Shortly after composing the previous blog, I had some black guy thinking time and realized that I shouldn't need anyone but myself to feel beautiful

coffee=poop

As I sit here, my hands shake while I type. I had too much coffee this morning and my heart is racing. In this caffinated pattern, I know I have to poop but I can't seem to bring myself to awkwardly fill a public bathroom with the smell of left overs. My exhaustion will soon bring me to drink more coffee, enforcing the poo. I will give in to its call...

This pattern, this shaky feeling...I don't feel normal. I haven't felt like myself for the past week. Maybe it's my new step into the world of adulthood, the sudden change from "-teen" to two decades of being alive. I feel awkward in my own skin, I struggle to think of interesting things to say but they all come out wrong, I've lost my ability to communicate. This paranoia, this socially awkward tension that surrounds me, it is a common recurrence every few months. I go through these waves of altered self-conciousness. I feel pretty, no, no...you feel ugly now. I fear my growing dependence on alcohol to make me feel confident. Sure, it's only on the weekends..maybe even only on a friday or a saturday...but I can't help but enjoy the wittiness it gives me, the strength of that booze-sheild protecting me from defeat. I cry too much these days...my therapist looks at me like I'm a weirdo for crying when I think about other people giving me compliments. My words stumble and get stifled on their way out...I tense up. I'm happy though, despite these words. I just want everyone else to be happy too. I hope you are still happy.

This will make you happy, if you are not already:
http://www.zombo.com/


I want to be over this period of my life already. My catalogue for art center arrived... and it scared me but made me excited. I just keep asking myself...will I be good enough?

Well, will I?

I have officially been living for 2 decades.

It feels weird.

had an epiphany

realized that if I want to illustrate and draw for a living
that I need to be doing it constantly.

I'm going to try to fill up a notebook every month

To the place where they keep the imaginary diseases

Something I wrote when I should have been paying attention in anthropology class:

Are you happy with yourself?
Do you see what you've become and are you pleased?
You must enjoy this meaningless path you've chosen.
It's easy when all of your worries are fabricated, isn't it?

And what of your creations?
Have they not melted away along with your personality?
Is it easier when you have no use for your brain?
It was a burden anyways!
Maybe you can keep it in a jar once it's removed.
Put it on a chain and hang it around your neck, maybe you will start a new trend.
Can you picture it?
It's all the rage up there, isn't it?

And what of your personality?
Can we not cut it out and sew it up?
Mangle it and tear it until you have something to wear to that show on Friday.
Something that all your friends will adore.
They will be SO jealous.

And what of your sense of self?
You know, the thing that separates you from others?
Well we can just toss that aside.
Or maybe recycle it.
Cook it up and eat it. (It's vegan, right?)
It will give you the energy you need
While you drink cheap booze and pretend to be important.

I'm the same way, you know.
I used myself up a while ago and now I'm a hollow shell.
But that's okay because everyone loves me.
They all laugh at my jokes and respect my opinions.
They all wish to be me.
You'll get here soon enough, though. I swear.
I'll take you shopping, I know some great vintage places!
You have to trade your soul in to buy their clothes, but,
You weren't using it anyways, right?

Really, I hope you're happy. I really do.
________________________________________________

Here are somethings I've been making:



They aren't very impressive
But it's a start, again.





Lastly:
I know I'm a tad late to jump on this bandwagon
But I think the first exposure I had to his music scared me because it was so crazy. It was the craziest think I had ever heard.
I also think it's because I was played the extremely technical jazz stuff. Being someone who isn't a huge music nerd, it didn't appeal to me at all. (The person who was playing it WAS an extremely huge music nerd.)
But then I heard this album, and I love every second of it.
Also, every time I listen to it, I picture the entire thing as an epic cartoon.

I want to make this cartoon.

I lay awake sometimes
For one or two hours
I listen

I look over and see that little space between the mattress and your back
The cars outside are still driving
They fade in and out of my consciousness

I slide closer and turn on my side
T try to sink myself into the bed
As the ceiling fan mimics the sounds outside

Memories of the day continue to wash over me
I try to silence with by counting
A simple pattern

I put my hand on your arm and you are quietly sleeping

I want to constantly apologize
And I stumble over my words instead

I need to give myself a break

And I find my way to that space between the mattress and your back

I took some drugz.

I was in space and all of the fences were swaying back and forth as if in a breeze. "You're the one who's swaying." He said, so I ripped my at stockings to make sure that I still had skin underneath them. I did. I felt so primal and I didn't even know what cold was, yet my hands were growing numb as I slid them under the weeds. There were 3 radio towers that I could grab with my fingers but they were too busy with becoming stars. Then everything became purple and I needed 3d glasses in order to see correctly. "You're out of control."

My leg had then taken the form of a snake trapped in jeans so I ignored its wriggling and realized that I was way too big for the room I was standing in. My feet were long and my hands looked like pig hands. Then, as the walls swayed, santa clause came and sat next to me. "How are you?" He asked. "Your hair is grass. Your beard makes your face look amazing."
Santa clause was the creator of earth, I was the star mother, he was my lover. I was too big for the bed, which was breathing quite noticeably, and I hugged Santa clause and rubbed my face in his fresh, mossy hair. "I love you."

I ate feathers while everything was vibrating. My thoughts were thinking about other thoughts while I tried to think about them. I closed my eyes and saw a million faces with gnashing teeth.

Have you ever heard of breaking a bitch?

I am forcing myself to be creative.
My highness is making me hate everything I'm writing.


Anyways, I've been trying to settle my brain papers.


fuck it, I hate everything I am saying.
I am useless.