tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-309781662024-03-07T05:51:05.097-08:00Mad WilliamArtist, Photographer, Explorer, Chef, Writer, Psychologist, Masseur...Mad Williamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04938885566478066779noreply@blogger.comBlogger556125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30978166.post-45444275243332928362019-08-22T02:42:00.001-07:002019-08-22T02:42:28.207-07:00Life On The Line...<span style="color: #674ea7;"><span style="color: #b4a7d6;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Chapter one</span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #674ea7;"><span style="color: #b4a7d6;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I jumped into cooking on a bit of a whim. With little to no hesitation. After spending many years in the art business I was looking/needing to change my life. </span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #674ea7;"><span style="color: #b4a7d6;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It started with a class in 1998. A gift, to sit in with a local chef and watch them prepare something amazing. Then you get to taste the somethings and take home all the recipes. </span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #674ea7;"><span style="color: #b4a7d6;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Then I learned that I could volunteer to assist the chefs. I could take the class, work along side the chefs and it was free. A win win. </span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #674ea7;"><span style="color: #b4a7d6;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">After volunteering several times, I asked one of the chefs what it would take to become a cook. She invited me to visit her restaurant to see what I thought.</span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #674ea7;"><span style="color: #b4a7d6;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The next day I showed up excited to see the action of a real kitchen. After a few hours of me trying to stay out the way, in a very tiny space, she said, "I would ask you what you thought but you haven't stopped smiling the entire time." </span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I hadn't. I loved it.</span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #674ea7;"><span style="color: #b4a7d6;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It looked like it would be a great deal of fun. Playing with food and getting paid. How naive.</span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #674ea7;"><span style="color: #b4a7d6;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">She offered me a job. I started the next night, training on the saute station, I took to it right away, and stayed for almost 4 years.</span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #674ea7;"><span style="color: #b4a7d6;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I got lucky. She was an excellent chef on the verge of a great career. It was her first restaurant so she spent a lot of time in the kitchen. But she was a hot head. She screamed and yelled at us. <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Occasionally</span> thro<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">w</span>ing things at us. Like plates of fo<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">od. <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">God help <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">us if one of her plate wasn't what she wanted. It shoul<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">d</span> be 13 in<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ches tall and it's only 12, you had better duck. She would not hesitate to throw a full plate back at us through the window if she wasn't pleased. She was h<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">orrible, but brilliant. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #674ea7;"><span style="color: #b4a7d6;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Through it all I learned a great deal. It fed a passion I fe<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">el toward food. It's an art, it's creative, it's <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">sensual. It's also very hot, horrible hours, low wages, no security or benefits, and very stressful. <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Serious c</span>uts and burns are part the <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">daily joys. </span> The pressure can be over <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">whelming</span>. <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It's a running joke in every kit<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">chen that it takes a special kind of crazy to survi<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ve in the restaurant industry. It's funny because it's true.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #674ea7;"><span style="color: #b4a7d6;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Kitchens are a counter culture that most never see and even fewer understand<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">. Cooks <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">o<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">r</span> BOH (back of <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">house) are a strange mix of people. Under educated, over educated, <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">l</span>ots of drugs addicts, drug dealers<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">, </span>alcoholics, ex-cons, illegal aliens, witness relocation, students, drop outs, <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">b</span>urn outs, mid li<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">fe <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">crisis</span>, </span>and at times <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">the occasional killer, <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">predator</span> or <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">flat out <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">psychopaths</span>.</span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #674ea7;"><span style="color: #b4a7d6;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">They are also a close knit group of transients. <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Usually</span> accepting of everyone<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">'s</span> quirks. You <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">have</span> to be. Conditions are close. The hours alone make it hard for you to have friends and sometimes family whom aren't in the industry. We work nights, holidays, weekends<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">. Some places are never closed, 24/7, 365. Your days off are during the week. You run on a<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> schedule that is al<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">most the opposite of the r<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">est of the world. <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span>It can be great to have days o<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ff when the<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> rest of the world is working. places are less crowded, and most things are open.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #674ea7;"><span style="color: #b4a7d6;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It is also very difficult to maintain an<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">y</span> sort of normal relationship. If you<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">'re not in the industry the life style is difficult to understand<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">. I pract<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ically missed my child<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">'s <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">entire</span> life between ages of 7 and 10.</span></span></span></span></span></span> It contributed to my divorce. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #674ea7;"><span style="color: #b4a7d6;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">'s </span>the hours we work<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">. Horrible, late, long. Most cooks are night people. As I write this it's 2am. