emilsplanet

[emilsplanet]

[emilsplanet]

So, here’s a picture of a suspended stone. It hangs on a three inch hawser I dug out of a dumpster. The rope was retired in the traditional fashion, without ceremony. In its working life it served as a dockline for a 100 foot wooden fishing boat called sunrise. When I went to thread the thing through the three inch hole in the stone I found it too snug, and had to parse out & hack off a strand. It took longer than I’d expected to cut, even with a sharp knife. Strong rope. The stone I’m not 100 percent on where I got it. Certainly I may have dragged it off a beach. I think that’s the most likely. I think I remember it being a bit softened from weather. Likely it came from rip rap downtown. A few years ago I walked all the rocks & pulled the ones I could do with anything less than a machine. This one is likely from that time. I have a long running and extensive collection of rocks with natural holes in them, not sure if I’ve discussed that here... but it’s- other than being a rock based obsession- unrelated to this blog. When I was working with Aragorn going to the quarry & picking rock for rock walls he found a drilled one in the man rock pile. I’m pretty sure he sold it as part of a landscape, but it got me on thinking about basalt & the way it crystallizes and can make such good crystals that they can withstand an internal blast in a drilled hole... as I said- I went and found all the local ones. So- I met this girl who has a little dinghy. Same as the ones I’ve had, hers is a little el toro painted starburst colors, and I used my interest in her boat as an excuse to get her number. Anyway, I asked her if she’d be into loading my rock in there & hanging it from the old ferry dock (as pictured). We’ve been spending a lot of time together. She helped me pick up the rock from where I’ve stored it at my uncles property, and round up the hawser & handy billy. The rock is not too heavy for me to lift, it is way too heavy for me to lift. She’s a small girl, and together we can barely manage to move it by tying the thing to the middle of a stick and doing the hunters bringing home the kill carry. To put it in the boat I had to put one end of the stick on a boulder & sweat the other end while she ice cream scooped the thing with her boat. It was a scene. Loading that thing in took quite a while with me barely able to support it with the stick, losing my strength, try again. And Taylor in the water maxing out her strength too, trying to control a heavy boat & scoop the rock just right... We put our wallets & phones in the truck, pretty sure we’d be going for a swim & probably sink the boat too. When I jumped into the boat with the rock & Taylor water gushed up through the centerboard trunk until we got balanced... We rowed out carefully, extra lines ready. Barefoot & armed with knives & beer. Totally unsure if we’d be able to get the thing out of the boat. But it worked. We did it. (Post removal) I have to do these things. It may start with an idea of the meaning, or just the flavor of the idea or the image with just the hint of the meaning. I guess this is my space to talk about meaning. That thing people say they’re finding in their lives. That thing people ask you what your tattoo signifies. Its not a thing that i talk about in my daily life. People who use the word daily are insufferable... needing more meaning than there is. Unable or unwilling to create their own, find it. Obsessed, dogged by it. Unsure why their attempts aren’t bringing them an authentic sense of meaning. In its elusiveness it galvanizes them & they become desperate. Trying to find meaning in the control of meaning, or force its creation. The flaneur seeking conversations The born again yoga woman The fake indian. Anyway- im pissed off. What i really wanted to talk about was what the rock came to mean to me. If you know me you might know that ive been doing this. And i have to tell you- i had some reservations about using a rock that had been drilled. Awhile ago when i was working for a landscaper i learned a bit about these rocks. Of course ive been collecting the natural versions forever, drilled quarry rock has some of the same characteristics that attract me to their natural cousins- with an added pop. These basalt quarry rock have not only been drilled but also blasted. Although im not completely familiar with the blasting program, i gather that those surviving with thier bore holes intact must represent areas of relative good crystallization (although i have broken one...) So, i just decided that a find is a find, wether it was the earth that left the spaces or people that did, its still a rock thats survived with a hole in it. Now, what does that mean. In one sense, its sexual. Its a womb. A protected space that functions as a gateway to and from security, or at least the security of someone potentially giving a damn about you. A rock with a hole in it symbolizes fertility as much as it does strength or permanence. Its a portal, a process, a chrysalis. The idea being that its a safe space to change & grow. Also like a womb, its a literal point of connection, and while the stone symbolized strength & permanence, the womb symbolism speaks to the transitory nature of connection. A perfect symbol, in a tidy package. I heard an artist friend say that any object in art that is taller than it is wide represents a phallus. I just heard this... not sure if im on board there... Counterpoint from douchebag culture: a hole is a hole is a hole. I guess you call that a supporting statement. So then, when you bring attachment into the mix by literally suspending the stone, now youre talking about the relationship between attachment & support. (And, dare i admit: dependance) However, in the case of stone that is pennant, you’re also talking about independance. Suspension, like flight, bends our bond to the surface and gives a freedom that is an essential tonic against, well, the drudgery of the mortal coil, i guess. In the stone pictured above, all of these topics are discussed. Add on the high weight & difficulty of installation, and remember the method of installation... Emils planet. I want to talk about alternatives to this life on this planet. I want to show you that although I’ve not chosen to pursue literal space colonization, I’m thinking on that scale, but internally. We can fly all our problems to a new planet and set up a real scene, right? plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose I want a real change. I want to understand gravity, i want to make rocks fly. I want to pick that ancient lock that holds us down. I want to find the hole in myself that i can be attached by, i want that for all of us. I want a planet where flying rocks do not mean bombs are blowing up. Or oppressed people are fighting back with the only weapons they have. So, is it about sex & violence? Yes. Is it about the fleeting way we get to even discuss these issues? Absolutely. It has all the meaning you can put into it. Its like a mirror in that it can be as beautiful as you can. Its specifically about other things too, this in particular. Those meanings above are things i brought with me. There are others too. Its a statement about our (as people) ownership of our spaces. It hanging from a ferry terminal. Ferries like bridges are about connection and communication, and the rock hangs in abandoned dockage, do the math. (It represents a rebirth of communication on a human scale, so now were talking about the failure of social media) Ownership of ones space in this sense does not mean control, rather, responsibility to. It marks the progression of our growing infrastructure, while simultaneously defying the rising waters to lick it. It also blocks traffic, or forces you to witness its silent protest And while it screams out this defiant feminity, its also yanging hard with its immensity & boldness. Its clearly human yet godlike assertion of its (searching for the right word) yeah. Presence? Creative... prescence? No doubt. Hard yang Hard enough for all that yin. But apparent it was too yin to be tolerated by the fucking boy scouts troupe leader. In classic modern repression of anything powerfully female, a small army of little boys saw to its removal from the shrine. I know ive left stuff out of this :/

