This daily posting shit must annoy all three of my readers.

Except the two who hardly jack in until once every who-gives-a-fuck. (I know, I bullshit a lot, but really, some grade-A golden literature may be born of the ideas you’ll’ve read by the end of this entry.)

I want you to think of the only thing in your life that could be the last redeemable trait, should you find nothing else of value in the world or in yourself. The one thing that could be your saving grace, a last hope in days when your name is the last of your worries, and why you can’t remember it.
Yesterday… afternoon (?) I woke in a lazy daze, where I’d slip in and out of consciousness, but so frequently that the few things I was aware of slipped into the dream I seemed to have been having. I had the most fear-inspiring nightmares of abandonment, and the last thing I could ever count on, my writing hand, had disappeared when I needed it most. It was a dead hunk of meat hanging from my arm, stiff, rotting and heartbreaking. Of course, I thought it was dead because I’d slept on my arm, making it go numb, so the half-hour nightmare was just that, but it was terrible. In such a mental state, I couldn’t tell the difference between being paralyzed within the dream and wishing for suicide awake. It’s difficult for me to explain, right now, in my current state of mind, but it really fucked me up.
Incorporating water in my diet and pissing without agony. My sleeping’s gone erratic: waking in early morning, waking at noon without remembering falling asleep, trying not to pass out in the afternoon, waking at midnight… fuckin’ shit, man.
I must be two days ahead, now. It still feels like the day after Sunday, which for me was Tuesday morning, and looking at the digital calendar thing, it’s… Thursday! Shit!

I’ve almost completely been overtaken by an interest in Japanese animation, which ain’t bad, but it’s surprising, still, after my “anime’s for losers who follow gimmicks blindly” phase.
Gotta say, British attempts at animated features in the 70s and 80s have some great art and alright vocal acting, but the lack of enthusiasm for the projects really show, and the overall product suffers.
When the Wind Blows had the chance to have a long-lasting impact on me, if it’d tried to stop being so goddamn subtle in its message, which is kind of an unexplored one. There was a lot of potential for it to kick my ass, to really tug at my heart, but all it wanted to do was pose some interesting ideas without finishing them for me.
Watership Down was easy on the eyes and heart, as well, since I felt a presence behind the characters, but the dramatic elements weren’t fully realized, with the artists trying to show more of what was going on in a physical sense, than trying to make me feel what was going on. That music video in the middle of the damn movie also pulled out of it, because it was way the fuck out of place and not a very good song anyway, as well, the seagull character seemed to be treated more like a Disney comedic character than what he was obviously supposed to be: a crafty foreigner, with crafty foreigner ways of getting shit done.
The only thing that The Plague Dogs had going for it was the beautiful artwork. I could’ve invested more in the characters, if they’d been a little more steriotypical of their tropes, since I was forced to look for complexity in characters who’d started out being more interesting with single dimensions. The wiley Scottish fox was a great character from his appearence, but he turned out to be the expected deus ex machina for several lack-luster confrontations and the sacrificial hero, which is the archtype that the troubled smart-guy was set up to be from the very beginning. I didn’t want two-dimensional characters in an epic, because all two-dimensional characters within epic stories turn out to be all good or all evil by the conclusion, and that’s no fucking fun at all. The rogue, of all characters, should be expected to save his own fucking hide by the end, because that’s what ALL audiences want from their rogues! That’s what made Desert Punk such a great character in the Japanese show/comic (you guessed it) Desert Punk. That’s also why I felt such a loss from seeing Han get frozen in carbonite (which isn’t a metal at all), because I knew, deep down, that a self serving rogue like Han would only care about himself, which made the depressed mood amongst his friends even more tragic. I knew hat Han didn’t care about them, and if the last movie’d been handled my way, I’d make it very clear, without ruining any of his setups, and it would have been a much more dramatic production.
Imagine a film picking up where Han’s friends have rescued him, and he ducks out, like he’d planned to before the attack on Hoth, without a notice, and we focus on Han’s friends feeling betrayed after everything they’d done for him, Luke feeling abandoned by his father, his masters who’ve passed away, his best pal, and his sister who leaves the rebellion to look for Han. Academy, Hugo, Pulitzer and Eisner all wrapped around a single script (and its various adaptations), motherfucker! Just say it, I’m a genius.

