Show Me Yours and I’ll Show You Mine…

Ah, the age-old negotiation. Beginning around the age of 5 (3, if you’re particularly precocious) and ending somewhere around, um, death.

In this case, I’m talking about workstations, creative spaces, your studio, or what-may-have-you. What have you? I was on the phone with a Faerie and being the rude creature I am I asked if she’d show me hers. A bit of a contest, if you will. Who has the most disorganized work/creative/what-may-have-you space. I’m fairly certain that I won.

Being a tight-rope-walker of Dissociative Indentity disorder, there are several areas where I enjoy sacrificing myself at the Alter of Creative Madness. I’ll just show you photos of two of these areas. Good grief! You’ve not even shown me one of yours, so do stop complaining.

Welcome to my Storytelling-Scribbling-Cosmic-Note-Taking-Doodling-Writing and *General Mayhem “space.”

And yes, thank you for bringing up a painful subject it is an upside down “space.”  Storytelling isn’t all peace and light, you know. And in fact there is very little peace and often no light at all. Characters are demanding and frequently get up to all sorts of high and low jinks, including turning said Storyteller’s space up-the-freaking-side down. The photo looked right-the-freaking-side up when I took it. *Specific Mayhem requires a specific space, depending of course specifically what type of mayhem you wish to down with.

Yes, thank you for bringing up a painful subject this IS an upside down “space.” Storytelling isn’t all peace and light, you know. In fact there is very little peace and often no light at all. Characters are demanding beings and frequently get up to all sorts of high and low jinks, including turning said Storyteller’s space up-the-freaking-side down. The photo looked right-the-freaking-side up when I took it.

And this is where my Dabble-Babble-Mad-Scientist-y stuff seems to occur.

The scene of many experiments, successful, unsuccessful, in-between, and nearly all of them far too much fun. As you perhaps can see in the shadows above and around of what I broadly call my work table peer creatures of various backgrounds, some approving, some disapproving, some applauding, and others who just give me the raspberries or the finger depending on their mood.

The scene of many experiments: successful, unsuccessful, in-between, and nearly all of them alternating between excruciatingly painful and far, far too much fun. As you perhaps can see in the shadows above and around of what I broadly call my work table creatures from various backgrounds peer down at me: some approve, some disapprove, some smile benevolently, a few applaud, and then there are the ones who just give me the raspberries or the finger depending on their mood.

To be honest though, this stuff happens everywhere. Especially in inconvenient locations: my day job at the construction site, a doctor’s office, crowded elevator (which must be filled with strange, business type people), or in line at the grocery store. Keep in mind that these are only examples. Many other inappropriate locations are possible. Let’s just say I’m accustomed to being on the receiving end of many looks of bafflement to outright hostility simply for making random, seemingly incomprehensible statements or chuckling to myself.

I sincerely hope that you’re enjoying whatever Sunday Madness you’ve found yourself up-to-your-neck-in.

*General Mayhem can be committed anywhere and I encourage you to commit it as much as possible. On the other hand, Specific Mayhem requires a specific space, depending of course specifically on what type of Mayhem you wish to get down with. I’m working on a book on Mayhem Etiquette, but until that is complete I’m afraid you’re on your own.

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Marcie the Madcap Mortician

Marcie is unusual. Yes, I know that isn’t saying much considering the title of this Chapter and the company she keeps. Read on though, before you judge.

I knew what she is (a Madcap Mortician), before I knew who she is (Marcie). As I sat in Quentin’s Blood Garden, I saw her playing in a puddle. I was and still am…captivated.

Marcie knew I was coming before I did. She tells me that she spoke to me years before I arrived at Quentin’s Plant Vampling Estate, only I’m stubborn and refuse to remember. I don’t think I’m stubborn, at all. I just know my mind. Regardless, this is her explanation as to why I titled a chapter in my journal, “The Madcap Mortician” twenty years before I’d even met Quentin. And then left exactly twenty pages of this chapter unwritten for these past twenty years…hmm…I suppose she could be on to something.

Dressed entirely in lovely, soft shades of grey (a stunning color, mind you against the blood red puddles of well, blood that she splashed in), she swung her arms and legs about in the most athletically graceful, complex, and alarming dance I’ve ever seen. And such laughter! Marcie has the best laugh, because it has the unselfconscious abandon of a child.

The way her blue-black hair stood on its ends, I thought she’d most certainly been struck by a random lightning bolt (not as uncommon as it sounds…not at Quentin’s estate, that is). Turns out not to be the case, I later discovered. Her hair is just like that. Almost as if she’s in a state of permanent fright. Once you get to know Marcie though, you know that frightened is the very last emotion she’ll feel. Marci is either very brave…else whys, very jaded when it comes to frights. She’s seen it all. I’m willing to go with both brave and jaded.

Regardless, once she spotted me sketching her, she’s given me not one moment of peace until I posted her form for all to see. Not like that! I don’t do nudes. I just do weirds. And Marcie definitely falls in that category.

So truly thrilled to be out here on the WWW, I didn’t have the heart to tell her that very little of that world actually visits my sandgrain’s place in it. Matters not to her, she says. It is the thought that counts, after all.

Madcap Marcie, there now. That wasn't so difficult, was it?

Madcap Marcie, there now. That wasn’t so difficult, was it?

 

Radar Love

…There’s a voice in my head that drives my heel…

…The radio’s playing some forgotten song, Brenda Lee’s “Coming on Strong”…

~Golden Earring, “Radar Love”

 

Strange weather they have in Framble Lee. It rains pink candy drops. Cool things is, these if you catch these pink drops on your tongue they are zero calories. Zero. Nice, eh?

Strange weather they have in Framble Lee. It rains pink candy drops. Cool thing is, if you catch these pink drops on your tongue they are zero calories. Zero. And they’re tasty. Nice, eh?

Huh. Somehow I heard “Framble Lee is coming on strong.” Turns out the actual lyric in Golden Earring’s “Radar Love” is slightly different. But then, I got a pretty cool little doodle out of mis-hearing it. And now I find myself wondering about the Land of Framble Lee and who else besides these two inhabit it.

Under the Sea in Framble Lee.

Under the Sea in Framble Lee.

I guess there’s a race of large spear carrying, sort-of-semi-onion beings who live beneath Framble Lee’s oceans, too.

Okay, I think that’s a enough Sunday Madness for today.