About our enchanted art and craft shop:

 

Welcome to Spirits and Elements, the enchanted art and craft shop.  This is a great place to find unique art or some kind of item that hits the spot and could flourish in a new home.  Perhaps you are adding to your collection or looking for a gift?  The artwork and crafted items you’ll find here are produced by Elizabeth and me, Christopher. 

We chose the words “Spirits and Elements” to represent us because we believe they are the driving force behind our art, before any market or industry, monetary value, time and effort, definitions, roles, scenes, etc.  We produce as a way to search and question and balance with life, and all along, we respect and celebrate it. 

We work with what we have, you and I, all of us; we try for a decent life; we’re fair; we’re understanding.  I believe all of us are artists; I always have, in the sense of expression, ideas, feelings.  All of this is involved in a relationship with us, and everything we do represents it, so we don’t always have to call it art; we don’t have to call it anything, but it is what’s happening.  Life is happening, right?  So art, creativity, expressions, items, information, I get it; I get the point, a piece of the Berlin wall, a souvenir from a vacation, a family heirloom, a stranger’s scribble on a napkin.  We get some kind of energy from it.  It reveals something or makes peace with something, brings us together, gives us one more thing to talk about, maybe it’s a simple reminder or maybe it’s something you never want to forget.  There’s no shame, my friend.  There’s always a room that would work perfect with a certain picture, a certain color; it can’t be too specific, full of energy but it won’t suck you in.  It sticks with the room, bands together, makes you look at the rest of the room as well.  Then we’ve seen other rooms that almost exist for the wonderful items residing there.  You’ve created energy, arranged an identity; you’re providing an environment, maybe challenging, maybe relaxing, maybe extra personal.  This is a true nature of art; it’s fundamental; it’s energy, a medium, or maybe it’s also something else; who knows, maybe I just had to have it.  Let’s call it a representation of life, and let’s say art imitates life first, after that, life imitates art the same; we go back and forth; we mix; it’s magical, enchanting. 

So here we are, and what an honor it is for our paths to have crossed.  While I am creating, I am listening to the work, listening to the process.  I always keep my eye out for that language, that something that is the equivalent of everything.  When the piece is finished, we have further conversations.  Most of us can get a hold of the classics, a copy, a version, something mainstream, a well established artist, and I certainly have my favorites, but equally valuable to me is the person down the block, the father around the corner who finished painting the porch and splashed a little paint on some sheetrock in the garage, on purpose, imagining he was an artist, or just imagining he was expressively painting; I want those splashes and blotches.  How about mom, she scribbles and doodles on paper every time she talks to a friend on the phone for a long period of time; I’d love those prints.  Still, you know there’s that kid, that girl, they paint, the put together crazy objects, bottles and metals, whatever, but they’re not always the “go-getters”, and they’re not always the “trying to make it” people; they do art; they express themselves, maybe more than usual so that you know they do art, but nobody ever calls them official artists; they don’t go to school for it; they don’t really think about selling their stuff, maybe they just never get around to it; they work their butts off, make the rent; they do their thing, but their art is great; it’s hot; it’s real, even if a majority of people don’t like it, even if they don’t like their own art.  It’s what’s going on around you; it’s what’s going on around the world.  How do we get a hold of that?  How do we get some of their journals published?  Most of the time, we can’t.  Most of the time amazing ideas and perspectives blend into everything else, usually it comes out of us in other ways.  Of course the internet and technology has definitely helped bridge that gap of expression and communication.  I came across many amazing people with unique abilities, people whose sarcasm is as sharp as a razor, or graphic art and programming that makes fantasy worlds a reality, some great writers who have no intention of ever being published.  You know how it goes my friend; we’re side by side but sometimes still a million miles away.  I also have a personal little collection of art from other artists, some of my extra favorites are the totally obscure attempts.  At a yard-sale I found a little painting on a plaque, it was a rough/sloppy-ish, very “trippy” looking portrait of Alice from “Alice in Wonderland”, but there was a certain quietness and neatness to it as well, basically it’s just totally obscure, but the real magic about it was that it was painted by a teenager years ago and they had long since gone off to college, graduated and started their life.  It was for sale by that teenager’s mom, who might soon be a grandmother, anyway, she said that they knew and it was ok to get rid of that stuff, etc.  Maybe later the creator of that painting might have wanted it, but supposedly they weren’t any good at painting, and they didn’t care.  So here I have this kind of “one-time deal” painting in such a style that is virtually impossible to ever come across in any other circumstance; it has a great home now.  I know none of us are strangers to finding amazing items this way. 

