There are hordes of people who have something that they want to say, but just don't know how to say it. They're politically, religiously, emotionally, spiritually, intellectually, sexually driven beasts with ideas that evade the elegance of language. They don't necessarily have novel ideas, but they have thoughts and feelings about particular issues, nonetheless. So they remain stationary, the ideas rumbling through their minds like a summer storm. They either go insane or they reach out to someone who shares their ideas and has already written them down.
What do you do if you have the will and the drive for words, but the well of ideas has run dry? Many of the ideas you contemplate are already written down by someone else, and they've accomplished this feat far more competently than you ever might have. Soon, you stagnate. I can just imagine a puddle of still water in the middle of the road following a brief shower getting stomped on by neighborhood kids. The water goes stale. It just lays there and waits for evaporation.
The most agitating advice for pen-blocked writer is "Write what you know." What if you don't care about what you know? What if what you know is uninteresting? Or what if you strive to attain Socrates' wisdom by acknowledging that "I know that I know nothing"?
Then I was gifted with the best advice that anyone could possibly receive:
"Shut the fuck up and just write." It doesn't matter what you write, it doesn't matter who reads it, it doesn't matter if it lasts throughout the ages like a tale from Shakespeare or Homer, it doesn't matter if you like it, it doesn't matter if other people like it. If you write enough, you're bound to come up with at least one diamond in the mess of worthless pebbles. If you don't, do not despair: the process is what matters most. Just enjoy yourself. If you're not enjoying yourself, then get the fuck out of it and find something that you do enjoy.
"...memes should be regarded as living structures, not just metaphorically but technically." - N.K. Humphrey
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Candid Comics Continues!
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| Comic #30 |
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| Comic #31 |
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| Comic #32 Prelude to several comics to come! |
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| Comic #33 Contrary to popular opinion, panda bears CAN and DO cry. |
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| Comic #34 (Protip: If you're thinking about drawing a camel, DON'T. They're goofy-looking animals that are a pain to draw) |
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Button-Pusher
"Where do you work?" "What do you do for a living?"
The answer is always more complex, more important, more interesting than the reality of the situation. Local news station. Computer graphics operator for the news shows. I try to dumb it down by saying that I'm just a button-pusher. That's what I do. I push buttons. This is easier than explaining exactly what my job entails.
It always feels like there's pressure to buff up my social status when I answer this question. What you do to make money is a part of your identity. It defines who you are as a person. Just like your choice in couch and matching love seat, the car that you drive, the clothes that you happened to wear that day, the way you style the hair on your head, how you paint your face, if you have the updated iPhone 4 or a flip phone from six years ago...
"Ooh, you work in the news? That must be exciting!"
I watch people die every day. I listen to the stories about political and religious fundamentalists gagging the airwaves with their trite comments on how things "should" be. I air updated photos and information about child molesters. I see the most depraved individuals running away and getting caught. I help report the latest death tolls from tragic incidents as mere numbers on a screen, but give a face to the most recent celebrity gossip. I see when a man and his son go missing on their fishing trip, the search and rescue team briefly seek out their bodies, and then end with a shrug, figuring that the bodies will turn up at some point. I see when a police officer or trooper or soldier go missing on their fishing trips, the search and rescue team ceaselessly combs the region until they are found, deploying every search team and vehicle imaginable.
No, not exciting. I just push buttons.
I'm a button-pusher.
The answer is always more complex, more important, more interesting than the reality of the situation. Local news station. Computer graphics operator for the news shows. I try to dumb it down by saying that I'm just a button-pusher. That's what I do. I push buttons. This is easier than explaining exactly what my job entails.
It always feels like there's pressure to buff up my social status when I answer this question. What you do to make money is a part of your identity. It defines who you are as a person. Just like your choice in couch and matching love seat, the car that you drive, the clothes that you happened to wear that day, the way you style the hair on your head, how you paint your face, if you have the updated iPhone 4 or a flip phone from six years ago...
