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| For the years that I have not had the time, but to casually pursue my artwork I used traditional mediums, my favorite has been pen and paper. When I was growing up I used Corel Draw and photoshop. I haven't really used those programs since... Oh shit, I've been too busy being bad that I haven't used this programs much in years! Using a graphic tablet and a computer setup will let me plan my designs while saving me time and not wrestling with my patience, like a pen. The inefficiency has to be overcome- if I feel inspiration to go back, then it will surely be for a piece of work that will be freaking awesomely impressive. Adobe, nice to see you again. Ball Point Pens, I love you, but Goodbye for now! | | |
| The first time that I was aware that I had met an angel, I categorized him under "psychic alien". I didn't really know what to think of the encounter, though I knew something about my reality would never be the same. The angel put in my mind thoughts that I thought I could avoid forever, but made them less than the expected suffering. The angel served God, and I served the angel in its human form. I took him out of the danger we had plunged into together, though he was my guide. I was scared, but I would not let us fall. I thought about where I was from, and how I had learned to survive. The angel in his human form did not relate well. but was himself protected from the fear, besides that which God instilled in him.
The next time I met a psychic alien I was more aware. I still did not know he was an angel. He was similar to the first angel that I had met, in some ways that are rather ridiculously funny in retrospect. Both of the angels I met fed me magic mushrooms. Yes, that is ironic, and at this point my writings might be disregarded as skewed trails of electrified consciousness, but that is okay. I have long abandoned any ongoing attempt at attempting to maintain a guise of sanity and normality.
Right, so the angels fed me mushrooms, and I became much like Super Mario.
...
You heard me.
I gained special abilities and whatever. I did not grow exponentially or get "mad ups" but I became more creative and fantastic, in the sense that I could live out my fantasies.
The third time I met an angel,
Oh fuck- he gave me mushrooms too!-
I had almost forgotten. It suddenly is becoming rather ironic that all of the angels have fed me mushrooms-
except one.
The last angel I have become aware of is a female in her human form. It disgusts me to think of what God would make a female angel for. At the same time, it is an arousing mental past time. To spend too much time passing, however, would make me and God weak. God wouldn't have time to create the world and gloat over it if ye who shall not be named was busy penising an angel. (Too often.)
Penising an angel is probably the bomb, and I would give the world to penis an angel.
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| What are you up to?
I'm lifing, how about you?
So many strange occurrences as of late. Yeah, the kind that you can't really share or everyone will pretty much think you are out of your mind. But I know it happened. I know what was said- even though the details get scrambled, I know because I know.
I know when there is a glitch in the Matrix, but there are so few that can help me wade through. It is thick up ahead, and if I slow down or turn around I'll be stuck in 2046 with thorns and dry branches creeping down my collar.
At least an angel found me, or I found it. It told me about the other angels that I had already met, and those that I would soon meet. It told me in a way that no one would ever believe me. This is how I wanted it, this is how I chose it to be. My love will never be the same. I see why I have toured through this part of the galaxy first, but I do not see where it is I am soon to go. I know the pain of uneducated suffering, and now I am learning about it again.
Where once I found my copy of the -epic- of Gilgamesh laying, I see only insignificant letters covering a gap in my creative genius. I purchase the cheapest of the tools, hoping that it will prolong the satisfaction of transcending into the digital universe that I have projected on my bedroom walls. The walls echo so I find company deep inside of my own mind, in the corners that translate only into oblivion and eternity. The words become more and more meaningless, and unfulfilled desire evolves into a priceless jewel as I grasp for anything, anything at all that will grasp on to me as well.
In one hand, I play the keyboard, and in the other, I type into it. The dichotomous non-dualistic melody harmonizes with my creation and purposes slip between waves, suggesting the matching pair of porpoises have more indication of a direction than I ever fantasized of knowing.
As I send a cry into the image of the universe, the reflection of my birth,
I wonder if a single soul exists,
besides my own to hear its consequence and fatality.
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| I'm slowly seeing myself take my art more seriously.. It is a gradual process. Today I am cleaning my roo and reorganizing my shit. Looking good.
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| You're riding on a wave in the ocean. You are floating on the mist, the spray.
Running through your mind, is your life, inspired by nothing less and nothing more than your life.
The exception is the change.
Are you the change that you wish for the world?
To be the change is to be the exception of the rule.
As a human being, to be the exception is to ride on the dangerous end of the wave. You have to take the pain of the risk to accept the thrill of the joy. Mommy and Daddy would not approve of the danger, nor would it be accepted by the mind of the masses who's minds are contently dedicated to survival. On the edge of the wave, propelled by the rush and by the power, you might even wonder if it is the wave that is chasing you.
You imagine yourself being eaten alive by the ocean,
What is the most worth regretting?
I regret not saying goodbye. I regret not saying, I might not be back. I regret not saying, I might not survive. I regret not saying, sorry I didn't make it. I regret not having the time to explain whats on my mind.
I don't need someone to explain this to. I need someone who just understands.
Understands- a person who claims thyself to be.. what exactly?
Change makes the impossible possible.
The very existence of the universe proves that the impossible is possible.
So why not dare to dream? Why not bring more impossibility into existence?
As the wave grows and the other surfers crash and dissolve into it, you, the exception somehow have managed to maintain your balance. You wonder if it is because the wave is chasing you, or perhaps you were just born gifted at surfing. Lost in the moment, there is no memory of whether this is your first time or you've done it before. While you feel like you are floating on the air you know that if you get overconfident, you will be eaten alive. There is no time to think, only focus to stay on top.
How many others collapse into the ocean?
More than you could count.
What makes you any different?
Many sheep ask this question with doubt and fear in their eyes.
All you can hear is baaaaaa.
The wolves ask the same questions with a wink and smile- they have heard the same questions more times than you. They are the wolves after all.
It is a mutual destiny.
With a snarl, and a glare,
you answer back through the cold winter, through the hot summer, through the spring
and into the fall.
"I AM THE EXCEPTION."
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