Tag Archives: silliness

The Stag of Prophecy

The Stag of Prophecy

I painted this oil painting of Bambi-esques from a dream I had long before I met my wife. I admit, I didn’t actually finish it until a couple of years after we were married, but I have always felt it predicted what my family would be like. We now have two boys and a girl, two bucks and a doe. I am certainly not as majestic as poppa deer in the picture, but he is in general very like me in his cartoonish mildness and Disney-like gaze. It is a weird thing to feel you have to live up to a painting, but it is also weird to paint from a dream and then have it be a prophecy come true.

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April 7, 2014 · 11:45 pm

The Aztec

The Aztec

This acrylic painting on canvas board represents 23 years of teaching at a middle school in Cotulla, Texas. President Lyndon B. Johnson once taught in Cotulla. He referred to it as the “donkeyhole” of Texas, but for some reason always spelled donkey with an “a”. Many of the students are Spanish speakers. What am I saying? MOST of the students are Spanish speakers. Their version of Spanish, though, has many Native American words in it, especially Aztec words. Almost all of my students, though, were not Mexican. They were born in the U.S. Most were born in South Texas.

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March 16, 2014 · 1:12 am

Sleeping Beauty (a silly poem of love and illusion)

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Sleeping Beauty

 

In the dark and in the light

In candle flame and purple night

The beauty sleeps and fails to heed

The young man’s life of lust and need

What happens next is often sad

The want, the hope, the love so bad

And fluttering faery wings of light

Carry life and love and fuel the sight

With never a thought to what could be

If only love would call to thee

And wake the sleeper from her dream

To make the two but one to seem.

 

Love poetry is basically nonsense.  Fueled by hormones and lust, dreams and assumptions, it is never real.  It is only a vision, an apparition, and fools you into believing what could never be real.  So why write it?  Because it is in our nature, in our stars, to love.  Just because something is foolish, or impossible to pin down, there is no reason to give up on it.  That’s what the Paffooney faeries are for.  They cast faery light on what you should never believe, but always, always do. 

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Mego Men

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In 1976 I ordered a Mego Spiderman from the ad in my Avengers comic book.  It came by mail.  It was only 8 inches tall, not the 12 that would become the basis of my action figure (don’t call them dolls) collection.  I love Megos.  I should’ve bought more of them, but I was in college and had limited space to keep them.  I ordered the Wolfman second, then the Lizard, and finally Iron Man.  I was going to buy a Captain America next, but Mego stopped making these things at the end of the 70’s.  That, of course, is what makes them valuable.  The last time I priced them in the collector’s market, Iron Man was going for fifty dollars, and Spiderman for forty five.  I have no intention of selling them.  They will one day belong to my own children to play with or do with whatever destructive thing they will.  Until then, they are mine to play with.

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What Does Paffooney Mean?

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You may have noticed the word “Paffooney” used in some of my posts.  You may have been deceived into thinking it is some kind of real word.  Sorry.  It isn’t.  It’s my own original made-up word for postable buffoonery, baloney, and goofiness… with accompanying picture.  Yes, the picture is the key, though it may have no discernible connection to whatever the heck I happen to be writing about.  It is an illustration for illustration’s sake… and a story for the sake of putting words with the picture.  I confessed early in my blogging endeavors that I am basically a surrealist.  I juxtapose disparate images and ideas and make meaning by forcing the relationship.  Of course, you have no idea at all what I just said, and rightly so, because I tend to speak in college-art-history-meta-cognitive-gobblety-gook-speak, a language I first learned in college and have since banged into weird word-sculptures over the last thirty-three years by trying to explain things in a classroom to teenagers.  (I love the job, but I do not recommend it for those with a loosening grip on sanity.)

So, here is the definition; Paffooney, proper noun, (Origin from a silly blogger’s head, consisting of Paff, meaning a silly cartoon sound effect, and fooney an even sillier derivation from buffoon and looney.)  A silly picture and post combination caused by a brain fart or other gaseous anomaly inside Mickey’s head.

Forgive me, for I know my sins are many.

