The Ugly Side of Consumerism

On Tuesday, my luggage was stolen in Mariposa by a woman named Pamela. She had a new gold Jeep that looked green, depending on the light, like aging copper. She had fastened long silver bubble wrap material rolled to the length of the vehicle.

She stole my bags, as they sat in front of an ATM machine video camera, while I walked across the street to get more stuff.

She honked and waved at me as I walked along the highway. That keeps eating away at me...

She opened my bags and threw my clothes all over her house.

She used my straightening iron and tried on my clothes.

She loaded a bag full of her stuff and put my Bible on top.

"The New Seeds of Contemplation" by Thomas Merton was less fortunate- she threw that in the washing machine next to a pair of child-sized soccer shoes.

Her four dogs used my clothes as beds, since her house had no furniture.

She drank down a small bottle of vodka I had carried with me since Cinco De Mayo. It was a purple Jimmy Hendrix bottle that was supposed to be the next big thing.

Later that day, Deputy Eric, who didn't even look twelve yet but had all the fight of an unbroken horse, received a call that someone was hitting their kid- someone with the same color Jeep.

She's in jail now, probably in my clothes.

The four sherrif's took pictures and documented the color of my underwear and where they were lying amoung her things, on the dog defecated floors, acting as furniture.

They found a bag of heroin and needles next to the sink where my straightner was still plugged in, where her hair had burned off gluing itself to the ceramic panels.

My yellow lace tank top was on the floor near the toilet. It seems she couldn't decide what to wear.

My roommate Beth said, "maybe if she hadn't drank the vodka, she never would have hit her kid and you never would have got your stuff back".

Yeah, maybe.

It's funny what we say to comfort each other.

I think the whole thing feels ugly, starting with me having too much stuff and needing to make two trips in order to cross the street.

It's strange what we do to be "beautiful".

For My Nephew...

What Calvin Dreams"

Ink and Acrylic on Canvas

3' x 2'

Hey, it's worth at LEAST Eight Bucks!

"Paper or Plastic? (how do you like your smiles?)"

Ink on Plexiglass and Paper

24 1/2" x 13 1/2"

*Comes with black pine custom frame courtesy of Colonial Woodrights.

My life doesn't seem that bad...

I met a man today that looks like Mr. Roger's (the real one's dead).
His wife is kicking him out and he has to find a new place to live. He tells me a story about how his aunt died on the toothpick that holds together your sandwich.
His glasses were nearly surrounded in red and thin, easily breakable, like his smile.
He was trying to exert his presence to all in the room, but I knew he was really just crying out for help- flirting but really wanting to be held.
I know how he feels. I've been there.
He was long and thin, but fighting not to disappear completely. It seems like an exhausting fight. I want to tell him that in the end, we all disappear completely from this mess and we go it alone with no one but God.
But I don't want to break his glass heart.