I have a nasty wound here. The skin is pierced and it is still bleeding, even through the stitches. I am not happy. The cost of my upcoming surgery is likely grater than the sum of my total income this year. Severed tendons be damned. How dare they recoil into my forearm. That is going to be one hell of a problem. I don't mind paying whatever the cost because I really need this hand working again. I am a painter after all.
In other news Shannon just called me. She cheered me up. We talked about how good at spear fishing she is. It was her that drove me around yesterday and talked to me while the doctors sowed me up. That meant a lot to me.
No more grumbling. It is time to get to work. Time to work out how to deal with this one arm mess. I'll show you guys the very meaning of determination.

This is me showing off my new useless right hand. I managed to cut it up badly in a freak woodfloor swimming accedent. I am not even kidding. Now some of my fingers don't work. Looks like I have some vacation time coming my way.

The vicoden is to pricey so I'm noy getting it. Time to clench my teeth and deal.

Someone asked me today to recall a memory that was only happy.

" tell me something that you are only happy about."

What a difficult query to answer.

"as in minus the possibility of being unhappy."

It seems so open ended. This is knowledge that should be primary, vital even. On the for-front of my mind and being. Despite my desires for a simple answer I was stumped.
I asked if it had to remain happy all the time and if it was allowed to change from purely happy to something else due to life moving on and the changes we all endure as humans.

"it is an only this moment of time situation."
"because i ask the question now."
"everything changes."

I thought about this for a few minutes. It took the lime between 12:54 and 1:02am to reach find an answer. I told a story about the year 1999. It's a time then that I think of when I require evidence validating relationships with other people as being both honest and worthwhile.
During Connie Bostic's drawing class we use to listen to the radio. Western Carolina University's campus station. I sat near the wall furthest from the door in the Belk's now reassigned drawing studio with Ben Godfrey and Andy Carter. Eireann was there too and at the time I harbored a crush for her. As the radio played we would sing along with whoever was on. Sugar Ray and the like. Nothing very good, just terrible radio music but that is beside the point. The point is that we where singing out loud and in public. Ben sang softer than Andy and I. He has a lower voice and is generally quieter. We would sing and draw. We where drawing branches with berries that Connie took from her home in Asheville. No emotion other than happiness can be ascribed to that moment in time. That is a warm day hammock kind of memory.

I sat humming, singing and drawing berries while thinking about a girl in yellow across the room.

I put a lot more stuff into flickr today
check it. http://www.flickr.com/people/fellowsfog/

I am putting a couple more pictures into flicker. These are from the most recent "People that know each other having drinks and fun. sorta like a get-together". It wasn't a party. That Jef framed up well. So did James.

goodnight world.

the discovery woods



I found the fox's heart. Small, red and pumping.
It was lyin' on the earth
unable to fulfill,
unable to function.
I found a secret message. Tightly bound, a promise.
It was lyin' on the earth
unable to fulfill,
unable to function.
I met an Angel, a guardian, a darling.
It took my gifts and honed them.
Made me clear,
Made me vital.
Summon for me some prize seraph and I'll be your champion.
Unveil my skin and temper my sinew
unbind my nature,
unlock a fire!
I found a wooden subway token
and placed it in my pocket.
ablaze it went,
acorns to embers.
Oak train arrives and I hop up. one step.
the Angel waits outside.
planks pulse,
pistons pull.
My train leaves the sylvan station.

Terrific flames break into the car,
Steam and smoke arising.
I'm the cannonade,
I'm the salvo.
Dry leaves ignite while branches snap,
I drive the inferno away.
This's the my new wont,
This's the unfamiliar praxis.

Hows this for a generalization.? I suck with plants.

Despite my efforts a to neglect the plants on my porch they have produced fruit. Small tomatoes. Lots of them. We are keeping the ripe ones in the fridge right now. Jack picked them last night. In retrospect I know it was most likely the rum and wine that had us gardening at midnight. I'm rejoicing in the yield. Not all things crispy and dry are necessarily dead. Tomato plants are tenacious creatures and if they become animate and quick they will dominate the world. Eat them everyone! Befor they figure it out!

