking 1/10/10

I performed Kahlil Gibran's poem "On Friendship" with the accordion tonight. Improvized, but it went okay. I like the piece, so I hope to get it stronger.

Tonight an older gentleman from Romania - an accordion player, stopped by with his wife and he struck up a conversation about his accordions. He asked to try mine and I obliged. he played and sang some boisterous song that had more verses than any Dylan song that I know. I think it was the history of Romania. I don't know. It wasn't in English.

When he finished the third act he let me have my accordion back and asked me to play something spirited, lively. I played the only polka I know and then he started dancing wildly on the street. Now that was really entertaining. Thought he was going to hurt himself. Nice guy. His wife was pretty embarrassed though.

This week I started using a microphone and an amp and doing poetry along with the music. It was really taking a big step. No longer hiding behind the accordion, playing Christmas carols and other recognizable songs. I had music already sketched out for Frost's "Road less Traveled" and Dylan Thomas' "Do not go Gentle into that Good night", but decided to improvise instead and "That has made all the difference."

This is a really unique experience and you never really are sure what will happen. A homeless person gave me a really nice new sweatshirt someone had left at the train station. A group of college kids sat behind me and listened for an hour, lighting incense. A couple of college students seriously waltzed in front of me for a couple of songs. A blonde Betty slowed her stride and blew me a kiss as she walked past. I get notes in my box from other musicians offering to to come down and jam with me. I love the notes, the interaction.

DREAM OF THIEVES

The January cold just held the ghost
of motorcycles tearing streets apart,
when every avenue and boulevard
would rip this town with sound-
right on that seam.

In May the devils' wind cuts east and sharp
and streets resound with the brapping, grinding wails
awakening desires to slough the tarp
beneath which hides the chrome and iron dream
to steal and ride again with asphalt thieves.