Here I am in colville, WA at the public library. AND i still cannot show you any pictures from the trip since all the libraries across the country don't allow uploading. THings are getting easier, and I'm getting into the groove of things. Meeting so many crazy people, seeing beautiful places and just feeling alive. I am no longer going to post entire chapters of my book but instead just excerpts that tickle me pink. Here's some from the first chapter: of course more to come.
"Of course the post office is closed, but the mailboxes inside are available and Estes is able to find an envelope for his excess weight. After much contemplation he leaves a small bundle of juggling balls, books, clothing, and unnecessary tools beside the road- some of this is retrieved later but that's beside the point. Off to find a bite to eat, but then realizes his harmonica was left on the red plastic bench- that litters the streets of America- in front of the Post office. He scurries back with heartpumping speed to find it resting inconspicuously in front of the post office.
The smell of pizza illuminates the air guiding Estes to a restaurant deemed Eastside20Pizza. Gawkers dig his bike outside whether they understand or not. After a calzone and dark beer, served by a cute blond waitress, he finds his way back to his bike after being offered a free place to camp tonight. The offer is tempting. At his bike the banjo decases itself, a harmonica hangs around the skintight neck of Estes. He begins playing a haphazard aray of sonic vibrations. People do what they do: watch, listen, breathe, drink, masticate on greasy pizza. A glint of happiness creeps over Estes's fidgity hands and feet as onlookers become interested.
A couple of songs go by and one of the cute waitresses from before makes a request that he play the stage setup in the back quartyard. Climbs atop the triangular stage littered with various instruments, at first attempting accompaniment with the father of the owner of eastside20, as he plays absolutely wretched beat and undiscernable keyboard and guitar. Estes edges his way into control, slipping into the spotlight and shows vigor and his performative side shining. As if a new shell has been entered by a wandering vulnerablee hermit crab. Someone gives him a tip afterwards and Estes is on his way to find a place to sleep. The area has become desertlike, with urine radiating sagebrush and scattered pines instead of the usual cactus and sand. A couple of potential spots to hang his hammock fall through so he instead lays low beneath sagebrush and his tarp, blocking himself from view, on a sleeping pad, being stabbed in the back by grass, but totally content on his surrounding. Sleep comes easier then before with dreams of future places to busk and show artwork."
I will try to get pictures up soon through a warmshowers host. Stay tuned.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Monday, June 29, 2009
Tonasket
Day two has gotten me all the way to tonasket. Knees ache and all of that, but I just got rid of ten pounds of dead weight that was unnessary. I have a long climb ahead of me today but thought that I would pick up where I left off on the story.
"Levi is a dramatic hard headed gangster, who seemed to be on top of his game all the time, or at least likes to appear so. He went to school in portland for a degree in anthropology where he picked up habits of studying hard and playing hard. Estes has always looked up to this brother through all of the fights and faults that humans seem to accumulate. As young brothers Levi, Russel, and Estes felt strong connections and thought nothing would ever change.
Estes had trouble leaving austin, battling with his own habitual cycles but finally made it out to pursue a degree in visual arts, though he had not yet decided on this, it was ingrained into his future. Her tried science classes for a while before realizing the allure of the mighty paintbrush. Once fondling his way into a class which incubated his lust for art once more, he became a maniacal lust for more and more painting all of the time. Now a constant, a month, week, day, or minute without at least some sort of creation is one wasted.
He began to be enthralled in the early stages of post traumatic stress disorder, for no apparent reason at all, until he met a sweet little midwestern girl. Shea is a cute woman with aspirations of saving the world, through the use of environmental law. This was not always the case, her dabbling in various other sciences, but by her junior year she had figured out that was the best way to help out. She wears her dark brow hair up and sometimes down, framing her beautiful almost cherubic face with eyes that penetrate even the darkest of days. She helped combat the addictive personality of Estes and was able to lead him in the direction of his passions as a more constructive and beautiful way of dealing with the world.
As his schooling progressively became more and more interesting, Estes began planning an even more ingenious mission: A journey across the states to New York City where he would meet up with old friend Oliver and see all the art he must now compete with on his quest. With the bee in his bonnet, Estes planned and planned for an entire year the physicality of this trip; prepping all the necessary gear and riding his bike on an obsessive daily basis. But it is the emotional angst that such a journey causes on its maker that cannot really be planned for.
