Wanderlust

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It’s 1 in the morning. I feel an inexplicably wild desire to photograph the world. The closest I can get to explaining it is via a tiny purple monster inside of me that’s smashing all the imaginary cameras in my heart, bellowing on about viajar, como yo quiero tomar los fotos en un otro lugar.

That sort of thing.

Creative obsessions are kind of awesome but torturous. It is both tiring and invigorating to pour every ounce of your all into furthering this abstraction/concept/thing and not being able to contemplate or do anything aside from it. Then you’re onto the next. Or not. Sometimes you have creative lulls where you just want to punch your way out of the creative rut.

I’ll paint something Ophelia-esque. She’ll be surrounded in a bed of roses that look no different from the rest; they’ll be beautiful, but meaningless.

East of Eden

east of eden

Lately I’ve been thinking of a book I’d read years ago that was such an utter mindfuck that, upon finishing the book, all I could do was reread the ending and sink into the couch and bawl a little bit. The book was East of Eden by John Steinbeck. I barely recall the plot, to be honest, but I remember the way I felt: enthralled (cringing at my use of this word, but it’s fitting) by its lurid prodding complexity and numb from all the philosophy.

Some quotes from the book I really liked:

“We have only one story. All novels, all poetry, are built on the neverending contest in ourselves of good and evil. And it occurs to me that evil must constantly respawn, while good, while virtue, is immortal. Vice has always a new fresh young face, while virtue is venerable as nothing else in the world is.”

But where does free will, or lack thereof, factor into it? Steinbeck weaves in the concept of timshel, that man ultimately exercises free will in choosing to do either good or evil:

“But the Hebrew word, the word timshel—‘Thou mayest’— that gives a choice. It might be the most important word in the world. That says the way is open. That throws it right back on a man. For if ‘Thou mayest’—it is also true that ‘Thou mayest not.”

On monstrosity as deviation from the norm; on normalcy as deviation from monstrosity. A reference to the monstrous Cathy, whose character was evil incarnate (so much so that critics described her as too flatly evil.) Interestingly, what Steinbeck describes is a feeling that many sociopaths may have: the unnerving sense that others have something they lack, something internal, a moral compass, a set of emotions, a conscience.

“Just as there are physical monsters, can there not be mental or psychic monsters born? Monsters are variations from the accepted normal to a greater or a less degree. As a child may be born without an arm, so one may be born without kindness or the potential of conscience.

To a monster the norm must seem monstrous, since everyone is normal to himself. To the inner monster it must be even more obscure, since he has no visible thing to compare with others. To a criminal, honesty is foolish. You must not forget that a monster is only a variation, and that to a monster the norm is monstrous.”

And this is just the tip of the iceberg.

There was no single takeaway from the book, at least, not for me. Its significance didn’t lie in the plot, but the themes. But maybe I say that because I’m not as familiar with biblical stories, particularly the one of Cain and Abel, which the novel recreates between the Civil War & WWI. At any rate, I highly recommend the book, especially if you’re interested in postwar fiction, philosophy, religion, ethics or literature. Or a book-induced mindfuck.

Hi!

So, er, don’t know if it’s meta to write about your blog on your blog, but in the past 2 days…I’ve suddenly gained hundreds of followers (?)


People are commenting on a post I’d written back in August on Writing. Not sure how it suddenly sprouted wings and flew far from my blogging terrain, but it has and, like–

Ah, I feel inexplicably tongue tied right now even though I’m typing. Guess what I mean to say is, well, hi! And thank you. Thank you for taking the time to check out my blog or read some of my posts or leave thoughtful comments. I’m absolutely abysmal at responding, but I always read them and they make my heart expand ten times over. So thank you for your kindness! And thanks for the follow.

This blog’s a space for art/writing/photography, rambles, journal entries, art projects, etc. Mostly it’s a personal and creative outlet. So…. welcome to my blog!

Good Ol’ Days Are Now

There is a moment in Bojack Horseman, an adult cartoon I recently finished, where one of the characters goes: I wish we knew when the good ol’ times were when they were happening so we could enjoy them then.

I have an odd little feeling that this might be one of the happier times in my life, and that I’ll miss it. I can’t say for certain–I can’t go into the future and look back to nostalgically decide how happy I was, but I am. Happy, I mean. Happy with the people in my life, happy with what I’m doing, happy to be where I am. I was pretty happy in… December, and then from February to April. Dipped into some weird existential haze come summer 2016, which would have been a sublime time to have watched Bojack Horseman. Instead I meandered aimlessly, sinking in sweaty bony skinniness and devouring Marukami, who made everything feel dreamlike.

Bojack would have been ideal to watch in the summertime. I’ve just finished all three seasons, rationing out episodes to one per night (generally around 2 in the morning). In terms of content, it’s deep, but doesn’t seem it at first glance. It’s little like treading into a pool that steepens from 3 ft to 6 ft: before you know it, the water’s up to your chin. The show is, to put lightly, dark, which is unsurprising given that Bojack’s depressed, mired in self-loathing, and manages to fuck up all his relationships. Yet it isn’t just a sad show: it’s funny, it’s clever, it’s deep and it’s strange. It’s whimsical. It’s meaningful. And it’s beautiful, in a weird funny way.

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Ironic to be watching such a sad show when I feel, in general, pretty upbeat. I guess it temper things, evens them out. At any rate, I’m grateful for the up’s in life, and if this does happen to be the ‘good ol’ times’, I’ll try my very best to savor the here and now. (This is my cheesy spiel)

Elegance

March 16th
March 16th, 2017

Am so behind on my Daily Drawings that I’m considering scrapping it & working on art pieces at my own pace instead. Only I’m afraid that that’ll mean fewer and fewer drawings, doodles, poems, etc., unlike I’m stuck in yet another creative rut.

I’ll think it over and, in the meantime, finish the 30 Day Writing Challenge I never did (whoops).

Deuces

baaai
March 6th, 2017: BYE, FELICIA

I wish you could break up with friends the way you do romantic partners. So instead of feeling obligated to drag on friendships long past their expiration date, you could say something like: hey, yeah, so you’ve draining and snarky and judgmental all these years. I’m not sure I like being around you, and it’d be real nice if you quit dragging me down. This isn’t working out. I’m finding kinder and stabler people to be in my life. Deuces. 

But then that’d start all sorts of shit. And ain’t nobody got time for that.