Out of the frying pan and into the frying pan

Gary Martin and I restored this beat up old neon sign for our friend Steve Wertheimer's brand new club back around 1987.

Back then, we'd go to meet up with Steve at the Watson - Casey Group where he worked as a CPA. Then he would take us over to look at “the club”.

As I was taking photos and rummaging around the joint, I remember Steve, sitting all alone at a table in that filthy abandoned dungeon of a place. I suppose he was master minding what was to be today, the most famous and historically significant music institution in Austin. Now revered as "the grandaddy of all local music venues".

That vision of Steve's, has helped solidify what is so extraordinary about Austin's music scene today as "The live music capital of the world" ... So if you ever go there, just look up on the bottom of the sign and you'll see us, were still there - "Martin Signs & Beneon" or something like that.

Ahhh, those were good days my friends.

Cut to my next life...

I think this is where I'll begin my story.

Back in 1993 my old pal Chris Layton of "Double Trouble" suggested that I dare myself to rent a PA system and play original songs during the opening night of my art exhibit at the Blue Star complex in San Antonio.

And what a great idea that was!

After the show my friend Heidi Goebel remarked that I looked as though I was breathing pure oxygen up there on the stage. No truer words have ever been spoken and so I have performed at my show's openings ever since.

As a visual artist, it's hard enough to put together an exhibit that makes any sense, especially if a performance is included in the mix. Now throw in the fact that the show just happens to be in Austin at the Continental Club; AND you've managed to have it open during the internationally renowned SXSW music festival.

This is a perfect storm for performance anxiety of the richest kind. A gorgeous blank page handed to me on a silver platter.
And for this one (once again, in the spirit of George Plimpton) I want to pull out all the stops if for no other reason, just for its own sake.

But here in lies a great delimma. Thanks to my soulmate and mentor of muddling through life, music and art - Jeff Ragsdale's sage advice.. (I paraphrase) "It's time to focus on what's really you in all of this Ben".

He's absolutely right..MY JOB IS TO STEP UP TO THE PLATE BY REACHING DEEP INSIDE AND DELIVERING THE REAL MCCOY, WHATEVER THAT MAY BE...





I've just been pasting together a silly variety show...I really thought I was on to something...Now I feel like David Frost just after he landed the interview with Nixon..OH SHIT MAN, NOW WHAT AM I GOING TO DO?







This is the story of "What now".

This morning I wrote this to Bob Livingston (not my dad Bob, but my new buddy from last years blog on South East Asian supernaturalism which can be found at spirithousesafari.blogspot.com

Here's an excerpt from that letter:

Hey Bob,

I have an art show coming up in March and since it's at the Continental Club, I'd like to also create a performance/show as an opening act. (It will be SXSW so the timing is perfect)

I'd really like to pick your brain about how you formed & structured the building of your Cowboys & Indians show. And then after that, I'll probably ask you to be a part of this thing somehow.

It's pretty far out there (kind of Dada style). This ought to be a fun stretch and I am digging deep for reasons why, beginning with a new blog on the subject that I think I'll call "Continental Drift".

I feel a conceptual connection between our conversation about Karma Yoga and the journey of one who's pulled by the force of an idea and always impulsively striking out into unknown territory for reasons that he can't always understand, much less, explain.

I'm suddenly interested in the contrast of objectives, like finding things without looking for them and/or the sheer love of the hunt. (Which is perhaps (in this context) virtually the same thing.

I hope that this is palatable information for you as I am relishing in this second strong-ass larapin cup of coffee.

Talk to me.

XOBen






Theatre is in my blood. I can't help it.

As the story goes, my grandmother ran away from home when she was sixteen years old. When her father found her in New York City she was getting auditions on Broadway. I'm not saying that I'm interested in that sort of thing, but I am compelled by the allure of the stage. There is a very special energy in the moment up there that draws out a part of my personality that I really enjoy experiencing. This feeling is strangely very natural to me, maybe comparable to a greyhound finally getting to run on a racetrack. I especially like the way that my memory gets better, as I hardly ever forget the words to songs…


A unique opportunity like this doesn’t come along every day and consequently it brings out my most glutinous tendencies begging thoughts of “there is so much that I want to do, and so how can I do it all!” But thanks to Jeff’s guidance, hodgepodge is not the answer. First things first, I need to dig deeper and try and put together some very personal conceptual bones for this thing… So I figure writing is the best way for me get to my inner bone yard.


Okay, here’s the dirt…


I’ve been thinking that because this place and time is so strategic for finagling a way to perform at the venerable SXSW, it’d also be a lot of fun to make a splash by creating a big publicity stunt on top of it all. Why? Because It’s in a place where despite the great mark in music history that Austin has made, things always seem the same to me, like not very interesting or entertaining. I also think that shaking things up a little over there might get some press which is one of my most favorite hobbies…

That said, in my mind, I'd be crazy not to take advantage of an opportunity like this..But What to do? And how to do it with elegant cohesion without coming off as acrimonious or bratty...

Here's an example of a place that I'm not interested in coming from.




Hum...

it seemed that he was always jumping through hoops for others instead

I'm feeling kind of crappy today. My mind is dull and I'm really tired. This feels just like when I was holed up writing in my hotel room in Laos last year so I guess I'll push on...I wish Patti was here so I could whine.

I was relaying my concerns to a friend the other night about how to get my artwork to be more authentic. She said that in the corporate world, a very common exercise is to have people write their obituary as a way to help establish goals.



She said: "What will people remember about you when you're gone?" I realize that this is not what I am after at all. It's more like right before I go, will I feel satisfied with how my life was spent...In my heart I really couldn't care less about what others will think when I go. It's before I go that I have that problem.

Obviously there is a major paradox here. On any given day it seems that all I care about is making an impression and on the other, I don't give a rat's ass about it. I've said it before: "I am cursed with a mercurial nature, I cant help it...The best I can do is to try and reconcile my beliefs through my actions.

LOL...

Be that as it may, If I did my assignment as I was instructed, I assume that my obituary might read a little something like this: Livingston was a fairly decent fellow. He had a pretty good aptitude for writing, making beautiful things and he wrote a few good songs. He had a great talent for finding interesting friends. His wife once compared him to Forrest Gump because of how he was always innocuously befriending the most amazing characters. Rather than being compelled to refine his own work for himself, it seemed that he was always jumping through hoops for others instead. He is survived by his wife, step daughter, a cat, a few very close friends and hundreds of acquaintances all around the world, three pecan trees, two live oaks and a few fish in his pond...Oh yes, and he played one hell of a raucous kazoo.

Wow, reading that obit makes me pretty sure that although it was not his intention, that Jeff has given me one hell of an inferiority complex about myself... Fuck that shit! It's time to move on and get with the program. That's NOT what he meant. Move along son.




I had a great time in Asia last year chasing down information on spirit houses because I was on top of my game. I was encouraged by my pursuit of new ideas and clues in talking with anyone that might lead to more clues that finally paid off as a big spontaneous jackpot, like for example an interpreted interview in Goey, the language of elephants as spoken by the world's oldest and most legendary mahout or elephant hunter/trainer. This was fucking great! It's time to feel that way again, timeto embrace a reckless abandon for my favorite thing...pursuit.

My latest song "Flemming Prarie" says it all:

I want me some immediate gratification
If I don't get me some soon
I'm gonna take myself another long vacation

It's been day in & day out
as I gaze in and daze out

She was a searching vine
married to the king
I once saw her reach for heaven
through the way that she looks at things

Hop up on that tuna fish can
I'll bet you can see a hundred miles
across that dried up Coletto creek bed
that's cracked into a million tiles

She got me to look
She got me to look a little
She got me to look a little bit deeper inside

I'm hungry for a midnight snack
one that'll chase that monkey off my back
I'm still looking to turn a cheap trick
and still hoping that I'll get rich quick

But she got me to look
She got me to look a little
She got me to look a little bit deeper inside

Flemming Prarie grass still does a hula dance in that south Texas breeze so fine
I'm here to tell you that Madeline O'Connor, she was a friend of mine

She got me to look
she got me to look a little
she got me to look a little bit deeper inside

deeper
deeper
deeper


It feels good to tell the truth.



I met a nice fellow named Bruce Feiler over the Christmas holidays. I went out to his place in Brooklyn to visit with him and his family about making them a sculpture. He's a New York Times #1 best selling author and he was kind enough to ask me about my Spirit house safari blog and book idea. Then he asked me if I had written a book proposal yet..I had to ask him what that was...

A book proposal is a great thing. It helps you to further understand why and what the hell it is that you are trying to write about and identify who it is that you are writing for and then why you are the best person for the job.

This stuff sure is coming up a lot these days...Which suddenly reminds me of a time a few years ago when quite a powerful mystic transfered a lot of energy to me. I felt very high from it, and consequently, even though did this without my consent, I felt grateful and asked him what I could do for him in return. He thought for a minute and said "Just be Ben"... I crashed and burned a few hours later, but I have never forgotten him saying that to me. That was the real gift. And simple as it may sound, there is a life's work in fulfilling the true profundity of that request.




HEY, THAT'S NOT ME!

Okay then, WHERE AM I???

Well it's the next day after sending this thing out at midnight last night. I woke up feeling kind of stupid for sending it, like I am really asking for it by rambling on about all this self centered personal stuff that nobody really cares about...AKA "this stuff is some major drivel." I was getting really self conscious and hearing folks in my head thinking.."he should have quit while he was ahead with the Asia thing." What a burden.

