getting makey on those cut-paper collage-type jauns
isn't exactly the most dynamic of friday night plans.
i know it.
after a disgustingly shark-gluttonous dinner,
and a disgustingly big black stinky doomsday-fuming stump of cigar,
i turned off the self-sabotage,
and instead got poppin' on a little semi-fresh fake-art project.
that's a thing.
staying up well past midnight,
clipping stray scraps off of pictures torn out of stacks of magazines,
and glue-stick-nubbin rubbin' the backsides of every one of 'em.
i doo-doo that sort of crafty safety-scissored assembly sh!t.
each hybrid mutant image is stuck on the perfect background,
(and that's about the only time i ever care about creating background)
and then it all gets affixed to an index card,
which gets lined-up, written on, signed, with x's and o's and hearts an' that,
then sealed-over with clear tape-type protection
and addressed to a not-even-remotely-at-randomly selected active participant.
....and i've already got the stamps, too.
y'know what that means, right?
picture postcards are back on the event calendar
for the woodsly goodsly summertime big-fun activation schedule.
you want a sneak peek?
that's all you get for now, guys.
on the realsies, though?
it takes a looooong time to snip and snap all the little pieces.
way longer than it takes to select the individual elements.
i keep a stash of cut-outs in an envelope at all times, just in case.
it consumes time at a ferociously focused pace.
it goes slow, and it takes forever.
too bad about that, because i really could've used my beauty rest.
i guess i'll stay ugly,
because these new notes i'm dropping are gonna stay dope.
it all costs something, neighbors.
and i was already broken and busted,
so it's a only a small price for producing some pretty sweet nothings.
keep your see-balls peeled on your mailboxes.
you might just be getting a treat.
i don't know what made me get back at it, kids.
mail art has never gotten me much in the way of reward-reaping.
i think i might be choosing the wrench harder than usual, even.
if every piece is unique and unrepeatable,
then every time i put one in the post,
a little piece of individual artsy hottness disappears
from the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
i'm creating and destroying in one short span,
just so you can put a leaf of expertism on your fridge under a magnet.
i'm half-asleep, sort of.
no more so than every other day.
i've been having big-lipped potato heads attacking me in my dreams.
that's no jokes, jerks.
nightmares when i'm out cold in slumberland,
and nightmares when i wake up,
in hard styles and empty rooms and empty F*ing days.
i'm cutting it up, kids.
i'm cutting it ALL up.
it's the remix Folk Life/empty life edit,
and it's all really happening.
that's the whole point;
never quiet, never soft.....