Four weeks have passed, since, after much anticipation, my mind rests again upon the day we packed to return to the place of our origins here on Earth, where the space ship arrived, er, where we both were born: Rome, GA, and a five house circuit of family and friends. Places to lay our heads and people to fill our days; I’m sure at least four weeks came before I zipped in the last item, and the whole time my mind wandered ahead to Georgia every four thoughts or so, as it begins to do now when I think of how much beloved shit I had to mentally pack aside to be anywhere besides right here in the solitude of the Apartment of Ideas.

I packed away inking tools for practice in some imaginary free moment of peace on vacation, still reading all of Gary Martin's book on the subject, suggested by Judge WAN, I believe. The Janson book Marcus recommended was in the mail, and already the freshly-shipped drawing table called even as I stubbornly drew on my old improvised set-up, some last panels in my mock-up copy of the Stuckwayze that I couldn't wait to show my nephews. (How would it be now, having a niece, around those rough and tumble rapscallions?) I included our two shirts, made with the Integr8d Soul "Man" sigil, just in case we needed them for anything...like, a concert I was still organizing on the hoof, trying to find a location and day best for everyone who wanted to see us.

I’d practiced and rediscovered originals, favorite covers, songs left unfinished and half-learned, slipping guitar back into my day-to-day life after letting the need to draw take over everything! Writing made it back okay, first; aside from the messages every day, I’d indulged in reviewing The Man Called Nova and Machine Man, the Living Robot comics in their first runs under the aegis of their creators, Marv Wolfman and Jack Kirby, respectively. But listening to the street musicians outside my window made me find the time again by summer’s end ---if for no other reason than to distract from the drone of the bagpipes on Friday nights!

“Is This Love?” became the one song not my own that really resonated with me and what we were going back to Georgia to celebrate. I never want to forget what falling in love with Angela Dawn is like; I told the musician as I tipped him, we shared the same room and the shelter of our single bed, just across the street behind a window from a hundred year old brick-and-mortar hotel two floor above Fred’s Mexican Place.

Marley would cross my mind again when the fellow passed out and then, after the attendance of many there in the aisle beside me, got sick just a couple of rows back at the lavoratory. Bad night for him, bad enough for any plans to sleep, so Bob and Elvis played from my memories as I stared into the featureless night sky, with glances at my friendly row-mate’s IPad as she discovered its games. Beside my right, Angela nearly dozed a bit, having enjoyed the ten-thirty flight out of Lindbergh with the same heightened sense of our changing surroundings.


You think of this when you pack and travel: the changing surroundings require an awareness of yourself and your belongings, so it is best to go lightly. The single carry-on bag and the one with this very laptop rested with us. If only, on the Charlotte stopover, I’d remembered how Dixie and Charlotte collect one thing: shot glasses, I would’ve had the perfect thing. As it is, a handful of copies of the home-printed version, hand-numbered first issue, of our new Integr8d Soul Comic, D’n’A , contained one of the unique presents with which we’d leave our presence in their home, the first morning we awakened in Georgia---Cedartown, to be exact!

Before that, the Sunday was bound to begin in Rockmart, as my Mom seemed to orchestrate, in a fuzzy manner, a homecoming day for us at the 2012 Bowman residence where Angela lived when I accompanied her and Dixie home, where we shared a second kiss and more than I’ll here elaborate. David, Austin and Ciara would bring the very most enthusiasm in its energetic form, as they fully planned our kidnapping on arrival. I stayed at 2012 during the time Ciara came into the world, the conception and the birth both, during two layovers on the way to Columbus, GA and finally San Diego by Cinco de Mayo, 2005, or 5-5-05. I remembered when her impending arrival was announced to the household, and had lived in California virtually since she was born, Feb. 15, 2005. Now CiCi awaited the impending arrival of Angela and I, two people she really only knew in gifts and legends. Her brothers had kept our memory alive, as had their parents and 2012 as well.


No plane trip’s complete without an airport, and without a hitch, the last person in our first day rode down to pick us up with her brand new husband, our new friend Eric. I had a t-strap shirt packed for her artistic and individualistic daughter Darby, one designed and ironed by the Marc Kane herself. The other two shirts---for I’d figured out there was no way to pack the eight or so I had in mind for people, barely enough room to take some iron-on pages---celebrate the Gypsy Cave, a place I knew I’d have the hardest time leaving, and this day, everyone was gathered, by Mom if no one else, to receive us in the same house where Papa Bowman took our wedding vows.


My love for her facebook-posted sky photo album had blossomed into a most powerful friendship, and “Bean” as she is sometimes known texted her way into our days, sharing the chaos and sweet observations intimately. Her enjoyment of our devotion to Integr8d Soul arts included not only enthusiasm, but actual contributions; her first request of me had been to aid her in creating the poem chronicled on the two shirts, and here at this link as well.
http://ceaseill.blogspot.com/2010/01/we ... -cove.html

Her lovely friendship and smartistic ways involved a fascinating look at local lady cop, down-to-earth mother and endlessly inventive enemy of boredom. I felt privy to the widest multitude of her facets, yet she had an incompletion fostered by her very power to love. She clearly needed two more people, in addition to the cast she shared with us, some of whom became our fans, too. What could we do about that need, so far away?

