*racingspoons

cornman to come alive

on live journal, as many of you may know and are currently involved in, there is a "contest" where participants are to draw the same character for 6 months. a sketch a day as it were. so cornman, the real world incarnation "melvin maiz" and his omniversal counterpart "cornman," will be appearing as scraps at various times. some of the other stuff is going to lie still.

gonna try to step up the drawing all around and the writing. i'm sure i'll still put out a few abstract/psychedelics of my natural/not-so-natural subjects, but there going to be cut back quite a bit. some real drawings should be showing up as i progress. the thing is, sketching (quick little pieces of characters without the details that i drive myself crazy over) are not my forte. so hold your criticisms for a good month, till i get the hang of it.

and yes, i am a college grad who never learned to sketch. my methods are mysterious and, though they do involve what some would consider sketches from time to time, i do drawing after drawing to figure out what the heck i'm up to. the first sketch i did for this whole thing has a few tears right through the paper. not human tears, the rippy kind.

so there you go. watch a frustrated, heavy-handed oaf hopefully find his way through to a style that befits cornman, melvin, and himself (ie. id, ego, and superego.)

gray matter zoo pt.1, my story, published

i am looking for friends and gonnections on myspace as well. just search with the above email address or with my name: Stephen Huczek.

all i can say is cyber publishing bestowed upon me the heretical honor of "vonnegutesque.". i just want a part of the guy (kurt vonnegut, jr.) to live on is all, and mimicry is the sincerest form of flattery. given the good fortune of having part of the piece electronically published, i think kurt isn't too upset wherever he is or wherever he isn't. may he rest in peace, or however else he would most like to spend his post-mortem days, beyond the effects of his immortal literary genius.

the periodical is american fiction. in the introduction they said they hit the jackpot this month. i am not the main focus, but its still nice to be considered a prize on some level or another.

no exclusive rights are held by the publisher. there are two parts still up for first-printing/e-publishing grabs if anyone is interested. of course the periodical who published it would have first dibs, but they are focused on giving new writers exposure and readers new pieces from all angles.

the story was originally seen at the following address:

[link]

check the site out if you get a chance.

granted, i would love to have seen this piece in print, but at least we're saving trees, unless you're still using one of those wood-burning computers in which case you better wake up or otherwise transport yourself back to the real world so you can be carried away from it once again by "The Gray Matter Zoo." i am truly grateful and beyond ecstatic about my work finding a place in the american fiction online publication.

and in case you are wondering just how much of a fan of vonnegut's i really am, i think i spoke more about him and his work than i did about my wife on our wedding day in my vows/manifesto. sorry lynda.

steve

take what little i have, and be empty

I'm sure many of you have already heard about the orphan works legislation and/or have been privy to a post or two regarding some "worthy/ necessary measures." And what you heard was most likely bad. I'm about to make a different point that has probably been made all over the place as well. But lets beat this dead horse. Brain it. With all the pollutants metaphorical and real we need to be sure that this thing never gets the chance to wobble its way back onto its undead hoofs.

The idea is this: works out there, both visual and literary, have no name on them. No copyright holder. No benficiary.

I'm sure this is true. People die and give up on certain aspects of there life, including writing and painting and sculpting and video taping their shenanigans for posterities sake and such, and so the pieces they leave behind are unattended as it were. Or as the argument no doubt purports, is snatched away from our lives, never to aid us in our constant search for transcendental serenity or nirvana or sainthood or whatever else the kids are calling it these days

Beyond the fact that some pieces very likely were meant by the artist, copyright holder if you will, for a single pair of eyes or two or however many; people are not barred from taking these found pieces and displaying them for their own enjoyment or for the enjoyment of those around them. If scavengers, however, are using these pieces for profit in any form, be it to create more traffic in their gallery or blatently placing an image of it in one of their publications and anything in between, this is not showing a genuine concern for the betterment of society. It shows greed. Pure and unadulterated.

To convince me otherwise would be to convince me that society owns my home, my socks, my soul.

