2002-06-24 3:28 p.m.
stars in my eyes

I was lying in bed on Sunday morning, and I heard two words jump out of my head, through my lips and into the air, two words I never thought I'd say:

"fuck comics."

The MoCCA convention was on Sunday, and instead of going, hobnobbing, sycophanting (as it would inevitably look to everyone else), and attempting to find a way in, an artist to hook up with, etc... I bowed out. Hung up the comics-fight gloves.

In a way, it makes sense. The drive to break in was always more D than I, and with him moving away, my own desires are held up in sharper relief to everything that's come before.

Now I'm researching writers' groups, because I need some outside help with discipline...deadlines, demands, criticism...a framework.

I'll be the first to admit that I don't know what I'll do when I have a finished novel or play in hand. How to find an agent, find a production company, hell, even get them copyrighted. None of that matters until the words are down.

Where am I in a rush to get to? That's a question I've been asking myself a lot lately. No answers yet, but I'm finding myself slowing down more, like lazy afternoons playing guitar on the SPICE House porch or late nights thinking and jotting down thoughts in my white room in Atlanta. I remember lying awake at night, unable to fall asleep, and watching the prefab stucco melt into starscapes...

(and people say I've already taken too many drugs)

...dreaming of futures, peering inside of people's heads, trying to understand what I'd read in the news.

I need to start reading neurological research. My understanding of how the mammalian brain works is infantile.

Strolling around the Mermaid Day Parade, I was wondering how S is doing. Well, I hope. Sometime I'll find out. It's not time yet.