Her ability to attract what she needed soon caused her oneness to become three: a new husband and a new life and a way to connect her artistic and intuitive perceptions means people to love and understand, very close to her, a boy and a girl, companions of the sort that we ourselves would agree assure nothing about the wonderful Bean goes to waste, least of all any of her time!


So now she sports a belly supporting a tiny life named Tupelo Lyric, and it’s just like I’ve emerged texting from the shuttle between concourses at Hartsfield-Jackson to claim our baggage and unite my Dawns, as these two friends, the closest ladies in my life this fine year, physically met for the very first time.


Eric turns out to be so funny, inventive, rebellious, and kind, the four of us can’t help but have a great ride from Atlanta to Rockmart. Already artistic plans are hatched, as our intentions we’ve been saving to share bleed through the raucous conversation. They are friends we could easily spend the entire week with, and we’ll be gone just as soon as we in fact warm up! They are Southerners to the core, in that best of ways marked in every household we visit there: you are loved, welcomed, and invited to fit into the life there however you like. Come in and sit a spell!


They decide they’ll be close enough to pick up daughter Darby, so they drop us off at 2012, and by eleven o’clock our conversation with Vick and Ron has transformed into my tour of the neighborhood, led about by boisterous boys and much gladness.


By the time Mom actually arrives with the lasagna to bake, I’m sleep deprived and hungry and let me tell you, with neighbor Christina sitting with me as the Falcons game played, I was feeling the physical aspects of my road trip but running on pure friendship. That’s where I got the energy to let one piggy-backed child at a time play as “Doctor Octopus’ arms” as we chased the other two through the house, in a way that must’ve evoked God knows what memories for everyone, but best of all, made new ones. Every since I’d played CiCi’s hiding game where I took off each coat one-by-one and put them on, from that third or fourth coat on, I’d won a new friend, and relating would turn out as easy as I’d hoped, after all.

Dixie and Charlie were there early, and I heard about a harrowing small plane ride ahead of a Wyoming winter that makes my flight a walk in the park---speaking of which, I have one of those, too, with the kids, as Angela visited their mother Anna and father David for coffee. Thankfully, when they were ready to disappear around sunset, I was more than glad to look at the new paint job. I was ready to watch paint DRY. My pj’s were on and I dove into my just-received copy of Miracle Man #1 by the time Angela reconnected with big sis over glasses of red wine. This was the perfect moment to enjoy something I’d packed just for me or whoever; the fantastic old story of the “Miracle Family” and the return of Miracle Man, all climaxing in a visit with one of the old family that didn’t come out nearly as pleasant as mine.

I must’ve spent the day as one of the just, because that night, I knew their sleep.

Nice!

UFO’s, Turing Test (artificial intelligence), Gliese S281 (the first likely planet to contain places with Earth-like conditions), even TVC-15 (couple of jokes about David Bowie music-as-transmitter)---this, along with inspiration from Kirby’s Eternals and my own parallel race of mockeries of Man, all took packed places in my mind, like shirts from which I might choose. The hard AI didn’t get harder than Autocron Rover Ten-For, Japanese robot movie and American comic book crashed into the present-day based pages of Machine Man. The world has definitely changed in thirty years, and an old comic book or science fiction story can just as easily serve as a mirror to altered theories and “but if’s!” lapping like waves on the consciousness shore.

With maybe one more day where she felt better, Dixie would’ve happily chimed in on responses to these---which together form an essay yet written---with facts we know, some each other didn’t, and a healthy share of wonder, with intermittent bursts of prophet-lipped excoriations of ways and unintentionally dark comedies of society. I had a short story that, given one more time with each of them, I could’ve worked on, discussed, having all the business of hearing about their lives and routines clear, found another layer of old memories (Remember seeing Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back, at the movie theater across from the hotel where you stayed and we all swam?), and started plotting! At least, I figured, I should soak in my friends and family in ways that would remind me later of them as I peered into the myths and myth stakes.

As it so happened, though, that “mockery of Man”, that Stuckwayze disposition, had played so much a part of our ways of late out here that its humor and insight was much closer at hand, with just enough time to think out loud alike and make jokes quickly while we forget about dying and illness and sorrow for a spell. We made Stuckwayze faces from our own, like Man made in God’s Image, laughing already and so inspired to make more fun, and sure enough, everyone we left back there in Georgia still has a Stuckwayze face on hand they can show you!


So now, when I finish my “Stuckwayze Forev-uhghh!?!” tale, it will be so much better, its actions lit as the ways of my friends, parading around the Crib in their Stuckwayze Vases, uhghh.


