The Obscure

The fascist regime is taking the computer away from me. OPPRESSION!!
What am I gonna do now, sleep? God! Anyway, the Junior Deputy Mussolini-for-a-Day is taking away the modem now, goodnight everyone.

I like that I can spend an entire day feeling like I am bare inches from falling asleep and as soon as it gets dark out I get an energy burst and wanna start hanging out with people again, but everybody is going home; and I have to try and wind down cause I have friggin school in the morning.
I started working on a new comic idea today. Not new characters or artwork really, but a new kind of dialogue and stuff. I've been writing these comic scripts a lot that are more like... almost journal entries, with accompanying art and slight dialogue. They're just journal entries about things I think about, not things that actually happen. I think they are funny, I don't know who they'd appeal to though.
I've also started messing with this more fluid background idea, inspired by George Herriman. The background I drew for the One frame I have done so far for the script I got (haha, I'm a loser) is all trippy and stuff, I kinda like it though, that it can just be a lil' wacky and not make a whole lot of sense. Cause I mean, there are hundreds of cartoonists who'll draw characters against a white nothingness. I don't know, I am just realizing lately that I have been trying to make myself draw in a way that I don't want to draw. I've always tried to draw these really precise backgrounds (when I draw backgrounds at all, which is rare) and it always comes out looking like shit; so I'm thinking, maybe if I just draw these trippy, almost recognizable shapes in the background and give them some wacky colors with watercolor pencils (which is another thing I'm messing with again) I don't know, if it comes out in a way I like I may pop some stuff on here in the upcoming weeks. I've been feeling very inspired for several days now though, so here's hoping it woiks.

Ummm.... All is well in Johnville right now. Today is one of the days when I kinda feel good about everything, I don't know why precisely. Maybe it was just lack of sleep or something. Speaking of which, why the hell aren't I tired? Eh, we'll see how it is in an hour or so.
Anyway, I guess this is the end of THIS blog update, sorry it was all about cartoons, they're really on my mind right now. Goodnight folks.

Hey hey all, how is everyone doing this fine morning? I am doing fantastic, I tell you. I'm on very little sleep, I think I may nap this afternoon, but other than that I am feeling fine. I am real hungry though. Ravenously hungry. If only there were some Organ that I had, that might possess the ability to digest food in order to give my body nourishment. Alas, this is not a world of science fiction and fanciful "organs". Nay, this is but reality.
I started making myself do the one comic a day thing again today. We'll see how it goes. The comic I'm drawing right now isn't funny at all, because I didn't write any dialogue for it. It's just one guy talking to another guy. But I like it, maybe I'll have someone else write the dialogue. That'd be funny, maybe.
Anyway, I gotta go eat. Talk to y'all later.

This Guy won a friggin Pulitzer. Anyone with an opinion can get recognition now, even horrible cartoonists. I mean, some of the stuff he draws is KIND OF ok but to award a cartoonist of this writing and drawing caliber with a Pulitzer FOR the cartoons?! COME ON! Maybe he can write a good editorial article, reward him for that, not for this horrible display of poor cartoonery. It sickens me, it truly does, some liberal yuppie artist self-proclaimed political icon draws a few puffed up stick figures, inverts the colors and takes a few lines away, calls it artsy and gets national recognition. Go to hell, Ted Rall.

*edit*
Upon further examination, the comics where you forget that he got a Pulitzer for them, and that aren't political at all, are occasionally quite funny; if you aren't distracted by the idea that that artwork (terrible, though admittedly better than my own) got a Pulitzer. God, a Pulitzer!

*secondary edit*
Upon further further examination, there was about three funny comics within the two months of archives that I just read, the rest were just hack-job Doonesbury wannabes. I am enraged.

Hey hey all. I am feeling DAMN fine today. For the first time in a long time everything seems to be generally looking up, as far as my personal life goes; so henceforth (until further developments undoubtedly ruin it for me) I shall be happy because of the situations I am in, not in spite of them. Maybe both.

How is everyone doing this fine evening? It is so nice out that it looks like what my foolish under-developed central nervous system would usually classify as around 2 PM, while it is actually about 8. It is kind of disorienting to think about. I mean, try and wrap your mind around that--the fact that I am used to daylight being a certain way at a certain time of day almost makes me disbelieve time. Does that happen to anyone else? It just goes to prove how bent on routine the human mind is. I bet if everywhere were like northern Russia, with the white nights and all, Mankind would be extinct. It would drive us crazy, the unreliability would take a massive toll on us if it were on a grand scale, don't you think? Frankly I don't know how the Russians stand it.
Dirty Cossack.
 
