Monday, March 30, 2020

REPORT from PLAGUELAND



Report from Plagueland.

We moved our daily family walk from one ghost town (Puyallup) to another (Sumner) and perhaps actually arrived in a long-dreamed-of but seldom-encountered interstitial third (Meeker).

A place where barns are sutured into homes and then transformed into upscale apartments.

Where strangely malformed dogs bark at our own.

Where it's best to walk through with a quickened pace and glance over one's shoulders from time to time.

Sunday, March 29, 2020

REPORT from PLAGUELAND



Report from Plagueland.

What has gotten me through the past few days.

RUNNING. I've been running through downtown when I can feel the stress and building up within me. When I'm out running, I know I'm burning off cortisol. When the "stay home" part of "Stay Home, Stay Healthy" starts to get to me, I shift momentarily to "stay healthy."

ROUTINE. I make sure I stick to a routine. I get up the same time in the morning. I take my shower, get dressed, put my keys in my pocket. Eat breakfast. Go to work, even if it's now in my basement, and keep my normal work schedule.

READING. I've haven't had the same appetite for books that I had prior, but I still make sure that I read something every day. I need to keep my mind occupied. Poetry. Essays. Short stories. A page or two of The Lucky Star by William T. Vollmann.


Wednesday, March 25, 2020

VIGIL ART • TESTING of ABRAHAM



"The Testing of Abraham," watercolor, India ink, iridescent calligraphy ink, and papercut on 6" x 6" watercolor paper, by Troy's Work Table.

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"It was early in the morning when Abraham arose..." 
—from "Exordium" in Fear and Trembling by Søren Kierkegaard.

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Challenge #3 = TESTING of ABRAHAM, Genesis 22:1-18. Your interpretation in any medium.

REPORT from PLAGUELAND



Report from Plagueland.

Troy's Work Table adopts additional functions.

TWT is not only producing art and poetry, but now also serving as (1) a work-at-home station and (2) a canine nail trimming salon.

Also, today is the day that the photo-editing software I've used for the past 16 years decides to give up the ghost. (So now I'm learning how to use Gimp.)

Tuesday, March 24, 2020

REPORT from PLAGUELAND



Report from Plagueland.

(1) The washing machine died last week, prior to the "Stay Home, Stay Healthy" order, so I'm washing clothes by hand in the bathtub. But then if I have to stay at home do I really need to wear (clean) underwear?

(2) A classic plague: Hail! (And lots of it!)

Monday, March 23, 2020

UNCUT GEMS



A week ago, The Wife and I watched Uncut Gems (2019), directed by the Safdie Brothers.

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I'm thinking that this is Punch-Drunk Love (2002) on steroids and cocaine. And not a likable character in sight.

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Perhaps it's the anti-Punch-Drunk Love, a corruption of sorts of Paul Thomas Anderson's film. 

Adam Sandler is obviously the connection point, if this indeed the case. Barry Egan morphed into Howard Ratner. Business owners who end up in the midst of shady business because of their own sins. Extended families that are chaotic and overbearing and manipulative. A love interest who is lost for a time.

But all of the goodness and grounding of Punch-Drunk Love is perverted and degraded and amplified in Uncut Gems


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It's another minor echo, but the various color-filled molecular-level trips we take into the structure of the black opal—at the opening and closing of the film, as well as in the middle—remind me of the twelve "Scopitones" by artist visual Jeremy Blake that serve as "chapter headings" for sections of the story.

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The best thing about Uncut Gems is that it's inspired me to watch Punch-Drunk Love once again, one of my favorite films. 

Sunday, March 22, 2020

JOKER



Tonight we watched Joker (2019), directed by Todd Phillips on DVD.

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Timing is everything, as they say. I think I should have watched this before the world really started to unravel.

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The colors in this film are so saturated. For some reason, I keep being reminded of the films of Todd Haynes. The two films couldn't be any more different in tone, but I keep conflating Far from Heaven (2002) with Joker, confusing Phillips for Haynes.

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Another film I'm reminded of is The King of Comedy (1982) by Martin Scorsese. Arthur Fleck as an alternate universe version of Rupert Pupkin. It's as though elements of the backstories of both the Joker and the Batman were laid upon the framework of The King of Comedy.

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I couldn't imagine that someone could play a crazier version of the Joker than Heath Ledger did in The Dark Knight (2008), but here we are.

