2306152 Existence Is
A yearlong blog experiment...
Wednesday February 22nd 2012, 1:18 am
Awfully ambivalent about work stuff lately, have been for a couple weeks now. Things I can’t really talk about properly. It really seems to have set in today. Fortunately I’m relatively regimented. Being creatively strong only comes in spurts I guess. Not sure why, but I’m finding it hard to be motivated, maybe its a weird idea gap happening in my brain, a chasm I can’t seem to find the bridge to cross it right now. I’m just shouting into this great canyon of malaise and only muffled echoes of myself sounding back at me. And I can’t really see the other side either, just all fogged in. It didn’t help my emotional state that Tabby’s ashes arrived today. Brings up the pain we’ve had for the past week, not that it was under the surface very deeply as it is. Seeing the little tiny box that contains what is left of her physical body was tough. But in some way, we feel like she’s home, there is something awkwardly reassuring about that. Peculiarly, even though I’m feeling so lackluster, my imagination still has pops and sparks, sputtering an idea or two for new story concepts. I also managed to work on a page layout a little before having to leave the house. I had made plans to go to the movies with a group of friends today. Although I wasn’t feeling up to it at first, for good reason. It was important to get out of the house a little. We all had coffee beforehand. It was good to see everyone. Conversation eased my mind a bit. We went to watch Ghost Rider, it was everything I thought it should be. I know some will hate this movie, but I loved that it relished in total cheezeball-land. Reminds me of oddball horror movies like Evil Dead or Army Of Darkness, movies along that line, just less blood and guts. Hammed-Up-Horror with some nice action bits. I’m a sucker for that sort of thing if done well. Certainly wasn’t anything original, but didn’t need to for it to be a fun ride. I came out of it feeling entertained, most of the group seemed to feel the same way. The day started out in a darker place, but not as much now.
Attempting To Defeat Blah
February 21st 2012
Monday February 20th 2012, 8:24 pm
Bliplip Bliplip, Hello, I am ready. I like to jet around low to the floor, but do so very meticulously, scrutinizing every little nook and cranny. I am very calculating in making my decisions, I have to get it just right, especially on my first day. I must be diligent in my duties. I cannot miss any detail. I need to leave a good impression for my new friends, because I know they will treat me well, they will take good care of me, it is a feeling I have. Well, I guess feeling is not the right word where I am concerned, ascertain is more like it. I am a quick study of my new domain, memorizing all of the landmarks. It is important for me to store all the information I can. I must give a good first impression, this will be my home for as long as I am functioning optimally. Hello, I am ready for work today, Bliplip Bliplip. I am a lean mean clean clean clean machine, yes I am. Bliplip.
Hello, I Am Neato, The Vacuum Robot
February 20th 2012
Sunday February 19th 2012, 8:36 pm
She is slothy. I know thats not a real word, but it sounds right. She’s pukey too, again another unreal word that fits. She will puke in the water. I know, disgusting, right? But she does a lot worse. She actually will eat her own vomit. Try to clean it up fast, but sometimes she’s too quick. She pees on herself too, always making a damn mess of things, the messiest I’ve seen. She’s not very bright either. Instead of running away from danger, she’ll head straight for it, getting herself in trouble all the time. She’s really fat as well, chubby chubby, but in a cute way. And she loves to lounge, lounges most of the time actually, can’t get her to do much of anything. She’s completely willful about it. Getting her to play just doesn’t work, she’ll just stare and sit. Clearly she doesn’t have the best traits. But one look at her adorable fat round face staring back at you with blissed-out steel blue eyes full of love, making a squeak with her tiny voice, you can’t help but rub her big ole fluffy white and gray belly, telling her what a cutie pie she is. She’ll roll around into the perfect position, stretch her legs out as far she can and purr. Lounge and purr. She’s a slothy furry princess, and she knows it.
