| The End of November and the Start of What? |
[28 Nov 2032|12:28am] |
Yesterday I had thanksgiving with James. All and all, not a bad day seeing as we both would have ended up alone otherwise. We spent most of our time talking about the sort of people who do spend that holiday by their lonesome and who we know that will spend future Thanksgivings in that way. It was cruel and hysterical.
I’m currently looking through a small pile of old 35mm and 110 film that I need to get developed and I can’t help but be distracted. The joys of quitting my job have swiftly been replaced by the pains of looking for another one. Media startups, internships, writing copy, video editing, advertising and a cadre of other avenues have tasted wrath of my resume but none have been felled as of yet. I’m thinking about beginning cover letters with “fuck you” as my hook from now on.
November is quickly becoming my least favorite month of the year. Last year my grandfather died and it contributed to one of the worst depressions I’d ever experienced. A string of poor choices and isolation followed that event and it all cost me more than I care to think about. This year, November has been shaping up to be not go great either. With the exception of a trip to New York with some travel money I had set aside, I’ve really not left this house. My mother just today went to the hospital for some mysterious and exceptionally painful illness. This eerily follows a hospital stay by my father and an overall lack of communication between me and the members of my immediate family.
Grad school continues to taunt me. A large part of me longs to return to school and continue my education immediately while another suggests I put my energies into creativity and financial stability. All I know for sure is that I long for adventure and stimuli. In fact, it is probably the only thing that gets me out of the house. I no longer have any semblance of a sleep schedule so, A few days ago I went to get some 3am coffee and doughnuts. The only place that was open was a doughnut shop that I frequent on Sunday mornings. The has, for the last few months, appeared to be in a perpetual state of repair. The dining area is small and, despite appearing to have all of the necessary equipment already, the owners have built a tiny makeshift kitchen in one corner of the store. Even though it is already a rather small building, very little of it is actually used for doughnuts and doughnut making. There is something like a gutted phone booth in the dining area and a lot of small pipes and metal tubing near the entrance.
On this particular night, there was a disheveled man talking loudly to the tiny table he occupied. He only paused for a second to take a bite of his jelly filled snack or to sip on his coffee. The rest of the time was full tilt madness. Apparently the table had offended him and he was forced to remind it that it had no real knowledge of who he was and shouldn’t suggest that it did. His mantra was, “Shut up. You da- you da- you don’t know me. Eh? Eh?! What do you think you are a sandman?! You don’t know who I am! You don’t know what I do! Don’t talk about what is yer know when ya don’t!”
The large clerk glanced up from her magazine to check on him every so often while waiting on my coffee to brew. I wonder if she just claimed she had to make another pot because she didn’t want me to leave right away. Then again, she didn’t really seem all that concerned with the argument between the table and the man. Another customer walked in and had looked around the building confused. He asked, “Could I get half a dozen doughnuts and a medium latte?”
The clerk responded, “We don’t have lattes.”
“Wait, isn’t this a Dunkin’ Donuts?”
“Nope.”
“Didn’t this used to be one?”
“Yep.”
“Well, what is it now?”
“…Not a Dunkin’ Donuts.”
I got my coffee and walked home without incident.
Yesterday I had thanksgiving with James. All and all, not a bad day seeing as we both would have ended up alone otherwise. We spent most of our time talking about the sort of people who do spend that holiday by their lonesome and who we know that will spend future Thanksgivings in that way. It was a little cruel and a lot hysterical, we both made the list.
Thinking about it, I’ve lot a lot of things in the last year but I suppose that is just the way life goes. Draper claims that, “You’re born alone and you die alone and this world drops a bunch of rules on top of you to make you forget those facts.” It seems plausible. I was always a pragmatist with an idealistic streak but I think I got caught up by my own lofty goals and high standards. I think I am going to just need to shut off for a while and grow a beard. Then, once I am totally invincible again, I will cut that thing off and make my way.
Here are some Pictures for Sad Children to wrap with:
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| Standard String of Thoughts Followed by a Comic |
[20 Nov 2032|11:04pm] |
Detroit has to be the worst lit city on the planet earth. Sodium-lights from factories and the airport meet to turn an overcast night sky into a dark orange blanket but this does little to illuminate the streets in any helpful way and streetlights are rare. I keep hearing phantom planes pass above the ginger quilt but I never see them.
I’ve always worried that I’ve hated someone or something for all the wrong reasons but, when I really take the time to brake it down, I’m always satisfied with my logic. Unlike groups, there is really no wrong reason to hate an individual. If you really hate a person, it’s probably as genuine and legit as something can be. Perfection is rare, don’t mess with it.
I had a long talk with my good friend, Brett, coming back from New York. We’ve decided that there are a lot of people out there who are convinced that life is a race to be won. People everywhere scuttling all over each other to win at something that I would argue isn’t really set up to be won in the first place seems absurd. Maybe I’m wrong here, but isn’t just doing whatever the hell it is that you are good at enough? I am always hearing about corporate executives quitting their jobs and making cheese or highly educated people suddenly deciding to become homeless. I have known a great many people who have seemingly made all of the right choices and done all of the right things who have told me, “Matt, I have never been more unhappy. If I could do it all again differently, I would.”
How is one supposed to take that? The benefit of another person’s hindsight is only slightly more helpful than my own. The only thing I can really see is that all of these people are fucking lonely or in a relationship or a job that no longer holds anything for them. It is a long road to nowhere but it seems like we are all progressing nicely.
Just recently my family hit some inexplicably awful times and, while I’ll not go into it, I know that a general dissatisfaction with life had a lot to do with what happened.