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Joaquin Phoenix's laughter throughout the film caused me to laugh, not because it was funny or infectious but because it was oftentimes so inappropriate and absurd and uncomfortable.

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I actually felt a bit queasy at the conclusion of the film. It will definitely stay with me.



VIGIL ART • FLOOD



"Flood," watercolor and India ink on 6" x 6" watercolor paper, by Troy's Work Table.

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Look close and you'll see a few pairs of animals on the deck of the ark, as well as the dove that returns with the olive branch hovering above.

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I like that a bit of the storm still resides within the rainbow promise.

I also like that the ark may be riding the waves in the midst of the storm or alternately stuck on Mount Ararat as the storm waters recede.


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Challenge #2 = FLOOD, Genesis 7:1-5, 11-18; 8:6-18; 9:8-13.

Saturday, March 21, 2020

VIGIL ART • CREATION



"Creation," watercolor, India ink, iridescent calligraphy ink, gouache on 6" x 6" watercolor paper, by Troy's Work Table.

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Each year, my church observes Easter Vigil, one of the most liturgically complex worship services. This year we won't be able to because of COVID-19 and emergency measures. So I created a series of play-prayers for members of my congregation as they stay at home and shelter in place.

The thirteen Vigil readings (12 Old Testament, 1 New Testament non-Gospel) depict God's presence throughout salvation history. Each year I get to figure out how to visually depict six or seven of them. Since I won't be creating them for church/work, but I have free time, I decided I would work on all thirteen. And invite others to do the same.

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Challenge #1 = CREATION, Genesis 1:1—2:4. Your interpretation in any medium.

Wednesday, March 18, 2020

PAUSE (AN AMERICAN SENTENCE)



"The Pale Horse," watercolor, India ink, gouache, iridescent calligraphy ink, 2020, by Troy's Work Table.



PAUSE (An American Sentence)

The once cavalier have quieted
and the quick of tongue gone silent.

© 2020 Troy's Work Table Publishing



Prior to the plague that descended upon us, I was exploring the poetry form of the American Sentence. It's a form that was invented by Allen Ginsberg to free the Japanese haiku from its syllabic line structure in English, since he felt the form didn't translate well from one culture/language to another. But he wanted to keep the spirit of the condensed form, so he landed upon one sentence of seventeen syllables, with whatever line form the poet felt worked best, typically one line.

So, here I am trying to process whatever is happening around me right now. Trying to grieve when others tell me to find the joy in the midst of this shit. Trying to find a way to scream on the page as an act of catharsis and release and healing.



On social media, there was a female poet belittling male poets she felt were romanticizing COVID-19, death, social distancing, and the associated themes. I went and read some of the poems of which she complained. There I did indeed find death. And lamentation. And fear.

I wanted to shout at her: "Fuck off!" Instead, I took a break from social media.



I know that we all process things differently. Which is why I need to avoid the optimists. And the joyful. And those looking to put a bright spin on what feels grim and dire to me: you can all "Fuck off!"

Because I'm not telling you how to process. I'm not telling you to be realistic. I'm not telling you to mourn. To cry out. But it feels that you, the joy-filled, the optimistic, the "glass half full" people are often the ones trying to prescribe to others how to behave. Don't tell me to wear a smile or cheer up when others are dying, losing jobs, struggling to shuffle through the day, suffering. Move through life with your joy; I'm glad that you're able to do such. But let me sit in ashes and sackcloth and watch the world shrink around me. Let me sit in quiet and prayer. It's how I'll make it through to another day.



Strangely enough, I take comfort in putting one of the horses of the Apocalypse down in ink. Here comes the pale horse, albeit without its rider, Death. I take comfort in noticing a somberness and solemnity move across the nation as a whole. A shadow. It let's me know that I'm not the only one feeling the gravity of the moment. The grave.



I'm hoping that this time of Good Friday come early in Lent, lingering, and its attendant Crucifixion, will bring about a glorious Resurrection. But I'm not there yet. May God have mercy upon us. May God walk alongside us. May God roll away the stone.

Monday, March 16, 2020

THE BEAUTY



"The idea of this was worse when it was happening to someone else. Now it is me and it is inevitable, and nothing inevitable is ever that bad. If I have to live with it, then how can it be unbearable? 

"Besides, bodies betray us. That is what they do. They die and this is, at least, not death. I will choose any option but death. This body wants the story to go on." 

