Since my high school daze, I've been creating art pieces in the form of composition books. The project begins with a simple 200 page marble notebook, wherein I add streams of consciousness, ramblings, collages, poems, drawings, romances and vociferations all within the boundaries of a certain motif. That motif usually resembles some sort of process or goal I plan to reach by the conclusion of the book. An early book centered around the COT7A, another Columbine, another the death of the rock superstar, and most recently (3-4 weeks ago) I began a new book. It's called "The Retard Notebook" and it's a treatise on Social Darwinism, the limits of intellect, and the paradoxes of superiority. It's very introverted and full of self-loathing.

My video camera has decided that cannibalism suits itself better than my generous offerings, so until I can resolve this tape-eating issue, my movie is back on hold. Intermittently, I've created a few cartoonish characters on paper than I plan to animate in a short piece for the movie. This involves Alfred Jarry's Pere Ubu.

My financial situation has been incredibly stressed since last week, when my hours at work were cut nearly in half due to lack of business at the shop. Initially I resolved to rededicate myself to my portraits, but the whole idea has become more complicated with wanting to document my pieces before I attempt to sell them. Despite the stress of those issues, this free time has come as a much-needed relief from the itch to run away from a job that I usually get between 8-10 months of working there.

In general, my life is as pitiable and pathetic as ever before. I watch lots of IFC, paint, read (currently De Sade), work on my books, bang my head against the wall, plot the destruction of the world, or myself. Happy days, for sure.

( My life in a bevy of items. )

I'm engulfed in the mysteries of a past life. A retrospective perpetuates the interconnectedness of my body and my ghost. I'm looking at a revolution inside the box. "No salvation, No forgiveness." A glimmer of hope, it is. And I am, the ism.

I have 5 or 6 paintings ready to be sold. Presently I'm working on portraits of Rimbaud and Nietzsche. I rediscovered Therapy?'s music. I love them. I'm currently reading "Running With Scissors" by Augusten Burroughs. I saw the movie Elephant this past weekend, and it inspired a few deep shudders within. I thought the pace and the cinematography made the film. Afterwards, I sifted through a scrapbook I made of the Columbine era, among many other things retrieved from my mother's house. I'm gearing up, doing research for the book I want to write about COT7A. The words 'introvert' and 'misanthrope' have been staples of my daily thought. I'm having a difficult time with the reality of how utterly disappointing people are.

Impatience is my virtue. I get so wound up, up, up.
Your mirage makes me morbid, lovesick every time.
Do you care? Are you there? Drinking from this cup?
I bet you aren't. You're oblivious and aloof.
Throw me a bone, a muse or some oil.
This bleeding heart is not rust-proof.
I don't really know you, but it doesn't really matter.
I'm adept in the art of ideas, and that's enough for me.
Yes, I'm screwed up. Yours truly, the mad hatter.
Forget all the hearts and arrows and stuff.
I'm crippled and lost, my memory tossed.
No pleasure, just pain, this trade is rough.
Now I'm weak, I want to abort.
Can you handle it all yourself?
Anyway, the ball is in your court.
It's such a silly, tiresome and fruitless game.
I give up, I'm falling down. Goodbye.
You said it right, it's a damn/fucking shame.

I moved... almost 2 weeks ago. It took a good week just to finish painting the walls. I'm 99% finished with the project as a whole. I only have a few pictures to hang and the stairwell to paint. Much of my vision was compromised, which was expected. Lots of plans were nixed, but that's what happens when you decorate an apartment before you have one. I'm generally happy with the way things look. I knew I was going to have some things yet to buy, spaces yet to fill, but once I finished setting everything up, I realized I had much more to do. In a way, that excites me. It means I can buy more stuff! I have taken some b&w; pictures, and will take a roll of color, then post them on my site so y'all can see my place.

Last friday I went to the 16 Horsepower show I mentioned. I was very very impressed. They are quickly becoming one of my favorite bands, which feels a bit awkward, considering the lyrical content and general concept behind their music. There's a delicate balance there between Christian demagoguery and a dark satirical perversity. Brimstone rock! Because of them, I'm on a Southern Gothic kick. Flannery O'Conner and Sling Blade and bluegrass and Appalachian weirdness. It's an atmosphere, a place, that I escape to.

The movie project that I'm working on was suspended during the transition of homes, but I will continue with it ASAP. My enthusiam hasn't diminished at all. I know I always mention things that I'm going to do, rather than things I've done, but this is something that will NOT be thrown in the "lost inspiration" bin.

