Tag Archives: the surrealist life

Surreal Self-Portraits

What you see is basically me.

It is said by somebody who wasn’t basically me that any time an artist draws a picture of someone, or paints a picture of someone, or twizzles a twizzle-snoot of someone… they are basically making a picture of themselves.

So, this Paffooney that I paffooned of a purple mouse in a Don Martin-esque style, is supposed to be Mickey the cartoonist. And Mickey is supposedly, basically me.

And here I am as Muck Man, the superhero. It is me because the super power he has is his horrible, non-adorable, and unrelenting stench. The horrible smell of him renders villains and bad people unconscious or worse… sometimes straight to the hearse. And using his olfactory assaults on evil as a way to make something terrible into something with a -someness of awe, makes him indubitably, indelibly basically me.

“Long Ago It Might Have Been”

And here is a picture of a boy who might’ve been my son if only I had been given enough good sense to fall in love with that first blond young lady who first had thoughts about making babies with me. I didn’t. I’m stupid. And now she has only girls. That makes it a picture too of basically me.

And this little not-me was me all along, and as the boy who sees colors, it’s really not wrong. Synesthetic they call it in a name that’s not long, but is resoundingly deep like the words of a song.

And you might argue this one and say that it’s true… “This one is too pretty to be a picture of you.” But you would be wrong on this basis, you see…

The monster inside me is basically me

And here I am all magic and purple, and I just blew the rhyme again, so this isn’t another danged verse. I drew this picture of Milt Morgan from an old school picture of me.

I often say the character in the stories is based on the Other Mike, the other boy I grew up with who was named Mike in my little home town.

But he thought like me, he acted a lot like me. He even looked like me, at least a little bit. So, if I am portraying him, I am depicting basically me.

And this is the naked me, as a nudist back in childhood in Rowan, Iowa, which I never was… not like this… but still am. Because I am a writer. And writers always write about their naked selves, showing the whole world what saner and more prudish people keep secret. If they were truly smart and wanted to keep their secrets to themselves, artists would never draw or paint or write about or twizzle about themselves. In fact, they would make no art at all.

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Filed under artwork, autobiography, humor, Paffooney

Futterwacken

Yes, Futterwacken, the dipsy-doodah dance of the Mad Hatter.  That is what life has been for me of late.  This is my first school year in 33 years wherein I will not be teaching at all.  The two jobless school years in 2005 to 2007 saw me teaching a cappella without a safety net (in laymen’s terms, substitute teaching- where a good sub can be called at the last possible minute to fly across town to take the class from hell that the regular teacher can’t tame with a whip and a chair.  (Personal survival is entirely optional.) )  (Wow!  I never pulled off a parenthetic expression inside a parenthetic expression before.)  Being now in the eighth month of the Mad Tea Party of retired-teachery-ness, I have never truly been so free and schedule-lite before.  I have pulled off repairing siding and painting the house while being arthritic and extra-wobbly on an aluminum ladder.  I have registered two children for school three times (my son Henry in two different schools this school year).  I have written and completed three novels (The Bicycle-Wheel Genius, The Magical Miss Morgan, and Superchicken).  I have signed a contract to get one published in extreme slow-motion (Snow Babies).  And I have managed this blog with the latest accomplishment being 36 daily blog posts in a row and uncounted Paffooney pictures, both photographical and colored-pencilical.  I have invented three new words in this blog post alone (according to my computer spell-checker who was apparently an anal-retentive old-maid school teacher from the New England countryside in a past life.)  So, imagining myself as a Mad Hatter, dancing a disjointed dance where my head spins like a top, is not so far out after all.  Let me share with you one last wacky Paffooney choice for no particular reason…

aqua better

Or maybe this Paffooney was to honor the comic book artist Murphy Anderson who inspired it.  (Yeah!  I’m gonna go with that explanation).

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Filed under goofiness, humor, Paffooney