things that go through my head when I'm at parties.

"I wonder how many beards there are in this room at this exact moment. NO wait....this whole house."

"I hope this isn't an 'everyone stands outside' party because it's really cold and my outfit which took me 20 minutes to pick out isn't 'standing outside' proof."

"Where is the couch so I can sit in a corner and invisibly judge everyone all night?"

"This beer is disgusting."

"I wonder if she actually likes that dress aesthetically or if it's an ironic thing? Is this whole party an ironic thing?"

"Ohh, please don't talk to me...yes I know I'm standing in this circle, yes I know my friend knows all of you, but I just don't have the energy to put my party mask on right now."


And, it was only after I had hastily downed the first half of my second crappy beer, observed the people standing around me and looked back down at my ironic Burt Reynolds t-shirt and poop colored cardigan sweater that I realized that I was just like EVERYONE ELSE.
I then sighed a sigh of disappointment and shame and went back to staring at my beer.
It's no goddamn use.
I am a hypocrite, one whom finds herself in awkward situations and as a barrier, mentally talks shit about everyone else. But I am the same goddamn thing anyways. I'm just really good at wearing my mask.
It is a wonder, sometimes to me, that anyone would like me in the first place.


this is how I knew:

The devious adventures

This is for the dude I love.
We were arguing about ghosts.
And so I drew it. (my legs dont actually do that)

I'm gonna do a whole series of our adventures.

Next up: us+dinosaurs.

I lost that art contest.
I know I shouldn't feel bad at all, the judge was totally biased
but some how, I feel like a bit of a failbot.

I guess that's about it.

bullet points

so
I've been trying to accomplish something
just SOMETHING to give me a little recognition
to remind myself that I am not completely worthless

so I spent the last of my dollars on submitting art pieces to some bullshit contest
too bad I'm not completely full of myself and willing to churn out piles of (while still perfectly executed) self-indulgent, meaningless crap or else maybe I'd have a good shot at winning something.
I read a few poems for a slam at school, and I keep thinking about them and about how much they sucked and how embarrassed I now am because of that.


I'm going to try to start writing and/or illustrating childrens books, hopefully with the help of Johanna, we can collaborate on something. eventually. I like kids, I want to help them, and maybe show them how beautiful the world can be, despite all the unforgiving, hard-to-comprehend stuff.

I think I got my mom to back off on all her crap now, so maybe JUST maybe I can start living my own life and not one that she insists on parenting every step of the way.

On a more metaphorical note:
It is sad, how people drift apart. I guess you should be thankful for the time you had in the past, but it is crazy how you think you're so close to a person and could never get over being apart from them one day, and then suddenly its something that just happens before you even care to notice it. But (seeing as it is thanksgiving), I suppose we should be thankful for the time our paths were crossing, for the moments we walked together, and do nothing more than hug and wave goodbye as they start getting further apart. Godspeed.

well I suppose, I should make known the person who is gracing my vagina with his presence..
okay so we don't just have sex
we also make fun of stupid people
and play video games
and eat sandwiches.
and sometimes we stand in endless 2d planes of existence with explosions and sound effects and mustaches and unicorn horns. Here is one of those times:
and I don't care if he gets me sick (or plays klax)
or that we have to pay for sushi with change because we're both too poor
because I appreciate everything about him
and because sometimes we say 'i love you'
and that's all that matters.
/gay



footnote: I apparently can only draw crappy sketches nowadays. I apparently suck ass.

and my room smells like A1 steak sauce. (It's my lube)

There is nothing more frustrating than wanting to paint but not having any ideas that are worth while.

I am pissed at myself. completely livid.
I am feeling untalented and worthless.
and despite the fact that I jacked myself up on adderall today
I still feel like punching a hole through a wall.



I'm sorry, my blog is bullshit now.

What if the world was made of pudding?

I feel that everyone needs to watch this at one point or another. Its the most wonderful thing I've seen on this expansive thing we call the internet. I want to raise my kids like this, I think everyone should. The message is so beautiful and harsh and wonderful and not to mention the animation reminds me of old cartoons which gives me a bonner. I just keep watching it over and over..

Ps. The girl who assisted in making this video is named Kristen Lepore and she is wonderful! look at her awesome creations.....they make me want to get into animation...
but i have way too many goddamn hobbies as it is.



Yesterday, my Holga died. I had left it on the roof of my car to free some hand space and I had forgotten about it. As I drove away, it plummeted to its death. It was a very sad day indeed.
(but thank *insert random god here* that it wasnt my 35mm camera which my life is dependent upon...)



R.I.P good times, holga.

(I'm gonna buy a holgaroid and a blackbird anyways >< teehee!!)
SPEAKING OF ROIDS: Polaroids return in 2010
LET US REJOICE!


I am having an in between time, right now.
I don't know if I'm really happy or still depressed. It seems like I'm really happy. It seems that way.
I also don't know what to listen to anymore. Music is all jumbled to me, I love it, but it is so distorted right now.
I don't know what keeps me at ease right now. I'm coasting, and I feel like I'm about to smack my face in a big wall. Maybe my art sucks really badly and I just don't know it because no one other than my friends and family have seen it. Maybe I'm about to fuck in some huge way. Whenever my life seems like its getting better, this huge spike of crap comes up from the ground and impales me.

