Are the Angels Watching?

I am worried about many things right now. I am finishing up an autobiographical book of artworks depicting the many different kinds of nudes I have drawn over the past fifty years. Some are updated to look almost real with AI Mirror assistance and editing with my touchscreen phone and electronic stylus. It is a book that is not pornographic but shows both male and female full-frontal nudity. It is a risky time to publish a book like that with the general book-banning fury going on in Texas, Florida, and other Bible-thumping Inquisitions going on in MAGA-conservative hotbeds.

The news from my KDP author’s dashboard has been surprising for the last two weeks. A couple of people at least have chosen to read some of my books on Kindle Unlimited. It is not the way things have happened in the past where books were only being read one at a time separated by empty weeks. In the last two weeks, more than 1,200 pages have been read, sometimes with three different books being read the same day. Total coincidence? Probably.

As you can see, I’ve also been spending considerable time making pictures. I have been using digital tools mostly on my old colored-pencil art, but also on pictures collected from the internet over the years in my picture file. It is refreshing to be able to draw again without having to work around permanent splotches and flubs caused by arthritis in my hands.

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I Go Pogo!

I gave you fair warning.  Pogo has been coming to Mickey’s Catch a Falling Star Blog for a while now.  So, if you intended to avoid it, TOO BAD!  You are here now in Okefenokee Swamp with Pogo and the gang, and subject to Mickey’s blog post about Walt Kelly and his creations.

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Walt Kelly began his cartoon hall-of-fame career in 1936 at Walt Disney Studios.  If you watch the credits in Pinocchio, Fantasia, and Dumbo, you will see Walt listed as an animator and Disney artist.  In fact, he had almost as much influence on the Disney graphic style as Disney had on him.  He resigned in 1941 to work at Dell Comics where he did projects like the Our Gang comics that you see Mickey smirking at here, the Uncle Wiggly comics, Raggedy Ann and Andy comics, and his very own creations like Pogo, which would go on to a life of its own in syndicated comics.  He did not return to work at Disney, but always credited Disney with giving him the cartoon education he would need to reach the stratosphere.

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Walt Kelly's Earth Day comic

Walt Kelly’s Earth Day comic

Pogo is an alternate universe that is uniquely Walt Kelly’s own.  It expresses a wry philosophy and satirical overview of our society that is desperately needed in this time of destructive conservative politics and deniers of science and good sense.

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Pogo himself is an every-man character that we are supposed to identify with the most.  He is not the driver of plots and doings in the swamp, rather the victim and unfortunate experiencer of those unexpectable things. Life in Okefenokee is a long series of random events to make life mostly miserable but always interesting if approached with the right amount of Pogo-ism.

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And Pogo was always filled with cute and cuddly as well as ridiculous.

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As a boy, I depended on the comic section of the Sunday paper to make sense of the world for me.  If I turned out slightly skewed and warped in certain ways, it is owing to the education I myself was given by Pogo, Lil Abner, Dagwood Bumstead, and all the other wizards from the Sunday funnies.  There was, of course, probably no bigger influence on my art than the influence of Walt Kelly.

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So what more can I say about Walt Kelly?  I haven’t yet reached the daily goal of 500 words.  And yet, the best way to conclude is to let Walt speak for himself through the beautiful art of Pogo.

Pogo and Mamzelle

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Eerie Experimentation

So, October is a spooky month, for Halloween reasons… And I bought a 14-inch doll’s skeletal remains in a local store. I decided to use this particular photo to make some creepy experimental stuff.

The fairy posing for me in the original photo began complaining as I operated on the image with both my computer stylus and my AI editing program called AI Mirror.

I thought maybe this was a little better. It still made Melodyhopper the Butterfly Child cry fairy tears.

Mel found this one better. “But it still makes me feel like Frankenstein’s Monster,” she said with a tear still in her eye. “Well, I like how it makes me look funny,” said Red Skeleton.

So, I finally settled on another portrait of my imaginary granddaughter, Susu.

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Rainy Tuesday Blues (a poem about depression )

Blue Dawn

I must make a confession about crippling depression,

Cause today I have the blues.

It requires a concession of time for regression,

And dark days enveloping all views.

There is no progression in a working profession,

Cause clouds leave me missing all news.

I start the procession of blue notes in session,

And all melodies tend to be blues.

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Isn’t She Lovely?

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October 3, 2023 · 9:49 am

Suddenly, Clem

So, I decided to update my portrait of Red Skelton from colored pencil to digital. Before I finished I happened to notice my Amazon sales report for October. One day old and a large number of pages read from about four different books. And all last week I had at least two somebodies reading from three different books every day. I apparently sold one e-book and had over a thousand pages read in a week for the first time ever on Kindle Unlimited. Has something suddenly broken my way? Or is the world still irredeemably broken?

