Sunday, April 8, 2012

Shooting to thrill.

In January, my dear friend, James, reasoned that 2012 will be a 'good' year, come whatever may.
In December 2012, people will throw great End Times parties. Either the world will indeed blow up, or the fĂȘte will instead 'blow up'. If the Man comes around, there can be no morning's regret or spinning head. And if he doesn't and we orbit still, we pin tails on those confuted, and plod languidly into 2013.

I like 2012.
In February, I went to Los Angeles with five of my peers, chiefly for the CAA Conference, seeing also the LACMA, the Hammer Museum's Alina Szapocznikow exhibit, the ocean, a passing John C. Reilly, and old friends.


Penn State granted me a Creative Achievement Award and a professorship for the 2012-2013 term.

In March, I completed my thesis text and presented my Oral Defense. Kerri O'Neill and I installed and opened our MFA Thesis Show, entitled Soft Tissue, on April 2.

The turn-out turned up my mother and father, DC friends, PSU community, and mata, Rose (shaman, wisewoman, mother of Guru Meher).

On our buffet table lay the living body of Emma. She was swaddled in cut-up images of her own nakedness and lined with plates of treats (all aphrodisiacs). A long boat of vegetable dip sat between her legs.

Rose drummed and sang a solemn blessing. She rubbed our hands and foreheads with holy water.

In these last two years, I knew excitement, awakening, grief, love, mania, anger, ideas of being - and of being nowhere - all at the same time. Everything regenerated. I'm too grateful to say.

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