On the Opposite Side of the World...

By Dnoll

Click here for a reality check.

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Raining Frogs, Mini Earth, and the Downhill Sesh

By Dnoll
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And the storm raged on here in the Holy Land recently, lasting for about 3 days and flattening anything that was mildly at rust or untended; trees, buildings, signs, and cliff faces collapsed or just plain disappeared. Flash flood warnings in the Negev desert were in high effect and we all buttoned up our houses with whatever we had on tap. The fires that had just swept through the north were still smoldering and the ash of the ruin of many people’s entire lives hadn’t even begun to settle. All of this, and yet... we were happy—the rain was finally coming. The crispy ground covering the Holy Land has been parched for years from a severe draught. The Kinneret (Sea of Galilee), where much of our water comes from, has been going down, down, down, and is in its 7th year of decent; it is now 85 cm. above the ‘black line,’ the line that we dread. The black line is below the lowest ‘red line,’ which we passed a while ago. Sinking below the black line means that we will not only no longer be a...
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Praying towards the West

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Living on the edge between land and sea, in the State of California in the USA, was all I had ever known when I met my Basherit, the love of my life. We met for the first time in the doorway to our future home, the sun directly behind me as the portal opened to reveal the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. My head began to bobble, I noticed, unconsciously as if I were from far away, in the east, in India. The shadow I had cast allowed her to see me without squinting in the low-lying sun, as it made its way across our bright blue sky. She bobbled her head in return, saying later that the peculiar action was to maintain the effect of a halo around my head. But, we both understand only now that it was actually to preserve the vision of another world. Unknown to either of us at the time, we stood at the entrance to a portal, one which offered us a vision into the world to come. Living in the West, both of the continental United States and in the greater world, we had been raised stric...
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The Adam and Eve Show

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“COME ON DOWN!” said the flaming blue dragon guarding the gates of Sheol. The twirling fire all around crackled from the dragon’s throat as it sang along with a tune spinning into the garden from speakers unseen. We had been caught, both of our halves, and now we knew we must ride a waterslide which would probably spit us out into a realm unknown. The jaggy dragon jittered and swayed as its cute little face grimaced in pain – pain that we had caused. We lost, and... “LOST SHALL WE BE!” said the speakers pumping out sound to a near-empty audience skittering hither and thither. All of our new friends had scattered away to dark corners once they heard the ill news. We had lost. No one told us that we could be taxed from our winnings, much less being dropped from the entrance of Eden through a garden downspout, like runoff spewed onto the surface of a land unknown. Well, maybe we had been warned while still conjoined, but that was so many moons ago … I mean, come on! This sucks; just come ...
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The Land of Oz

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Standing on a tiny beach, situated on a tiny island off the coast of Oz, I saw a two meter shark suddenly appear in 30 centimeters of water only a meter away from me. A handful of children had been playing in the crystal blue water only moments before. Thankfully, the children had all departed just before the gaping jaws broke the surface and thrashed around, hunting for something unseen in the shallow waters. I jumped a little and hesitated before yelling “shark!” to the other bathers on the beach. The shark left as fast as it had appeared off around the edge of the little sandy cove we had chosen to spend our afternoon in. It was the first shark we had seen, and on our last day adventuring through the wilds of Queensland, Australia. While driving a campervan up the coast from Brisbane to Daintree, we wondered why nobody was ever in the water. We assumed it was because of sharks, right up until we saw signs warning of dangerous, life-threatening jelly fish . Then it made total sens...
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The Goblin Within

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It was so long ago, now that my life has moved on in so many ways. I was worried about sweating too much on my lunch break. We were trying to build an exhibition in Little Tokyo, right near Al's Bar in downtown LA. The Temporary Contemporary, the place where I existed at the time, was the gutter-child of M.O.C.A., the Museum of Contemporary Art. I once sniffed by accident there hydrochloric acid in the back room serving as a workshop, causing my lungs to freeze up; I once had a flake of metal flicker down from my stringy blond hair, as I flung it about, into my cornea after grinding bars in front of an international artist's ode to contemporary art; and I once played a pickup game with Willem Defoe, on a court designed by Jonathan Borofsky to illustrate the ongoing Cold War between Russia and the USA. We were so young, back then, and we were so isolated and insane. Being young is a thing which lives on in memory, but changes slightly as we remember the things we'd done; bei...
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Conical Time