The people you care about aren’t always going to make the sort of choices that you are going to like. Some of your lovers will find great and wonderful people and some will end up with people that don’t quite measure up to you, but there isn’t much you can do about it save having never broken up in the first place. As for your friends, some bonds with strengthen and others will break. It’s all very unavoidable. Don’t buy into the lie that “love conquers all.” Sometimes love leaves you a husk of a person and influences you to do creepy and sad things. Other times it inspires great things and pushes you to be a better person, but don’t count on it. I’ve seen a lot more people hack into their exes email accounts and cry on the floor than actually contact them even attempt to persevere in a sane format. The only thing that you really have to go on is you. If two people, friends or lovers, manage to keep their heads out of their asses at roughly the same time, you’ll probably do alright. But do not underestimate the appeal of being up one’s own ass. It’s warm and safe and familiar and, best of all, it keeps you from dealing with the rest of the world. This is why people jump into (or remain in) poor relationships, focus too much on work, watch a lot of TV, overeat, play videogames all day, leave things unresolved, drink all the time and you get the idea I am sure.
Life is a lot like a baby. It’s constantly pissing you off while everyone else around you is talking about how great it is. It may scream and cry at you while, favoring someone else for months, and then suddenly decide that you are the greatest thing in the world. You can’t possibly understand it and, while it holds mysteries and beauty that confound and amaze you, it is impossible to forget how ugly and awful it can be. You hold it and fall in love until it begins to throw a fit and you desperately want someone to take it away from you. Yes, life is exactly like a baby.
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| Comics and a Zazzy Pep Talk |
[24 Oct 2032|08:34pm] |
Comics and more comics. Then a bit of talk on the issue of "zazz" and where it goes as we get older.
end.
Complacency can be as ugly of a thing as anything else. Are we all dying at twenty-five? There are a lot of interesting people out there becoming very boring. It’s like the zazz has left the show of life and we’re all just standing around like assholes hoping that it zazzes its way back on stage. Well, I’ve got news for you, it fucking won’t. You’ve got to get up on stage and make some zazz of your own or chase down that electric bitch and cram it into your face.
I’ve looked down the empty hallway of a hotel and wondered if there is someone interesting is just behind one of the doors. When I’m on the expressway at two in the morning I wonder, “Who are these other people? Where are they going?” The answers are probably “Nobody” and “Nowhere that I would care about.” But there is probably one in a hundred that is really depraved and is going some place exceptionally twisted to get involved in something terrible. That’s the sort of stuff that keeps me going. It’s the curiosity I have for this planet and the escapades it promises me. Not always good, not always bad but guaranteed to be fascinating and motivating.
My life has become consumed by pen and paper, keyboards, typewriters, paints, old Kodak cameras, mini DigitalVideo tape, microphones, editing, tea, coffee and cigarettes and I’m not entirely sure why. There is a chance that it is all filler but I don’t entirely buy that. I’m driven to it, for one reason or another, and it all helps to keep me sane.
Things are going alright in the motor city, how are they where you’re at? I wish I could be there right now and have an adventure.
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Here are some Pictures for Sad Children to close with.
Steppin' Out
Paul's Story
*If you can't see the comics well enough, they are nice and big at the original post.
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| Tons Of Comics And A Few Almost Related Thoughts |
[09 Oct 2032|12:42am] |
Here are some comics I did this week. The first one includes Will.
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This is one I did about drinking which, I think, I did while drinking. It's meh.
It is fall and it is getting awfully cold outside. Even thought I hate the idea of January, February and March, the changing leaves stir things inside of us. We need to remember that there is still magic that this world has to offer us. I suggest going outside and smelling the air, or putting your favorite song on, see a film, take some interesting photos, write a poem, see a friend, drink a bunch of coffee, rediscover an element of your childhood, explore a band that you’re only partially familiar with, go to a museum, drive somewhere you have never been, call someone you haven’t talked to in a long time. There are limitless things that we could be doing instead of sitting on our asses watching the same reruns. I’m not saying it has to be right this minute or so exceptionally good that it yields you fortune and glory. But it would be nice if more of us got a little extra out of life and got out of our routines. Don’t worry; there will be plenty of time to be boring and routine as we approach the grave and it's coming quicker thank you think.
When I write a script, draw a shitty comic, film a scene, finish a chapter, scribble down a thought or even have a good conversation with friends, it comes almost entirely out of necessarily. I have this unyielding need to examine things by placing them into a narrative format. I can’t help it, it’s like I am sick and it is the only way to keep from getting worse. I don’t fantasize as much about my dream house, ideal career or worry about normal human things as I probably should. I obsess over a project, a story, an idea or some interesting detail about my day and only occasionally break to think about my personal relationship, errands, or other “responsible” things. I am often amazed at how well I function in society and around other people. It’s probably because I have (or make) good creative outlets. Most of my friends are musicians, artists, writers or engage in some reoccurring creative endeavors. Actually, I think that a lot of my best friends fall into these mental and creative black holes like I do. I enjoy watching each of us return from them. “How was it? What did you bring back with you?”
Anyway, I didn’t really have much to say. I’m shocked I’ve already wrote so much. Just know that I am keeping busy and looking to get busier. The filming portion of the documentary will need to wrap in the next week or so, so if you still want to be filmed you need to contact me soon.
To close, here is a tidbit from Pictures for Sad Children. I hope you enjoy it.
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| Regard for Women and the Incapacity for Rational Thought (Advertising, Attaboys and Tattoos) |
[22 Sep 2032|12:54am] |
I was presented with an issue of Eastern Michigan University’s paper, The Echo, by a friend and professor of the college. The snazzy new layout was fairly impressive and, I’ll admit, I made the assumption that he was explain to me all of the ways the publication has improved since I’ve finished my undergraduate degree. Acting exaggeratedly casual, he flicked and unfolded the paper as if he were a magician about to perform a trick. But, instead of doves, confetti or whatever modern day magicians use for oohs and ahs, I was presented with a full page color advertisement for a local gentleman’s club called Landing Strip. Featured in the ad was bottom half of a woman in eight inch heels and a skirt that was so impossibly short and tight that it had to be illustrated. For whatever reason, she has decided to stand directly in the path of a landing jetliner. My guess is that because the advertisement wants to imply that she is hoping it will land inside of her vagina. Fellas, if this girl is willing to let a 747 fly into her crotch, all bets are pretty much off. You really couldn’t ask for more sexual innuendo than you’re already getting here.
