Bum Creations

[Melanie]

A thread to share creative crafts, be they pen, paint, poem, sculpture or anything really.

 

They don't need to be relevant, nor do they need to pertain to Taoism

 

Just please post only your own art.

[Melanie]

I'll start us off by posting one of my older sculptures

 

This is my buddha Buddhabot

[Marblehead]

I like that Buddhabot!

[mYTHmAKER]

Nice Melanie

Maybe you should rename this topic "Tao Bums Got Talent"

[Melanie]

Nice Melanie

Maybe you should rename this topic "Tao Bums Got Talent"

 

That's why your so much better with words then I am.

[thelerner]

I write, here's what I consider one of my more moving stories:

 

Paper Planes of September

By thelerner

 

Jonathon was back in his office. His chair was tall and covered in soft leather. He was dressed in a formal navy blue suit, what his mentor called a clone suit, almost identical to all the outfit’s the men wore in the office. Only a colorful tie, which she had bought, set him apart.

 

His computer was the latest technology, a Pentium 3, with 2 monitors attached. Numbers scrolled across the screens. He was supposed to analyzing them, strategizing for what would happen in the days global bond market, instead he sat staring vacantly ahead. Only when a low grinding mechanical sound caught his attention did his face show any attention. He looked around for the source, wondered briefly what it was, then gave up. His eyes remained vacant but a slight tension remained in his face.

 

His fingers reached for paper. Without looking he slowly folded a paper airplane, the simplest kind, the classic dart. Once finished he wrote the name Marty Weinger on it. Marty was his office neighbor to the right. He tossed it forcefully, it hit the wall, bending its tip and landed in the silver waste paper basket. His fingers folded another, the thick water mark paper held the shape well. His shiny metal pen wrote Sally Find, the name of the soon to leave pregnant receptionist. He threw this one lighter, it wafted down up down then disappeared into the basket.

 

On the third he wrote Able Patel, the name of the office's mail boy and all around fetch it guy. Marty had been calling him Gunga Din behind his back, claiming it was a compliment for his buoyant attitude. The Patel plane hit the wall hard, breaking its nose, its body hit the rim, more out then in, but fell backwards into the can. Their superior Barbara Pace had laid out the law to Marty, ‘don't call anyone a name behind the back you wouldn't call them to their face‘. She added that Able's enthusiastic attitude was what helped them stand the more negative elements in the office.

 

The grinding sound was getting louder, Jonathon’s fingers moved faster. Planes for Joshua, Alex, Patricia and Manuel were all folded and tossed, only Alex's missed.

 

On the next plane he wrote Barbara. Years earlier she'd been the token woman the firm hired to fend off discrimination complaints. She'd come to prove herself the most astute analyst they had. Not the biggest money maker, but matchless in her ability understand and explain the markets hidden intricacies. She'd been his mentor in the early days, showing him everything from how to understand cross currency irregularities to how to make the perfect paper flyer. Her long fingernails giving her a decided advantage.

 

As he picked up the plane and drew it back the door opened. Barbara walked in. She asked if she could get him a drink from the new Seattle coffee shop that had just opened on the corner. Her kindness and sense of security never ceased to amaze him.

 

He murmured “No, no mud for me”, then asked her a question, "Why do some planes fall in and others don't?"

"Chaos theory" she replied, "Somewhere in the building a door opens, it creates a breeze. The breeze doesn't die, no energy does. It moves unseen in ways that seem random, gathering and separating.”

 

"Is Chaos bad, Barbara?"

 

"Good and Bad are personal. I've got to go now" she said and turned.

 

He whispered, "Don't leave" but she was already gone. He threw her plane a little to the left, it curved in flight and landed in the bin.

 

The grinding grew louder. It was getting intolerable. Suddenly it was drown out by a crash. It sounded like dishes were breaking, loudly. A high shelf gave way, crashing through the next one and every shelf under it. It kept going long after it should have stopped. Fine, irreplaceable china being crushed to dust he imagined.