Our adventures making t-shirts and the nature of taking creations to comics conventions poured from my lips as Charlotte kicked the boredom creeps with my company. I made eye contact but also worked through about thirty five yoga poses over the dog and cat loved carpet over the next hour or so, joyous, frankly, to have a listener, and one thing you can count on, you know when Charlotte is listening. I heard about life with Punk and Marley and Ginger and Sebastian, dogs and cats in harmony and relative balance: that’s another thousand words I could probably pull up on its own, because pets are a big part of your home life, and these days your home life’s quality is inescapable, right?


We had a fun Peace bracelet each; I drew Dixie and Charlie, a rough sketch, from a promise tucked away for just this moment, on pad and paper and pencil supplied by Dixie. Man, anything they had we needed or might even want, it was ours for the asking, if even that! You can’t abuse such hospitality and you’d do well to reward it, so taking down a wallet-sized portrait I drew my two friends before we all took off to return improperly crushed pills to the vet, take a look at the sad remains of Jeffery and Bobby’s old place so close by, and finally to devour Taco Bell and speak freely of things I just knew some fellow patrons wondered about!


Finally, the Peek’s Park location had become, by virtue of being closest to our sure attendees, the most likely place for the picnic Eric had dubbed Cecilpalooza. Taking a look around, we found it cozy and enjoyed hearing how they brought David, Austin and Ci Ci out to have fun and hazard in the water spout (built to replace the less-tenable public pool) centered in the shallow ampitheater half-circling it. Half a circle, half a moon: I look at both and see a point where you need context to know does it wax or wane, but in its balance it’s a fine place to suggest a new beginning, such as our performer sides needed after two intense seasons filled with drawings, even stories, but mostly home quiet, while music we make is encouraged to be loud and played in places much larger than the Apartment of Ideas. We talked of ideas of children, children in our lives, children we’ve never had, and walked off our modest fast food lunches under trees and breeze.

A text: Peek’s Park, checking it out. Coming to your house next, Bean!

Imagine you're going along. You'll find yourself right here!
"Ok at cave spring ," I read from the text,"red-light turn right onto padlock rd. Go one mile up hill. Turn left onto ridge rd."
With every word, our friends Dixie and Charlie came closer to the place with this magical person, that person that makes you glad you have friends, you know?


The roadsign is gone but it’s right beside a house w a bunch of new fence posts in the ground.

That is exciting!!!! You have to really pay attention to the world around you to ever find my friend.

One thing Dixie has in common with me: if you are really a part of me, you are a part other people sometimes meet through my words and enthusiasm for you. I really love the stories. This one friend delivers an individual picture journal for chosen friends, and through them she saved herself. This person reminds you that you are glad to be alive. All of you do, in some way, telling me different things about it, life. “Life is the only writer, if you think about it,” once said Scarlett Dragon #9.

Ordinary life should stand out as fantastical. This life, were you excited by your days, you’d want to be a Methusulah! You want to live it like you’re living it forever.

So here we were, as though in Heinlein’s Gay Deceiver, a craft able to take her passengers to places in stories and their real, living people, engaged with your imagination. In stories, whether they know how to live or not, we watch the people live, as faces of ourselves.
You've written and drawn things together before you've been in the same room!
Imagine how you feel, when you meet the person who's helped you make your day, who you know you helped and for all the fun you've had together, you still have your first hug.

Imagine you're going along. You'll find yourself right here!
Now where we go, we’ve been in our hearts, because there’s freedom in these parts!
Every where you’re going, you’re going forever, so be here now.

The 21st
White house. Black shutters.

"Wonder where I am"

Finn’s completing sentences with his sister; his homework’s his chosen first priority. He wonders how it is we know his name already. Darby offers me a handshake. We walk down into the basement garage to find this:


We’re asked to play, so I try two guitars and play several songs, with accompaniment on hand drums and much dancing. Dixie recognizes her own garage dreams in the rather cozy and highly creative Gypsy Cave. Both my sisters have a great time before they go; they could hardly leave us in a happier place.


Soon Finn’s grabbing my hands to dance, and soon afterwards he brings me favorite figures from his Star Wars men, including Luke, Darth, and a one-armed Boba Fett. Indiana Jones and a Ben Ten creature remain in the bathtub upstairs, (but no Aqua Man), in a bathroom containing funny notes, little rebellions, an empty drink can, and a lovely Hawaii picture that's really Sabrina and Darby from an old life, so much so I recreated into her Mom and Dad before I bring it up haltingly later.

Darby asks to draw me. To keep me looking up, I draw her, too. I attempt Finn, who isn’t one to stay still and awake once it’s playtime, and that’s just what it was. Great music plays as Darby picks over her Mom’s tunes and delivers a nice Lou Reed set; she also draws Angela, telling us about how she wants to draw with no underwork for the figures, as a matter of artistic integrity. I don’t even know yet she’s about to have a Governor’s Honors interview in Physics a month later.


Sabrina’s finished pigs-in-a-blanket and soon we’re in the dining room, used for the first time by everyone! Amidst icons and cool blue, Finn treats us to all---nine?---of the character themes from Peter and the Wolf, sung from memory after seeing the movie a couple of times this year and last in music class---as we dine from Winnie the Pooh and Dora the Explorer plates. Darby’s hunger is reserved for her new sketch, a third one, I believe, I may have never seen.