Just woke the fuck up…

Realized a lot of things, and forgot them all, and didn’t care, because the last realization was along the lines of “it doesn’t matter what the fuck I think, whatever will happen will happen, whether I am a part of the fruition of any future events or not,” so fuck it. Spent a lot of time looking for Carlin videos on You Tube. I absolutely fucking hated sitting through the first ten minutes of Red Dwarf, and there’s no fucking way I’ll give it another chance. I’m reluctant to research the band Stolen Babies, suggested by Nathan, who’s lent me some comics to read, which I shouold’ve read all day, instead of looking for fucking videos I’d already seen online. Attractive women who’re skilled with guns seem like a turn-on to people through fiction more than reality. There are many possible approaches to the zombie-genre stories, and only a few seem to break the mold, and those few don’t even lend themselves to using “zombies” at all. Why do artists involved in producing adult material exaggerate the female form so often? Can’t I enjoy watching two women beat eachother senseless as cartoons, and appreciate two individual females as seen by the artist, instead of two plastic dolls drawn the same way? Why the fuck am I watching two cartoon women beat eachother fucking senseless, anyway? It’s stupid and it scarcely does what “adult” entertainment’s supposed to do: turn me on. But I’m a teenager! Everything turns me on! Shit, somebody mentions dogs fucking, and I’m trying to hide an erection for five minutes, while I think about how disgusted I am with myself for not being able to control sexual deviations, and knowing that I don’t have to be interested in animals fucking to inspire an erection, since at my age, with as much sexual confusio as I have, anything’ll spout anything, and rejoice in such line of thought distracting me from my blood flow, and want to kill myself for reminding my fucking self about the erection I’m trying to lose and inspire it to return! What the fuck?

“Why would the band kill their fucking audience?”
“Because it’s not a band, Bill, mister dressed-in-black-say-fuck-every-other-word-that-comes-out-of-your-mouth, cynical humanist, you, it’s the devil.”

I really do want to hear the reactions to people who claim belief in the divine war when I ask them, “What defies God’s will?” Since God is the inner power that guides our souls and connects us all as beings, alive or not, through the cosmos, an energy beyond description of divinity and incapable of human flaws, being the most basic form of energy, I doubt anybody can say whether God actually does have a will to oppose in the first place.
Off topic: the thought of immaculate conception puts my head to work, while I shut off connection to my brain. I have a grossly exaggerated image of this miracle in my head, of a woman suspended in air, having a screaming orgasm, an image that was briefly entertained by the introduction of the Invisible Man in The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. Why am I in such a “Randy Pan, the Goatboy” mood? I’m always like this, and I’m tired of thinking there’s something wrong with me for wanting the chance to perform oral sex! My face is covered in blistery sores, already, goddamn it!
“Hey, that’s funny, man, touching a side that you try not to show people, it’s interesting, it’s funny.”
Laugh at the huge hard-on I’ve got imagining how fucking awesome it’d be to have you walk in on your mom and I fucking, with your dad videotaping. It’s not the vulgarity that gets me hard, right now, it’s knowing that the image will fuck with your head the same way you see pictures of people dying all over the fucking world and decide you never saw it, to get on with the rest of your safe, protected day, never knowing when the image of a thirteen year-old boy’s brain spilled over a dusty sidewalk will enter your head, and you’ll hate yourself for jerking off to porn you knew this kid never got the right to see. Did he ever get a hard-on? Did he unconditionally love the people of his own family and community, and strive to do good by them, by doing chores voluntarily, and charitably offering services to men of business who never found the time to leave the shop during hours? Did he ever fall in love, and long to be with someone? He’s only human, with the same flaws that we all have, and knew people who loved, had friends and a mother and father, felt emotions like anybody else, and had the same capacity for understanding and ability to learn as you do. Will all of these factors play into your conscience when you’re trying to forget that he ever existed while you’re squeezing out a load to Sasha Grey’s epic ear-crippling videos, ’cause it certainly becomes a hassle for me.

