2001-06-11 6:43 p.m.
futurism's for me, hi diddle dee dee

my head hurts.

so many thoughts going through my head on a daily basis, so many notions and drooling points and reasons to sit down here and hit my keyboard...and somehow I haven't written in five days.

which isn't totally accurate. I haven't written on here in five days.

Dan and I are a different story. Four volatile little lava-bombs of comic genius burped out of us on Saturday, and they're hopefully only the first.

If I can only keep myself whole.

I'm back at work (after work at work now), and things have gone from silly to irritatingly ridiculous. What was amusing pap is now giving way to corporate shillery, the comics news being punted out of the way for collectors' statistics. How these people think this is a way to make money, I'm astonished.

I wanted to hit the couple of people who really wanted me back here, though I know they had good intentions. I didn't want to come back here. I knew it was going to hell before I was fired.

More to the point, though...I loved my time away. I was free, writing, bursting with ideas...which it isn't that I'm not now, but I don't want to try and be creative when I'm angry from this nonsense.

I want a blind woman to take me by the hand and tell me about her grandchildren that she's never seen, but seen a hundred times.

I want Ray Bradbury's phantom friends, who have long gone to dust, to tap me on the shoulder from a cold alleyway and ask for a hug, could they just get warm?

I want to go dancing and I want to meet someone fresh. Not M. Someone genuinely well-heeled.

I'm not perfect. I have a temper than can peel paint off of walls and shake scaffoldings where workmen wonder if Godzilla just belched. But it isn't me. This dull ache in my temples isn't me.

The peace I feel when I'm exhausted from idea-searching, from giving change to strangers, from walking so long and so far that my feet are red and raw but ready for more, from touching/sucking/licking/fucking someone for so long that we both tuck our erogenous zones away and curl up like baby mice in a nest...that's me.

Someone online said that 'self-expression' is wank, and only art that reflects the world is worthwhile.

Not true. Only art that reflects the self is honest. And if it reflects the world as well, then you have something.

Is what I'm doing art?

Nah. ;)