For some things that may end up there, see: writing my book that has 3 pages finished, start painting portraits of cult figures and sell them on ebay to supplement my income, create a new website for the latter.

Since the first night I spent in my apartment, I've been completely manic. I cannot sit still for longer than an hour or two (other than one night to watch some southern goth films) and my O.F. is annoying the fuck out of me. Just when I think I may be ready to settle down, I get itchy. Like I need to start some monumental creative project, or do something as productive as decorating an entire apartment. This is good and bad. Good, because I have often felt as if my life is stagnant... always waiting, waiting, waiting for money or for inspiration or for -- something? Bad, because I'm not quite sure what to do with all the energy. I actually want to call people... on the phone... and talk! Holy shit. Hell has frozen over. Blah.

I don't know how frequent my updates will be now, not they were ever too frequent... but I'm still around, and probably reading more than writing.

I purchased a video camera a little over a week ago, and ever since I've been consumed by this movie project of mine. It features sex, violence and insanity. There is no plot or purpose really. My aim is not profundity, just a series of visuals that interest me. I'm calling it "ZigZag" -- a word that deviates, avoids the straight and narrow. If anyone is interested in participating, please contact me.

In other news, a week from today I will receive the keys to my new apartment. Sweet relief. There's still much to do, but it feels great to be so busy and inspired.

Finally -- I appear... To inform you that I am departing. In three weeks I'll be free from this feckless existence in this oppressive house... from the haunting sorrow of my cat's spirit, from my mother's abrasive prattle.

This past weekend I found the perfect apartment. It's a huge Victorian manse that has been converted into apartments, the 3rd floor of which will soon be mine. The inside is adorable. There are hardwood floors, decorative moldings, the whole package. The best part is the "extra room" which is actually a turret with a round banquette inside. I will most likely make it a chillout room, opium den style. If not, perhaps set up an easel in there, I don't know. It's exciting to consider all the options. I'll be sure to take photos and post them as soon as I move in.

This move will prompt a slight change of lifestlye, as well. I'm abandoning my computer, in the hope that I will be forced to amuse myself with more worthwhile activities. Although I've cut my time here considerably over the past year, I'm still not satisfied. Don't fret, I'm only a few miles away, and I'll keep in touch. Anyway, who has time for such advanced technology in a beautiful Victorian house? I see McDermott and McGough on the horizon...

Sadly, I'm going to miss the Dresden Dolls this week, but 16 Horsepower will play locally on April 9th, and I WILL be there. It would be nice to wear my new frock coat to the show. *Hint, Hint*

So long for now, forlorn followers...