Of course this is part of the entire adventure. Forgetting what once was and instead facing forward and trying to figure out what is next.
"What this world holds is great," remarks Estes. He sometimes speaks to himself in an effort to combat the loneliness of the road and his nervousness about being out there, being alive. Estes, by now, is greaed to the teeth, his bike littered with paintings of life and death that envelope all of his various camping gear. He sleeps in a hammock by nightfall and by day pedals his bike as far as his twenty-one year old sack of bones can admits. While he rides he plays a harmonica tune, dreaming of big things to come.
Yet Estes still thinks of the wonderful people he had the cance to meet in olympia before his departure. Tom and Bon effortlessly faded into his life with the situational bliss of a cold drink on the hottest day of summer. Tom, who stands like a giant, towering over just about everyone he encounters, has a passion for the same type of life as Estes. A passion for the same type of life Estes longs for. One full of creative endeavors, big cones, the occasional nightcap, bicycles, tonka trucks and musical harmony."
I have much more to type out but the library I'm in has a thirty minute limit and I'm already over it. Bleh
"Levi is a dramatic hard headed gangster, who seemed to be on top of his game all the time, or at least likes to appear so. He went to school in portland for a degree in anthropology where he picked up habits of studying hard and playing hard. Estes has always looked up to this brother through all of the fights and faults that humans seem to accumulate. As young brothers Levi, Russel, and Estes felt strong connections and thought nothing would ever change.
Estes had trouble leaving austin, battling with his own habitual cycles but finally made it out to pursue a degree in visual arts, though he had not yet decided on this, it was ingrained into his future. Her tried science classes for a while before realizing the allure of the mighty paintbrush. Once fondling his way into a class which incubated his lust for art once more, he became a maniacal lust for more and more painting all of the time. Now a constant, a month, week, day, or minute without at least some sort of creation is one wasted.
He began to be enthralled in the early stages of post traumatic stress disorder, for no apparent reason at all, until he met a sweet little midwestern girl. Shea is a cute woman with aspirations of saving the world, through the use of environmental law. This was not always the case, her dabbling in various other sciences, but by her junior year she had figured out that was the best way to help out. She wears her dark brow hair up and sometimes down, framing her beautiful almost cherubic face with eyes that penetrate even the darkest of days. She helped combat the addictive personality of Estes and was able to lead him in the direction of his passions as a more constructive and beautiful way of dealing with the world.
As his schooling progressively became more and more interesting, Estes began planning an even more ingenious mission: A journey across the states to New York City where he would meet up with old friend Oliver and see all the art he must now compete with on his quest. With the bee in his bonnet, Estes planned and planned for an entire year the physicality of this trip; prepping all the necessary gear and riding his bike on an obsessive daily basis. But it is the emotional angst that such a journey causes on its maker that cannot really be planned for.
Of course this is part of the entire adventure. Forgetting what once was and instead facing forward and trying to figure out what is next.
"What this world holds is great," remarks Estes. He sometimes speaks to himself in an effort to combat the loneliness of the road and his nervousness about being out there, being alive. Estes, by now, is greaed to the teeth, his bike littered with paintings of life and death that envelope all of his various camping gear. He sleeps in a hammock by nightfall and by day pedals his bike as far as his twenty-one year old sack of bones can admits. While he rides he plays a harmonica tune, dreaming of big things to come.
Yet Estes still thinks of the wonderful people he had the cance to meet in olympia before his departure. Tom and Bon effortlessly faded into his life with the situational bliss of a cold drink on the hottest day of summer. Tom, who stands like a giant, towering over just about everyone he encounters, has a passion for the same type of life as Estes. A passion for the same type of life Estes longs for. One full of creative endeavors, big cones, the occasional nightcap, bicycles, tonka trucks and musical harmony."
I have much more to type out but the library I'm in has a thirty minute limit and I'm already over it. Bleh
Friday, June 26, 2009
Introduction...So far.
here's what I have so far as the Introduction of the novel that I'm writing. I leave Olympia in a couple of hours to embark on a journey that has really has no end.
"The horrid mist rose suddenly over the sunset, myriad adventures seemingly lost in a white wash of dirty days. Estes sat on the back porch of his parents small delapitating humble abode, pondering his next move.
