I was caught the other night in what could only be described as a classic “Shower Thought”.
There are a lot of experiences men and women share.
A lot of them are perceived similarly…. Driving, maybe eating a meal, bowling.
Some of them are perceived differently, but usually there’s something thrown in that makes the actual situation different for each. For instance, a husband and wife could go to the same hospital at the same time, but really, it’s the mother giving birth, and the father feeling a bit helpless or faint.
I think there’s very few circumstances as similar and as opposite at the same time, as the classic “Bar Scene”.
(Something I wrote back in 2013. When I was much less mature. Okay... who am I kidding...)
I enjoy a pastime called “Curb Jumping” which is a very close cousin to “Cliff Jumping". And as you know, cliff jumping is extremely dangerous.
I, being the dangerous man I am, fit the profile perfectly. Particularly since, being in New Haven CT, the only real cliffs I come across are curbs, which tend to mitigate a lot of the danger.
However, I still must feed my wild side, so every so often, I'll put on my helmet and gloves and get all my line and rope and footwear and everything on and go jumping.
Obviously, in a city like New Haven, finding a good curb is pretty easy, although the steeper ones... 6... maybe 8 inches... are a little harder. Of course, when you're dangerous like myself, looking a little harder for the big ones is worth it, especially when you have a reputation for danger.
Most likely, people look at me in awe when they see me on the weekends. I see them pointing... speaking under their breath, waiting for me to jump. Sometimes, I'll stand there... breathing deeply.... gathering myself on the edge of a particularly high curb... stoking the anticipation. Some onlookers laugh as they try to hide the fear they feel inside for me.
And then.... as they wait... holding their collective breaths.... I raise my arm.... my signal that I am about to leap.... the adrenaline rushing through me.... silence around me.... they stare.... I am so dangerous to them.... and then... I leap. A rush of air inevitably hits my face as I leave the confines of mother earth. Ploop.... I hit the street and raise my hands in triumph!
The onlookers are, as always it seems, speechless. I have done it again.
May a warm wind come down from the skies, whisking you away, taking you on a journey through the stars, across universes untraveled.
While you ride in the warm arms of the wind, may you see spectacular glitter, and colors unimagined.
May you be swept to the edge of the universe, traveling through time and space to galaxies never before traversed, wishing upon shooting star after shooting star, hearing the silence of nothing go by. The sky around you black and seemingly shiny, with billions of tiny lights in the distance, each becoming extraordinary large as you sail by silently with a speed unmeasured in the vastness of night space.
May you see life, beautiful life, intelligent, loving, playful, and always friendly, as you speed your way through time, and may the warm winds hold you and give you comfort as you ride your trip of a lifetime.
Colors unimagined, bright and deep, play like fireworks upon the black canvas around you, silent, quiet, yet filling you with a wholeness you have never felt in your life. A strange new sense invades you and gives you comfort, making you smile involuntarily, nodding to yourself as you go.
And may the warm wind bring you around and down once again, setting you gently in familiar surroundings, all knowledge gained, senses aroused, fulfilled, yet home again as you open your eyes.
A dream? Real?
You gain a better sense of your surroundings, acknowledging your life as you know it, and realize while you have just experienced something extraordinary, something you will never forget and will be able to experience again and again without ever being able to fully describe, maybe even to yourself, you also realize that you are earthbound, never having left your comfortable existence.
You sigh, somewhat disappointed, deciding you need to raise yourself and move. As you do, you gaze downward toward your arm, as some fine, powdery star dust falls off and lifts in the breeze.
Did you ever see the movie "Pay It Forward"?? Neither did I.
However, I do love the idea.
Whenever I do a favor for someone, I never ask for anything in return because… it's a favor. I usually tell them something like, "Just do it for someone else in the future".
Imagine... if you pay a favor back, it stops there and that's the end of it. But if you pay it forward... it never stops. Unless someone gets a little selfish and stops paying it forward.
Anyway... I love the concept. Now you must like it too. Because I've been hypnotizing you as you've been reading. Bring me some ice cream.
This is the time of year when Santa visits. And rewards those that have been nice, and supposedly, does not reward those… as much at least…. who’ve been naughty.
There are however, a lot of families who can’t afford gifts. The children in those families may have tried really hard to be deserving of reward, and yet, to them, after the holiday comes and goes, Santa will have deemed them to be undeserving and unworthy. This concept is disturbing to me.
Kids are taught to believe in Santa, and they talk about him, as well as all their holiday gifts in the aftermath. And those that don’t get gifts are left to wonder what they did so wrong, and why they were deemed unworthy even though they may have tried to be so.
One of the many, many seeds of character building, that can go so wrong.
It's impossible to know, but I wonder what the ripples add up to, with things like this.
I wrote this a long time ago.... around 2005 or so. Obviously, I'm catching up on some old writings...
It has been a long time now that I have been stranded on this island that is my office. Many suns have risen and set, many moons have lit my nights. I wonder if I will ever escape.
Yesterday was interesting albeit as usual, somewhat dangerous. The unknown, along with the clutter, seems always to be like that.