I winced, "Oh man, what have I done?!?!"

I was getting ready to shut down the whole blog to the outside world but just as I opened my gmail to sign in, lo and behold, all of these replys were there about the new blog and it was only 8:30 AM!. It's miraculous to to me to see all of this great encouragement...I can't believe it.

I guess it really does take a village. Thank God!

"Variety shows come and go, but when the ringmaster can keep the circus animals quiet and beautiful, the external and internal show is magnificent".

-Phebe Reasoner




"Continental drift, plate tectonics, assembling the ground we stand on. I couldn't figure out where to intervene in the blog (actually yours is the only blog I think I have ever read, I guess I should get out more) the show is about things coming apart in order to come together from Pangaea to Gaia, I guess. Like Terry Allen says, the lord moves in mysterious ways and tonight, my son, he's gonna take yer car. Remind me to send you some of my poetry on the very topic of yer blog. xox, G



Ahh, Come together my village voice!...Thanks for the light, It gets a little dark in here sometimes.

This writing feels like Asia all over again. I'm loving it!

I'm so pleased that folks are getting something from my writing other than a headache but this is much tougher subject matter than Spirit House Safari for me. It feels really redundant too, seems like I write the same thing over and over in different ways.. But then I suppose one generally has to chip away at a lot of worthless ore in order to get to the good stuff.

There will be mud...



I never did like getting behind the mule like this anyway, but tis obvoiously the to season plow under the old dried out crap and sew some new seeds as it seems the ground is fertile for "the next big thing" and I've been without going within for a while now.

WHOA TRIGGER!

As far as I'm concerned, there is plenty of room in the world for randomness. The surprise factor is always a blast. I think that it helps us control freaks to loosen up a little bit and accept whatever curve balls life might be throwing at us. But help me out a little here, will ya?
I just want to know this...Am I trying to loose control so that I can be more in control?
or
Am I trying to gain more just so I can loose it?

"The life's the thing"...Air Florida - just another word for nothing left to loose

Going IS knowing. And sometimes I just want to know...

Why is doing all this stuff important to me? I have no idea yet, other than I just get interested in something and then I go after it.. I remember that I always just feel compelled to get in there and see and experience things first hand..Is it simply morbid curiosity? Maybe, but because I am always so naturally willing to jump through flaming hoops to see things spectacular, I will continue my calling.

I think this information chasing obsession of mine originated in January of 1982 when I had just moved to Washington DC.

I was hired by the Washington Project for the Arts to assist in building a new performance space & gallery because of the job I did for my mom who is an awesome party designer to the degree that she was commissioned by them as an artist, to throw a party for a big “Texas” show that the “WPA” was putting on. I was a prop builder for mom back then and I managed to turn the whole place into an old timey Texas saloon and dance hall. I did a great job and with no resources other than some help from the newly inaugurated president Reagan’s bleacher committee and a lot of inspiration from being around all these real artists in there natural habitat.

Other than working week on – week off shifts 120 miles out in the Gulf of Mexico in the oil field, I had never really lived outside of Texas…



Be it ever so humble...


I had only been living there in DC for a week...The first big snow storm of the season just blew in…It was so cold that I was trying to warm up my socks by waving them over a kerosene heater and then putting them on as fast as I could to get a quickly dissapating sensation of warmth.





I was looking out the big storefront windows of the old Franklin 5 & 10 cent store that was now the WPA’s new home at all the snow floating around in the air which occasionally twisted into a furious white ghost that would spontaneously explode against a geometrical backdrop that layed up against a dim grey sky that filled in between the dark umber sillouettes of old brick brownstone buildings that stood guard to the wet black tire tracked street that was lined with black naked trees and fresh white dusted dirty frozen slush.

I think it was Petey Green (who’s radio show I really grew to love) who was talking on the radio as I teased the cherry red hot steel disc of the kerosene heater with dangling socks..

The voice over tha radio spoke of strange breaking news. In this big snow storm, an airplane might have actually hit a bridge, possibly the 14th street bridge and fallen into the Potomac river.. This was interesting, but I really had no idea what that actually meant until my new friend Anthony Cafritz, who was a young intern from Bennington College suddenly walked up to listen better to the radio. “Whoa” he said, “what the fuck is that all about?!? Lets go down there and see what happened”…”You mean it’s close enough that we could like run down there?” I said. Hell yes, c’mon, let’s go!” he exclaimed with the great ogling look for mischief that I desperately needed to see in order to instantly quell my fears that I’d given up fun friends from home with an insatiable apetite for adventure in trade for the “Art” experience… Thanks to Anthony, that was hardly the case.

Like the time when we were unloading the snobby featured artist work who’s name escapes me. Anthony and I were helping him take the work out of wooden crates when I said for lack of sophistication “ that’s some really cool shit man”.
The snarky snoot quickly addressed my lack of highbrow speak by learnin' me that “In the art world, we refer to this as a piece.” (you know what’s coming, right?) Suddenly, the man shape shifted from young turk artist into Ed Mcmahon,the straight man to Anthony’s timless classic reply which was…”You mean this piece of shit?”

That story lives in perpetuity at the amusement park of my mind.



There's the old boy now.



I digress….

So we took off out the door of the WPA and started running down D street towards 14th. as fast as we could. I had never seen snow like this before in my life. There were homeless people holding up colored umbrellas that looked like beach balls for a roof. They huddled there over subway air vents on the Mall lawn that was so contrasting that they looked like big black squares painted on a solid white background.

The snow was really coming down and people were actually cross country skiing between the capital and the Washington monument..I had never!

"C'mon Ben, let's keep going! This way" he said... I regained my focus on our objective and took off running again towards the 14th street bridge..Wherever that was?



By the time we got to the Potomac river Anthony noticed that we were only at the Memorial bridge, one bridge north of 14th street where we heard all of the commotion was.

The first sign that something funny was going on was when we saw that the police were directing traffic. They were only letting cars go across towards Arlington but not into DC. There were also a few reporters plodding on foot through snowbanks that were quickly piling high on the sides of the bridge entrance. They were looking south, trying to steal a glimpse of something that had happened on the next bridge down. They had big ID press tags attached to them that said Associated Press and The Boston Globe. They seemed composed and very focused on getting across that bridge.

Anthony said: "We oughta follow these guys, they know where they're going." The police signaled and blew his whistle for us to get back away from the bridge just as an old grey haired black man slowly drove by in a really old dark green pick up truck. The bed was almost filled to the top with a big white pillow of snow. I motioned to Anthony and said "Jump in the back, he'll take us across..The cops won't come after us, they're too busy!"

Anthony, the guy who always had a quick answer for everything, suddenly looked a little confused and sort of just stopped like he was kind of paralyzed. Time was of the essence as this old guy was half way by us...It was now or never...I sprang into the back of that truck like a breaching whale landing flat on my back and banging the back of my head on something that was really hard and pointed and close to the surface. Luckily I had on my thick wool hat. The old man began furiously banging on his back window at me. I could see his breath as he was yelling for me to get my motha fuckin ass out of his god damn truck!

I lifted up my sore head and looked out the back to see Anthony getting smaller and smaller as we headed west towards the state of Virginia..I sat up as the old man had quieted down as he had grown weary of the fight .

What!? We're about to be in another state?? You've got to be kidding me??!?!?

We were about 2/3rds of the way across the bridge when I saw the Associated Press reporter so I jumped out of the truck and walked over to where he was. From there you could see across to the 14th street bridge where it looked like there had been a bad car wreck or something, that's I could see without my glasses. Suddenly the woman reporter from the Boston Globe started yelling dramatically into the little microphone of her cassette recorder "It's utter pandemonium here on the 14th street bridge where Air Florida flight 90 has careened into the bridge and is scattered about the Potomac..bla bla bla...The AP guy and I looked at each other as we both chuckled at this idiot of a reporter who was fabricating the whole story from another bridge a half a mile away from where she said she was. I couldn't help but wonder if this happens a lot, I asked the man and he shrugged and said "It's a shame when that happens." I guess that answered my question.


We continued to walk to the other side of the bridge. He kept going straight on the road, I didn't understand why because the deal was going down to the left and up river.

I don't know what that guy had in mind, but I grew up in the country and so common sense would tell me to simply follow the river up to the other bridge. So I made my way down the snowy embankment towards the river's edge. There wasn't anybody around, it was quiet and I had it all to myself. It was really pretty. I had never seen a frozen river before.

I just kept walking, making my way across snowy boulders all the way to the 14th street bridge where I walked up the embankment. I saw that the road was closed as ambulance and police lights were going around all over the place. It was really trashed out with shattered glass and concrete all over and bashed in cars resting peacefully all around, next to what was a busted out section where the railing had been sheared off of the first quarter or so of the bridge on that one side. I guess the plane hit it on the way down.



The 14th street bridge as I saw it.


There was a police car barracade blocking the roadway and so there was no way I could get across until suddenly an red cross helicopter launched off the ground creating a huge white cloud of snow all around which not only distracted all the cops but rendered everybody snow blind for just enough time for me to run like a deer across 14th street and down the other side to the river where all the action was.