What is so, as the federal government puts it, "worthy" about this subject. It should have been shut and closed by whoever thought about it rationally for one moment. The only possible reason anyone could want this to go through is because they're sitting on a goldmine. Maybe following an artist such as Cezanne who would finish a painting, look at it for a second, decided that it is not worthwhile in any way, shape, or form; and chucked it over his back. Never turning back. If these things are so valuable, the ones making a fuss about it should be hosting a website that displays these pieces and allow the orignal artists to claim them. Not sure how they'd prove it was their work, but that is yet another insurmountable glitch in the orphan works legislation.

And though people will surely contest this, the orphan works hullabaloo will make it easier for artist's work to be stolen. The terms "reasonable search" and "low-cost" or "capped fine" say it all.

On to the State of Michigan. The government of which has no place for these terms in their vocabulary. Their citizen's are foreclosing on their houses left and right, the mayor of its largest city (in which I reside) is meanwhile raising funds to defend him against his inevitable incarceration (that is if there is such a thing as justice in this world anymore.Or should I say this city. This is getting depressing. I'll stop now), roadwork is being redone everywhere; yet the state (and now I'm talking tax collection) is terrorizing its citizens as is the city. My mom's an accountant. I work in an accountant's office. The things I've seen... almost as bad as when I worked at the pain clinic.

The State comes up with arbitrary (apparently Michiganeze for insanely high) sums that they are sending out notices for taxpayers to pay before they even process that period's returns. Holding grossly overpaid sums and threatening to levy assets for single business taxes.

No institutionalized system, great or small, seems to be let me down. In that I assume they will let me down.

Sadly, anarchy may be the only way my friends. People just don't get what their doing. And if they do, I really don't know what to say.

jen sygit: singer/songwriter/voice from the past

sunday the 13th i went to see an old acquaintance of mine. jen. jen sygit.

to me she was always jenny. things change. that is, in the music biz.

jenny is an “alterna-country” singer now. there’s more to the music than that, and more to her in general from what i’ve gathered. the country theme is fitting though, given her origins. our origins. we were both misplaced souls in a sea of polo-clad preppies and mindless, bored rednecks. in some ways we were them, for nothing else to be. in more ways we despised them for their unapologetic existences. their mean spirited humor, their homophobia, their undeserved sense of accomplishment and well-being and arrogance and deprevation.

there really wasn’t much that we gained from our high school experience… at the time. i can’t speak for her, but i found the entire span of that last four years as a sign that life is, was, and ever shall be entirely meaningless. now i realize that this is only true for the ones who allow it to be. a great deal of our former classmates for example.

i shouldn’t say that. but i just did. doubt any of those soulless scavengers would think twice about saying worse about me. and picking me apart piece by piece. ah, the memories. I really can’t say though. i skipped my reunion. so did jen.

they may have grown. but my gut tells me that even if they have, our old town is still producing those little plastic punks by the hundreds. punks, not of the revolutionary ear-popping variety, who will settle down where they began, with a job at the local plastics factory, themselves becoming a metaphoric version of their place of employment. putting out more and more little intolerant figurines.

what i’ve learned from all this, from reflecting on the whole mess, is that this world needs help. the local politics, for example, were a reflection of politics on a national scale. the popular kids got what they wanted, and riches could easily buy popularity. need was often overshadowed by a desire to please. to please oneself and those they sought to impress. if i ever decide to give up on the revolutionary train of thought i could probably make a killing. hell, maybe i can make a killing without selling my soul. stranger things have happened. though not as many as i’d like to think.

it’s no surprise jen got as far as she did. and without the kissing up and the game-playing. earlier i said that we were acquaintances. i had always thought a great deal of her, and i believe she was relatively fond of me as well. she seemed genuinely happy to see me last sunday anyway. but i can’t say we were friends. i doubt very many people could. she was very focused and in that, though she may have wanted to, she did not seem to take much me time (or should I say her time). of course the joy of singing and playing guitar and all i’m sure brought her a great deal of pride and enjoyment.

i mourn my childhood because of my neuroses, not my drive to draw or paint or write. hers was put to great use, though there may have been things she missed out on. i did get the sense she was wiser beyond her years, as comes through in her lyrics from time to time.

we spoke, as people do. i kept bringing up her career, because i was excited to see someone making a living of their art in any capacity. she kept the subject away from all that when she could, but didn’t seem annoyed with me or my wife when we asked her about it. we were in the presence of a relatively well-known, well-versed song writer/ singer. one that i had known at least a little, whom i had liked and admired ever since i had met.