We enjoy the moonlit back porch by candles, as Sabrina takes Finn to bed this exciting night. It’s warm, but the Cave is hospitable, as Eric and I explore favorite far-out fringes and swap down-to-earth stories, and I show him a few early texts I’d kept, from his blushing new bride, to show what she shared that told me how much he means to her. I think Sabrina tells us about her off-duty turn as security for Willie Nelson, too, and how she especially enjoyed his son.



It smells beautiful, and our first night there, in a place we’d been invited to consider our home away from home, only ended so that Eric could report to work teaching middle school in the morning. Before we settled into our fold-out spot with clean sheets, we two did some yoga, as I’d started the day, blown by fans soon afterwards into the sea of dream.

“Help Transforming” http://ceaseill.blogspot.com/2010/10/he ... rming.html
“King Me”
Crown
Your kingdom is those who love you.


I felt like I had been so close to these two ladies having coffee with me one fine fall Georgia morning. I’d been the closest friend I could be just before each of them found true love. Now they’d finally met, and best of all, there’s nothing Angela loves more than babies, and here now the newly-minted Mrs. Cooper’s filling out with little Tupelo. The request to the universe was: “please let me look pregnant and not just fat!” It came through before the week ended. For all the multitudes of plotlines and details we’d cooked up previously, I still felt a fresh start was the only way Sabrina and I could work on my adaptation of her own creation, the Scarlett Dragon #9. It was nice to show her total trust and love between two adults, because her heart was brave and her ideals to this thing still shone.

Our re-acquaintance had been like meeting a whole new person, for me; road side clouds and flights of fancy between forested trees led to as much personal confession as we could have living 3000 miles apart. The reservations I sensed in my friend would pass as the energy continued to change, bringing her new love, her eternal love, into our life, as she feels his absence acutely while keeping touch throughout his teaching day, packing lunch and notes and snacks and texting her favored means of expression, pictures. She had a new beginning in so many ways, lately.


There seemed no way to commemorate the movement we represent, the way of thinking that seems so futuristic and outside the norms of where we grew up; it really wasn’t just an affectation, we are decidedly different in our daring. Aggressively individualistic impulses drove us to live with expression and honesty and something like freedom.

Mrs. Cooper wants more than anything for Mr. Cooper to feel right at home in all parts of her life, so what better than to show us his art and his collection of short stories?

“God Hates Sin,” with its search for new identity in a New Orleans journey, is filled with weird characters and bizarre religious imagery and local details that would do Flannery O’Conner justice. Only later do I run across some OTO related article about absinthe and find its existence in New Orleans there in their canon itself as a poetic waxing.


I completely failed at changing Optimus Prime, but Sabrina’s been trying to help others into their new forms for quite some time, and aided me in doing so as easily as she re-worked this plastic figure Finn left on the table into its travelling form, its incognito Earthling appearance.

Similarly, she helped me feel the emergent artist me that could influence people and take some place in history---which is, after all, filled with just people---has a place on Earth, wheels to travel, a hidden savior hauling cargo in disguise. She shared my work and made me feel something of a cult figure, a beautiful fringe dweller, and this makes me want to work like never before, more days without end, because something comes through someone else can run with, in directions far beyond horizons I only glimpse. It is the way we live, and our decisions, and our discoveries, that is the genius, though we may feel in certain days no genius present at all!

Inspired by Darby as well as my lengthy puzzlement, I began drawing, in pen, a tiny free-flowing piece I believe stays on the refrigerator to this day.


Amy Holt texted us to claim Wednesday night for dinner and laughs. It feels incredible to be welcomed to so many doors, and to so well like the people inside them.


Once we’d settled on a place to meet my Mom, Sabrina changed from Captain D’s attire to Chili’s pretty quickly; photographed the Cave. Went to special place after stopping to pose with Mocha. Took me back to play pretend places set up, temporary homes away from home. “Finn loved helping me clear this, he’s a hard worker!”


King me.

Coronation road by the lock and dam, smoking a rare treat, a clove from Sabrina as the sun beat down on a moderate lunchtime country road that sped by with bits of the past and friends and thoughts in life remembered.

Found crown, toy yellow plastic thing; was encouraged to wear it in to Chili’s and say it’s my birthday. The four of us go inside in the best of spirits, maybe a little something they didn’t recognize...or maybe, pay attention.


So proud to have my beautiful friend with us, to have my chosen family seated together, the woman who bore me, the woman who married me, and the confidante to both of us who had been with us more hours by influence than any other single person this year. She’d volunteered a healthy portion of photos to consider for our expressive D’n’A art.
I was thrilled to have their company, to be here for this first meeting, my friend of whom I’d been so proud and my mother.


I cut off salmon and steak both for Eric in Sabrina’s to-go box. Our time there evoked memories of Brenda’s Place, our restaurant, where I worked with Mom. The wooden checker table and pieces broke boredom on occasion, especially when this one old gentleman would come by to play me. He helped me master the game. It was the place I read that old People magazine that changed my life (the 1960? Wow!) and where I drew and wrote, for fun, my last comic book before adult hood, the Uglies #1.