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #674ea7;"><span style="color: #b4a7d6;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">At my current position, a Sous Chef at a<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">n internation<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">al hot<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">el chain, I work an average <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">of 60+ hours a week. 1<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">0-12</span> hours a day, five da<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ys<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">,</span> often it's six. Often it's <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">as many as 20 days in a row without a day off. 12pm to 12am or later. I spend the first two hours ch<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">e</span>cking everything out, checking in with other sous', cooks, managers, go<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ing over the line set up, mise en place, specials, prep, banque<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ts, special even<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ts, and the restaurant.I have to do my own line work and mise en place. <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">T</span>he <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">next</span> 6-7 hours are spent on the line as the saute<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">/grill chef. I run the line. I cover a section that is 14 feet long. <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The hot side is responsible for all of the <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">entree dishes for dinner and a few items off the bar and pool m<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">e</span>nus, not to mention room service. It's very hot. On average it runs about 85-120 degrees. </span></span>There are few breaks, sometimes none. It<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> can be crazy busy one n<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ight and slow the next. Most night we serve about 200-300 covers a day. </span></span>The last couple of hours are spent cleaning up, putting <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">things aw<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ay, going over inventory, placing or<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ders, writing the prep list, organizing walk-ins,checking the other cook<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">s line and cleaning, helping the dish washer clear the pit<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">, checking in with the night cleaners and sending a nightly passdown email to all of the managers and chef<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">s. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #674ea7;"><span style="color: #b4a7d6;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Give or take.<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">..</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #674ea7;"><span style="color: #b4a7d6;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #674ea7;"><span style="color: #b4a7d6;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span></span></span></span></span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>Mad Williamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04938885566478066779noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30978166.post-72812080378183844122019-06-03T12:23:00.002-07:002019-06-03T12:23:42.025-07:00Lost In Invisiblity...When I was much younger, I wondered if I might be invisible. Not all the time, but often. I could be surrounded by people and wouldn't get noticed. They would look right through me, never at me. Now as I continue to age I'm convinced that I am actually invisible, from time to time. And never by my choice. I just seem to fade out and then eventually back in.<br />
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It's an odd sensation.<br />
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It's been almost a year since I closed my studio. I miss it like breathing. I can feel it pulsing through my veins, calling to me. It never stops. I can hear it. I can't turn it off. I worry I may never get back.<br />
The responsibility of being an <i>adult </i>never seem to diminish. The world always wants, no, demands more and more and is never satisfied. Always more.<br />
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I don't understand what we've done. What we've become. I can see where things are headed ever so clear. Am I the only one? Can anyone else see what we have done to ourselves? That it's getting worse, not better? That greed, selfish ego, corruption and lies have become the norm, and are accepted as if it always been that way. Or always should have been that way. I just don't know anymore.<br />
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I scream. The louder I scream the softer my voice. No one hears. No one listens. No one cares about anything outside of their own beliefs, right or wrong, good or bad. There has become no room for growth or improvement, or knowledge. At what point do we stop striving to be better? When do we stop asking questions? When do we decide that we know everything we need to know and stop taking in additional knowledge? Why do we stop learning? Or more importantly, why do we start refusing to learn and think that we know everything there is to know? And then decide that everyone else is wrong even when confronted with empirical evidence and scientific proof?<br />
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Just why? Common sense is no longer common. Education has become the enemy of those in control. Education is feared more than any other threat. Truthful knowledge is power and its dangerous.<br />
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So I scream. I stand in the middle of the street and I scream out in pain from the bottom of my soul. Surrounded by people I scream from the top of lungs...<br />
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...nothing. No response. No reaction. Like I'm not there.<br />
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Silent.<br />
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Invisible.<br />
<br />
Lost...Mad Williamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04938885566478066779noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30978166.post-73911527568534568522018-09-12T00:37:00.002-07:002018-09-12T00:37:30.538-07:00Is This Thing On...Mad Williamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04938885566478066779noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30978166.post-22265759589630849362016-02-02T08:48:00.002-08:002016-02-02T08:48:29.178-08:00Love Askew...Of the few things that I have regrets about, the one that haunts me most is that our wonderful little Bug will have no memories of a life when we were in love. He has grown up in a home without love or affection. Of course we love him and show him as much affection as we can, but there is nothing but mean, cold, detachment toward one another. He will grow up thinking that our relationship is normal. Most of his friend have divorced parents so he has no reference from them either. I had always dreamed that our son would grow up in a home that was warm and full of love, laughter, affection, romance and passion for life. I pray that when he falls in love, that he will follow his heart and not the icy example that we have given him.<br />
I'm sad that I can't stop loving you. I'm sad that you are so cold and indifferent toward me. I'm sad that you can't love me. I'm sad that I was so blind to you and your real feelings.Mad Williamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04938885566478066779noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30978166.post-56469786581291594522016-01-18T02:57:00.002-08:002016-01-18T02:57:47.118-08:00Cold Indifference...How do I stop loving someone? How do I make my heart realize that she doesn't love anymore? Or realize that maybe she never really did? Her cold indifference toward me is like a knife to my skin. I miss her so much. I want to hold her and tell her how much I still care.<br />