On a side note:
Rent a flat above a shop, cut your hair and get a job. Smoke some fags and play some pool, pretend you never went to school. But still you'll never get it right 'cos when you're laid in bed at night watching roaches climb the wall If you call your Dad he could stop it all. You'll never live like common people! You'll never do what common people do! You'll never fail like common people! You'll never watch your life slide out of view, and dance and drink and screw
Because there's nothing else to do.

Everyone should thank William Shanter and Pulp for the best cover ever. I made this picture for'em.

Look at me, I shimmer.
but who am I?

I just had a very honest and uncharacteristically simple conversation with my girlfriend in which we both decided we are no longer dating. So she is now my ex and hopefully a friend. Everyone: no complaining. I am fine with this.
So it's list time Mr. Lucky number. I have here for your viewing pleasure David Cross/myself/and Bill Murray. So then who do I feel like? Lets start.

Sad: Moderate. I'm Bill Murray.
Frustrated: Heavy. I'm David Cross.
Disappointed: Very heavy. I'm David Cross.
Naive: Lightly. I'm Bill Murray.
Relieved: Largely. I'm Bill Murray chic.
Depressed: Not: I'm David Cross.
Bitter: Slightly. I'm David Cross.
Pessimistic: Moderate. I'm David Cross.
Cheerful: not at all. I'm Ronny Dobbs.
Heart Broken: Nah. I'm Bill Murray style.
Hopeful: Nah. I'm David Cross.
Lonesome: Slightly. I'm Bill Murray.
Mighty: Ha! I'm David Cross.
Mortal: Very. I'm Bill Murray.
Beautiful: Poor. I'm Billy Murray.
Knocked: Very. I'm David Cross.

So it is pretty close here. Looks like gloomy with a chance of David Cross today. Bill Murray, maybe tomorrow.

Everyone wants to be found
a couple quiet moment of contemplation:

Sofia Coppola seems to have influences over my life that grow more and more profound every day. I wish it was because she is pretty but it isn't. It is because she wrote Lost in Translation, a movie that I have committed to memory. What is it about this film that infatuates me?
The little cinematic core gleams at me like a pearl inside pink muscle. A valuable point enveloped in some silky sustaining context. There is no fantasy about turning frowns upside down with the carebear love beam. Nor is it a beguiling tale of love lost. Lost in Translation is the story of two people who in the brief time alloted to them make a real connection. The kind that is never forgotten. Bob and Charlotte accept their dilemma without a hollywood love story. They know where they are and where the friendship is heading. Beautifully Delusionless Life. Raw and noteworthy.
I love how their relationship is so modest though at the end they may have wished it was more romatic. Charlotte's large tear clouded eyes and Bob's breathlessness are evidence of that moment realized. Tokyo's foreign culture captures their similarities, linking them as two people unwinding life's uncertainties with each others' understanding.
Sofia Coppola, these flowers are for you, Bob and Charlotte. Thank you.

This is my new avocado pit crown. Coming along swimmingly.

Yesterday all but one waking hour was spent at work. When I finally got off it was technically today. What did I do with all my spare time? I watch the Ali G show. Shleeve brought the second season dvd over to the apartment and ten people, myself included sat round watching it till 3am. Actually that was kind of how the night before last rolled too. Except that was Mr. Show's night. That's right, Mr. Show, who once exclaimed: "Insurance is my game, Larry is my name. Raping was another game of mine." and "It's insane, this guys taint." All together I waisted a lot of time the last two days. Better not cry over spilled milk though. That will get me nothing but salty milk.
I'm going to work on some photos while listening to Kaiser Chiefs then go to work.

Breaking news! Amature Jefalope hunter Jack Brendan Ramshaw recently informed me of the wherabouts of yet another Jafalope not but moments ago. The corespodence was as such:
"last night... I awoke to a strange gnawing sound.. large drops of saliva hitting the ground pat pat pat I turned on the light to see him leap away, vanishing in midair into cold green beans. Beyond doubt, what I saw was none other than THE FABLED JEFALOPE!!" found here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/fellowsfog/42926258/
I was at the scene just in time and able to catch this poloriod photo of the beast as it fled! Behold it's glory!

