Weed Pulling Meditation: Introduction

TJ on Banyan under Albezia, originally uploaded by Dark Sevier.

WPMC Introduction

Humans aren’t the only force vying for domination of this planet. There are other forces that thrive on the destruction of everything around them.

The Albezia tree, native to arid parts of Africa, was introduced to Hawai’i by the US military to quickly grow and provide camouflage for their barracks and instillations. Now, half a century later, members of this introduced tree species are on a fast track to becoming the largest living organisms on the planet. Hooray for the tenacity of the Albezia and its efficient capitalization on the wet Hawaiian climate. Woe unto anything that attempts to live around it. Its dense, wide canopy robs the light from anything trying to grow beneath it. The massive lateral branches can run for a hundred yards at a height of eighty feet. They are brittle and subject to snapping in the tropical winds. A considerable threat to anyone or anything attempting to live below. Unchecked, it will cover whole mountains, extincting the plant diversity that has evolved for millennia. It will shut down roadways, crush dwellings, wreck underground infrastructure. It will survive as the fittest, at the expense of many other life forms. But they sure are impressive. Beautiful to look at, and awe inspiring in their grandeur.

This seems to be a natural event in the course of life. This phenomena can be found in the insect world, the body of humanity, geology, meteorology, chemistry, etc. It has been alarmingly accelerated by the human tendency to reshuffle the life deck and deal new hands to nearly every level and locale of life. We introduce ourselves, our ideas, our cultures, our loves, our hates. Our disease. Our advances. Our essence, which shares a commonality with all life. But, life tends to be alarming. Right from the start.

It happens in your garden as well. What evolved to grow in your chosen plot may no longer be around, or it may not be able to compete with what volunteers to grow there now. There seems to be no going back to what many consider a natural state. We can’t bring back the dead (yet). Fighting the mega-vitality of the introduced poses a formidable challenge. But there be hope for us, individually and collectively, to foster some kind of desirable, sustainable, equanimity in our gardens. There can be no specific manual for how to tame the unique chaos of each garden. The transformation of a garden from burden to benefit depends on the garden and the gardener, their mutual desires and needs, their will and volition. This manual proposes to offer tools for the gardener to use in developing a blueprint for their ideal garden.

A garden to feed the belly, a garden to soothe the soul, a garden to inspire the mind. A garden to aggravate the neighbors. A garden to kill you enemy. A garden to harvest for others. A garden to experiment with. Your garden can be chosen consciously and in harmony with your way. It helps work become play.

It’s hard to grow bananas in the desert, unless you choose to do so for the sake of the challenge. It’s easier to grow plants that are suited for your environment, but it may not be as interesting to you.

This manual covers my process of growing my ideal garden. I endeavor to generalize the lessons I have learned in order to broaden their appeal to a general audience. It’s more the travelogue of a process than a prescription of a method. Take it how you like. It’s not so much about what is written here, but more about what you hear in the writing. How you interpret this message. Go crazy with it.

Weed Pulling Meditation Center Manual : Chapt. 1

Weed Pulling Fingers, originally uploaded by Dark Sevier.

Official Weed Pulling Meditation Center Document

Lets start by talking about the word metaphor. I think the word deserves attention.

(m t -fôr , -f r)n. 1. A figure of speech in which a word or phrase that ordinarily designates one thing is used to designate another, thus making an implicit comparison, as in “a sea of troubles” or “All the world's a stage” (Shakespeare). 2. One thing conceived as representing another; a symbol: “Hollywood has always been an irresistible, prefabricated metaphor for the crass, the materialistic, the shallow, and the craven” (Neal Gabler). [Middle English methaphor, from Old French metaphore, from Latin metaphora, from Greek, transference, metaphor, from metapherein, to transfer : meta-, meta- + pherein, to carry; see bher-1 in Indo-European Roots.] met a·phor ic (-fôr k, -f r -) or met a·phor i·cal adj. met a·phor i·cal·ly adv.


I start with this word because I think a deep understanding of metaphor enables a person to make connections that might not otherwise be made. In my opinion, finding a metaphorical illustration to help convey the essence of what one sees or has a desire to share adds an additional dimension beyond the words used. To illustrate:

Before a garden can be planted, the ground must be prepared.

One could limit the phrase to seeds, weeds and dirt. One could also assign metaphorical designations to the nouns and verbs:

Before a desire can be realized, the conditions must be cultivated.

Or something like that.

The illustration of the garden (if one actually knows how to plant a garden) serves as a mental model to reflect upon in the process of realizing ones desires. Knowing what you want = getting the seeds. Knowing the ideal season and climate that the plants will flourish in = knowing when, where and how to act on what you want. Cultivating the desire = weeding out volunteer seeds that would compete with the ones you chose.