"What's next?" he asks outloud, not really directed towards anyone. A banjo is strapped to his thin wirey frame, a smirk plastered across his face lets the camera know of his general nature. Though he has no ida of the ancient banjo traditional songs, his soul is in it, just as it is in his paintings.
Growing up in a house of love and good food worked to the advantage of Estes, being that he learned the significance of human interaction through the sharing of food. His mother an optimistic catylyst for his entirety; a wonderful woman with unrelentless belief in all of her children. Jane is a master of many things: puppets, pickiling, pie making, money management, and looking on the bright side of life. She grew up in a house of cooperation and brotherly mayham just as her three sons have come to understand present day reality.
Estes's father drinks too much whisky with a firey breath that accompanies his pyromania, most of the times kept at bay by oral fixations. A chimney with the woodworking skills of a fine artiesan. Times are rememberd by his close friends of flaming chirstmas trees that surround nelson like a buring aura, or of his wizard staff that blows fireballs high up into the wide open Texas skys.
Growing up on the east side of Austin gave Estes a daily dose of urban reality. No white picket fences with fancy cars, but instead-- tricked out gallopies that rattle house windows with deep bass as they drive by. Riding trykes down the front hill of our estate, on track to catch lizards and pretend there is nothing else. Estes learned a great deal from the kids growing up around him. In fact he even learned to put ice inside his bubble gum.
His two brothers sandwich him in their wisdom, being that Estes had the chance to be a middle child. Never being the first or last one seemed to teach him patience and preserverence, something that was then passed onto his younger brother Russel. Russel is plastered in freckles, like he was born behind a cow in the field. This was only partially true, being that Estes and all of his siblings were born at home-- on the mattress that his parents slept on for a good 15 years after their first child Levi."
"The horrid mist rose suddenly over the sunset, myriad adventures seemingly lost in a white wash of dirty days. Estes sat on the back porch of his parents small delapitating humble abode, pondering his next move.
"What's next?" he asks outloud, not really directed towards anyone. A banjo is strapped to his thin wirey frame, a smirk plastered across his face lets the camera know of his general nature. Though he has no ida of the ancient banjo traditional songs, his soul is in it, just as it is in his paintings.
Growing up in a house of love and good food worked to the advantage of Estes, being that he learned the significance of human interaction through the sharing of food. His mother an optimistic catylyst for his entirety; a wonderful woman with unrelentless belief in all of her children. Jane is a master of many things: puppets, pickiling, pie making, money management, and looking on the bright side of life. She grew up in a house of cooperation and brotherly mayham just as her three sons have come to understand present day reality.
Estes's father drinks too much whisky with a firey breath that accompanies his pyromania, most of the times kept at bay by oral fixations. A chimney with the woodworking skills of a fine artiesan. Times are rememberd by his close friends of flaming chirstmas trees that surround nelson like a buring aura, or of his wizard staff that blows fireballs high up into the wide open Texas skys.
Growing up on the east side of Austin gave Estes a daily dose of urban reality. No white picket fences with fancy cars, but instead-- tricked out gallopies that rattle house windows with deep bass as they drive by. Riding trykes down the front hill of our estate, on track to catch lizards and pretend there is nothing else. Estes learned a great deal from the kids growing up around him. In fact he even learned to put ice inside his bubble gum.
His two brothers sandwich him in their wisdom, being that Estes had the chance to be a middle child. Never being the first or last one seemed to teach him patience and preserverence, something that was then passed onto his younger brother Russel. Russel is plastered in freckles, like he was born behind a cow in the field. This was only partially true, being that Estes and all of his siblings were born at home-- on the mattress that his parents slept on for a good 15 years after their first child Levi."
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Earthy, Unearthly, Unearthed
http://www.ulesegisa.com/files/2009sosartin3d/
Pictures from my last group show in olympia. Everything went superduper. Picture of my stuff are from 300-314. I shall have my first blog about my bicycle trip up here in the next couple of days...Stay tuned
-SEB
Pictures from my last group show in olympia. Everything went superduper. Picture of my stuff are from 300-314. I shall have my first blog about my bicycle trip up here in the next couple of days...Stay tuned
-SEB
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