I was trying to make myself draw a comic every day, for a while. I am too unmotivated though, so I stopped sticking to it like a week ago. I think I really only did it for like four days. It's annoying too, because if you actually DO that your skills grow in leaps and bounds.
I was talking to Tim the other day, and I realized how interconnected art (in it's every form) is. When I talk to him about drawing or writing (or whatever else it is that I try and do from time to time) and I try to give detail about how I feel regarding certain aspects of that particular art form, he just nods and says, "I feel the same way about guitar." (or something to that note). Because when you think about it: Creation of any sort is going to have the same problems, the same issues, and the same beauties as creation in it's every other form. Essentially because it is the actual act of "creating something" (be it a painting, song, book, etc..) is kind of like the Genus that all those things are in; the different classifications (i.e. Music, Fine Art, Writing) are the different species, sprung up from an initial single aesthetic, which is human emotion.
...And as it all boils away and the smoke clears, it is just evolutionary theory, permeating into my very consciousness. Damn biology class, Damn the public school system!
 
Forgive that paragraph, it was quite possibly the most redundant and unnecessary thing I have ever read, in retrospect.
Kiss me, I'm a very small portion Irish.
 
I had two cups of coffee today. It is remarkable how quickly I can abandon every effort to get healthy or grow further in scholarly pursuits or be fashionable or tap-dance or be an astronaut/princess/orangutan/philosopher/electric-rock-organ-player/chessmaster/bongo master/incredible Latino lover/space comet-living-pony-architect-John F. Kennedy, or whatever other massive school requiring death profession I have "wanted" to do in the past. Seriously, I plan on stuff and say I'm gonna do it and then two days later I destroy my life a little more, it's thoroughly depressing. It's like some people have mood swings, and I have Entire Mentality Swings. One day I want to be casual and laid-back and the next I am a bundle of nerves who wants to right long rants about communism and racial equality in northern Chile (How are the Chileans doing lately anyway? I have not heard from them in a while. One time I daydreamed that I went to Chile and started a revolution there, changing my name to Rodrigo Juavez. It eventually became WWIII after I assassinated this communist official who had been allying himself with China and Russia. It did not make any sense, all I know is at the end everyone was saying, "Get Juavez!" but no one knew who I was. I shot the communist Official in the head with a giant white handled revolver. It had a color picture of the Madonna on it, I said, "Via con Diós." and then blew his head open, and left my late friend's rosary beads on the chest of the Official's corpse.) Right now I just kinda wanna hang out and shoot the shit with people, what I "should" be like is the furthest thing from my mind. Does that happen to anybody but me? Do other people think about what they should or want to be like a lot, and can never really do it? Because, the other day (or week, or even month) I realized that I am now actually what I wanted to be several years ago, and I am still not satisfied. Maybe it is an adolescence thing. Am I still an adolescent? I cannot recall anymore, I do not know when "adolescence" is exactly, and Janet Rogers hasn't greeted me with "Adolescent creature!" in a long time.
 
I think it is about time this blog update winded down to a nice book discussion. Tim got me "Foundation" by Isaac Asimov, the other day (I am going to try and pay him back for it soon, but... I am poor, so who knows when it will be) It is really good, I am reading it pretty slowly cause I have not had uber reading time lately, so I am only like 150 pages into it. It is massively entertaining though. The way Asimov wrote it reminded me a lot of his short story compilations, like "I, Robot" was kind of one large history told in many smaller portions. It reminded me even more of the Asimov story from "Nine Tomorrows" that I adore but can never remember the title of where mankind merges with technology to become God. It was really good, it also told a large developing history by giving small portions of one time frame, then skipping forward multiple years and adding to the story with a seemingly almost unrelated segment.
"Foundation" is kinda like that, except the tales are all directly linked, each chapter is about fifty years apart though. It is really good, I recommend it to anyone who likes science fiction (I think out of all of us that is essentially myself and maybe Chuck).
 
I think I shall cut this blog update short now, though I will probably update later. I have an opened mind tonight, I do not know why exactly. My apologies for all bored or irritated with the words, phrases, sayings, allusions, or uninteresting-ness contained herein.
Goodnight, for the present, my loves!