Got to rush to the old comic book shop, nearly too distracted by nervously talking about my new fortunes opening our own comics and printing imprint and praising San Diego.


Found our way home beneath threat of rain; every inch of road had some memory, as well as the moment at hand. Still much like driving to the past to go home with Mom, even though it’d never been my home in particular. I could see how life in Rome would be flashing me my past every day. I remember feeling much more nostalgic for it, around 19 or 20, than I did today.



All in the Family, Andy Griffith, and Sanford and Son. It was like Dad could come home from work any minute. I also enjoyed Eternals 4 from my friend Steve Peters, who’s worked with Dave Sim and creates the quirkiest alternative comics full of philosophy and surrealism. I also sampled 40 pages of Al Crow goodness in Little Essays Towards the Truth, a comic book or two (a Giant-Sized Defenders #3, written with great aplomb by my man Gerber), then Sorry!


You know this game? You not only capture and send other players back to start, but you even have the Sorry! Card that lets you swap from Start to wherever your opponent was! Obviously, some trash talking and teasing fills out the four color experience.

4 rounds we played, while a 60’s hits compilation I found spun nearby. Four, so they could both have a win a piece with my two. It is nice to be the “villain” sometimes, when you bring together loved ones. This entire trip through my kingdom had been about the loved ones brought together by my life, had reconnected the little network with love and support and fun.

Four parts together all day: it was thematic.

Angela and I walked in the midnight cool through the neighborhood. Two houses a day---at least here, where she could stake out with her computer games for a few hours and play with the dogs, things were quiet, as sometimes, that is the point of a vacation.

Good Times



It wasn’t saving the world...or was it?


A little treat lay in store for us in the back yard: the hot tub’s still hooked up, if not especially hot. We take a detour to the Dollar General, where I find two awesome little Marvel comics shirts with art from back in the old school days, and they turn out to be 1.50 each! I know the one with the six heroes is probably the one he’d like, and I don’t mind the Iron Man; heck, I felt a little like I bought it for the kid I was who learned to come shopping and ask for nothing so well.



Two cool-ass shirts, on the way to coming up with a swim suit for Angela. She hopes at this point we’ll be swimming with Sabrina at her mom’s pool. Man, eight days based out of the Cave alone, with all the books and props and ideas and energy and viewpoints overlooking the valley and a pool down the street?


Are you KIDDING me? You could not set up a better place to set me loose that Gypsy Cave. All it needs is a box of comic books, and heck, after Angela gets out of the hot tub, I break out one to read there.
It just happens to be the very first issue of ROM, which has never been reprinted. It’s kinda how many people imagine we Americans live every day, but for me, this is my improvised everywhere vacation, the first we’ve had of any kind in many years. This is a set of elements so perfect it could only come together just this way this time. I don’t wonder much how things would be if I were there to enjoy it every day. I can’t imagine living there and not being compelled to be here in California. That’s just the way it became, before I even got here, and weather and will permitting, I’m brushing against a lot of my dreams. Alone, this was a moment so quiet, I could be nowhere else. We’d had a nice, quick walk, too, before coming in to change, so it’s the type of moment I should go back and live as an antidote to worrying about things truly beyond my power.

You’re imagining this misunderstood, mind blowing space knight standing in a real countryside, while disguised alien enemies try to prod us to destroy our self-deputized savior. You’re there with the young woman in the middle of it, as the fusilage flies and she uncovers evidence that this strange being has spoken a story true. Though she is now in his confidence, without a word he flies away, and Brandy Clark is filled with adrenaline and doubt. There are satellites flying out of sight overhead, and TV antennae on the rooftops spread down the country roads, just beyond the sounds of the battle. It is an age with far less media. It is a time then more ripe to be taken over by carefully placed enemies of humankind. It’s 1979 and summer’s ended and as the days pass into their cooler counterparts, life goes on without knowledge of the secret war in its midst.


Without much steam, I could enjoy being outdoors while reading about Brandy Clark and ROM’s encounter with the National Guard, with dry fingers and a cool drink nearby.



Speaking of National Guard, a fine reason to get out and spend 5 o’clock getting dry is my old friend David is on his way straight over from work. He’s already texted you needn’t bring a thing but yourself, but we’ve got him covered where it counts. We’ll soon all be going for a walk, and with me comes a flood of memories and the spirit of who we were in gettin here, two poking bellies filled with laughter and memories of what we called friendships and adventures. Oh! He did that gig several years out of high school, along with attaining a degree in physical therapy---National Guard. My friend drove a fucking tank.


We met girls and rocked out, harbored ideals and a drifting gravitation towards self-awareness, my friend the biggest cynic I trusted who had such an unerring sense of right and wrong and buried so many hatchets with loved ones, driving us sans air conditioning to the house, windows down, laughs, an echo of time killed too deeply to need burying.