[emilsplanet]

As I’ve often thought: “I’m a funny monkey.” Not quite an artist Not quite a junky Not quite a criminal Not quite a boatbuilder, I’m emil. My life is small & insignificant. I’m a flea living on a dying dog lost but still leashed. Malnourished & plagued, I can’t relate to the bulk of my own genesis. The sweet crop from sour soil. The organ nature made to manage my systems has grown listless & compulsive. I’m divorced from nature. Not above nature- rather, I lost the house in the split up and have been left to my own defenses. My will to survive is verging on the spiteful, revengeful. I live my life as an act of rebellion against the tyrannical pointlessness of existence. Nothing new here, nothing but spew. Nothing to fear, nothing to do. Yet. There coiled around my cord a snake speaks: “blessed are the brave, patient are the meek.” And coded in the voice hide the pointed peaks: “as if you’ve got a choice.” The teeth. So as I bite apples with eve, I’m offered a chance to get by, but I need dunnage to bear the weight of my belief. You should know this by now. We’re not content to just watch the show I wanna know how. But I guess like jazz that doesn't resolve the mystery leaves us room to grow into. Evolve. And what I love is proof, that. Though I’ve been denied divinity, I at least have the power to create my own truth. Well, that’s a poem. I didn’t quite get to the kernel, but hey. It’s about being a funny monkey. It’s strange stuff that we do, that compels us. That we live for. Some of us find it strange... some of us just accept the multicolored texture of the wild.

