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I'm in a perpetual phase of transition which doesn't seem to be phasing out.

Sunday, March 30, 2014

No Time for Godot

Life moves forwards in what seems like such predictable, unchanging, repetitive patterns. Yet every day I feel a little smaller and a little older. Like the world is growing around me and I'm shrinking. And I've gotta stay current.
Gotta stay with it.
Can't just lay in bed under a rock.
I want to be immersed in it all with complete detachment. I want to understand things in society without having to go through them...I guess that's why there's television.
I want to seem rebellious without misbehaving.
I just want my little spot in the world to stay quiet but to never feel completely underwhelmed by the absurdity of everything.
I want to know the world at it's face value and a little more, but without having a committed relationship to it.
I don't want to pretend like death doesn't happen. I want it to just be a part of why everything is hilarious to me, but I forget about that part sometimes.
The part about how everyone seems in a hurry to some sort of finish line.
And  at the coffee shop people are always straining their necks morosely downward into some little flat box they have in their hand that they're grasped in a protective sort of way close to their bodies and I wonder if the world is nicer inside that little box...if the future chiropractor bills are worth it for the sake of escaping into the void of relentless information. Maybe people dance there in public and don't care like little children who don't have crippling self-consciousness yet...maybe the people standing in lines in reality escape into those boxes so that they can forget that life has become mechanical.
Or maybe they have business to intend to, important matters involving suits and numbers and things beyond my understanding of the world and the way it works now.

Friday, March 21, 2014


We celebrated my bestie Joshua's 35th birthday the other night. I asked him what animal he wanted me to draw as his gift (because I'm broke, ya'll) and he said a ferret. About a week before this, we got together with the third musketeer of our crew, Bridget, to discuss Joshua's wild recent visit to South Africa for a wedding. He said he spent some time in a town called Kloof.  Bridget pointed out that it sounded like a weird bodily function, and I followed that up with the declaration of "kloof" as the term for a penis fart. We are super mature. 

Naturally this was the drawing that was produced for his birthday (unfortunately by the end of the night it was soaked in beer and whiskey and various other fluids and got all tore up...that's the first time I've seen 2 am in ages, holy hell.): 
Why, you might ask, is he French? Why would he not be?