I am an updating fool. I don't know why I update this site so often, I've given it a lot of thought. Initially I was afraid that it was simple vanity, I like to think that people have an interest in my life, right? But after more thought, I realized that ain't really what it is; I don't know why, I just know that I don't really think anybody wants to read this--if nothing else it is out of a sense of duty to myself, or boredom. I understand that, don't you worry.
Unfortunately, all this does is rule out one of my ideas, I still don't know what my updating drive is.
I had more to write on that subject, but I forgot. The eventual point was that I update my blog so much for two reasons:

Reason 1. To eat up time. I have far too much time and far too little to do with it. I have finished all the webcomic archives I read, and right now I aint havin' any engaging conversations with anybody and have nothing to read, so updating is all I have to do.
 
Reason 2. I need to get my own thoughts in order. I don't really know HOW I think about things till I tell people, and then the ideas just kidna pop out, so updating my blog is like a really cheap and affordable way of "telling people"
 
Reason 3. Poinsetta, P-O-I-N-S-E-T-T-A, Poinsetta. I win the national spelling bee.

More Tull, haha.
 

Wond'ring Aloud
 
Wond'ring aloud
how we feel today.
Last night sipped the sunset
my hands in her hair.
We are our own saviours
as we start both our hearts beating life
into each other.

Wond'ring aloud
will the years treat us well.
As she floats in the kitchen,
I'm tasting the smell
of toast as the butter runs.
Then she comes, spilling crumbs on the bed
and I shake my head.

And it's only the giving
that makes you what you are.

Hey everyone. I just popped in Aqualung and remembered that sometimes it gives meaning to my life. Hence, Wind Up.

Wind Up

When I was young
and they packed me off to school
and taught me how not to play the game,
I didn't mind if they groomed me for success,
or if they said that I was a fool.
So I left there in the morning
with their God tucked underneath my arm
their half-assed smiles and the book of rules.
So I asked this God a question
and by way of firm reply,
He said - I'm not the kind
you have to wind up on Sundays.
So to my old headmaster (and to anyone who cares):
before I'm through
I'd like to say my prayers
 
I don't believe you:
you had the whole damn thing all wrong
He's not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays.
 
Well you can excommunicate me
on my way to Sunday school
and have all the bishops harmonize these lines
 
how do you dare tell me that I'm my Father's son
when that was just an accident of Birth.
I'd rather look around me - compose a better song
`cos that's the honest measure of my worth.
In your pomp and all your glory
you're a poorer man than me,
as you lick the boots of death born out of fear.
 
I don't believe you:
you had the whole damn thing all wrong
He's not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays.

Y'all take care now.

ba-doo da-da-doo doodle-ee-oo do do, ba-doo da-da-doo doodle-oo do-do-do do
Take it away don pardo!
 
Hey everyone, how y'all doin' this glorious morning? As you may or may not have been able to possibly glean from my speech up to this (exactly THIS) point, I am doing well. I haven't had a cup o' coffee yet, I am going to start a pot now.
*coffee noises from the kitchen*
I am making the strongest pot of coffee known to man. Usually I make sure to just put in enough stuff, cause I don't wanna waste the coffee; but for some inane reason my mom decided to buy FIVE CANS of my favorite coffee (during the month I've been trying to stop drinking it, or at least cut down) so my life is complicated now. Thus, I am making the strongest coffee ever. More on that later.
 
Today, I became a Man. You heard me correct ladies and gentlemen. I don't know how, or why, or if it actually happened at all--alls I know is, I suddenly have a craving to read up on the stock market and listen to Easy Listening radio stations. If that isn't Manhood, I don't know what is.
 
This coffee is like drinking liquid lucidity.
 
Dude, every aspect of my life is like a soap opera. Maybe I could start a reality tv soap opera, we could just change everyone's names to Two Syllables and up, like Tim would be Timothy, and I would be Jonathon, and stuff. I'd just have Niles follow us around with his keyboard hanging around his neck in a travel harness and he'd add background music to whatever went on. As long as everyone cried once in a while, it'd be a go.
Yes, next thursday the 6 p.m. pilot for, "All My Ineptitudes" goes out on CBS, and you damn well best watch it.
 
I guess this blog update is now over. I should shave and shower and learn to tango and all the other things I have to do before I can start my day... but I don't think I'm going to. I like lazing around with coffee, it's my Thing.
Y'all have a good time wit-cha selves now, y'hear?