Now, I would like to propose that the act of planting a garden can serve as a meditation on, and/or a prayer for, the realization of ones larger desire. Even more, I propose that the real, active process of finding what grows well where you are (or moving to the place that best facilitates what you want to grow) serves to germinate ones natural desires if one opens their mind to them, and showers them with attention once the seeds have sprout.

Whoah. I’m mixing my metaphors here. On purpose. That’s my point. Metaphors can be two way doors. Or three.

Do you see what I’m saying? I ask this not in condescension, but as a literal question.

Do you see what I am saying? Or do you just hear the words? Probably neither since this whole thing be written text.

Get my point? I ask this both metaphorically and literally. It be my intent as a writer to prod your curiosity to read further. Then we can have a relationship. Without ever having physically met.

It be my desire to relate with more people with less effort. So, I concentrate my effort on defining clearly what I want to relate, and choose an appropriate medium for that want to be conveyed. Hi there.

Plumera Negative

Future Primitive, originally uploaded by Dark Sevier.

Future Primitive

I climb into my motor vehicle and begin to drive off. There are a couple of horses in the street. They look old, like they’d escaped from the glue factory. They were cantankerous as well. One kept sticking his snout in my window. His teeth were brown and curled like an old beavers. I drove on and found a strange dog that looked like a kiwi. A very pointy nose that flared dramatically into a puff ball of a dog. He was seriously injured. Half of his fantastically furry back was hanging to the side and his raw flesh was exposed. The Amazing TJ had said he wanted a dog. Well, here was something to test his resolve. We decided to try and fix it. What do we do? Tie the dog down and stitch him back together? Shave the fantastic fur first? Wash the whole dog in peroxide? We debated. This debate and vacillation took a very long time and many people were consulted. Eventually Mayor Mufi stitched the dog up on a football field with a full house.

This whole scene wore the colors of a 1970’s detective movie: dingy city colors. Mustard yellows and forest greens. After the dog surgery I found myself in a high rise married to a Pilipino woman. I don’t know how long I was married to her, but I didn’t know her name. She was very nice, and took good care of me, as much as I would let her. The building was noisy. There was a freight elevator outside the windows. I could push a big round plastic button and the elevator would stop at my windows. I had four windows. I opened one window to throw out cans, one for bottles, one for newspapers, and one for books. Then when I closed all my windows, the elevator would drop with a shriek of old metal and flip into a compartmentalized bin. I wore combat boots and all black and walked stiffly. Though I wore these things by choice, I looked forward to taking them off at night.

This scene had the hues of a 1960’s Technicolor film. I’m standing in a field of dead brown grass. There are a couple of pieces of hulking architecture with flaking paint that are partially overgrown with weed trees and vines. Large manors. “South Africa” I think to myself. There are people around. I sense small activities in the large places. I enter the massive arched doorway on the building in front of me and find a courtyard. A dark skinned old woman approaches me and hands me a piece of dried stiff hide with black fur on it matted with blood. She then points to a gorilla that has a terrible scabbed
wound on its back. She indicates that I should fix it. I protest that it is too late, this cannot be repaired. She ignores my opinion and returns to the building. The gorilla is outfitted with an iron frame with wheels like a cart. It’s head is in an iron hood with a slot to see out the front. This mechanism forces it to walk on all fours. I lead the gorilla cart through the courtyard to a marketplace. The place is not very busy and has the feel of an abandoned theme park. Managed decay. Julie Andrews is there. She informs me that we are not in South Africa, but Big Island Hawai’i. It seems that there had been a huge growth spurt, then thpphtht. Economic collapse. Fuel prices made it impossible for the tourist industry to continue, and the wealthy fled during the uprising. A stasis had been reached and a new culture took hold. It was brutally male, and yet the women were afforded a high degree of safety. Well, it wasn’t that simple actually. There was a self imposed caste system. Some people evolved into what resembled the Homo Noeticus, while others happily indulged in the id-ness of the Homo Sapian. There was a mutual respect between the two classes and mutual social interactions, but the divide was definite. The Homo Sapiens became the worker class, the Homo Noeticus employed them in building a sustainable infrastructure. Words were less a priority to both groups. The Sapiens were much more physical with each other, slapping each other around as a matter of course, the Noeticus communicated more subtly, and less redundantly, using words as tools, instead of spending them as social currency. Ironically, the Sapiens took over the cities, and the Noeticus spent most of their time and energy in the more rural parts.

Then a rooster crowed and I found myself in Waimanalo.

Does Anyone Remember Laughter?

Dino -1991, originally uploaded by Dark Sevier.

Sitting down.

Scotty Baron and Dark Sevier- 1991, originally uploaded by Dark Sevier.

I lost my sense of humor doing stand-up. Ha ha.

It was the early 1990's. Los Angeles California. Jerry Seinfeld was the King of Comedy, but relatively unknown. Bill Hicks was still alive, kicking every PC dogma that came walking down the Boulevard.

A&E's Evening at the Improv was defining the comedic craft for the rest of the decade. We all suffered for it: the comics, the audience, the art.

