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At best I�m feeling horribly sedate and apathetic, at worst, well, we don�t consider the worst because I don�t like the thoughts. It�s a nasty game, this life, when you feel so displaced and constantly beating yourself. It�s a sad little pantomime of existence when you feel always afraid and guarded, self-conscious and paranoid. When something so small can snap you headlong down an uncomfortable corridor towards wishing to not exist, or at the very least, turn completely invisible. I feel like I�m skydiving towards the ground somehow unaware of what a parachute is, just know I need one and fast. There�s not a lot of poetic insight when this shit goes around in my head. I wish I could funnel or channel it somewhere though. In the past, it would have involved a lot of hideously murderous �music�, more noise and chaos than a song, or a blisteringly bad painting with more paint on the walls and possibly myself than on paper or canvas. I wish that I had a place to store those things for use that was private, but I don�t. I need to figure out what I�m going to do about my �living� situation someday, hopefully soon. I�m making plans for a little trip to visit a good friend in Georgia. It looks like August 9th is looking like a good possibility. I�m curious about the town, Savannah. It�s supposed to be very nice, and it�s one of the few schools that I think, offers a degree in sequential art? It�s always so intimidating to be around a lot of other artists though for me. I�m pretty much just an untrained doodler with little or no art education.
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