—page 93, The Beauty by Aliya Whiteley

Saturday, March 14, 2020

WHITE RIVER DGC FTW



Today was a day to "make up" for all of the cancellations related to the COVID-19 coronavirus outbreak. The Child missed out on a karate tournament. The Child missed out on a track-and-field event. I missed out on heading over the pass to central Washington. So the two of us decided to substitute something that would get us out of the house but still keep us safely distanced from others. Disc golf it was!



I played a 68 on 18 holes, which was +14 over par. Not really all that great a score, but fun nonetheless. Plus it was nice to play among the trees, in the cold, while really fine snowflakes fell here and there.



The photo above is the dreaded (for me) hole 16 of the White River Disc Golf Course in Auburn, Washington, plus my disc sitting too close for comfort to the aforementioned White River.

I lost the first (and at the time, only) disc I ever purchased on this hole the first time I played it. When it went in the river, a seasoned player, who saw the horrible throw and lost disc, loaned me a disc, had me play a full round with him, and gave me a whole set of tips and suggestions.



The course was packed with people today. It was awesome to see so many people out having fun after such a shitty week. (With proper "social distance " between groups, of course.)

"END of the WORLD" READS



When I'm depressed, I find it comforting to read about the depression of others. When the world feels like its coming to an end (of sorts) then I find comfort and distraction in books about the end of the world. Here are some of my favorite "apocalyptic" book recommendations.



Dark Matter by Aase Berg.

These short poems that collectively tell a story are almost impossible to describe. Something catastrophic has occurred and continues to happen, but everything is so off-kilter and jarring that one never quite gains one's footing. Which is okay, because, as one of the poems states: "There is no space for compromise here." Indeed, otherwise we wouldn't feel the dread and oppression that lies within.

Poems are presented on facing verso and recto pages, with the original Swedish on the former and English translations by Johannes Göransson on the latter.



The Beauty by Aliya Whiteley.

All women have died. Only men and boys remain. Until a young man discovers strange fungi growing over the graveyard where the women are buried, and a few women "return."

There is sex and death and storytelling. There is a broken remnant of society and the rebuilding of something in its place.



The Road by Cormac McCarthy.

Short clipped sentences as brutal and beautiful as the story they tell propel this story forward. It's a quest of sorts, with a father and son nearly alone in a world devastated by some sort of apocalyptic event. Their world is quickly shrinking in upon them as resources and resolve dwindle.

There is hope within, but just barely.



Borne, The Strange Bird, and Dead Astronauts by Jeff VanderMeer.

These three related books all take place in the same universe. Mostly.

Borne introduces us to a City ravaged by various genetically-manipulated creatures, most of them hybrids of human and animal. We follow the story of Rachel who is barely surviving as a scavenger amidst the ruin and constant threats to her own being. Until she discovers the shape-shifting Borne and acts as mother to it/him as it/he grows to maturity.

The Strange Bird takes place within the same realm, but follows the trials and tribulations of the once-human (?) Strange Bird as it/she attempts to find freedom in/from the same setting we first encounter in Borne. It's a much shorter, and, I feel, much sadder tale than that of Rachel and Borne.

Dead Astronauts explores the lives of some of the peripheral characters we encountered in Borne and/or The Strange Bird. Here they are allowed to tell their own tales, although through various alternated timelines and versions of the City. It's a wild read that I think deserves to be revisited more than once to fully comprehend.



Blueprints of the Afterlife by Ryan Boudinot.

Malaspina, a sentient glacier, is roaming North America and destroying cities. A band of survivors is trying to survive in the Puget Sound region where a replica of Manhattan is being built.

"We hadn't seen the worst, he said. We were about to enter a period of history when we would witness horrors that could only be described through metaphor. Global warming was part of it. Nuclear war was part of it. Genocide was part of it. Islamic and Christian radicalism were part of it. Overconsumption and superviruses were part of it. But they were only small parts of it. These dark days were just around the corner..." [page 304]



Tonguecat by Peter Verhelst.

The world hard freezes and many people die. Then there is a huge thaw and the world is flooded and caked in mud. The king disappears. Motorcycle-riding rebels terrorize the city. The titan Prometheus descends to this realm and finds love amidst the chaos.

It's quite the story. I read the opening section "Strawberry Mouth" each December as winter begins.



Apocalypse by John of Patmos.

The Revelation (of Jesus Christ) to John that provides a framework for much of the apocalyptic literature follows. A woman in the desert giving birth to a child, both pursued by a dragon. War in heaven. A new heaven and a new earth emerge from the ruins of the war between Satan and Jesus.