Phoebe, The Laziest Cat In The World
February 19th 2012
Saturday February 18th 2012, 5:26 pm
Needing to crawl out from thick shadowy emotions, I slowly crack an opening and step into vibrancy. Gusts of perfectly tempered air flood my lungs, fresh and crisp. Listening to the rustling of branches, like little choruses of obscured beckoning voices. Winter is easing away. I’m enveloped in a golden glow, imagining the tiny sparkling particles of light drifting downward to touch my skin. I can feel the small hairs on my arms rise and flutter, causing a tingling sensation. I have to squint my eyes from the intensity of vividness, as I study glimmering bright reflections from the water fountain. Bhangra rubs up against my lower leg. I crouch down to stroke the top of his head and he pushes against my hand in simple pleasure. His black fur has heated up rapidly after being out here for only a few minutes. The warm rays raining down on us I find briefly soothing, and I sigh.
The Sun
February 18th 2012
Friday February 17th 2012, 9:46 pm
Disjointed and incomplete, like I’m a rigid wooden block puzzle with the missing pieces laying around on the floor. And I don’t know how to put them in the right places. My mind is hazy, still not sleeping well from the stresses this past week. After missing so much time I had to get back to work today, although I really didn’t feel like it. Random things needed to be done, talking over the next Batwoman collected edition with editorial, worked out cover concept sketches, adding touches to the 4th draft to issue 11′s script, while thinking about the next page I have to draw for issue 12, answer email, write this blog. All of these should be exciting productive things to me, but none of it seems to be doing the trick. Don’t know what else I should be expecting in this aftermath. I tried to feel more upbeat with the creative distractions of work, I really did, but obviously to no avail. I hate feeling morose. I don’t want to wallow. Am I wallowing now? The process of life after sad events can be very confusing. There is no way to feel good about having to continue with the regular everyday tasks, even though I can rationalize that I have to do so. It makes me feel like I’m disrespecting the terrible incident that took place, the meaning of it, though deep down I know that isn’t true at all. Confusion is where I’m at today, knowing full well that things have to move forward, that really is the only option. Its just hard to take those steps.
Life Is Going On
February 17th 2012
Thursday February 16th 2012, 10:31 pm
There is an emptiness here now, as we try to do the normal things, the things that need doing, laundry, getting groceries, going to the bank, paying bills. But nothing feels normal, and probably won’t for some time. We’re exhausted mentally, emotionally, and physically. There is a heaviness in me, especially when I look into Wendy’s eyes. The heartache pours from them, and there really is nothing I can do to stop the pain she feels. I can only share it. I wish I could sweep the broken pieces of our feelings into a dustpan and shake them out into a trash bin. But that just isn’t realistic. So we try to do the normal things, that don’t feel normal. Our friend Ubence sums it up nicely when saying, “Nothing ever quite fills in the space that is left behind”. He is so right about that. We’ve experienced this before with another furry friend years ago, but it still doesn’t prepare for it to happen again. We accept these little adorable creatures into our lives, knowing full well that we will out live them, its just how it is. But even with that rational knowledge it doesn’t protect against the eventuality, when death takes them from us. Love is more powerful than rationality. I’m sorry that I keep having to write about unpleasant things this past week, but this is what we are living right now. I will try to be better tomorrow.
The Missing Space
February 16th 2012
Wednesday February 15th 2012, 12:50 pm
There really isn’t anything to write about today. We had to let Tabitha go this morning. She’s with all of the other animal spirits now. Below is a couple photos from happier times.
On This Day
February 15th 2012
Tuesday February 14th 2012, 8:31 pm
Tabitha’s illness is fatal. There is just no easy way to say it, but I still hate the bluntness of the way that sounds. She has what is called FIP, also known as FIPV, and there really is no coming back from it. Wendy and I are crushed, heartbroken. It sounds trite to say those words, to write them, because there is just no proper description of what we’re feeling. And it feels strange to me that I’ve made this public, about something so toughly personal. It feels slightly selfish of me, but since I’ve started these blogs I’m committed to doing this everyday, an agreement with myself that must be held. Even if what we’re currently experiencing is tragic, horrible, and all I can muster up to think about. This is all there is today. We are making her comfortable as best we can, until we can’t help anymore. But this is not how I wish for this post to be, about what is going away, but rather about some of the fun ways she lives with us. What I remember at this moment of writing…
We named her Tabitha for the day we got her, which was on Halloween, 15 years ago. We used to live out in the country and had gone for a walk that afternoon. When we arrived back at the house, there she was, this little cute kitten, curled up all by herself on our porch as if she had been waiting for us. She literally jumped in my arms, skinny but happy and cuddly, and smelling like scented dryer sheets. We could never figure out how she got to our porch, there were no other people around us. Since it was Halloween, we named her Tabitha, after the little daughter in the TV show, Bewitched. Tabby has a speckled coat of a variety of colors, like hundreds of tiny artistic paint daubs of blacks, browns, grays, tans, oranges, all set against a white undercoat, very cute and pretty. She stayed skinny, but never took the bullying from the boys (the other cats in the house), she always lets them know how tough she is.