My current oppinion Zeitgeist:

Mister Joseph’s podcast is interesting, and inspiring, and though he uses it to speak for the Venus Project, I’ll keep taps on his bi-weekly cast while distancing myself from the Project itself. Learning Zeitgeist’s stance over time and observation is definately more beneficial than unquestioningly subjecting myself as a follower, for now.
He certainly seems to believe in his message, and only time can tell me whether he’s worth investing my trust, which is a thing he says is unnecessary for such an evolved form of humanity, and I’d like to agree with him.

Reading up on Jacque Fresco’s movement: Hour One

The connections between the Zeitgeist films and the Venus Project are presented outright by the message of the second Zeitgeist release, as Peter Joseph apparently serves as the coordinator of the active branch of Fresco’s futurist project known as the Venus Project. The outright denouncement of money’s value and corruption is something that I admire and accept with open arms, but this message seems to clash with the “store” section of the Venus Project site, which allows visitors the option to buy Jacque Fresco’s books and DVDs, though the same material can be viewed online for free. Am I to accept that these acts of charity are merely that, or can I safely assume that something is out of place?

I’m still fresh in my investigation, and I want more than anything to believe that Fresco’s intentions are to the benefit of the human race, altogether, but a single doubt can lead to larger and bolder divisions between visionary and activist, which seem to have been the same divisions between representative and banker, in their own infancy. This is not a connection that I feel comfortable implying, so believe that my doubt is as heartfelt as the pride that I’d found after having seen both Zeitgeist films.
No matter what I find out, and decide on the matters of futurist Fresco and his propaganda, know that I am still on humanity’s side, which is my own side, your side, and the side of everyone I love. It doesn’t matter what individual person or organization I support, the only matter of importance is that I support the values that I see great and admire about humanity as a whole.
It’d feel damn good to know that I can be supported by those with a great following, but it’s nothing when their goals contradict my own: our own.

First of all, I have to thank Colt Davidson.

Had he not informed of the existence of these films, I would be in the dark over whether or not my “realizations” on the seat of power in the world today are shared by anyone else alive. My ideas have always been sketchy, and in the constant presence of those who argue the invalidity of my ideas, have been incomplete. Peter Joseph’s Zeitgeist documentaries have given voice to thoughts that I thought unspeakable. When I enter conversation on the subject of our role as humans in the world, I’ve been scoffed at, looked at in awe, and insulted in the most demoralizing ways, and I always play into the role of the failing revolutionary, giving all of my friends and family the benefit of living their lives without asking a single question about the importance of their own submission, and the harm they cause everyone else by this…

Of course, it may seem that I am trying to give myself a little more credit than is due, since I’d just seen the films, and they are very easily treated as propaganda. To this frame of mind in the reaction to my statements, I say:
It doesn’t matter if I came up with my ideas before or after viewing accused propaganda, the point of realization is that it was my decision to make, as it is anybody’s, and the only imposition being made by thinking of me as a victim is the harm done by those who think they’re doing good by thinking of ANYBODY as a victim who believes in the decisions being made by an individual who thinks openly, freely, and without consequence…
I’ve yet to investigate Peter Joseph’s movement, so I cannot say whether the propositions of his films for said movement’s success are beneficial to a minority, but I am certain that despite the true intentions of his movement, the message of his films are very clear, and can easily be detached from any organization posing as what it is not, and used as a guide for a movement for equal benefit to all of humanity, seeing as I can draw the same conclusions as Mister Joseph, my American History teacher, and every assassinated government leader and literary revolutionary who ever died to oppose that which destroys the value and progression of humanity, and as long as we are all capable of reaching these conclusions, then it is beyond a single man’s role in getting the message across. Before even considering joining this movement, I know, right now, that I am supporting the fundamental rights that humanity owes itself by acknowledging that I have these ideas, showing them to others, and letting people know that they are much more to me than the physical power that they can provide a dying system, as I expect the same degree of respect and love from others.