So what determines the prices for our pieces?  For me, whenever I have to put a value to my work I look at the cost of materials first, and I place a less than usual emphasis on the time and effort it took to produce.  I do this because the truth is I create no matter what, regardless of trying to share my work; I always seem to create more than anything else.  So I am not going to sit here and try to tell you that I set out to make such and such a masterpiece for the world and I spent every moment I had between making a living and doing everything we have to do to survive, know what I mean?  I know how I feel when I acquire a great item at a fair price, therefore I want the same for you.  After all these years, I love when someone loves a piece I created; I totally understand, and that’s our goal here.  I truly feel like we’re finding good homes for a little magic, coming across like-minded people and a rich diversity of respect.  My version of new clothes, video games, state of the art technology, is art supplies, that’s where most of my money goes, and I’m ok with that, and I think it’s equally beautiful to be into new clothes or hobbies or careers or personal ambitions, etc, because we express ourselves through everything, and with a healthy balance we find a way to do alright, and if we get a bit lost or overwhelmed, then we’ll learn from our mistakes.

Bottom line, we’re trying to share what we do and spread the love, through the good and bad times, the tough pieces and works in progress as well as the inspirations that basically created themselves. 

For anyone who likes details and elaborate info on an artist and what goes into the work, the processes and techniques, and the philosophies and intentions, then you can find a bunch of other essays and writings from Elizabeth and me, as well as general stuff that will help you get to know us.  We are continually working on our website as a general gallery of what we create, past and present.  So have fun exploring.

 Sincerely:

Elizabeth and Christopher,

Spirits and Elements.

Prices and value of our work.

Hello, and thank you for taking the time to browse around our website.  Elizabeth and I feel it is important to discuss how we determine the prices for our artwork. 

We love what we do, and if we were trapped on a deserted island with no connection or communication to the rest of the world, we would still create everything we do. 

We also believe in the wonderful relationship between art and those who can appreciate it and share its many benefits. 

With this being said, Elizabeth and I have determined that one of the best ways to encourage these artistic relationships is to be able to get the art out there, exchanging hands, flourishing in new environments, spreading energy and good vibes.  So we have made a point of charging as little as possible and being sincerely reasonable with our prices. 

Another reason why we mention this is because it can be very tricky to determine monetary value for artistic expression and unique items. 

For example, I love oil painting on canvas that can take up an entire wall-side of a room, and sometimes I paint these ideas and feelings over the course of a month, enjoying an hour session per day, and other times I can be relentless, painting the whole day, non-stop, and these would easily fall into the category of thousands of dollars, not to mention the massive confidence I have in my ability to bring out the dynamic natures of everything around us in such abstract ways that result in a celebration of colors, patterns, techniques and environments.  This is in reference to the difference between total randomness and some intent, purpose, or idea involving abstract. 

I could back my beliefs up with pages and hours of in-depth discussions on my approach and beliefs about art and expression, and many times I have, even just speaking to myself as I paint or when I stare or investigate my art.  I still welcome anyone who would like to elaborate and discuss the nature and magic of such relationships. 