Best regards,
Peter Lorenz

And so begins another fine day. This one is looking to be a winner.
Do I have a date tonight? maybe.
Do I have to work? nope.
Well, that is good enough for me.

So I have a few new quest to embark upon now. Jameykay would like a new job. This is most likely known already my many people reading here. So then lets do something about it huh? Keep a eye out for open jobs. Fast food is out. So is most things involving spaghetti as I understand. Also, no books. She was traumatized by a assistant librarian job some time ago. If you happen to be a employer in the Asheville area and would like a smart, clever, competent, and all-around badass human get on the ball and hire her. Besides, her hands are to die for. Who doesn't want a employee with hot hands?

I was having a half-dream the other day. One of those mostly awake type in which you only seem to think you are mostly awake because you are stubborn. It was about being a really tiny kid in elementary school at Haw Creek. Go eagles right? Anyway, It was near Halloween and all the kids would dress up in costumes for a day. Some of them where pretty crazy. There was a kid who dressed up as that poor little back-hoe that got stuck in the hole he dug and ended up becoming a steam boiler. Remember that one? I chose to dress up like a knight. My father and I spent the previous few days adding to a suite of plastic armor we had. A cheap toy breast plate and helm with a shield. The $5.95 kmart version. Most of the work for the outfit was his. We had ducktape and silver paint to put on cardboard for grieves and bracers. In the dream I had a plate for my back too. After the armor was ready I was proud. Most likely my dad would have changed a few things about it but I though it was a terrific set up.
The following day a miniature medieval warrior waited for the bus breathing steam from his visor. Talk about feeling like a super hero. Untouchable entirely. A armor encased, smoke breathing 8 year old.
Then the bus showed up. I remember the giant wheels grinding the gravel/acorn compote. Its doors jerked open in the way those things always do. I entered pensively because I had just realized that though I wasn't the only kid in a costume, I sure was almost the smallest kid on the bus. This was the creature's cave. The other children on the bus wanted to know how well the armor worked.
It isn't until about 2pm that we are allowed to go outside and walk around in the faux parade that was supposed to take place. Every ruler or fist seemed to knock off a chunk of cardboard or rip tape when it hit my suite to "see if it works". I of course took the nicks the vultures where delivering. "How could I fight all of them anyway? my sword is plastic and breaks when I take it out of the holder. Bullies." Besides "Mom doesn't want me fighting" I resolved but it was a excuse. Really I was just a wuss.
The parade went well even though the kid dressed like construction equipment got all the awards. My armor needed my help to stay in place. Later that day when school was over the bus ground up some more compote and the knight stepped off dragging armor behind him. Upon entering the house and taking of my bag I noticed that despite my day-long beating I was pretty much unbruised. Not a scratch. Nothing really. The armor had taken everything the bullies where willing to dish out to me that day. Though it was now tattered and broken with chipped paint and dented plastic it was actually the armor I thought it was when I was waiting for the bus that morning. Single serving armor, one use only. For a day with the dragons.

My wallet was stolen from my car today. I'm a doofus for even leaving there but.. You see, that wouldn't have happened if I hadn't been pulled over by the police for driving to fast on the bultmore estate. I don't blame them but that is why the damn thing was in my lap (and later on the car floor) and not in my pocket. Anyway I didn't realize it wasn't back in my pocket and left it in the car with the window cracked. A flagrant offence to my "no valuables left in the car rule".

So it was snatched up.

The theif then managed to buy some gas somewhere. I hope he doesn't drive a SUV. He also tried to buy some shoes but the card came up stolen and he hooved it leaving his shoes. It makes me laugh though thinking of some shoeless shmuck running though the mall and back to hell. I hope that is all he got out of this.

From my end of the affaire things faired no better. Spending even more time with police today in the station was super. Filling out police reports and talking to people. Oh and the bank too. Jeeze the bank. Paperwork is my kryptonite. Sign this to reissue the card. Sign this to dispute the gas you apparently purchased while sitting in that seat over there. It's to frustrating to write about. I had to drive over to Little Venice just to get a hug from somebody. Malcolm gave me one and that made me feel a little better.