I recommend that everyone view these films. Take in the message, and decide for themselves. I’ve offered to do this by voice, many times, in class rooms and public locations, but it seems that Mister Joseph’s voice is preferred than mine. That’s fine, as long as you recognize what I am telling you through his words. These are words I tell my dearest friends, who look at me in pity for not following the same pointless routines that they do, my teachers, who defend their ideas like children defend a toybox from bullies in another class, my parents, who think that there is something for me to lose in choosing to agree with anybody but themselves, and to me, who was a damn fool for ever thinking that I was alone, and felt so powerless to the things that look so big from far away, who sometimes contemplated suicide as the only escape from the immense depravity that everything that I love can be seen struggling under the weight of, and…

I’m getting a bit emotional. Few of you read my blog. Those few of you may not recall my zealous rants in person. To those who do, I recommend viewing, once more, so that you understand my frustration without hearing my message escape in a cracking voice. I love you all, despite what you may think, because of the behaviors I’ve adopted in anger, but I do.

Fuck!

I’ve gone over twenty-four without caffeine, and I’ve awoken to the hell that I’ve turned my body into, that I’d never fucking notice without something to falsify high chemical energy.

My Fascinations with Fascination

Recently, my curiosity’s tossed me onto a course to discover the appeal of a single Japanese series known as Oh, My Goddess! I am thoroughly thrilled to discover as much as I can about the culture surrounding me, and though I am a nerd, and nubile in my status as such, I know little more than nothing about it, though my collection of trivia is staggering against many others who allow such a multi-faceted thing slip right by their existences. Growing up after the introduction of anime and manga as a part of popular culture in America, I developed interests based on American companies’ distribution, and when I became more comprehensive, I found that most of the Japanese imports lacked something very important, logic. These were all, of course, things that were brought up over the years to sell things to children, which I’ve come to understand is called “shonen”. The writers and artists of such stories can’t anticipate a universal interest, so the possibility that logic in story-telling is lost-in-translation intensifies the frustration that came with trying to find quality entertainment in anime as a youth, when I am an American boy being sold Japanese stories intended for Japanese boys. Other youths who accepted these shows and comics in America are growing up to be what the Japanese call “otaku” in their own culture, but with the limitations at the time, there are stronger followings for individual series, as there once was a particularly strong following of Star Trek fans who never kicked their obsessions, called “trekkies”. As the budding brilliance of Japanese wealth forms over here, there are more and more “trash-culture” facets coming into view.

By “trash-culture,” I am referring to a phrase that I invented to help me understand my own perception of entertainment in multiple cultures, as well as our own. There are many different idols of trash-culture, and such a complex culture like our own breeds them every decade, as the Japanese do. The link: trash-culture, for example, can include Elvis movies, which were made to sell Elvis Presley through movie theatres, and have formed followings that block out the cruel truths behind the mediocrity of such idols of trash-culture. Exploitation films are trash-culture. B-movies are trash culture. Pulp comics are trash culture. “Trash-culture” is not intended to be used as a negative term, though the misuse of such power over an audience is a greater offense than many that I’d refuse to forget in a Lifeboat situation, if you catch my drift. I am a huge fan of trash-culture idols, like films released in the eighties and nineties that put teenagers through steriotypical situations that have died out long ago, and are being written about today, because the nerds in the 70s don’t knkow what it’s like to be nerds in the 90s… did that sound like ranting? It shouldn’t. It defines our culture, and as a cultureless-culture, as Americans have been described, there is nothing more important than another man’s trash: hence the term “trash-culture,” a modern treasure to people like myself.