I bought it. I was in. I came to Hollywood to make it big, baby. The comedy biz was booming. In the mid 80's there were fewer than 50 comedy clubs in the country. By the early 90's there were over 500 possible gigs for the chuckle hucksters that were willing and able to work the road. Some of us hoped to bypass having to gig the comedy underbelly by being "discovered" in Hollywood. The cable comedy shows were multiplying, but they all seemed to be taking their que from the master packagers, the McDonalds of comedy, The Improvisation. The Improv discouraged improvisational comedy, ironicly. Ain't that funny?

The steriotypical Improv comic was wacky. Geeks. Freaks. Self effacing hacks. Really slick one trick ponys. No edge, no power, no guts. All they needed was a tight seven minuites and a willingness to prostrate their craft in front of the club owners, Bud Friedman and/or Mark Lonow . They were the perceived gatekeepers to the industry (I have my theory on how that came to be so, but it's too laden with animosity and conjecture to spill here, now).

The comics tried to unionize several times. They are a hard lot to get togeather for anything serious. As they should be. Perfect to a flaw. There was a comedy blacklist in the seventies when they tried to organize. Scabs took the stage in LA and NY, and for the most part still have it.

After honing my act and building my craft for a whopping thirteen months, I was ushered into "The New Faces" of the Improvisation. I was one of thirteen chosen out of over two thousand auditioning comedians. I was stoked, but puzzled. Why did my favorite contemporaries not make the cut?

We, the farm team, were encouraged to "hang out" at the Melrose club. There we would gain exposure to industry people. we might be "seen by someone". If a paid comic was unable to show, or the audience wasn't too badly bludgeoned by the idiocy and bitterness of the "regulars", we might have the supreme good fortune of being able to step in front of that famous (fake) brick wall. For no pay.

And we did. For several years, some of us. For several years some of the most incisive wits among us continued to audition, and fail to make the cut. This is my opinion of course, humor being a subjective thing. All I have, really, is my experience and perceptions of the whole thing.

Here is my favorite one;

A thirteen year old comic, Casey something, form New York spends the summer in LA with her nanny working out her act at all the open mic's in town. She's honing her craft for the big audition in front of Bud on the Melrose stage. Her big night comes. She does a great job in the two minuites alloted; great stage presence, solid, thoughtfull, and mature material for her age. She gets to sit at Bud's table for her critique. According to my agent at the time, who was sitting at the table with Casey, Bud congradulated her for a good job done, then began his critique:

"The joke about the Yuppies( "Yuppies are now writing childrens stories. The only problem is: they don't have any morals."),it was good, but have you thought about using the word ethics instead of morals? People might identify with that word better."

Casey was mortified, she was kicking our agent under the table in a plea for help. She was flaberghasted herself but managed to segue the canversation around Bud's mental wreckage. When my agent told me the story, I decided to quit the Improv Farm Team. and comedy. The guys that had been shaping my art were morons. I had been shaping my craft to fit into their pea brains. The perameters I had willingly squeezed myself into were pea braining me.

I see the comedian as serving the roll and function of the Court Jester, the closest advisor to the King. The Jester had the delicate task of holding a mirror up to the court to show them their folly, but in a way that didn't threaten his neck.

As a republic we need to be shown our folley so we can laugh at it. The laughter brands our folley so we can more easily recognise it when we face it again. Without the laughter, we live in isolation, in the delusion that all this is serious business. Life is not just politics and car wrecks. There is beauty and love and hilarious lessons to be learned.

Laughter is the best medicine. Where are our doctors?





(to be continued...)








(to be cont.)

Fool Cycle

Smoke 044, originally uploaded by Dark Sevier.

Art projects. Money Jobs. Relationships. Fires. Everything finds its end.

Like a fire, all these things must be stoked to continue. And I must be stoked to continue stoking.

Even the wildfire exhausts itself eventually.

Obsession

Loopy 8, originally uploaded by Dark Sevier.

It’s possible to keep a flame burning for years, though it may require burning the day in search of fuel for the night.

Ascention

Orionz 086, originally uploaded by Dark Sevier.

The life of the flame cashes in brilliantly on the investment of time. Hotly. Briefly.

Naturally

Palolo Ridge, originally uploaded by Dark Sevier.

The tree that finds itself rooted properly may enjoy ideal conditions that allow it to grow large and deep.

Effective

Bonzaisan 043, originally uploaded by Dark Sevier.

The person that finds itself may realize it has the option of choosing the ideal conditions that will allow it to be true to itself. And the responsibility.

Bliss

Saturday Bowling 009, originally uploaded by Dark Sevier.

The fools know not what’s at stake in this life, so their strife remains tied to it, moored safely in the known.

Onus

Halloween 062, originally uploaded by Dark Sevier.

The self aware know of the great vastness beyond the harbor of consensus, but have no hope of deliverance, for they must captain themselves.