I could be stubborn , insist on my blood, sweat, and tears, and let such art just sit here, because I never grow tired of looking at them.  I rotate my paintings throughout my home, and they always help me reflect on things; they always comfort me or challenge me, but I know it does the same for others.  Besides creating art, I also collect art; I think of it as my magical collection.  I pride myself n the unique, obscure items I come across, as well as anything that speaks to me somehow, anything that connects to me, creating wonderful energy.  Nor am I afraid or ashamed to acquire items I feel would make great additions to my collection.  To me, this is part of the spirit of art.  If someone’s child splashed paint onto paper by accident or mindlessly, and I loved the image or pattern of it, then I wouldn’t mind adding it to my collection, nor would I feel self-conscious marveling at it.  Is there some special rule that states only adults make real art?  I never needed the world or history to convince me about good art and what is supposedly nothing. 

Do I love the greats, the classics, the masters, you bet I do, but I would not hesitate to acquire a painting a son or daughter made that is for sale at a garage or yard sale.  It may be a casual painting they once did, maybe just a hobby; they may have gone off to college or moved away and their parents are spring cleaning.  Maybe the painting has a weird color scheme or someone had a natural eye for patterns. 

So I take these feelings and I remember them.  I remember the joy of artwork exchanging possession with a carefree intention, because I truly believe that the last thing anyone should feel is cheated and cutthroat when it comes to acquiring art and unique items. 

Elizabeth and I have priced most of our art as low as possible, which is mostly taking into consideration the cost of materials, and the difficulty and/or rarity of such materials, that’s it.  The fact that anyone of us may have spent days or months on a project should not force us to charge an arm and a leg for it.

Painting in Australia

 

I am currently in Australia, which is also the first time I have ever left the United States, and it’s been a wonderful experience, a welcome relief, and most of all- love at first sight.  A month after my arrival, settling in, and securing supplies, I painted my first Australian series of oil on canvas, using some of my favorite techniques. 

I love this style because almost all of the creative expression comes from the material and technique.  Through these specific process I do have a good idea of what will be produced, but there are plenty of times where I don’t know exactly what a finished product will look like.  Techniques that react to different drying rates are one example of this, revealing intricate designs that may start out entrenched in thick, fresh paint, then fossilize once the air extracts moisture or certain elements evaporate.  In these particular cases, I view my work as a display of relationships between objects and environments. 

The paint can be considered the constant, a language in which to define our subjects and relationships.  Through paint we recognize a familiar nature of portraits and prints; we recognize that specific expressions come from specific objects.  A valuable image can be one that is exclusive to an object or material, or one that shares a likeness with something or everything else. 

The object or material applying the paint represents and relates to environments.  This is where we seek to understand aspects of life.  Perhaps I study the expressions my environment produces in paint, and then I compare that to what I tend to naturally produce in paint.  Perhaps the difference between us is the distance I have to travel for harmony, or the information I need for awareness. 

The technique is the approach used to bring this all together, a method for results.  In this sense, much like a scientific approach as well as human nature, repetition can effectively define any direct and indirect relationship involved.  Of course there may be an endless amount of ways to bring our environment to creative life. 

I am trying to turn everything around me into a painter, an artist.  I am encouraging the expressions of everything around me, providing them unique mediums in which to tell their story.  There is an abundance of energy within these relationships, perhaps the general vigor of life or the intricate balance between everything.  There is a fundamental nature of spirituality as well, a focal point where our physical face-value meets unlimited possibilities.  To me this is magical, because all of this involves us and everything, which means that we can know the greatest mysteries of life, which I believe to significantly involve recognition, understanding, harmony, and love.

Mission Statement

 

Spirits and Elements is a unique collection of artistic expressions, founded by Elizabeth and Christopher with the belief that art can have a magical effect on our lives.  By developing our ability to understand and harness the magic of art, we can improve our perception and approach to life. 

Elizabeth and Christopher specialize in the relationship between art, its circumstances, and its environment, revealing the wonderful magic and enchantment of life, and representing it in everything they do. 

A crafted item is filled with energy, it can challenge, empower, comfort, and revitalize its owners and caretakers, inspire anyone who experiences it, and celebrates life.