I’m not a proponent of strip clubs but I am also not going to claim that they are immoral or that this building should be torn down- that isn’t the point I am trying to make. Understatedly, topless bars have in no way assisted in the advancement of women in what is traditionally a male dominated society and they’re in the running for the biggest reason so many men see women as little more than sexual objects. If you want my take on stripping, strip clubs, pornography or anything else of that nature, I invite you to do so. I would absolutely love the opportunity. It is a big topic that encompasses a lot of very important and complicated issues and is worth discussing.
What I would like to examine here is the smaller picture. Why did the staff at this publication decide to include a topless bar as the largest advertisement in its September 14th issue? Was it just the money? I can’t believe that they honestly though that it was going to improve the school’s already tarnished image. I’m almost positive that everyone who lives or goes to school in Ann Arbor assumes that Ypsilanti and Eastern Michigan University are the sort of places where everyone is high on smack and blows the rest of their money at strip clubs before they are inevitably murdered.
At the very least, editors had to know there would be blowback from readers who felt that the ad was grossly sexist (which it was). It doesn’t even attempt to celebrate a woman’s body as something beautiful. It merely presents a reasonably creepy and extreme visual metaphor for sex. I urge anyone who feels strongly about this to write the Echo’s editor-in-chief, Danny Hopkins. He can be reached at editor@easternecho.com and via the phone number 734-487-0379. I also suggest hitting up Brian Peterson, who is the paper’s advertising manager, at easternecho.advertising@gmail.com or 734-487-0396.
The whole thing just seems somewhat stupid, but stupid is nothing new. William Riley just had an interesting debate on facebook that was started by a chain letter that claimed the health reform bill somehow endorses and encourages publicly funded abortions to beneficiaries. What followed was some of the most insane claims and interesting name calling I have ever read. I suggest that everyone friend Will and read his most recent note commenting on this- you will be glad you did, I promise.
Perhaps it is not quite as assinine a phenomenon but I’ve recently being going on light rants about the new craze of the “Eco Button” on new cars. Essentially, the buttons just make your car slower and smoother in order to achieve higher fuel efficiency. Your accelerator becomes less sensitive, the motor less responsive and it keeps you from doing something stupid like running your air-conditioning at maximum when you don’t need it. It is a unique feature but, like a lot of new features, it seems to take the driving element out of driving. If you want to make your car slower and more efficient, why didn’t you just by a slower and more efficient car or drive your current car more efficiently? Prius owners who get off on mastering the art of efficient driving are going to be furious.
Why?
Same concept applied backward.
The eco mode is simply the inverse of the sport mode offered on many faster and less economical cars. Press the sport button and your already peppy vehicle becomes a much more aggressive and a little more fuel hungry. Press the eco button and your practical transportation unit becomes a fuel sipping slug with minimal niceties. Why don’t we all just buy lightweight cars with efficient engines and without all the expensive features so we won’t have to press any more damn buttons? It might be nice to but the driver back into the driving.
What is wrong with everyone? It seems as if nobody wants to do, experience or learn anything for themselves. People are going to make the claim that their eco button is saving the environment. Never mind that they traded in a perfectly fine vehicle for one that had to be assembled from raw materials that had to be obtained, shipped, smelted, shipped, molded, shipped, assembled, shipped and then built into a car before being shipped one last time. You’ve done it! You’ve saved the fucking environment…
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And what have I been doing?
I’ve been working on writing a lot and looking into publishers. I’ve made a few more comics which I plan on posting in the next few days and I’ve been filming frequently for a project I hope to have edited within the next couple of weeks (if you, or anyone you know, would like to be interviewed for that project please contact me asap). Job hunting is always something to do in Michigan and a got a new motorcycle tire. Speaking of which.... I’ve also been considering a tattoo for quite some time now. I’d like to put early logos (30s, 40s, 50s, 60s) of vintage motorcycle companies on my arm as a sleeve. If you’re having a hard time imagining what that might look like, here are a bunch of potential decals I might use but I still have no idea how to arrange them or tie it all together visually.
I decided to do logos from companies that produced bikes during times of social unrest (depression era American and 30s-60s European and Japanese) most of which went out of business. Anyway, history lesion aside, I’d like feedback. I'm just not sold on putting logos for coporations, living or dead, on my body... but my Oscar Wilde and Aldous Huxley quotes won't take up very much room.
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| Recollections of an Evening |
[14 Sep 2032|07:00pm] |
As I pass through the industrial heart of a worn and broken city I am sullenly drunk on my memories. They press heavily on my chest and cut sharp against the back of my brainstem. Under-lit by orange and platinum electronic light, I wrestle with ugly thoughts and mourn past joys as massive black stacks shove flame and smoke into the night sky above me. I feel like a criminal and, like most criminals, I proclaimed reformation and begged forgiveness. My transgressions, intensely personal, were committed against those I have loved and promised to protect. I cannot punish myself enough to satisfy my guilt or remove the stains upon my mind left by my own record. I have intentionally suffered in order to be deemed worthy of absolution.
But a cry for mercy is a proclamation of weakness and I am not weak as I was before. I do not beg for pity, I ask for the attention to detail an artisan would give their finest works. I request the sort of understanding that I have so effectively avoided for the majority of my life and have rarely received as a result. I wish to be far away from this misery and I want to take the best of people with me as more than just a memory. I was fabulously mistaken to think that suffering would ever earn me clemency. Sometimes iniquity is a fabrication by the dull and dreary to condemn that which they find alluring but dangerous. I may be a little corrupt and even treacherous, but I am vastly enthralling. I know better than most that the most attractive things in life are also the most vexing.
I leave a bar, annoyed and full of drink. An hour earlier, I was hearing awful things from some people that I normally respect and many that I never could. Tales of romantic woe, general stupidity and oneupsmanship seemed to be the theme for the night. I have absolutely no desire to listen for another second of someone telling me the intimate details of their life that they’ve deem unique or important. I never requested a dissertation on the banal minutia of a life that I’ve never once cared about. I want a conversation about philosophy, art, anthropology, ethics or politics. I am tired of seeing people force a swagger and spout ignorance and monotony. I should never have to see another guy in a white baseball cap tell his friends all about the “slut” that he spent the night with or hear the drunken bragging of a girl on her twenty-first birthday.