Icing on the cake. I didn't get a chance to see Jameykay at all today. She would have been like a Angel for sure. Not that she doesn't look the part already because she does. But that's beside the point. I missed her a lot today.

Jef and Shleeve both offered to help me out today. That meant a lot. Thanks you two.

Magnus Fetch (12:37:15 AM): it better not involve anything ridiculous about me or rabbits
eye kay Bonset (12:37:28 AM): fuck that jef!
Magnus Fetch (12:37:42 AM): oh, you bastard

Ladies and Gentlemen of the scientific community, welcome. As you all are no doubt aware I, Peter "Zoological Supernova" Lorenz M.D., have finally caught on film the rare Indiana Hatted Jefalope. It wasn't as difficult a task as I had assumed (read: Collected Bulk Emails of the Zoological Supernova circa 1987-1988). I recall early evaluations of time and funds as being staggeringly huge. Almost despite them fate, the scientific impossibility, seemed to drive my hands directly to this beautiful leporidae. Then to a bottle of Sandeman.
It was a saturday afternoon and I had just finished breakfast. I was watching some fair and balanced reporting for a while. It helps me to digest eggs you see. After seeing that all is well in my great land I grabbed my fanny pack and sweet nokia camera phone and set off. The largely untamed wilderness of Cullowhee North Carolina was my destination this day as you can all see on the "ZS tracker folio" included in your goodie bag. Sun rays beat down on me endlessly as I bounded over logs as quietly as I could. We have known for years that the rare hare is attracted to bounding and leaping. I've speculated many times on the rational for this (read: "My Time in Milwakee: a good look into dark holes" and "10 Times You! the card game handbook").
I'll say now that I was wrong many times but correct on one thing, the Jefalope is attracted to about five bucks. Upon the completion of what would have been a award winning leap I was accosted by the very creature I have been trying all these years to locate. It was a young male. Largely brown yielding to pale yellow towards its belly and hind. Also it wore a large hat, possibly from Louisiana. He announced that he had no intention of hurting me but if I didn't give him a "fiver" he would "gnaw my brain out". I offered a deal. One photograph for twelve pesos. You see, I only carry foreign cash due to the relative recentness of the stock market crash. Anyway he accepted, was photographed then tragically killed in a freak guitar accident that I will haunt me forever.
Any questions?

"Bush Urges Victims To Gnaw On Bootstraps For Sustenance"


"WASHINGTON, DC—In an emergency White House address Sunday, President Bush urged all people dying from several days without food and water in New Orleans to "tap into the American entrepreneurial spirit" and gnaw on their own bootstraps for sustenance. "Government handouts are not the answer," Bush said. "I believe in smaller government, which is why I have drastically cut welfare and levee upkeep. I encourage you poor folks to fill yourself up on your own bootstraps. Buckle down, and tear at them like a starving animal." Responding to reports that many Katrina survivors have lost everything in the disaster, Bush said, "Only when you work hard and chew desperately on your own footwear can you live the American dream."

Seriously though, it's dangerously real. www.theonion.com

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making pleated pants look good sense 1981

In twelve hours I'll be 55 minutes late for work... As most people reading this most likely know I am a employee of the Biltmore Estate. Specifically the Inn on said estate. Specifically specifically the bar therein.
I have no complaints about it save two. the uniforms, which they wash and press for me, are made of a yeti fur and cat hair blend. You don't have to spend a lot of time in the imagination station to understand how itchy that can be. The other complaint is that everyone there complains too much. Banquets complains about me using there carts. Servers in the dinning room complain about only getting 40 dollar tips and people not helping them polish silverware. Hostesses complain about how much the servers whine. Then I complain about them. I have included a photoshop I just made to help me articulate how all this jabber makes me feel. I understand it because I am Peter and have been briefed on me-ness. Discuss amongst yerselves.

In related news I need to improve my nonverbal communication skills.

So here is a picture of me covered in potato graphics. Just wanted to set that bar nice a low while i am figuring out all this crap.