Everything You Know

"Funny. Cause I wasn't talking about your 'blog'. I was talking about a green notebook with 'x' like tears through the last written pages."

Which, of course, was very egotistical and conceited. It was a journal for someone else about me. This starkly contrasts that red thing which is most comprised of: fear of not being good enough, getting angry at yourself, being extremely creepy and overwhelming with lines that all end in 'can't live without you', and the occasional subtle guilt-trip.

When I say 'contrast' I guess mean 'same' on the egotistical scale. Not that there is anything wrong with that, it means you're doing what I already did before right. I'd definitely try to tone down on the 'obsessive bitch' part of it all though. People are starting to notice.

"How many times can someone give you the same unique piece of art before you grow sick of it?"

Style

Style can come across as awkward when you don't really have one.

Let me justify this by saying that when I personally do the works that end I being the most unhappy with, I'm usually trying to imitate something I really enjoy, be it gritty realism or the style of some of my favorite artists. I still don't feel like I have a full grounding or comprehension of style and what I can really do with it, only very basic information.

What I do know is that this style

comes naturally to me. I don't have to think about a whole lot, it just happens and I just let it happen and I'm rarely really upset with it. Sure it's stiff and needs to loosen up a bit, but it feels different. I don't second guess it, and I feel like I have a lot of control over it. However, that is part of the issue for me.

Art hasn't felt easy since I was little. It hasn't not felt like a struggle to get everything perfect in a long time. And since doing things in this style feels easier, in my head I feel like it has to be 'the easy way out', and I hate that. Not to mention that I don't like it nearly as much for conveying certain emotions as other styles do.

I think I'm torn here.

Someone say something.


(also Alexis you're stupid, this is my blog, as in my journal, why wouldn't it come across as 'egotistical'. Christ, I'm not a fucking philanthropist.)

I've been pacing the floor for about an hour now, waiting for my main system to finish doing whatever it is that it's doing with it's virus ridden self. I pace and I look and I grab at the wall and come back with a hand full of nothing, appropriately. And when I see my empty hands I realize the two things I want the most in life.

Firstly, I want to do something. I want to start a project and finish a project. I want to care about something again. About finishing something, about making something. There is a person I want to be who I am not, and I don't know why. I want to blame everything around me but I don't, and I can't, because that's not fair to me since it's my fault. Sure, I try to paint something every night on the Cintiq, but I find myself more frustrated with it and myself than anything else. Out of 12 nights of painting, I finish one thing. One thing that isn't even that good.

I'm discovering things that appeal to me more and more, things I think I really want to be a part of but am not. Things that quite literally just make me a filthy hipster but I love it, because there is something raw and appealing about it. To it's core, to mine. I want to try but I'm not sure where to find the energy. Days I go to work my day job are 'wasted' in my mind because I 'already did work today'. How the fuck is that viable in any sense? Why can't I just do like I tell myself I will and do?

I'm not the only one with this problem. I know two others who are just as desperate for purpose and place, finding a way to feel like we fucking belong here. And I want to help us but I can't and I don't know how because nothing works. And the cold hard fact that I, and we, will just sit here and die day after day and the only thing stopping us is ourselves doesn't seem to make a difference. What is happiness and fulfillment, and why can't we seem to find it?

And secondly, I just want to love again. To miss and be missed.

One of two will suffice, but both are probably necessary.

"If we could both find a way to do the things that we say, we might not sit our room and drink our daydreams away"

Gray AND White

I keep forgetting to mention that our website is actually up and working a bit. Not finished, but don't rush me.. these things takes years.

http://www.graywhite.net/

We,

meaning you, and I, are getting younger. Forever.

Don't waste it like I will.

Sketch Dumpp

More on Solanin

My plans of finishing this comic in a short amount of time (one sitting) were shot down pretty fucking fast after I read the fifth chapter of it. It's rare for me to read something that makes me literally have to fucking stop and reflect in the middle of a story. It was just captivating to me.

What's strange is that the chapter plays out different from the rest of the story so far. It doesn't contain any spoilers, and instead explains about a character who has been mentioned very lightly up to this point. While the interactions with the main character are important, I'm sure, it feels almost like an aside.

(viz translated his name as Rip, which makes more sense to us non-slants)

I want you to read it. Like wise, I have uploaded this entire chapter (14 pages) here, or you can click on the image, so, please. Be captivated with me.

I am afraid to continue the story because I have a growing fear that it might not live up to the image I'm painting of it in my mind, but I'm pretty optimistic at this point.

Who cares?

"The way I see it, adults are made up of "who cares?". I have potbelly, but who cares? My nose hairs show, but who cares? As long as I'm not caught, who cares? I'm totally insincere, but who cares? There's war, famine, disease and thousands of people are dying, but as long as I'm happy, who cares? They pay well here, so who cares?" --Inio Asano via "Solanin"

I should really probably stop reading this before it decides to hit home.

Intermission

The next person to mention Fallout 3 New Vegas to me gets a swift punch in the balls. It's not that I have any hate for the game or series, it's that from time to time a sequence of personal events will jade my judgment. Such is the case with Fallout 3.

The act of being able to finish a game in my company is something that people who do not know me ('know me' meaning in a face-to-face context) seem to find exciting. My level of frustration when I'm attempting to do even the most basic of actions in a games tends to cause amusement to those around me; it's not that I am intentionally entertaining them as much as me being mocked from the side-lines. It is a common theme that seems to run through my actual relationships (see: girlboy and redfail) that pressing through a game with me apparently falls apart. My charms, they ain't much.

I never finished Fallout 3 because I was always acting under the impression that I was playing it with Jeremy. It was unfortunate when I realized he was playing the game alone behind my back in an attempts to do and be better than me in everything he could. That's a trend that seemed to stem into the rest of our relationship too I suppose, but I'm only bitter about the Fallout thing and not the.. falling out thing. I would love to be excited with you guys about Vegas, really I would, but it seems silly for me to get worked up over an expansion who's base I didn't even finish proper.

I would also like to mention that I'm pretty sure I don't like you at all. It is pathetic and I expected it, but that doesn't make it less upsetting. I think the words "will be taking care of me" were what set me off as 'time-waste', but the complete disregard for yourself is what really made me realize you aren't good enough. It is unfortunate that you're both too stupid to realize that, but doesn't make me feel any less ill, so I pop another pill and go on my way.

Of Similarity - I

Here I am, far away from you all in Washington. You really should have come with me, it's lovely here. I will save brushing on the inane for a little while longer and instead plague your eyes with my artistic endeavors since my depart.

This is more of a concept piece.

Watching Jeremy play Spelunky is like watching an amazingly elaborate train-wreck in slow motion. It's simplistic and beautiful in it's awkwardness. While once attempting to rescue a woman, his inability to properly handle a controller cause him to continue to beat her in the face with a rock. I told him after he hit her twice that he was killing her and that he really should stop. He responded with certainty that he had not done anything wrong and that she was just fine, that he hadn't hit her even once. As his slender fingers slipped the rock once again into her skull he had the dawn of realization that she was no longer breathing. I'm quite sure that she's still lying there somewhere, bloody and forgotten.

He literally wouldn't stop asking.

This one ended how it started; poorly.

Next time I get some free moments just to be myself I'll take the time to upload some photos and things, and tell some stories that actually require a locational change.