Unaware of the importance of trash-culture, I’d reached teenage years with the mind-set that all Japanese imports are for little kids, because of the tight leash that American industrialists held for the products coming in. This was before I’d seen Ghost in the Shell, which helped me become more aware of just how many limitaions I was setting myself up for. Also, around the very end of this time, for me, I’d become completely devoted to movies, and comics were, like Jap culture, something to visit for kid-nostalgea. My complete immersion into film was slow, I couldn’t have gotten very far being limited to HBO and Blockbuster. Netflix hefted me into the history of Searchlight and Miramax, indie films opened my understanding of genre and integrity, and the acceptance of mediocrity for the sake of entertainment. Trash-culture filled everyone’s existence, as John Wayne for my father, primetime television for mother, and I was still exploring the millions of niches that the information age had created within and for itself.

I found a great confusion come about me, when I noticed the trends forming in fanboys and fangirls in America, who attempt to mimic the stereotypical otaku behavior. It’s the niche, I see, that they try to fill in order to pay back, respectfully, to the creators of their trash-culture idols. On close inspection of Oh, My Goddess! and similar other titles, the similarities made my confusion greater, to see a bunch of American kids worshiping plagiarists, until I realized that such stories follow a set of expected events, which have become staple within otaku trash-culture. The nerd gets a woman who loves unconditionally and has magic powers: this may be a familiar premise to Europeans and to Americans, but to the Japanese, this is a genre. An entire genre is based on a single common fantasy. It amazed me. This is the cycle of the “meme,” which develops naturally within a culture as a part of our evolution as humans. When I conducted this research I’d spent time reading American comics that aren’t necessarily recognized universally, but within the brotherhood of comic fans as must-reads. Bill Hicks, Pynchon, Raoul Duke and Hunter Thompson, George Carlin… these are all idols of a sub-culture that extends beyond the “one man’s trash” idea, and formed followings based more on their legend than their work as human beings. (This idea is thoroughly explored in a comic series called Transmetropolitan.)

The genre, the sub-genre, the idol, the sub-culture, scenes, memes… they all occur and coexists, like the millions of species of plant-life growing off of the husk of our information and entertainment. The living thing that culture is, thrives and reproduces, with its masters, the writers and artists, their worshipers: hipsters, nerds, geeks, fans, listeners and viewers, readers, true believers, otaku and anorak, we are all a part of this massive, gigantic artery of information in the body of the human race, and it is at a moment like this that I feel like the only person who sees it all. Like all the beatniks and trainspotters should find something in me to envy, like children looking up to the stiff-lipped gunslinger strolling through town, like a monolith on legs. What makes me so much more important than others? Richard Dawkins wrote these same principles down, more thoroughly, mapping down his thoughts and interpretations in a manner that allowed his own literature on the subject of memes to become a meme itself. In my mind, I see a map of all of these things I’ve collected in my research, and I’d swear it resembles diagrams of the human brain, but when I try to convey my understandings, the more scrambled I become, trying to find the words to describe my connections as five more are created. Every instant not spent on the next, new thing, is thrown into oblivion, as far as I can understand, and just sharing my ideas makes the entire endeavor to learn unravel.

Summer of Vista: days 1-4

June 3
A swelling storm of monotony. The only positive advents of this day were the explorations of musicians I’d not heard from since the 90s and finally finding the second season of The IT Crowd.

June 4
In high expectation of a sure-to-be-awesome Friday, Thursday was nothing but music, music, music. Weeding through unwanted tracks and finding the worthiest of listening material made time fly, but not as fast as I’d've liked. I also had the chance to test my tolerance of specific foreign food. I fell asleep often during the day, making it impossible to fall asleep for more than a few minutes every half hour at night.

June 5
Not getting adequate sleep, I was rather sluggish to begin with, at 4:00AM. Around noon, Lisa and I took off for The Terrace in James Island, and spent nine hours bullshitting in Charleston and getting back to Summerville. I got us a little lost on the way there,  had to hold in a very long piss for half an hour while enjoying Brothers Bloom, walked into an art supplies store and couldn’t afford ANYTHING, lead us around in a giant circle downtown just to find a cafe that WASN’T full of uppity hipsters or vacationing tourists (and found a great little place called Cafe Cafe), was confused for Lisa’s boyfriend at a tattoo place (which I found hilarious), and insisted on watching Star Trek (for my second time)… and had the most pleasant day since I can remember.