Discussion on Painting (1)

 

Although there is no restriction over how I may approach painting, there are a few specific styles I frequently use. The style I will discuss in this essay is my relationship with the application of paint, which is generally referring to how I create the images you see on the canvas. I refer to the creation of an image in terms of application because of the unique relationship between what I am thinking and expressing and the tool/object I use to bring my idea and expression to life.

It would be best to start this discussion touching on some points of my theory and ideas on tools and objects. I believe that all things have various identities and natures that create unique images and expression in and of themselves, and to different degrees when shared with the ideas of an artist or anyone interacting/performing with that object. These images, in and of themselves, will vary depending on how they are presented and brought to life. Meaning, the range will consist of as little altercation as possible, which is predominantly an image and expression directly from an object, like its fingerprint, or even more accurate, a general photograph of an object. To me, that is as hands-off as you can get, although you can have many styles of photography which will capture that object in unique expression, a general photograph can start out as an object’s portrait, a very closely related or identical recreation of that object’s identity and nature. The same goes for painting. You can try to have the most general expression of an object, as little altercation or technique added to its identity or used to capture and bring its identity to life. In my painting, that would usually consist of applying paint to an object or dipping an object in paint and then pressing it to canvas, allowing the object to dominate and predominantly create the image/expression. The other end of this range will consist of a very specific idea or technique used in conjunction with an object, so that the identity of that object is greatly influenced or captured and presented by the artist’s very specific idea or technique.

I range from presenting an object’s identity in paint, or any medium, with as little altercation as possible, as well as using very unique techniques that combine with an object’s identity for dynamic results. You could also say that the object alters my technique with dynamic results. It truly is a relationship of broad and specific balances. For example, I could take any surface of something, apply paint over it, press it to canvas, and pull it off, resulting in an image made by that surface. This is predominantly allowing the object control over the image. By default, I am working with its size and characteristics, but no major altercation by me except for the physical motor process involved, the applying paint and pressing. Now I could vary the intensity and pressure of the press once I make contact with the canvas, or how I press the surface once contact is made, sliding or twisting it, or how I remove the surface from the canvas, peeling, pulling, or dragging it off. These are some examples of the degree of interaction between the artist an an object, which is moving away from its default characteristics and creating more dynamic natures of expression.

Yes, I am using the object as a tool just like a paint brush. This is one of the main ideas, the unique identity any object has and creates when applied or used in such a way involving expression. This relationship can be performed on many levels with many variables, so that the object does not have to be the main medium creating the image or applying the paint. For example, It could be receiving the paint applied and acting as the canvas, like painting on garbage bags or cardboard or rubber tires, or it could be simply using different types of canvas, all of which combine to present an idea and expression, and all of which add and contribute its identity and nature to the idea and expression.

Christopher-

 

History of the name Chrs84.

 

Here’s a little history of what the name Chrs84 has stood for on the World Wide Web.  

 

The name Chrs84 and what it stands for has been onLine and throughout the World Wide Web for close to 15 years. Does anyone remember Aol and the chatRoom phenomenon? As broad as chat options and related sites are now, there was a time when chatting was a tight unique community on an immense scale. Yes, such communities are even larger now, but in many ways, it’s not the same as those 1990’s, but that’s not to take anything away from today’s faithful wordSmiths and communicators. I still run into legends, skillful and masterful with the spoken word, or should I say dancing fiery keyboards. Anyway, that was where I first made my assault on language and the Web.

Most chat rooms consisted of common dialogs in traditions of friends meeting onLine, strangers talking to strangers, and people who were gradually or quickly becoming friends, or sometimes enemies. There was also a relatively small group of unique chatters who would frequent a chat room and spread fire and energy through words. These groups were mostly made up of shock-types/haters who tended to be very combative, the philosopher/debaters who pushed hot topics and issues that always struck nerves or addressed our conscience and senses, the Zen/gurus who brought peace, calm and wisdom to whatever theme or mood a room was in, and the wordSmith/artists who emphasized the energy in dialog and the arts in general. All of these unique chatters combined and surrounded with friends and strangers who usually fell somewhere between these unique characteristics, friends and strangers who had some combination or a little of all the unique chatter-type natures. Then there was also the gaming and roll-playing rooms, and of course the forever infamous sex, dating, and hook-up rooms.