"Ooh, you work in the news? That must be exciting!"
I watch people die every day. I listen to the stories about political and religious fundamentalists gagging the airwaves with their trite comments on how things "should" be. I air updated photos and information about child molesters. I see the most depraved individuals running away and getting caught. I help report the latest death tolls from tragic incidents as mere numbers on a screen, but give a face to the most recent celebrity gossip. I see when a man and his son go missing on their fishing trip, the search and rescue team briefly seek out their bodies, and then end with a shrug, figuring that the bodies will turn up at some point. I see when a police officer or trooper or soldier go missing on their fishing trips, the search and rescue team ceaselessly combs the region until they are found, deploying every search team and vehicle imaginable.
No, not exciting. I just push buttons.
I'm a button-pusher.
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Guts (Or the lack thereof)
I’m tired. And I’m angry.
And I’m tired.
I stamp out the cigarette under my foot. It smolders for its last breath. Its black guts spilled out. I watch as it takes its last breath and the smoke dissolves into the humid breeze. I feel nothing for it.
I watched a woman get swept away by raging flood waters on the TV. I watched while she screamed for the last time. I watched as she thought her last thoughts before her lungs filled with water. A man stood by and recorded her death.
That water couldn’t have been very clean.
I watched a man get beaten to death on the internet. I watched as men in black uniforms decorated with gold badges kicked him. I watched as he convulsed from the electric currents pumped into his flailing body. I watched as he screamed for the last time. I watched as he called out for his father before his lungs filled with his own blood and his face swelled. A man stood by and recorded his death.
His hospital bills must have been expensive before succumbing to the injuries.
I’m tired.
And I’m angry.
I’m mostly just tired, though.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Limbo.
Five in the morning and already the air smothers me. Sun peaks beyond the cloudless horizon and the sky is in that weird transition between night and a new day. Not blue. Not black. Not anything, really.
I look up. Dried leaves rustle in the light breeze. I can see the translucent dawn between the bug-eaten holes of leaves baked in summer sun. They sway to a tune I cannot hear, to a rhythm I cannot groove to. A friend falls now and again to its concrete doom.
How is it this hot already?
I can’t help but feel like there’s some secret I’m missing out on. When the birds chirp, the wind rustles the leaves, the cicadas screech, I feel out of the conversation. I’m sitting in the middle of dozens of people, all talking about the same thing, and I’m completely out of the loop. They don’t include me in this conversation.
So I sit and listen. I strain to focus on the main theme.
Lives consumed by the three “f’s”. Every chirp, rustle, screech, and death of a leaf are directly linked to one of the three “f’s.”
Fighting.
Food.
Fucking.
The former greatly influencing and affecting the latter.
It probably wouldn’t feel so hot if it weren’t so damn humid.
There’s got to be more to it than this. Is there a deeper meaning? A code that needs decrypting? A secret buried beneath the obvious? Maybe even a practical joke?
Five in the morning and already the air smothers me. The sky’s in that weird transition. Not blue. Not black.
Not anything, really.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Atheists are Vampires (don't ya know?)
Atheists are vampires. Revealing this truth puts me in grave danger, so why would I lie about such a thing? I have infiltrated the atheist hordes in my local community for a couple of years now, and I have been diligently taking notes along the way. Sure, there may have been moments where I may seem like I’m having a blast, agreeing with their views and drinking myself into oblivion, but this is the front that I must display if I want to get anywhere in my observations of these creatures of darkness. With this knowledge, I hope that you, dear reader, will be capable of destroying, once and for all, the devilish bloodsucking fiends posing as mere atheists.