Outside, the night air is cool and my chest hurts. A coughing fit begins and hold a hand to my mouth as a meaningless courtesy to the other drunks. I check my palm for blood and find none on this particular occasion, so I go for a stroll while my body absorbs some ethanol. There is a little relief before more pain returns to my trunk and I feel compelled to clutch my ribs as I walk back to my motorcycle. I bump into an old acquaintance well before I get there. She stops me in the middle of the street and asks me where I am going and compliments me on my hair. I imagine a truck hitting us.
Some schlub that vaguely resembles Fred Mertz approaches us and engages her in conversation; I use the opportunity to make my escape. As I continue my walk, I look through the scraps of paper in my pockets. They are covered with the notes I’ve written over the past week. I crumple up half of them and toss them into the trash; they were ideas not worth pursuing and thoughts not worth expressing. They seemed pretty good at the time though. I think a lot of things are like that. Maybe they’ll be good again later on.
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| Empress and the Spitter |
[06 Aug 2032|10:11pm] |
Imagine that you stop your car at a red light and glance in your rearview mirror only to see the driver’s door open. From behind the door appears a woman’s head and after a pause it begins to discharge saliva all over the street. Then, you hit another light and it happens again. Light after light this woman is compelled to spit long and hard until traffic begins to move. You begin to question not why she is spitting but why she has to open the door rather than the just rolling down the window But you soon realize that the door had to be opened because the sort of spitting being done required it- high volume and extremely messy. It could almost be dubbed “light throwing up” but she did not appear to be ill in any way. In fact, she actually seemed to being enjoy herself because she smiled and sang as she drove along.
This happened to me earlier this week. After a few blocks, I began to dread looking in that mirror but I was powerless to avoid it. I had to know if she was spitting. I even considered not turning off to find out just how long the moisture in her body could sustain this bizarre ritual. What could I do? Call into work and explain that I’ve become temporarily obsessed with the unscrupulous madness occurring in the car behind me? Stop this person and demand that they explain themselves? In the end, I simply went a few extra blocks and turned around to go to work. But things did not get any less strange once I was at work.
At work I met a little girl that had been named “Empress” and the people that named her, her awful parents. Empress was, quite possibly, the bitchiest nine-year-old I have encountered. I can say, with some certainty, that the world would be a better place with out her in it. She was smug and demanded that I help her find the books she was looking for. She rolled her eyes so frequently that I thought that she was gearing up for a seizure or something. When I finally found an item she was looking for, she claimed it wasn’t quite the one she was looking for or suggested that I find something “similar.” She gabbed on and on about the books she had at home and what a poor selection we had. At one point I stopped hearing everything she was saying and started to imagine what I wanted her to say.
I’m sure her parents tell everyone how she’s so precocious and smart. If she’s so damn smart, she should be able to figure out a way to not come across as the sort of kid you want to kick so hard that they lift off the ground. Fuck that little girl.
Then, I attempted to make conversation with a co-worker about the situation. This was a mistake because this co-worker doesn’t ever seem to actually hear what I am saying. She just smiles and nods like people do when they speak different languages. She, however, speaks English so I have to attribute her behavior to being painfully shy or hates me. Either way, it makes me feel extremely disconnected from people. The whole day was a weird reminder of how alone I we kind of am are. But I’d like some companionship, connection and a little adventure if it is still out there and available. There are things to be had. More things, better things.
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Here is the bit of what I had posted the other day, but properly scanned. It’s about a Wednesday I had.
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| Uncertainty is the only certainty there ever was |
[26 Jul 2032|11:42pm] |
Unfinished business is my least favorite kind. But it’s something we all have because we are terrible people and we live on an awful planet filled with billions of people who are even worse than we are. We are weedy simpletons and there comes a time where we simply do not want to put forth the proper amount of energy to take care of something. So we leave it- which is fine. The situation remains unresolved. But, eventually, it starts to bother us. So we ignore it or find something to distract ourselves from it- which is also fine. However, no matter how good a job we do, at some point it is going to come screaming back into our thoughts and make us feel unpleasant and foolish.
And that’s okay too.
I’ve never had to worry about being ugly or unintelligent or boring, so why should I fret over something as trivial as not knowing everything? The entire universe is unfinished business and ambiguity and I’ll have to take it one mystery at a time. It would be unwise to just let the chips fall where they may but a few unanswered questions are inconsequential. As long as progress is made and the not knowing doesn’t leave you a quivering husk of a person, let go of it. Drink your drink and relax. I am never going to understand love or religion, so I’ll keep collecting data but I am not going to shut down until it “snaps” for me. It would be quite the boring existence if it did anyway. But if it is something that has to be settled, if it is something that has to be known, if it is something that absolutely must be taken care of, take care of it. Or you could just wait, that’s acceptable too. But do not let it ruin you, it isn’t worth it. Take moments as they come. If you’re anything like me, you’ll get what you want in the end and the jigsaw pieces will fall into place.
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| Radical Random Nothingness |
[20 Jul 2032|11:59pm] |
I haven't loved the last few days, although there have been some really good times to break the predominantly gray experience it has been. The Shadow Art Fair was decent and I had a good time with friends. Still, like a lot of art galleries, there seemed to be a lot of "repeat art."
Matt Ferrett posted his exceptionally good and exceptionally short short story, “Eject.” I suggest that everyone read it. The story is currently posted on his facebook wall. It is a fine insight into his mind. It’s raw and angry, odd and funny. It'll take you all of four minutes.
I feel bad for people who unknowingly shoot themselves in the foot and miss getting what they want or need. We do not always have the strength or wisdom to deal with things when we need to or when it is helpful. I wish that was not the case but we, all too frequently, do not understand things until it is far too late. Heads up folks.