She doesn't love me. She doesn't even like me most days, I'm more of a toleration. Spending any amount of time with me is merely for our son and then I'm dismissed as soon as possible.<br />
Why can't I let go and realize that she is not going to come back. Her heart has no room for me.<br />
I keep hoping that one day she will see something in me that she used to see. But each time our eyes meet mine are met with regret. Why can't she see me the way we were? Why isn't my love and romance enough for her? Why am I not enough for her? I hate this. Why can't I let her go the way she let me go? I'm tired. I'm tired of being alone. I'm tired of crying myself to sleep each night. I'm tired of missing what I thought we had. I'm tired of the rejection and cold indifference.Mad Williamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04938885566478066779noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30978166.post-30669141015087873992016-01-16T07:55:00.002-08:002016-01-16T07:55:49.321-08:00Think About Life Alone...Why do you talk about me as if I weren't around? Why do you talk about <i>our </i>son as if he were only yours? Have you even considered that one of these days he will want to come live with me? Because he will. We didn't give him a choice as you decided that he's better off with you. How much thought have given to what life will be like alone? You know, the life you expect me to accept without question. The life you keep telling me wont be as bad as I have imagined it being.<br />
It's all about you and what your needs. You say it's because I can't take care of him. Maybe not right this moment, I can't, or at least not to your standards, but I will be able to very soon. What then? Are you willing to give him up as easily as you think I should give him up?<br />
Have you thought about what it's going to be like, to be in your home and it's completely silent? No sounds of happy kid. No sounds of animals playing or fighting or running amok. Just you. The sound of your own thoughts echoing through your head and empty home. Have thought about life without him? Without any of it? With out everything we spent the last 17 years working toward. Just you? Alone!<br />
Just like you are asking me to accept. I hope you can live with it as easily as you expect me to live with things, because one day soon, he will want to live with me.<br />
Enjoy your solitude and try to remember the bullshit you fed me about it all being alright.Mad Williamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04938885566478066779noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30978166.post-87934146051789897012016-01-14T04:18:00.000-08:002016-01-14T04:18:05.678-08:00If Only You Loved Me...I try to understand. I try to see the situation for your point of view. I try to listen to myself explain things in my head. I try to hear you when you tell me that you don't love me. that you haven't loved me. My memories of us were happy. My journal tells a different story, of sadness and regret. I wonder who wrote these things. I can't believe that you said such mean and hurtful words toward me. I can't understand how you could push me away when all I ever wanted to do was worship you. I called you Precious. I thought you were my one true love. You are constantly in my thoughts. Even still, as I hurt more than I have ever hurt, I still love you. With a word I would run to your arms and hold you like there were no tomorrow. Everything that has happened forgotten in an instant...if only you loved me. How could you not love me when I love you with everything I have? How could that not be enough for you? What more can I offer? I need someone to hold, to share my life, to love even if it's not completely the way I love you, I need to have someone to hold. To be held. How could you push me away? How could have pushed me away when I loved you? What was that supposed to accomplish? I need someone, anyone if I can't have he one I want but I need someone. You knew this and you pushed me away all the same. Is this what you wanted all along? You were trying to push me away to the point I couldn't or wouldn't come back? Did you want me to be the one to leave? How could I leave someone I love so deeply? How can you not see how much I care for you? I would try or do anything for you. Am I immature or weak minded? Is there something wrong with me that I can't let go? Why can't I be as cold and unloving toward you, as you are toward me? None of it matters to me. I would hug you and love you and never let you go...if only you loved me. We could be happy again. We could conquer the world. We could have the greatest life together...if only you loved me.Mad Williamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04938885566478066779noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30978166.post-74827801482043074332015-11-24T06:21:00.004-08:002016-01-03T08:54:52.482-08:00I Met Someone Today...I met someone new today. I was sure that I had never met him before however he was very familiar with me. It made me uncomfortable yet I couldn't get away. His face was sad. Dark lines under his bloodshot eyes. Receding hair line and totally grey. A bit over weight and his posture sagged all over. I could feel his sorrow. I reached out for him and he reached back. We both looked surprised for a moment and then it faded back to sadness.<br />
<br />
The realization that you are unrecognizable to even yourself would be heart breaking, if you had a heart left to break. I've come to the end of a path, and I can see no path ahead of me. There is no fork in the road. Fear has a tight grip on me and she resists to let go. She feeds on me. I close my eyes but my sight remains. She follows me into dreams, when she lets me sleep. She distracts me from my distractions, always there, her whispers have grown louder and louder, never hesitating for a moment.<br />
Why do you follow me this way?<br />
Because you let me.<br />
How can I turn you away?<br />
Just turn.<br />
How do I forget you?<br />
You don't.<br />
How can I say goodbye?<br />
... <br />
<br />Mad Williamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04938885566478066779noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30978166.post-20979511523511818372015-05-12T09:08:00.000-07:002015-05-12T09:08:05.888-07:00Release Your Grip On My Junk...Why have we let our government take over ever aspect of our lives. We allow ourselves to be taxed and regulated to the point it's next to impossible to get things done. And if you can get things done it's next to impossible to make any profit because of the asinine fees, taxes and regulations, permits, insurance…it's fucking theft!<br />
<br />
I can't take a dump without the government wanting a piece of it. Hands off you greedy soulless bastards!Mad Williamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04938885566478066779noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30978166.post-8223774228983699542014-06-07T01:37:00.002-07:002014-06-07T01:37:30.274-07:00Choices...Life is seldom what we expect. You dream and plan and end up trying to deal with what actually happened.<br />
<br />
It's how we deal that matters. There are things we think we want. Want more than anything else. But maybe, we are really better off with out them. Maybe it's the longing and wishing that things had been different that is holding us back or slowing us down.<br />
<br />
Every thing is a choice. The choices are easy. It's the living with those choices that gets difficult.Mad Williamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04938885566478066779noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30978166.post-55248146945532436092013-12-06T02:10:00.002-08:002014-01-27T13:40:25.799-08:00All The Time In The World...Once I feel in love with Sunshine.<br />
Every spare moment I spent basking in her glow and warmth.<br />
<br />
When the complications of autumn arrive and the clouds fill the sky,<br />
I miss my Sunshine and her warm embrace.<br />
<br />
No matter how dark the winter may be,<br />
springtime always comes.<br />
<br />
The seasons can't be rushed,<br />
for they have all the time in the world.<br />
<br />
Enjoy each day as if it's the last,<br />
and embrace the warmth of the Sunshine.<br />
<br />Mad Williamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04938885566478066779noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30978166.post-66764372331155848762013-10-17T10:33:00.000-07:002013-10-17T10:33:52.132-07:00The Right Thing...The funny thing about the <i>right thing,</i> is that the <i>right thing </i>isn't right for everyone. There is always someone that isn't going to agree with your decision. Especially when love is concerned. Is the<i> right thing</i>, wrong?<br />