I can not express to you how much we laughed. How much fun they find in their sons, even if they are tempted to the shit-bird side of choice now and then. Man, they care so much about how those boys come out, and their attention’s given so freely day to day that I’m sure it’s rather exceptional that someone’s showed up to be the temporary center. I’m holding together friends, generations, little kids that remember me for my voice from our one real time in each other’s company. I’d just buried my Dad, and that night it was so cool to feel full of love and friendship and kindness and wisdom and see so clearly that, given a chance, it was good to pass that to another Dad, another Mom, who might could do with a friend on this road on which we all kill time.

This time, it's all about playing with the dog, talking old times and new, fixed up kid cars and blown bicycle tires mistaken for a shot (or was it?), beautiful golden arachnids and bubbles blown across the yard.

How much more fun was it then this time, to be over before sunset, having a beer then going for a bounce on the trampoline, thoughtfully cleared for weight purposes by the boys, while David said, “go hop on and relive a little bit of your childhood.” You see, for a regular guy, he is like a god in his gift for giving childhood to people. Don’t remember your own? Talk to Dave. He still remembers how to have a good time. If all we can do with the time is kill it, if the best we can do is save our responsibilities with love, if we’re all just passing this way---why don’t we make it fun? All I mean is, from the moment Amy wrote to say let us know when you’re coming to town to this one where I remember the day we had in the middle, it’s one expression of a never-ending supply that will replenish you with hope, the energy for a little fine tuning.


It’s nearly Halloween, now, a favorite time around that house, where the kids make a killing in goodies and costumes and play take highest priority (well, along with safety, of course!). It’s so cool to have a household where the family thing’s happening in a style reminiscent of the people with whom we spent so much time with on the rest of the way up here to adulthood. Being an adult also means we share Amy’s bean casserole and sit up extra late, which becomes a little walk which comes back to the big living room for a viewing of Woodstock: the Movie, a treat I’d never seen, complete with Dave-O dancing and singing along and my head tingling all the way through the chanted “Hear Me, See Mee, Feel Me.” There weren’t nearly as many goofy photos as there would’ve been if we’d been tying one on weekend style, but every beer I did have on the way to midnight was tasty.

Man, they did not plan to sit up that late, but there we were awake, there we were as just a one-night only engagement, and man is it a good thing Dave-o doesn’t go to bed at 4:40 am before workdays on a regular basis, but that’s what it took for him to complete burning me about 50 albums of my choice to go with a disc loaded with great comics. About two weeks from now, I am going to back primarily at the drawing board and it will be good to have all that music. But the funny thing is, I am addicted to cheap copies of old comic “floppies” and it will be a change reading them the way most people do these days! I just feel so obliged to type or be drawing from a photograph or screwing around reading and sending messages, when I use this laptop. It can do this, another amazing thing I’ll enjoy. You look at it from the point of view of, let’s say, 1979, and you have such an amazing array of media at your fingertips, just for FREE.


But one thing I don’t try to do is read too much at a time on a screen. I've saved a little bit of the world, at any rate, for you. It's the part I cared about.

This is just getting verbose.

Nice, my neighbor Janice just knocked on my door with more free food than I can shove in either mini-fridge. Window's open, writing's going well. Excellent. I belong here very much.

Verbose as fuck! Yup, you seem to fit right in with these miscreants...twas a fun night/morning, indeed!

http://ceaseill.blogspot.com/2010/10/time-together.html I slept morning after Holt! 's and read that afternoon until Papa Bear trucked up to Rome to fetch us down to 2112 (First Avenue).
These people here took me walking everywhere. We practiced inking. We played some of our favorite songs.

Kudzu Mt. Party Time


The afternoon as we walked and came back and played songs on our guitars, Poppa told me about refurbishing his Dad's two guitars. I learned the old house isn't set up for practicing any Pete Townshend-style leaps, though since I stopped after one, I merely listened in on Poppa's strategy to get the house leveled again. He's come up with a lot of things that work, and I've seen him fix a lot of things in day-to-day life. He loves problem solving and be friendly in general. Just classic.

Making things up as they went along, a call to Andy was something I took too seriously. I was sure we'd end up talking a long time, and sure enough we finally did as I watched the nephews and niece play at the park next to their house in Goodyear Village.

I wanted to give him a time and place and really practice and prepared to be prepared. Andy is so easy going, he puts me to shame. He took time to come over; he found CiCi and I in the park as I stayed on the phone with him towards finding us. We got out the instruments but had about an hour to go through messing around on instruments. It became quite fun for everyone: Christina sang a song she's practiced for Angela, the kids all tried out the instruments, and Andy and Poppa hit it off famously.


Boy would that flower of an hour pass away on the stream like a floating petal. Andy liked my songs; we'd even been working on a similar progression and rhythm for one each. Too bad I couldn't catch up with him earlier in the week, but I was sensitive to people not feelin left out. But I'd geared up for a coffeehouse type show over at the Gypsy Cave, and I figured we'd keep taking turns playing stuff and see if, since I was the one wishing to showcase our Integr8d Soul Songs.

