miggy

Semi-hesitant to share this because I'm not sure he's done (is anything, ever?), but here's my latest bit of salvaged metalwork (an old shovel, a beyond-repair typewriter, and a disused section of chainlink fence), Miggy, named as such because he was my first full attempt (Weldo's second iteration being the first partial attempt) at MIG welding (which I far, far prefer to stick). Done or not, I'm rather proud of The Shed's latest tenant. Miggy, everyone, everyone, Miggy.

a creature made of a shovel with typewriter ribbon holder eyes on a workbench

"i think we need to discuss this situation"

I’ve had this little vignette staring at me for awhile and wanted to overcome my fear of putting it out into the world in such a rough state. As has been the case of most of my output for the last year, it has to do with my grandfather’s death. Hoping this is the last time I revisit the subject - but it’s something I wanted to say, which says, in each of the dialogue balloons, “I think we need to discuss this situation,” which is something I said to my grandfather when I was three or four. Anyhow, here it is.

10 panels, comic form, "I think we need to discuss this situation."

TERMS & CONDITIONS (a fiction)

:: ring/ring :: who once knew someone you once knew once upon a somewhen going on and on and with requisite demonstrative gesticulation from across the condiments and dressings aisle about how they wished that they had had just ten more minutes with their dad or with their cat or with what/whoever it was that had died the week before but wouldn't knowing why you had those (just) ten more minutes corrupt those ten minutes and if you didn't know wouldn't they be just another ten minutes to take for granted like all the other ten minutes wasted across time and space leading up to THOSE ten minutes and then you'd want ten more after that which would, because you knew you had those ten minutes, sully the whole which / but here you are :: ring/ring :: (now entertain us) waiting for the itching to subside and/or for a modicum of acclimation to the medical-grade adhesive pulling at what remains of your follicular integrity with each movement of your head / nod / shake / tic, for their heavenly paradise / angelic / whatsit+upgrade toaster screensaver to clear from the cloud of your speedy frayed nerve exhaust, birds chirping, fingers drumming the beats between, and realizing that you haven't a clue what you're going to say or even if you actually want/need to say anything, red flags waving and smoke signals signaling a bad idea destined for front and center in the goldstar mindfuck of the decade display in the lobby of the main campus of the great mindfuck archive but theyre the ones that wanted to talk again and hey, you never know: things mightve changed, gotten better but what if its the other way round and theyre locked in for the duration, for the eterminable (haha) in the iterations of they that they had become in the years, months, weeks, days, (ten) minutes, until their last shake/rattle but hey it's just ten more minutes and then those wishes are honored, t's circled i's crossed, move along, see attached / sign here here and here, power of / living / (ir)revocable / itch itch / scratch scratch / :: ring/ring :: and for the broken record it's not like any of them thought to specify the upgraded whastsit+ package anywhere in The Documents that they became – though one did specify for whom, exactly, a stuffed cat toy was destined (someone without a cat, of course) but that was their way wasnt it – though sure the line trace mightve been interesting but everyone that forked over for the whatsit+ and wrote a review said that it never worked – one star, TOTAL SCAM!!! etc etc – always ten seconds too short or something or somesuch though there's a rumor that it did work once like one of those claw machines with the stuffed lobsters in the bib that you just had to have and how many quarters and how many hours did he spend for you that one time (bad investment, in retrospect) but you weren't the one who wanted to :: ring/ring :: scritch scratch / talk about anyhow from the before and the during and the after, that whole watching over living in judgement while theyre alive and when theyre dead and what more can you do on the flip side has to be something important, right – has to be has to/oh: they heard it didn't they, at his end, when you lost it with that drunken dickhead cousin – they want to tell you how disappointed they were and how now you know you just know that if you couldve held it together just a few more hours his last hours would have been tranquil, peaceful, hopped up and blissed out on morphine, drifting away, sailing, like that remote control boat going out of range across the lake all those ten minutes that came before and those ten minutes that do you want these do you need these is this where we are now with :: ring/click :: party you would like to reach is currently unavailable or on the other line: please hang up and try again; for a guarantee of connection, we suggest that you upgrade to our deluxe-plus package. Terms and conditions apply.

– (tww/20240905)

project updates, 2024w31

Since it's the final weeks of summer break, I'm still in that "three months of Saturdays" mode, creatively, and haven't gotten as far as I'd've liked with anything, really, but did manage to send off the first story in a collab with my best hermano from music school which he dug. Looking forward to hearing what genius sounds he concocts from my drabbled-out words.

While I'd intended to return to multiple projects left behind, only one of them still sung to me (mostly because I found my way back to it being fun to work with it again), so I want to power through it while I let seeds take root for the next stories in the collab. If nothing else, a solid excuse to fiddle about (again, still) with zines and attendant zinery.

Still hoping to move on to what I perceive as the next phase of my creative practice before year's end – though I do want to get the project mentioned above into the world first, a clearing of the decks from the before to the now.

And, finally, after four years of mucking about with fountain pens, I've returned to my favorite pen, that great workhorse among great workhorses, the Papermate Flair.