I arrived just about fifty feet up from the bank of the Potomac. There was a fireman closing the back door of a big ambulance truck-like vehicle that was pulling out as it's red lights began to silently go around. I asked him how it was going and he told me that there were six survivors in there and they were all suffering from hypothermia and that it was a miracle that anyone had survived considering such severe conditions. I remember my first glimpse of the huge broken aircraft that looked as though it had just been snapped in half like a toy. I stood in a stupor gazing out across the shattered ice and tons of ripped up plastic and torn metal debris that was strewn all over the place. It was so tragic. To this day, I'm still haunted by an imagine of the two hundred or so bodies that were bobing around lifelessly just under that ice.



Noticing that the firemen were hustling to get lights set up for nightfall which was coming soon, I joined in and made myself useful. Divers were standing by, zipping up their thick wet suits and donning tanks and regulators. An ice breaker was making it's way toward the largest part of the plane. It was obviously going to be a really really long night.

I ran out of stuff to do and decided that I had had enough. So I started up the hill only to find that almost at the top there were a bunch of reporters (including the AP guy) all standing around bitching and moaning that the police wouldn't let them go down to the river to see what was actually going on. Casually, I strolled up and said"Hey ya'll, I was just down there, what do you want to know?" Oh my God, All of a sudden I was completely surrounded by the microphone clutching extremities of at least twenty reporters.

"What's your name? What did you see down there sir?

"My name is Ben Livingston.. I'm from Victoria , Texas I was just down there helping with the lights and...Jesus, I must have sounded like Gomer Pyle to these people. I rambled on and as I did, I was beginning to notice how bloody cold I was becoming. My hands and feet were wet and suddenly I realized that I had no money on me and I had no idea where I was. In fact I really freaked out when someone told me I was now in the state of Virginia..Texans don't just walk across bridges into other states very often...Now that's down right weird.

A big man in a trench coat wearing a nice felt hat reached through the thick pack of reporters, took my arm and gently but firmly pulled me out with no resistance from the heard. He said "I'd like to have a word with you please." Uh oh..Was he the law? I didn't know but this dude was all business. Maybe I was in trouble for going down there..I had no idea but it was understandable that I could be in trouble...I was quiet. He said my name is Ike Pappas, I'm with CBS news and I'd like to ask you some questions. I said Mr. Pappas I am cold and hungry and for some reason, I'm in now in Virginia. I'm not going to say a word until you get me something warm drink and something to eat. He scowled and muttered something underneath his breath (as I studied the lines on his face)... I held my ground long enough for him to escort me up a hill to the Marriot hotel lobby where there was a fireplace where I could warm up my socks again. He gave me a hand full of saltines and a cup of coffee. And motioned that we to go towards a quieter area of the lobby.

There was a room full of pay phones. All of them had a line of these reporters three or four deep waiting to call in their reports.

Pappas' mic'd me up and asked my name..About this time, these reporters were getting interested in me again and coming back to listen for anything that they might have missed..

There was Mr. A.P. guy and as I began to state my name like Gomer again, I looked over and noticed the lady from the Boston Globe. I looked back at the A.P. guy and with all of my thespian genes I blurted out: " "It's utter pandemonium there on the 14th street bridge where Air Florida flight 90 has careened into the bridge and is scattered about the Potomac..bla bla bla....

Months later I heard that my ex girlfriend almost ran off the road in Houston as she heard this on the radio on her way to work.


Something that I didn't know until now...


Ike Pappas, CBS newsman
Ike Pappas, 75, the CBS newsman who reported, live on the radio, the shooting of JFK assassin Lee Harvey Oswald, died Sunday in Arlington of complications from heart disease. In 1987, he was among more than 200 employees laid off by the company.



Ike Pappas, in the light raincoat, broadcast live the shooting of Lee Harvey Oswald, accused presidential assassin. Pappas later worked for CBS and was a Pentagon correspondent.
Photo Credit: By Jack Beers -- Associated Press


I swear he still had on that coat when I met him, His momma would be happy to know that he had gone out and gotten himself such a nice hat.



Oh man, it's really late. I gotta get some shut-eye. I'll illustrate manana~

"The Life is the thing"...Dada's just another word for nothin' left to loose...

Sometimes I just want to know...

Why is doing all this stuff important to me? I have no idea yet, other than I just get interested in something and then I go after it.. I remember that I always just feel compelled to get in there and see and experience things first hand..Is it simply morbid curiosity? Maybe, but because I am always so naturally willing to jump through flaming hoops to see things spectacular, I will continue my calling.

I think this information chasing obsession of mine originated in January of 1982 when I had just moved to Washington DC.

I was hired by the Washington Project for the Arts to assist in building a new performance space & gallery because of the job I did for my mom who is an awesome party designer to the degree that she was commissioned by them as an artist, to throw a party for a big “Texas” show that the “WPA” was putting on. I was a prop builder for mom back then and I managed to turn the whole place into an old timey Texas saloon and dance hall. I did a great job and with no resources other than some help from the newly inaugurated president Reagan’s bleacher committee and a lot of inspiration from being around all these real artists in there natural habitat.

Other than working week on – week off shifts 120 miles out in the Gulf of Mexico in the oil field, I had never really lived outside of Texas…




I had only been living there in DC for a week...The first big snow storm of the season just blew in…It was so cold that I was trying to warm up my socks by waving them over a kerosene heater and then putting them on fast enough to get a quickly dissapating sensation of heat.

I was looking out the big storefront windows of the old Franklin 5 & 10 cent store that was now the WPA’s new home at all the snow floating around in the air which occasionally twisted into a furious white ghost that would spontaneously explode against a geometrical backdrop of a dim grey sky that filled in between faded and sillouettes of old brownstone buildings which stood guard to wet black tire tracked streets lined with black naked trees and dirty frozen slush.

I think it was Petey Green (who’s radio show I really grew to love) who was talking on the radio as I teased the cherry red hot steel disc of the kerosene heater with dangling socks..

The voice over tha radio spoke of strange breaking news. In this big storm, an airplane might have actually hit a bridge, possibly the 14th street bridge and fallen into the Potomac river.. This was interesting, but I really had no idea what that actually meant until my new friend Anthony Cafritz, who was a young intern from Bennington College suddenly walked up to listen better to the radio. “Whoa” he said, “what the fuck is that all about?!? Lets go down there and see what happened”…”You mean it’s close enough that we could like run down there?” I said. Hell yes, c’mon, let’s go!” he exclaimed with the great ogling look for mischief that I desperately needed to see in order to instantly quell my fears that I’d given up fun friends from home with an insatiable apetite for adventure in trade for the “Art” experience… Thanks to Anthony, that was hardly the case.

Like the time when we were unloading the snobby featured artist work who’s name escapes me. Anthony and I were helping him take the work out of wooden crates when I said for lack of sophistication “ that’s some really cool shit man”.
The snoot quickly addressed my lack of highbrow sophisticated vocabulary by learning me that “ In the art world, we refer to this as a piece.” (you know what’s coming, right?) Suddenly, the man shape shifted from young turk artist into Ed Mcmahon,the straight man to Anthony’s timless classic reply which was…”You mean this piece of shit?”

That one lives in perpetuity.

I digress….

So we took off out the door of the WPA and started running down D street towards 14th. as fast as we could. I had never seen snow like this before in my life. There were homeless people holding up colored umbrellas that looked like beach balls for a roof. They huddled there over subway air vents on the Mall lawn that was so contrasting that they looked like big black squares painted on a solid white background.

The snow was really coming down and people were actually cross country skiing between the capital and the Washington monument..I had never!

"C'mon Ben, let's keep going! This way" he said... I regained my focus on our objective and took off running again towards the 14th street bridge..Wherever that was?

By the time we got to the Potomac river Anthony noticed that we were only at the Memorial bridge, one bridge north of 14th street where we heard all of the commotion was.

The first sign that something funny was going on was when we saw that the police were directing traffic. They were only letting cars go across towards Arlington but not into DC. There were also a few reporters plodding on foot through snowbanks that were quickly piling high on the sides of the bridge entrance. They were looking south, trying to steal a glimpse of something that had happened on the next bridge down. They had big ID press tags attached to them that said Associated Press and The Boston Globe. They seemed composed and very focused on getting across that bridge.

Anthony said: "We oughta follow these guys, they know where they're going." The police signaled and blew his whistle for us to get back away from the bridge just as an old grey haired black man slowly drove by in a really old dark green pick up truck. The bed was almost filled to the top with a big white pillow of snow. I motioned to Anthony and said "Jump in the back, he'll take us across..The cops won't come after us, they're too busy!"

Anthony, the guy who always had a quick answer for everything, suddenly looked a little confused and sort of just stopped like he was kind of paralyzed. Time was of the essence as this old guy was half way by us...It was now or never...I sprang into the back of that truck like a breaching whale landing flat on my back and banging the back of my head on something that was really hard and pointed and close to the surface. Luckily I had on my thick wool hat. The old man began furiously banging on his back window at me. I could see his breath as he was yelling for me to get my motha fuckin ass out of his god damn truck!

I lifted up my sore head and looked out the back to see Anthony getting smaller and smaller as we headed west towards the state of Virginia..I sat up as the old man had quieted down as he had grown weary of the fight .

What!? We're about to be in another state?? You've got to be kidding me??!?!?