June 6 (today)
Started the day 10 hours after falling asleep as soon as I got home, and woke up at 9:00AM for an hour to work on Lisa’s tattoo design before falling asleep for another couple of hours. Trying out more Asian imported foods. I’m a fan of some of it, but this awful vegetable-flavored soup makes me want to vomit. “Sometimes” by Sister Hazel’s playing right now, and I… feel the song. Dunno how else to explain it. I’m hoping to hit a bookstore later today, even if it’s with my folks.

Ah, shit!

Fuck my memory! I have been such a fucking idiot! I walk around, talking about shit, casually, and nobody even thinks of correcting me when I’m FUCKING WRONG! What the fuck?

Soul Track Mind

Awesome band in Austin, Texas.

http://soultrackmind.com/stm/

Check them out.

Necronomiconfusion

Just finished reading the four-part comic rendition of Lovecraft’s book. It was fairly entertaining, perhaps more so than the book would’ve been.
Nothing spectacular about the story, other than the absolute reliance on generally well known multi-cultural reference. The art was spectacular, and it impresses me even more knowing how vague Lovecraft was on describing that which no sane mortal being could bear complete witness to, and how baffled his characters were when attempting to explain the supernatural elements of his stories. Damn good comic, actually.

I have issued my request for challenges. My friends are expected to provide a list of portraits that they will expect of me. I think a lot of good will come of this. My first challenge was for a portrait of an online friend, whose complete face I have seen only one grainy picture of. This should be fun.

I’m back, bitches!

FIRST UP:

NIRVANA JUICE: Valley of the Bean

NIRVANA JUICE: Nausea Closeup

Okay. That’s out of the way.

I know that I’m late posting my thoughts on the following movies, but bear with me. Just saw ZACK AND MIRI, TROPIC THUNDER, BURN AFTER READING, PINEAPPLE EXPRESS, and DARK KNIGHT (for the second time…)

Recovering from a lack of exposure to the past season’s best (outside of the comic character movies which, we all knew, I did not miss,) and it’s only now that I realize that so many people have been craving good material to flock to theatres for that they’ve invented a new type of theatre hype: stress-induced-illusion. The comedies were funny. That’s it. Just fun to watch. The only busted barriers were done in by BURN AFTER READING.

Malkovich axed that mother fucker in broad daylight! Goddamn!

Serious movies like DARK KNIGHT may have been incredible (a miracle after witnessing the release of the “parody” movie franchise…)  but are people so despirate for comedy-tragedy equilibrium that they’ll make a stoner flick filmed with the buddy-cop formula sound like the funniest thing since James Earl Jones reading the alphabet? Check it out, that shit is hilarious. PINEAPPLE EXPRESS: good for a chuckle.

ZACK AND MIRI shows me that Smith still has a few under his belt and WHAT Jay has under his. I laughed, and I didn’t need a smoking mime. Maybe people will lighten up on we View Askewniverse fans.

TROPIC THUNDER was also funny, but not what most people made it out to be. Yeah, Bobby did a great job, and so did Tom, but you know, it’s a flick for kicks. Why talk up something that really doesn’t need the hype to stay afloat for what it’s worth?

Also saw WALL-E not too long ago. It’s great. I have not said this about any Pixar movie before, because honestly, people see that their stuff is animated and forget to criticize things that Dreamworks is constantly hassled for. At least Pixar doesn’t make Family Guy-ish reference jokes to popular culture.
WALL-E was purely entertaining, and I think that it has a lot to do with the fact that the main characters didn’t speak more than two words each.

Constant Reminders

Downloading Orange Box. Garry’s Mod soon.

Decided not to trash TF2. I figgin’ hate when shit goes down with this thing, though, when I lose control of a machine that I rely on. Quite sad. Quite true. Quite the race we’ve become. Quite the society that we are in. Thoughts. Ideas. Not our own. Emotions. Shit, man… no. Fuckin…

So angry. She’s everywhere. In my head, twisting my mind, unaware of one of her many marionettes. How many others like me? I don’t care. I had this under control, man, I was doin’ fine, man, I was… man.