I was the wordSmith/artist, and what that meant was, even in a room full of friends and people I knew, it was known that I would fire out statements and phrases and fish for anyone who caught on or was game. We would open up a unique conversation and dialog, not consisting of the more traditional hello, how are you, how is the weather, or talk of a specific topic, or the history between people and he said-she said , but rather, conversation and dialog much more in a poetry format, and most importantly, it was always an open format that anyone could chime in on, and plenty of people did. It was easy and it was very magical. Picture it as so: You are in a chat room with a decent or excellent vibe, maybe you go there all the time and a bunch of your friends are there, but there is also a good mix of newbies and strangers, maybe a shock-type is razzing someone, but not enough to get kicked out or put on ignore. You go through the usual hellos, greeting friends, talking about whatever is relevant, the day, yesterday, plans for whatever, or updates from people since last you spoke to them. At the same time, you see these artistic statements popping out, sometimes at a frequent pace, sometimes here and there, and every so often, something pops out and it hits you, it makes you think, or lol, or smile, or feel puzzled, and you chime in, you pop out a version of it or something that could be considered a response, and a few of the people you are talking with do the same. We all feel it; we all smile, lol, or shake our heads, then you go right back to your chat and everything keeps going. After a while, the core of the chat room turns into a microcosm of generating energy, anchors that fuel fire and drive movement, and from time to time, and at any given moment, I end up doing what you just did, but in reverse, and I chime in on a more normal/traditional dialog, or I respond to a more global idea that suddenly floated around the room, born out of one of your more specific conversations. It all made for some very sharp, witty, dynamic times, times when people easily spent all night online talking and typing. This is what I became known as; this is what I stood for. When you saw Chrs84 pop in, you knew everything was about to get a little more artistic and expressive, especially in those rooms that were already wonderfully artistic and expressive. We thrived off of each other, and words developed into elaborate identities that were just as strong as our profile images and interests. Together, we made some amazing hanging-out times.

Of course I didn’t stop there. I went on to post plenty of written word, poems, stories and essays that floated throughout the Web, some of which you just might run into if you looked hard enough, popping up right there on your screen with the date to prove it. I know of a few places and I plan to eventually link them so we can view those blasts from the past. I contributed to online magazines. Remember when those zines started to catch on fire? It seemed like everyone was starting up an online mag. You could still find very early work of mine in the ancient posts of poetry and writing sites, and forums, and Aol communities and homePages. Even right now, I have some old Aol home pages that I will link up soon. Still, lots of my work became lost, as life and shit sometimes happens. I moved, different roommate times, different computers and sharing computers and online accounts, so one thing led to another and I lost my Chrs84 screen name, in the sense that it was created under the master name/account of an old friend/roommate. Remember how limited things were when it came to screen names, how difficult it was to transfer a name back then? So the name became locked up in that old account and I moved on to different screen names, not a significant amount, but a few different ones. For the most part, I would still use Chrs84 anytime there was an external identity request outside the actual root-account, like creating accounts and identities on other sites, so in that sense, it never left me. In fact, if you look up Chrs84 on Aol and its community/hometown(which I used to check from time to time, just for the hell of it, but haven’t in the last few years), you might still see some listings and headings, although, any actual body connected to it is unavailable. The actual Aol Chrs84 screen name may have never been completely deleted from its original account, or properly removed from where it is rooted. Of course we have come a long way with identities and the World Wide Web, and personal websites exploded and became much more accessible to the online user, so I took Chrs84 into the domain world of the Web.

