The mirror in the leaves - from the architectural garden

Last night I had a dream about Elvis. In  my dream Elvis was not a famous person. He was never discovered by anyone except a young girl who fell in love with him. In my dream Elvis is still a star. A star that crackles with purple stellar light... a blue giant with facets reaching far beyond the sun. In my dream he still plays music. He has a great capacity for love. He loves the young girl with all his heart but the young girl realizes such love should be shared with the world and not given only to her. So she sends Elvis away to the world to show his love. SHOW YOUR LOVE ELVIS! one for the money and two for the show...go go go.

The world waits for such love to embrace it then devour it. Ravishing the star then the fireworks  explode  leaving a blackhole. We can all fall into the black hole of the star. He dared to stand out. The couch brigade who watches it all with a steady munching, marching termite sound. We survived Elvis, they sigh. He did everything for us. He made us dance and cheer for him, then loathe him and hate his humanity and finally we got to ridicule him as he spiraled down the death drain. He just exploded getting bigger and bigger and bigger until finally he burst into a million zillion fragments suddenly drawing back and pulling us all in with him. How wonderful says the couch bigrade and we didn't even have to get up and go anywhere.

article and  photo copyright sister raya - outsider artist www.sisterraya.com

Well its going on day three I'm still sick gonna have to break down and go to the doc. The dreams keep coming. Last night it was a dream akin to the childhood story of Little Red Riding Hood only the big bad wolf in my dream was Donald Trump. In this dream I was looking for my grandmother's house. I wanted to see her. In the dream I am my present age, late 30's. My grandmother has long since departed from the Earth but in my dream she is still alive and in her bedroom. Her light is on. I am driving my car at night and I see the light on in her bedroom  so I stop and park my car and bound to the door to see her. When open the door to the house the interior of the house has completely changed. I am greeted by a receptionist in a fancy art deco sort of reception area. The decor is elegant. Beautiful lighting lines the interior hallway. There are expensive carpets and fresh flowers, I feel like I am in some sort of fancy hotel or overdone Architectural Digest home. The polished receptionist leads me to my grandmother's bedroom except it is completely different from what it looked like when I was a child. The room was now refurbished withh a huge glass window and balcony that overlooked a manmade lake that was never there in the past. There were gigantic flower arrangements with lillys in the room. Indian Carpets, deco lighting, expensive furniture,  sparkling glass tables and in the center of the room is Donald Trump lying in a king size bed with velvet covers. He is wearing a smoking jacket and smoking a cigar. Donald says, bet you can't believe what I did with your grandmother's house. Isn't it elegant beautiful ideal wonderful outrageous perfect? I said yes it is beautiful but I liked the old way better with the scuffed wood floors, the peeling rose Victorian wallpaper, the potbelly stove in the kitchen, the old iron beds with the handmade quilts and the gingerbread clock, the smell of fireplace smoke. That stuff was real, it felt real. This new decor just feels like a cushy pair of slippers for your entire body. Nothing here has a history or feels real. But I admit it is beautiful. Donald said, you know, you could train me to be a real man if you wanted to. I responded, Donald no one can train you even if it is your most dearest fantasy that a woman could train you, you would never let it happen, you can't. Donald smiled and said to me, you know I could do things for you if you would let me. I could help you advance your career. For some reason this excited me, tempted me. I said, really?, that would be great, I could start by designing some really cool sculptures for your wall. I temporarily forgot about my visit to my grandmother as I thought about the possibilities of creating art for Donald Trump...No said Donald, I already have an art company who supplies my artwork. They are highly specialized and only work with the hottest artists. I realized at that point that it was the same way with him and art as it was with his overdone decorating of my grandmother's house. Its not art to him unless its a name. So therefore he has no understanding of art at all, its just a topical thing to him. Like it is with a lot of people. Its' stupid and useless and who would want it unless it was worth something monetarily. He didn't have the guts to have his own taste. Donald said, you know what your talent is, you are a singer you have great musical talent, I'm going to make you a star. Donald, I have no musical talent at all. I said. People pay me not to sing. I am an artist. Donald went about his way to organize my singing career. I could see that I would have to fit into his universe not the other way around. He was the master of his universe. There were never any concessions made, no allowances, no bend. You must fit his plan, like some sort of God he was...I never get to see my grandmother because Donald Trump and his plans got in my way. I couldn't even find her because of all the additions he made to her house. But somewhere in the maze was someone I loved and I couldn't find her. This new house was filled with ambition.