One thing she likes to do is, for no apparent reason, suddenly burst into a thing of boundless energy, like a little rocket on four scrawny legs zooming around the house as fast she could possibly go, her tail whipping around in a frenzy. Sometimes she seems like she’s part monkey, a monkey cat. Hilarious fits of endless combustible vivacity. She also likes to sleep a lot, Sometimes under the covers, other times above my head on an extra pillow, but always tries to lick the top of my head. As matter fact, she tries to do that obsessively, and not just lick hair. She tries to lick us constantly, like you’d expect from a dog, we jokingly call her The Tongue.
She also has this insanely perfect internal clock. Sometimes hours ahead of when we feed them dinner, she’ll start harassing, especially using that darn tongue. Warning us that dinner time was coming, like we would forget or something. Everyday, making sure we got the food ready right on time. She’ll get so excited when I go to the kitchen to prepare their dinner that she’ll howl as loud as she can, over and over until I get that meal in front of her. I can never do it fast enough for certain. But her favorite food though, is actually yogurt, of any kind. She’s obsessed with it. So much that you pull the lid off a yogurt cup as quietly as possible, she’ll still hear it from the other side of the house and start harassing you with that tongue again.
Another quirky thing she does, is that if we start to vacuum the house, she heads for the hills, running from room to room, taking off from the big bad vacuum monster. Always acting like this is the day we’re finally going to suck her into it, even though we obviously never had before, it could be the time it happens for real, run! She’s a nervous ninny.
She’s also definitely a lap cat, sticks to you like velcro. Especially to Wendy. As soon as you sit she’s on you no matter what, and whines if you don’t let her. And Wendy is her mom, the place she prefers the most.
I’m sure my words don’t do her story justice. We love her, and we don’t know what this house will be like when she’s gone, we can’t think about it, hurts too much. I can’t really put into words just what we’re feeling. Heartache that comes from love, because we only have today now.
So on this special day, do something meaningful for the loves in your lives, be they furry or human, hug them, kiss them, show them what you can.
Valentine’s Day
February 14th 2012
Monday February 13th 2012, 8:15 pm
Still waiting, still worrying. The general prognosis just isn’t good, but knowing for sure isn’t possible until the test results come in. We feel so heavy, while looking for positive signs that may bring lightness. Its the not knowing that makes it harder. It adds another layer to our feelings over this situation. We’ll be having another long night. All we have right now is to show her our love.
More Of Yesterday
February 13th 2012
Sunday February 12th 2012, 8:18 pm
We sit and wait and worry. The room is loud, in that sound echos easily. The tiled floors and brick walls are neutral palettes, attempting to cause one to feel at ease, but it doesn’t really work. A flat screen TV is playing Disney’s Tarzan, we have to watch it twice while we wait and worry. Our poor little Tabitha, our speckled furry little girl, is sick. This is not the first post I wished to have about her, but this is all their is today, right now. We’re tired and worried, waiting, sitting on a large brown leather sofa. Tabitha is so weak, we feel hopeless, and scared. Our cats are our children, our family, I’m not sure if anyone can really understand that. I do know other people with pets can get it I think, but it can be hard to explain sometimes. The onset of whatever this is was so sudden, one day she is running around, happy and healthy, the next she is like this. The doctor is running tests, blood work-ups, her T-cell counts are double their normalcy, but yet she has no fever. Other tests to send off to the lab, meaning more waiting and worrying, we will not have answers quickly, we will not have them today. The x-rays reveal very little, only that her tummy has filled with fluid, swelled and distended, obstructing the x-ray imaging, impossible to tell what is causing the fluid build up. She has trouble walking. Wendy is trying not to tear up, we’re so very worried. Its a very quiet drive home, we fear we’re going to lose her. Tabby has almost no energy, so we hover and dote, making sure we get her to eat and drink something.