Now, as a special treat, I will give you what so many people over time have inquired, and depending on my mood or how elusive and broad I wanted to be, I answered or usually skirted around their question, which is: What does the 84 stand for? since it wasn’t the last 2 digits of the year of my birth nor a particularly great year for me. Seeing as to how I was only 10 years old at that time(1984), you could say most of my life in that year was big-time or smack in the middle of being a kid. The 84 in Chrs84 stands specifically for the piece of literature George Orwell produced, the landmark book titled 1984. As a teenager, this was one of the single most influential pieces of work I read at that time. Of course it went hand in hand with Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World masterpiece, and together, they opened up a whole new relationship between consciousness and the written word. It will always be one of the top books that taught me the fundamentals of conveying massive issues through literature and a story. Then 1984 and a Brave New World went perfect with Animal Farm and One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, combine these with the Diary of Anne Frank, The Good Earth, A Clockwork Orange, The Stranger and Naked Lunch and you could say that, literally, I was a changed man and never looked back. Would you believe that every one of these books, minus Naked Lunch, constituted the core of the Board of Education High School English curriculum? Nowadays, based on the younger people I speak with, I’m not even sure if any of these books are required reading. Oh well, the times have changed; what could we expect? Anyway, out of the respect for what that book meant to me, out of all the numerical digits I could have chosen to accompany Chrs, which is my first name minus the “i”, or it’s also the first 3 letters of my first name and the “s” is the first letter of my last name, I chose 84, clicked the link on the Aol create a screen name page to check if it was available, and it was, and the rest became history.

 

 

Fun fact:

In one of the earlier online version of the game Mahjong, called Mahjong Towers II (speed oriented), those boards created by the Author: Chrs84, are my boards and that author is none other than me. I can proudly say that at the prime and height of my playing, I was in the top 10 of the greatest Mahjong players in the world, those also playing at that time, and you could safely rank me at least top 50 of All-Time in Mahjong Towers II, world wide! There was a time that you could see my top 10 ranking scores across at least 200 different boards, yeah, I was a monster player. I used to work at home and had the wonderful opportunity to master the game. Secretly, from time to time, I dream of a glorious comeback. I made hundreds of boards, many that were unique and beautiful and downloaded in people’s copy of the game, some boards may still be popularly played today.

 

My best Wishes

Christopher-

 

Who I really am.

01/16/08

How many years have to pass,
and how many have already?
Are you listening or are you asking me?
The truth is, I only have this moment,
when I wrote up a storm for a life,
with fancy words for a living,
and delicate descriptions of the damned.
After everything is said and done,
can you see who I really am?

They say silence is golden,
but not when you already touched me.
Suddenly I am not the know it all.
Sooner or later you just have to realize,
I stood at the brink of existence,
on the fine line of a heartbeat,
or a heart bleeding.
When it felt like my decision,
I fell into you,
otherwise I would have never opened these eyes again,
otherwise I wouldn’t be who I am.

So I’m out here in these streets,
laughed at by the crowds,
mocked for the time frames I understand,
and I’d like to beat their accusations to a pulp,
but that’s not going to change their opinions.
So I show them my scars,
and suddenly everyone gets serious,
and that’s exactly who I am,
broken without your hands,
barely breathing when you’re not holding me.

How long has it been?
I’m not even sure anymore,
but I can tell you what it feels like,
and that’s much too long.
Over two years, no lips, no fingertips,
no one touching me, no one fixing my hair,
no one pulling on my pockets.
I shuffle these feet with a shadow holding my hand,
and people look at me like I’m crazy,
but they’ll never know why I am alive.
I seen you forever,
so it’s like you’ve always been with me.
After everything is said and done,
that’s why you have someone who will wait out time.
Can you see who I really am?

