This shit is getting monotonous.
Every time I wake up, it’s the same old thing : objective reality EVERYWHERE.
I mean, would it kill reality to give me a little harmless recreational psychosis?
Actually… I guess it would. At that.
Forget I asked.
Red lantern district
I highly recommend a gay furry comic called Red Lantern,
Everything about it is top notch. The art is superb – every panel is a painting. And I know that might be mostly Photoshop tricks, and I don’t care, it looks fantastic.
The writing is incredibly good too, and that’s a minor miracle in and of itself. It is so rare to find high fine arts skills and good writing in the same place.
The characterization is rich and evocative. The characters’ personalities come through with great clarity and feeling. And I love the dialogue. The dance of conversation is rendered with great delicacy and precision, whether it’s conniving hyenas, mysterious and deadly lizards, or a jealous canine underling trying to undermine the admiral’s authority under a façade of professional outrage.
Face it, puppy doggo, what really makes you angry is not that the admiral is bad at his job, it’s that he’s amazingly good at his job without having to make all the sacrifices you made in the service of your ambition that turned you into such an unpleasant prick.
And I identify with our admiral protagonist on that score. My whole childhood I was resented by the keeners in the class because they sweated every test and studied their asses off and I never cracked a book and didn’t even seem to take school seriously and I got better marks than them.
And like I have said before, that is objectively unfair. It violates the labour theory of value. Why should I get for free what others work so hard to achieve?
I did everything wrong. I was unorganized, unmotivated, unambitious, and unfocused. While they toiled away in ways I can barely imagine, I just wandered here and their like a moonstruck child without a care in the world.
That’s got to be pretty fucking galling.
That said, I refuse to feel guilty for it or apologize for my gifts. And I am never going to pretend something was harder for me to do than it really was.
Like my hero Isaac Asimov, I will be equally honest about the fact that I am incredibly intelligent as I am about the fact that I am clumsy and clueless.
So yeah, screw you, guy who can’t stand that the admiral is a damned good leader without having to be an uptight cunt like you.
And pretty god damned sexy, too.
Give it some thought and you might just find that real leadership is about dreaming, not screaming, and understanding, not imperiously commanding.
To me, that was the big lesson of the famous book, “How To Win Friends And Influence People” by Dale Carnegie.
Everything that book teaches comes naturally to us soft and sensitive types who are normally considered completely unfit for the world of business.
Turns out we’re perfect for it.
Who’d have thunk it, huh?
More after the break.
Simmer down now
Once more I have to realign my energy state from the intense and energetic engagement of playing my current video game to the more contemplative and introspective vibration so I can write.
I know I had like a dozen different topics in mind for what I would write about now but I can’t remember any of them and even if I could, I would probably consider them old news by now and want nothing to do with them ever again.
That’s why I don’t write the ideas down. Once they are captured in words, they are dead to me and I have to move on.
My need to express myself is so strong that it won’t even let me express the me of five minutes ago. The me that wrote down that idea is dead and gone, and is now as gross to me as used Kleenex.
I have one weird muse.
To be honest, I am still trying to figure it out, and I think I will be doing so till the day I die. It is the central mystery of any true artist’s life and their true religion as well.
It can be like dealing with a magical goblin like Rumplestilskin. You give it what it wants and it will spin words into gold for you.
But it won’t tell you what it freaking wants! Goddamned riddles.
To be honest, though, I know what it wants. It wants to be in control. It wants to be able to inspire me and have me jump into action to create what it inspired me to create. It wants to be able to express itself as easily and freely as humanly possible.
But so far, that has been far too much to ask of poor lil ol me. A life like that would be far too jarring and chaotic and unpredictable for me. I would not be able to stand not knowing what I would be doing or where I would be going at any given time.
I feel the prickly heat of panic in my forehead and on the back of my neck just thinking about it as I type these words.
I am not built for that kind of life. Maybe if I got to the point where I felt calm and secure enough to relax and be comfortable, I could indulge my muse that way.
But I would need a lot more material security before that could happen.
In other words, money.
Enough money to get my own apartment and create my own space tailored to my own needs and tastes where I can feel truly at home.
And a job of some sort to generate that money, of course. It would do me a lot of good to finally feel like a part of society and not merely its ward.
I want a real life, god dammit. Not this shadowy farce of illusions and mirrors and tiny little puffs of smoke.
I want to do things that matter to me.
But I’m all broken inside.
And it hurts so bad.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.