New phone today, old one went apeshit. Some sort of divine miracle that I was eligible to upgrade very early. But. . . I learned things about myself that I sort of wish I could unlearn, in the quasi-panic brought on by that briefest interuption of cell-service. I'm not that person, I've always thought, in fact, I'm a venerable mountain man, sociality-wise. All self-delusion.
Brittany's Grandpa had a stroke today. Everyone include him in your prayers, please. He's a very good person. He is, at last notice, recovering. Recently learned stroke statistics echo in my mind, unbidden. Something like 20% of stroke victims are more or less invalid for the rest of their lives, and a much larger chunk are never. . . quite normal. By which I mean, the same. I hope she doesn't read this, but I don't think she reads my blog. I don't blame her. Prayers. Pray.
To my two loyal followers ;) sorry for the silence. It's been a busy, stressful time in my life. I've been writing some, but too little to bring me any satisfaction. But too little to make me crash, too, at least. Something I've noticed: When I write something good, I'm so fuelled and uplifted by the experience that I'm more or less on walking on air for the rest of the day, but the day after? I feel ashamed. Ashamed of not writing constantly. Of maybe letting too little of myself go. Maybe of pride. Proud of a short micro-story that's somewhat poetic but the only thing you've written in a month and the only thing you'll write for a month? Silly. Then when I lay down at night to go to sleep, in those in-between moments after sleep has teased me and now finally holds up the covers to her bed a veil is lifted and I see myself miserable, poor, and still working at fucking Wal-Mart in five years. I need this to be an addiction. I need to let myself go in it.
The few times that I've done it right: the synergy of hard work, greasy creative process, and blank paper filling up with me. It's a drug I can't get high on quite enough to get addicted to. Maybe I need to up the dose.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Farm Boy Zed
Is the name of the comic that I'm collaborating on with my sister. I just finished the script and turned it over to Jerika for actual drawing. Pretty exciting. Think Jhonen Vasquez's stuff; only a little less humor (though there's still some,) and a little more horror. I have no problem wearing my influences on my sleeve. It's all fun and games anyway. I'm wondering how hard it would be to publish electronically? Set up a free site (since we're not really planning on making any kind of profit anyway) and it can be viewed in full color.
I do like the way a physical comic book smells though. We shall see.
I do like the way a physical comic book smells though. We shall see.
Monday, April 5, 2010
David Foster Wallace...
...wrote Broom of the System when he was younger than me. This is disconcerting.
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