My hands are clammy and I feel dizzy with paranoid nervousness. I've been waiting almost an hour now. I put the baby to sleep at 8pm, as she had instructed, so now I sit here alone on her couch. Maybe I should wake him up, just to have some company. No, that's selfish. I pick through the cds next to the boombox and choose one that seems fitting. Raymond Watts. Appropriately dirty and naughty. I close my eyes, and try to relax, but I can't. I pick up "The Heart is Deceitful Above All Things" and flip through it. I choose a chapter and start re-reading. After a minute or two, I throw the book down and turn the boombox off. Maybe silence was better. Before I can decide, she slips through the front door, allowing a bitter gust of January air to invade the warmth of her house. I catch a glimpse of the snow covered lawn before she slams the door. She takes her coat off and throws it on the couch next to me, but doesn't say anything, which allows me to assume everything has gone as planned.
'Show me the money.' I smile.
'Okay, wait... it's in my bra.' She pulls out three small bags and puts them in my hand.
I look them over, a bit surprised at the volume my $50 afforded us. When she's not looking, I make sure the door is locked, and my nervousness fades. We sit on the floor in the middle of the room. It doesn't take long before the first bag is opened, emptied on the surface of a cd and then divvied into thin white lines.
'I've only done this once before, and it was a very modest amount,' I say. I cut one of the lines in half with the razor to show her.
She laughs, "Almost wasn't worth it."
After rolling a dollar bill into a thin tube, she askes if she may go first. I grant permission and she leans down to erase a white line. She finishes with a few sniffs of air, hands me the bill and leaves the room. I am nervous again, but it's an excited nervousness. I choose my line and do as she has. Now she's back, holding a glass of water.
'This may help if you are too dry.' She dips a finger in the water and lets it drip into her nostril. She snorts and grimaces. 'Ugh, drips.' I do the same, but don't feel any 'drips'.
After we both repeat what we've just done, someone knocks on her front door. My face seals and my body tenses.
She moves toward the door. 'It's just my neighbor.'
I quickly cover our paraphernalia with another cd as the neighbor, wearing a fur coat over a bathrobe, joins us on the floor. She speaks wildely about her boyfriend, who just called the cops on her for some stupid reason. She's just come over to return a phone, and to vent I suppose. Her story seems endless and I get anxious, eyeing the hidden goods. When she lights a cigarette, I feel desperate. Go away, I think. Her eyes search the messy floor, and I'm tempted to move the cds under the couch behind me. She wants an ashtray. As she reaches for it, the cd slides a bit, revealing the dusty razor. She knows now, and offers $5 for a line. I agree and she snorts one. I don't intend to make any more money, but she stays at least another 15 minutes. I'm happy when she leaves.
An hour later, my friend and I are chattering excitedly. Every so often I feel the need to get up, but once standing, find that I have nothing to do. She moves a few of her baby's toys aside and I get excited at the thought of cleaning, but she just needs room to lounge. We listen to Reagan Youth, then the Sex Pistols.
'Did he just say "faggot"?' I ask.
'Yeah.'
'Did he just say "communism"?'
'Yeah.'
I don't know the Sex Pistols too well.
We chat about politics and work and life and drugs. All very fast. I snort more water.
'I want to do very absurd things,' I say.
'We threw raw chicken at random people before. That was pretty absurd.'
'I don't necessarily mean absurdity for absurdity's sake, but rather to entertain.'
'That's not entertaining?'
'For the instigator, maybe.' I tell her about a plan I've devised for an absurd experience, and she's impressed. I take a minute to see if my state of mind inspires any further absurdities, but it doesn't.
Another hour passes. We have just opened the third small bag and my nose is numb and my jaw is twitching. I do another line. Gaps between outbursts of conversation have grown longer. I feel different than I did two hours ago. I consider whether or not it's boredom. I don't really care. I snort more water and consider which substance I've snorted more of tonight. Soon, my excitement transforms into a calmness, something unexpected.
'I'm going to try something,' she says.
Soon she's sitting on the floor with a bent up can, a spoon, a box of corn starch and a lit candle in front of her. I watch as she mixes white powders in the spoon, then sets it over the candle. She's cooking it. Once on the smashed can, she uses a lighter to smoke it as from a pipe.
'Did it work?'
'Yeah.'
I'm curious. 'Should I try it?'
She shrugs and hands me the can. I do it, not sure of what I was supposed to feel. Not sure I can distinguish between now and 2 minutes ago.
We're very quiet now. My entire body tingles pleasantly. There are two more lines, one is mine. I wait 15 minutes and decide to finish. Afterword, anxiety creeps. I was warned. I look at the other line that isn't mine. It's hers. She can do whatever she wants with it. She could give it to me. I could ask for it. Technically, it's mine anyway. I paid for it. No. I pull my knees up to my chest and close my eyes. I try to focus on what I'm feeling. I think that one thing I feel is hunger, but I can't say it's an apetite. I think I'm bored, but I know there isn't anything in the world that could occupy me. The pain in my back is more obvious now. I lye down on the floor, my eyes still closed. I hear her snort. Did she finish it all? Maybe she only did half. I pull the hood strings on my sweatshirt up to my face and push the knots on the end into my nostrils.
'I'll snort this,' I whisper. Then I feel stupid. I wonder how long it's been since I last had a cigarette. I wait a while, hoping something interesting will happen. I should probably go home, but I'm too comfortable. I lunge forward spontaneously into a sitting position and my head spins. 'Whoa...'
'What?'
'Just felt kinda weird.' I notice the cd case is cleared of potential fun. She did finish. We sit in silence another 15 minutes. I can tell by the look on her face that we feel the same way.
'You know,' she says, 'There's hardly ever a time that I don't go back at least once.' I consider that.
I have an idea. I grab the rolled up dollar bill and, as putting it back into my wallet, gasp. I pull out $45 and feign astonishment. Nothing happens. I know she's holding back. In another attempt, I scold myself and throw my wallet. Still nothing. Maybe she's just stronger than I am. Another 15 minutes of silence, then she looks at me. 'You know.... Hmph, nevermind.' Was it her turn now? I ask her what she's thinking and she scolds herself. I can't decide whether she wants to go back or wants to fuck me. Just get up and leave, I think. This is getting too weird. I start collecting my things. 'I'm going to go.' I'm sure she feels both relief and disappointment. We say our goodbyes and I step outside. It's snowing again.