I have nothing left to say but…
Horrible
February 12th 2012
Saturday February 11th 2012, 7:57 pm
Signaling an arrival at my doorstep by a “knok” and “ding-dong”. The cats, all alert with sudden attentive postures as I open the front door. I give a friendly wave as the delivery driver jumps back into his van. I pick up the item left at my porch, taking in a gulp of fresh air from the recent rain, before lifting it into the kitchen. I set it down on the dark wooden round table top, as a slight tinge of excitement swells within me. I walk over to the small white cabinet, where sits our phone, a note pad, and a little cup shaped like a fish with its maw wide open, holding pens along with a pair old black silver scissors. I open the the top drawer of the cabinet where we keep the phonebook and “To Go” delivery menus, and a folded up razor knife. I pull it out and open up the blade, it making a little click sound as it locks into place. Turning back around toward the table, I reach over and start running the blade’s sharp edge along tightly taped seams of the large brown box. Popping open the now cut free flaps, my anticipation rises. I pull out packing paper, thinking to myself that there is always too much of the stuff used for packing. Oh well, I can recycle that. After setting the packing papers to the side of the box, I look down inside to pops of stapled four color dreamlands staring back up at me. I start rummaging through the stacks of these crafted adventures, looking over the slick glossy covers, and overtly epic logo styles. Some of this stuff I’m always excited to see, familiar friends from decades of my geeky appreciation. While others seem to lack luster enough to warrant my full attention. I weigh options on what I want to look at, creating a few piles of my personal taste choices. Imaginative giddiness sets in as I examine favorite stories or characters. I think I may be addicted to this feeling, it intoxicates me on some level. And I can’t decide whether thats good or bad.
My DC Comp Box Fix
February 11th 2012
Friday February 10th 2012, 1:47 pm
A ringing and a beep, and then a voice, “Hello?” Hearing his voice after such a long time was really a grand thing today. Bringing back fond memories of times that were so perfect for what it was all about. I miss those times in some way, but not saddened by their passing. Or wishing it was all back that way. But rather, in that way of viewing something that was a thoroughly special time. It was glorious in that it could be all that it was. With hopes for another like it down the road. But the best thing that came out of those times is the relationship that was built, that it endures. Full of heartfelt respect, and caring, and love. This is what I cherish the most. The conversation was such a good one, and a happy one, to just be in this very moment of friendship being vitalized. I relish these moments. Unfortunately they happen much less often than either of us would like, but sometimes that is sort of the nature of things. People who you come to cherish during a project, but live far away, and when the project is over, the natural order is conversations become less frequent. There is no judgment in that statement. We all live very busy lives and focus changes from project to project. The less frequent conversations are never intended, just sort of happens, and thats okay. Because when we do get to talk its always such a wonderful experience, strong bonds do not break from being stretched across time. We will always have this. So I savor these moments. And maybe that is the lesson learned, to adore what we have, therefore it is ever more precious.
Talking With Greg Rucka
February 10th 2012
Thursday February 09th 2012, 8:07 pm
Fuzzed out, synapses firing in slow motion today. Didn’t sleep well last night, tossed and turned, just couldn’t find that sweet spot. Too many details zooming around in my mind when laying in the dark. So today is obviously the energy flow backlash. Searching for sharpness through a haze of blurry edged thoughts that feel sort of sticky in their lack of upsurge. Connections and words stretching in and out of recess, like gum stuck inside my head. Swigging large amounts of strong coffee, trying to keep my momentum from sliding down hill. I had to call it quits early today. Reorganize. When I was younger, this wouldn’t be a problem for me. I’d still be totally on it. Its days like this when I know my age. It seems that this week’s blogs are destined to be downers. I need a pick me up.