We were about 2/3rds of the way across the bridge when I saw the Associated Press reporter so I jumped out of the truck and walked over to where he was. From there you could see across to the 14th street bridge where it looked like there had been a bad car wreck or something, that's I could see without my glasses. Suddenly the woman reporter from the Boston Globe started yelling dramatically into the little microphone of her cassette recorder "It's utter pandemonium here on the 14th street bridge where Air Florida flight 90 has careened into the bridge and is scattered about the Potomac..bla bla bla...The AP guy and I looked at each other as we both chuckled at this idiot of a reporter who was fabricating the whole story from another bridge a half a mile away from where she said she was. I couldn't help but wonder if this happens a lot, I asked the man and he shrugged and said "It's a shame when that happens." I guess that answers that question. We continued to walk to the other side of the bridge. He kept going straight on the road, I didn't understand why. The deal was going down to the left and up river. I don't know what that guy had in mind but I grew up in the country and so common sense tells me to simply follow the river to the other bridge. So I made my way down the snowy embankment towards the river bank. There wasn't anybody around there, I had it all to myself. It was really pretty along that frozen lake all the way to the 14th street bridge. I walked up the embankment. The road was closed as ambulance and police lights were going around all over the place. It looked really badly trashed out all over the first half of the bridge. There was a police car barracade blocking the road and so there was no way I could get across until suddenly an airlift helicopter launched off the ground creating a huge white cloud of snow all around which not only distracted all the cops but rendered everybody snow blind for just enough time for me to run like a deer across 14th street and down the other side to the river where all the action was.

I arrived at the bank of the Potomac. There were firemen closing the back door of a big ambulance truck-like vehicle. I asked one of them how it was going and he told me that there were six survivors in there, all suffering from hypothermia and that it was a miracle that anyone survived. I remember my first glimpse of the huge aircraft that looked as though it had just been broken in half like a toy. I stood in a stupor gazing out across

That DC story was a pretty good one, wasn't it?

I'm thrilled to say that there's plenty more where that came from. As is the same for most anyone who gets out a little. I am pleased to say that I have gotten out at least somewhat, at least enough to say that if it was my time to go, I'd feel pretty good about not missing too much or having too many regrets along the way. I'd say that that's pretty dang good.



I think I might be on to something here...




I have an idea, I think I want to conduct a little experiment that might be kind of fun. I'm going to take a moment and make a little list of random things that come to mind that I have been intimately involved with within my short lifetime of fifty years...

After I get finished doing that, I want to see if, how and why these experiences might have a common theme.

Okay, here goes.

Let's see now, as of today I have been involved in:
True love, trekking as a troubadour in the Himalayas, creating multi-media public sculpture, 50 birthdays, a love adoption of a wonderful daughter, designing and building neon shops in two hemispheres, creating the classifieds section of a very popular little magazine and local entertainment rag in Austin,Texas, the Capital 10,000, wonderful friendships, my own bicycle shop, theatrical set design and construction, fighting hard and loosing, massive hangovers, professional photography, bad car wrecks, a plane crash, abortions, trying to reason with an abusive suicidal drunk, volunteer work, becoming a National Endowment for the Arts fellow, bad juju, sail planes, anxiety attacks, giving presentations at Universities and many schools and different organizations, carpentry, awesome love making, being a temporary emergency room surgeon, house painting, song writing, a robbery in Mexico, live stage performances, getting electrocuted, overwhelming depression, fighting hard and winning, threats of muscular dystrophy, grant writing, drawing, getting struck by lightning in a helicopter over the Gulf of Mexico, surfing, a trans Atlantic ship crossing, 11-11, profoundly effective qi gong, starting and running successful businesses, enduring betrayal of false friends, ditch digging, writing, barely avoiding big trouble in China, good food, mud slinging, wild romance, gross misunderstandings, capsizing at least two sailboats, shamanic journey, major schlepping of other people's stuff, gardening, drunk driving, teaching and learning neon in New Zealand, children, uncontrollable laughter, deep despair, stargazing, painting, a broken bone, failing miserably, fist fights, problem solving, a 1st place sand castle contest victory, passionate kissing, day-dreaming, high fever, getting my ass kicked, nightmares, great literature, February water-skiing wearing a hefty bag, landscaping, horse trading, boxing, printing, matrimonial bliss in Bhutan, difficult relationships, chasing down all 37 of the Nat spirits in Burma, hurricanes, overcoming threats of muscular dystrophy, true love, major schlepping of my own stuff, book making, skateboarding, experiencing a religious community, offshore gas production, overwhelming beauty, blows to the head, loneliness, having no bad feeling about killing animals, moving, steel-bending, welding, tree hugging, learning to be silent, surgery, cool inventions, having terrible feelings about killing animals, altered states of consciousness, car stereo installation, journeys with a shaman, cooking, playing the therimin, ditching a religious community, unsuccessful engagements, bliss by nature, benevolence, nitro glycerine explosives, altitude sickness, tolerating annoying channel surfing, intolerance, meditation, scary big wave wipeouts in Oaxaca, Mexico, crazy fun dance, insane dares, neon studio demonstrations and workshops in schools and my studio, writing a book about spirit houses in SE Aisa, international art exhibits, boredom, whale watching, gratitude, dying and death, good and bad architectural design, making neon, bathing in mud, creating a recycling infrastructure in Nepal, bicycle racing, car sickness, camping, International food poisoning and bad drinking water, a triathlon in Hawaii, a deep lightness of being, building my own homes & studios, recording an original cd with a real good band, playing music for the Austin State School Christmas party and pet care just to name a few.

Okay already, bastante es bastante.

Now that I have a list of things that I've experienced, my question now is, is there a common thread that runs through out the list?

Well the words engagement and reflection come to mind first. Maybe that's because as I was writing these down as they randomly came into my head, I seemed to kind of sentimentally examine and reflect on each of them for a split second as the memory began to unfold. Generally, the impression was that there was an impression made because of the intensity of the activities. DUH... Maybe motivation to engage in something is just an expression of the soul's appetite for experience.



One other big common thread I'm noticing is that if I was told of those things on that list, I doubt seriously that I could access much in the moment on demand. Which brings me to the point that it everything is being recorded in the Akashic record of our mind. I know that because of how easily what I haven't thought of for decades just spilled onto this page a minute ago.

In other words, no matter what one does ( barring unconsciousness ) the mind is always recording, filing and integrating all information that one comes into contact with in order to be called up for a whole host of reasons. The primary point that I am trying to move towards here though is about these thoughts that come to be reflected upon for refinement, resolution or just plain joy.

Perhaps this somehow explains why family becomes more important as one gets older.

I'm no psychoanthropoligist so I'll get off this train right here and now before I get myself in trouble with the idiot mob.

I'm making these speculations for a reason and I'll use the great Chinese Taoist calligraphers as my example.

East meets west

Chinese Calligraphy is so abstract and sublime that in Chinese culture it is universally regarded to be the most revealing power of a person. While one has conformed to the defined structure of words, the expression can be displayed with great creativity by individuals.



Master Wang Hsi-Chih

To become an artist or expert in Chinese calligraphy, one has to practice word by word and stroke by stroke until the spirit of the practice gets into one's mind. Just as Chinese Qi Gong, the Chinese brush calligraphy can temper a person into a state in which one can apply subconsciousness got from the daily practice to control the concentration of ink and the compatibility of font and size of each piece or word.

In contrast to the Western calligraphy, diffusing ink blots and dry brush strokes are viewed as a natural and free impromptu expression. All the varieties of the operation depend on the mental exercise that coordinates the mind and the body to perform the proper sense to choose the proper way in expressing the content of the passage.

Here in the west there's only one thing to say about the way that them Chinamen use total integration of a four thousand year old discipline as a medium where tradition is so cherished...You see, we do things a little different here in the west. Specially where us post war baby boomers invented the "Me generation".

YEEE-HAAAAA Fuckin' -A - here's some burn't rubber traffic calligraphic for you Mother fucka!!!




Bigger faster meaner better...It's all about ME!...Let's roll!


----------------------BREATHE-------------------

Oh yes, I mean..uh hum, I mean, can we like share how to best address our needs so as to totally support the eight-fold path that I've chosen to journey?




We can't help ourselves, we are pilgrims, always moving "up", never quite satisfied with the way things are and yet we don't learn much from history because we are so focused on the future, always racing to slam on our brakes at the next red light just up ahead..

We're pacing back and forth in our lives like tigers in a cage...There's just got to be a better way, a way to....Hum?



(This is starting to remind me of a set up for really weird children's story.) Am I going to resolve this thing or what??!!

What I think I was on to here before I so rudely interrupted myself was that it's all in there. I've been so busy looking for answers that I forget that I already know them. My problem is that I'm just not paying attention. You know it seems like ever since I became a husband I have lost the ability to listen..No wonder!


JUMPING AHEAD..

So this is all about how we search for our identity by trying on different personas until we either get tired of doing it, or we realize that our own fits us just right.

This is where I get interested again in what Gary Martin calls "Picture takers". I've seen them called "face in hole cut outs". Nobody really knows what to call them but I feel a lot more resolve and justified in my earlier intuitive choice to use them. Back then I just thought of thm as a "better mouse trap" a cool idea that no one has done. Now I see these as a very clear metaphor that accurately represents visually what I have been arriving at for the last three days of solid processing and writing of this essay.

In a conversation yesterday it was suggested that the cut out figures would be a screen that images could be projected upon.