Anyway that's the dream, got to get eat something. I'm starving!

right sister raya

www.sisterrraya.com

outsider self-taught artist

I slept nearly 12 hours today and I do feel better but I'm not quite out of the woods. I really want to paint and I have started a new project.

Being ill lends itself to strange dreams. Last night I dreamt I went to a party my husband wanted to go to. The host and hostess were unrefined and made no attempt to greet guests except in a cursory way. They were busy cooking food for the guests. It was an outdoor party. I went inside their home to sit down. I didn't like being outside because of the mosquitoes. The entire house was brown, brown everything. It felt unclean and I didn't like it and I wanted to go. Our son was with us and he was playing with the host and hostesses son so I had to stay longer to let him play.

Suddenly there was this pack of really fat angry women who  thought I was going to take a trip to see Benny Hinn the faith healer and I didn't invite them. I had no idea why they thought i would be going to see Benny Hinn in his white ice cream suit topped in gold nuggets. I explained to these women I was not going to see Benny Hinn and there must be some kind of mistake. They left me alone.

There were rows of old uninteresting books from the Reader's Digest Condensed Book of the Month club in this house and the rest were retailing books. I finally persuaded my husband to let me go home. My son and I left in a separate car from my husband. I took a wrong turn out of the driveway and had driven 8 miles before I realized. The road made a dead end at the most incredible mansion. I drove down the driveway of this mansion and realized there were more mansions and they were nestled around a waterfront with a community area.

Out of curiosity I went to the community area and it was full of senior citizens lounging around in patio chairs and they were very gracious and polite to me. They were all extremely wealthy. I could never afford to live in a place like that at this point in my life. As we chatted I asked them if there were any restaurants in the area because I might look for a waitress job. Suddenly their entire response to me changed. They ceased to be jovial and attentive and became distant and standoffish. I told them I was just joking about be a waitress and they seemed relaxed again. I could see they were imprisoned in a false reality of elitism and could not fully live because of their "embraced" prejudice.

I could see the way to get into their community was either be who I was (which would not work because I was not rich) or lie. If I lied and pretended to be something else than who I was I could probably marry one of the old half dead ones and get his money. It was such a beautiful community on a material plane but it was a total mind game. I admit I wanted what they had but I could never pay the price. Freedom means more than excess money. I don't want to be dead while I live. I have desires for that kind of wealth and it is so easy to covet. The bible warns us that coveting is a sin and we should never do it. I never realized why it was such a sin until I realized that being covetous can make a person miserable because you never know really that what is glittering may not be gold. Its better to be satisfied with what one has in life. Easy to say, easy to agree but really very difficult to truly comprehend.

copyright sister raya art

 www.sisterraya.com

sister raya outsider folk artist self taught new orleans

Today i am lying here on my futon typing barely feebly trying...I am oh so sick today. I hate to be sick. My husband went to get my medicine. There are tornado warnings today. Its balmy, rainy, and windy. I like that kind of weather.

I had really strange dreams last night about a witch. This witch had a suit of witch armor. Her pointy witch hat was made of black iron and she had a black iron witch dress and a black iron face mask with little breathing holes all over it. She was scary but on the inside she was made out of marshmallows and only wanted to be loved and accepted.