 Hey everybody, this new blogger thing is messin' me up pretty bad, it's fun to work with though. I love this song, it kinda embodies my mood now, don't ask me why.

Venus De Milo  
 
Tight toy night, streets were so bright.
The world looked so thin
between my bones and skin
there stood another person
who was a little surprised
to be face to face
with a world so alive.  
 
I fell.
Didja feel low?
No, not at all.
Huh???
I fell right into the Arms of Venus de Milo.  
 
You know it's all like
some new kind of drug.
My senses are sharp
and my hands are like gloves.
Broadway looked so medieval
it seemed to flap, like little pages
I fell sideways laughing
with a friend from many stages.  
 
How I felt.
Didja feel low?
No, not at all.
Huh???
I fell right into the Arms of Venus de Milo.  
 
Suddenly
my eyes went so soft and shaky.
I knew there was pain
but pain is not aching.
Then Richie, Richie said:
"Hey man let's dress up like cops
Think of what we could do!"
But something something
said "you better not."  
 
And I fell.
Didja feel low?
No, not at all.
Huh???
I stood up, walked out of the Arms of Venus de Milo. 

I ran into an old friend of mine today, he dropped out of school last year and has been living in Boston doing carpentry since then. It was so strange to see him, because he became an adult so rapidly. I remember he was the least mature little stoner I had ever met when I was younger. The last I really spoke to him before now was in like eighth grade, and at the time he was a real asshole. So he's been living on his own and working, playing the "adult" gig for a year or so now, and it is astounding to see how maturity has thrust itself on him. I mean, he's so different now; I never would have thought he would be the one out of all us kids back then, to grow up first.
It also made me realize just how old I am now. I mean, I'm goin' into senior year, in a couple years I'm gonna be the guy saying, "Man, I wish I was still in school, it was so easier then."
I may not say that, I don't know. You get the idea though. It's a daunting though, to realize that soon you're going to have to try and be a grownup. Man, how childish am I?
 
I want to go to A.C. Moore today, I have to get some supplies. I need some better paper and some calligraphy pen stuff.
That's all for today I guess, y'all have a good time being yourselves. Toodle-oo!

So I've been sitting here for three hours. I really should shower, but I don't really wanna. I wrote some stuff, but it sucked. Right now, I can see my drawing table stalking me, out of the corner of my eye. It's just waiting there to catch me, if I come too close it'll grab me in it's clutches.
Or should I go there willingly? Would it do any good?
Such is the life of the wannabe cartoonist. Try as I might to make something, nothing I like will come of it; but I can't just drop the idea, or forget the stuff I want to make. So what do I do? I sit here for Hours on end reading someone ELSE'S strips.
FAH!

Anyway, I'm gonna go shower now. Talk to y'all later.

I'm slipping back into old habits, here.

End of the line, folks. Today I realized a drastic thing, it's huge to me, so I gotta say it. Today, I hit the end of what natural born intelligence can do for me. Yes, it's true. No longer can I just sit around and do well on tests and barely skim by through school. There is a limit to how long you can go without trying to learn anything; and today, my friends, I have hit that limit.
That's a big deal. That means to do stuff now, I actually have to study a little bit. Oh well, it was a good run while it lasted, eh?

Uhh, nuffin is really goin' down right now ova hea'. I gotta take a shower I guess, I should probably do some laundry too, I've been wearing Ryan's pants for a few days now. I'm going to wash them though, and I haven't drawn on or torn them, so I think it's ok.

Y'ever think of someone else's poetry as like, about you, even if it's in no way refering to you? It's illusions of reference, really, when I hear a song I really like, I think of it like directly about Myself. Don't ask me why, it's just how it goes. Some kind of musical megalomania, there can't be something that doesn't in some way refer to me. Same with books I read, often times I think of them as a criticism of my own personal flaws. Like Dostoevsky just knew that in the year 1987, a really annoying hyper-active elf child would be born.

Egh, I'm gonna hit the showers nower, for half an hour. Y'all be takin care, don't abuse your power; feelin dour? make bread with flour. Before I shower I may scour the tub in which I smuzti-blour. I made that last word up, lost my groove. Toodle-oo.

