Oh Yoko!

Dear Yoko Ono,

Yesterday I was reading a copy of Grapefruit, and shortly before burning it (as the dustcover instructs), I thought you deserved a letter.  You are a genius and I will openly confess my love for you.  Out of all of the artists that inspire Mundane Mischief, you are the big kahuna.  I won't pretend for a minute to understand you, but that is part of the point.  To me, your art exists in acknowledging and breaking interpersonal borders and causing the viewer (observer? coconspiritor?) to see the beauty in this outrageous and boring world.

Many critics of modern art justify their conventional (tight ass) ways by claiming that it isn't art if anyone can do it.  And here I display my evidence to the contrary.

(New Math by Craig Damrauer, Via:FreemanTransport.com)

I consider Water Piece to be awe-inspiring.  The page says one word on it.  "Water."  It isn't every day that a person acknowledges the beauty and thought-provoking nature of this terrifying and miraculous substance.  You have made art out of ordinary life.

Something must be said about The Beatles.  I am an enormous fan.  And I must say that I do not believe that you are the reason they broke up.  Anyone who knows anything about them knows about the intense creative energy they had and how sometimes two many creative minds clash.  Then again, sometimes they work well together, like you and John.  I believe you brought him to new creative heights and together you acted as great humanitarians.

Love,

Day

Another Stranger

Now that I'm back at Mundane Mischief, I've been reflecting about the work I've done so far.  I reread some of my entries to see if I have returned with new perspective, and I have.  The truth is that Only A Real Elf is cowardly.  I am a person that believes in the possibility of the best, but assumes the worst.  The dark changes things, but what changes even more when night falls is that the curtain falls away revealing my hypocrisy.

I look back on my mission statement and I see how in many ways I am not yet a person strong enough to fulfill that endeavor.  I sit on the bus and I look at the people around me, I leave my headphones in my backpack.  I think about that woman in the very front who has the most delicate face, and I think about walking up to her and telling her. I think about that boy hanging off of the bus handle, reading a book so engrossing that he's willing to struggle against gravity and the sudden stops of the bus to continue reading.  I think about asking him what the book is about.  I look at them again and she looks tired, she wouldn't want to talk; he would probably think I was flirting, and he'd be annoyed that I disrupted his studies.  So, I reach into my backpack and I put on my headphones.  Someone asks to sit next to me, and I nod silently.  I do not make eye contact.

I know what must be done and yet I retreat into my shyness, into the dark autumn evenings, into my fear of what others think.  I see these strangers and I look at them with an artist's eye; I sculpt their past, and like Pygmalion, I fall in love.  But I also sculpt their tired, impatient looks, their fear, and their rejection of me. All of the observational powers that make me so curious and empathetic about strangers, are the very things that stop me.  Being a story- teller stops me.  To live Mundane Mischief you must be P'u, you must act as The Uncarved Block. 

It isn't the early sunsets that stop me; had I been doing this in Northern Alaska during June, that entry would have been about some other "obstacle".  This isn't about me facing strangers for their approval of what I believe in; this is about facing myself.  Who is this odd person that yearns for connectedness?

UPDATE: I guess that is what the title, "Learning To Love You More" really means.

To Write Love On Her Arms (a guest blog by Tony G.)

It's like this little message fell into my hands right after I was assigned to work on Dana's blog. The message, "Love <3 write love on her arm - Nov. 13" seemed to mesh itself quite well into the mischievousness that is this blog.

I did my research (don't argue with me, Wikipedia counts as research) and found that this idea is a nationally organized event to support women who suffer from depression, drug addiction, and self injury. It's really neat how the community is so involved in this peculiar exhibit of affection.

What you need to do is take the scribble's advice and write Love on her arm this November 13th. I'll find somebody to tag with my spray paint! I'm probably joking. Depends on whether I have a sharpie sitting around.  

Things to Inspire Mischief on Mischief Night

Here's the Mundane Mischief way to make your Mischief Night awesome:

What's Mischief Night anyway, you ask?

So now that you know, maybe you aren't feeling like being arrested for graffiti or the other traditional nonsense.  Instead, try some of these ideas:

Speaking of witches, we hate her when it comes to The Beatles, but nobody helps us turn mundane mischief into a high art form quite like Yoko.  Obey her.

After making A Painting for Burial, you could also transform yourself into a, uh, a super intense monster-- in nine minutes and twenty- three seconds.

If you feel like cuddling, how about making a dollie... out of your dog's old teeth?

If you're home in the kitchen brewing something up tonight, here's some ingredients for that elixir.

Lastly, I know the holidays make some people feel a little lonely.  If you need a date for the Halloween Ball maybe these gentlemen could help (Coilhouse, Via: iCiNG).

Everyone's saying, "Be safe tonight."  I'll say, "Be a little dangerous."  Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go make my jellyfish costume.