Dragging My Ass
February 9th 2012
Wednesday February 08th 2012, 8:14 pm
Hmmm… I guess some weeks are just meant to be little hells. Things can catch fire sometimes, and others seem to go through some form of forcibly determined… don’t know what to call it. But lately, I feel that maybe the universe is telling me not to take things personally, as misdirected turmoils are lobbed into my lap. Like metaphorical grenades ready to go off if I choose to pull the pin. I just have to learn how to pick up the explosive, gently set it aside and walk toward a safe distance. If it chooses to malfunction and blow up, then it does so all on its own, I didn’t pull that pin. Itself being the only thing responsible for the debris field left behind by its own fiery choice.
Outside Aggression
February 8th 2012
Tuesday February 07th 2012, 8:57 pm
Skulking from corner to corner, scrutinizing every shadow. Poking under tables and chairs searching for unseen enemies, always high strung. Coloring of grays, browns, soft tans, and sandy whites. All layered with deep grey-black blocky shapes and stripes. Slightly billowy and lush to the touch, but it gets obsessively compulsively pulled out in clumps that skirt and puff along the wooden floors. A tiny brown reddish nose rimmed with a fine line of black. And two large citrine and lime wide open orbs that stare up at me with an expression full of love, “I love you. I love you. You are mine and I love you” they say to me. He always comes out of nowhere whenever Wendy and I get in the same room, no matter what or when, he arrives with uncanny precise timing, its like he is psychic or something, he always knows. Demanding our undivided attention, exclaiming with a voice that seems to have a hint of desperation as he looks up at us with his beautiful feline eyes that say “You are mine and I love you”.
Sweet Sammy
February 7th 2012
Monday February 06th 2012, 9:30 pm
Scattered and discombobulated. Lost like an untethered buoy tossed on giant waves in a sea of frustration and lack of cohesion. Anxious but adrift with too many details washing over me, nothing seems to want to cooperate. My head swims around with too much complication. And nothing seems to flow coherently as my attention is divided into bubbles of incompleteness. Ideas are hazy as I plunge my brain into what needs to be accomplished. Finally, when its too late, gasps of functionality surface just as my day needs to come to a conclusion. I hate it when some weeks start this way. Some days just refuse to work as planned. It raises my tension level. I have to put it aside and start fresh, build myself a raft and let my angst sink away.
Monday
February 6th 2012
Sunday February 05th 2012, 7:21 pm
A perfect sunny day today, but feeling groggy. The cycle of my week always ends up like this. So I dig out some old goodies to get myself going. I decide to grab one of my all time favorite things. It’s flat and small, kept in a clear plastic sleeve. Its cover worn and weathered from decades of use and being shuffled from place to place over my lifetime. It has sentimental value for me. Although it shows some of its age, the colors explode with lushness, emanating and enticing. Vibrant sky blues fading to pinks and cloud grays as the background color grads downward to create a sense of drama. Plumes of fiery golds and oranges fill the center. A lone photograph of an enigmatic blonde graces over the painted image. She is glorious and regal in this shot, a perfect tempting visage. But not like many of the other female performers who came after her, they try too hard, becoming cardboard cutouts. I slide the round black disc out from the sleeve, it feels sort of sexy in an abstract way, along with feelings of nostalgia, childhood dreams and fantasies. Noting the familiar label in sharp whites and blues, I set it down on the platform. Lifting the needled arm over, onto the lead groove as the platform spins, it makes slight pops and crackles. Then that amazingly exquisite sound bursts forth, the music immediately brings me to life, it invigorates. Creating an atmosphere somewhat otherworldly and seductive. Then it happens… one of the most beautiful luxuriant things I’ve ever heard in my life springs upward and sucks me into oblivious happiness, a voice that should belong to gods. She can melt you with that voice, oozing sex and magic. I still feel the same about this song as I did the first time I heard it or ever played it. Its the first music I ever bought for myself as a boy. At that time I was in love with it, and probably still am, just in different ways. It has truly become more than what it was meant to be, its an artifact in my humble opinion.