I promise I'll write some more stuff that isn't whining crap soon. Or paint something. I promise.



Listening to:

Her voice make me cream in my ear pussy. And my pants one, too.

A mighty wind a blowin'!

You hear people say 'I feel like I've known her/him my whole life'
and you think, that's BULLSHIT.
But,
There are strange forces at work in this dome we live under.
Strange, wonderful forces. They poke and prod us, conducting experiments and writing down notes. Creating new equations and seeing how they add up...sometimes they don't even have solutions. But, every once in a great, fantastical while, they discover something totally astonishing.














My hands are wanderers now. They ache to create..but they also just plain ache. They have this confused, aimless look......
kinda like THIS:
yeah, fuck accuracy and thumbs. mostly thumbs.

something that should have been done a long time ago.

Its like
There is this thing in my throat that I want to cough up. I want to take it out and see what it has to say about all this, but it is nestled in too deep. I think it has claws. Ones that grip and hold on tight with all the strength they can muster. It's got little beady eyes too, ones that behold all of the crap I shove down. The crap that comes right back up. It must be huge, the thing in my throat, because I can't seem to get anything past it. It must have been in there a while, growing and feeding. I wonder what it was eating, that fucking little thing in my throat. Maybe it was eating all the turmoil. It was snacking on all of the yelling and shouting, the stuff that I would drown out by turning on my tape player as loud as it would go. Maybe all that stuff got into my throat and this little menacing demon licked it all up like chocolate. And as I got older, it grew with me. It became a wall that guarded my tower and peered out from behind my tongue with its huge, undulating belly. And maybe this little fucker wants me to be just like them. Maybe it too wants me to have anger and madness and help create other little fat, cackling demons in other people's throats. I don't want this little fucking monster in me, anymore. I don't want to feed it, anymore. How do I rid myself of this scheming, crafty little bastard?! Do I stab at it with needles and implements? Do I drink stinging liquid to burn its skin and push it down into my belly? Do I use my hands and grasp at it or scare it away with bright colors and the smell of fixative solution? Sometimes, when I yell, not for anger or for sorrow, but for joy and feeling, I can feel it weaken. I feel it shrivel up as I steal back its nourishment. I'm going to scream for you, little clawed and toothed devil.
I AM GOING TO SCREAM MY LUNGS OUT!!!
UNTIL MY LIPS ARE RAW AND MY THROAT IS SORE!!
I AM GOING TO MAKE YOUR WALL CRUMBLE!!
I AM GOING TO PUMP MY FIST AND STOMP MY FEET AND LAUGH WHILE YOU WHIMPER ON THE GROUND!! YOU ARE CRUSHED!! I WILL TURN YOU INTO RUST!!
ALL IS LOVE!
ALL IS LOVE!
ALL IS LOVE!
ALL IS LOVE!

I'm Tired, I'm wasted, I love you darling!

I don't have anything depressing to say tonight.


In fact...I don't really have anything tonight.

Just a happy mushy thing with warm delicious goo. So much goo. I got stuck in it, so while I'm here, I might as well get all cozy.






I think the amount of brain cells destroyed while watching The Room is on par with a night of alcohol poisoning.









Self portrait as of right now:



I am an awkward ass balloon.
But I guess this is what happens with new things. We are still all learning to walk.





I wish I wasn't so fucking bad at opening up about how I feel, there is this fucking wall always stopping my tongue from making the sounds that I want it to make.
All that being said, I'm really fucking glad you were at that party.

The world is not my home

Yeah, I'm on a bit of a Tom Waits kick right now.

Fill your pockets up with earth

In sleep, thinking doesn't exist anymore, my head separates itself from the rest of me and floats up somewhere above the horizon line, the line at which I can't seem to stop staring. There are better parts of the sky that have been left undiscovered by my eyes, but I am focused on a destination more outwards. I wonder what is over that wall and as I get closer, it stays the same distance away; perhaps I wasn't moving any closer in the first place. They tell me I was anyways, though, and at least that gives me hope. As tragically fake as that hope is, it's all they have to give me. They've lost it all for themselves, and in an unselfish manner, they scoop their nothingness out of their hearts and place it in my out reaching cupped hands. I try to look pleased with their bountiful gifts, but inside I am hot with anger and frustration. I throw it all away when no one is looking so I can instead search for it myself. On my hands and knees, I dig through moist, warm soil and mulch and the dirt under my finger nails makes me feel alive, at least, only for a little while. The inevitable cleansing comes all too soon afterward, and once again I am pure and white, just as they want me. I am flaky and raw from all the scrubbing but they dig with their pens and needles into my empty flesh, regardless of my screaming. After they have finished their job, I close my eyes, and let myself fall asleep. As I dream, under eyelids filled with blood, I am floating somewhere, up above the horizon line. I am straining to move outward.






I draw ugly stuff sometimes. alot.

It's got to be chocolate jesus

oooooooh, and the adventure begins again!

a new creation