I also dreamt about Nicholas Cage. I really don't care for him as an actor except for his creative genius in Peggy Sue got Married and Raising Arizona. After those two movies he went flat, but anyway in my dream he was an evil restaurant owner and sommelier. He bought a hotel and restaurant combination. He discovered a hidden wine cellar full of wine from the 19th century. Unfortunately for him this was the domain of the apparition; the Iron witch. Except in this dream sequence the Iron witch was not made of marshmallows in the inside, she was vicious to protect the ancient wine cellar from the clutches of the corrupt new owner Nicholas Cage. He had devious plans to sell all the wine in the cellar for millions of dollars, except he was going to pour the old wine into new bottles and put new wine in the old bottles, thus keeping all the old wine for himself which he planned to drink as he celebrated his fake old wine sale to a host of wealthy suckers.

I know the Iron Witch was going to get him somehow and make him pay for plotting evil and messing with her magical wine cellar but a clap of thunder woke me up and I didn't get to act 2  in order to see how it turned out.

Anyway, more from me later I have to go to sleep.

This article is copyright SISTER RAYA

sister raya self taught new orelans folk artist www.sisterraya.com

There is an alien in her grandma's tomato garden. I read this in Sylvia Browne's book. I really like the idea of a silver alien standing in my tomato garden.  I have got to pull myself out of this slump. I want to get in a fly saucer and jet across the galaxy. But I will probably go to the grocery store tommorrow. Stagger around wal-mart looking for stuff to feed my family. It is so terribly difficult not being an heiress. But I will rise to the occassion... being of an imagined noble birth and I will face walmart with courage. I will not give in and ride the motorized scooter. I will not eat out of my shopping cart. I will not snag a handicapped spot. I will return my cart. I won't think about anything at all but shopping. I will not spend too much money on the scented candles and I will not buy the fancy expensive cheese. I won't go buy a bag of popcorn chicken. I will not let the constant clinging and beeping sounds drive me mad. I won't be depressed when the toothless 90 year old man greets me at the door. I will not wonder how obese people seem to clog the aisles. I will most of all not look into the open salon where women are getting their toenails sawed down by petite oriental ladies. I will not gag at the advertisement for the the portrait studio package with the fake northwest fall trees background. I will understand that this is the pulse of American and the media has made me into a glamour snob. I will be for the people despite my arrogant attitude. It does not matter that I witnessed another woman attack another woman with a large cream of mushroom soup can in the cracker aisle. It will not sway me. I am pro American and this is a symbol of America now. It is an icon. I will not mind the experience of shopping at walmart at all. I will be in it, I will live it and I will love it with a passion because I could have no food at all. I could be starving in Korea. There are a million worse things. I am only sad that I have to compare my grocery shopping to a corrupt communist government. So I will rethink this...somehow.

this article was written by sister raya - copyright

sister raya self taught outsider folk artist new orleans www.sisterraya.com

  How do you take care of yourself? ...when there is no time. Is this an adult illusion that time is something that just happens or is time something that has to be made?. How easy is it to neglect one's self? pretty damn easy.  Cutting corners with self care is a quick way to blow a fuse. A fuse blows when it is overloaded and overload creates more overload. 

 But I create my own stress by being stressed. Does that statement make sense? I don't like being stressed so I get stressed about being stressed. I'm the kind of person who proscrasinates procrastinating. I could talk about procrastination until I have finally caputured the essence of what it is and how it works and why I have it, etc.. but so what?

Self help books explain the obvious ...self help is self help... not self help book help. But what if your self doesn't want to help you? Maybe you have a really uncooperative self? My self is a  really self centered self. I read the self help book and then I think okay self...get moving start helping me. Self says bug off. Self is rotton and lazy. Am I my self? or is my self something else? Self wants to eat at the chinese all you can eat buffet and wear a bikini. Self wants take a nap after breakfast. Self is a nightmare and we have all the PHD's telling us to read self help books? Maybe those books should be renamed Help Self books?

Maybe some understanding can be gleaned by reading about our deficits. It couldn't hurt I suppose... Suggestions such as make a schedule, ...don't work in your pajamas...get up before ten am...take a bath...file stuff. AS IF I don't already KNOW all this. It all makes as much sense as Dr. Phil screaming at fat people and blaming them for being fat slobs who have wrecked their lives because they love the pleasure of eating and give into self. THEN WHY should we buy a SELF HELP BOOK? self cannot help!

