I woke up from a dream of dancing. Filled with grace and joy, I could only express a kind of jerky willingness to participate.
I went to the Brooklyn Public Library today with my wife for the second time. We looked for books on the history of New York to help her write her latest paper for school. There were some books that had won awards and some books that looked outdated. I was curious about all of the books, I wanted to have read all of them and know what the titles meant, but I didn’t want to actually read them. I mean I wanted to, if I had all the time in the world, but I wouldn’t make time to, because none of them were written in a way that resonated with me.
I finished American Gods today. Four days. I just had to know how it turned out. Not so much a page turner as just a book that really spoke to me and so I just pushed everything to the side to read it, like how I do when friends come to visit. Just wiped the desk clean, so to speak.
I had a beer on the way back from the library. A belgian trippel at a place named for a saint near Bergen Street. Yum. We are going out for burgers for dinner. And I have no money, but fuck it, I actually do have some money. I was going to pay bills with it but I’m sure this is more important. Fuck bills.
I was thinking today that I have to stop identifying myself as a waiter/server/bartender. I have to allow that shit to fade out. I don’t want to pick up the mantle of professional dealer with manic old men who write books, but at least that would be a step in the right direction.
I am an artist!
I love Hyperbole and a Half and miss the comics so much I am thinking about making my own. Here are two drawings I tried to do of me calling my grandmother, which I had written a post about before deciding I was too bored to post it.
And then I tried to draw more like Allie because hers are the funniest.
Here’s my first attempt at “Go to the Motherf*cking BANK like an ADULT”:
And then my second:
It would definitely be worth it to get a mouse. The trackpad is really starting to give me arthritis. Especially when writing the words.
I’m pretty sure this is infringement of copyright or something, so Allie if you see this I would be honored to hear from you, even if it was just to tell me to take it down, which of course I will!
This is my first post with pictures in it. Don’t know why I feel the need to say that.
Hm…shit is this copyright infringement? I mean, Kurt Vonnegut and Thoreau don’t care if I quote them, because they’re DEAD now…but what will Allie think? Ah fuck it, not like she’ll see it.
But anyway I’ll probably keep trying to draw like her for a while, and not post it, and then eventually draw something sort of like her but sort of like me. That’s how you learn.
I wrote in a little notebook that I won’t let myself write because deep down I don’t believe it’s worthwhile. I accepted that and wrote a list of things to do, little things I am supposed to do somewhere down the line. And then I got up and did them. Three hours later I feel great. Weirdly great. Like I took an antidepressant or did a line of cocaine.
Maybe I should just accept that I’m a practical person instead of trying to make myself into an artist.
Readability Index: Slightly Readable
Yesterday I met the people from Pretty Things Brewing Project, at least I think that’s their name. They are brewers who don’t have their own brewery. They are doing pretty well. Their beer is pretty good.
While I was sitting in the little class we had I thought, their working so hard to produce something that’s going to be consumed and then gone. This is not an original thought, of course. The same has been said about wine and food and whatever else. Graffiti in a way.
But it really struck me as appropriate for humans to make art that is transient. To make something that can only be enjoyed once. It’s like life.
Smart me. On that note, a lot of blogs I found last night had first posts that said a lot of the things I have said throughout my blog, in pretty much the same way. We are all the same people really, with the same thoughts, all thinking we are original. Someone said, “All I have is my subjectivity.” Because though we all are very much the same, there’s .01 percent of our makeup that differentiates us from everyone else.
It’s good to know that we are all the same, because if you want to know how someone else is feeling, you can pretty much find out by thinking about how you would feel in that situation and you’ll probably be right. Like when you’re at a party and you meet someone, you can just assume that whatever you feel, they feel it too. In the sense that if you’re nervous, they are also nervous. At least, I’d like to think it was that way. But one never knows. And there are people more confident than others. But what is confidence really. Do they feel nervous and cover it up better? I don’t know. I guess we’re all at a loss to deal with other people because we only know ourselves, and it is that universal at a loss-ness that makes us all the same and pretty much on equal footing.
There’s a Polish writer, or there was, named Witold Gombrievicz or something like that. He said, “Everything I see is filtered through a unique Gombrieviczian filter…” or something like that.