I changed the name of the vacant lot behind the house, here, to Poison Ivy Meadows. The dirt and rocks the poison weeds grow on belongs to the City, and I'll be fucked if I'm about to buy land off the sleazy, tax hiking bastards downtown, but damn if I'm not pleased to be using Poison Ivy Meadows for my private knife throwing haven. It's all the shit is good for. There is a huge dead oak tree, died of natural causes (I think) and is leaving it's lumbering earthly remains to great causes, like the Guit Smash and the Fiddle Smash, which is upcoming. I did the Guit Smash earlier this year, and the year previous to that I conducted the Mirror Smasher. Poison Ivy Meadows is way more productive than any number of local nonprofit cultural agencies that I'm too fucking nice to mention by name.
The new name is in honor of the acres and acres of poison ivy growing there. I get it once a year, and don't care for it, but it never gets too bad. I presume it's helping to repel intruders and assholes in general, who have as much right to be there as I do, but of course my work is more important than anything some jerk needs to do. That's nature.
Mother Nature manufactures the poison ivy, and I provide knife and ax throwing demonstrations. Other performance work is done, regularly, in Poison Ivy Meadows. I feel as though I have married Mother Nature, when I'm throwing hatchets in The Meadow. She is an asshole some of the times, case in point, the poison ivy. Also, mosquitos, arm pit hair, under arm odor, lice, bed bugs, Stalin, Hitler and Dick Cheney. Mother Nature and I get drunk together and screw once a week, and are pretty much at odds the rest of the time. Marriage. What a fucking stupid institution.
The new name is in honor of the acres and acres of poison ivy growing there. I get it once a year, and don't care for it, but it never gets too bad. I presume it's helping to repel intruders and assholes in general, who have as much right to be there as I do, but of course my work is more important than anything some jerk needs to do. That's nature.
Mother Nature manufactures the poison ivy, and I provide knife and ax throwing demonstrations. Other performance work is done, regularly, in Poison Ivy Meadows. I feel as though I have married Mother Nature, when I'm throwing hatchets in The Meadow. She is an asshole some of the times, case in point, the poison ivy. Also, mosquitos, arm pit hair, under arm odor, lice, bed bugs, Stalin, Hitler and Dick Cheney. Mother Nature and I get drunk together and screw once a week, and are pretty much at odds the rest of the time. Marriage. What a fucking stupid institution.
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