And
Here is, yet another, tiny chunk of the novel. Still fixing, adding, deleting and unsure how much more until I feel really good about it:
(sorry, I have no idea why it has trouble formatting tabs)
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We had been sitting on the bench for twenty minutes and there was a brief lull in the conversation as she rummaged through her purse to locate a piece of spearmint gum. Once she carefully finished removing it from its silver wrapper, she pointed proudly, “See that over there? That’s my Jeffrey.”
Her son, no more than six, ran around the small playground flailing his arms wildly and repeating the same phrases over and over while chasing the other children as they squealed. I couldn’t help notice how commonplace he looked, there did not appear to be anything extraordinary about him. In fact, if I were to pick out which one of the children to be my son or daughter, he would have been low on my list. His pants were patterned with dirt and grass stains and he seemed overly energetic. I would have preferred one of the quieter children playing marbles or the little strawberry blonde girl that was reading near the opposite benches.
“Cute.” I felt compelled to respond.
“Thank you. He is my reason for living.” Pleased with herself she paused to smile and then asked, “Where is yours?”
“Oh, I don’t have one.”
It wasn’t how she said it that upset me but, rather, how I answered it. I had, somewhat accidentally, asserted that I had no reason for living. Granted, out of the two of us, I was the only one who understood it this way. I know that because she continued on with the conversation as if what I said simply indicated that I had no children and not as if I had proclaimed my existence to be without meaning or fulfillment.
“Married?”
“No.”
“Well, you’re still young. Is there a special someone in your life?”
I wasn’t sure how to answer, or even if I wanted to. The woman I loved was somewhere with someone else and it was largely my fault but I wasn’t about to tell that to a stranger. I wished that Arnie was with me, he always knew the precise and perfectly offensive thing to say in order to exempt himself from anything. I bet he would have suggested that I’d give up the information only if she permitted him to smell her undergarments or something equally inappropriate and appalling.
I managed to provide her with, “Sort of.”
She must have seen the unhappiness on my face because she patted my leg and gave me a kind look as if we had known each other forever. I began to think of ways to exit this encounter. What had begun as a wonderful conversation with an attractive and pleasant woman in the park was turning into something wholly objectionable. Thinking about Elaine was starting to make me sick and miserable and I did not want to answer anymore questions about her. It was if all the unpleasant thoughts and feelings I had suppressed from my world and myself were crawling out of the boxes that I had put them in. Hell is much more often a feeling than a place.
I was saved when Jeffrey took a dive onto the only patch of sidewalk in the entire play area. It would be easy to chalk it up to divine intervention but I don’t believe in such things and skinned elbows and knees is a common theme among children. I imagine especially common with children named Jeffrey who run around like maniacs and are already covered in grass stains. We rose and briskly walked to his location without ever really having rushed. He was sprawled out on the pavement now the center of attention for the majority of the playground. Everyone nearby was looking at him, save the little strawberry blonde girl with glasses who continued reading.
“You’re alright.” She said calmly to her son. But Jeffrey began to cry anyway so she turned to me as she picked him up and said, “It was nice to have met you.”
I nodded with a half smile and walked east out of the park, away from direction of my apartment. I would not be going home for quite some time.
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| It isn't because it's better, it's because you'll value it more. |
[13 Jul 2032|11:57pm] |
There is something wrong with the world we live in, subtly wrong. People, people everywhere, are ignoring the important things because they are lazy or afraid. I wonder if this is why so many people are so vastly unhappy so much of the time. It would seem that if we were willing to expend a bit more effort and take a few more risks, we would all fair better. But the world, and a lot of the people in it, have convinced many of us that something dangerous or difficult should be avoided. Why? I get told that riding a motorcycle is perilous on an almost daily basis. Of course it is, but it is also an experience worth having and one I wouldn’t trade for anything. A lot of things are like that for me, most especially people.
Still, protecting ourselves is human nature. Nobody wants to be killed, lose all of their money or have their heart broken. I would be a liar if I said I did not keep a lot of things to myself and withhold parts of myself in order to maintain some sovereignty. But we, I, all go too far sometimes. The man that wears a helmet, elbow and knee pads and then chooses the easiest and safest route is, without question, going to have the most bland and uneventful ride. People do exactly that with work, friendship and love all of the time. It’s terrible and when I want to just tell people how they could have so much more if they were willing to stretch their arms a little, I stop myself. Why do I do this?
Because there is nothing profitable about being genuine. But the real embarrassment of it is, if you are being genuine, you probably can’t help it. That’s the real bullshit too. Earnestness is like a disease and humanity is some sort of tongue-in-cheek double entendre. Shirk any responsibility that you feel you may have to another person and you’ll fair better. But there is till that chance that you are going to regret it and hate yourself. While you’re at it, don’t put your standards for someone on someone else. Great people often surround themselves with garbage. I am sure there is some psychological reason for doing this, but I would have no idea of knowing what it is. Not everything makes sense and not everything has to, I suppose. No sense in being a pessimist about this and give bad advice like, “abandon people.”
Advice is odd. Someone once told me that you should never let a problem to be solved become more important than the person to be loved. That’s really good advice but, like most advice, I doubt if it is ever taken seriously by people.
Hmm.
I’m going to finish my conversation with Heather, go out and get something to eat.
Life is hard, and mine has been from time to time and I’ve loved for that reason. I’ve wonderful stories of adventure, hurt, comedy and chaos. Having something you worked for is far greater than something that just fell into your lap. It isn’t because it is better, it’s because you’ll value it more.
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| Hangover: A "Psychophysiological" Experience |
[11 Jul 2032|11:56pm] |
I awoke on a porch last night and my mood and brain function waxed and waned dramatically for several hours until I obtained a better grasp on the world that put me into that state. The following day, I was in a mood to reflect upon the world and not much else.