 

Finally it stopped, but the ever-present groaning went on. A new sound was added, the building's fire alarm. He split apart, one Jonathon staying seated, the other getting up to leave, joining others in a crush, moving down the stair well. They passed a fireman talking on a radio and climbing in the opposite direction. Black letters on man's yellow jacket read Smith. The other part of him, sitting in the office wrote Smith on an airplane and let if fly.

 

There was no smoke but the stairway smelled of sulphur and burnt metal, as if they were descending into hell. The smoke didn’t hit till he was on the first floor. Two policemen were there, Officers Briggs and Meyerson hustling people towards the outer doors.

 

Forty floors above, Jonathon wrote their names down on the same plane, with a flick of the wrist it flew directly into the waste paper basket. At ground level, the Jonathon below was in chaos. He moved through toxic darkness rubbing against other desperate people.

 

For Jonathon above, the noise stopped and the building shook. He put the finishing folds on the plane and wrote his name, Jonathon Goldwin. He aimed, once, twice, and let if fly, staring intently at it. It tilted in flight, hit the wall, touched the rim and balanced there for a second.

 

Then, then he woke up. Chest heaving, body chilled. As his eyes opened he willed himself to forget the nightmare; push it into the place where dreams lie forgotten. The emotional impact faded, details began slipping.

 

Slipping until his eyes focused on a crinkled paper on his night stand. Along a crease was his name and a smiley face in neat feminine hand writing.

 

Now the waking nightmare began, memories of a place unseen. Where a woman on a roof top, amongst the screaming and burning, folded paper airplanes, wrote her goodbyes and let them fly.

 

 

Here's a few lighter pieces.

 

Hmnnn Poetry:

 

There once was a man who loved Tao

He went around saying Om Padmi Kow

Enlightened he wasn't

Said his second cousin

So today he just goes with the flow

 

 

 

 

 

A man tried to live without regrets

He searched for all of lifes secrets

He traveled the earth

before sitting in dirt

and said its time I began seeking egret

 

 

 

There was a leprechaun by the name of O'Denty

Who called others nasty names a plenty

O'Denty my dear,

the whole world's a mirror

You'll end up feeling so sad and empty

 

 

 

... tibet .. would let .. met ... secret .. screw it

 

There was a young maid from tibet

who slept with everyone she met

The monks were alarmed

There celibacy harmed

Til the abbot told them to screw it.

Edited September 18, 2012 by thelerner

[GrandmasterP]

Sit with both feet flat on the floor.

Be comfortable.

Now lift slightly then begin move your right foot in a small clockwise circle about the size of a dinner plate. Nice and easy.

Keep going.

Well done.

OK whilst still circling your foot...

Raise your right hand.

And use it to slowly draw a big Number 6 in the air.

 

 

 

 

 

Your foot has changed direction.

 

 

Good eh?

[mYTHmAKER]

Painting

Edited September 20, 2012 by mYTHmAKER

[Fū Yue]

I just drew this tonight.

 

[skydog]

[Aetherous]

That looks like the inside of my cells. Awesome!

[Aetherous]

.

Edited September 22, 2012 by turtle shell

[Protector]

suddenly I get an impression that whatever I put here, it will look good...

 

 

 

SHY SHY SHY SHY SHY!!!

[Aetherous]

Did some coffee shops. At the time I was mostly interested in the art of recording (preamps, A/D convertors, etc)...would only take myself seriously as a musician if I were in a band and played more of a supportive role.

[Stosh]

Egret found

Edited September 20, 2012 by Stosh

[Aetherous]

how does it feel to be just another domino,

falling by the touch of my hidden hand?

how does it feel to be a pawn;

just another sacrificial lamb?

how does it feel to be the sweat shop worker,

making supplies for my endless demand?

how does it feel to be the rich man,

creating the very hell beneath the spot where I stand?

Edited September 22, 2012 by turtle shell

[Trunk]

*really* cool thread!

 

Some years ago I found a $5 brush pen in a Japanese paper store and started painting the syllables of the mani mantra (as the mantra meditation involves visualizing the syllables). Painted the mani syllables over and over... and over.

 

 

Wanted to expand and so bought a book on Sumi-e (Japanese brush painting) and have been learning basic bamboo. Also my $5 pen ran out, couldn't find another so bought a Kuretake and am very happy w/ it.