Signs. Symbols. Seals. Bowls. Angels. Trumpets. Famine. Pestilence. War. Death. But, ultimately, hope and resurrection.



The Tiger Flu by Larissa Lai.

Vancouver BC more than one-hundred years from now is a city populated mostly by women and many of them mutants, some who can regrow organs in order to keep other members of their communities alive through transplants. A mutated version of the flu has wiped out most of the men. Life below is brutal and difficult, while everyone dreams of eventually escaping this world for one of the two artificial moons that orbit nearby.



Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel.

Pandemic flu wipes out much of the population. A small traveling theater troupe visits settlements of survivors and puts on plays before moving on to the next town. Storytelling underpins the main narrative and provides another undercurrent of art, with the two tales informing one another as we learn more about the life of the main protagonist.



The Stand by Stephen King.

Captain Trips. The Superflu. Most of the population ends up killed by this weaponized disease that escapes its lab. The survivors find themselves drawn to either Boulder, Colorado and Mother Abagail or Las Vegas and Randall Flagg. The two groups gradually face off in a Manichaean battle between good and evil.

Monday, March 09, 2020

LIMINALITY / THRESHOLDS



Convergences, à la Lawrence Weschler.

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"[A]n existence based on liminality and provisional presence, like television waves or information traveling by phone wire or electromagnetic light." 

—from "Cosmos" by Lidia Yuknavitch, as found in Verge

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"I write now about the calf because the image of liminality feels so accurate to grief."

"All spiritual traditions probably push us toward the threshold, the place of not knowing." 

—both from "Cattle Guard | The Calf" by Jessie van Eerden, as found in The Long Weeping

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Pastor Bri preaching upon John 3:1-17 this morning.

The threshold upon which Nicodemus stands.

"In-between" places, aka "liminal zones."

The poet John O'Donohue on thresholds.

Waiting patiently in the "in between." 

"The wind blows where it chooses..." (John 3:8)

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"To acknowledge and cross a new threshold is always a challenge. It demands courage and also a sense of trust in whatever is emerging."

"Suddenly you stand on completely strange ground and a new course of life has to be embraced. Especially at such times we desperately need blessing and protection. You look back at the life you have lived up to a few hours before, and it suddenly seems so far away."

—both from "Thresholds" by John O'Donohue, as found in To Bless the Space Between Us: A Book of Blessings  

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It certainly feels as though I/we stand in "in between" times. In metaphorical liminal zones. At the threshold of something new, emerging.

May God grant me/us the strength to cross with love and mercy for all.


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On biblical stories of liminality—Noah, Lot's wife, Job, the exile of the Israelites in the desert for forty years—as examples for us:

"The kernel of these stories burns brightly with the moment of change and loss of everything, the moment that forges the soul in fire...And it seems to me that, contrary to the sermonizing of these stories, they do not reveal lessons easy to articulate."

—from "Cattle Guard | The Calf" by Jessie van Eerden, as found in The Long Weeping

Sunday, March 08, 2020

Sunday, March 01, 2020

OPEN BOOKS



After Lenten Quiet Morning, I made a spontaneous poetry pilgrimage to the holy land, Open Books: A Poem Emporium.

It was an opportunity to spend an hour picking through books of poetry, recognizing favorite authors and works, as well as encountering new voices.



Another reason I decided to go was because I knew that a chapbook of new poetry was being released (in its audiobook format) later that evening at Open Books. However, being sick, I didn't want to be sitting in the back of the room hacking up my lungs, disturbing the reading, and potentially passing along my head cold.



Here is what I ended up purchasing:
  • The Winter & Spring 2020 issue of Poetry Northwest. It's one of my favorite literary journals. The editors do a great job of publishing vital and vibrant poetry, and this issue is no exception.
  • To Bless the Space Between Us: A Book of Blessings by John O'Donohue. I wasn't planning on getting this book, but it had been recommended to me by one of my pastors. She thought it was a good bridge between the worlds of religion and poetry. And she's right.
  • World Ball Notebook by Sesshu Foster. This book of prose poems jumped out at me. Since Atomik Aztex is one of my all-time favorite books, and knowing WBN won the American Book Award, this was an easy choice.
  • O—(ezekiel's wife) by C. R. Grimmer. I knew I would be picking this book up. It was described as being couched in the language of the biblical prophets yet giving voice to the unnamed wife of the prophet Ezekiel. In the poems within its pages it does just that and more.