It was worth it.
It always will be.
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.
When nobody can make you feel better.
And you can’t ignore it long enough to distract yourself.
And there’s no such thing as busy enough to forget about it.
And you just go deaf.
You’re not bored.
You just want to remember you’re alive.
Get higher, board faster.
Turn the music up.
Forget how you got home last night.
Remember falling asleep on the couch so you wouldn’t wake her up.
She hogged the blankets anyway.
But you’ve memorized the hills, and the ride isn’t such a rush anymore.
At least not enough to forget.
Your tolerance goes up, you blow out all your speakers.
There’s no one to hog the blankets.
And you’re not sure if that’s how you want it.
So you’re just left with that ringing in your ear.
But you always wake up one day and realize you feel it again.
You just have to make it until that morning.
When you wake up, and you’re back.
You always come around.
Just hold on.
You’ll come around to save yourself.
It will level out.
You want it? You can have it.
Are you sure you can carry it?
I’ll help you if I can.
I’m not trying to trick you.
I can be wrong.
I don’t need to win an argument.
People don’t really need to talk so much.
Just as well to bark.
You think people into what they are to you anyways.
If you hang around someone who thinks you’re a loser long enough–and you care about them–then you are a loser.
Let them have it.
I’m going to go be wrong somewhere far, far away from here.
And I’ll be wrong and alright.
We’ll all be alright.
Or at least we’ll be alright with not being alright.
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.
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.
My dad taught me how to stand up alone. My mom taught me how to love anybody. My oldest friend taught me how to stop and help when other people won’t. My sisters taught me how to forgive. My dogs taught me how to laugh at my own jokes. People along the way taught me how to change. And I taught myself that I can be invincible.
Rich and getting richer…
Isn’t it crazy that you can sit here and think words. I mean you’re sitting here, and you have a trillion individual dumb cells that work together to provide you with your own personal universe. In this universe you can think things, and then store those things in permanent memory. You can process simulation scenarios to predict outcomes of situations, and place yourself in the shoes of another universe to gather understanding. In our universe different things have meaning, different things are beautiful, different things are sad.
When you die this absolutely unique universe dies with you. Nobody, no matter how well they know you, will ever be able to truly stand inside of it.
Is there any way for you to have what you want when what you want is to have what you don’t? If we can’t all be what we were then were we what we were have? I mean if you don’t have to want what to be for then what is there to become for it to have anyways? It’s just a cycle of whatever you want what to be for and have that we can’t all be anyways. When what’s what is the what you want then the what what will become the what what to be what. Just have what you long for and to be what you’ll need to be for the future any have. Sometimes I think that we are having something to be for of having what we would without, but then I think that this must be the having of whatever this isn’t. Everything that you wanted to go this way what to have for to be what you’d want to what the where’s of to how isn’t the where have to what if and to be anywhere on the plane of existence. This sentence is comprehensible. Turbulence cheers you dig?
Do you feel that? It’s the sound of everyone judging you. Like the low whine of a vacuum cleaner on the wrong floor setting. You can rest easy tonight though denizens. We’re all weirdos with stuff to hide. When your boss does find your anonymous cake blog you probably think he’ll never look at you the same way again, but more likely he’ll just say “Hey, I too enjoy a good cake.”
We’re all defendants in a courtroom with no jury. Being weird is the only state of existence. There’s no judge, just a hologram.
Sure maybe nothing’s ever quite as good as you pictured it in your head, but that’s a good thing. It’s like you’re in the Tour de France and your coach is barking strategies out a car window. You’ll never catch him, guys in a damn car, but at least you have something to chase. That stupid voice you’ll never catch up to might be annoying, but it’s on your team.
Image inspired by Anonymous at Robotic Raven
Somehow doodling little fuzzy hats on my stick figures makes me feel warmer. It’s 0*F here in Idaho so naturally I drew this with gloves on, that’s why the lines look all janky, which according to WordPress is not a real word.
I have a history of awkward moments with retail employees. I don’t think we understand each other. I’d try correcting them “KEVIN… no.. KE-VIN”, but it wasn’t worth it. Evan is a fine name anyways and he apparently has great taste in coffee. I’ll just be Evan, that’s fine. “TO GO….. TO … GO…. OUT……… OUT” Okay I guess I’m eating here. At least the music is nice and I don’t have to wait until I get home. La-de-dah.
Oh well. If Ryan Gosling taught me anything in the movie Drive it’s that speaking up is totally uncool. If you need me Evan will be enjoying his hot water to stay.
Last night I had a dream. No, not about the civil rights of my children. About boats! Fast boats. Boats so fast they can’t be controlled. Flying over bridges and crashing back down into the river below. Skimming across the surface of super highways lit like laser beams and sunlight. Racing almost into another dimension. Accelerating and accelerating until you can’t take it any more. You jump out, and watch your rocket boat crash into the side of a building.
I’ve seen this before. Over the years as I’ve begun tracking and sketching my dreams, a common theme has emerged: Speed and the inability to stop it. Whether I’m walking, biking, running, driving, snowboarding, flying, or boating, I can’t stop. Sometimes I want to stop, sometimes I try to stop, but I can’t stop. I can never stop.
I’ve asked doctors “Why can’t I ever stop in my dreams?” but they seem puzzled. I’ve asked mechanics if they can fix my brake lines but don’t understand when I point to my head.
I guess I’ll just keep moving.