Vapor Puppets

Vapor Puppets, originally uploaded by Dark Sevier.

Groovy

Kolohe in Goat, originally uploaded by Dark Sevier.

I'm under no illusion that I am supposed to be perfect. I could improve things about myself. I could modify my behaviours and enhance my state of being.

I'm sure that if I quit smoking, not only would my physical health improve, but my mental health would finally kick that nasty guilt virus that I caught while smoking.

If I spent more quality time with my finances, got to know them a little better, certainly I would find a beauty that has been hidden under the dread that I project upon it.

I think I burned out my zeal for behaviour modification. I used to do it. I used to modify my behaviour to achieve desired effects, and reaped the benefit of such effects. I thought everyone else was crazy for not having a testosterone fueled zealous passion for life.

I couldn't keep it up. I tried to be an excellent human. I excelled a bit in some ways that seemed simultneously epic and miserably obscure. Then, I became my predjudice. I got so heavily into my path that I beat it into a rut. Now I have a hard time seeing over the walls of my groove.

I have internal conflict. It takes up energy and I spend that time on a memory that I carry with me, that I reflect upon then call it me.

I think my life was more exciting when I felt there was some objectified god type entity that would answer my petitions and grant my wishes if I was a good boy. Now that I've realized how to take responsibility for reaping the effects of causes that I make, I don't wanna. Not today. Tomorrow. Maybe. Later, when I feel like it.

Life does not die with the form, it slips into another, infinite it seems. Trippin through eternity, gigging in this form. Comedy routine. The Art of imperfection

Fire over Wind

Orionz 040, originally uploaded by Dark Sevier.

What I Ate

Buggy 102, originally uploaded by Dark Sevier.

Woke up around 8:00am. Had a cigatette and some re-warmed coffee from yesterday while talking with Carson. Talked about the prospects of moving form a dichotomous political/social system to something else.

While at Manland I heard the familiar tune of the lunch truck that drives around the back of Waimanalo selling plate lunches. It's actually and old ice cream truck. It plays the first few bars from The GodFather theme song over and over. I kept pulling weeds in the rain and waiting for the truck to pull in, but it never did. I walked back to the house and made a tunafish sandwich on cracked pepper garlic bread. The bread was a little tough, so I steamed it before grilling it with butter.

Carson made a nice salad this evening that had beats in it.

Later I made a cheese quesadilla with red pepper. Dipped it in salsa verdi.

Kolohe

Kolohe, originally uploaded by Dark Sevier.

We are not alone...

Whatever that means.

Go here.

Best Buddies

Best Buddies, originally uploaded by Agi T. Prop.

MUST. HAVE. MORE. BLOOD.

MUST. HAVE. MORE. BLOOD., originally uploaded by Agi T. Prop.

Example for Mr. Tripp(My favorite political blog)

Uproot

Fire Ball, originally uploaded by Dark Sevier.

Item: The Weed Pulling Meditation Center

The cult that has yet to be will meet in early December to choose new members. The new members will be privy to a very special all night event/cremony on December 21/22. If you would like to come to the prospective new memeber mixer then e-mail me for important information.

Torture 060

Torture 060, originally uploaded by Dark Sevier.

Projection

Projection, originally uploaded by Dark Sevier.

See more photos and read more words (I've been double timing): Go Here.

A Metaphorical Experience or: Rules Were Meant to be Broken

Nitai and Evan, originally uploaded by Dark Sevier.

Castles in the sand.
Dreams upon wakening.
Love upon termination.
Reading the space between the letters.
Seeing the spaces between objects.
Seeing the shadow and the thing
and the space in between
as a dream
very real.

Halloween

Halloween 006, originally uploaded by Dark Sevier.

Hello peoples. It's been a while. Been buisy setting up the new nursery.

Had a dream. There was a man in my dream that was large, with thick hair, thick features, thick voice, and heavy. Not fat, just heavy. I discovered that I was supposed to fly with him the next day and I realized that he was going to throw me off the plane. I accepted this as inevitable. I had to go. It was business.

The next day I got into the van with him. I felt calm, somehow protected, even though I knew he was going to throw me off the plane. Half way to the airport, he turned around. We had to retrieve something. I was happy to have the extra time, but then he deliberately crashed through the side rail on a cliff and we were free falling. This must have been the highest cliff in the dreamworld, because we were falling like we had been dropped from a plane. I was still calm, in spite of the g-forces. I still felt things were going to work out ok. I struggled against the pull of gravity and reached for the door. The man reached out effortlessly and touched my arm and said, "Nope, you're going down with me on this one." Ok. So I looked down at the ground we were hurtling toward and closed my eyes just before impact. But there was no impact. I opened my eyes and found myself sitting on a bench in a garden with the driver. Everything was ok. I wasn't dead. Life goes on.

