Week 35-22 - Haibuno

29 August 2022

Another Boom Boom
pierces the afternoon haze
with something to say

Ahead of schedule for the first time feeling good. Some things are locked, some are open. Some are just around the corner lingering creepily. Mixing images to form new meanings. Playing in digital sandboxes is the fun new thing, until you get bored seeing the same derivative detritus ("Simple tools foster complex patterns of use, while complex tools…"). Is this remixing plagiarism? The 25 minute fun is real though. That matters. 3 pixels here, 25 over there, perspective shift. Carving out moments to reflect, to ponder, to putter, to stare at the ceiling and realize how many cobwebs are stuck to the mud walls. Of your mind. The rallying cry is "take me out of my comfort zone"! What is your pivotal “fuck it” moment? Does it grow stronger or weaker with age, or is it just a continual slow burn until finito?

30 August 2022

Pressure switch failing
water, septic backed up
cat chase mouse, dog shits

The moment the experiment fails leads you down wormholes and mysteries and nuance and discovery and adventurous, audacious, dauntless, venturesome - an excessive love of novelty. The twists, turns, stumbling blocks, and dead-ends are where the magic lives. Phantom beeps and bumps and knocks in the night provide the inspiration for dreaming. Or maybe are the dreams one and the same. Or you could just lie on your back in the dirt, grass, cement, rubber playground mat, or sandbox on the moon and do nothing. The 'nothing' moments are equally fruitful. There never seem to be enough nothing moments to get to the 'Something'. Too busy face-down flat in our phones vanished. Without a kiss goodbye.

31 August 2022

Still batting a D
not quite there yet still trying
next month maybe C

What is the one thing you love about your home? What is the one thing that drives you bat-shit kookoo? The photo above illustrates my kookoo. A moment of laziness captured forever in pink, and not just here behind the toilet. It shows up in two tone blues and not fully screwed in screws. Was it laziness, or a sign of something else? What do we do when are senses weaken? Do others take up the slack? Or do we just let them wander willy-nilly?

  1. September 2022

An experiment
drawing into print transfer
interlude of fraud

First they cut down the trees. Then they let the sheep and cattle decimate what was left. Who has the will for the reckoning to come next? The moisture is bound in the subliminal. The muscles required for fixing are atrophied. We are hunch-backed sloths that stampede pop-up shops and superglue ourselves to excess. It sounds bleak, soulless, and no fun at all. It isn't - entirely. The fields of yellow flowers where the sun-gazers flock. The end of a cord covered in red electrical tape that keeps attracting one hummingbird. No nectar there buddy! Happy accidents abound unacknowledged. Half moon halo and one pink cloud swimming in a sea of gold. Look up, you might see an elf!

2 September 2022

Morning sun soaking
turns to afternoon showers
first tarantula

Simply this... art and/or play (of any kind) puts you in an interactive relationship with the physical world. Sometimes so does tarantula relocation. Do you ever imagine what would happen if you left your house open and unoccupied for one day, one week, one month, one year? Who/what would enter first? Who/what would take over? Would that change depending on the season? The natural world rewires itself constantly. What will happen if the doomsday glacier suddenly lets go, says to itself, "yo dude i'm so outta here" to the tune of 'melting like a hurricane'. Would art and play be the life boat for humans who want to be fully human but equally struggle for their footholds?

3 September 2022

are you enchanted?
overpowering delight
losing sense of self

We watch enthralled as the summer ritual is complete with spinning, flames, and a lone woman standing behind the roaster inhaling deeply.

4 September 2022

It's turnover day
awaiting the clean ahead
we'll furrow some brows

The ones that are still in thrall of the empire walk judiciously towards brinkmanship. They never inhale (or so they say). Small scale currents accelerate flow. The root of the breath is mired in slag. Will you a way to perfect resonance? Something has chewed my bandana. There are small piles of sunflower heads on every high spot. Woof.

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Jamie Larson