Bottles full of new personalities.
Which one is real.
All of them.
Whichever one can talk.
I can’t talk.
I’ll try another.
When you start some nonsensical personal blog you never think about how it could hurt someone you used to love–or still do.
It can make it hard to speak, to draw.
When hurting them hurts you.
That’s never what I wanted.
I just want to keep creating anything until I find some way forward.
To keep running into the fog until I hit something.
To dive into the deep end of a cold pool and go numb.
And I know I have to keep going, or maybe I just want to.
But I hope they’re okay.
I could explain myself, but what a chore. Complicated answers, amateur translator, no winners.
I just don’t have time. There’s so much I want to do, see, make, learn, think. Save your questions for my funeral, there’s no later for me.
I don’t care why the carpet flies, or whether it’s really the safest or most pragmatic option. I’m going now.
Are you on or off?
Don’t have $413.99 plus tax an hour to spend on a licensed professional counselor? Super Nervous Cow is now offering free personal and professional advice online here! (It’s a link)
Could a well founded, sourced, and educated argument be made that you shouldn’t take advice from me? Yes.
What are my qualifications for advising you, academic or otherwise? Nope.
Will you take advice from me anyways? That’s between you and your psychiatrist or therapist.
It goes without saying that I cannot be held responsible for what you do with the advice you are presented. Some advice may be given in the form of poorly drawn pictures, I also cannot be held responsible for how you interpret those pictures. Keep in mind that If my advice in some sick miraculous irony leads to your success in life, you are required by law to send me an emotionless and pragmatic thank you note with your printed signature.
Image note: it’s animated and doesn’t work in some mobile situations. No pictures in motion for all people in motion. Sorry!
I’ll ride fast, until I’m nervous.
Then I’ll ride faster, until I’m scared.
Then faster, until I’m neither.
My bones are already broken.
I’m already broken.
What else do the hills have left.
I approach every day the way I approach a bowl of Lucky Charms: Eat a few spoonfuls and then throw the rest on the floor when you remember it’s sugar coated garbage.
No no… I’m not quite that bitter yet. Let me start over.
I haven’t felt as open as I used to be. Not as willing to let others write in my metaphorical book, if you will. Sometimes you’re just too broken to feel open minded. I won’t apologize for that.
It’s so easy to become bitter when every item, every song has a long red Crime Noir thread tied to old pains. It’s so easy to become paralyzed, trapped in the web.
But It’s just thread, a series of twisted, inaccurate, convoluted ghosts; and I am God. At least insomuch as this is my mind, and my life.
I just have to stand up and remember that the red strings don’t hold my hand back when I draw. They don’t hold my feet back when I’m pushing my skateboard. They don’t block the wind when I run. What strength do they have that I don’t give them, after all.
I’ve realized that I could spend a lifetime running around trying to cut these strings, trying to run from the hurt.
But I can’t, any more that I can stem the tides.
So I won’t.
It’s going to be a little hard to type this, I fractured two of my fingers in a high speed skateboarding accident involving myself (henceforth referred to as the plaintiff) and the ground (henceforth referred to as the defendant) of which you can view the aftermath here. Not to worry, I can still draw. Pending evidence I could draw prior to the accident of course.
The defendant is expected to have a swift recovery from his or her injuries as well. I digress.
I never was a magical thinker. Never believed in the paranormal. I think that always gave everyone the impression that I was a little bit pessimistic. After all the realities of life are a large and unbearably painful fire to stand next to, one that we all have to back away from sometimes. Maybe it’s TV, games, drugs, prescriptions, sugar, attention, consumption, adrenaline, or just old fashioned debauchery and religion. The great unmet dark that we all must fill and carry appears universal, as does our need to escape it. Having recently gone through another difficult breakup, I feel its sharp and familiar pull, but I find comfort in knowing it’s a widely shared pain.
It makes me wonder sometimes if we just weren’t meant to handle all this. What if our stone age bodies are collapsing under the speed and information of it all. What in my evolution–after all–could have prepared me to even begin to grasp all the pain we now know people to be suffering every moment, every where, every day. It’s too easy to lose yourself in the sorrows.
But, I digress again.
The fact is you don’t have to believe in magic to believe in the human spirit. The placebo effect isn’t magic after all. We know to some degree of certainty that if we believe something strongly enough we can alter our very reality for the better.
That’s why I always thought that If you simply refuse to kneel to the pressures. If you just decide that there is a next chapter, if you just know that you won’t stop. Then you sit in the fires of life, but you notice they don’t burn so much. And, if you’re lucky, you might even feel warm.
What else can you do.
Illustration note: I can provide government certified documents validating that I am in fact of legal adult age for a United States citizen.
Maybe I talk too much.
Nah, who cares.
They were wrong about me being a negative person anyways.
I was just curious, that’s all.
The curious and the morbid were always close friends, right?
And I do have friends.
Sometimes I’m sad, but I’m happy I’m sad. I think being able to feel anything makes me one of the lucky ones. Some people can’t feel sad, just empty. Other people have died and can’t feel anything at all. I feel grateful just that I can lift up my eyelids and see things, anything. I know people younger than me who didn’t make it that far today.
I wish I could tell other people how not to be sad, but nobody can. It’s better to listen instead. So that’s what I’m going to do, listen.
Hope you like the fake book cover, like all things it has no purpose.
And hey, I’m moving to Los Angeles at the end of this month! Pretty big deal for a kid from small town Idaho.
What am I some kind of new age yuppie existentialist? Nay, I am a pirate, crucified on the pillars of apathy. A fat pacific tuna, drifting through the waters of a french film noir. An anxious floorboard in Ted Nugent’s abandoned Manhatten loft. An enigma. You think you know me, but you don’t, you never will. You have no idea what I’m saying, or why I accompanied this post with an insultingly out of season ice cream illustration. When you are crying in your car on the way to work tomorrow you remember that feeling. Nothing means anything, and so everything means something.
And if today you let a sink in, make sure it’s not that.
I drew a rabbit. Then I made a rabbit pattern. Then I used it on a book. No politics, no religion, no philosophy, no humor, it’s a rabbit. If you were looking for something that wasn’t a rabbit, I’m sorry to disappoint you. It’s just a rabbit. It’s not even a well drawn rabbit. It’s a rabbit. A rabbit. Rabbit is starting to look weird, It’s sort of a weird word. Rab, bit. RABBIT. RABBITRABBITRABBIT.
Turtle coming Fall 2015.
I wrote a lot of different things here that weren’t related to each other but then I deleted them. No worries though, I feel that the image above from my notebook pretty clearly describes what I was trying to communicate to you.
I also noticed that if I make a typo while writing these posts, rather than clicking back to where the typo is I will just backspace all the way back to the typo, re-write it, and then re-write the rest of the text again. So there’s that.
I hope you found all of this educational.