A hangover is the culmination of negative sensations that follow the weighty consumption of something. While science would say that this “something” would probably need to be a drug (usually alcohol) I’m going to toss a little bit of magic into the mix and say that it could also be from an over-consumption of anything. I’ve had videogame hangovers and book hangovers and even love hangovers. The hangover is a necessary thing because it teaches you that you have to regulate yourself and that even the best things have an unpleasant side. I want to make sure that I have a long and prosperous relationship with alcohol, it’s important to me. Likewise, I want to have an extended and flourishing love life with the sort of person that makes me want to lustfully consume them every day.
But, like I said, there are those hangovers. Downsides. You never know how liquor, a person or even you yourself are going to affect you. You might not even realize it until someone says, “Jesus you like chips.” And you find yourself severely overweight after a decade of snacking. It’s too easy to let the world turn you into a pathetic husk of a nothing-shell and one failure often leads to another. In desperation, we like to jump to something that makes us feel immediately good so we don’t have to face something else. That’s the sort of thing that gets me so riled up that I could slap a widow, or even a widow’s baby. I do not like watching a person continue on a bad path because they can’t see to get off of it and I like being this person even less. The most terrible combination is when two people walk down this path together and, instead of helping each other along the way, they both decide to be dipshits. I had something more poetic written but, frankly, it didn’t sound as good.
It’s all very “heavy duty” and I occasionally wonder if it is even worth thinking about. But then there are times I’ve wanted to be more of a thinker than a doer and others where the opposite was true. At any rate, it always seems once a person has something or is something, they want something else. I worry that this is a human “quality” that may persist indefinitely. How unfortunate that so few of us can be both content with what we have and still desire to achieve more.
Let’s pretend, for a moment, that we are both intelligent and rational people and that the things I complain about do not apply to us. Neither of us have ever cut someone else off in traffic or answered our cell phones and had an all too personal discussion in a public place. We’ve not chewed with our mouth open or said something ignorant. The possibility that either of us have ever lied to another person or accidentally led them astray is zero. We don’t have any prejudices, we’re environmentally friendly without being pretentious and we genuinely care about other people. Neither of us have ever abused social networking sights, looked at a porno, drank, done drugs, made a terrible joke, ignored a phone call, wasted food or had sex with a person for the wrong reasons.
There has never been an occasion where we have allowed our friends and family members hurt one another. We’ve always given people the benefit of the doubt and remain consistently generous. There was never a reason for us to be ashamed of ourselves or each other. We aren’t ever bitter, scared, pessimistic, shallow, weak and there has never been a time where we have settled for less than we wanted or deserved. We are strong and happy and truly love the people around us. We don’t go to bed upset and we’ll never wake up sad. Each day is filled with a warmth that provides us with what we need to be truly happy and, if we ever come close to faltering, there are people there to support us. We are loved and we love because there is no good reason not too.
Now, let’s stop pretending.
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| A Tired Young Man and a Writing Sample |
[10 Jul 2032|03:46pm] |
Editing and re-working my book. I wasted a bunch of time saying "the story is done" without actually making absolutely sure it was. There are a few bits here where I need to tidy up and make things connect better. He is the chunk I was working on last. It's not the most exciting part but it introduces a favorite character of mine:
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In group I learned intimate and terrible things about complete strangers. I was told things in minutes that would have taken a decade of loyal friendship otherwise. That shouldn’t suggest that I was friends with these people. There was no kinship or camaraderie and I often found myself disliking them all intensely. As far as I was concerned, the only thing I shared with any of them was that room that looked like a kitchen but, apparently, was not. I still can’t get over that because it even smelled like food, usually microwave hotdogs. Several of the building’s employees swore to me that the room was not used for any food preparation or consumption and one even admitted to the smell but claimed it must have had something to do with the building’s ventilation.
I hated that room. Every second that I spent incorporated some schmuck droning on about all of the horrible things that they had done and how badly it made them feel while I couldn’t stop thinking about frankfurters, how they were made and what that made me feel. The only person I could even tolerate was this short-stack of a man, named Arnold. He was pudgy and short and completely physically uninteresting, but not necessarily homely. In fact, he really wasn’t enough of anything to validate much of a description. He just sort of blended in with everything and you forgot he was there until he said something. When he spoke, he said exactly what was on his mind and without filters too. This is why I liked Arnold and that is how we became friends.
Once during group, a bank manager named Jonathan wept as he admitted to having received sexual gratification by watching his teenage daughter use the bathroom when Arnold’s squeaky voice butted in with, “Jesus, it smells like hotdogs in here.”
“Arnold, please wait your turn.” Dr. Menne suggested.
“Sorry, but does anyone else notice that?”
I had, for the previous three days, been incapable of noticing anything but the smell and was relieved that I was not the only one. I began to laugh because the odor had become a prevailing enough factor to derail the entire group session. The current speaker was outraged and we all went home early that day. I decided to speak to Arnold that night. My opening line was, “It really does smell like hotdogs, doesn’t it?”
It was enough to get Arnold begin a dialogue and, over the course of the next two groups, we spoke for roughly thirty to forty minutes after the chairs had been taken out of the circle formation. I found out that he was thirty-three and had a son that he didn’t see very much. He was currently out of work, but he lived comfortably on unemployment and owned a small house in a less than desirable part of town. He loved old electronics and had a serious drinking problem which was exacerbated by the substantial amount of free time he now had. Our third conversation was held in this dive near the airport that Arnold claimed to have frequented.
_________________________________________________
Thought of the moment? I am tired of being done with things, I want to start something or improve something.
Matt Ferrett and I have put the initial work down for the publication... er, independant comic/zine thing. I think it could be really good but I do not want to lose focus on film. I am drying to finish shooting my short but I'm not going to be able to hold onto this equipment forever. I have already had it longer than I was supposed to. I need to get off my ass and force everyone else to get off theirs. I don't like seeing the things I want getting further from my fingertips and that has happened a few times in the last few days. I, and everyone else, needs to stand up and make what they want happen rather than complain about things being complicated or difficult. The the bottom line is, no matter what the excuse, you still aren't getting what you want and neither am I.