 Maybe a book should be written on how to get rid of the self who won't help you even after you read the self help book.

Meaning is derived by doing something positive. Life is an action, a verb, a running river. Why do I procrasinate? or read about what I know I should be doing in the first place... I don't want to be stressed, I don't want to take risks, I don't like being challenged and I am very much at home with being a cozy couch slug, curled up with books, snacks, my laptop and a remote. I have an addiction to being really, really comfortable. I like pleasure. I am a pleasure piggy. But wait...is this really me? or is it the desires of self?

Why do we procrastinate? because who wants to deal with the repsonsiblity. Who wants to move out of the womb and get slapped on the rear and be thrown into a room with glaring light with 25 other screaming new born beings? Unfotunately nature does not allow us to live to age 90 in a womb, it just wouldn't work it out. So we get ejected into reality and deal with stuff from the cradle to the grave.

Another explaination may be "self" is just tired of being harassed to be a super being and would just like to left alone for awhile. Maybe self is "rebelling" against our intellectual nagging to be better at everything we do. Maybe self wants us to stop doing, planning and aspiring for awhile and start being. Maybe we should help self more often. Give self a break and maybe self would start helping us again instead of driving us nuts.

It is probably okay to procrastinate some. Why not? Nuts to those psychologists who are always telling us what is wrong with us and how we can be more productive, get more work out of us, be more efficient, sometimes... as ol granny says, "you gotta let the backdoor swing".  I think self would agree too.

This article is copyright and written by sister raya

Sister Raya Self Taught Outsider Folk artist

www.sisterraya.com

blue smoke ain't no joke  I been kickin around layin upside down hanging off the couch catchin cheeto crumbs in my shirt...American Idol its a hoot...up with people for the old folks now...tie dye in the nursing homes...soaking dentures in the free love zone...where did all the hippys go?  Scratch the dog's back don't kick the cat...plastic surgery all over the place...lift my face...lift my boobs hangin on to the mortal coil of slipperly ledge on an ice cream truck...I ain't got nothing to say nowhere to go...no flirtin either...the partys over...my butts to big for my jeans and Zappa took a dirt nap on the oblivion express. Whats left but watch tv and float away...who will be the next American Idol...John Lennon is dead...what happened to art...its a talent show.

copyright sister raya

www.sisterraya.com

If I were an actor or actress in this move I would go hide in the mountains with Osama bin ladin, where no one could find me, not even the US government. This movie was so bad is was BADLY. I'M so glad I stuffed my knapsack full of junk food to eat, it gave me something interesting to do, like unwrap candy bars and fumble around for my rasinets which had as much interest as this pitiful, warthog of a movie.

How could anyone have the guts to even release this absurd "camero boy" movie? Why didn't they set fire to the film reel immediately and bury it where OJ hid his gun? this thing just sucked.

I'm still not sure what it was about. It had more subplots than sybil had personalities.

The movie was about (i think) a confederate submarine full of gold coins that sailed to africa and was buried in the sand in a vast desert. Two dimwitted treasure hunters went to look for it while protecting a doctor lady who was trying to cure a mysterious disease. All the while they are all being chased by a band of african war lord militia who could shoot at anything, boat, helicopter, truck, train, moped with at least 7000 rounds of bullets and never manage to kill anyone. All the while playing background chase scene songs from Lynyrd Skynyrd, and other cliche 7o's rock tunes.

Even my nine year old son rolled his eyes. "Mom, why is this movie so stupid?"

My husband withered in his seat from sheer hatred of having to pay to be in a movie which could possibly simultaneously give us all brain cancer.

why did we stay?...we still don't know the answer to that one. I think we were paralyzed from junk food and heavily salted stale popcorn. But I think we mostly stayed to see if it could possibly get any dumber..and it did.