Here is what I wrote Jeff about the idea early this morning:

Thanks again Jeff.

I'll consider the time thing but I rather keep on course with the external clock for now, It's got my lazy ass a goin'..I'm not feeling like it's all that short of a time actually. You know me, With a good motivational idea to carry out, energy gets high and expectations lower. A perfect mix for a schlep like myself. But I know what your saying, "This time can be different since I'm going to all this trouble".. The thing is that just because I am doing all this thinking, it is different. I always rely on luck, my intuition ..This time I'm upping the bar by 33%, I'm using luck, my mind and intuitition as a guide. Not too bad for starters...

Thanks for that push bro. It finally is beginning to seem like a great direction to be going in.

I feel like I'm something's finally percolating & getting ready to break loose here..I wish it was this fever or whatever the hell has had me bedridden for the last 2-1/2 days..Ugg. I'd probably be writing better too, but this is the state that I was in a quarter of the time that I was in Asia so I guess it's all the same. I like your idea about talking with Victoria. Perhaps a shamanic investigation would be productive..Hell, I may as well see Yani while I'm at it. I like tying these things together as it all seems like it comes from the same ether anyway.


I'm also starting to understand more why the cutout "picturetakers" thingys are relevent. They go perfectly with what I'm writing about which is merely a persuit of self discovery.Trying on personas until one just is reminded that the one you originally came with is the best fit. I want to play with the idea of not painting any subject matter on them at all, but having them just be pure white, blank cutouts..just like these blank pages, that could become a reflective screen to what might ever be projected on them such as photos or moving pictures (movies or animation) of say, myself at different times of my life or relevent meaningful people and or animals. The subject will always be himself or his fully intact spirit self behind the reflective "listening" or "observer" surface of the cutout screen that's being projected onto..Ideas for projection might include stills or a montage of say, (Vicky's co-discovered Cheetaah-power animal with story) or things that are important to me, perhaps from these stories I write about or songs like "Evil Spirits" Fat golfers, Smart fools and so on...

Put that in your pipe & smoke it will ya?

You heard it first right here. I am having trouble getting myself to go to the blog as I wrote from 9AM till 12:30AM with a 1 hr break.yesterday..No wonder my neck hurts.

I'm loving this!

Yours truly
XOB.Log Jammer

I like that a lot because I think that a montage of images could be projected as the subject possibly remains unaware of what is being reflected.

Expanding on this theme, I also like the idea of the moving montage finally stopping on a final projection the subject's picture being projected on the cut out as he stands behind it.

Then it dawned on me. An idea that I had years ago. I wanted to hand out mirrors to all of the homeless people who were "working signs" on the corner of 5th and Lamar. That's where a large concentration of Austin's wealthiest are stopped at the traffic light. There at the intersection, a part of their soul is suddenly stripped bare for 120 seconds until the light turns green again. They just sit there having to deal with not dealing with the myriad of feelings such as fear, guilt, anger and so on that they display by ignoring these poor people ..I thought "if these non compassionate drivers got shown a reflection of themselves by the homeless, then they might reflect on through the simple twist of fate that could so easily switch their places and then act accordingly.


Mirror cut outs. Solid reflection, no technology...That's where I have arrived today. And I still kind of like the idea tonight .

Better sleep on it. This is enough for today.
TaTa for now Ya'll

XOB



Here's some out take photo bloopers for you...
















Check THIS out ya'll!
Oh man this dude definitely suffered for his art!

You think he got his paint at Dick Blick???



AMAZING !

----------"Smart Fools from Art Schools" -------------------------(c) 1992 Ben Livingston----------

I'VE ALWAYS FELT LIKE I WAS TORN BETWEEN THESE TWO GUYS





"Smart Fools from Art Schools"

WELL THESE ART SCHOOL FOLKS
SUFFER LIFE'S CRUEL JOKES
THAT KEEP US FROM FINDING OURSELVES
PARALYZED BY ROMANCE
KEEPS US FROM OUR OWN DANCE
WHILE WE'RE TRYING TO BE SOMEBODY ELSE

SUCKED IN BY THE MYSTIQUE
AND HAMMERED BY A CRITIQUE
IT'S A CALDRON THAT'S A BIG CENTRIFUGE
AND IF YOU GOT NO AMBITION
THEN YOU WAS ONLY TUITION
THAT JUST WOUND UP SINGING THE BLUES

(chorus)
SMART FOOLS
FROM ART SCHOOLS
YOU THINK YOU'RE WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE
SPORTIN' ALL THE LATEST FASHION
INSTEAD OF DOING YOUR LIFE'S PASSION
I WONDER WHAT'S BEHIND YOUR DISGUISE

JEAN PAUL SARTE
WAS AT THE DEPARTMENT OF ART
BUT HE COULDN'T FIND HIS WAY OUT THE DOOR
SO HE CONFIDED IN BEUYS
WHO MADE A TERRIBLE NOISE
AS HE THREW A HAND FULL OF LARD ON THE FLOOR

WELL AS HE PICKED UP A PELT
HE DISCRIBED HOW HE FELT
FOR REASONS SATRE COULD NOT IGNORE
HE SAID "IF I WERE YOU JEAN"
I'D JUST PULL UP MY BLUE JEANS
AND TRY NOT TO BE SUCH A BORE

(chorus)
SMART FOOLS
FROM ART SCHOOLS
YOU THINK YOU'RE WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE
WELL THE REAL EXISTENTIALS
AREN'T DRINKING COFFEE DOWN AT WINCHELL'S
THEY'RE WITH MOJO
PICKIN' AT THEIR TEETH WITH A KNIFE

MARCEL DUCHAMP
HAD A NUDIST CAMP
'CAUSE HE JUST LOVED PLAYIN' CHESS WITH ALL THE GALS
BUT IF YOU PEEKED THROUGH HIS FENCE
OOOH, YOU'D PROBABLY WINCE
AT THE WAY THAT HE TREATED ALL HIS PALS

YOU SEE SOME WERE DESCENDING
AND OTHERS, THEY WERE MENDING
ALL THOSE CLOTHES THAT THIER BACHELOR'S HAD STRIPPED BARE
AND IF THEY LOOKED KIND OF COLD
IT'S 'CAUSE MICHAEL TRACY STOLE
ALL OF THEIR BLOOD AND THEIR PUBIC HAIR

(chorus)
SMART FOOLS
FROM ART SCHOOLS
YOU THINK YOU'RE WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE
SPORTIN' ALL THE LATEST FASHION
INSTEAD OF DOING YOUR LIFE'S PASSION
I WONDER HOW YOU'LL EVER SURVIVE

NOW IF ACADEMIA CALLS
FROM IT'S ECHOING HALLS
DON'T BE ALARMED BY THIS SONG
TAKE IT THERE WITH
MAYBE YOU CAN START YOUR OWN MYTH
THAT IS IF YOU'VE GOT THE BALLS

TO BE A SMART FOOL
FROM ART SCHOOLS
ALWAYS TRYIN' TO SEPERATE FROM THIS WORLD
WHY NOT BE A PART-LET YOUR LIFE BE THE FINE ART
AND QUIT ACTING LIKE SUCH A BUNCH OF LITTLE OL' SQUIRRELS

I KNOW MY VOICE, IT AIN'T AS GOOD AS MERRILL'S

YOU DON'T HAVE TO BE A DRUM MAJORETTE TO TWIRL

UNH UH!


Now that there is a song ain't it?!

A cyber-interview with David Rosen

Ben,
I am truly fascinated with your work and I would love to feature you
on my blog. I would like you to be the first interview I do on my
site. Eventually I hope to get to doing it with video or voice but
for my first I would really love if you took a few minutes to answer
my questions below.
I will be posting this on my website and include images and link to
yours. I thank you ahead of time for any time you take reading this
or answering my questions. If you would like to see my blog go to
http://www.creatingitchy.com. Thank you ! David Rosen

So who is Ben Livingston?

What drew you to neon?

Did you ever work under another artist to learn your skills?

If someone was interested in working with neon what direction would
you point them?

Where do you feel art is going?

Where do you feel your art is going?

What type of people purchase your work?

What is the subject of your work?

Is there symbolism behind your color choices?

How are you using web technology to promote your work?






Hi David,

Thanks for your interest in me & my work. I will attempt to answer your questions but instead of plowing along at 4 words a minute. I'm going to send you my 2 blogs that are very important to me in hopes that you can extrapolate some of these answers to your questions for yourself, as I am really busy these days getting a show together for March called 11+11 (11 songs +11 works). Writing and the word, as I have found is paradoxically THE most abstract, concise and honest means of expression that I have found to date other than making love and meaning it.

Please take a look at these:

http://spirithousesafari.blogspot.com/

http://continentalclubshow.blogspot.com/

So who is Ben Livingston?
THOSE BLOGS ARE PRETTY MUCH WHO BEN LIVINGSTON IS.

> What drew you to neon?
I LIKE TO DRAW AND IN 1980 I WAS WORKING AT THE WASHINGTON PROJECT FOR THE ARTS IN DC, I SAW A SIGN WHERE THE DUTCH MASTERS WERE OUTLINED IN NEON, IT OCCURED TO ME THAT MAYBE I COULD DRAW WITH LIGHT! THE REST IS HISTORY.

> Did you ever work under another artist to learn your
> skills?