[emilsplanet]

So, here goes a picture of some rocks. When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro. So. I’m going through some volatile times emotionally. My on and off girlfriend of three years has officially lost patience with me and started dating one of my friends. My other friend has paired up with my ex wife in a child bearing project, and I’m finding myself spending time with family, with my roommates, at work. I’m lone. I’m 37 years old, my net worth is around 12k. Saying that I’m feeling discouraged is an understatement.i think about suicide often. I think about launching my truck off one of the bluffs. I’m inexperienced at what I do for work & even if I become great at it it’s not a high paying job. If you’ve read through this blog you’ll know that things didn’t just start here... I’ve been hurting for a long time and I realized maybe too late that my ex girlfriend may have been my last shot at happiness. Family. Getting it together & keeping it together. I fucked up again. So now I’m doing the classic wrong thing trying to get her back, she is wayyy too proud & stubborn to go for that... two weeks ago I asked her to marry me, she said no, of course. So I went to Seattle & stole a bunch of cobblestones from pioneer square & spent some time enjoying some “benefits” So this Thursday I texted with her a bunch... Until she told me to stop. So... I scouted a site I’ve taken rocks from before. Went with my bike foolishly thinking I could carry one at a time down the trail thru the gate to a place where I could load my truck... that would’ve taken a while... so I just drove in and loaded up. In the immortal words of waka flocka flame: “front yard broad day with the s-k” Or, as illustrated by r. Crumb: “I’m a funny monkey” I don’t know if I said this before, but I’m not sure what they do to rock stealers. It’s such a bizarre crime. At this point in my life I’m not sure how I would respond to being caught.. I might admit my transgression, apologize. I might flee. I might lead the authorities on a chase.. try my Toyota & cargo against their wits. I might fight. I just don’t know. The hardest part is that I can’t picture who would be stopping me. The police? A beat cop with an eye for the architecturally suspicious? A park ranger making sure I’m employed by the construction company & wondering why I’m on the job after dark? Employee of the month parking his truck across the exit- on his cell with all of the above? It doesn't matter. I can’t imagine it because I don’t believe in it. If you can imagine it, you’d better believe it... but i, like much of the world, am operating on willful suspension of imagination. So I won’t imagine myself being caught- and therefore, my mind follows my eyes around, peeking in back lots & behind fences, looking for lichen spots & chisel marks. Looking for laws to bend. Where am I going with this? Maybe it’s a story to tell. Maybe I feel like I remember nothing, so I’m looking to build memories out of historic artifacts. Maybe I’m justifying a gravitational need by assigning a cash value to extra heavy antique building materials.

[emilsplanet]

So, here is a picture of some rocks. More rocks, proving that despite all the time between the present & the roots of my tragedies reaching further back through the relationships that made the dissolution & death meaningful, my mania, my overpowering reaction continues to compulse me. Ever onward into the free range masonry. Mans attempt to balance & to square. To preserve & uplift. To provide a level playing field above the uncivil mud. Traction, stability, permanence. Future. Investment. So… as my acquisition grows I️ chip inexorably at our greater civility- but! I see I️t only as a civility that has been built to ensnare & squeeze ratchet the final juices out of each passing generation. What I’m stealing I️t the last great gesture of truly human scale civilization. Stone. Building. So, my friend & I got some fish & chips and beer after going shopping for my new outerwaear. The tartar sauce made me sweaty around the eyes & my stomach kind of curdly. Beers & beers and my friend drove my beat up pickup from Fremont down to pioneer square, where I️ directed her to park us in a red zone at the eastern point of where the ancient rumpled carpet of rounded cobbles lays like bubble wrap waiting for me to pop it. It was the kind of northwest night that is dark! Cloudy & rainy so there’s no moon or stars and the rain makes the city lights either bright or a bright reflection, while the fog on the inside of your windows, the droplets in the air confound vision further by interrupting & assulting your eyes & lashes. However. Beer makes things you can’t see clear. One thing is that there’s never been a time when people are having more of thier history taken from them right in front of thier eyes. Another thing is that pioneer square has been ceeded to chaos. The heart of the city has long since been stolen, and now- no amount of urban renewal could bring the in crowd back. I’m only here because I’m broken and stolen from and my mad approach is to break & steal back the honest corners of the worlds heart of hearts. Or that’s what I️ say to myself. Maybe being drunk really does make you invisible. Anyway we picked cobbles out of the old square for 45 minutes, had a cigarette, and drove off. In the morning I️ got paranoid. What does who do to cobble stealers… that’s a high crime area… surely there are cameras… what’s going to happen when I️ try to put my truck on the ferry? Does the historical society talk to the dept of trans? It was fine. I unloaded ~50 bread loaf sized stones into my moms driveway the next day. Thier upsides worn smooth & round. Just like a loaf of bread.

