The rhino shaped mandala

I quote wikipedia "A sand mandala is ritualistically destroyed once it has been completed and its accompanying ceremonies and viewing are finished to symbolize the Buddhist doctrinal belief in the transitory nature of material life."

I was recently holding my partner as our chocolate labs were bounding all around us. Skippy, scout, weatherby, reggie, buck, Nina, and Sanchez we call them. I realized that we were only going to be together for a short while in the scheme of things and even though we might sabotage one another at times that we had to really cling to each other or what is the point. 

So as I went outside filled with the thought of seizing my small slice of happiness from the pie of the cruel world, weather rhino clutched in one hand 
and my can of matte sealer in the other. I really should have laughed aloud at myself for trying to capture this moment. I know the above mentioned monks would have. I was just trying to capture the moment that I had found. A snapshot in the lifespan of this poor, long outdated rhino who's designed relevance ceased centuries before it was recovered and pressed back into service by my company of marines. When I tried to capture the perfect moment of weathering I had glimpsed the moment I finished it, rushing to the intertrons to try and get some input on just how wonderful a job I had done the matte sealer blew away all traces of my weathering save for some muted red where I had painstakingly scratched away the paint on the outer hatch with my minitaure tyranid fore limbs I keep around for just such occasions.

Who knows how many birthdays space marines had inside of it before my rag tag squad found it. How many heroes of ages past bled out on its decks... So I'm going to go home to my labradors and my partner and hold her as our time together slowly ebbs away and watch us grow rusty together.

Grandma's Army

Grandma, here is the first model I painted from your army. Its not the best one I did but the quality is about a 7 compared to the other one. I think its ok considering the time they take to paint but I know you are a bit more critical.

The new white dwarf hobby magazine is supposed to be all new, all improved but I haven't bought them  ever I think so for me it will not be a noticeable dip in my monthly income (ahem). The forge world books weighing in at around $113 US is something else entirely. As I've found my way to my painting table again I feel that there may never be a chance for me to fully enter this hobby until I'm well into the second half of my life's parabolic trajectory. I'll be sliding down the golden rainbow into retirement and start thinking about splurging on a $255 tank.

I told my life partner already that I think I'm going to move into the scale model side of the the tank decorating world and indeed the Gods are ominously tossing my boat in that direction with the latest GW price hikes in an already tumultuous GW pricing ocean. More posts full of overworked analogies coming soon.

Edit- And another thing! I just realized that after my latest MMORPG purchase of guild wars 2 that something very serious is going on inside of my neuro-chemistry. I'm finding that my brain no longer releases a pleasant rush of dopamines when I begin loading my favorite games of old and more importantly, with guild wars 2 I bought it sight unseen and expected it to be amazing because the world at large was raving about it and I ran into a bitter truth. I'm not like everyone else. Or perhaps I flatter to think of myself as a unique snowflake but no! I'm like one of many who do not enjoy video games as much any more. I've felt the urges waning in me for a long time but I was wondering aloud the other day as my partner and I were walking our 6 chocolate labradors, maybe this is no longer my thing? Just as I began contemplating that unthinkable position I felt the icy fingers of the spectre of age tickling my lower back suggestively. Was this indeed the sweet call of oblivion? was I sliding closer to the funnel end of the vortex and what seems like autonomous choice is only my inability to perceive or receive pleasure on receptors that I burnt out long ago!???!!?!?!?

Control

My mom used to have a bumper sticker that said, "since i gave up hope, i feel better" When I was younger I didn't understand why someone would say that. My mom is a bit of a character and she was always finding ways of tricking herself into not disliking her job so that was one of her strategies. To loosen the grip on expectation and rather deal with what comes.

A week or two ago when I was making the turn from my apartment on to the freeway I make every day I saw someone coming at me at about 50 miles an hour from the opposite direction. It wasn't a unique thing because every day people hurtle around the corner and only a few inches of paint and the invisible social contract keeps everyone from smashing into each other over and over in a never ending 20 car pile up at that bend. Every time I would go around at the busier times of day I would find my mind starting to wander and really start to embrace terrible scenarios where I would end up eating it right there after getting head onned by a chevy blazer or some suburban moms odyssey. I would be clutching the wheel of my car and just bracing for impact like I used to on the ship when we would have faux torpedo impacts during drills. Then I would grab the wall and wave my hind parts suggestively like I was trying to catch the torpedoes attention to come find me high in the island so it could kiss my ass. "come on mr. torpedo, come and take a big bite of this!"

I was one of only a few who found any humor in pantomiming a missile attack because it was so absurd but if you have never been in the military that is just the cherry on the top of a huge absurd iceberg cake. But I digress, so there I was, holding on for dear life and thinking of my wifes face as she would throw herself into the arms of the uniformed men who came to tell her that I bought it on the curve right in front of  our house. I see her rolling around and wailing and shredding her clothes in anguish. But a moment later I had a cool calm come over me. Sort of like christian bales face at the end of the dark knight rises. A serenity descended over me because I knew that I was doing everything I could to not throw my huge metal chariot into anyone and they were probably doing the same and if god, or allah, or yahweh, or calamitous unforeseen even were to unfold in my biting the big one right there then that would just be that. So it goes. And such like.

I can't stop it I can't even predict it. so why am I burning so many calories thinking about the highly unlikely when I need to get to school and finish a project? A new freedom began to dictate my every thought, since I had zero control over almost everything why not just do what I wanted and tried not to hurt anyone? Why not just do what I can as well as I can and live with it? The fear of failure is always following me around, a personal black bummer cloud that is non-existent. So why don't I just paint the fuck out of some plastic guys and see what happens?