*

i bought her album. her second album! i’ve sold a logo or two and that’s about it. if you can’t tell by now i am jealous. she’s sold two little discs of sound and magic. jen always had a voice on her, and here she has several. they’re not so much contradictory as expressing a variety of emotional places. most important she can play with her voice as attracts me to such female vocalists as ani difranco and fiona apple.

the songs have energy, a quality which seems to be increasingly difficult to find among the songstresses i have encountered recently. some have the kind of old fashioned clippity-clop country melodies, some are rockin’ on their own merit, and one even holds its own with no music at all. I would say that makes up for the one instrumental if i didn’t enjoy that as well.

i can’t say the lyrics are perfect, but i am difficult to please in this respect. sometimes i find myself embarrassed for even my absolute favorite stylists such as ani or fiona apple or brad of sublime or jack johnson. The songs are moving and have some original rhythms and clever twists. i would recommend the album to pretty much anybody except my conservative sister and brother-in-law as the songs do have a bit of a liberal bent.

enough about art, but art is life... there's no escaping it.

the other day i was having another breakdown. i know i haven't mentioned much in the way of my personal life on this page, but i, as millions of americans per the television which we know is always spot on, am afflicted with the silent killer known as depression. luckily, when you die inside, you can be resuscitated. you go much further.... we won't go into that.

haven't even tried. doubt i ever will. if i do it will be a truly post-apocalyptic moment. mutants or zombies or hostile alien takeovers or governmentally mandated cults.

here's what i've been doing to chase the ghosts away. i say "no." simple. easy. "no." there's no reason to be sad, to suffer as i am. i've got it pretty good. a brother-in-law nice enought to employ me full time, a loving and devoted wife (and with a pair of depressives that's really saying something), a goofy little metaphor named silly pouncing around and making sense of the world better that you or i.

ah. to have those puppy's eyes.

but to get back to the point i was making (i am one for a digression or two) is that if you aren't knee deep in the dead or dying, if you aren't fighting for survival in a very physically exhausting and decidedly dangerous way, there is no reason to be sad. at least for an extended period. say, the better part of the last three years.

yes, there is such a thing as brain chemistry and it does knock you off your psychological buttocks if its out of whack. but you can pull yourself up, as my wife has been trying to get through my thick skull for such a long, long time.

if i was in iraq or afghanistan i believe i would be perfectly justified as i would only visit those places if there were a draft. and to all those folk, pushed into it or not, i feel very sorry for the situation our government has created. its probably pretty hard to keep the s-word out of your head when your confronted with s-bombers or the possibility of such every day.

remember the protestors, the writers, the comics, the politicians, the hippies, the pacifists, we are not angry with you. not even if you believe in what you are doing. at least then you can keep your head up high and all.

we are angry with our leaders. and to get back on track, to the point of this little entry as it were, anger is one of the most misdirected, misinterpretated, and misinformed emotions in the human inventory.

always check your inventory. there's a great deal of junk that should go the way of television, music and, yes, the arts. down the porcelain portal to the underworld.

when anger is directed at you (or you force yourself to believe so on a daily basis) there is a feeling of despair that is difficult to vanquish. i'm of the false fury school of thought, creating the rejection that i was so used to in high school.

but that's that. if people are angry they can say "no" to. they can do what they need to do, just as a depressive must to survive. anyway, if you are reading this, hope this wasn't too much of a downer. if you're not: how's it going. i've been doing okay at least for the past couple days, which is all that counts from now on.