SKILLS??? NO, BUT I DID DO A LONG APPRENTICESHIP UNDER TWO NEON MASTER CRAFTSMEN, HOWEVER, THEY WERE NOT ARTISTS. ARTISTS DON'T REALLY EXCHANGE SKILL SETS...MENTORING-YES! THEY MOSTLY GAVE ME PHILOSOPHICAL ADVICE AND TAUGHT ME HOW TO REFINE WHAT I WAS DOING TO PROMOTE MYSELF MORE PROFESSIONALLY AS AN ARTIST...STEPHEN ANTONOKOS, JESUS MORALES, JAN MOYER, PEBBLES WADSWORTH, RUDI STERN, MADELINE O'CONNOR. JOHN CHRISTENSEN, GARY MARTIN.
>
> If someone was interested in working with neon what
> direction would
> you point them?
MY STUDIO FOR A DEMO AND THEN THEY'RE ON THEIR OWN.
>
> Where do you feel art is going?

UNIVERSITIES HAVE DRIFTED FROM THE EVOCATIVE ROMANCE OF A LIBERAL ARTS EDUCATION TOWARDS SOMETHING THAT MORE RESEMBLES A VOCATIONAL SCHOOL THANKS TO THE LURE OF SUPERFICIAL CAREERS BASED ON MONEY AND SCIENCE.

IN OTHERE WORDS, ONE USED TO GO TO SCHOOL DRIVEN BY HUMAN-NESS AND CURIOSITY, NOW THEY SEEM DRIVEN MORE BY MATERIALISM & DESIRE..

IN A SIMILAR WAY, I FEEL THAT THE DEFINITION OF "ARTIST" IS CHANGING. ON ONE HAND, AN AGELESS TRADITION OF EXPRESSIONS THAT ARE CONCEIVED THROUGH REFLECTION AS A REFINEMENT OF A UNIQUE FILTER THROUGH WHICH ONLY THAT ARTIST EXPERIENCES AND RECREATES THE WORLD; AND ON THE OTHER HAND IT SEEMS TECHNOLOGY AS A MEDIUM, LIKE CRAFT IS ALL ABOUT PUSHING THE LIMITS OF OF MATERIAL. I FIND THIS TO BE RELATIVELY VOID OF INTRINSIC HUMAN CONDITION OTHER THAN EXUDING A DEEP SENSE OF LONELINESS AND ISOLATION THAT SEEMS TO COME FROM SOME SORT OF ENGINEERING BURNOUT, OR WHAT I CALL "BNS" OR BURNT OUT NERD SYNDROME. THE "BNS" MECCA WOULD BE APTLY NAMED BURNING MAN..WHICH I ALWAYS THOUGHT SHOULD HAVE BEEN CALLED "BURNT OUT MAN". I CONCLUSION, THE PROBLEM WITH "BNS" ART SEEMS DRIVEN BY THE DESIRE TO BE & LOOK COOL AND IMPRESS OTHERS "VS" THE OLD SCHOOL WHERE THE ULTIMATE GOAL IS SIMPLY TO PLEASE ONE'S SELF.

I THINK WESTERN PHILOSOPHIES HAVE TURNED THE PURSUIT OF MAKING ART INTO A "BETTER MOUSETRAP" GAME AND THIS IS PRIMARILY WHY WE ARE CULTURALLY CONFUSED ABOUT WHAT ART IS.

What type of people purchase your work?
MUSEUMS, CORPORATE & PRIVATE COLLECTORS + MY MOMMA.

> What is the subject of your work?
NATURE, THE HUMAN EXPERIENCE, THE FORCE & FRAGILITY OF LIFE AND THE SPIRIT OF CREATIVITY
>
> Is there symbolism behind your color choices?

NO SYMBOLS..SPONTINAITY IS THE LOUDEST VOICE OF THE MUSE.
>
> How are you using web technology to promote your work?

I HAVE A WEBSITE THAT IS 8 OR 9 YEARS OUT OF DATE...IT DOES JUST FINE..
I LIKE TO USE BLOGS TO WORK OUT BIGGER IDEAS WITHOUT USING PAPER, ALTHOUGH HAND WRITING AND DRAWING IN JOURNALS ACTIVATES FAR MORE CREATIVITY AS IT FEELS LIKE A MUCH MORE SOULFUL AND ORGANIC EXPERIENCE.

THAT'S ALL I CAN DO FOR NOW..I HOPE THIS IS GOOD FOR NOW...

BEST REGARDS,
BEN

I arise in the morning torn between a desire to save the world and a desire to savor the world. This makes it hard to plan the day.
—E. B. White

Surfers and dolphins

Here's an old analogy of mine about where I have arrived at (again) with all this ruminating about my internal art organs...

When I was a kid, I got interested in surfing because my friend Jim Riedel had a second surfboard and was willing to teach me how. Although the surfboard was way too big for me I stuck with it because:

1. My parents would let me go to the beach with Jim.
2. That's all there was to do down there.
3. Aqueous nose plants from constantly "going over the falls" face first cured my Sinusitis.
4. It really sounded cool to say that that's what I had been doing.

The problem with surfing is that it is that the weirdest personality traits come out of the participants. In this case it was teenage macho cool in it's most glorious hour. I loathed this part about surfing. Anxiety from old feelings of insecurity is triggered to this day when I'm in the line up with a bunch of others waiting for a set to come in.

Back then, I thought that in order to become a real surfer, should you choose to accept this mission as I did, you have to begin your serious training session by laboring long and hard through the many sand bar breaks (where kids joyously played and frolicked like dolphins in the small two foot surf) to get all the way out where the really big sets (three foot) were breaking.

Albeit, the waves were more organized, they came in sets of of say five or six waves. You had to be perfectly positioned to catch one and that meant (if you were a slow paddler like me) that you had to be in exactly the right spot, which would inevitabily be scarfed up by some selfish bastard who had the ability to slither right by me and drop in as though I wasn't even there...I hated that! It seems that all I did for 10 hours was paddle around and wait. If I caught five waves in a day, I was really happy! I became really self conscious because of this hierarchical dynamic combined with the fact that I don't possess a very competitive nature.

Paddle and wait, paddle some more and wait....It seems that was the social mantra of my formative years.

In retrospect I can see those kids in my mind, playing in the small waves and having so much fun. That's what I should have been doing had I had my wits about me...

So that's basically my conclusion here. And the moral to this story is two fold.

1. Turn your headlights inward and be true to yourself.

2. You can't make a plant grow by pulling on it's leaves.

The end.

Today, my show is called: 11+11 (Eleven songs + eleven works) 11-11 is very significant for many reasons, primarily because of Jeff Ragsdale and finally because it's the day that Patti & I got married in Bhutan (which just happened to be the king's birthday).

11+11 = 22 so the show will be March 22.




THIS IS ME HAVING A BLAST SURFING "THE INSIDE" ON A HUGE 2X OVERHEAD DAY - PUERTO ESCONDIDO, MEXICO

“STAGE PATTER”

“STAGE PATTER”
for
Continental Club show
During
SXSW
March 21, 2009
Austin, Texas


Well here we go…it’s 5:30AM on March 17th. I’ve been laying here with my mind frying thoughts of potential performance mishaps like eggs in a hot greasy skillet since 3:45.

Practice with the band yesterday was frightening to say the least, as we were making a lot of composition mistakes. The only redemption in my mind comes with hanging on to faith that these awesome veterans will wing it really well and pull me through this petrifying and delightful
Plimpton-esque fiasco I’ve gotten myself into again.

I am scared shitless and that means that I am fully engaged and deeply invested in the process of creating something bigger than myself so, paradoxically, all of the angst that I’m experiencing right now is a very good sign.

Fifteen years ago my dear pal and fellow Himalayan trekking troubadour, Jeff Ragsdale and I did something like this in San Antonio at a place called Jump Start performance space.

We were to be the opening act for Joe Ely and Terry Allen. I had never done anything like that before other than playing solo at one of my art openings.

Jeff flew in from New York to accompany me. He graciously coached me by telling me about this thing called “stage patter” where you talk a little bit between songs…What he didn’t tell me about was when to quit… To say the least I over way did it

After hearing a recording of the performance, which was more patter than music (yikes!), I became very self-conscious about talking too much.

SO I’VE DECIDED TO WRITE IT.

I’ll try to go easy on you on stage, but you must know, it’s been a long time and I have a lot on my mind these days.


WHAT TO DO?

My wise cousin Joe once remedied a tough dilemma that I was going through by telling me to do what would make me most happy when I looked back on that event at eighty years old.

Today will certainly bring a smile to my cracked up old face one day, and I want to thank you for going to all the trouble to be here to share this “happening” with me.

AND WHY?

But why have I gone to all this trouble in a tiny little old bar??

Well there are two reasons…

The first is because back in November, I was giving an interactive neon glassblowing demonstration of how to twist neon glass tubing.

“What is that all about?” you might ask…Well, I’ve been doing this for years with people, it’s a lot of fun because everyone who wants to, actually gets to try their hand at playing with molten glass over a really hot fire…I call it my 1000-degree dog & pony show. It’s kind of scary and a lot of fun to do. The best part is that most everyone enjoys this experience, from an 9 year old to the most up tight 54 year old who becomes an excited kid again in about 10 minutes. Also when I include the participant’s work in a sculpture, it really enhances the experience of ownership, because fish always taste better when you catch them yourself.