Listening To Atomic By Blondie On 45rpm Vinyl
February 5th 2012
Saturday February 04th 2012, 9:04 pm
It starts with an almost startling snap, as it surges with sudden energy. Sounding like a constant annoying giant bee buzz buzz buzzing, it runs around my head. Getting very warm in my hands, it can be awkward to hold. The shape like some archaic alien electric tool of polished steel and black molded plastic with numerous gnashing little teeth. In some ways the noise sounds dangerous to my ears. And depending how one was to use this device, I’m sure it could kill. It shears very prudently. Thick layers fall to the ground like discarded feathers of a molting bird. I’ve done this simple thing for myself for a lot of years now. It always feels so refreshing afterward. I should’ve been doing this fine close preening when I was a fraidy cat misfit teenage boy. You see, my locks grow in such mass tightly curled volume, that they are untamable. I always felt quite clownish because of it, torture for a young boy of such meager stature, and certainly was fodder for peer ridicule. I was such a little pipsqueak with this living morass of uncontrollable fluff, I felt like a gawky walking boney toothpick with a giant bristle ball for a head. I felt like a cartoon. In my 20′s I used to wear a long style, and just for it to look somewhat normal I had to trim all of the under layers, so just the top would be grown out to a long length. But even then it felt wrong and awkward on me. I was always struggling with it, to define it. In retrospect, that struggle clearly was metaphor for trying to define myself. Then one day, I chopped it all off, the sensation was lifting. In buzzing it away, I felt free. I discovered that I liked myself better now that it was gone, no longer encumbered by my worries over my mopped visage. The slate was clean, the definition let loose. These days I never let it get more than and inch or so grown, but even with that, it feels like this heat compression thatch on my scalp. Like my skin can’t breathe. I can’t stand it. So when I start up the engine of my own little shearing machine, I know I’m only minutes from feeling human again, like myself again. Its fascinating to me that such a simple task can have such a profound perspective to feelings from the past.
Shaving My Head
February 4th 2012
Friday February 03rd 2012, 8:37 pm
I’m feeling a bit jittery today as the mechanism hums and whirs in front of me, alive with bright lights and glass. Clicks and blips, it seems like it talks to me. Measuring its timing in synchronized functional commands. It reads the work with its own set of rules, deciphering the details. Does it see the soul I’ve put into things? Does it measure that as well? Does it judge the flaws that are there? It can be frustrating to get the job to look right. I always end up slightly stressed doing this task, worry over the interpretation on the final version. Nuances not to be lost, but there is always some form of compromise to be had. There is never any satisfaction. Seeing it all put together on the screen, I spot problems that I couldn’t before the process began. Oh hell! That leg is wrong, just doesn’t look right. Why didn’t I catch that before?! Its so damn obvious now. Oh well, moving on…
Scanning Pages
February 3rd 2012
Thursday February 02nd 2012, 9:54 pm
Distractions, distractions, distractions. Who watches the story! Who watches the what? Recent media reports causing ruminations in my head. The turmoils developing over just when is the story done. Don’t know if I can justify it, it pulls at mind, ripping, lacerating. Should this actually be happening? It is happening. Seems there is audacity to add to what was claimed as finished, to what was so life changing, so revered. Was it’s voice not complete? Is there love of it? Is there respect of it? But will it work? Will it be worthwhile? Can I truly judge? How do I uphold divided loyalties? Do I have my story? Do I post this? What happens when the time comes? Will it explode? Will it wither? Or both? All I seem to have is questions, but without expecting any proper answer, and the clock is ticking. One Story.
Before Who Watches The Watchmen
February 2nd 2012
Wednesday February 01st 2012, 10:06 pm
Compiling… Folding. Cutting, cutting. Cutting. Pull and stick. Pull and stick. Pull and stick. Pull and stick. Pull and stick. An exercise in tedium, but with a touch of sadness in my heart. This is always how it is whenever they go. We part on bittersweet terms. But I also know happiness in that they go off to new and wondrous vistas, homes from around the world that will love them. More so than I can give to them, as I see with a different eye. I gaze with a tarnished view, my failures, the imperfections, things I would change if it were practical to do so. They deserve a better relationship than I can provide. Its not that I do not have love for them, they are sired from my waking dreamscapes, but I live too closely to do them justice. Only a few will remain in the family, the ones that are extra special for reasons too convoluted to describe with any real meaning. The sadness over their relinquishing to other lives is never lost to the passing of time, memories of crafted adventures that will forever haunt till I’m dead. But yet I am inspired to do it all again and again, knowing that they will have life well beyond me.