It happens every few months. I put in an album from a genre I haven't heard in a long time, listen to it a little bit. And suddenly the world is a better place, everyone has a puppy--communism only exists in fairy tales, and everywhere, EVERYWHERE, people are dancing the La Coca Bongo.
What a thing to come from "Nevermind the Bullocks", eh?

How is everyone doing this fine morning? I am ok, but it is the shining beacon of Ok-titude. I am the epitome of emotional luke-warm-ness today. Which is better than usual, when I am less than ok. Or at least not as high a degree of ok, though still ok in definition.
Today though, I'm ok. Things are alright with the world, and for once in my brief, grocery store reciept-collecting life, I do not fear the iron curtain.

Tell you one thing though, geometry isn't a very fun class. I think I may have ADD after all, like all the shrinks said when I was younger, cause I tell you I cannot concentrate on NUFFIN. My history teacher just kinda says, "Yeah, read the book." to me, and then I pass the tests, but my geometry teacher keeps on trying to catch me not paying attention by asking me the answers to questions in class. And she catches me every time, because I am NEVER paying attention. Such is life, my life as John Colon, as I like to refer to myself.

Taylor stayed over last night. I shot him in the leg, then he broke an empty rum bottle and came at me with it, and I was forced to drop my TV on his thumb (a punishment hitherto reserved only for that rat bastard Tim). Howling in pain, he hurled his severed thumb at me; it reacted with the anti-thumb warpaint I was wearing, and the entire house erupted into flames.*

*some dramatization for the sake of entertainment

Welpity welp, methinks I shall hit the showers now, champ. Talk to y'all later.

Hey hey Mama, shake it I said, SHAKE IT!
How's everyone doin' tonight? I am doing pretty fizzbabblin fine. I was sleepy and such all day but I decided I'd risk an overdose on Aleve and Equate's take on Tylenol and break my coffee fast just a wee bit and have an extra espresso; needless to say I am awake and painless. Well, kind of painless. Awake though, that is undeniable. The caffiene shortage I have had lately caused a single espresso shot to utterly wire me. Wire, I say. So I'm all jittery now, but it's a welcome jitteriness. It's like putting on a well worn, vibrating pair of shoes. You know those orthopedic vibrating shoes? Yeah, just like those.
I think Sierra Mist is my new addiction. It is delicious, cool, and refreshing; it tastes like cucumbers to me, not to anyone else though. Another supporting trait for my Sierra Misty-Lust: it's reliably only 88 cents at Roche Bros. I can usually get 88 cents, whereas my other favorite drinks will sometimes cost like a buck fifty or something. Come on, a buck fifty? I can't hack that. But 88 cents? Aw yeah baby, we're in bizz-nass.

I aint got a whole lot more to shazz on about hea'. Talk to y'all later, and y'all be havin' a good night now, dig? Or I'ma cutcha!

Hey, I had a blog update on here, but I was a lil' uncomfortable with it after posting it, so I am deleting it, though I'm sure some people have already seen it. Seey'all later!

I'm SICK! Damn me. I don't know how but I suddenly got sick like ten minutes ago. I feel all congested and microwaved, like that horrible flu I had earlier on in the year. Beh, I dunno. I've only got one sick day left for summer school and I don't wanna use it up, but if I feel this way tomorrow there is no way in a blue hell that I'll be able to get up and go.
I'ma go lie down, friends. Talk to you later.

It's 2 a.m. and I'm still awake. I was supposed to be offline and to bed and hour and a half ago. I went offline, and I went and watched TV, and I went into the bathroom and did my nightly bathroom ritual. To be frank, I am exhausted; but I cannot sleep. I don't know why, there are just thoughts spinning endlessly through my brain tonight. Good thoughts, bad thoughts, thoughts that are somewhere in between, all whizzing around in there like cars on a mental racetrack.
Good things are coming my way, life is sweet and today I love it. Bad things are lurking around the corners, and tomorrow is terrifying--all futures are terrifying.
I used to look at art and judge it, talk to myself and say, "I like this, but I don't like that... This is ok, but this is a no-no..etc.." But now, I just look at it and picture the emotion the artist was feeling when they made the piece. You cannot judge it, because it is a form of expression. There is art that I would say is higher quality work, but none that I would say is Better, just stuff that I like more. It's all about expression, every trade, lifestyle, speech pattern... it's all about expression. You can take a canvas, paint a few criss-crossing lines on it, and if it is your expression, then I approve; regardless of whether it sucks, (which it, conincedtnally, probably does.
Goodnight.

