Vietnam Jungle VI – III

DSC_5106Here is my jungle palette as of the moment … it’s fairly descriptive, is it not? of what I know not … heh … but I thought I would share …

DSC_5107and here is the painting of the now … ha … I just touched it up a bit with a tiny round brush today with various colors today … but did major painting in previous ones

listening in a major major way to Joe Strummer and the Mescaleros today, but in past days it has been nonstop The National’s previous two albums like a soundtrack

but … here is a clip of Joe and his band performing a song we hope to cover — we’re waiting for a click track and music to which to perform a vocal any week now from friends … Johnny Appleseed … and we hope to donate to a group that helps protect/save BEESSSSSSZZZZZ paleeze … so that’s way exciting — could Joe Strummer have been some sort of musical prophet? hmmmm what do you think? this Global A Go-Go album is somewhat prophetic in its own way the more I listen to it … and that is a LOT

so again, I’ve been listening to The National in the past days — except for an eleven hour clip of rainforest that rains on the leaves and the ground in a most deliciously satisfying way, accompanied by seemingly pterydactyl-sounding birds, monkeys going off in rhythm with the rain, doo dee dee doo duh birds like heavunnnn i say

in a most primal way that delights my soul in a manner that makes me not want run when i hear thunder but stay — a most unNATURal thing, I must say



whereas The National’s songs make my heart cringe almost with every note and word? how? and WHY? but I consider it such good musical THERAPY


i was just saying the other day how fractured my heart is/ seems

with old/young painful girls enraged still who I try my best to comfort

out of my control who are up lots with such lively


adrenaline like so much wonderful dynamic coffeeeeee

it’s hard to resist

but the slightest warmth, touch sometimes

a panic and rage instead of a warm response and then apologies

from all the other alters and hosts (which number in the ?)

and shame and no forgiveness for her

and she’s up again most likely

hmmmm and sigh again because she is confident stormcloud energy

needing to vent after so long down

I ordered the most anticipated (by me) book yesterday? a book from recent years by Sally Kempton, who I’ve read articles by in Yoga Journal for many years now …

I’m so excited … deeply … hooray!

The reception for the Howard County Conservancy, Art of Stewardship, Artist as Messenger, could not have been more well attended, warm, or a wake up call to even me, a very concerned climate change activist. Sigh. Maple trees not making maple sap. Bumblebees disappearing. Birds off course from food sources all over the world. Food sources of pollinators dislocated. FOOD SOURCES. People. US. Well, let’s not be selfish and care about ourselves. Finally. But US. I care a lot about the bees, personally, and the Maple trees, and the songbirds, but US, well, if you WILL. Heh.

So, and then there was AMAZING artwork of say, 40 artists, and lovely artists and folks to talk to, before the sad discussion of the environment. And then we had to come rescue Chipper from his aloneness in the apartment, don’t you know. For he gets most concerned when we are away for the slightest amount of time. Poor boy.

I just gave him a good massage, for he has achies about the neck and shoulder area (that I know of, because it’s very tight there and he winces and sighs when I touch him there) and told him he is very special, a Bodhisattva, actually. He knows lots of words. I’ll stop there, and not tell you of our one-sided conversation just now, lest you think I’m more nuts, than perhaps, you may already do.


On Friday we were blessed to get in early at the Capitol Arts Network and hang three paintings from the 2011-12 Wild Peony Series. It’s not anywhere on the website, but I sketched from my photos of peonies, then went “wild” with especially mixed acrylic colors, sorbets and chocolates mainly, for what became a sensual palette for strange, erotic shapes, coming as they did from the flowers. Quite fun. Those are up until May 15 in Rockville, MD …

I have about seven Calls for Artists outstanding in the coming weeks !! fun … we shall see if I’m blessed to be accepted into more?