Ask me about this later.
512-447-9915
Or on the web at:
www.beneon.com

So I’m doing this demo and I notice a familiar looking woman, (Emily is her name) in the audience looking at me, she looked very surprised and happy to see me. I looked away and then back again and she was gone. I didn’t give it any more thought. Then, a few minutes later during a break, she and her husband appear, both with a huge smile on their faces. She threw her arms around me as she exclaimed loudly “Look Bill he IS alive! I told you he wasn’t dead!” I knew it! I knew you weren’t!!

Oh my God, we were so worried Ben, every time we’d drive by your old studio and see that you gone after all those years and then all that construction…We were just sick about the whole thing and then Bill would just shake his head and say I bet he’s rolling over in his grave about all this…”

WHAT????
….Wait a minute lady!!!

I thought to myself. “Jesus! I gotta get out more”!!

AND THE OTHER REASON IS..

Because I’ve been dormant for a while… I’ve been through some changes and ruminating on many levels about things, for reasons that I do and don’t know much about.

Trees drop their leaves for the winter so they can focus and draw strength from what lies deep in the dark and fertile underground. When the sun gets higher in the sky and springtime arrives, the mighty tree combines stored forces of nature from her roots and new leaves so she can produce an explosion of blossoms in order to project new life into the future.

That is so huge!

I’ve made a concerted effort to make a really big deal out of this show for the exact same reason…I have to say that I’ve pulled out all the stops, as if this show was going to tour all of the major museums. I am very pleased with the outcome.

These days, I feel like a root bound tree that was just planted in fertile ground. This spring, I am in full bloom just for you, precious honeybees!

That said, I AIN’T DEAD YET!

THE MUSIC…

As a kid, I was always charmed by people who had some music in them.
I always really liked the thought of how some people are walking around with some extra sparkle in their treasure chest.

It didn’t really have as much to do with how well they sang or played, to me, it was all about that moment of total un-self consciousness when one is lost in song. I love that!

And I have discovered why people do this, it’s because it feels soo good!

Just incase you’re wondering, I wrote all these songs.

I’ve always kept a journal. Many years ago, I had an idea about how to attempt to strengthen my pitiful memory, and that was to write & play songs from various journal excerpts.

I guess you could say that these songs are more like 3-minute episodes of my own personal reality show.

MUSIC & THE SHOW

Thanks to my dear wife and my friend Jim Leonard’s suggestion, I’ve called in the benevolent forces of great musicians to help polish up my favorite songs, put them in a nice frame and perform them as eleven additional works of art to the show.

THE SONGS.

“GOLFERS ARE FAT”

- A satire…

Golfers are fat.
And they think that it’s fantastic.
They’ve figured out a way to play
without giving anything away.
Their funny colored pants are elastic.

They knock their balls around
with all their soul.
All the way to the 19th hole
Golfers are fat.

Shopping malls are fun.
Yes malls are real exciting.
Where all the people look the same,
advertising is to blame
and all that weird fluorescent lighting.
We go to buy things there on sale
and eat fast food that’s stale.
Shopping malls are fun.

My other car’s a Rolls
Don’t laugh man, it’s paid for!
If I could paint over these rust holes
And have the doctor
burn off these moles,
Maybe I’d get laid more…

Oh I owe I owe I owe,
so off to work I go
My other car’s a Rolls.


“TRUST YOUR EQUIPMENT”
© 1992 Ben Livingston

-When I was younger and feeling troubled by some rather disturbing news about the state of my health. This was a problem solving song.

I don’t know nothing’
I used to think that I did
Everything came so easy when I was a kid
Now I find it pretty noble
Just getting’ through the day
Lately they seem so long
While on my back I lay

As my mind wanders back to that zero hour
When the load of life broke under the wheels of power
The gears started slipping,
I couldn’t get out of the way
Lost both of my legs
And it ruined my whole day.

I saw white
And I saw black
I’d give half of my life
Just to turn that clock back
I thought I’d never loose it
I was so defiant
Now I’m my doctor’s worst patient
And my lawyer’s favorite client

While my mind wanders back to that zero hour
When the load of life broke under the wheels of power
Those gears they started slipping,
I couldn’t get out of the way
shook down my spirit
and left me cryin’ all the live long day

They tell me I was lucky
Yeah, compared to what?
Now all I got left is religion
But I’m just a spiritual slut
When you’re all broke down
You better have spare parts in your head
Trust in your equipment
And run a mile right there in your bed

So try to keep your mind from wandering back to that zero hour
When the load of life broke under the wheels of power
When those gears start a slipping, you better get out of the way
Trust your own equipment
And run a mile every day


“EVIL SPIRITS”
© 1993 Ben Livingston

-Here’s a little ditty about a life of drinking too much booze.

Well this house was haunted
from the first day I could tell
There’s evil spirits
they’re risin’ from Hell
They’re comin’ after me
and they want me to pay,
that’s when I reach
for that old bottle and start to pray!
There’s evil spirits
I can feel em’ now
inside my body
from the stern to the bow
I can’t relate
so I just don’t par-tic-i-pate
I just sit in this glass house
and masturbate

There’s evil spirits!

Well it’s Saturday night
and I’m alone again
The girls won’t have me,
but I’ve got my gin
Last one who left me Lord,
she made me go all-numb
So it’s yo-ho-ho,
and a bottle of rum!

There’s evil spirits
all up inside my head
I isn’t Jethro ya’ll,
and I sure ain’t Jed.
Every time I try to drive
I can’t help but swerve
And the only reflecting I do,
is in that green glass curve

There’s evil spirits!

Har har
Shiver me timbers mate..Arrgh!

There’s evil spirits
Lord, I can feel em’ now
inside my body,
from the stern to the bow.
My eyes were red,
when the smoke began to rise
Well hot damn man,
Maybe I’m the poltergeist!

There’s evil spirits!
Har har
Shiver me timbers mate..Arrgh!



“VOLCANO + TORNADO”
© Ben Livingston 1993

-This one is dedicated to all my ex-girlfriends who I told that I wrote this song for…


She was just like a volcano,
She stored up heat
way down inside.
You know me,
I’m just a big ol’ tornado…
spinning wild across
the countryside.

And I think I know why,
But I just can’t always see
how things fall right into place
if you can just let them be…

Maybe she’s looking for a Pompeii
Who’s dying to be flooded
by her fiery rain.
Not me, man,
just let me go to Kansas,
for her wide open prairies,
where I can shake out my mane!

And I think I know why,
But I just can’t always see,
How things fall right into place
If you can just let them be…

Well somewhere between
Pompeii & Kansas,
maybe we’ll meet up again
in the land of second chances,
where your fires burn hot
while my wild wind dances
across the sands of time
down on the beach by Port Aransas..
And I think I know why,
But I just can’t always see,
How things fall right into place
If you can just let them be…


“Smart fools from Art Schools”
© 1992 Ben Livingston

-This is about the frustrating dilemma of trying to be an artist from the “outside in”...instead of from the “inside out”.

WELL THESE ART SCHOOL FOLKS
SUFFER LIFE'S CRUEL JOKES
THAT KEEP US FROM FINDING OURSELVES
PARALYZED BY ROMANCE
KEEPS US FROM OUR OWN DANCE
WHILE WE'RE TRYING TO BE SOMEBODY ELSE

SUCKED IN BY THE MYSTIQUE
AND HAMMERED BY A CRITIQUE
IT'S A CALDRON THAT'S A BIG CENTRIFUGE
AND IF YOU GOT NO AMBITION
THEN YOU WAS ONLY TUITION
THAT JUST WOUND UP SINGING THE BLUES

SMART FOOLS
FROM ART SCHOOLS
YOU THINK YOU'RE WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE
SPORTIN' ALL THE LATEST FASHION
INSTEAD OF DOING YOUR LIFE'S PASSION
I WONDER WHAT'S BEHIND YOUR DISGUISE

JEAN PAUL SATRE
WAS AT THE DEPARTMENT OF ART
BUT HE COULDN'T FIND HIS WAY
OUT THE DOOR
SO HE CONFIDED IN BEUYS
WHO MADE A TERRIBLE NOISE
AS HE THREW A HAND FULL OF LARD
ON THE FLOOR

WELL AS HE PICKED UP A PELT
HE DESCRIBED HOW HE FELT
FOR REASONS SATRE COULD NOT IGNORE
HE SAID, "IF I WERE YOU JEAN"
I'D JUST HIKE UP MY BLUE JEANS
AND TRY NOT TO BE SUCH A BORE

SMART FOOLS
FROM ART SCHOOLS
YOU THINK YOU'RE WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE
WELL THE REAL EXISTENTIALS
AREN'T DRINKING COFFEE
DOWN AT WINCHELL'S
THEY'RE WITH MOJO
PICKIN' AT THEIR TEETH WITH A KNIFE

MARCEL DUCHAMP
HAD A NUDIST CAMP
'CAUSE HE JUST LOVED PLAYIN' CHESS
WITH ALL THE GALS
BUT IF YOU PEEKED THROUGH HIS FENCE
OOOH, YOU'D PROBABLY WINCE
AT THE WAY THAT HE TREATED ALL HIS PALS

YOU SEE, SOME WERE DESCENDING
AND OTHERS, THEY WERE MENDING
ALL THOSE CLOTHES THAT THEIR BACHELOR'S HAD STRIPPED BARE
AND IF THEY LOOKED KIND OF COLD
IT'S 'CAUSE MICHAEL TRACY STOLE
ALL OF THEIR BLOOD AND THEIR PUBIC HAIR

SMART FOOLS
FROM ART SCHOOLS
YOU THINK YOU'RE WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE
SPORTIN' ALL THE LATEST FASHION
INSTEAD OF DOING YOUR LIFE'S PASSION
I WONDER HOW YOU'LL EVER SURVIVE

NOW IF ACADEMIA CALLS
FROM IT'S ECHOING HALLS
DON'T BE ASHAMED BY THIS SONG
TAKE IT THERE WITH
MAYBE YOU CAN START YOUR OWN MYTH
THAT IS IF YOU'VE GOT THE BALLS

TO BE A SMART FOOL
FROM ART SCHOOLS
ALWAYS TRYIN' TO SEPARATE
FROM THIS WORLD
WHY NOT BE A PART,
LET YOUR LIFE BE THE FINE ART
SO QUIT ACTING LIKE SUCH A BUNCH OF LITTLE OL' SQUIRRELS!
I KNOW MY VOICE,
IT AIN'T AS GOOD AS MERRILL'S

AND YOU DON'T HAVE TO BE
A DRUM MAJOR-ETTE TO TWIRL
UNH UH!