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The dirt at my feet swirled as I drove my favorite matchbox-car through it. My lap was open with my legs encompassing the hole I’d dug. I was living, and couldn’t stop. I had to do a number two, but shifted my heel to plug the eruption from ever occurring… ever. My lap and the hole I’d dug begged my attention with every moment occurring, and I drove and dug and drove again as my life unfolded. I was living, and the world around me sped forward, but never even registered into the realm I inhabited. I had stopped, and I was living. My friends went to accost pedophiles in the park, and I went along. We were in high school, young and tender beings. We wanted to live, we wanted something to happen. My Italian friend’s little brother did the deed, plunging into deep cover, sitting wantonly on a bench. We were all developed, being California surfers, so it was easy to see how perverts could bridge between ‘adult’ and a mere child. I watched as the mark put his arm around the kid, whispering s...
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Rising from the Dust and So-called Reality

By Dnoll
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My First Art Studio When I was young, I often thought to myself, "What is going on here; what is wrong with this world?" It seems to have taken 50 years to receive some kind of an answer... and the answer, as you might be guessing, didn't come easy, if it even exists at all. You see, I have spent my entire life 'tuning' into the frequencies of living, of Earth. That isn't to say that I 'did' tune in, but to say that I tried, day in and day out. This process of attempted tune started when I became an artist at the ripe age of 7, maybe 8, in Mr. 'Servant of the Bishop (SOTB) 's'  class. He was a tall man, maybe even taller than my father, who was just about two meters high (6' 6"). Keep in mind that this was an informative and influential time for me. I had even kissed my first girl in the playground that year, albeit unknown to her and, actually, it was on the top of the head. Funny, well… never mind... Anyways, in Mr.  ...
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Madagascar and the Mora Mora

By Dnoll
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I always thought of Madagascar as a big island with weird creatures inhabiting it. Actually, I wasn’t too far off from that assessment, my understanding having come from spending more than a month traversing its girth and length in road cars, dirt cars, water cars, boats of all sizes, planes that almost didn’t fly (Air Madagascar, you know…) and by foot, huffing it up and down steep wooded hills, crawling through dark geologically fascinating tunnels, cringing over rope bridges, wooden bridges and piers, and broken-down automobile bridges, too. We traversed as much as we could (barring the heavily touristic areas, of course), starting in Antananarivo (Tana), the capital city, where the head honchos rule, it seems, with a titanium gavel and inequity from everything physically binding including gravity, or is it gravidity. We met amazing people from all over the world, including … yes … from Madagascar. We chose our travel destination with a sense of logic, but you know how that goes … “...
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Choosing Your Lot

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  Purim, Oct. 7, and Our Next Generation  -   I grew up in a world where I could be anything I wanted, back in Southern California, in the 70s and 80s. I had the freedom to explore what life might offer, and my parents encouraged me to play and to learn. I needed a foundation and chores, mind you, but a musical instrument was essential to grow up in the human world. I was encouraged to dress for success, too. My parents tried anything they could to give me the tools they thought I would need in life. I liked art, they noticed, so my parents introduced me to a commercial artist to learn the ropes. After a year of piano lessons with Mr. Stytska playing “On Top of Spaghetti,” I quit. From a lack of social graces, I was forced to dance with a broom at cotillion (etiquette classes for middle-school aged children), so I quit. I had my own plans, you see, which needed forming ASAP if I was to prove my worthiness to my own ego first, then others around me, and only then to...
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BoZa - Book of Zombie Apocalypse

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Chapter One: Black and White  —  Startling me every time, the alarm goes off and I think I must be dreaming. The thought of sleep rolls around in my head for a few breaths, then reality bites and I open my eyes with irritation searing at the morning darkness that permeates my tiny room. Clang-a-lang, clang-a-lang, clang-a-lang, the alarm keeps blaring, waking me from repetitious dreams that grant me peace and control to my worldview-asleep. Grumbling and moaning, I get up just like every other day, peeling back the sheet as if coiling back the seal to expose yet another can of fish to daylight. Breakfast is served. It is monotonous, monotone, just like the slippers I slide my bunion toes and greying-feet into.  Shuffling down the narrow hall, I can see the light staring through the door as the hollow orb of sun begins its slogging path across a vapid sky for the day. The light is also grey, even as I push back a spring-loaded screen-door and lower myself off the porch-ste...
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