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| No, I said atheists, not douchebags |
The following are signs that have led me to this terrifying conclusion:
- Their natural aversion to crosses and other things Christian-affiliated: I think this one is pretty obvious. Declaring that you don’t believe in a God is an excellent diversion to this glaringly obvious sign of vampirism, but it just doesn’t cut it. Why else would they be so hostile towards the notion of prayer and crosses in public places? I’ll tell you why: because they frequent these public areas and they don’t want to be drawn away from the crowds (where all of the delicious God-fearing folk frequent). If crosses and prayer are in their vicinity, they are incapable of penetrating the flesh of the masses. These Godly symbols hurt them and weaken their powers. Protect your family and friends from vampires and lobby for more crosses, prayers and exorcisms in public areas and facilities more often! We have to cover every square inch of land with reminders of our faith, or all will be lost to these carnivorous creatures.
- No reflections: Despite the fact that atheists espouse certain qualities of humility by pretending not to be so self-involved with their physical appearances, this is simply an excuse to shy away from mirrors in public. They will lie to you to ensure that you don’t notice that they bear no reflection in mirrors. In reality, they are quite narcissistic by nature, but to hide the reflectionless truth, they will declare themselves as humble folk. Some others may take a slightly different approach and openly declare their narcissistic tendencies, stating that they know that they are good looking, so they need not gaze upon themselves in a mirror. Do not be deceived by either tactic, my Christ-loving friends, for they will do anything to deceive thee.
- Most active during the night: How often do you see an atheist in the light of day? Have you ever seen them out in the park with their families? How about at the Olive Garden on a Sunday afternoon? Exactly. They hide in the cover of nightfall. During the day, they sleep in their lairs with the windows blocked with tarp. The pubs that they hide in just prior to dusk are good covers for their fiendish activities.
- They consume copious amounts of blood: Like all vampires, they feast upon the blood of the innocent, the nectar of mankind that gives life to the wicked. The fact that much of this blood consumed originates from bottles that look much like liquor and beer bottles, and sometimes wine, is a clever disguise of the atheist/vampire’s part. No, my dear God-fearing brothers and sisters, that is not the wholesome brew, Bud Light, that you and I are familiar with (in a totally moderate sort of way, mind you). Look closely, past the very similar bottle design, and you will notice that it is indeed labeled “Blood Light,” a drink of choice for those Godless heathen blood-suckers. Others include Blood Moon, Gorona, Killer High Life, Samuel Adams Succubus, and Mike’s Hard Cranberry Lemonade (I actually am still unsure about the last one, but am convinced that it cannot possibly be the type of booze that normal humans would consume).
- Another method of sucking the blood of their victims while maintaining the appearance of humanhood is when they act as though they are complete sluts. They hug and kiss so many people in a seemingly loving manner, often doing so with giant smiles plastered on their immortal faces (the sick bastards). What looks like ravenous, insatiable hunger for the flesh of others in the manner of romantic love or sexuality is actually in the manner of their violent urge to maim their victims and steal from them their life force. This so-called sexual deviancy is their mask and a ticket into the lives of those naïve innocents, drawn in by the sinful carnal pleasures of the flesh.
- Their seeming infinite amount of knowledge: They prefer to portray themselves as nerds or dorks in order to hide the true origin of their plentiful amounts of knowledge. They act like really smart people, but my theory is that they are really of average intelligence. They just have been able to accumulate a vast quantity of information throughout the centuries of their existence. They once had to completely disguise their wit and knowledge for fear of being ostracized for their nerdiness, which made wooing their victims a little more difficult. However, now that nerds are the “in” thing, they have been freer about disclosing their views and all of the information gathered over the years.
- If you stab them in the heart with a wooden stake, decapitate their head, or burn them alive, they die: Sure, they probably react to these methods of termination pretty similarly to the way normal humans would. However, why would you want to take the chance of not doing so and risk keeping alive forever a nerdy know-it-all with a penchant for gore (they say it’s just that they enjoy the Left for Dead video games, but can we be 100% certain they aren’t practicing and preparing for their upcoming blood bath?). The longer they survive among us good, God-fearing people, the greater the chances that more of us will become their next victims to their unexhausted willingness to convert Christians into vampires using Satanic techniques like “facts” and “science” and sucking on the blood of the living.