My art has been suffering from this as well. Nothing original, nothing new. All she inspires now is a deep hatred for myself and stale images of Prismacolor sillhouettes.
Writing’s been brought to a halt. Recycling the same words, phrases, ideas… revisiting unused concepts to escape from this shit stained emotional bullshit’s going on.

“Hey. Nothing personal, but I just thought that you should know that my chest is imploding from the pressure of my emotions for you, and I may die from a massive heart attack. It’s all your fault. See you Thursday.”

And I could go on, and on, and on. But who cares?

Fuck this shit.

I’ve gotten used to waiting for to to fifteen minutes while I connect with a server to play a game of TF2.
My dad’s gameplay observations inspired a very kind gift of audio apparatus that included a mic… incapable of audio recording. Still pretty sweet headset.

Spent all of yesterday ripping every CD to the Vista.

Not sure, but it’s my guess that it should not take more than thirty minutes to connect with a server. I’ve spent so much time waiting and shutting down the operating system when everything is unresponsive that I’ve decided to uninstall TF2. Too much hassle for so little. It was fun, but only for so long.

I can’t stand people. I can’t stand machines. I can hardly stand anything anymore. I dislike quite a lot, and I try not to hide it. I get a little distressed, and sometimes annoyed, when people assume that I’d dislike anything that I have made very clear that I do not, or that I’ve yet to display any sign of dislike towards. Everyone I find capable of tolerating, liking, loving… they don’t understand anything about me. They are so fucking sure about my mind and how it works. I don’t claim to be fully understanding, but I do allude that I try to.

“Oh, look here. Another ‘troubled’ teenager using the internet as a means of stretching his self-importance-muscle. This fag needs to get a life.”

“What’s all of this emotional bullshit? Oh, yeah… it’s everything I’ve seen every other selfish white emotional brat write about in sixty different domains.”

“This guy doesn’t make any sense. It’s one thing to type stupid shit all over the internet, and it’s another the smear this incoherent shit on its walls and doors.”

I’m so tired.

(By the way, if you do happen to read these posts regularly, which I doubt, then you should probably know that these “quotes” are from myself. The rest of you may remain ignorant of this information, should you choose to do so.)

Team Fortress 2: N008

Just got Team Fortress 2. I HAVE NO IDEA HOW TO PLAY! My first encounter with an online FPS… I’ll figure it out, once I learn what the use of the word “server” means.
By no means should anyone assume that I consider myself a frequent gamer, so if someone happens to feel the need to pwn me wit werdz, I want to remind you to take a few moments to bask in your superiority of computer experience over someone beneath the status of a novice. Good show.

CARBONMADE

Started a somewhat professional-looking portfolio for free on Carbonmade. You can follow the link from the list of my places to the right.

Self Promotion (Do I need a hyphen in there, somewhere?)

Getting There

To the advice of a dear friend, I have begun researching artistic guides written by renowned professionals.

http://placidchaos.com/AM/index.php/2006/02/21/andrew_loomis
has proven to be an amazing source of free Loomis pdf files.
I intend to make use of his guides
Figure Drawing for All Its Worth,
Drawing the Head and Hands,
Successful Drawing,
and Creative Illustration…

I’ve already purchased and begun reading How To Make Comics by Scott McCloud,
Gleefully listened to John and Stan tell me How To Draw the Marvel Way,
And I’m still waiting, as I type, for the pdf of Anatomy for the Artist by Sarah Simblet to finish downloading. I’ve yet to look into Burne Hogarth as suggested, but I will soon.

Also, I’ll be heading off to my second and last free art class held by the new anime store.
Instructor: Larissa Ketterer of Manic Repressive… awesome.

Can’t Decide

Do I stick with WordPress.com?
Do I keep this new Blogspot?
Do I maintain both AND the art community sites at once?
The last sounds like fun.

I got Firefox, bitches!

And it feels sooooo very good, man… so good.