I have 2 new favorite people: David Eugene Edwards and JT Leroy. How much more contradictory can they be? An odd couple for sure, but in the end maybe it makes sense. I have been feeling more reckless and trashy lately, which can be seen as a good thing. I haven't picked up a paint brush in weeks, but feel a strong desire to start writing again. At work, I have been such a clutz. Dropping things, tripping over myself, banging into walls. I've been very preoccupied with my inspired thoughts, spacing out all day long, which can also be seen as a good thing. I need to channel this inspiration before it passes. Basement is cold, going to run away...

In a struggle to surpass either the banal or the inept, potential journal entries have been stifled. I wish, for the sake of expression and possible relief, that I could overcome this aim of aggrandizement. Are not my most naive thoughts worth expressing? Whether or not my path to peace can be paved alone is unknown, but I haven't been likely to expose my weaknesses just in case it can't. I am a snob. I am my own worst enemy. I've been lost in a wretched world of paradoxes and incongruencies. Summation: I'm an existentialist ardently pursuing logic. Most glaring of these is snobbery -- which I'm sure anyone reading this will witness, as nothing brings out the snob like the topic of snobbery. In an act of humility, I'm going to write about everything that has been on my mind.

First let me explain why snobbery and elitism irritates me. The best snobs have perfected the art of self-censorship, which is inexcusable. I'm guilty. Snobs accentuate and exaggerate what may be their only advantageous qualities, while conveniently concealing, glossing over, or excusing whatever flaws they undoubtedly harbor. No one is perfect. Neither is any one closer to perfect than another. Nature maintains a balance in any conceivable situation. Postmodernists, snobs by default, experience the world through a filter of theory, which either contributes to or testifies to a lack of feeling. Your heart pays the price for your extremely centered intellect. Essentially, snobs are ersatz superhumans. HYPOCRITES. And they know this... Snobbery in action is a deflection of shame and insecurity. I'm guilty. What so obviously proves this notion is that snobbery was not rampant, as it is now, before democracy. A constantly fluxing economy inspires fear and insecurity. (Not to mention the current obsession with lifestyles of the rich and famous. Celebrity worship and jealousy have never been so perpetuated by the likes of Mtv Cribs. I shudder at the thought...) An ostensibly erudite snob, seeking self-affirmation, may ridicule through biting grandiloquence, but all I see is an insecure little child in an arrested psychological state of inferiority -- for being physically smaller. Most children DO go through a very narcissistic stage. Me! Mine! Active snobbery aside, leaves room for the worst type. Silent snobbery. If you really want to let someone know how unworthy he is, simply ignore him. The object, if not to make oneself seem better, is to make the object feel shame, a practice famously connected to Christianity. A god-fearing individual is ruled by guilt for his intrinsic nature. The payoff then is not only the self-righteous belief that they are better people, but that salvation will be rewarded to the enlightened only. The common snob has no excuse. There will always be someone more intelligent, more attractive, more accomplished. ALWAYS. Lastly, I have to comment on those types of snobs that irritate me most -- those that employ reverse snobbery. This time, I am not guilty. I hate emo. I hate geek chic. I hate those that win through victimization. Quit your fucking whining. I am so terribly maddened by those who have appropriated the dorky/geeky aesthetic and made it fashionable. Identity theft! Most of you have no idea what it is like to be different, and would never ever be caught dead with someone who was honestly unaware of what is cool. Thick rimmed glasses with no prescription. A collection of extremely obscure music.... of course. It suggests your being "with it"... on top of things. Most times fashion does not function to make one aesthetically pleased, but works more like a peacock mechanism. Look at me! I am part of this group. I BELONG to this group. All scenes are essentially a herd, anyway. But I digress...