<br />
When love is in the air. No matter how great the passion, how great the attraction, how great the connection...eventually, one or both are going to get hurt. Even when you try to do the<i> right thing.</i><br />
<br />
Is it the <i>right thin</i>g for the wrong reasons, or the <i>wrong thing</i> for the right reasons?<br />
<br />
Even unintentional pain hurts.Mad Williamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04938885566478066779noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30978166.post-76666160282283416472013-08-07T00:10:00.001-07:002013-08-07T00:10:59.597-07:00Dark Days...Once , I met someone that changed my life. From that point on, the world was a different color. The black cloud that followed me was gone. Sunshine filled my life. <br />
<br />
The thing about sunshine is that even the smallest cloud can blot it out.<br />
<br />
When you spend so much time with a dark cloud following you. And then you are surrounded by sunshine, it's easy to get hooked on the light. It's an amazing change of pace. Then on the days when the sunshine is hiding behind a cloud you really miss it. You get used to it being there. It's easy to forget what life was like when every day was cloudy and dark.<br />
<br />
When you love sunshine, the dark days seem so much darker.Mad Williamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04938885566478066779noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30978166.post-74560857093612812582013-06-10T01:06:00.001-07:002013-06-10T01:06:22.070-07:00My Greatest Fear...The heart and emotions are funny things. Logic seldom plays a part in these matters. At least in my world. Love is what rules my life. More than anything else, I need someone to love, and someone that loves me. To hold and touch and kiss and...to keep loving. Today, tomorrow, always.<br />
<br />
I have never really been able to make decisions with my head. Logic and common sense always go out the window. My heart jumps in. Emotions swirl about like a hurricane. Sparks fly and I lose control. All logic goes out the window.<br />
<br />
I have tried several times to not follow love. Make more sensible choices. Love seldom lasts forever. One person, along the journey, changes their views. There needs change. There wants and desires change. Love fades. Sometimes it tries to changes and adapt. Sometimes things are just broken and can't be fixed.<br />
<br />
At one point both halves of a couple are eager and excited to spend time together. Get to know the other persons secrets. What happens when there are no more secrets? What happens when the excitement dims? When the sparks no longer fly?<br />
<br />
Love leaves us vulnerable. In order to love you have to be able to let down your walls and your guard. You have to open yourself up to unimaginable pain. Because with great pleasure comes great pain. In my life, love has always ended in great pain. It has almost always been worth it.<br />
<br />
In the times of pain I swear I will never love again. I promise myself that I will never let my guard down. Never let anyone in as close again. Never let anyone else know all of your secrets. To never be vulnerable.<br />
<br />
<i>I have finally discovered that my greatest fear is not being alone, it's being vulnerable.</i><br />
<br />
<br />Mad Williamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04938885566478066779noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30978166.post-59223483655485063642013-06-04T10:51:00.000-07:002013-06-04T16:22:10.218-07:00Sparks...They worked together. Saw each other every day for the most part. Smiles and eye batting. The occasional wink. She was hot and he was flattered. It was fun and innocent.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
One day they were standing beside each other. He turned to say hello. Their eyes met, they held the gaze. Then she said, "You have the most beautiful eyes." <i>he was positive that when she said it that her eyes sparkled. Like you see in the movies. a little spark of sunshine glistened in her eyes. he could almost hear the ting sound that goes with it. His pulse doubled, he took in a quick deep breath, and very softly said,</i></div>
<div>
"Thank you." as he continued to look at her. Lost in her gaze. It was over in a second. They got interrupted and each went about their day.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
He couldn't stop thinking about what he had seen. It was a spark. Her eyes sparkled.<br />
<br /></div>
Mad Williamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04938885566478066779noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30978166.post-26897777966425512262013-06-03T22:47:00.001-07:002013-06-04T10:35:28.706-07:00Complications...<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 0px; font-family: Baskerville;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-indent: -16px;"><span class="posg" role="text"><span class="pos" d:ps="1"><span class="gp tg_pos">noun</span></span><span class="gp tg_posg"></span></span><span class="se2" d:abs="1" style="display: block;"><span class="gp ty_label tg_se2" style="font-weight: 600;"> </span><span class="msDict t_first" id="m_en_us1234977.001" style="display: inline; text-indent: -1em;"><span class="df" role="text">a circumstance that complicates something; a difficulty<span class="gp tg_df">:</span><span class="gp tg_df"></span></span><span class="eg" role="text"><span class="ex" d:priority="2" style="font-style: italic;"> there is a complication concerning ownership of the site</span><span class="gp tg_eg" d:priority="2">.</span></span><span class="gp tg_msDict" role="text"></span></span><span class="msDict t_subsense" d:priority="2" id="m_en_us1234977.002" style="display: block; text-indent: 0em;"><span class="gp tg_msDict" role="text">• </span><span class="df" role="text">an involved or confused condition or state<span class="gp tg_df">:</span><span class="gp tg_df"></span></span><span class="eg" role="text"><span class="ex" d:priority="2" style="font-style: italic;"> to add further complication, English speakers use a different name</span><span class="gp tg_eg" d:priority="2">.</span></span></span><span class="msDict t_subsense" d:priority="2" id="m_en_us1234977.002" style="display: block; text-indent: 0em;"><span class="eg" role="text"><span class="gp tg_eg" d:priority="2"><br /></span></span></span><span class="msDict t_subsense" d:priority="2" id="m_en_us1234977.002" style="display: block; text-indent: 0em;"><span class="eg" role="text"><span class="gp tg_eg" d:priority="2"><br /></span></span></span><span class="msDict t_subsense" d:priority="2" id="m_en_us1234977.002" style="display: block; text-indent: 0em;"><span class="eg" role="text"><span class="gp tg_eg" d:priority="2"><i>"to add further complication..."</i></span></span></span><span class="msDict t_subsense" d:priority="2" id="m_en_us1234977.002" style="display: block; text-indent: 0em;"><span class="eg" role="text"><span class="gp tg_eg" d:priority="2"><i><br /></i></span></span></span><span class="msDict t_subsense" d:priority="2" id="m_en_us1234977.002" style="display: block; text-indent: 0em;"><span class="eg" role="text"><span class="gp tg_eg" d:priority="2">That's my personal favorite. </span></span></span><span class="msDict t_subsense" d:priority="2" id="m_en_us1234977.002" style="display: block; text-indent: 0em;"><span class="eg" role="text"><span class="gp tg_eg" d:priority="2"><br /></span></span></span><span class="msDict t_subsense" d:priority="2" id="m_en_us1234977.002" style="display: block; text-indent: 0em;"><span class="eg" role="text"><span class="gp tg_eg" d:priority="2">As if you already had just enough complications, to add further, would just be too much?</span></span></span><span class="msDict t_subsense" d:priority="2" id="m_en_us1234977.002" style="display: block; text-indent: 0em;"><span class="eg" role="text"><span class="gp tg_eg" d:priority="2">How much complication is enough? Is there a complications limit a person can hit, or do we just keep piling it on? Do we have to work through each complication before they go away or will some of them just fade away on their own?</span></span></span><span class="msDict t_subsense" d:priority="2" id="m_en_us1234977.002" style="display: block; text-indent: 0em;"><br /></span><span class="msDict t_subsense" d:priority="2" id="m_en_us1234977.002" style="display: block; text-indent: 0em;"><i>"to add further complication, the spark has ignited a fire..."</i></span><span class="msDict t_subsense" d:priority="2" id="m_en_us1234977.002" style="display: block; text-indent: 0em;"><span class="eg" role="text"><span class="gp tg_eg" d:priority="2"><i><br /></i></span></span></span><span class="msDict t_subsense" d:priority="2" id="m_en_us1234977.002" style="display: block; text-indent: 0em;"><span class="eg" role="text"><span class="gp tg_eg" d:priority="2">Well, here's to further complications.</span></span></span></span></span></span>Mad Williamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04938885566478066779noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30978166.post-83219989657805680082013-05-28T13:07:00.000-07:002013-05-28T17:30:47.544-07:00Long Live The Batch Of '92...All Hail The Batch Of '13<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Just for the record, and a little back story...I, in general, do not like potato salad. I do like potatoes, in a wide variety of forms and presentations. My problem with potato salad, is that no one knows how to make a good potato salad. </div>