So, I started chatting with the Reaper and he was amused that I was so surprised and delighted that I was still around. Life eternal. He reminded me of the previous day when I realized that he was taking me down. He asked me to remember what I felt at that moment. I had resigned myself to what had seemed inevitable. I felt no fear. Then he said, "that's why you went down. I had to take you out because you accepted my call." Then he sighed and said, "I've been really buisy lately." So, he listened to me enthuse about living beyond death for a bit, then he stopped me and said, "oh, you're only here 'til the next rain, then your're gone forever." I felt a panic and he laughed. "See, if you'd had that reaction yesterday, we wouldn't be here right now." He was screwing with me. I appreciated his trickster humor.

Later, he walked with me to a familiar doorway hat went to a familiar place, but instead of reaching for the knob, he grabbed the hinge and opened the door the other way, to another place. The people that live in the obvious need a handle on things, but the dead know better.

Untouched

Untouched, originally uploaded by Dark Sevier.

Been under the wire and not on it. On something else.

Finally hooked into the grid through DSL. Will start writing again soon. Someday.

Waimanalo

Waimanalo, originally uploaded by Dark Sevier.

Moving the house today. Well, moving the stuff that was in it, out of it. The "Office" in Palolo will be turned over to the person that most likely grew the marijuana that I was kicked out for. My daily recommended dose of irony.

The fleas are starting to explode on the rug. I will leave it for the new tennent.

Uparound 070

Uparound 070, originally uploaded by Dark Sevier.

Hyperlink Party....

(click on the underlined text: toy surprise inside)



My faith in humainty renewed

The yang to that yin


If it doesn't fit, it's time to quit the bullshit

Suckers

Evidence

Evidence, originally uploaded by Dark Sevier.

Warped Culture

The whole Left/Right Red/Blue Right/Wrong thing comes across as soft core S&M. The Right like to spank, and the Left love to cry about being spanked.

The most vociferous of both teams aren't getting good love. People that have good sex lives don't get so wound up over the prescibed media distraction.

Who wants to climb into bed with the spankers and the crybabys? Other spankers and crybabys. It's incestuous empty sex where no one connects. This way we can rant off into another day of spanking and crying.

There is a world beyond good and evil.

This is a postcard from there.

Poser

Poser, originally uploaded by Dark Sevier.

A NEW AND IMPROVED PREDJUDICE!
Reply to: anon-90001633@craigslist.org
Date: 2005-08-09, 2:04PM PDT


I've done a thurough examination of the subject and am now ready to diagnose:

What you are suffering from is paradigmal schizophrenia.

There is the old dichotomous reality of good-evil, right-wrong. The people that still adhere to this paradigm are sensing that their time is up, and so they are naturally thrashing around and gnashing their teeth in the anguish of no longer being relevant.

There is the new paradigm of wholism that has been dawning in the mainstream for over a hundred years now. There are the ones that recognise that the body of humanity (and for the advanved minded: all life) is one whole body. Including the thud brained dichotomists.

Then there are the paradigmal schizzos that like the idea of unity and oneness, but can't resist engaging the paleo-humans in verbal shit hurling. This too shall pass.

I once was predjudiced against our idiotic brothers and sisters until I realized that I was merely reacting to my own profound ignorance that I saw reflected in the thud beings. I resist no more. I accept the idiots as a part of a natural process. But I try not to engage them, lest I wrap myself up in their tar baby contagion.

'Tis better to lead the children through example than to try and beat them into submission.

"It is an ill wind that blows no minds"


Re:A NEW AND IMPROVED PREDJUDICE!
Reply to: anon-90009865@craigslist.org
Date: 2005-08-09, 2:40PM PDT


Shut the fuck up pants thing.

Narcisus

Narcisus, originally uploaded by Dark Sevier.

Spiritual Awakening in my Pants...
Reply to: anon-89705100@craigslist.org
Date: 2005-08-08, 10:07AM PDT


Spiritual Awakenings are not uncommon happenings when my Pants are around. My Pants are so powerful one need not actually see them in person to be deeply affected. One can merely gaze at an image of my pants to recognise the unity of all.

The Chineese want my Pants to mass produce them and sell them to latinas of all sizes.

The Suicide Girls want in my pants for they have none of their own.

Looking at my Pants on LSD can be like having an interdimensional passport.

Breasts, fake or real, big and small, are instantly entered into a state of grace in the presence of my Pants.


My Pants are never lonely,
Never predjudiced
Never angry
Never flakey

My Pants love you. All of you. Idiotic and snide alike.

My Pants have recently visited your city and, in spite of the hit and run, still loves LA and all it contains.

My pants are with Miguel right now, and he is fine.

A special place in my Pants...
Reply to: anon-89729156@craigslist.org
Date: 2005-08-08, 11:34AM PDT


Why all the fighting? My Pants are dismayed by all the senseless quibbling. My Pants know better than any other that the left and the right should reconcile their differences and yield to that place that is between them. That place in between is useless if the left and right cannot walk togeather.

