Sunday, July 16, 2017

If I'm Not Careful . . .

If I'm not careful, some mail art can make the hair on the back of my neck bone stand up like I combed it with static. I remember the first time an altered image did that to me:  It was from Patty. In it, a woman's open-mouthed-disembodied-head floated mid-air on the envelope; knife blades stick out like hedge hog quills instead of hair. It's right out of "The Twilight Zone" or "The Outer Limits," both shows I watched in secret even after my parents classified both shows as off limits. 

From now on I will call such mail images Rod Serling stuff. I might even begin a Rod Serling album. While I'm confessing let me say this:  There's not a horror movie out there that frightens me. I'm a veteran. I cut my teeth on the old horror stories and Tales From the Crypt comics; those clawed hands reaching out from the grave were mere studies in human anatomy to little girl me; and George A. Romero, bless his heart, gave me the first African American star in a horror movie. Duane Jones was my hero of the genre. He hammered the hell out of some zombies but he never convinced me that a Black man would die like that. 

Romero passed on to that other dimension, leaving in his wake a zombie nation that will never die. He deserves a postage stamp, because:

"Romero jump-started the zombie genre as the co-writer (with John A. Russo) and director of the 1968 movie “Night of the Living Dead,” which went to show future generations of filmmakers such as Tobe Hooper and John Carpenter that generating big scares didn’t require big budgets. “Living Dead” spawned an entire school of zombie knockoffs, and Romero’s sequels included 1978’s “Dawn of the Dead,” 1985’s “Day of the Dead,” 2005’s “Land of the Dead,” 2007’s “Diary of the Dead” and 2009’s “George A. Romero’s Survival of the Dead.”

The original film, since colorized, has become a Halloween TV staple. Among other notable aspects of the cult classic was the casting of a black actor, Duane Jones, in the lead role, marking a milestone in the horror genre."

I like this Romero quote:  “I’ve been criticized the most for not writing good-guy/bad-guy characters,” he explained. “But my people aren’t clear-cut because real people aren’t clear-cut. They’re usually very gray, very ambiguous.  (by Tre'vell Anderson, the LA Times)

Is truth, right? RIP George A. May zombies forever creep, but please please please, don't let them catch me! And if zombies need flesh, why don't they starve to death? And how can they produce hemoglobin? 

This is more disconcerting than scary/spooky, and it tells such a story. It takes an imagination to new heights. The longer I look, the longer the story grows. You'd never guess where I found this so I'll go on and tell you now. 

See? I told you. Old wooden teeth George can keep a secret. Illustration by Johanna Goodman. Oh, wow. Check out Johanna. She got me. I imagine some of the images would do well in an acid trip.

This is . . .  I am speechless, so you'll have to supply the proper adjective. Just don't say "awesome." Such masterpieces require a discerning eye, so Ms. Goodman has big talent. You either have it or . . . Can it be taught? My newsprint hat's off to Johanna. And a tip goes to all of you who do this new genre so well. 

I may never master such scissors and glue art because . . . My conscience and my feeling get in the way. Here's what I mean:

I cannot insult this man. I cannot bring myself to destroy the photo either. Yes, I'd scan it but how do I justify reducing him to such mockery? Dang it! How can a ringing phone on tv sound so real? I reached for my phone. Does that ever happen to you?

Mark Twain? Really?

Hmm. I'd have to cut the neck of the dress though, wouldn't I? 

Much was sacrificed to create this too, right? Aren't the hands a little bit creepy? Who lost their head?  Ah, see the master manipulation that went on? 'Tis art! Pure and simple. I'd never make a surgeon. I'd probably feel sorry for the tumor I'd have to remove--wondering if it'd suffer and miss its host. Or worse. No I wouldn't. *grin* Oh, goodness! I see a face in the dress! To the left. It looks like the actor in Rebecca, the one who played Rebecca's lover. Ahem.

I saved this house for years. Is time to make a sacrifice in the name of art. I cannot bring myself to do this to Richard Pryor though. I'm enjoying the dress and sweater so much, but I'm taking my time too, searching for just the right images; there's a very good story about this house that needs telling. 

I baked a banana pudding today. JC likes a whipped cream topping while I prefer the meringue. I beat three egg whites until they hollered, "Enough!" and stood all peaked in stiff attention. I like it warm, and it's better with softer meringue, but when you get banana pudding once a year, you'll eat it as is--even when the fluff topping reminds me of the stuff some spiders leave in the tall stalks.

I managed to write another letter before I slept last night. Guess who needs more stamps. 

And guess who thought to use the backings instead of tossing them; they're the devil to glue down, but a strip of Scotch tape did the trick. Waste not, waste not. 

There are new stories to share about mail, upcoming photos of mail--from good people such as yourselves--and continued observations on this life. The blisters from my hot water bottle calmed down after JC applied aloe, gauze bandages, and taped everything down. A strip of tape somehow managed to find its way into my hair. Johnson swears it was an accident, then proceeded to pull away enough hair to make me want to elbow him with mucho gusto, but my shoulder hurt too much. Can you believe he asked if he could cut the still-taped hair away with a razor? I could wind up bald if I'm not careful. Have you ever looked at your back? Your buttocks? Do you ever wonder what they look like? I never thought about it before last night. I always have someone else have a look at it if I suspect there's something wrong back there, but JC took a photo for me, and I discovered I like my back more than I like my front. Hmm. Now I wonder what people walking behind me see when it's fully clothed. Not that it matters. *grin*

Peace for your heart, and grease for your squeaky wheels! 

Be well. Write much mail. 

Goodnight, Mr. Zombie. I miss you already.


  1. wow this one caught me off guard and I cant think of anything to type other than wow ...Okay that is it . stay safe and be well .