Candid Comics Returns!
Following a temporary setback due to a heinous case of strep throat, I've been searching for my funny bone amidst the rubble that is now my weakened body. I located it last night in the form of a Cracked.com-like article that I titled simply "Atheists are Vampires," inspired by three cans of cheap beer, a long night of mind-numbingly boring work, and vegging out to a horrid Wes Craven vampire movie (I know, which one, right??).
After fleshing out the article (to be posted after this blog post), I grew bored once again and searched through the book-lover's massacre that is my car's backseat for something to read. Out of the dozen or so books tossed nonchalantly in my car over the past several weeks of starting a new book and then moving on to the next, there was one that caught my eye. Blink, by Malcolm Gladwell, was sitting there so lonely, batting its sad baby blues up at me from the crumb covered backseat floor of my Suzuki SX4. Why not? I picked it up, dusted it off, recalled with a tinge of guilt that this book belonged to a friend and that I've "borrowed" it for nearly a month now, and carried it into my place of work. I noticed that there was a large bookmark I was using for it, which is not unusual in itself, but that there seemed to be drawings on the inside of the folded page.
It had been sitting in my car for so long, the edge of the page had melded with the slightly melted glue that sustained the book's structure, acting like it was to be a part of the book. I carefully tore it from its roots and opened the paper. Holy shit! It was a comic I had drawn about a month ago! I thought it was pretty cute, and I remember that it made one of my friends laugh when I let him read it (I always like letting someone read it for a chance to see if it's funny to anyone else but me prior to posting it online). I haven't drawn a new comic in the past week or so (which is a real long time for me), so I decided to cheat and make this one my newest comic (number 24). Luckily, the type of comic it is, very short and straight to the point, inspired me to create the next three or four comics. Right now they're in the planning stages (i.e. - on little yellow post-it notes and in my noggin), but they will be coming shortly.
Now, without further ado, here are comics number 23 and 24. Enjoy!
After fleshing out the article (to be posted after this blog post), I grew bored once again and searched through the book-lover's massacre that is my car's backseat for something to read. Out of the dozen or so books tossed nonchalantly in my car over the past several weeks of starting a new book and then moving on to the next, there was one that caught my eye. Blink, by Malcolm Gladwell, was sitting there so lonely, batting its sad baby blues up at me from the crumb covered backseat floor of my Suzuki SX4. Why not? I picked it up, dusted it off, recalled with a tinge of guilt that this book belonged to a friend and that I've "borrowed" it for nearly a month now, and carried it into my place of work. I noticed that there was a large bookmark I was using for it, which is not unusual in itself, but that there seemed to be drawings on the inside of the folded page.
It had been sitting in my car for so long, the edge of the page had melded with the slightly melted glue that sustained the book's structure, acting like it was to be a part of the book. I carefully tore it from its roots and opened the paper. Holy shit! It was a comic I had drawn about a month ago! I thought it was pretty cute, and I remember that it made one of my friends laugh when I let him read it (I always like letting someone read it for a chance to see if it's funny to anyone else but me prior to posting it online). I haven't drawn a new comic in the past week or so (which is a real long time for me), so I decided to cheat and make this one my newest comic (number 24). Luckily, the type of comic it is, very short and straight to the point, inspired me to create the next three or four comics. Right now they're in the planning stages (i.e. - on little yellow post-it notes and in my noggin), but they will be coming shortly.
Now, without further ado, here are comics number 23 and 24. Enjoy!
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| Comic #23 |
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| Comic #24 |
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Candid Comics
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| This was a test drawing of the comic characters I created. |
Here are the last several comics I've made since the last time I've posted. Enjoy!
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| Comic #16 |
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| Comic #18 - In case you can't read the book titles, the first book is C.S. Lewis and the second is Richard Carrier's Sense and Goodness Without God |
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| Comic #19 |
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| Comic #20 |
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| Comic #21 |
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| Comic #22 |
Monday, May 16, 2011
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