After asserting my own snobbery, it might not make sense that I would go on to bash snobs. Here's the conflict... I do not believe every human being is made equal. I believe those that contribute to society should be rewarded, NOT those who don't. In contrast to extreme socialists and leftists who think we should all become one sex, one race, one single type of being, I celebrate diversity. I believe everyone has his or her place in the world, and each validates his opposite. The question is -- where do I fit? My biggest insecurities are those of an intellectual nature. I have always abhorred stupidity and ignorance, so I have tried all my life to avoid those two things. But when am I good enough? I often feel like a young boy, slipping his small feet into his father's large boots... They don't quite fit. Will I grow, and someday fill those boots? Or will my father always be older, more wise? Sometimes I feel like a martyr. It would be so nice to let go of my values... Be stupid and complacent. What is more important -- happiness, or maintaining those values I hold most sacred? In relation to snobs and Christians, I thought "A true imbecile does not believe in God, a wise imbecile does." Sure, Christians try to live like saints, but aren't atheists, by refusing a happier life in a convoluted reality, the real martyrs? I'm smart enough to know that I'm not smart enough... Or, I can smite others, and also feel smitten.

I recently sent a letter to the talk radio program I'm subjected to at work every day. It was in response to an angry gay male, whose position may be apparent in the context.

Dear, Humble Rick,

After listening to Bill today and much previous frothing over the debate of gay issues on WDEL, I feel compelled to comment, perhaps simply as a means of enduring a somewhat sensitive issue for me. I am a 22 year old gay male, and I'm completely bewildered by the majority of both right and left perceptions of homosexuality and it's place in society. First, let me say that I believe the trichotomy of straight - bisexual - gay is a farce. The Kinsey scale, if acknowledged, can answer many questions regarding sexuality. It classifies people into 7 ranges of sexuality, from exclusively straight to exclusively gay. Would this not explain how a man could marry a woman, have children, then betray her during his mid-life crisis? People who do not fall on one extreme end of the scale or the other are vulnerable to influence by family, peers, society, and may suppress their gayness in order to avoid ridicule and rejection. Inevitably, they realize this is either impossible or pusillanimous and "become" gay. This also may account for some cases of homophobia, as one may feel extremely insecure about occasional, insignificant feelings towards the same sex, compensating in brute negativity. (As a side note, homophobia is a misnomer when speaking from a political viewpoint. What I mean to say is, a real fear of gays, usually noticeable by teasing and excessive use of the words fag and queer, etc...) In final defense of all sexualities I will offer this analogy. Consider your handedness, that is, which hand you write with. How natural does that feel for you? How unnatural does it feel to attempt writing with your other hand? Of course, if you had good reason and even better discipline, you could learn how to write with both hands. It's called conditioning. Next, I need to comment on Bill. My theory is that Bill is not exclusively gay, and due to his guilt and subsequent bitterness, he's become a somatic narcissist. If I remember correctly, someone also accused him of being an elitist, and I would agree. To him, I would say: intellectual snobbery does not further the egalitarian cause, Bill. Get a grip on your bitterness, stop turning every issue towards your sexuality, and stop giving gays a bad name. Lastly, I would like to address the more conservative concerns. As one who feels most at home with libertarianism, I sympathize with many right of center opinions, but there's no sound excuse for the debasement of gays in America. I don't want your money, I don't want your children and I don't want to be married in your church. I think any gay couple that fights for the latter "right" needs to reevaluate why they want to take vows under an institution that has condemned them for so long. If civil unions aren't enough, or if the pompous pageantry of the church appeals to them, start your own denomination. Rick, thanks for trying to be understanding... and don't be discouraged. We aren't all like Bill. Thank you also for taking the time to read this. I hope you can spare the on-air time to read this for your audience as well.

The Anonymous "Dude"

Perhaps my sexuality plays a major role in my insecurity and subsequent snobbery, but in the case of Bill, an egalitarian view not only makes him a hypocrite, but subverts his intentions.

Recently, my bitterness has escalated to a precarious precipice. I fear to open my eyes, lest I see some type of success I haven't achieved. A book I haven't published. A movie that I haven't made. A painting I could never even hope to match... A friend I don't deserve? At the root of my frustration, there is a need to be understood, despite my assertion that subjectivity is paramount. I'm reminded of a Wilde quotation. My two biggest problems are discipline and articulation. Perhaps in the end, I can say, I was a better failure than you.

I've been working on my website this past weekend. In the next week or two I should be uploading lots of new things. I'm reworking the art section, adding a few "fine" art pieces along with a series of 9x12 mixed media works which will be for sale. I've never been happy with the art section, so this development is exciting. Among this and other obvious changes, I'm "complicating" the site for all those that care or dare to explore it more thoroughly.

Got 2 bottles of absinthe on Friday! Woohoo! One Mari Mayans, my favorite, and the other Deva, a new brand for me. Deva is nice. Somewhere in the same family as La Fee. I'd really like to try Un Emile 68, but the former 2 brands were cheaper. Only in the monetary sense, I'm sure.