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Almost always they have way, way too much mayo. Or worse, Miracle Whip. yuk! Too much mustard is a common problem. Too lumpy, too dry, too bland, too crazy with wild ingredients. Anywhoo...I come from a long line of potato salad makers and eaters. My mother, grand mother, aunts(men in my family don't really cook) they all made their own version. They were all very proud but they just weren't quite right.</div>
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So when I took to teaching myself to cook in the mid to late 80's, one of my goals was to create the ultimate potato salad recipe. I too wanted to be able to enjoy what seemed to be an American tradition. Every holiday there was a potato salad of some sorts available. The grocery stores carry large tubs of the stuff for every day sale. The deli's across the country all have some type of potato salad available to the public.</div>
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I have tried hundreds of potato salads. Hundreds! And with out fail, 95% of them have been disappointing. </div>
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It was in the year 1992, that after countless attempts at becoming the Potato Salad King of the West Coast. (claiming Salad Superiority over all west of the Mississippi) that I finally succeeded. The greatest batch of tater salad that had ever been created to that point in time had been made. It was heralded across the west as not just a salad but a master work of art. A meal unto itself. A joy to the senses.</div>
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From that point on, every batch of tater salad has been held up the standard of '92. But seeing as how tater salad making is not an exact science, each batch has it's own unique qualities that make a replica of '92 near impossible. At best they would be a pale comparison. No mater how good the current attempts, they would some how fall short of expectations. It was a common urban legend that the batch of '92 was a myth. That it didn't really exist, but it was rather a cruel joke played on tater salad lovers every where. Get there hopes up with dreams of '92 and then dash them away with some runny substandard store bought. </div>
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Well kids, I hope you are all sitting down. Catch your breath. Wait for it.....</div>
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May I introduce, all of civilized humanity west of the Mississippi, to thee, <i><b>"Batch of"13"</b></i></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfszoo-U4r16jrkchCr2O3e0BCDUfMqA1wlKWrHNzmg1Qb_N1UF1S2y2D2LSCIUWCHM8Px3X1PK-aB9WJRGsiDcMg-xAGKASOehT-jm2BE7GIQcHfkYEI7GH-62IaHyr8O84p9bA/s1600/DSCN4150.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfszoo-U4r16jrkchCr2O3e0BCDUfMqA1wlKWrHNzmg1Qb_N1UF1S2y2D2LSCIUWCHM8Px3X1PK-aB9WJRGsiDcMg-xAGKASOehT-jm2BE7GIQcHfkYEI7GH-62IaHyr8O84p9bA/s320/DSCN4150.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">'13</td></tr>
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<b>It has been done.</b> It has been talked about for 21 years. Whispered about, no one daring to speak loudly as some one might hear talk of a challenge to the '92. No one would risk such ridicule. For surely, no one would attempt such a feet as to better the '92.<br />
<br />
All except I. Yes, I, the creator of the now infamous batch of '92. For with every attempt, I think to myself that this could be it. This next batch could be the one that comes out of no where and takes the crown as the Greatest Batch of Tater Salad since the Batch of '92.<br />
<br />
But on this day, not only do I claim that this batch, the Batch of "13 is not only as good as the Batch of "92, but is better, than the legendary batch. Thus making this batch, The Batch of "13, the greatest batch of Tater Salad every created west of the Mississippi.<br />
<br />
Hail the Batch of "13!<br />
<br />
A perfect combination of flavors, textures, aromas...A culinary master work that shall live on through time as the greatest batch of tater salad ever created. No longer a side dish, for this potato salad can be eaten as a meal. Sides be dammed. From this day forward, all potato salads everywhere(west of the Mississippi) shall be held to this standard. For this is the perfection that all salad makers aspire to be. Marvel in the magnificence that shall for ever be referred to as...<br />
<br />
<i><b>The Batch Of '13.......</b></i><br />
<br />
<br />
For those of you that would like to know what went into the batch of '13. Here is an ingredient list. However portions are a mystery as I create by taste and touch. Sorry.<br />
<br />
<br />
russet potatoes<br />
celery - small dice<br />
yellow onion - small dice<br />
hard boiled eggs<br />
apple wood smoked bacon, cooked medium so it's still meaty<br />
garlic jalapeno mustard<br />
real mayonnaise<br />
pickle relish<br />
pepper corn blend - ground<br />
sea salt - ground<br />
garlic powder<br />
cayenne pepper<br />
red pepper flakes<br />
season salt<br />
dill<br />
<br />Mad Williamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04938885566478066779noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30978166.post-92188578488241368462013-05-15T08:55:00.001-07:002013-05-28T13:09:34.769-07:00Killing Me Softly...I keep telling myself that I'm doing it all for them. I have to keep telling myself. There is no other reason.<br />
<br />
Four days of 13 hours. One day of 10 hours. By the time I get days off I'm so tired I collapse and spend much of my time off, asleep.<br />
<br />
In the mornings I wake up a few minutes before Mr. Man goes to school. I take him. That's it. That's all I get to see the little guy today, or the next three days. I come home in time to hear,"Gotta go".<br />
Sometimes I get a very quick, tight lipped peck. Passionless. Emotionless. Some day's all I hear is the "Gotta go" before I hear the door open and close as she leaves.<br />
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She talks about moving. Our future. Once in awhile She says things like, she loves me and that she cares. A few weeks ago she said I had a cute butt, as she grazed a cheek with the back of her hand.<br />
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That's as close as we get. A few minutes a day. As intimate as room mates.<br />
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That's it. Every day. Day after day. That's it. And it's killing me. Slowly killing me. Every day. Every time she says something even slightly caring. Every time she touches me then pulls away, it's killing me.<br />
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I don't know how to live a passionless life. I need to have a lover I can share with. I can hold and touch and kiss and know that it's "us" against the world trying to make a better life.<br />
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Instead I live alone with my child and his mom, and I'm working two jobs for 70 hours a week for practically nothing, and it's killing me.Mad Williamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04938885566478066779noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30978166.post-2809989523333540952013-05-14T23:40:00.000-07:002013-05-14T23:40:48.400-07:00Contradictions...First, I should never write while I've been drinking. It always makes for awkward conversations later.<br />