So, I decided I ran out of time & wanted to text out some more about this. I wrote all that for writing group, which I’m thinking I’m gonna start calling texting group. And moving the whole thing online, or at least onto phone devices. I realized that anymore, this is how I write. One thumb, one letter at a time. It’s natural that writing, an endeavor unique to humans, should be performed by the enviable function of one of the physical adaptations that really sets us apart from the rest of the monkeys: opposable thumbs. Anyway that’s what I made up. Maybe I’m just a lobster snapping away. Who knows. Maybe it’s my grasping capacity that drives me to load up dimensional stone & trundle it back to the safest spot I know- my moms driveway. I’m going to indulge myself in the notion that my interest in the acquisition of geometrically hewn stone is human in the same way that finding that recording my activities with my opposable thumb, well, that’s beginning to be an incomprehensible sentence. I can’t grok it. I can’t grasp it. As some writer maybe murikami said... I can’t quite close my minds fist around it. I can’t remember where my intention earlier at work was going for this... but there’s more.

[emilsplanet]

Right

So, I'm still upset & mistrustful about tumblers flawed app... but I'm stuck here now.

[emilsplanet]

I wrote a long post about this tangle this morning & this dumb computer application deleted it all. Ironic; because this wire signifies: in elaborate & highly developed ways.... how memories potential hinges on a key. Now I'm tired & don't want to try to recreate my moment of inspiration. Try to imagine it.

[emilsplanet]

So, it's not just stone that makes the bones of a modern planet. These fireclay bricks were once the liner of a massive boiler at the port Townsend paper mill. Doug told me that the boilers run so hot that they cannot be shut down, because the brick linings shrink so much that they collapse. For sure, many of these bricks have had their ends burnt into pink & grey cones like little used up pencil erasers. These bricks were dumped on the beach after their boiler was retired for whatever reason. Many are burnt but many are in great shape, and the beach has softened the edges &given them a beautiful patina to match their interesting & varied flame coloration. At 12 noon I bolt my gruel and ride my bike toward the mill. About a quarter mile away I have to leave my bike and climb down the basalt riprap to the sand & walk the beach. There are cyclone fences & deep Himalaya blackberry bushes in the way, so I take the beach. I select the first ten vs. the best ten bricks, usually accepting a few short ones, and usually getting more like twelve. And I walk back. If the tide is high I will reach underwater to pick them, and traverse the shot rock back to my bike. Then I pile the brick at work, on a pallet, easily forkliftable. I did this most days, but then I met a very interesting young lady and my life has become confused with hers, throwing my habits into disarray. These bricks are destined to spend the next chapter of their lives comprising a patio between my dads front door & his driveway & garage, along with some cast off ballast brickage and some red brick off-cuts from the edges of a herringbone plaza I was a laborer on. The future is majestic, I look forward to its weight settling.

[emilsplanet]

This is my headboard. I will buy five drinks for anyone who can correctly identify where the raw matirels came from. Onboard I have tea in a mug of rabbit orgies, coconut oil in a bouillon jar, and wine (and a hankie) this is the current command center for my adventures. Besides my car, this is where my imagination holds court. Not pictured include my 10 foot rainbow caterpillar pillow. If I ever have a planet it will be overseen by a benevolent rainbow caterpillar.

[emilsplanet]

This is the caption, I went on vacation. I did not read, knit, or apply to any schools. I swam and lazed, lolled, reclined on the various watercraft. Onething that happened is that I dropped my phone in the water & now it glitches really hard. It's doing it now, it's a small miracle if you're reading this, except this is not for you, or reading, it's for me, so I guess that makes "you" "me" so why am I.. Nevamind. Uhhh, a thing was that there was sand at the lake beach, and I remembered the joy of making sand castles. My body was unsurprisingly unready for relaxation, my daily energy output is just dialed up too high to shut off cold. I needed a few days to wind down, so I built & rebuilt elaborate sandcastles. I'm only putting this down here because sand is made sometimes out of teensy tiny little rocks and that's my beat. A planet needs more than just rocks, but it's a good start. Sand is good. It's good with water. It has excellent matrix generation properties. Fuck. My phone is broken. Signing off for now.

[emilsplanet]

This little guy found a nice home. Pluto is in the news, with the first good pictures coming back. Tiny houses are trendy. People essentially stick framing little fancy shanties onto old trailer chassis & parking them on their friends lawn, probably in Portland... It's been awhile since we talked about my tiny planet. I don't know if gravity has been treating me well, or if turning thirty five really finally killed my silly fantastic dreams. Maybe I'm too drunk, maybe I'm focusing on work & not hijinks. Maybe I'm moving on, making other things that I can use in this lifetime, on this planet. If I could change one thing about myself I wouldn't. I'd save that token. I'd feel good knowing that I had it up my sleeve, and that small boost would carry me to greater humanity. A better place to decide what to change anyway. There's no rush, is there? I'd ride the microscopic wave of interest, edging nirvana like the plates colliding.

