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Feeling very very withdrawn again. I likely need more sunshine and exercise. Honestly tired of writing. More specifically tired of writing knowing that absolutely nothing is changed by it, that none of this makes a difference that will be felt
a) in my life at a time when I need it; and
b) in other lives when they need it.
I write on and on about the same topics, the same issues. Nothing changes. I am not a better man, everyone around me doesn't magically become a better person. The woman I love still thinks I am the reincarnation of satan. I'm not allowed to be sad, lest by my sadness I ruin the moods of the people I come into contact with.
I have no right to be sad or angry because I don't live in Darfur, or Gaza or (to be local about it) in Payatas. But I am.
It'll be my month in a few days. My month. I need to get away, maybe go to Laguna (where the hot springs won't really cure me) or talk to some friends (who will tell me nothing new).
I miss Tina.
Her jokes, her glasses, her smell, her shampoo. All the hours of talk. But I know what she'll do if and when I try to reach out. Run like all of hell was after her. Mornings like this I wish I never met her.
The whole world knows I love her and it doesn't mean jack. That's the knowledge that takes the joy out of meals or drink or porn, other women, or any of Man's traditional sources of consolation.
a) in my life at a time when I need it; and
b) in other lives when they need it.
I write on and on about the same topics, the same issues. Nothing changes. I am not a better man, everyone around me doesn't magically become a better person. The woman I love still thinks I am the reincarnation of satan. I'm not allowed to be sad, lest by my sadness I ruin the moods of the people I come into contact with.
I have no right to be sad or angry because I don't live in Darfur, or Gaza or (to be local about it) in Payatas. But I am.
It'll be my month in a few days. My month. I need to get away, maybe go to Laguna (where the hot springs won't really cure me) or talk to some friends (who will tell me nothing new).
I miss Tina.
Her jokes, her glasses, her smell, her shampoo. All the hours of talk. But I know what she'll do if and when I try to reach out. Run like all of hell was after her. Mornings like this I wish I never met her.
The whole world knows I love her and it doesn't mean jack. That's the knowledge that takes the joy out of meals or drink or porn, other women, or any of Man's traditional sources of consolation.
Up to Speed
First, I'd like to thank the people who've stopped by the page, the gallery, and specific artworks. Your views have been encouraging, and the gifts of llamas have been a gas. Shoutouts in particular to the more recent givers of llamas: Revantem, ERA-7, Hoshigetsu, SASHIMISAN. People, if you've run into my page while looking for something else, do give these deviants a visit.
If you've favorited my work recently, you belong on a pedestal where someone really pretty drapes a medal on you just because you're nice (or because you noticed something worthy in my work). Shoutouts to the more recent visitors who favorited something of mine: aikamult
No, Vember.
I had been gunning for twenty-four paintings and the work's stalled at painting six. At least the reasons don't involve creative drought: I'm just swamped with non-painting work that has to be done or else I don't get to eat or the lights go out in the studio. Sadly, it's been a lousy slog and December doesn't look as good as it should. Money is tight everywhere and I don't dare ask for bailouts from Mom and Pop. God knows if I'm actually going to get paid for some of my previous jobs... But that's the story everywhere, it seems.
We soldier on. Or at least we keep at it until we fold or get a decent windfall.
The good news is that a one-man
Cleaning House
Uh, Hi. I'm not dead.
Real life's taken me away from this page lots of times, and each time I've come back, the occasion seems to be some kind of change in my status quo. I'm *trying* to be less expressive, to confine myself to the safe Tweets, Facebook posts, and the necessary political commentary. I've also been uploading more recent art elsewhere, because I've needed online real estate for portfolios that didn't have a poem or two about me crying about a broken romance.
I keep promising to upload here, and I will. It's just that my more recent work has been work-for-pay, or secret-project-art, so that I can't simply put these things up h
Show's over. Go home.
My ex is getting married. Therefore, everything I've done, everything I've made, said or written over the last four years has been... to borrow a word from Gerry Alanguilan... wasted.
Happily I'm beyond thoughts of engaging in risky behavior-- really, how's downing six gallons of alcohol every night for a week going to solve that problem? I'm at that age where you're just too old to have a meltdown: they are neither productive nor are they particularly satisfying anymore. You can't have one of these at my age and not look like Charlie Sheen.
I fought the good fight, and even if the outcome is unfair, there is simply no one I can blame or b
© 2009 - 2024 evildex
Comments4
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how about drawing this time...?