OK, even non drinking writing leads to awkward conversations but the former stands.<br />
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Second, I will never understand people as long as I live. Any of you. You are all a giant mystery to me. I used to think that I could read people pretty well. That was apparently a gift that can be lost when not used on a regular basis. Use it or loose it as they say.<br />
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Mainly I will never understand her. Her words and actions don't always mesh. I thought that I had been misunderstanding. OK, I'm very sure I have misunderstood much of what has happened but some if it has been in writing. I have it, ink on paper. I read things over and over and compare them to the things I hear. I compare them to the things I see. They don't go together.<br />
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Somewhere along the line, the rules have changed. The goals have changed. Everything seems to have changed. Except me. I don't feel like I've changed. Yet I realize that everything is speeding past me. Forever changing around me. It all seems to contradict itself. We want one thing but we ask for something else. Then seem confused when we get either.<br />
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I don't get it. Blissfully happy and unaware, then poof!<br />
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Sadly, love is not one of life's' constants. It does contradict itself as well as the people it devours. <br />
There is no explaining love. It is what it is. It's fabulous and wonderful. Until it isn't.<br />
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<span id="goog_1756609692"></span><span id="goog_1756609693"></span><br />Mad Williamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04938885566478066779noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30978166.post-21419053715963361692013-05-06T01:01:00.000-07:002013-05-06T01:04:37.877-07:00What's In A Name...So I'm listening to a gallery manager and a gallery owner argue about names. Some of my paintings don't have names they have numbers. Like "Chadette no 38."<br />
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To me that is the name of the painting. Apparently, to some it's a sign<span style="font-family: Baskerville;"><span style="color: #2971a7; font-weight: 600;"> </span>unprofessionalism.</span><br />
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Besides all of that it made me wonder about the names I have used, and not used.<br />
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I have only used Theresa once. I have never used: Kim, Deloris, Trisha, Julie, Jeanie or Precious...<br />
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Kim was my first real love. She ended up breaking my heart. I dated several other Kim's. One owned a golf course. One had a mow hawk and was an awesome lover, although it was brief. One was a jockey.<br />
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Deloris was a teacher in high school, while I was a student.Although not my teacher. OK, technically I was out of high school at the time but she was awesome. She had a beautiful 65 Mustang Fast back. A wonderful metallic green. Her boy friend wrecked it. She taught me quite a bit.<br />
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I met Trisha Coffee at a party. We went to different high schools. She had just broken up with her high school stud. We talked, we made out. I saw her a few days later. I played the piano and made jokes and she laughed, we had fun. We went to the fair, where she ditched me when her stud showed up. She was only trying to make stud jealous. Which worked because they ended up back together. She was so hot.<br />
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Julie was a sports friend. She played softball while I played baseball. She was a tom-boy. She was cute and fun and she was killed in a car accident when she was 17. And I miss her.<br />
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And Jeanie...There has always been something about Jeanie. We have been off and on as long as we have know one another.<br />
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Precious asked me once if I thought Jeanie was<i> "my one". </i><br />
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Honestly I have never really thought of myself as having a <i>"One". </i>I go where my heart takes me. I really figured that Precious was "my one". Until recently, if there was going to be only one. It should have been Precious. Maybe I don't have a one. Maybe I missed my one. Or screwed up my one.<br />
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I have never named one after Precious or any of her names.<br />
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It's funny that I have a hard time naming my paintings after the women that have meant the most to me.<br />
<br />Mad Williamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04938885566478066779noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30978166.post-8467492741101956302013-04-28T23:59:00.003-07:002013-04-28T23:59:32.897-07:00Quote Of The Day...<i><b>"I don't drink much outside of work."</b></i><br />
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<i><b><br /></b></i>Mad Williamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04938885566478066779noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30978166.post-57531181866720311822013-04-16T15:02:00.004-07:002013-04-16T15:02:55.026-07:00Crack Heads...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
On the chopping block today, we have two offerings. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPpcj35mgAsGmLaNzNjqRFQxzrD4DoMJBy220I5NdHR9SMiaF9xnXb6N8GSUwGo2G6nwgfpg3xOqFda19alSBW3EqNThHdqiVPzrVEf2W0Uv-h4-KacHmvNCAVOhnEaWEx2QLs8Q/s1600/DSCN4034.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPpcj35mgAsGmLaNzNjqRFQxzrD4DoMJBy220I5NdHR9SMiaF9xnXb6N8GSUwGo2G6nwgfpg3xOqFda19alSBW3EqNThHdqiVPzrVEf2W0Uv-h4-KacHmvNCAVOhnEaWEx2QLs8Q/s320/DSCN4034.JPG" width="238" /></a></div>
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"Lost in Blues" 8x10 on canvas, from 2010. One of my favorites. I've been hanging on to her, but cracking must be done.</div>
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and...</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZrLlpwWo628/UW3FI_e3_qI/AAAAAAAACPo/9n3i1a6prYU/s1600/DSCN4035.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZrLlpwWo628/UW3FI_e3_qI/AAAAAAAACPo/9n3i1a6prYU/s320/DSCN4035.JPG" width="249" /></a></div>
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"Chadette No. 38" 5x7 on board from 2006, with a repaint in 2008,</div>
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and another retouch in 2010...As always, if anyone has a name suggestion, I would love to hear it. Many of you have named my girls. You never know, if I like the name enough I just might give her to you. (If you want her)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibi852UpcJMMUK0UxOdrHigO1Z0iTY34J6nHdypNNn2d9rPbOhB4AGlCW5nOo4yq50L3TjGk3pIA7n6pb7wAAvOhBzF_v4zVzp-CjuF6jo9psczc-cZTNBAFpV8Btodi_Pb1L3SA/s1600/DSCN4030.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibi852UpcJMMUK0UxOdrHigO1Z0iTY34J6nHdypNNn2d9rPbOhB4AGlCW5nOo4yq50L3TjGk3pIA7n6pb7wAAvOhBzF_v4zVzp-CjuF6jo9psczc-cZTNBAFpV8Btodi_Pb1L3SA/s320/DSCN4030.JPG" width="229" /></a></div>
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This is the Cracking varnish. I was a little worried at this point. Then I realized the pattern was my shadow. (I really need to get more sleep) </div>
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After several hours I was not seeing anything happening. No cracking, very little drying. Not much of anything. I broke out the heat lamp and had just started to blast them and speed things up when I caught a glimpse of the Martini I ruined a few weeks ago. I promptly turned off the heat lamp and walked away. It was a break through moment for me. Not to mention incredibly difficult. I had the hardest time not futzing with them. Bit I didn't. I let them dry on there own over night. Yes, overnight!</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-R5pdyvDofPY/UW3FI-sMWiI/AAAAAAAACPk/D03rooim394/s1600/DSCN4036.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-R5pdyvDofPY/UW3FI-sMWiI/AAAAAAAACPk/D03rooim394/s320/DSCN4036.JPG" width="248" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ySZHgRhOO1c/UW3FHyDdwnI/AAAAAAAACPc/OmN3t2Q_Xp0/s1600/DSCN4037.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ySZHgRhOO1c/UW3FHyDdwnI/AAAAAAAACPc/OmN3t2Q_Xp0/s320/DSCN4037.JPG" width="255" /></a></div>
