Learn to draw Texino!

Hi Tomas Texino here with a valuable offer for the new year!  Be an artist! That's right.  You can live a wacky life style and make big money while your at it.

Now if you are like me, you will spend this Christmas all depressed wracking your brains trying to figure out when it all went South for you in the first place.  Then come New Years, you will become a raging drunk screaming at the sky about how THIS YEAR you'll show the fuckers!

Well show them dammit by becoming an artist like me.  Think about it for a minute.  You just do exactly what you want under the aegis (Magical Shield) of artistic license and people will be dying to hang out with you and be your friend or lover for all the wrong reasons.  Thanks OK because you WILL NEED TO GROW so once those bothersome romances come to a grinding halt because the "other" has figured out you are just like any standard issue slug on the street, except possibly more self centered and sloppy, there will be someone else who wants a bit of your magic and, if you play your cards right, your former fool will throw your keys at you and storm out and you will not have change the first lock!  There are many different types of art.  OK?

Well since drawing pictures is one common artistic genre, why not test you talent with the Texi-Test of Artistic potential and draw the "Cartoon Texino" boxcar tag. The very same "tag" that Texino left hundreds of places along the rails crisscrossing this great land as  he traveled here and there just doing things for "Kicks"  So lets start out with a nice clean piece of paper.  The kind of paper that a computer printer uses is just fine now take a pencil and draw a nice  flat figure 8 sign lying on its side.  Make it long too.  You can turn the paper sideways to make it easier.  In real life you would tag with a piece of chalk standing up so drawing that 8 would be very easy.  OK?  Fine. Now the next thing is draw an egg standing with its pointy end up and make sure the place where the 8 crosses it self is right about the middle.  Now you have Texino's head wearing a hat!  Pretty cool, but that's art for you.  All that is left to make old Texi come alive is draw some lines for his eyes, nose and mouth then make a line at the crown of his hat, put a smoke in his mouth and some smoke rings rising up and HEY NOW! It's Texino!

Are you an artist now?  Well, yes.  In fact you were an artist before you even took the test.

 il faut d'abord durer  Now go on and figure that bit of French out.  It's probably good advice artist or no artist, even if it did come from Ernest Hemingway

Silly-Ill give you Silly

You know me. T. Texino, funny fellow with a word or a goofy idea. If you have heard my radio gig then you know that I do little morality plays for Canadian College Radio.
If you have to be around me for any amount of time, I would not blame you if you thought that I was kind of queer, like silly. I know that is true because there is a certain type of woman and some men who just don't like me. The women are the sort who like to egg men on to fight each other and who sometime go really far to pick the sort of fight with a boyfriend where the poor slob gets so tied up with the mixed signals he may just smack her upside the head. There really are some women like that and the can't stand me because I see right through their act, so they try and get to me by saying I'm goofy or queer. That doesn't happen too often anymore. Why?
Well, it suddenly occurred to me that guys my age are  running the world and I doubt if they are making up very many cute stories or acting fey around the sort of gal whose Bf might be doing a stretch for the state. Take Marxist revolutionary Earnesto "Che" Guvera as portrayed here by master painter Micaelangelo Sciotto.
I doubt if "Che" had too many silly sessions in his short life. Unless you think going from the promising career of medical student to "Grand Prosecutor" of Castro's Cuban Revolution as silly. I mean sure the inequity between the rich and the poor is a bummer, but as a doctor a guy could help out more directly than say being an executioner for a dictator who had just deposed a dictator for being a dictator. Seems that the ricochet romance of the revolution seems to go over big with the offspring of the well to do. They end up being the bosses and getting the cool hats.

The peasants are still peasants. Revolution may give them a place to live and free medicine. But peaseants usually have a place to live to start with and medical reform is less traumatic than a civil upheaval to get universal care. You know what I'm sayin?

See I have governing skills and am not silly all the time. And if tough women don't like my less than macho approach, well fuck them.  I sort of think sex is behind that whole domestic violence deal anyway.  So watch out who you call what because you never know when the object of your wise-ass remarks might be all Blogged up and ready to bust a revolution on your head.

Figure it out!

Maybe I just like to dance

So I have become a whirling dervish.  So what?  No harm in giving it a whirl I always say.  I mean back in the sex days I had my fun.  I got no partner for that sort of playtime now, so I figure this whirling dervish gig wight give me some release or place me into some sort of jolly trance.  Those Dervish fellows over there seem pretty happy and even though I have noticed that certain christians seem sort of blissed out, you never here much about that Jesus fellow laughing.  I mean your average Dr.'s office religious story book might show the Aryan Savior smiling at Dick and Jane or Mary's little lamb but you never here of him telling any knee slapping jokes although he does show up in a couple about golf.  Now yes I know that the whirling dervishes are some kind of Muslins, but I do not think they are the ones who would order your death for calling your kitty cat Mohammed.  They might be, however, so please don't send me any overt religious presents while I'm away at whirling dervish boot camp.  Also, since this dervish outfit is in Turkey, I have figured it out that the chances of decent and cheap opiates are a foregone conclusion so what else could a guy like me want?  Precious little folks and that's a fact.  I'll stay in touch.  And remember, when life gets tough, take a little spin.

TT

All Y'all immigrants Come on down!

Last night I had me this dream.  I was either a dial phone or the cylender of a revolver and when all the numbers get dialed or the bullets got shot, I was going to die.  I kept waking up alive, so I must have had the wrong number or nothing to shoot at.  Or perhaps the dream meant something else; Like a grocery list or a pachinko machine.  No matter, because I've decided that I want to give up my place in this great society to some foreign immigrant family and get the fuck out of here.  How come?  Well the season Political advertisements is a good time to plant a foot.  If that isn't a good enough reason to beat it, give public radio a listen; you are sure to get a hint that this country is running on empty.  Point?  You want proof? OK today I was listening to Mrs. Francis Ford Coppola who since she had that job in 1992 can't possibly still be hitched up to the famous filmster.  Anyway, Mrs. C. was going on about how Mr. C.  while making the giant movie Apocalypse Now which is a film adaptation of the novel Heart of Darkness by Mr. J. Conrad except set against the American adventure of Vietnam.  Now, I don't think the movie was really supposed to be about what it turned out to be about, it just got that way because certain actors like Mr. Marlon Brando and M. Dennis Hopper were so messed up on either being too fat or too fucked up on dope to do the job of work they had been hired to do, that Mr. F.F.C.  just had to write in new parts and change the whole idea of the film thereby spending millions of dollars or I should say wasting millions of dollars making a film that I could never watch which probably means it was pretty good theatre but also means it is so wastefully American that it makes a guy like me who is down to his last dime want to bail out of this pit of paranoia and hit the dusty roads of the established third world with my pension paid in gold  a  rifle made from brown wood and blue steel, a sharp knife and a local dog.  Do I sound too conservative?  No.  I'm not conservative.  I'm just not blind to the fact that I don't belong here anymore and I just as soon spend my days in a bear free zone.  That's my desire, so you know some nice Africans or Chinamen or Chicanos who want to buy a house near a beach, a couple of cars some American clothes and a guitar collection.  Tell them to wire texino@gmail.com  I ready to deal.

TT