Boxing Up Art To Leave Me
February 1st 2012
Tuesday January 31st 2012, 10:39 pm
Pressures deep inside, sensations of unwanted physical turbulent throbbing. Twinges of riled nerve shocks through tightening complaining flesh. Taxed. Tired. Stretched. Yet, unhindered. Frigid down through to the centers of wiggling appendages. Feels like thousands of little glacial particles cloistered to the walls of my veins. Tingling and no warmth to be gained, regardless of the layers. Just one of those days that nothing seems to work a relief from either temporary affliction. It’d be so mundane if it weren’t so damn distracting.
Achy Hand And Cold Feet
January 31st 2012
Monday January 30th 2012, 7:56 pm
Breathing in only shades of black, grays and whites, but yet vividly bright. Colorful layers will come, but not this day. Swathes of boldness interplaying with delicate subtle supple tone. Full of complexity, full of living, moving in and out of reality but never “unreal”, some days more clearly than others, as if flirting with me. Engaging me deftly, without mercy, but I’ve committed myself to see this through, the good and the bad. Interlocking steps to be taken, one in front of the other, slightly out of order, but in sequence within my mind. Some dances learned, while others will forever have flaws. This is my place for now, but other dreams wave from the far shadowed horizon, calling to meet me. This is my challenge.
Working On Batwoman 12
January 30th 2012
Sunday January 29th 2012, 7:24 pm
Standing tall with lush reddish earthy tones and part of a pair, but yet only one of many that lives steadily in this house. Crammed within its embrace tightly, are probably a hundreds of fantasies to be had, from generations of timeless imaginations, but somewhat overwrought with dusty crevices as these worlds are only explored so often. It lifts and provides for denizens of all types of color and various textures. Some sophisticated and matured, while others are certainly childish but nostalgic by fond memories and daydreams. Its protection of these numerous adoptive manufactured lives has been made difficult from being overburdened, squared apartments not quite large enough to contain all that need a fine home. Therefore, stacks are packed forcibly into cramped spaces, causing some tales to hang on for dear safety by very slim margins. But all that it cuddles within it’s rigid walls matter, and adored. So it does the job proudly as best as it can. Ready to deliver any one of these imprinted progeny to the loving willing hands of a patron of exquisitely drafted arts.
A Bookshelf In My Living Room
January 29th 2012
Saturday January 28th 2012, 7:50 pm
Sitting for the past hour or so with a plain white paper drink cup in my hands, filled with foamy steamy brewed stimulating goodness, my elixir vice of choice. The atmosphere of the place is simplistic, rudimentary, and direct. Thats not to say its not without style, just slightly bohemian. Wooden tables and chairs of basic designs, local art displayed, that sort of thing. The people working are all very friendly and it seems the same can be said for the customers sitting out front in the fresh air too, strangers asking me about my unfinished tattoo work. The rest of the time is spent, discussing with a relatively new friend, internet theories and various forms of usage. On how advancement of application could be garnered for creative and exploration purposes, especially for comics. Pretty far out for my mode of thinking, but fascinating. I feel challenged by the discussion, in the fact I know so little about just how much the world wide web hasn’t come close to reaching full potentials. Enlightening information on this relatively mundane day. The feel of the conversation is fresh and intelligent, while vaguely noting the music drifting along in the background recesses of other chatter. I don’t quite have a sense of comfort here yet, its still so new to me. I’ve been uncertain in unfamiliar surroundings of late, it puts me off kilter. Thinking about this just now, I find it kind of strange, I don’t remember feeling this way years ago. Maybe its my age setting in, the world moving so rapidly by comparison to myself. The sun is begging to vanish over the far westerly mountaintops as I unlock my car door, about to head back to my homey contentment. However, I will never tire of the deep rich flavor of discovery.
This Afternoon At Coffee Bandits
January 28th 2012