I think with three or four practices we would've had a pretty good show together. I liked swapping out playing songs, and of course Sabrina had lots of iTunes on hand, as it is a Cave staple.
In the effort to make it nice for everyone, I got Mom to come down from Rome; she said she'd even take the kids back to Rockmart, so I got an additional wish: the Clark Kids would get to come. We'd get to spend the night! And maybe we could get some other friends to come over.

Well, it turned out we had plenty of people. Mom stayed a little while but had already decided, while driving Angela and CiCi over behind Andy, Me, David and Austin, she would just drive home by herself soon. Poor Angela, she felt pretty sad, and i was up in the car ahead. I actually had to be neutral to fit in, because Andy and the Clark Brothers were on the level together cracking up and making twenty miles of jokes all the way to Cave Spring.


Still, I was so glad the Clark Kids got to visit Gypsy Cave. First, we all had pound cake together and it was a real party atmosphere in a sweet sort of way. You cannot help but find the Cave stimulating! Andy and I talked about how much John Lennon would love to be there.
Well, soon we got Mom backed out and headed to Rome around dark. The children were playing with Finn; they found the house on Kudzu Mountain a wonderful place to run and play games and there was so much energy, riding down the driveway. CiCi visited Darby a little while, and they played dolls. Five minutes later, CiCi told her, "you don't play them right!" Sabrina, upon hearing of this, said Darby used to say the same thing to her sometimes at that age.

I made sure we played Angela's "Double Jeoparme" and "Luck", also the first song I played when invited Monday. "Somethin Not Quite There" evolved when we blew the dust off it for a few days before travelling; it's close to a nice recording.

I got a chance to play as many songs as possible up to about 11:30pm; Anna was glad the Clark young'uns were having a good time and it sounded like we'd make it back at a reasonable time. There was a bit of kicked back, exhausted confession, too, as my bond with Eric just continued to reveal itself. I was actually ready for a day of study and work! Yet how could I begrudge my family and friends this time to bond together, establishing bonds that could echo in meaning and love in times to come?

Before I got to "Times Like These" time and time again, David was on the verge of tears with regret at leaving. That was a really honest reaction. Poor Eric probably feels that way a bit at some point every day, having found all the heaven on Earth necessary for him to continue on. David didn't want this great time to close, for this was uncommonly good. Angela consoled him, and let him know we will make more times together. He felt better. Resiliant David.


Andy drove cool as he could, to avoid us being pulled over without a seat for every child, which we almost had, really, by an half-ass. Three kids and an adult was just a bit more than Andy had come prepared to drive with, but in his good natured way he hung in there and we cut up about half as intently on the way back from a place he dearly loved.


Ron and I ended up in a conversation about our original way of becoming aware of sex in our non-communicative upbringings, and how he'd sat all the kids down of age at once to do an Afterschool Special. Did I mention the Clark kids got to spend the night? They all out lasted me. While Angela and her mom got a rare chance to sit up and talk a couple of hours, I read the very first X-O Manowar story in a trade I'd brought with me and conked out hard, preparing for the big picnic.

[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SrGR475oOqw[/youtube]]
It was actually past time for me to sit down and eat, but one more...
http://ceaseill.blogspot.com/2010/10/ce ... ndeed.html

[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JbX__G3QXAI[/youtube]

http://ceaseill.blogspot.com/2010/10/pe ... icnic.html

and more at the blog in my sig. I'm waiting for more videos of the songs!

http://ceaseill.blogspot.com/2010/10/pe ... icnic.html for more pictures, too.

Next time we'll announce it three months out. People don't do events spontaneously much back there!

[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8tI34nqPOtI&feature=share[/youtube]
On the other side of Heaven's Door, there's a picnic...
Homegrown "Have You Ever Seen the Rain?" with my Georgia people.

There's an itty bitty
write up on the Ceaseill
blog, but lots more photos.

What can you say? There's no time to completely rest your guard: in the moment, there's people every where, another terminal, another destination, another leg of the trip.
(Lots of sky pictures at http://ceaseill.blogspot.com/2010/11/an ... rport.html )

My crazy Mom. She meant well. She got up at 4 am to give us a ride, after one last late night playing Sorry. We'd told Dixie and Charlie goodbye, had a fun time talking about our church experiences while we waited on Mom to come back to the house from church herself. On little sleep but much excitement, we closed off that last night we'd given to the lady who made our trip possible...and discovered she underestimated the time it'd take to get to the airport...in the drizzle... .



So, the day we'd planned to arrive in San Diego and then hit the beach to close off the holiday with rest turned into a ten hour stay at the airport. I remember sleeping in places only the desperate can make sleepable, if that were a word. I wanted to ask someone to come rescue us, but we stuck it out, with texts to Sabrina and a call to Mom that went to her voice mail, though we found her visiting at 2012, as we talked to Poppa and laughed off the inconvenience, after I spent a few minutes "plotting subtle revenge against Mom", as I put it in text. Good enough we were safe and sound, and so was Mom.