Pants Post
Reply to: anon-89755174@craigslist.org
Date: 2005-08-08, 1:15PM PDT


Men: Underware is for amateurs.


To all of you "CL Celebs"
Reply to: anon-89836723@craigslist.org
Date: 2005-08-08, 7:56PM PDT


Ok, so you're quite obviously comfortable with putting your personality on a public forum. (Some of you a little more comfortable than is necessary but that is what this area of the site is about.) I highly doubt that R&R alone fills your need for anonymous attention. Chances are you post


elsewhere, have a blog, or are on myspace/friendster. Since you’ve put so much work into your profile there, might as well share it with the rest of us.

This goes especially for those catty rivals UGH and Gymgirl. (Less for UGH because, like most good-looking women, she doesn’t constantly talk about her looks.) And Mr. PROUD pedo, why not show us those “family snaps” you’ve got floating around in cyber space, FP could post their IMDB page etc, etc. Pants guy need not apply.

ok, the pants
Reply to: anon-89849811@craigslist.org
Date: 2005-08-08, 9:20PM PDT


they aren't great art, more like something out of a high school art class. The remarks aren't witty, funny, intelligent, moving, or scathing, more like something out of a high school student's head.
And the poetry.... it isn't even mediocre.

Yes, we are all free to post, create, do, say what we want and I don't usually post in tones criticizing others. There is enough of that in the world and certainly on here. But you just keep posting them! I'm not that nice! At some point even mother theresa would have stood up and said: No! they are not so great as you think! (ok, granted she had far better things to do than post on CL, or, I imagine, even to read CL).

I can't tell if you mean them to be cheesy and are trying to be all tongue in cheek. If so, mix it up a little. Show your wit has greater bounds than the same theme over and over (and over and over and over!).

If they are art.... Please, study the subject. Maybe you think only artists less talented than yourself need to study. No, you do too. Even the great artists in history apprenticed.


The Coalition to Flag the Fagg with the crappy pants.
Reply to: anon-89853434@craigslist.org
Date: 2005-08-08, 9:46PM PDT


I was born in the ghetto so I'm no art critic, BUT I KNOW THE SHIT YOU'RE POSTING IS NOT ART.


the pants postings
Reply to: anon-89862860@craigslist.org
Date: 2005-08-08, 11:08PM PDT


can we stop now? i thought they were bitchin and the guy was intelligent and cute, but can we stop with the narcissistic talking pants?


You've had enough, I've had enough...
Reply to: anon-89879603@craigslist.org
Date: 2005-08-09, 5:03AM PDT


Maybe I over did it a bit with the pants. Maybe I'm just getting started. But who are the vitriolic and fickle hall monitors that decide "That's enough"...

I was't pretending to be making art with my pants or posts. Just seeing what kind of climate the LA CL has. Prolific pedantry, repetitive dogma. Passionate in the arbitrary. Some sweet people, but mostly arrogant opinionated word vultures just looking for someone or something to pick at.

After surfing the snideness for a couple of days I find myself wanting to say "fuck you, you small minded miscreants" to some fairly random people that have decided to hog a public message board.

The corporations took our airwaves, and the simple minded are flushing their mental tampons down one of the last bastions of free speach.

I'm retireing the pants and retireing from the futility of LA CL.

Rock on party people.

Re:You've had enough, I've had enough...
Reply to: anon-89914604@craigslist.org
Date: 2005-08-09, 8:32AM PDT


Typical liberal


RE: You've had enough, I've had enough
Reply to: anon-89923360@craigslist.org
Date: 2005-08-09, 9:04AM PDT


good riddance,your stinking,non-underwearing ass has got to go,your pants look like something my kid finger-painted in kindergarten,btw those pimples on your ass? are from not wearing underwear and not washing your pants...stay in wisconsin,dude we dont need you here

Resume

Resume, originally uploaded by Dark Sevier.

Solitude

Solitude, originally uploaded by Dark Sevier.

My Pants: Chapt. 3 (Hellenback)
Reply to: anon-89592920@craigslist.org
Date: 2005-08-07, 6:55PM PDT


After years of an intimate relationship, it became clear that the pants and I were going to have to redefine our relationship. The Pants were wearing thin. Beyond the Sharpies, I had taken to patching holes, at first with canvas and denem, then I used satin and velvet. We would no longer be able to spend the days with each other in the field. The daily abuse the pants were subjected to had taken its toll.
My Pants: Chapt. 3

In spite of the fancy fabrics, retirement loomed in the near future. The pants felt like they were just beginning to mature, just coming into its own. The pants refused to die in silence. They ralied and determined to strike out into the world on their own...

Stay tuned to Chapt. four: The Phoenix

Philosphy

Philosphy, originally uploaded by Dark Sevier.

Mock

Mock, originally uploaded by Dark Sevier.

Inspiration

Inspiration, originally uploaded by Dark Sevier.