 

The Safety of a Miracle

01/02/08

I am so tired of disappearing.
I am so tired of fading away.
Tragedies, traumas, memories,
the good times, the bad times,
all of it together make such a dynamic beautiful life,
both vulnerable and delicate, resilient and enduring.
But, to come home the way I do,
it is a pain that becomes indescribable.
As much as I have fought to represent these things,
trying to be so brave with what is dealt to me,
and supportive to those I care for,
it is a pain overemphasized by isolation,
with such little hope to spare,
so that a ray of light becomes so precise,
it burns a hole in my heart.

How bittersweet that my tongue is unlimited,
but my hands are so tied.
Yet, even this tongue has come at the worst price.
And I hold dear all those who share these tortures,
for I seen with my own eyes how impossible it was to withstand it,
for I seen so many crumble, so many fade and disappear.
And I don’t want to fade and disappear,
but to sit here before you and tread my reality,
is only possible by containing great devastation.

Yes it is true, I am riddle with scars.
Sometimes I truly feel it is all intentional,
and I truly am glad if it is me more than anyone else.
Because of the bloodline,
because of my birthright,
I have accepted the responsibility of being the voice for such horrors,
the voice for such pain and hurt.
How could I wish this all away,
knowing it never goes away and would only crush someone else?
So I try to be brave.
I wear it all like a curse of armor,
one that does not protect but weighs me down,
one that buries me a little more with every breath.
But I do not want to fade away and disappear.
Yet, who in their right mind would hold me?
Who would dare comfort such a spiral of no control,
of no say or choice over life’s requests,
to live the nightmares everyone else manages to balance,
to speak a language that can only burn the mouth?
For almost all those in my shoes are crushed and paralyzed,
and they have every right to be.
It is not fair for life to be so one-sided as it sometimes is,
and for those that are on this one-side,
it does not appear to be sometimes but all the time.
Yes, that someone would be a miracle to me.

So here I sit in a silence as deadly as the echoes of misfortune,
echoes that are not the past but the future,
and they are not consequences of anything,
they are the very nature of me.
When can I come home and not be so alone?
When can I be so sure?
When can I just stop thinking all together,
and just collapse in an eternal embrace,
in the safety of a miracle?
I don’t want to fade away and disappear.
I need the safety of a miracle,
and I know I can be a miracle too.

Holiday Infections

12/24/07

I know some things are hard to believe,
and some things are almost better off as the nature we assume for them.
This is a reality of butterflies and snowballs,
our common sense in combination with our trust,
and faith as the loaded gun,
but there is so much to believe or disbelieve,
so we fire blanks,
even though at point blank range it still hurts.
It’s more our ego than a flesh wound.
It’s more ringing in our ears than it is a gapping hole.
You got that, my friend?
Every one of us thinks a version of these things,
but only an idiot turns it into a profession.
I make this claim to distinguish between an artist and the damned,
just like you thought you could imitate life.
It was good as a work of fiction until someone is bleeding or dies.
Now do you tell stories or do they tell on you?
If only I had cash for every time someone told me they knew the truth.
Two out of a lot of people would swear on the things they saw,
the rest of us are just majority rule,
something a textbook could keep reprinting.
You would think the revisions were full of added content,
but sometimes you say so much more by omission.
Remember one minus everything,
or was that everything without one?
It didn’t really leave you in stitches,
but right away you were thinking how to shoot it down.
I heard that you should just live your life and keep digging.
If you could smile then you were already rich,
so where is your capital now?
They built a highway and obstructed your point of view.
How much did we trust ourselves just because we had no choice,
even if we knew we would do us wrong?
Remember all those versions of the truth?
Well maybe a genius was just someone with a lot of excuses and a following who believed everything they said.