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Paffooney Wisdom

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Life is like a cartoon car chase in one of Floyd Gottfredson’s  1930’s Mickey Mouse comic strips.  No, really, it is!  You never know what is going to happen in the next frame.  Will the alien space craft scoop up Junior as he flies out of the rumble seat?  Fifty-fifty chance, don’t you think?  Will Crocko Diddly-Dial catch up and eat everybody in the car?  Probably not if it was a G-rated comic strip… and it was. 

The only control we have over life are the reactions we can manage as we go and bad things continue to happen to us.    We are trapped by the cliff and the river, so we jump the car successfully across.  If we are successful, we bounce onto the road on the other side, and Crocko falls into the river.  Of course it is the road to nowhere and the chase only ends when the cartoon of life reaches the last panel.

Okay, so that all sounds very scary, and we must hope that Mickey is merely crazy, and not on to something real in this metaphorical thesis of mayhem.  Yet, there is a way to effectively deal with the car chase.  We need to treat it all as a cartoon, a comic book story, and simply laugh.

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Hear the Music

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Hear the Music (a love poem)

 

The singer sings his song,

And wants the world to sing along,

Though the world has gone all wrong,

And the darkness stays too long.

 

The singer warms and croons,

Under bright romantic moons,

And carries hopeful tunes,

To the listening dolts and loons.

 

Can a song bring truth to light?

Can it help us win the fight?

Does it ease the world’s plight?

And set the wrongs aright?

 

Yes a song can save the world,

Though the truth must be unfurled,

And the listeners’ ears are twirled.

So the hurts will all be pearled.

 

 

 

 

Okay, okay… goofy poetry, I know.  That’s the way I am.  I have a goopy-sappy-goofy faith in the power of words.   I call the chapters of my fiction Cantos because I believe them to be musical compositions and pieces of poetry.  Ooh, what a goof that I am!  But I really do believe that the words of a song, the stories in a book, or the beat of a poem can save lives, change worlds, and make all things better.  Why would I believe that?  Because words and ideas have power.  And as I feel my mortality creeping nearer and nearer, I am feeling more and more power in my words.  I almost have to burst into song like some sappy musical… like Camelot, like My Fair Lady, like Man of LaMancha.    Like the stupid boy in the Paffooney, I have to sing.  I have my impossible dreams.

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The Making of Paffoonies

ImageAs creative projects go, I think the best ones I am currently undertaking are the Paffoonies. These, of course, are the colored-pencil and ink cartoon-o-matic creations that come out of my fevered little-boy mind as it has been stretched and contorted to fit into my old-man brain.  

There are rules to this stupid creation game.  First of all, a Paffooney must tell a story and have a piece of writing to go with it.  Naturally, though, the picture must come first.  The tortured elements of the Sci-fi or Fantasy that comes out of it result from the need to explain every oddity, punkitation, and warped perception that went into the picture.  I draw pictures from dreams.  I also draw from the monkey-shine metaphors that well up in my overly-wordy conscious mind.  I do not take drugs to accomplish this.  I do not drink alcohol.  I am on numerous medications for numerous medical conditions… but I like to think there is no pharmacological element to my creativity.  I am just your basic goofy old man with an exploding right brain.

You remember the writing that went with the first Paffooney in this post, don’t you?  If not, you can still see the post here on WordPress where I wrote a poem that convicts  the average school teacher of being a serious clown and puppet master.  Some Paffoonies are poetic in nature.  Others require a piece of fiction, like the one I wrote about Mai Ling’s encounter with the plant people of the planet Cornucopia.  Here is a another version of it…..Image

So, a Paffooney is a creative project, a game, an exercise if you will, that will hopefully make me a better story-teller, writer, and cartoonist.   I hope to post a lot of them on the web.  So-called social media marketing experts tell me this kind of thing will get you, dear reader and viewer, to buy my book Catch a Falling Star, a sort of extended Paffooney of its own.   The theory is, if you like the stuff I give away for free in these posts, you will want to actually pay money to see more of what I can do.  I really think that is a big black Hoo-Ha, though, as I have not seen any evidence that social media marketing experts know anything more about marketing than I do.  Are they really worth that expensive salt I put on their tails to trap them into to telling me their secrets and lies?

Ah, well…  here is one last Paffooney that does not yet have a story to go along with it.  At least, I am not aware of a story yet.  Hmm, I think something is coming to me even as I post this picture.

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