Waialae Lanes.jpg

Waialae Lanes.jpg, originally uploaded by Dark Sevier.

Rod: the Angelyne of CL
Reply to: anon-89401051@craigslist.org
Date: 2005-08-06, 3:39PM PDT


LA ex-pat here. I now live elsewhere. Morbidity calls me to check in with the purgatory of my twenties. Calling me like heroin and nicotine.

Rod is the Angelyne of CL.

Famous person needs to look up the etymology of the word famous.

I have a strong feeling that I am not the only one that scrolls down to click on the posts with "pic" on the end.

Gymgirl is the new up and coming; but will she out last Gymdad?

Rant and Rave: The Ignorant vs. the Snide

Rod: the Angelyne of CL
Reply to: anon-89405826@craigslist.org
Date: 2005-08-06, 4:13PM PDT


Let's be totally LA... where'd you get your pants, dude??? And do you want to have an awesome long-distance relationship with me? I'm single!

My Pants...
Reply to: anon-89412282@craigslist.org
Date: 2005-08-06, 5:01PM PDT


I think my pants have a shot at the big time. I didn't become a famaous person in LA. But my pants... I think they have a shot. Any pant agents out there want to develop a sit com around them?

My Pants...
Reply to: anon-89416095@craigslist.org
Date: 2005-08-06, 5:29PM PDT


Run it past me and we'll see what comes up.


My pants: their story (and a sexy pic)
Reply to: anon-89416643@craigslist.org
Date: 2005-08-06, 5:34PM PDT


Chapter 1: Plural name for a single garment.

My pants were born to poor garment workers in the late 90's. The garment workers had so many other pants to deal with that they were forced to ship our hero off to a retail outlet in hopes that someone would love them as much as they. My pants then ended up in a ranch supply store in Great Falls Montana. A elderly drug dependancy councellor found these pants matched the measurements of an aspiring tree trimmer living in Honolulu. She bought them and shipped them off. Here is where I first met my pants. I was crazy about them. They were a little stiff at first but I didn't mind, I actually liked them that way. I stopped wearing underwear about that time and my pants and I became very intimate. I love my pants. We have been togeather for over four years now and are very happy togeather.

Stay tuned for Chapter 2: How my pants found their own identity.

My Pants: Chapt. 2
Reply to: anon-89427458@craigslist.org
Date: 2005-08-06, 6:59PM PDT


My pants, after a moderate time of use, found themselves stained and worn. I talked with my pants about this for some time. I told my pants that they were still my favorite. Sometimes I would wash them then let them air dry so that they had a little of that stiffness that was there in the beginning. My pants became depressed anyway. Sitting at a bus stop one day, I remembered a buddhist line about "turning poison into medicine" and I pulled a Sharpie out of my pocket and turned the stains into designs. My pants were very happy. They actually began to enjoy getting stained, knowing that the Sharpies would redeem the blemish into a beautiful icon. This pant bliss went on for some time. Then, tragedy struck...

Stay tuned for Chapt. 3: The loss of integrity

Fire

Fire, originally uploaded by Dark Sevier.

First I saw fire...

Then I saw the rest

Sequoia National Park

Sequoia National Park, originally uploaded by Dark Sevier.

I see rocks
I see water
I see sky

I see all three in front of me
Plus the trees

Below Sequoia

Below Sequoia, originally uploaded by Dark Sevier.

Eventually

YOSO 24

YOSO 041
Originally uploaded by Dark Sevier.

Though I ridicule and speak disdainfully of dichotomy, I still can appreciate it's function and beauty. There is a beauty in black and white photography though the over all tone comes across as grey in most. The function of quick and easy dicernment can come in quite handy in a pinch, but if relied upon too much it leaches away vitality and ones capacity for subtlty.

Portland

Portland 023
Originally uploaded by Dark Sevier.

A friend once told me: "Kids grow up in spite of their parents." I thought that was reassuring. I inserted this concept into the musing on my own experience of growing up. Saw it had validity as far as I was concerned.

What did you say to me?

Fractals 001
Originally uploaded by Dark Sevier.

Yhatzin thontaleezer fehrhabin duntica levero monduska melintaezs kintop gunterlingo sota junkulay flistern haazs cinkalopes polisitcal jizinka sumpet olistra viluustnak.

Hello

Splitch
Originally uploaded by Dark Sevier.

Hello People...


Hello people that are reading this at a job they are not that passionate about.Hello narrow minded racist people.Hello googly eyed new messiahs that think you are the only one that gets it.Hello yet-to-be-discovereds.Hello to the cosmically minded that have nothing to prove.Hello livestock of the corporate herdsmen.Hello victims of American Politics.Hello ladies ;)Hello Psychic Warriors.Hello Writers.Hello Sexual Deviants.Hello Acid Head (yes- YOU!).Hello lonely people.Hello burn-outs.Hello to the cognitively facile.Hello psychically atuned.Hello upsetters.Hello concerned citizens.Hello puppets of addiction.Hello dictators.Hello neurotics.Hello lovers.Hewo to those whose development was stunted.Hello seekers.Hello finders.Hello losers.Hello to the Taoists that would never call themselves such.Hello freaks.Hello chingworts.Hello sufferers.Hello outlaws.Hello children.Hello ancients.Hello poets that don't know it.Hello people of the realm.Hello...