I know some things get real vague,
and sometimes it has nothing to do with anything,
except you have to deal with it,
or did you think your choices were made in a vacuum?
Yet, it wasn’t uncommon to speak to a crowd and get a better response from a wall.
You were still hoping you never left an impression on anyone,
until you found out the whole world was listening.
How else does everyone know your business?
But what kind of freak show put us on center stage?
I thought all Angels had a game plan,
then again, nothing gets done without producers.
Could camcorders be successful in Hollywood?
Probably not any more than chemicals protect nature.
God told man: “I should be in your heart but one day I will only be in your head.”,
and everyone knows what we do with figments of our imagination.
Go ahead, try and tell the devil its just a figure of speech.
Every symbol was a poison grape,
and snakes aren’t the only creatures that will offer you fruit,
just like Adam knew Eve wasn’t a virgin.
They made their bed so many times that it was obvious.
She must have saw what was under his leaf and got pissed off.
I mean, what could she tell God, there was no such thing as an enlarger back then,
and Enzyte was still thousands of years away.
Why else did the river run red, when they never killed an animal in their whole life?
And suddenly Eve was popping out children,
while the snake protested he had no arms and legs so how could it be him.
Sure Eve gave Adam the apple,
but only after Adam showed it to her.
They must have thought God was dumb.
That’s like buying a circular saw for your wife and she buys you an evening gown.

I know some things should be black and white,
and sometimes blacks and whites get along.
It sounds like a crazy idea,
but you’d be surprised how scared people are about blending the species.
Most racist people just don’t believe we all bleed the same,
the only problem is they’d sooner cut someone else rather than themselves.
Then again, some people just want to be left alone,
and that seems harmless enough,
until they go a bit stir crazy and write a book called Mein Kampf.
Of course not everyone goes for the gusto,
some people just do a lot of coke in the name of science and blame it on their mother,
or two mothers or two fathers.
By the way, I personally researched this myself, and he was right.
I’ll let you decide which one.
Hey, nice try, but never underestimate big business.
Capitalism trumps everyone, yet again,
or was that in God we trust?
That’s because the dollar is green even though the wallet is made out of flesh,
and everyone knows animals don’t count,
otherwise God would forgive their sins rather than ours.
Besides, Jesus herded sheep but died on the cross for us,
so why did he call the people his flock?
And green is suppose to simulate prosperity,
so why is it always covered in blood, I mean red.
Don’t get mad at me, I’m neutral in all of this,
just like the Swiss bank was in World War II,
and just because I don’t have weapons doesn’t mean I won’t shoot.
I had best friends who were Jewish but I wasn’t allowed to eat at their table during the holidays,
and I had best friends who were black but I didn’t marry any of them.
You see, your secrets are safe with me,
but that’s because I only see things as friend or foe.
If you think I’m public enemy number one, you should hear what they say about you.
My life was relatively easy, everyone was trying to kill me.
Now what’s your excuse, I’m sure it’s a good one.

Tears that soak a callous heart.

12/10/07

Saw my kid the other day,
but it was really too difficult to pretend,
like rubbing my eyes to remove the truth.
If it’s a sin, who should confess?
If I was born in the same way, how come I survived?
Sometimes it just doesn’t make sense,
actually, it makes no sense,
but I had a life to live so I tried to move.
What the hell does he want with me?
I’ve been a runner forever, how could I change?
So I turned my face and I fucking cried,
yeah, big bad chris wept like rain that fell on scars,
like blood I tried to put back in holes.
If it’s a sin, where should I begin?
Sometimes I just don’t know,
actually, I still don’t know.
Maybe I need a secret weapon,
a way to punish me with gentle pain,
give me enough time to find the Sun and the Moon.
It sure isn’t easy in these streets.
If it’s a sin, why does he follow me?
I thought I would be the one to walk away,
instead I held out my hand,
but my arms flailed in the wind.
As I blinked twice, nothing was there.
I suppose I never really knew what he looked like.
How’s that for second guesses?
and then there were chills I could not shake.
Sometimes it’s like he’s living his life through mine,
actually, it’s his life not mine.
And I know the spirits have cared for me,
more than I could ever ask for,
it’s not just the stars and things.
The spirits found me a heart that I could love,
and it scares me to death.
I don’t want to hurt anymore.
I don’t want to die.
Can he really see me?
I hope you could see me too.
I’m not going to hide these tears.
I’m not going to fade anymore