I get paid to melt rainbows into eyeballs, I don’t have any kids, or debt, or a gym membership… the cats poop in a box, and pretty much help themselves to whatever’s on the stove, so that’s mostly covered… and now my life is easier still, even if by only one teeny tiny increment, now that I don’t have to maintain the z-beads mailing list all by my lonesome anymore. Thank you all so very much for signing up for notifications through wordpress. You’ve saved my bacon, and probably a big hunk of my grey matter. I’ll need that hunk later.
fizz tabs, also known as Rancid Eyeballs by the vodka soaked ravingpoodles on stumbleupon
I find myself saying “thank you” often. I’m thankful for what I have: shelter, food, sanity (I think…) I work hard to maintain these things I have, and I know it all hangs by a thread for me as much as it does for you. But kindness, generosity and sincerity are gifts, not givens. Especially these days. When I do my outside-the-house things, I’ve noticed that people are actually taken aback when someone is nice to them. More so than ever before. They sometimes seem surprised when someone smiles at them or holds the door for them, or when someone is friendly and polite when placing an order for food, and understanding if something goes wrong. They have come to expect you to be distracted by pointless gossip on the phone, or to be extremely rude and impatient. I think a growing lack of empathy for our fellow travelers is to blame.
I get it – empathy is exhausting. Depending on who you ask, you’ll hear that it’s natural, or that it’s learned. Or that it’s purely a psychological function of the human brain or that it’s some of that with a largely intuitive component. I tend to agree with the latter, and feeling this, that’s where I begin to doubt my own sanity. I have a hard time in large crowds, and talking to strangers, but I’m working on it. So being the (relatively) sweet-natured Scorpio I am, I crawl under the dresser and hide in the dark for a while so that I don’t sting someone with all that venom that’s been welling up. I try to turn that venom into more rainbows. The more technical term for this is “effective coping skills.” This is why I go *poof* for a while, from time to time. I find that I need to re-energize, to gather the courage to face humanity once again, because it must be done if I hope to find the glimmers under the murk.
Truth is, I do not like what I see right now. Maybe it’s just my INFP’ness, but I have spent my entire life being utterly confused by the way people treat each other, and it seems to be getting close to saturation point. Critical mass, maybe? I dunno, I’m no scientist. But I can identify that when people who hold a great deal of power are encouraging us to deny each other basic human dignities and kindnesses based on gender, skin color, religious beliefs, political leanings, sexual proclivities, and other nebulous labels yet to be determined, the end of civilization as we know it is nigh.
the chanel counter at neiman’s (dallas)
This is not my soapbox. I mean, it is, but I’d rather kvetch about beads, perfume and the price of silver. I am not trying to scare you. I don’t like to talk specifically about politics, religion or other hot button issues because a) I don’t know much about any of it and b) some people get really mad when you don’t agree with them 100%. But every now and then, and a bit more frequently than usual these days, even at the risk of my livelihood, I feel called upon to remind you that being kind to your fellow travelers is how we change the world… I can probably count on the fact that if you’re reading this, I’m preaching to the choir. Just don’t give up, is all I’m saying. Especially now.
I have come to know that creative people – the artists, writers, musicians (and cat people, I’m sure of it) – the people of simple means, wants and ideas – are exponentially more powerful than those not so nice guys in suits who stack weapons and hate and money. I was so lucky to have been born into the family I was born into, to learn to do what I do as an artist, and very importantly, to meet all of you, whether you are long time patrons or admirers of my work from afar. I’ve been selling my work for many years, and have met so many kind, thoughtful and considerate people through that. Other avenues have not been nearly as fulfilling. Creative people and people who truly love art – not just because it will match their carpet – make life just a little bit more bearable.
the guerlain counter at neiman’s (dallas)
Also, I have been watching some shows lately. I like to watch stuff that makes me think.
Here’s a good one: I Love Dick, on Amazon Prime – it’s a light little story about artists and their strange lives and loves, but it’s mostly centered around a married woman who falls in love at first sight with the main art guy in town and writes stacks and stacks of flowery letters to him. These letters remind me of the letters I’ve written privately throughout my lifetime but never gave, and the ones I’ve published here, and addressed to no one specifically. Some were to you… some were to me, maybe. Someone once referred to these as “my love letters to the world”. I took it as a compliment because the world needs more love letters and less Tinder/syphilis. So if you like interesting stories about quirky people and weird art, I Love Dick won’t disappoint. I should warn you, it’s a little racy at times, so keep that in mind.
Mr Robot
Mr. Robot. Wow, what a thing this is. A hacker and his crew set out to erase everyone’s debt. If you think someone has to be crazy to do such a thing, you may be right. Or maybe not. There is much more to the story. So as not to spoil anything, I’ll just say this: to witness such a succinct portrayal of the division, the struggle within a complicated psyche such as that of Elliot Alderson should be something of a comfort to thinking people. The people who crave more from life than stuff and things, the people who truly care about other people. The message I take away from Mr Robot: Question EVERYTHING. Including yourself. You may have no idea how truly powerful you are.
warning: very tiny kittens may cause smiling in the grumpiest of grumpy cats
And lastly, my friend Laura called me one night a couple of weeks ago with a strange noise in the background… she said “there’s a very tiny KITTEN on my PORCH and I don’t know what to DO.” (She’s a dog person.) I said, “it sounds like you have a kitten now” and she actually thought she was just going to bring it over here and leave it with “the cat people”. Instead, I instructed her to get some kitten formula and a bottle and I sent her a link to instructions on how to care for a very young abandoned kitten. I think she’s glad I did, because she dotes on it and is very good at taking care of it. So, no, I don’t have a new kitten, but there have been many kitten visits, and more proof in my pocket that I’m not particularly motherly towards anything except kittens, and even that is questionable.
NOM!!! I’m gonna eat Laura’s tiny grey kitten
See? Not motherly at all.
And there was that whole total eclipse of the sun thing… did you guys hear about that? Har. It was weird, the last one happened when I wasn’t even two years old and I swear I remember it. The one last week solidified that memory. The light outside looked strange, just as it did before. Filtered sun, as if it was behind a cloud, but with shadows cast as if in full light. Surreal, just how I like it. I figured “they” would be coming for me, but here I sit, so I thought I’d check in and tell you I’m still alive and making beads. I’m currently working on a big order, but will be back to the come-what-may grind soon enough.
Thanks once again for checking in… you guys are the greatest!!!
the z-beads blog 