Good morning sunshine, the earth says hello, you twinkle above us, we twinkle belooooow.

I HAVE NOTHING TO SAY HERE! *runs off*

Flames, fingers stretching out from the depths. I'm standing there on a razor sharp wire, stretched from one end of eternity to the other. I balance precariously over boiling liquid Chaos, one breeze could knock me infinite miles into damnation.
I stand there with a grin on my face. I blow a kiss to the setting sun, spread my hidden angel's wings, and fly off into the clouds.
From on high I look down, and I see all humanity spread out on that thin wire, there is nothing but an insignificant strip of metal saving them from corruption.
I was once like them, I think, but no more.
With that, I dive of my own accord into the fire, and forget this fragile life; and all around me, butterflies float up and kiss the trees. I smile up from my bed of down, and sing the song I heard so long ago.

Hey hey mama. MAN I am feelin' fine. SO FINE. Well, not incredibly fine, but fine enough for it to be noticeable when in comparison to a normal Fine-Level I would have at this time in this place.
See? I don't even know what I'm talking about.

How are all you fellas doing this evening? As previously mentioned, I am feeling fine. The aforementioned fine-ness knows no physical bounds, but I am sure t'would reach a limit at some point, if left no recourse.

Yeah, I'm sorry.

So I'm real sleepy. Reeeeeeeeeal sleepy. I am going to go to bed soon. Reeeeeeal soon. But tonight I'm happy. Reeeeeeeal happy. Everything is cool on Johnny's end, everything is cool on this guy's end. We both cool, we both kickin' it fly--there ain't no party like a nick cannon party cause a nick cannon party don't stop, dig? I dig, I just bought myself a shovel, and this shovel is the manifestion of sexy. This shovel is cool, he don't worry about nothin, he don't HAVE to worry about nothin'. He knows the path to righteousness. I asked him once, he said to me...
"If you have to ask, Brother, you aint Never gonna know!"
He dug a hole through time one day, he looked into my eyes and he said to me, he said things that I should've never heard, told me tales of things he should've never had to see.

I have to go now, my mother is calling.

hey hey fellas. How y'all doing this fine, fine, FINE afternoon? I am doing pretty magnificent. Don't ask me why today, of all days, is a good'un for me. But it is, dagblarnit.
Ok, so I have come to an enormous realization concerning my life in general. Wanna hear it? Well that's too bad, I was lying.
I got nothing else to say, my brain is devoid of all but coffee lust and throbbing pain right now. But I'm in a good mood! So it's all cool.
I gotta shower, I'm all gross and slick.

my body is falling apart man. seriously, I feel like pieces are going to start falling off of me. this coffee cutback is seriously too much; I think I may end up giving up. this is pure hell, pure concentrated hell.

forgive my bad grammar, making my brain stick things together rigt now is a little more difficult then usual.

I dont really got anything else to say, I just figured I'd give yall a nice evening update, you like evening updates, right? that's what I thought, dangblarnit.
I gotta hit the road, talk to you all later.

*Edit*
where da deuce leah at?!
Jimmy Joms: I'm spanish
Arinias: *gasp/* u r?!

(ten minutes later)
Jimmy Joms: yes, ¿you couldn't tell from my flawless spanish speecho el patternso?
Jimmy Joms: that question mark took me SO long to find

Another day spent in wasteful bliss. I woke up four hours ago, and I have yet to shower, or eat anything; I have yet to perform any action that might turn myself into a functional member of the human race for the day. I tell you, I love it. Today is the third day of my "One Cup of Coffee Per Day" thing. In consequence, I am unthragable sleepy. Been drawing today too, got some good stuff flowing, I guess. I have been making a comic strip a day for the past three or four days. Just cause I was reading "dave bort draw now" by, you guessed it, Dave Bort. He started out just forcing himself to produce a comic a day, and from the first to the latest he evolved into a massively good cartoonist. So I figure that's a good idea, you know? Just force yourself to make a comic a day, to hell with whether or not it's funny. Dig? Maybe I'll just try to make the story comics I think of, and say "To hell with whether it looks good, too."
Who knows?

Anyway, I'm gonna go... do that. Maybe. Or just go to bed. Have a good one all you fellas.