We talked about the night Angela stayed up to visit with her Mom, who's not always awake these days. We looked back on the whole trip, still part of our addled minds, read about Laurence O'Donnell's new show we've been waiting to see and a NY Times review of the Michael Douglas thriller. In our haze, we looked up and saw as beautiful a woman as you could ask to see, in her nice travel close, who smiled down at us as she passed, understanding. We enjoyed people watching until we slept away some of the time. My chinese lunch hit the spot, and I stayed awake with Bodhisatva. We had a fun conversation with the book store attendant, about her time in Georgia and our upcoming comic book, D'n'A.


On the flight out to Denver, I watched Karate Kid silently over the shoulder of the fellow in the next row. Sleepless still, we happily boarded the flight from the flat planes into the remainder of twilight over the Coast. I drew our funny, cool stewardess on my bev nap, which so flattered her she offered me my choice of drinks, finally bringing me a beer, affably. I tried my next profile of another, to be fair,only to watch her throw it away unconsciously, then tease me, "I see you made one for her, how about one for me?" "That was it that you just threw away," I said, grinning sheepishly. I knocked out a third as we gazed out over the lights of San Diego. Balboa Park looked close enough to touch as we glided lower and lower towards Charles Lindbergh Field by the harbor.

We finally got touchy and cranky before finding the bus away from the airport, as we tried the walk she'd suggested. The things that made me sad about my trip came falling from my mouth, but we both knew what we were talking about...and what is any of that? My sickness of demeanor would translate into a pretty tough crash---but at least the crash came at home sweet home. And, stepping off at 9th and Broadway, we had some good Valentine's food before we even made it to the Apartment of Ideas.

The next morning, the sweet music of Woodstock, the sound of the Who, the afterglow o
our time together with our loved ones leaving one final ...oh, what would you call it, when you're awake but wrapped in the stuff of dreams? You know in that moment, as day to day life carries you from those treasured days, you will look upon those moments together, the precious hospitality, the laughs, the hugs and kisses, the sensation of living with them in the moment, and choose never to forget.

On the flight out to Denver, I watched Karate Kid silently over the shoulder of the fellow in the next row. Sleepless still, we happily boarded the flight from the flat planes into the remainder of twilight over the Coast. I drew our funny, cool stewardess on my bev nap, which so flattered her she offered me my choice of drinks, finally bringing me a beer, affably. I tried my next profile of another, to be fair,only to watch her throw it away unconsciously, then tease me, "I see you made one for her, how about one for me?" "That was it that you just threw away," I said, grinning sheepishly. I knocked out a third as we gazed out over the lights of San Diego. Balboa Park looked close enough to touch as we glided lower and lower towards Charles Lindbergh Field by the harbor.


We finally got touchy and cranky before finding the bus away from the airport, as we tried the walk she'd suggested. Well, you could chalk it up to me being an asshole to a tired person; I was just as tired myself, but I had given in and given myself a little disadvantage in our tough physical situation.

What set me off? Well, the security guy said the bus was picking up back there (where we shoulda gone) and over there...but we didn't find the over there. Then Sweetie gave a call back to tell someone we'd made it.
But then she mentioned someone was "mad for us" that we'd been stuck at the airport all day and missed our first flight. I didn't want anyone mad for us. That made me mad. No one's perfect. The subconscious churns.

The beer probably brought me down just a little too much---not just after being awake and travelling most of the past 20 hours, only hydrated as little as possible, being nowhere too comfortable---and nine days without being naked except in the shower---and I knew, I passed on it more than once: waay too tired to process a beer. But I wanted to complete the vignette; I let her bring me that. She offered me whatever mixed drink I'd like, and I nearly made it a juice instead. You have to know your limits. And Jaysis, were we tired and hungry. Being such pals all day was just shy of amazing! But not a complete surprise.

My explosive overture of irritation couldn't have come at a worse time; my throat was already packing up from exposure to some crap in Georgia, well-used Saturday singing all evening, and ruined the rest of the way by sleeping in the airport. But it didn't last. I like her too much. And I had to admit, Mom had genuinely pissed me off, too, being late with us. You want to give a person space for making a mistake; you have to laugh...if I'd been p.o.'d the whole time I was stuck, I would've had a bad day. I mean you try to live with some grace and dignity and humor, you know? So: over in five minutes.

The things that made me sad about my trip came falling from my mouth, but we both knew what we were talking about...and what is any of that? My sickness of demeanor would translate into a pretty tough crash---but at least the crash came at home sweet home. And, stepping off at 9th and Broadway, we had some good Valentine's food before we even made it to the Apartment of Ideas.

The next morning, the sweet music of Woodstock, the sound of the Who, the afterglow o
our time together with our loved ones leaving one final ...oh, what would you call it, when you're awake but wrapped in the stuff of dreams? You know in that moment, as day to day life carries you from those treasured days, you will look upon those moments together, the precious hospitality, the laughs, the hugs and kisses, the sensation of living with them in the moment, and choose never to forget.