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I couldn't see much cracking on either of them which kind of bummed me out. The varnish had dried and there was nothing else to do but see how they came out. A little Lamp Black, Cobalt Violet, and Burnt Umber. This part is always tense for me.</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8Vc0k814Jxg/UW3FUER9JDI/AAAAAAAACP0/h8Y2d2jT4R8/s1600/DSCN4042.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8Vc0k814Jxg/UW3FUER9JDI/AAAAAAAACP0/h8Y2d2jT4R8/s320/DSCN4042.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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Holy Crack Heads Batman! They could not have come out better. I am so pleased. Both of them had cracked, a lot. Fine, well patterned, good spacing and crack distribution... Awesome!</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2FhKXQEbhQY/UW3FX65PNuI/AAAAAAAACQA/TXljoY2AQE4/s1600/DSCN4043.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2FhKXQEbhQY/UW3FX65PNuI/AAAAAAAACQA/TXljoY2AQE4/s320/DSCN4043.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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I love the way she came out. The cracks across her face and neck have made her so much more beautiful. I really like the vertical crack across her lips and eye.</div>
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Crack is good.</div>
<br />Mad Williamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04938885566478066779noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30978166.post-22473073071917101672013-03-28T12:13:00.003-07:002013-03-28T12:13:34.436-07:00About Love...Lately, more than any other time in my life so far, I find myself thinking about love. I have always believed that love was a simple thing. You find someone, you fall in love and you're happy together.<br />
Until you're not...<br />
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Maybe it's that I never really thought about love. I mean really thought about it. Why should it be so simple? Love is complicated. Complex. Painful. And just because you love someone, doesn't mean that person is going to love you. And even if they do love you, it might not be what you had in mind.<br />
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I had never realized that love is not the same for everyone. I always had it in the back of my mind that love, the way I understand it, was universal. Love is the same wants, needs, and desires in everyone. Except it's not...<br />
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Everyone is profoundly different. We all see things and situations differently. We react differently.<br />
It's an odd revelation to find out you know very little about someone you have known for 13 years.<br />
To believe you have an intimate understanding of an other human being.<br />
Except you don't...<br />
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Everyday I see this person that I've been calling Precious, believing her to be a part of my very being. Closer to me than any other person has ever been. Then one day there is this large distance between the two. What was so simple, for me, had become complicated. The simplicity was gone. The ease at which we interacted had been disturbed. The part of me in which she possessed had been taken. Two people that had been together for so long were suddenly strangers with a common bond.<br />
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Everything became awkward. Communications and interactions were misunderstood and misinterpreted. Now I feel on edge in my own home. Like a visitor. Not sure how to act or behave. Questioning my role as partner and father. Not sure where to stand or what to say or when to be involved. At times it's like I'm living with a single mother and her child. I'm just there to help when I can with extra money and chores.<br />
Like live in help...<br />
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Love is simple when it's new. It's easy. Natural. But like most every thing else in life, love becomes more complex with time. Like wine. The older it gets, the better it is. Until it goes too far, and then it's vinegar.<br />
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Not everyone loves the same way. Love is not constant but changes over time. It grows, evolves, and like every thing else, it dies.Mad Williamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04938885566478066779noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30978166.post-56841588202063870202013-03-26T10:22:00.000-07:002013-03-26T10:22:00.066-07:00The Problem With Crack...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
So...I finally get back in my studio to work. Let;s forget that the place is a complete disaster area at the moment. I needed to work on something before my head exploded.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9jeZyO4Lq_TpJwXVTGeP6Vox_kx4E0ADpcb_iKuIsTxmKpjAuA1Y98shB6gLUApw3neMnEnI5-em_cK4cgXT8PVqYm0z_ICJplkORwNDJGjh9jMLEO24ERO1m3tr1_6OgTuad4Q/s1600/DSCN3892.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9jeZyO4Lq_TpJwXVTGeP6Vox_kx4E0ADpcb_iKuIsTxmKpjAuA1Y98shB6gLUApw3neMnEnI5-em_cK4cgXT8PVqYm0z_ICJplkORwNDJGjh9jMLEO24ERO1m3tr1_6OgTuad4Q/s320/DSCN3892.JPG" width="240" /></a><br />
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I began here. I spray painted a textured canvas with metallic gold. Then a layer of bright crimson red, leaving some of the gold to show through where I plan on putting one of my girls.</div>
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While that was drying I got the bright idea to crack a few of the older works. But which ones to sacrifice?</div>
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It is a sacrifice of sorts because I don't always know if it will work. The cracking process is not precise and anything can happen. You have to be willing to loose a painting. If the crack goes wrong, it's very difficult to save them.</div>
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I selected a Martini from 2009, my first Martini to be cracked, and a girl from 2005. The first layer is the Patina Varnish. It's difficult to see here, but it's there. Just have to let it dry a bit to the tacky stage.</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zQLnL61hy5Q/UVHO49ABD2I/AAAAAAAACME/Q7kzoQTPqog/s1600/DSCN3896.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zQLnL61hy5Q/UVHO49ABD2I/AAAAAAAACME/Q7kzoQTPqog/s320/DSCN3896.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oXe8_G19-rE/UVHPFSyPFTI/AAAAAAAACMg/QO4xZH_3wRQ/s1600/DSCN3895.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oXe8_G19-rE/UVHPFSyPFTI/AAAAAAAACMg/QO4xZH_3wRQ/s320/DSCN3895.JPG" width="240" /></a><br />
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Then after the Patina has started to dry, I put down a layer of the Cracking Varnish. Again, it's difficult to see here, but it's there. As it dries, it begins to crack. This is the hard part for me. I'm impatient. Temperate and humidity affect the rate and size of the cracks. It was cool and humid last night. I didn't feel like waiting like I should have. I know better. If you rush the crack you get crap. </div>
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So of coarse I rushed it. I set up a heat lamp to speed the drying process.</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IBhRjI0kX-k/UVHUXNzxUjI/AAAAAAAACNE/iAkmdCU15LM/s1600/DSCN3900.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IBhRjI0kX-k/UVHUXNzxUjI/AAAAAAAACNE/iAkmdCU15LM/s320/DSCN3900.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
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I was very pleased with the girl. She was on board which I think changes things a bit but I have never really taken the time to study how the surface reacts to the varnish. The Martini however, bubbled on me. Anywhoo... </div>