I was working my way through what seemed like a large field of debris, searching for nutrients of any kind, or maybe some coffee, when I suddenly came upon a clearing. It was unusual, to say the least. As I looked across the vast wasteland that has become my tormentor, there stood in front of me a large mound, approximately 7 feet wide, 3 feet high, and 4 feet deep. It looked unnatural and I approached it with caution. It seemed almost a living being, yet so long left dormant. The mound was covered with more debris and as I approached, I could feel my heart drum a harder, faster beat within my chest. I stared upon this mound, so covered from time past, and felt the evil within. It could only mean danger. I reached my hand out, barely touching the edges of dust and cobweb soaked clutter, so long ago lost to sunlight. It lay there silently, almost daring me to come closer. I did so. With trepidation and a rising sense of danger, I moved the dust cloaked edge of debris a little more. No response. I did it again, my rising caution screaming out. Nothing. I wiped away more of the remains to find a smooth brownish textured layer underneath. What kind of aberration could this be?? It looked man made. I wiped away more, my anticipation and curiosity almost making me throw caution to the wind. I stared aghast, amazement running through my veins as I gazed upon something I could never have imagined. There in front of me was a long ago forgotten desk. A chill shot through me as I contemplated the meaning of this new discovery. Someone had been here before. As the dust slid and lifted, I could see file folders with vaguely familiar names of cases not yet finished. I slowly opened a drawer. Wow, I thought to myself... paper clips. Sticker thingies. A stamp! I could write for help!!
Suddenly my hand rubbed against a small hard lump. Caution and fear once again shot through me as I jerked backwards. No movement. I slowly reached for the object again. It was gray with small button-like buttons. I pressed one. Suddenly from across the island that is my office came voices from under a large pile of 3-ringed binders and industry magazines!! I rushed over, my legs churning, held back against the currents of debris. Hacking my way closer, I shoved the dust covered binders aside, hoping to find someone alive. As I moved a baseball cap and a can of Slimfast, I saw a glow. My eyes stared in wonderment. No... I would find no one alive this day. That was too much to hope for. However, there would be communication. The AM/FM CD Tape player glowed its' digital glow as sound from a long forgotten band called "Train" wafted through the air. I barely remembered them. I have been on this island that is my office too long.
Some day log, I will get off this island that is my office and be set free to enjoy life as it should be. For now though, I continue on, exploring the dark danger-filled corners and long forgotten file cabinets, answering the phone, doing reviews, and the occasional wholesaler-sponsored lunch.
David S. Chorney
This is something I wrote wayyyy back when my daughter was first born. Must have been sometime in 1997...
A bunch of people who saw the pictures I sent of my new born daughter Marlee, commented on them. It made me think. I need a plan for when she wants to date. So far, I jotted down some ideas…
No make-up, no earrings, and no dates until she’s 30. In-home schooling too.
Every boy who wants to even talk with her has to pass a written and oral exam plus I interview his parents by gun point.
Salt peter must be present in his diet, and he must offer to do 50 hours per week of community service work around MY house until he’s known her for 7 years or until he dies, whichever comes first.
He must go through a metal detector. If he has an earring, a nose ring, or any other piece of jewelry, he must ASK me to tear if off him.
He must be a big fan of Perry Como. I am NOT a fan of Perry Como, but if HE is, I’ll feel better.
He must be regularly contributing to an IRA and know the difference between a bond, a stock, and a mutual fund.
His car can’t have any dents or dirt on it. If he ever sits outside and beeps for my daughter, he will either be shot, or he will stay sitting outside and beeping for the rest of his endangered life.
If his jeans EVER fall below the point where his hips start, I will tear them off him so fast he’ll think he forgot to get dressed, and kick him back outside.
He must insist on calling me “Sir”.
If he ever even tries to come into actual physical contact with my daughter, he’ll wish he was being slowly eaten by dogs.
He must naturally enjoy bowling, sunsets, puppy dogs and helping out in senior citizen homes.
He needs to speak at least three languages fluently, know how to write a business plan, know how to create a DNA model with Tinker Toys, and do fractional square roots in his head.
He must make me laugh. Hard. He must make Marlee laugh.
He must bring a bouquet of flowers for my wife and roses for Marlee. If he brings RED roses for Marlee before he has known her for at least 9 years, he will eat them.
He must be on time. He can be up to 30 seconds early, but he can NEVER EVER be late for my daughter. If he IS late, he should only consider ringing that doorbell with a finger he is not fond of.
Okay, that was off the top of my head. I will formulate the other 75% of my plan when I’m not feeling quite as relaxed.
Jogging Tip: You can save a lot of wear and tear on your knees, and the rest of your body, by going straight from your warm up, into your cool-down.
Okay, so yes... the title for this post doesn't really make any sense. But I just realized that I really need to start writing more entries into this blog, and I wasn't sure what kind of entry I wanted to make, so... well.... there ya go.
I realize these posts are all supposed to be art related. But I don't really know how much I can post about "just art" and not bore the heck out of all of you. And me. So I think I would actually just like to write, and make conversation, and post things I enjoy writing about.
Besides photography, painting and burning abstract designs into wood (and sometimes my hand accidentally), I also do a lot of writing. I have no idea whether it's any good or not, but I enjoy doing it, and I like what I write, so I guess I'll keep it up. Although one of the things that keeps me pretty humble about my writing is that all too often, when I go and look at something I've written long ago, I usually don't like it nearly as much as I did when I first wrote it. Most times, when I first write something, I think it's prize worthy. I mean... I am sometimes prone to thinking I've written something profound, and probably a partial secret to helping humankind. Then, a year or two later, I'll read it again and just be glad I never showed anyone.
But what the heck... I might actually post some of my writings in here. Either that or just have some kind of one-sided running conversation. Which is what most often happens when I'm working in the yard or garage or some other place by myself. So I'm used to it.
So there you go. I've finally posted something in here. And I even gave it a spiffy title.
David S. Chorney
This is where I'm supposed to write something about myself. I still have some hair left. I am still undecided which I like better, photography or painting. My four major food group are seafood, melted cheese, pasta, and Advil. I love the hunt of a finished piece of art. All quotes, essays, stories, and any other written piece on this website, are original and written by yours truly, unless otherwise noted.