Okay, the first one is more like him since it is more cross-eyed. I can goof up even in digital.

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Red Skelton

I don’t usually do portraits, but, as I believe I may have said on an older post, Red Skelton is like a god to me.  Much of what I know about comedy, I learned from him back in the 60’s and early 70’s.  I watched him religiously on Wednesday nights on both CBS and NBC (channels 5 from Mason City, Iowa, and 13 from Des Moines).  He made me laugh.  Sometimes he even made me cry.  So I honor him now with a portrait (or insult him, depending on your opinion of my artwork) in a Paffooney of Red as Clem Kadiddlehopper, pride (or maybe village idiot) of Cornpone County, Tennessee.

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Children of the Land

Children are a resource that we, as a people, cannot live on without.

If we stop having children, nurturing children, raising children, providing children discipline and education, entertaining children, guiding children, and, most of all, loving children, in eighty or so years, human beings will be extinct in this universe.

How many universes are there with humanity being extinct in them? It is impossible to answer. But if there is more than one universe, there is more than one.

When I was a child myself, family farms were still the rule in Iowa. Couples would try for lots of kids to help with the farm work. Chores! I fed animals. I went with my grandfather to the feed store, the hardware store, and the hatchery. I drove a tractor. I walked bean fields and pulled weeds. I mucked out a hog house once (and believe me, once is enough for a lifetime.) I have slopped hogs. I shingled a house and a garage. I painted the family house (in town, not Grandpa’s farmhouse.) As a child, I helped my uncles who were farmers, and worked for other farmers in the area. I was just as important as fertilizer to the maintenance of the world I lived in. (I did not say I was important to USE AS fertilizer. They would’ve had to kill me to use me that way. But my work was a part of what made the land yield plenty.)

I was left, as a child, with the distinct impression that we were meant to live in the land as a part of the land. Nature was our friend. We didn’t cut down all the trees and pave over everything like the city folks did. The kid who never went skinny dipping was rare indeed.

There once were people who knew they lived with the land, and they were good stewards of the land. They knew if the land was not living well and healthy, then neither would they live well and healthy.

But I am not arguing that we should go back to the world of the 1960s. The work I did in the land back then is now mostly mechanized and done by machines, computers, automation, and factorization. But we can teach our precious children the values of old to use in new ways. If we don’t, well… I hope the AI Terminator Robots of the future will have a happy life without us.

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Porcelain Comes to Life

This picture was created from my porcelain doll made for me by my mother from the pattern and mold called, “Tom Sawyer.” I used my digital art tools to trace the photo and color it in on top of an AI background.

This doll, made by my mother also, I call “Nicole” after my niece whom she resembles.

You can judge for yourself how well I did recreating this photo of Nicole and the Grey Stuffed Dog.

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Debussy Reverie

Some Sunday thoughts require the right music.

Some Sunday thoughts actually are music.

rev·er·ie

/ˈrev(ə)rē/

noun

  • 1.a state of being pleasantly lost in one’s thoughts; a daydream:”a knock on the door broke her reverie“

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I had originally thought to call this post “A Walk with God.” But that would probably offend my Christian friends and alienate my Jehovah’s Witness wife. It would bother my intellectual atheist friends too. Because they know I claim to be a Christian Existentialist, in other words, “an atheist who believes in God.” Agnostics are agnostics because they literally know they don’t know what is true and what is merely made up by men. And not knowing offends most people in the Western world.

But Debussy’s Reverie is a quiet walk in the sacred woods, the forest of as-yet-uncovered truths.

And that is what I need today. A quiet walk in the woods… when no literal woods are available.

I have apparently survived the Covid pandemic. But this pandemic has been hard on me. Having had the Omicron variant, I am left without the strength I once had even though I am fully vaccinated. I have lost the power to be a substitute teacher, a job I love. The loss of the ability to teach in any form still drives me to tears. I am a prisoner in my room at home most days. My soul is in darkness, knowing that the end could be right around the corner. There is so much left to do, to say, to write down for those who come after so they can fail to read any of it and reinforce the cruel irony that informs the universe. I have stories and lessons and morals and meanings to give the world still if only someone is willing to listen.

I am not afraid to die. I have no regrets. But I have been in a reverie about what has been in the past, what might have been, and what yet may be… if only I am granted the time.

And, as always, I feel like I have more writing yet to do. I am about to finish The Education of PoppenSparkle. And I have started He Rose on a Golden Wing, The Haunted Toystore, and AeroQuest 5. And I have stories beyond that to complete if I may.

But the most important thing right now is having time to think. Time for Reverie. And reflections upon the great symphony of life as it continues to play on… with or without me.

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