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After the Cracking Varnish has dried and cracked is the most frightening part for me. The toning. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwAnSdVBwoqB-h_LNYqsK9yGUxZl5DeyTFTG-51R18FGVR9ckciGfWsoiiwsCGE46YLg-yapWkq7VJJta9IGERZnslMzo2mkX0WsPx8B-iWCaUyVa2KMISuM7gI-sSZRMRFiIeVA/s1600/DSCN3904.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwAnSdVBwoqB-h_LNYqsK9yGUxZl5DeyTFTG-51R18FGVR9ckciGfWsoiiwsCGE46YLg-yapWkq7VJJta9IGERZnslMzo2mkX0WsPx8B-iWCaUyVa2KMISuM7gI-sSZRMRFiIeVA/s320/DSCN3904.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqEKehU_PmgWJewUU_MmavSpMF2sP0QPL5lnxxmgwSAvKr2qBKiAqboidxyjSAgYR20GfG6hGVRP5VDfwcusawmpbV3pMeKl5Cb2eJEcrXih27jlgwRUnKaiufBoGdiNkDL4lJnQ/s1600/DSCN3906.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqEKehU_PmgWJewUU_MmavSpMF2sP0QPL5lnxxmgwSAvKr2qBKiAqboidxyjSAgYR20GfG6hGVRP5VDfwcusawmpbV3pMeKl5Cb2eJEcrXih27jlgwRUnKaiufBoGdiNkDL4lJnQ/s320/DSCN3906.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
The entire surface has to be covered with paint. I use a towel in order to rub the color into the cracks. Then wipe it off. The paint sticks in the cracks and wipes away over the rest. Or, it's supposed to anyway.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxrwtmKO_rGtoPovyuvTz-w-BEftRid2W1JTK6aKs6mYKvDGoBqAE2wTGfZoXYefC_wRiLY9V5EwpL9me_4qpoGjQJ94_uzPBpg2b4omNEihHNE2RBDXlckmS6k4fBgD0mtARNBA/s1600/DSCN3908.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxrwtmKO_rGtoPovyuvTz-w-BEftRid2W1JTK6aKs6mYKvDGoBqAE2wTGfZoXYefC_wRiLY9V5EwpL9me_4qpoGjQJ94_uzPBpg2b4omNEihHNE2RBDXlckmS6k4fBgD0mtARNBA/s320/DSCN3908.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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It's at this point you get to see how you did. And I rushed it. The heat lamp makes the Cracking Varnish dry too fast. Making the cracks very large and bubbly. The poor cracks make for a poor surface to rub the toner color into and you end up with SHITE!</div>
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In this case I took a metal spatula and scraped a large area of varnish off the canvas. At this point it's pretty much toast. So I can play with it and see what I might be able to do with some alternate techniques. It was a fairly nice painting before I did this. It's the worst part of Crack for me. Some times they come out just right. Some times I am pleasantly surprised. And, Some times, I ruin a perfectly good painting. </div>
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The girl however, maybe because of the different surface, Cracked very nicely. Took the toner well and come out generally the way I want.<br />
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One for two. It's all part of the process though. You have to take a few risks, in order to get the reward.<br />
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The reward here...I'm back in the audio...creating...dreaming...exploring...<br />
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<br />Mad Williamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04938885566478066779noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30978166.post-3973912588173361182013-03-05T08:56:00.001-08:002013-03-05T08:56:52.317-08:00Beaten Puppies...I have been standing in my studio at night. Almost every night for a couple of months now. Trying to let some of the pain out. Some of the torment I feel. To let any of the mixed emotions and anguish pour from me onto a canvas.<br />
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But I just stand there, staring in to a blankness that stares back. Taunting me. Daring me to take action. But nothing comes. The pain, and the loneliness build. I can feel the pressure inside. Everyday I wander farther into the darkness where light and sound have stopped. All I can hear are my own thoughts of longing and failure. Wondering how I will go on. How I will find happy again or how I might fake happy until I get there.<br />
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Every morning it takes all of my energy and effort to even climb out of bed and go on with my days.<br />
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We are still a part of each others day but the void grows. Fake it till you make it has only grown more fake. I wait patiently, trying not to push. Trying not to seem as pathetic as I feel. Like a puppy thats been beaten but still keeps coming back. Each time thinking if I can only love her more, that someday, somehow, she may love me again.<br />
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She doesn't look at me with love anymore. She tolerates me. She fakes it for him. Waiting until he might be old enough to explain what happened. Maybe someday she could explain it to me because I don't understand. Even through the hard parts I never gave up. I never doubted that I would love her forever.<br />
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I make this all sound like I have done nothing wrong but I know I did. I made mistakes. I said the wrong things, I did the wrong things. I drove her away. Everyday she spends near me she gets farther away. My heart breaks more and more. More than I ever thought it could be broken. I miss her so much. Then pain has grown from emotional to physical. My body hurts inside and out.<br />
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I hate feeling like this. I wonder if I would be better off just disappearing, the way I used to back in the day. But I know I could never give him up or just walk away. I would rather live in pain with my heart in pieces than give up being a daily part of his life. She may be gone to me but he's still here. As long as I have him I know there is a shot at happiness someday.<br />
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Someday I know love will find me again. I know it may not be her, as much as hope it will be. She's the only one I can imagine spending my life with. She's the only one I can imagine loving. Time will tell. It always does. Time will not heal all wounds. Some pain will never go away. It scars over and gets pushed to the back of our minds until someday we can almost forget. Someday we can almost forgive.<br />
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Some days I blame myself. Some days I blame her. Most days I blame her. I think she gave up me but I don't know why. I try to think about the people I have loved and then stopped loving. What made me change? Why did my feelings for them stop?<br />
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We work opposite hours. Her days, me nights. We see each other about a half an hour a day before she goes to work. Each night when I come home my pulse quickens just a bit as I open the garage door. There is a slight sigh of relief when I see her car there. She hasn't packed and left me, yet. They're both in bed. I sneak in so I wont wake them. Some nights I stand in the hall way in the darkness just staring at them while they sleep. I go form room to room sitting on the edge of their beds listening to them breathe. Sometimes for hours. I wake up with the hope that it's all been a dream and that I will find my best friend, my lover that used to be happy to spend every moment near me. And when I find that it wasn't a dream I try to throw on my happy face anyway. I don't want him to know how sad I am that I lost her. I don't want him to see the pain that love can bring because I know what joy love can bring and that's what I want him to believe in. I want him to believe in love, because even with all of the pain I still believe in love.<br />
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I spend each day trying to be happy and be the person that she fell in love with, hoping and praying that one day she will look at me and remember what we had.<br />
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It makes me wonder most days. Was everything just a fantasy? Was any of it real? Maybe I just imagined our entire lives together. Maybe we were never as happy and in love as I remember us being. I do tend live in a fantasy. It's possible that she never loved me the way I remember. Our entire lives could have happened in my mind. Did I fall in love with her or the fantasy I had of her?<br />
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I spend so much time wondering what I did wrong. Wondering how I can fix it. Trying to forget that you can't make someone love you. They do or they don't. And she doesn't. But if I only love her more she might love me again. Then I wonder how long I can hang on to what's left.<br />
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Even the worst day with her in it, is better than a good day with out her...Mad Williamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04938885566478066779noreply@blogger.com0