 

 

I've found more and more that I can paint my inner life.

 

 

Few months ago I hit gold. A crayola water color set at the local drugstore for like $3. I started a JOURNAL that is just painting. I'll do qi gong or meditate or whatever I do to "look inside" and some days I'm impelled to express it... but when I've written it down in a journal it is just so wordy and not fun to look back at. I'm finding the paintings to be fun and beautiful and express what I need to, can be taken in at a glance... and tracking my paintings over time clarify inner progression tremendously. Hugely therapeutic for an esoteric nerd like me, no one hardly to talk to, lol.

 

[skydog]

nice stuff here...

 

(failed to figure out how to use the picture thing so nevermind)

Edited September 23, 2012 by sinansencer

[Stosh]

Write some text

Hit more reply options

browse

SELECT the pic

attatch file

submit the attachment

( I think that was it)

[madMUHHH]

Write some text

Hit more reply options

browse

SELECT the pic

attatch file

submit the attachment

( I think that was it)

 

What a beautiful poem. So wonderfully clear and precise. I really like it.

[Stosh]

[GrandmasterP]

*really* cool thread!

 

Some years ago I found a $5 brush pen in a Japanese paper store and started painting the syllables of the mani mantra (as the mantra meditation involves visualizing the syllables). Painted the mani syllables over and over... and over.

 

 

Wanted to expand and so bought a book on Sumi-e (Japanese brush painting) and have been learning basic bamboo. Also my $5 pen ran out, couldn't find another so bought a Kuretake and am very happy w/ it.

 

 

I've found more and more that I can paint my inner life.

 

 

Few months ago I hit gold. A crayola water color set at the local drugstore for like $3. I started a JOURNAL that is just painting. I'll do qi gong or meditate or whatever I do to "look inside" and some days I'm impelled to express it... but when I've written it down in a journal it is just so wordy and not fun to look back at. I'm finding the paintings to be fun and beautiful and express what I need to, can be taken in at a glance... and tracking my paintings over time clarify inner progression tremendously. Hugely therapeutic for an esoteric nerd like me, no one hardly to talk to, lol.

 

..........................................................

That is nice work Trunk, I especially like the inner life image.

[Stosh]

The sad puppy?

Stosh

[skydog]

So yeh here are some random spontaneous drawings oh yeh one spontaneous poem, I find spontaneous drawings really get you into the flow and surrender and spontaneous poems or words bring out wisdom inducing a shamanic state, aldeous huxley also mentions how copying (as in copying and drawing) really improves your sense of perception...anyhow I do it because i like it and I dont care whether it is useful or not as that kind of destroys the point of it

 

The first indicates expressing ideas, getting ideas out.

 

 

The second is putting memorie into the picture, ideas like stealing energy, the filter/lens on reality, focusing on different parts of the drum you see what you focus on upside down earth how we may be upside down we just think were up...spontaneoity

 

 

I like the idea of maybe using my creativity to live in this system/make money because I dislike most other ways...but of course have to improve skills a bit

 

[mYTHmAKER]

*really* cool thread!

 

Some years ago I found a $5 brush pen in a Japanese paper store and started painting the syllables of the mani mantra (as the mantra meditation involves visualizing the syllables). Painted the mani syllables over and over... and over.

 

 

Wanted to expand and so bought a book on Sumi-e (Japanese brush painting) and have been learning basic bamboo. Also my $5 pen ran out, couldn't find another so bought a Kuretake and am very happy w/ it.

 

 

I've found more and more that I can paint my inner life.

 

 

Few months ago I hit gold. A crayola water color set at the local drugstore for like $3. I started a JOURNAL that is just painting. I'll do qi gong or meditate or whatever I do to "look inside" and some days I'm impelled to express it... but when I've written it down in a journal it is just so wordy and not fun to look back at. I'm finding the paintings to be fun and beautiful and express what I need to, can be taken in at a glance... and tracking my paintings over time clarify inner progression tremendously. Hugely therapeutic for an esoteric nerd like me, no one hardly to talk to, lol.

 

 

Very nice - keep going