proverbial gold miner

first half hour of quality alone time in I don't even remember. i have a hard time adjusting to company, but it's usually worth having. as tempted as I am to spend the evening writing and drawing about the usual and new rues to battle a week long hangover I won't.
habit tells me I'm the subject of a mile-long tablecloth trick but habit is filthy. I value the past for all the right reasons and that makes me a good person. Not a nice person, a good person. humanity's congenital personal confusion tells us we need a partner to pursue the light at the end of the tunnel with. when you both realize it's a trashfire against a black wall you're going to want someone to blame for the long walk. It's not that I don't understand, it's that I do. I hope one day I'll meet someone I can relate to. Or just someone who can open up my head and take a life changing shit inside of it without all the small talk. likely

But it's the weekend. And despite the cold, the sun is pretending it's a nice day. So I'm going to smile and get drunk tonight and have my own brand of a good time while you chill with the billions sitting discontent on No-name swearing that copyright is just a triviality. tastes like shit to me.
sweepstakes

swagswagwgasawg

OFWGKTA
keep your eyes open, because you're already seeing this shit everywhere
I'm going to experience this live when I get the chance

never swallow your pride

don't ask about religious symbolism in the shit lately. it probably serves a fairly obvious purpose. and i find it aesthetically pleasing.
merry christmas!


edit-- ice cream cones work too!

post script

Tomorrow at work I might be offered another full time position, and it got me thinking why it is I can never commit to full-time work. I'll admit it's partly just out of lethargy but it could never be just that. I've always got some kind of lack of money. but money's never been big on my list of priorities. It confuses most people because we were all taught that the paper chase is the most crucial for a good life, but I give a fuck about a lot of things before I'll spring for a financially higher standard of living. Probably has something to do with the fact that I don't give a fuck about getting laid like most dudes. But back to what I do care about. I've learned to live a lifestyle I'm comfortable with on just a part time pay. I get by fine, get the shit I need, I pursue my real interests. That time is more valuable than most figures, it's all I care about anymore. so fuck it, fuck writing off my dreams for disposable income. that's bullshit. I respect that it works for some people, I'm just not one of them. I fucking hope I can avoid that position, and I hope other people can grow the fuck up and try to respect me for having a different kind of ambition. It's the first time I've shown any.
Also I'm realizing pursuing this shit is going to mean becoming more socially active, connections. Eventually I have to stop emotionally resigning myself to this murky perception I have of everyone. I can keep yelling bitches from my stupid livingroom but they're still going to be there. And being a bitter asshole just means that I'm letting ghosts win. you can't even see ghosts. I'm as weak as I've ever been, I've just learned some hard ass lessons and become as jaded as everyone else. I just deal with it in a different way. I can still appreciate companionship and shared interest. art is collaborative, and people to fuck shit up with is all I really want. fuck that bourgeois lifestyle, I have an opportunity to try so I'm going to stick with it. I've got to swallow this counterfeit pride and hopefully keep this mentality. I think I'm always going to be cynical but I've picked the right profession if that's the case. If distaste is all I ever have to express then I'll fucking tag it up.

betting on the muse

SOWW I almost have enough money for the rebel real quick. That's sweet. I plan on doing quite a bit with it. Also I think I'm starting to write a book of short stories illustrations and personal philosophy. Yeah, I guess that's called a "journal". Excerpts I got so far are about that personal, but I'm not going to keep it hidden away somewhere with a lock and key. Maybe not everyone, but I'll show it to the people I don't think are too pussy to read about something introspective that isn't just neato existentialism . It'll be accumulative, likely sloppy and probably never finished. I've been thinking a lot about it and too many people I know are simply afraid to give credit to strong emotions other than love or happiness. it can be so fucking taboo but I find creatively I get a truckload out of embracing it . Maybe I'm just more of a masochist or some shit but It probably comes with the territory. happiness is ephemeral and at times dishonest(duhr) , you feel like it's on the tip of your tongue but it's on a stick in front of a treadmill. sometimes death is sippin' on a doctor pepper in the guise of life and I don't want to draw a picture or write a book about two people drooling and staring at the sun. I want to write about doctor pepp! I want to read literature I can appreciate and relate to that isn't Bukowski. Get real, Bukowski. I'm sure there's a lot out there but I'd rather stay productive than do "research" which is the opposite of productive. I'm not one of those fags who seek enlightenment instead of dwelling on things that retrospectively don't have to be so big a deal. searching for enlightenment means abandoning all your current and incredibly stable principles, and that is by far the gayest idea I've ever even imagined.
But seriously. As soon as old man Spring comes around I'll get more active and actually enjoy myself. It's the way the year tends to play out. The plan was to stay indoors through the cold season and work on more portfolio shit, and I did. I developed a very important friendship, did a lot of painting and some quasi self improvement.

on a more literal note, this is fucking sweet.
I constantly wonder how I'd cope if I ever lost my vision. This man does a better job than I would. inspiring shit though.

| Artists Wanted | In Focus : Pete Eckert from Artists Wanted on Vimeo.