Hey hey everybody. I went to a Yankees Game in New York City today, it was friggin' awesome. Years of loathing the obnoxious "die hard" Red Sox fans I must constantly endure (anyone who reads this excluded, of course) has caused me to develop instant loyalty to the Yanks. Unfortunately for all of us, they lost. Fun times were had by all, except for one poor chap who got pegged in the arm like all get out, that young man didn't think it was too "groovy". Forgot his name. I never said I was good at watching sports, just that today I did.
Anywho, I've got imagine stuck in my head. Deal with it.
Also, I'm in a huggin' mood, so I am mentally hugging every last one of you right now. Goodnight!

John Lennon- Imagine

Imagine there's no heaven,
It's easy if you try,
No hell below us,
Above us only sky,
Imagine all the people
living for today...

Imagine there's no countries,
It isn't hard to do,
Nothing to kill or die for,
No religion too,
Imagine all the people
living life in peace...

Imagine no possesions,
I wonder if you can,
No need for greed or hunger,
A brotherhood of man,
Imagine all the people
Sharing all the world...

You may say I'm a dreamer,
but 'Im not the only one,
I hope some day you'll join us,
And the world will live as one.

This is the kind of night where you are loathe to be alone. Not alone in the larger sense, without romantic affiliation--that is something that one can do without, for a time; it is the mere solitude that gets you. I'm here by myself, wasting ink on a piece of paper that I will probably throw out within 24 hours. I'm here all alone, my friends have gone home after spending a day being irritated, ridiculed, and I think for a brief moment or two entertained by me. There is no one I can visit and no one really that I can talk to. My parents spend the twilight together in conversation watching TV, when I go join them I feel somewhat a stranger, invading the brief period of time in which they can be alone together.
Today was the day when I woke up and decided to cut back on my caffiene intake. This Fresca lacks the rejuvenation I require, and my body feels like it is made of a thousand angry bees, having an intense debate over the nature of religion in politics. That is a recipe for discomfort, bees and theology. It's like an insect Mass from hell. You know those insect Masses you are always hearing about? Well this one here, this one is from Hell.
I am a sacriligious insectologist, sue me.
My skull, on the other hand, feels like it is giving birth. Giving birth, that is to say, to a white hot living anvil; that is studded with razor blades... and is drenched in sulfuric acid... and the umbilecal cord is made of the very manifestation of Pain. Pure carnal agony in form of a writhing, fleshy, placenta soaked tube.
I'm generally uncomfortable to say the least, but on the bright side, I haven't yet vomited.

So I while away the time, slaughtering the English language in an attempt to entertain myself and (dare I hope?) others. Things will pop into my mind from time to time, things actually worth writing about.
Tomorrow I am going to a Yankees game in New York with the Engleys. Don't get me wrong, I'm no big fan of the Yankees. But I am no more a fan of them than I am of the Red Sox, or for that matter the Bangladesh Hootinaners (If only that wonderful team existed), it's all relative. I don't much care for sports, I go for the experience of being at a stadium in New York (I've yet to go to New York) and because every other friggin friend in our crew ('ceptin the ladies) has gone with Ryan to Connecticut and stuff already except me. Dagblarnit, I'm due!
Plus hanging out with them is fun in any case. I only hope I don't get carsick, or stadium sick. Or... sidewalk sick. That last one is the worst.

I guess I'm done here. In summary, I'm not having a very good day. I'm lonely, depressed, bored, and in horrible discomfort because of my whole... not coffee-ing thing. The latter infinitely worsens the first three. I'll leave you with that, because otherwise I will turn my Daily Update into repetative whining... at least, more so than I already have.

I'll never be a beauty queen, but I came to terms with that a long time ago.
Tim gave me a little sass about the Willie Dixon thing two posts ago, check the last post's comments if you wanna see his sass. I shall respond to it thusly.
The greatest blues songwriter of all time, he was. Aint none of us goinsta debate it. The question then lies in your perception of greatness. You see, I personally give more merit, as far as musicianship goes, to the person who writes the lyrics and notes to a song, then I do to the many people who may play said song. I know there can be incredible takes on a song that someone may write, and those are the exception (suchas Hendrix playin' Johnny B. Goode, or his take on The Star Spangled Banner; suck that, Francis Scott Key!) but I shall always be more impressed by he who creates than he who reproduces, and think it a higher show of musicianization, as far as blues musickary goes. Unless somebody does an incredible cover of it, I mean playing power is a huge thing too, don't get me wrong.
Feh, what do I know, I aint no musician.
Heh, spawnotary filmography.

