All the late night jams.
Both of my room mates are officially gone, so now I have no/less of a reason not to blast Django Reinhardt and dance around naked at four in the a m. When they left, they took all my towels and light bulbs with them. Cocksuckers.
Wednesday’s comic is up on time. “When is it too soon to draw yourself naked in an online comic?” I asked, but my professors had no answer, and also, it turns out I’m not even enrolled at Comic U., but in actuality some state school in Themiddleofnowhere, CA. (Wish you were her!)
"(brain)Freeze motherfucker, (brain)FREEZE!"
Strip numero two is done, actually before me and Siobhan have attended said Ice-Cream Social. I can only hope it is as exciting as the one I’ve imagined here.
You know the trick; to enlarge, click!
I’ve settled on “Another Journal Comic” as the strip’s title, unless something more fantastic (and subtle) comes to mind. Three panels took about half the time to draw as the six I did over the weekend, that’s math. I reckon I can crap out three of these 3x1 strips a week, Monday Wednesday and Friday. If I’ve learned one thing from the internet comic legends though, it’s that schedules are meant to be broken. I’ll post a new comic every time you clap your hands!
Strip the first.
This took me a lot longer than I thought it would. I can only hope that practice will turn me into an industrial comic making machine.
Click for a larger view.
This is me drawing myself.
Ever since I stumbled upon Drew Weing’s Journal Comic a few years ago I’ve wanted to do my own. The things stopping me were a general feeling of disappointment in my own drawing abilities, and more specifically my inability to draw myself. Well, with my copy of Illustrator from Abbey, and this sweet-ass tablet from Siobhan, I think I’m finally ready. Hello World.
Altruism has been linked to a part of the brain that we use to percieve the needs and actions of others. Score.
Never trust a man in a rainbow lab coat, with no goggles on, who is holding a lit magnesium torch, which he is slowly lowering into a large glass container filled with gaseous hydrogen.YouTube.
Such a wonderful mess we are.
My eyes hurt; specifically my left eye hurts if I peer too far in any one direction. Poking my eyes also results in an unusually painful pressure. I’m reading my dad’s copy of Man and Nature; Or, Physical Geography as Modified by Human Action, written by George Perkins Marsh and originally published in 1864. He introduces his book as a guide to the casual observer of nature. Buried in the footnotes is a verse I have trouble crediting.
In the material eye, you think, sigh lodgeth!
The eye is but an organ. Seeing streameth
From the soul’s inmost depths. The fine perceptive
Nerve springeth from the brain’s mysterious workshop.
I like it, but it brings me no mending.
Just next door to my eyes live the sisters temple. It seems more and more often I’ve been having very brief and sharp headaches, the pain centered on my temples. Lasting just long enough for me to bring my fingers up to my forehead, and then gone before I’m able to assign a likely cause. Such vagrant pains perplex me.
Abbey cut off the majority of my hair. In her garbage can lay at least three handfuls of me. Hair being made almost entirely out of protein, my body had assembled them out of the protein found in my food. The top quarter inch of those hairs wasn’t vegetarian.
We’re such messy machines, in such a messy intertwined system of machines, on such a messy spinning planet.
IN ADDENDUM: intermess.
Sit down, drag it out.
Back on the East Coast, and I’ve slept for maybe 12 of the past 80 hours. I know I haven’t been eating enough, or the best foods. My body has evidently been running on nothing but the joy of a homecoming well deserved.
I’ve played two shows, one in Flemington and one at the Ruckus House in upstate NY. Both times I was surprised by my own performance, and it seemed to me that the audience enjoyed the noises I made. The Ruckus Bucket show was, for lack of a better word, goshfuckingood. Incouciant dedicated their set to me, and I almost cried. I only broke one string, only made one finger bleed, and only got one gross blood-blister. If that was the last show I’ll ever play as Meat Machine, then I couldn’t ask for anything more. Well, maybe if some people were able to be there it could have been better, but logistics is no friend of mine.
I came home from the Ruckus Casa this morning with Guy, and bid him farewell as he dropped me off at Jon’s house and headed to the airport. I don’t like the idea of having free time in Jersey, when I had made so many plans prior to coming here. Jerks need to return my phone calls, jerks. Maybe I ought to just hitch a ride back to the Ruckus Fortress and spend the rest of the week there, in the warm embrace of that alternative time line.
C’mon jerks, let’s do something.