“SOMEWHERE DOWN THIS ROAD”
© Ben Livingston 2003

-I was meditating a lot in those days.

Well I think I look the same,
All my friends still recognize me.
But I really don’t feel the same,
Something’s going on inside me.

I used to pull a heavy load,
I always pushed into today.
But I traded that in for gold,
just to get pulled away…

Somewhere down this ro-oh-oh-oh-oad

Somewhere down this ro-oh-oh-oh-oad

Somewhere down this road.

Are we really here?
All strangers to this ride?
I’m trying to be on this train,
instead of just watching her roll on by…

Somewhere down this ro-oh-oh-oh-oad

Somewhere down this ro-oh-oh-oh-oad

Somewhere down this road.

It’s up to us to choose…
You are my sunshine or the blues.
Either way we win,
learn it now,
or just do it again…

Somewhere down this ro-oh-oh-oh-oad

Somewhere down this ro-oh-oh-oh-oad

Somewhere down this road.

So what do we do now?
Just look at that horizon!
The sun’s coming up somewhere
and somewhere, it’s going down…

Somewhere down this ro-oh-oh-oh-oad

Somewhere down this ro-oh-oh-oh-oad

Somewhere down this road.



“WALKING TO SAN ANTONIO”
© 2003 Ben Livingston

-Even more meditation…

Walking to San Antonio,
It’s a circuitous road to my soul.
Walking to San Antonio,
Spiral rings around a pot of gold.

Walking to San An,
Walking to San An,
Walking to San An
Were Walking to San Antonio.

The smoke alone
makes me want to quit,
Burning those piles
of trash from inside.
And the hardest thing
for me to admit,
Is that I hate the journey,
but I LOVE the ride.

Walking to San An,
Walking to San An,
Walking to San An
Were Walking to San Antonio.

It’s just a little walk in the park,
That first step is all it takes.
And once you get
less afraid of the dark,
you’re gonna find
that there are no mistakes.

Walking to San An,
Walking to San An,
Walking to San An
Were Walking to San Antonio.



“BROKEN MAN’S DREAM”
© 2001 Ben Livingston

-This lament is about my poor sweet daddy.


HE DIED ALONE IN A MOTEL ROOM
JUST THE WAY HE LIVED HIS LIFE
A COLD A/C AND A WARTIME HISTORY SHOW
PLAYING ON HIS TV

THE WAR, IT ENDED
ALONG WITH HIS YOUNG LIFE
HIM, JUST WAITING IN LINE

HE WANTED THOSE WINGS SO HE COULD FLY AWAY FROM ALL OF THOSE THINGS
THAT HURT HIM SO BAD INSIDE

SO MUCH PAIN
SO DEEP INSIDE
TWISTED AND BENT FROM ALL THE LIED THAT HE TIED
TIED SO TIGHT ALL AROUND HIS PRIDE
TO PROTECT THAT SWEET AND LONELY HEART
HE ALWAYS TRIED SO HARD TO HIDE

(SOLO BREAK)


HE LEFT US ALONE TO REMEMBER HIM
IN THE WAYS THAT WE WILL
WE GET TOGETHER SOMETIMES WHEN THE MOON IS FULL
HE’S BECOME THE KING OF MY HILL

BUT HE WAITED TOO LONG TO FIND
THINGS AREN’T ALWAYS AS THEY SEEM
SO HE GO TO STAR AS THE LOUDEST PANTOMIME
IN A BROKEN MAN’S DREAM

SO MUCH PAIN
SO DEEP INSIDE
TWISTED AND BENT FROM ALL THE LIED THAT HE TIED
TIED SO TIGHT ALL AROUND HIS PRIDE
TO PROTECT THAT SWEET AND LONELY HEART
HE ALWAYS TRIED SO HARD TO HIDE



“LIKE YOU DO”
© 1999 Ben Livingston

-I love my Patti!

Nothing to do,
and no one
to do nothing with,
I think of you,
even when I’m feeling like this.
‘Cause no one gets me to thinking,
and no one gets me to feeling,
and no one gets me to loving
like you do.

You take your time,
I’d a crashed a long time ago.
And when you make up your mind
It sure seems like the right way to go.

‘Cause no one gets me to thinking,
and no one gets me to feeling,
and no one gets me to loving
like you do.

When that moon is full and rising,
my mind slips back across our time.
And oh, you are so appetizing…
Baby, you can drive me plum out of my mind!

When I hold you close,
You’re always right there with me.
Smelling like a rose,
We’ve come out cleaner
than the laundry.
‘Cause no one gets me to thinking,
and no one gets me to feeling,
and no one gets me to loving
like you do.



“FLEMMING PRARIE”
© 2008 Ben Livingston

May God rest her fine soul.


I WANT ME SOME IMMEDIATE GRATIFICATION
IF I DON’T FIND ME SOME SOON
I’M GONNA TAKE MYSELF ANOTHER LONG VACATION
IT’S BEEN DAY IN AND DAY OUT
AS I GAZE IN AND DAZE OUT

SHE WAS A SEARCHING VINE
MARRIED TO THE KING
I ONCE SAW HER REACHING FOR HEAVEN
THROUGH THE WAY THAT SHE LOOKED AT THINGS

HOP UP ON THAT TUNA FISH CAN
I BET YOU CAN SEE A HUNDRED MILES
ACROSS THAT DRIED UP COLETTO CREEK BED
THAT’S CRACKED INTO A BILLION TILES

SHE GOT ME TO LOOK
SHE GOT ME TO LOOK A LITTLE
SHE GOT ME TO LOOK A LITTLE BIT DEEPER
INSIDE

I’M HUNGRY FOR A MIDNIGHT SNACK
ONE’LL CHASE THAT MONKEY OFF MY BACK
STILL LOOKING TO TURN A CHEAP TRICK
STILL LOOKING TO GET RICH QUICK

BUT SHE GOT ME TO LOOK
SHE GOT ME TO LOOK A LITTLE
SHE GOT ME TO LOOK A LITTLE BIT DEEPER
INSIDE

FLEMMING PRARIE GRASS STILL DOES A HULA DANCE
WITH THAT SOUTH TEXAS BREEZE SO FINE
I ‘M HERE TO TELL YOU ALL THAT MADELINE O’CONNOR
SHE WAS A FRIEND OF MINE

SHE GOT ME TO LOOK
SHE GOT ME TO LOOK A LITTLE
SHE GOT ME TO LOOK A LITTLE BIT DEEPER
INSIDE


“WE’RE ALL IN THIS ALONE”
© Ben Livingston June 8, 1999

-From even more meditating.
(With special thanks to Jane Wagner and Lili Tomlin)


I come
you go
it really don’t matter what you know
Just remember
we're all in this alone

I stay
you leave
it really don’t matter what we believe
Remembering that
we're all in this alone

(chorus)
From the first bright light
in the delivery room
To that tunnel of white,
two days before the tomb
la la la la la

Plant seeds or pull weeds
it don't matter they're all good deeds
Just remember
we're all in this alone

Take flight
or stay and fight!
Just try and make it matter
with all your might
and remember
we're all in this alone

(chorus)
From that first drop of milk
to your last pack of cigarettes
Do you really think you were the one
who laid down all your bets?
la la la la la

(SOLO)

(chorus)
Some suffer for years
before the big grim reep
Others are more lucky
they just croak right in thier sleep
la la la la la

I come
you go
It really DOES matter what we know.


George Plimpton is a hero of mine. He liked to try out things that interested him and then wrote about it.

I’ve loved that idea ever since I was a kid because as a “sprinter” as opposed to a “long distance runner” type personality, it seemed to be a great solution to dealing with a head full of ideas driven by the attention span of a gnat.

So today, I am here for the grand finale - a sprint to the finish of a very intense and fascinating process, My goal was basically to finagle my way into playing my own gig smack-dab in the middle of the most famous live music event in the world…SXSW…And now we are all here together on record during this event.

IN CONCLUSION

Please note that your parking ticket will be validated upon a generous donation to the tip jar….

Thank you for coming out!

-Yours ‘till Victoria Falls,

XOB