*comics not mine. Check out: toothpastefordinner.com
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| A House In Metro Detroit, An Apartment In Ypsilanti, A Circus in Ann Arbor |
[26 Jun 2032|04:03am] |
When a person hears “the circus” there is probably a specific imagery that goes along with that. For me, it will forever be connected to tonight and Cavern Club’s Circus Bar in Ann Arbor. But, before that, let’s get some back story.
I slept poorly for the majority of the week and, by Wednesday; it began to take its toll upon me. Thursday, I awoke early and began a day comprised of creative collaboration. In the coming weeks I am establishing an independent publication with several partners, finalizing my book for future submission and filming my next project with long awaited professional grade equipment. Thursday was dedicated to these projects while awaiting a phone call. In the end, I ended up sitting with Brett while the original music for my next film was created. I am absolutely certain in his abilities as a musician and, because of this, I am confident that this project can achieve something extraordinary. He would play and I would make suggestions while he catered everything to fit my specific needs. Before long, we were getting somewhere.
James, Byron, Chase and I all piled into Jim’s new truck and headed to Ann Arbor around 9:15 after dinner. They seemed to be in good spirits and laughed as they rode with their faces in the breeze while I sat up front and told stories. I was incredibly tired but determined to remain active until I was no longer capable of maintaining even a semblance of consciousness. We walked around while I ranted and joked before arriving at the Circus Bar. While plain looking from the outside, the interior glowed orange and a stuffed lion burst through a neon ring of flame behind the bar. Drinks were terrible and beer was cheap. The back wall was lined with young women and pool tables. The latter interested me substantially more but it would appear that I was having more luck with the former. Chase and I played game after game while attractive young women giggled and intentionally positioned themselves in our way. With the exception of Ringmaster Zebs’ always interesting performance, live acoustic covers played loudly with occasional breaks where the singer would curse out pool players and bar goers that made fun or tossed small items at the stage. The crowed ranged from forty-somethings and frat boys to hipsters and hippies. I watched a dozen men unsuccessfully bend over backwards to impress and entertain women while these same women tried to flirt with two disinterested men trying to play pool. I was convinced these girls were out for a twenty-first birthday celebration or, perhaps, a low key bachelorette party. Honestly, there was nothing really wrong with any of them, save that they were in my fucking way while I was trying to play pool.
Allison had arrived in Ann Arbor much later than the rest of us, she and Byron drank while James began to buy rounds for everyone. Thanks to James’ friendship, she would not fair particularly well later that night. The rest of us did somewhat better. Well, I do like to drink. Let me rephrase that, I enjoy drinking. However, I do not enjoy being stupidly drunk with anyone but my best of friends and most trusted allies, and then only occasionally. I also maintain most of my cognitive abilities while drinking and practice enough to know my limits. This puts me at an intellectual advantage at most bars. For example, at the Circus Bar a short graying man expressed his genuine distaste for “pool players” by suggesting they all consume rectums. However, the zipper on his pants was fully down and open. As a keen observer, I pointed this out between drags on a cigarette and it seemed to establish a truce that lasted the rest of the night.
Even at my worst, I can muster something that would be deemed clever by anyone who is plenty drunk. Suggesting that someone may want to consider going to “Fuck Town” is a personal favorite of mine and I have used it as a final insult before losing all motor control and collapsing in laughter several times. There is also no appropriate comeback to such an insult either because it is not widely recognized as a proper insult. Still, when in doubt, you can always buy yourself a few moments by flicking a lit cigarette at someone and then sneaking in a quick first blow while they panic. This will give you extra time to think up a snappy comeback or to continue hitting them. I do not necessarily endorse this method unless you are drunk enough, angry enough and the person appears to be “asking for it.” Asking for it includes things like not getting out of your way, having the wrong kind of attitude, pushing, mispronunciation of words, chewing gum too loudly, being inside of a Buffalo Wild Wings, spilling things, general disrespect, whatever you feel like, etc. In the end, it’s never as good of an idea after as it was before the police/ambulance shows up.
Anyway, two games of pool later and it has become all but impossible to shoot from one side of the table. More women came and a sea of freshly shaven legs dug into my back as I make a final last attempt to pocket the nine. I started to hate the bar. I was sleepy and irritable and had no real desire to be drinking. For a moment, I forgot that I loved my friends and started devising a way to block fire exits. I snapped back into reality with Steve, who had helped with the Zeb show, mentioned that his laptop had taken ill. I was again momentarily distracted by a balding twenty-two year old that laughed while he grabbed his crotch and made sexist jokes to his gaggle of friends. Behind him was a sexy woman with a bob cut, thick black plastic spectacles, and a short black and white dress that showcased her hose adorned legs and black stiletto heels. She was alone and she was reading the thickest book I had ever seen, and had been for the past hour. She left later on when an older gentleman, in glasses that I can only describe as partially reflective 1970s director specs, made a move on her. I was sad to see her go as she had become my hero. She had to make her way through a dancing crowd of smartly dressed couples and lone hippies. It really was a bit like a circus.
I recalled two occasions that happened earlier in the week that were definitively unlike my time at the Circus Bar.
The apartment in Ypsilanti smelled like a motel room due to the installation of an air-conditioning unit (waste) and the house in Detroit smelled like sulfur and metal because I had not ran the majority of the plumbing in the house for quite some time. I spent hours alone in both of them on the same day and just reflected on the past and deliberated upon the future. There was much to consider and, when I was finished, it all seemed a little asinine when I realized how much time I waste doing just that. Critical thought is one of the most important things in the world, but it is no longer useful if it doesn’t produce results. This is when gut feelings come into play. I know I have to work creatively to maintain my sanity. I know who I like to have in my life. I know what I need to do to get to the next phase and what things I will need to pay attention to in order to make the best possible choices for myself. I cannot expect to control overly aspect of my life and I would be spoiled if I couldn’t accept that. But I do have my dark side and I have been combating that while dealing with elements in my world that I find truly daunting. I think Nietzsche said, he who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.
That seems to be true. I’ll keep fighting the monsters but I’ll be careful where I’m looking during the downtime. Then again, who ever said the easy way was best? It’s never a good idea to gaze into the abyss or stare into the sun but it’s also kind of hard not to. I’ll take it all for what it is.
