I am the type of person who can literally forget his own birthday. I’ve done it. I pretty much remember two dates out of the year. Christmas and Halloween. But my girlfriend insists I remember her birthday. It’s only one extra day, and I thought I could do it. I sat around repeating it until I thought I had it. I set an iCal event, and created it on my personal calendar at work so my BlackBerry would remind me, and I figured I was golden.

After all, even if I forgot the date I wouldn’t miss the date, right? Make sense? It does to me. This is pretty much the only way I can remember things like this.

Then she and I were sitting around talking, or more accurately, lying around talking. And she brought it up. And I said, “It’s the 29th, just like Bruce Willis.” I ended up being half right. I would have been better off had I shut up instead of incorrectly guessing. I could have then snuck away, looked at my iCal, and all would have been well with the world. But since it’s the 19th and not the 29th I decided to do something to have a daily reminder. So I stole a countdown clock from a former co-worker (to be fair I’m pretty sure that’s what he put it out there for). Anyway, you can see the clock to the left there. It’s roughly 34 days, 5 hours, and 27 minutes until her birthday. If I forget again, I figure I’ll get it tattooed on the back of my hand (even though she hates tattoos).

The worst part of this whole thing is I have been sending Bruce his card late all these years!

[UPDATE:] I’ve created a gallery of some of the masks I have done. I will be adding more.

I’m been making masks at a friend’s studio over the last couple of years. The masks themselves are just the beginning. I eventually want to make boxes to put them in, embellish them with leaves, dead flowers, bones, wire, tar, electrician’s tape, and whatever else strikes my fancy. I then want to pair each mask with a poem. I want a dozen masks in the end. I have two more ready to be fired and have ideas for two more. Yes, this will bring me to 13, but I’ll retire the worst of them. Or maybe make a baker’s dozen. I’ll make a web gallery out of these and in the end sell the originals (or give them away).

Above you can see all nine of the ones I have done so far, and if you follow the jump, you can see an image of the two that are in progress.

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In a field of shorn wheat
I jerk off into the stars
and dig in the dirt until my fingers bleed.
This is Nebraska.
Nothing like Iowa.
In Iowa it would be a field of harvested corn.
I’d still masturbate.

I take a drink of deep water and weep.
Cry myself to sleep
and dream of potatoes.

But that’s Idaho.

Would you think me mad if I said god speaks to me
or would you think me madder still if I said he didn’t but I believe?

Shining women scream and I taste the sounds of their words
and hear such colors as to make gods jealous.
I still feel pain.

I’m a simple man, not holy at all, not a praying man, too simple by far.
Feed me completely.

Whisper words into my soul:
Love and lust and compassion. Music and desire and death. Addiction and prayer and
weakness. Water and loss and orgasm. Vindication and forgiveness and nothing else.

Allow me this full harvest.
And under a cold moon I will rest with my cock in my hand.

christopher…. ‘08

My most recent poem. It still needs a bit a bit of work, since, as has been pointed out to me, Idaho isn’t in the Midwest.

I look like I am doing art therapy. I’d have to say this is actually a good shot, but it makes me look pretty stupid, like I’m recovering from a car crash and learning how to talk and use my hands again.

I have a few addictions. Dexter, crane games, spicy food, and ugly shirts. I’m going to post a picture of me in one of these shirts every Saturday for the foreseeable future. I haunt thrift shops looking for truly evil shirts. Usually I have to merely settle for the obnoxious. I don’t remember where I found this one, (probably a Goodwill), but the photo of this shirt doesn’t do it justice. This shirt needs to be seen live and in motion to truly get the epileptic seizure inducing effect.

This was one of the first shirts I picked up that I considered ugly, and I still wear it enough to have made it worth the few dollars I paid for it. I love buying secondhand clothes. My clothing budget is small, I get to shop more often, and if I buy something that doesn’t turn out well I’ve lost little cash. I have rules about what truly constitutes an ugly shirt. I’ll go into some of these in later shirt posts. Once I get a year of these posts behind me I’ll make up an image gallery with all the pictures in one place. I’m thinking I can make a year’s worth of posts out of my shirt buying (I am an addict). I don’t have 52 yet, but I haven’t stopped buying either. We’ll see. Check in every Saturday.