Wednesday, November 9, 2011


  I'ved settled into a routine. In the morning I get up around 6:30 am, make coffee, turn on the radio and check my email. Then I click that little facebook icon. Since we don't have another church until Spring I can only post so many variations of blackface and tweek the themes so much. That leaves other people's worlds. So I comment. You have to be very careful with comments, especially if you don't really know the person your commenting on. They can take it wrong in a hurry. But that's the challenge. I like my art world "friends" for my comments. For God knows what reason I have a simultaneous fascination/revulsion for the art world and all it's twisted complexity. I so much want to be an art fag. So instead, I comment on some real art fag's page and off I go to work.
     While I'm working I'm thinking about two things- where I'm going to hunt the afternoon and why is it, at 58 I'm still ripping up carpet and stuffing other people's garbage into the back of my pick up truck for hourly wage? Then I calm down, get some perspective (the wage isn't bad) get some shit done, while I ponder rejoining my facebook friends after work in an interesting discussion concerning Richard Serra and his black cube, recently sold at auction with contextual considerations attached. Pro or con?
   But before I can do this I decide to move one of my stands up at Ralph's. I grab the shotgun, in case i see those turkeys and head up into the hay field. Just as I come upon the stand I hear a deer bust out of it's bed. I just see back and tail. Moving and hanging stands is one of my least favorite parts of deer hunting. This particular stand is a bitch. It has a hard spring catch and dangling from the stick ladder 16 feet in the air, wrestling it off the tree, can be challenging. I almost have it when feel something slip.......Im losing my footing and I'm not strapped in........then I somehow get a grasp on the branch. Jesus! Then I hear leaves crunching behind me. I stopped clanking and cussing the sign, catch my breath, turned my head and saw a 3 point buck headed right for me. He got within five yards, stopped and nosed the leaves. I couldn't believe my eyes. He was completely oblivious to me. Then he was right underneath me.
   I snorted and wheezed and he just looked at me blankly. Eventually he sauntered off. I let the stand hang, went and got some lunch, camoed up and got right back in the tree. But as you must know by now deer hunting is a frustrating business. I sat the beautiful warm November afternoon, seeing nothing. I thought of my morning comment on the disconnect between an actual working artist and a Lictenstein painting going for $43 mil. I saw a red squirrel and a woodpecker. Around four that sex crazed 3 pointer came back. I could've shot him. The rut is on.


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