[emilsplanet]

My planet?

In the cosmos, as far as I know, mass condenses as it cools. My personal rocks, which I posses with the abstracted spirit of ownership, are cooling & condensing. For the purposes of this blog entry we will belabor the slang "hot" meaning, "stolen merchandise." Be advised. I have mixed feelings about the methods of acquisition I've implemented in sourcing materials for my personal planet. Right now, pound for pound, with a five degree per month half life or something, I would asses the current temperature of my collected holdings as Luke-warm, with occasional "solar flares" I have experienced pangs, is what saying here, but the depth of my guilt is more than satisfied by the knowledge that the only way to attain ownership of anything requires a theft to take place, be it from the pan-universal totality or from, say, the port, or like, Safeway. A few of my recent scores have been morally questionable, given that I'm totally self serving, and likely no better, and also likely worse than those from whom I'm taking. Even so, having considered that, who is to judge, say, one sperms tactic wriggle in the ultimate race to the egg & glory. That's how I look at it. By any means necessary and all that. If I'm gonna build my own planet I'd better believe in myself, cuz it's gonna just be me up there a lot of the time, probabilistically speaking. Of course, the whole point is to attract a mate & reproduce, so it's kind of a catch-22. Another classic I have yet to read. Thanks reader, for your merciful nonexstance; you are me!

[emilsplanet]

Penny saver

So, writing group, or the illegitimate, copycat crime, watered down version that takes place 2nd & 4th Wednesdays in the bar section of an under appreciated local conscience store, is canceled today. I'm here anyway, texting the "instructor" about who wants who to sign who's boobs

[emilsplanet]

Watching Sherlock.

So, I'm watching tv. Fuuuck. Again. So, I flipped over a rock in my wagon today; score! But I forgot to take a picture of it. So- yeah. Writing group sucked this week, I was late & diddnt have my book:( total high school naked nightmare! Work wan dnt any better, rain & drippings, down my collar, lance all frustrated & mike in Seattle. Fuck writing about today.

[emilsplanet]

In case this has not been documented yet. I helped a guy I know, an acquaintance, install some granite countertops. I called him wanting to sell him some stones maybe, maybe just show off, and asked him if he was on a smart phone or just a regular cell phone... This was not so long ago, but hey smartphones are only about 10 years old, so. Not to worry, not to think too much... Not to think at all, ahhh. So, no, he said, this is not a smartphone, this is not even a cell phone. "I am talking to you on a land line. As far as I know there is a physical wire transmitting my electrically copied voice to you." "We operate on dinosaur time here." Well, sometimes at work it feels like lance & I are operating on dinosaur time, and sometimes time simply stands still. Then, when the conditions are right, in an eased flurry of tapes, saws, & hammers, the house lurches into existence, like a friend showing up outside the bar, peeking between the backs of fliers taped to the window. Fliers for a show where the opening act, a special guest, is still T.B.A. ( that's to be announced...)

[emilsplanet]

In case this has not been documented yet. I helped a guy I know, an acquaintance, install some granite countertops. I called him wanting to sell him some stones maybe, maybe just show off, and asked him if he was on a smart phone or just a regular cell phone... This was not so long ago, but hey smartphones are only about 10 years old, so. Not to worry, not to think too much... Not to think at all, ahhh. So, no, he said, this is not a smartphone, this is not even a cell phone. "I am talking to you on a land line. As far as I know there is a physical wire transmitting my electrically copied voice to you." "We operate on dinosaur time here." Well, sometimes at work it feels like lance & I are operating on dinosaur time, and sometimes time simply stands still. Then, when the conditions are right, in an eased flurry of tapes, saws, & hammers, the house lurches into existence, like a friend showing up outside the bar, peeking between the backs of fliers taped to the window. Fliers for a show where the opening act, a special guest, is still T.B.A. ( that's to be announced...)

[emilsplanet]

On the right is a standard produce case, on the left is my new rock. The wheel wells are on my honda accord wagon. The idea here is to carve a sink out of the boulder. Boring. Planet stuff, the slow con.