Jason and I are going to attempt a vocal recording this weekend for Our Little Town by Greg Brown, another powerful song/musician. I immediately think of coming from what was once a small town, my home town of Cartersville, Georgia. It was 15,000 folks strong when I was growing up, not really a farm town, kind of a mixed industrial and farm town by then, with Union Carbide even … which was actually right across a field from us where we lived in the middle class brick ranch neighborhood … I remember when there was the accident/spill in India in the 70s and I just would stare and stare at the Union Carbide plant after that in the yard … my father eventually noticed me doing that and assured me, ASSURED me it could NEVER HAPPEN HERE … WHY? I asked.


a mix it was then and is now a town that Atlanta ate, like Decatur, where my alma mater is, Agnes Scott College, only back then it was a super treat to go to Atlanta, a 45 minute trip, Decatur being 20 minutes from “downtown” … now Cartersville is considered a mere suburb of Atlanta and severe traffic blocks the main intersections of town

but I remember the small town that it was, the main store fronts, the pace, the smiles and the feel of that tight knit, for a Southern town in the 60s and 70s, with its throwback haunch of 50s repression still … meaning the dress largely remained the same, along with the attitudes and the values … despite what was happening in the rest of the world, right?

enclaves … that’s what you call it, I think … sometimes it is inside a culture, inside those folk’s families, inside their hearts and souls … you can’t really get inside that very easily, no matter what you do and say sometimes

no sigh here, though, it’s a given

like that book, The Five Things We Cannot Change — you have to stay with people — I was born there —

in my case it’s a love/hate thing — I accept it but I don’t like it — I understand it as a given politically and I work with it; does that make sense?

but not just politically, because I have and I do

but spiritually — like the book — emotionally, like my heart

I have to parse things out of my heart — memories — sort things from things and say this is good this is bad, mostly bad, mostly good — it hurts like hell but I’ve had to split people apart in my hear and head and soul sometimes — sometimes it is a daily ritual as people come up during brushing my teeth, people who used to wake me up or put me to bed, you know?

it’s fastidious and heart rending and sometimes I let it pass to my detriment only to have to do it the next time, you know? gah

sometimes when I get myself super clean I feel super clean

sometimes I can’t get clean enough no matter what I do

that is a symptom of rape survivors and it … happens about two-three times a week

I love to feel super clean like everyone else, right?

I heard back from Gold’s Gym and have an appointment on Wednesday at 2 pm — should be interesting, eh? I wonder what exercises they will suggest for my core

I can no longer do my pt exercises until Monday’s appointment at 2 pm out of pure fear

See, I did my exercises two days in a row? and the third day I walked Chipper (in the extreme and sudden frigid cold snap, I’ll grant you) and just as suddenly my right RIB CAGE spasmed/went out? what? it’s never done that before all the way up my neck and down my right arm? okay so I had a reception, the Howard County Conservancy one, that night, so I spent the day largely in bed and took Baclyvin the muscle relaxant as prescribed to some avail …

and fortunately my symptoms have declined but it’s still fragile and spazzy all along my spine now … so I’m loathe to do the exercises that really force the issue until the pt has seen and discussed this, right? gah

I mean


It is a delightfully warm day today and I said yesterday that I was channeling (or suddenly it felt as though I was and I had vivid flashes of) Steve McQueen in my black motorcycle jacket (what? a Southern lady?) and jeans … I thought, walking into therapy, along the step stones of her charming porch front house, I should be blue-eyed affable, yet purely sexy, without restraint, with hips — but the purse, I thought, never a purse — well, if he had to, How would Steve McQueen have carried this purse? not a purse, but this one?

and I grinned a wild grin

Southern ladies don’t do that, either


with the red lipstick

See, see … they just don’t … who is this character who does all these wild things? We could call her Cat or Kitty but she is also College and ? gah … do I have to name her, when any number of us can and will slip inside her and up her to BE five times before I can name her anyway? It’s not fair to try to name her, really.

A friend on Facebook posted something written kind of garbledly but so beautifully in graffiti on a wall somewhere and I posted something, like, Graffiti is so art/poetry of the now, although it’s been around for a while …

and although there is gang violence associated with it, I do mean that …

okay … I think that’s what I’ve got for today … and I haven’t really painted yet … and it’s four pm! gah! ha … 😛



About amyjacksoncc

I am a professional artist, writer and musician creating from my home studio. To view my artwork, visit
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