Copy of Oooga Booga 063

Double Take
Originally uploaded by Dark Sevier.

What am I doing?

Oooga Booga 086, originally uploaded by Dark Sevier.

Getting excited about the move. This is accelerating my dream of having a job that allows me to tinker all day.

I'm restructuring the business. I am creating a "modular landscaping" retail outlet in addition to the wholesale aspects. Plant combos that inhibit weed growth- all in the same pot. Crotons and gigantea,yellow peanut under ti plants, spicata grass in with gardenia starts. I will essentially be cutting down an arboretum and putting it in pots. Thousands and thousands of pots.

"It's the wild west out here. Just say what you want to do and let's do it. We're wide open to suggestion."
Say's my friend Gene. He's one of the founders of the non-profit orgaization IKOH (Invisible Kingdom of Humanity). They have a farm in
Waimanalo where I'm considering moving my considerable nursery stock. It would be like painting five acres with living pigments. I have pinks, greens, yellows
purples, oranges. Yellows too. Reds. I'm framing an experiment in sustainability with my experiment in
landscaping-as-stewardship.

So. In a nut shell: watching the mystery unfold before me and watching that I don't get in its way.

Palolo Ridge

Palolo Ridge, originally uploaded by Dark Sevier.

Blue

Blue
Originally uploaded by Dark Sevier.

How about the misunderstood and mentally deficient? The miserable who refuse to climb out of the pit of intollerance, the savage-tempered in the land of arrested development. Drops of ink in the glass of clear discourse.

Those, and the sabateurs of free media. Low rent clones of the "leader" of the free world. More like bleeder. Bubble poppers and wheel wedgers. Trolls taking tolls on the bridge of understanding, discouraging free movement of ideas by squatting with their vitriol in the path of exploration.

God damned cry babys with nothing to offer in the exchange but parroted rhetoric from the discredited and hypocritical.

And then there are the people that engage that level of idiocy. Stop patronizing the attention whores. Introduce yourself. Offer up your skills and act to re-route around the shit in the road and stop reacting to it. We need mature discourse. I am asking you for it.

Thanks in advance.

Concerned Citizen

Details...

Mosaic
Originally uploaded by Dark Sevier.

Details

Ostrich
Originally uploaded by Dark Sevier.

Ostrich, Dog, Pig, Cock

Ostrich, Dog, Pig, Cock
Originally uploaded by Dark Sevier.

Ostrich

Presumably, an ostrich that lived in Montana squeezed this egg out about six years ago. I bought it, already blown empty, for $10.00. I had it shipped to O'ahu when I moved here. It broke in the shipping. I glued it back togeather again. While waiting for my daughter Zoe to be born, I spent the evenings gluing colored chicken egg shells into a big blue circle.

Dog

A few years later, I am living in a tent in Kahalu'u. The dog of my friend and neighbor, Jason, ate a dozen of my chicken egg works. A few days later I noticed that the ostrich egg was missing. I imagined that it was stolen. A few weeks later, my friend Jason discovered it while weed whacking his property. Tell tale tooth marks in the blue mosaic incriminated the dog. Statute of limitations and lack of witnesses kept us from prosecuting. It broke again. I was not as gentile as the dog. The broken pieces were stacked inside the larger pieces and packed for a move to Palolo. Some pieces had adhered themselves togeather when the jungle moisture softened the glue. I was unable to separate them.

Pig

Pigs run amok on my nursery at night. Sometimes they run amok in my dreams. One morning after dreaming of pua'a I walked to the drive to find Kolohe the dog chewing on a wild pig head. I took it from him and put it in the compost barrel to extract the bones. Bones cleaned, I pulled it out to wash and let dry. Kolohe the dog retrieved it and chewed it to pieces. I gathered the pieces and put them in a can. Later, while looking for a container in which to mix plaster, I decided to mix the bones in the plaster and poured it into the ostrich egg, then shaped it back to its original egg shape. Continued the mosaic.

Cock

In the Year of the Rooster, a rooster shows up on the land. In my four years on the property I never seen cock nor hen. A neighbor on the land decided to take it upon himself to cull the fowl lest their progeny spoil the morning birdsong. It's the cocks year. He has eluded, escaped, and thwarted his hunter, though he has lost a couple of his harem to this war. I found a few fresh eggs near my compost pile and ate them. I then used the shells on the ostrich mosaic.

A project that spanned the segue of two centuries, the mosaic was completed on may 29th, 2005.