Work is fine. Radio is less irritating. Expanded my abilities over the months, so I'm doing a wider variety of jobs around the shop. I've been very pleased with the number of antiques coming through, but still pissed at the fabric choice for most of them. One of the guys is going to make a mission style mantle (which I will try to make more ornate with carved appliques) for my future apartment. Very very nice of him, as these go for about $1500 on ebay, not including cost of shipping.

I'm still dreaming of that future apartment... which seems to drift further and further into the future than I had hoped. I am just spoiled and neurotic (maybe I'd say eccentric if it wasn't so cliche) and I refuse to move into a place with my old furniture, which has it's own associations and a style that would insult my current taste. Instead I wait, accumulating decadence. This is tedious for a boy of such meager wages. (I'm not complaining.)

This weekend was spent calm and content. My muses have returned. I set my mind adrift... I met Schopenhauer on Portabello Road. We scoffed at the portly men lured, by angels of every color, out of stuffy homes and secure professions. What hypocrites we are, Arthur and I! We remain loyal to a stiffly regimented diet of apricots and noodles, pernod and punch. All bought here, with Rembrandts, El Grecos and Toulouse-Lautrecos. No "coin"cidence that some boy made long rouge drapes for a framed sketch of apes. "Straighten it dear. We can't have our art hang askew!" After our shopping, Antonin crafted a humoreske just for me. I've fallen in love with it all the same, though it can never replace the skeleton key I lost. The one that solves this Locke, a mystery not unlike QRV. How dumb can I get? No more than the question posed. I digress... Like a voyeur, I peered through those rouge drapes at a red hot debate, trying to articulate. This is my fault: I can't communicate. So I hide behind a string of words that make no (n) sense.

Oh, and it snowed...

Finally feel somewhat normal today. Enough to start and complete a new painting. I let my mother see it. She asked for an explanation, after which she felt sad. It is sad. I still need to spend an hour or two on my other painting, "Twaddle Dumb", before it's finished, but here is a grainy, polarized digicam tease:



I feel awfully inarticulate, as usual, so no real patience for LJ. Going to go now.

MORRISSEY AND SMITHS FANS EVERYWHERE!!! AHHH!!!!!!! Lock your doors and close your shutters!!!

Ok, but seriously... (Slit my wrists, serious. Oh the agony!) I'm going to generalize here. I'm going to be a big asshole, so prepare yourself. I am so very annoyed by Smiths fans and I wish they would all disappear. There, I said it.

This weekend was nearly a waste. My thoughts and motivations have been diverted by a congested listlessness. I took more naps than I should have, and ended up going back and forth perpetually from the computer to the television. I managed to paint for a few hours at some point, and finally, tonight, have gained enough focus to continue reading Dostoevsky's "Notes from Underground." The first 20 pages were discouraging enough to hold my bookmark for over a week. Now though, I am entranced. On many levels, I can indentify with the narrator, though I'm not sure that was his intent. He is supposed to be vile and depraved, but Dostoevsky was a Christian. In any case, he seems to remain uncritical. I think my interest in fiction has been rekindled by the past few books I've read. Next I will read a book by Collette, so that I can return it to the lovely person who lent it to me. (Thanks D!)

I'm trying to keep this entry from becoming too loathsome and pitiable, so I'll end it here.

Heather: If you read this, know that I have been out of sorts lately. Either very busy or completely foggy. But I miss you.

Nothing super great to report really, but feel the need to inform anyway... Job is going well, for the most part. Kinda slow, with learning. I still only have very limited knowledge of the entire upholstering process. As far as the art goes, I have had up days and down days, which is good, either way. Better than neutral, apathetic days. A few days ago I went through a "this is shit, everything is shit" mood. It forced me to look at what I don't like about my art, what I can improve. I have been very productive and expect to have 2 new pieces up very soon. Very very much an improvement over anything I have uploaded on the site at the moment. Anyone who has seen them care to comment? ;)
I have been spending some time with a new friend, ruby_skye who is the coolest chick around! I have some projects/events on the horizon, which I am very excited about. If only I had more money. I'm in a bit of a financial spot. Trying to weigh my options. Move sooner vs. cool projects that cost money. (I have ideas for a few photo shoots and I'm planning to have an absinthe party.)
I am at a creative peak, it feels great! Watch out world! Mwahaha!