BOOTY!

Anyway, I'm out. Seey'all later.

Hey Hey everyone, I finally fixed my computer. While I was fixing it I wrote a blog post for later posting, it's the post previous to this one. Yeah I know, I'm a loser. Anyway, I'm back after a maybe... two day(?) hiatus, which is a long time for me. I couldn't go online last night, so I stayed up all night watching really bad martial arts movies. Did you know Jet Li used to be called "Joan Severance"? It's true. The Black Scorpion II is the cheesiest, yet awesomest movie I have ever seen.
Toodle-oo buckaroos.

I have been working on getting this computer running for the past two days. The length of time that must be devoted to simply maintaining my mindless diversions (i.e. aim, blogging, reading webcomics; all those things I find myself doing merely to eat up the boring hours I must exist through) is appalling. In all seriousness, the idea of spending two days fumbling with DOS commands and constant useless installs, reinstalls, and uninstalls merely so I can type up blog updates for later posting on Wordpad while I run countless scandisks and "setups" that do absolutely NOTHING to rectify the situation--hurts me.
This is slowly eating away at my already deranged mind. Luckily I have the smooth blues of Willie Dixon in the background to take the edge off. There is a reason why he is called the best blues musician of all time; it's cause he was the best blues musician... of all time. Cosmic, isn't it? I mean, there is some good blues out there besides Willie, don't get me wrong, nay, I say; but it was he who wrote most of the blues songs that are played by the other blues greats, it's like... he was the cornerstone of the genre. Feel free to debate me on that, I'm just saying it because this record I borrowed from Tim is gorgeous, like music to my ears.
....man...
My ScanDisk has hit the halfway point! WOO! and it's only four songs into the record!

I don't know why I bother to tab in with every paragraph on this thing, they don't show tabs on Blogger, for some reason it don't computer ova dea'. It just seems like I am cheating otherwise, I do it in the "create blog update" thing too.
I got some new art supplies today. By "new art supplies" I mean a pack of mechanical pencils, a ruler, and some coffee. I also got a copy of the latest Cracked Magazine. I tell you, the humor in it is plum terrible, but the illustration makes me want to touch myself. It inspires me. There isn't a whole lot that inspires me, so that's a big deal.

My room is a trash-hole right now. It's not like you can't see the floor, you can see it fine, but you don't want to; the rug is all gross and dirty and sticky and... discolored. It's like walking on a giant pair of really dirty jeans. That a cat vomited on. And are covered with coffee and dirty socks.
Yeah it's pretty gross. I gotta clean it, I've been avoiding sleeping in there for a while now, I slept in Lena's room a few nights in a row just cause the only working computer was in there and she has cable, and we oftentimes hang out together at night anyway to watch "Aqua Teen Hunger Force" and buy Snickers Bars, or whatever it is we do, I can never really remember. Alls I know is, when we walk to the Rapid Refill station at 2 in the morning, we look like a pair of stoned hippie teenagers, and that's a look I want.
I was getting, on average, about 2 hours of sleep a night for the past several weeks. It began to take a real toll on me the other day, I developed this massive killer headache and couldn't really move, so I popped some codeine, put on sunglasses and chilled out for a little while drinking Pepsi and watching TV, all the while making a general stoned ass of myself. It was a fun time though. It's a good thing I've closed myself off from the drug-abusing social structure of my contemporary culture, because it's times like these that I realize just how much I like being intoxicated, and it's not good for me, haha. Luckily I have will-power, and the idea that my parents would stab me with a ballpoint pen if they ever found out I was getting high, so the best idea is to avoid the situation all together, dig?

You know I'm here, everybody knows I'm here
And I'm a hoochie coochie man
Everybody knows I'm here

Gotta love that Willie Dixon. I'm a hoochie coochie man, dontcha know it? If you recall (and lord knows I do) on a certain show I used to watch quite frequently at a young age, "Bobby's World", the Mom Character used to say "Dontcha know" a lot. It made my youth infinitely more enjoyable. That and all those free Pawsox tickets I used to get were the single most memorable things about my life till I was about 11. I never went to a Pawsox game, but I had the opportunity to about fifty times.

Weeeeeeeeeeelp, I'm going to hit the road now, try to install the modem software again *rolls eyes* I'll have some fun.