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| In Pursuit of Human Understanding |
[23 Jun 2032|03:04pm] |
On Sunday night I was reading a man’s journal and on a page he had written in bold tangled cursive, “What have you learned?”
Below the question he had written “nothing” so many times that it filled the entire page.
It was the most honest thing I have ever read in my entire life and it applies directly to both of us in every way imaginable. I am the writer and you are the reader and it is my soul desire to edify you something and make some kind of meaningful connection, thereby validating both of our existences. I want to share something with you formally as a writer, intimately as a lover and socially as a friend. I have an infinite number of ways to share my experiences as any number of our perplexing and relatively meaningless titles. There is such hope and drive for more but in the end it seems that the best I, or any of us, can hope to offer is only a fleeting taste of our realities.
So what have we learned?
Nothing, nothing, nothing, markedly and eternally nothing.
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| Blips from my brain at 2am... |
[18 Jun 2032|02:02am] |
There are several stories that I've been waiting to tell several people, but I've been waiting to do it in person.
Today we started and finished filming The Adventures of Mittens. We all like the concept as we almost simultaneously came up with the idea I just hope the execution does it justice. Still, this one is more about having fun than anything else. The larger project where I will be much more obsessive about perfection is fun too but also a lot more hard work.
Vinnie came back to New York. I miss New York and think I would rather be there than here right now.
I thought Tim’s last bit of writing was outstanding.
I took a motorcycle ride in the wet and some guy flipped me the bird. Giving a person the finger is a challenge and this man should have been aware of that. As far as I’m concerned you are within your rights to slam a person’s head in a car door if the middle finger is flashed. So, obviously, I began to follow him and his overly tan girlfriend panicked. After a bit of arguing between them, he drove recklessly in an attempt to lose me. A late model Ford Taurus is not going to outrun any sporting motorcycle with anything other than a novice rider on top of it. However, after he flew around a corner at almost sixty miles an hour, slammed on his breaks and nearly slammed into the driver’s side of a new Saab, I started to feel guilty. While always a hoot, juvenile behaviors do have their drawbacks. He made an illegal turn and I simply didn’t have the heart anymore. But I still hope that his plastic girlfriend with the zebra-stripe blonde highlights chews him out about giving the finger to strangers. At the very least she could withhold sex for a while. She looked like the type.
I’m free today (Thursday, June 18, 2009). Make plans with me or you'll regret it for the rest of your life.
I’ve been writing a lot and drawing a lot lately.
Even though I am pretty sure they are illiterate, cats really seem to like books.
Jazz in Ann Arbor.
Forget about your house of cards.
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| Musings the Day After Dave Climbed a Tree. |
[06 Jun 2032|07:02pm] |
I have lived my life in the service of expression and perception but I am unaware of all the reasons that drive me to amass and scrutinize the elements of my own existence. I do not fully understand that gap between one person and another, the distance that prevents two from understanding the theoretical one profound and profusely. Despite having surrounded myself with unusual and incredible personalities, I have yet to close that gap completely with any of them, even if I have approached it. Perhaps I make myself unavailable, perhaps I am too different, perhaps we all are. The possibility that we all may suffer long lives of collective solitude seems real enough. We may have to accept it.
In my adolescence, I spent nights awake just feeling the world. I would habitually venture into the night seeking something invisible to me. It did not matter that I slept so little that my chest began to ache with exhaustion and I was forced to spend a large portion of my schooling in a state of half sleep. Finding what I was looking for was vastly more important than anything else I could imagine. Even on the nights where I would remain home, I would sit awake and read or wallow in the indigo glow of a room illuminated by the sort of odd programming that only exists in the early morning hours. I kept thinking that, if I fell asleep, I would miss whatever it was that I sought. I became concerned with the chance that the thought, event or person that I was waiting for would pass me by while I slept. I would write or I would scour the internet for that something, rather than waste my time on things like study. But I was studying; I was studying the world and myself.
Each time I would discover something new I felt better. I could become calm and spend some time peacefully examining its place in my world and vice versa. This is something I always assumed would dissipate as I aged but, if anything, the feeling has gotten stronger. Being recumbent must be earned and I have not done so. I always thought that this could be accomplished through the location and acquisition of certain things. People, experiences, and information- I collected them all. If they were not unique or highly prized, I did not want them. Bland people and mundane events have never interested me and I have no use for them. I need to see something more than the status quo somewhere inside. The times I have felt the worst have been the times where I realized that a person I cared for was not as I believed them to be. Equally painful is the loss of a special individual.
It would be foolish of me to even entertain the proposal of permanence when it comes to people. I cannot expect even those most dear to me to comprehend me absolutely or remain in my sphere without end. Even those that do persist will be unable to do so consistently. But this does not matter. I have people that loved me enough to assist me in the burial of my grandparents, strangers to most of them. So, while we are alone, we do not have to spend our time lonely or settling for inadequate companionship. Still, I’ve pushed people away, most especially romantically, and I can not account for why I’ve done this. We all have trouble trusting people and, perhaps more interestingly, ourselves. However, with a possible exception, I’ve never met a person with the preparedness, fortitude or similarity necessary to keep me from myself.
Despite my seemingly boundless apathy and intense negativity, I care about the world I live in. If I did not, I would not spend endless hours writing and reading and watching. I would give up on any sort of creative satisfaction and quit reaching out to humanity. I may be alone, you may be alone. We may have to, we may not. I am still looking for something and I haven’t found it. Maybe the answer is in the question and the finding is in the seeking. Maybe all we get are little victories and then just more challenges. Winter and summer and then another year.
"Now I am quietly waiting for the catastrophe of my personality to seem beautiful again and interesting and modern. The country is gray and brown and white and trees. Snows and skies of laughter always diminishing. Less funny, not just darker, not just gray. It may be the coldest day of the year. What does he think of that. I mean, what do I? And, if I do, perhaps I am myself again."
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posky's journal