I guess that's all I've got for you today.
PS

you're a rough draft

I started drawing up plans for a painting the other day and while deciding on a colorway, I realized that a smiling girl with "bravado" written in cum on her face is probably gonna be one of the ones that won't be received the way it's intended to. so right now since I'm bored I'm going to clear that up mostly for my own peace of mind.
for the record, I'm no sexist or chauvinist. weird rite? pieces like this or the one with the girl saying "bitches" over her face are meant to be sort of a social commentary i guess? on how humans in general, in or out of love, will treat each other and themselves to appear dominant over the opposite sex. and what emotional cop-outs people will commit to in attempt to justify their actions. when I write bitches I'm referring to a certain type of girl. not every girl, and probably not most girls. just as I refer to a certain type of guy as douche bag. I guess it's still prejudice on some level but I try not to generalize if I can avoid it. out of habit I'll use the term loosely in speech but to be fair I only mean it about 50% of the time.
but back on topic, i guess the resentment i feel towards people as a whole is largely influenced by this kind of behavioral form. some people feel damaged, used, so they take it out on people who don't deserve it. gives them a naive sense of power like they have life in a choke hold because they can inflict more pain than they feel. we've all seen it perpetuated. using yourself and others to gain your self-respect back because you opened up to the wrong person and now you're some kind of dump covered victim. it makes no sense. wiping a sour dirt taste out of your mouth with a soiled rag just makes you look like a mud hungry retard. and though the pursuit of happiness is grandiose I feel like people are just looking for depth in a kiddy pool because the pathway is less slippery. looking for clear and discernible ground in a puddle of child pee murked with impurities from candy and other stupid things kids eat. I'm no basis for the most level headed behavior but if I feel like someone I trust has slipped me laxatives I won't take a dump on the carseat of someone who trusts me. so I guess there you go. I have no qualms with affection or love, just the insincere confused behavior it leads people to on account of blind emotion dickwrestling all logic into submission . i guess some qualms. there's a bold line that shouldn't be crossed and everyone is jizzing over it because life is a series of hilarious accidents and you'll look tougher jizzing over a line with shades on than you will carrying yourself genuinely
in conclusion: idk i need new subject matter

survival of the shittest

the dictum of everything human and the idea that you aren't quite happy enough without a counterpart. The human condition is loneliness and we're forced into medicating with god's ugly puzzle piece. you're sedated because you're always cumming or approaching it or attempting to. Life's purpose is the reason we do drugs and settle and have retarded children. I've got my own vices but they aren't my every thought and my every concern and i'd rather commit to myself than another because the come down is less physically taxing. People are dependent on other people, much like a chemical dependency or a crutch. and much like any other crutch made of decaying material, it isn't reliable. It'll trip and take shits and need to lean on something just as badly as you do.
But it's loneliness and the inability to sleep alone or not constantly have the focus of an entire group of people that keeps us going. it's inbred. this retarded and demeaning mating dance I'm referring to is the only reason I'm here thinking about how fucking embarrassing the human cycle is right now. life continues and I'll probably shrug this feeling off eventually because I've got the same organs as everyone else. but maybe not.
I've been noticing that almost everything i make has been bred from self involvement or misogyny or the love of beer or some kind of crooked ideology. Not that melodrama in the medium is new. I've just never produced enough of anything in a short enough time to notice a pattern.
I guess my perspective's been clouded by a number of things, but everyone has their own personalized and fucked up thought process. it's not as if hanging out with a group of people who numb themselves and do their best not to care too much is going to do anything but perpetuate the notion that only these people exist. No dis, I love these people.
I just hope it doesn't get any more blatant than a vacant eyed girl with big red letters saying BITCHES over her face. transparency is an ugly thing
regardless I want to start assessing some life goals. the longer I put off making a decision about which direction to go the more my options taper. It's hard to get your foot in the door. or I guess it's hard to choose a door in a room full of nothing but stairs and doors. still. I've been in a better mood lately, believe it. forced to start eating better and drinking less due to my body falling apart from the inside. a little optimistic, but cautiously. All in all this year is looking the same as last year.
keep being you, world