A few weeks ago, I woke up with a weird mark cut into my arm. I don’t know where it could have come from, but I immediately recognized it as a rune, from my old days of studying that kind of thing. Eventually, I figured out that its symbolic meaning is that of ‘self-revelation’, so I took it to heart. The faded scar is still on my arm, and I still don’t know what caused it.


You may have noticed, if you give a damn, that April Annihilus Awesomeness stalled. Badly. Life gets in the way. Life, and about a half dozen really fucking awful attempts that drive you so far into the ground with embarrassment that it takes a Herculean effort to climb back to the surface. I am, however, up to the painting phase of Page 7 in Coptopus Issue #2 – that’s just about 1/3 done, which is exciting as hell. I have stalled, but I’ve also felt weird and disconnected and antisocial, and I’ve been unable to pinpoint exactly why.

I took a 4-day weekend from work with the intention of doing incredible things, but I spent much of that fighting with Toyota (details in the previous post) and getting nothing done but worrying. Shakti visited on Saturday, and we hit an Indian buffet, and played pool at a local place which I just discovered called Iron Willie’s, which sounds like a gay bar. It was actually very laid back and completely enjoyable. We messed with horny guys on Chatroulette, with the aid of Shakti’s ample cleavage, and it was a great day.

I cashed in my Disney Rewards Points for a free Hannah Montana 3/4 scale electric guitar, which I eagerly await in the mail.

I was also hired on by Splice Today to write about art & design, which is super exciting also. I’ve become a bit disillusioned with writing about the world of collectibles while being owed about $2100 in back pay, so I’ve scaled back that particular gig. It’s a great avenue into accessing galleries pre-show and interviewing people I like. I question whether or not BEING an active artist qualifies me uniquely for the position, or actually serves as a bias that will prevent me from being a good reporter. Does it prevent me from working in the perfect vacuum which art is supposed to be created in, or will this exposure to more artists and design influence me positively? ‘Those who can’t, write?’ Is that how it goes?

So many of the creators I really like are tremendously inarticulate, but excel so amazingly at the visual aspect of expression. Trying to read anything written by Ash Wood is like decoding a dystopian-future version of the English language, where verbs and spelling have been completely eliminated from the lexicon.

Maybe there are no correlations except for the ones I impose upon myself by worrying too much.

And, unrelated, but this is the most amazing thing I’ve ever found. I’m guessing that it’s worth at least $600 – $1000 in the right market.