Let's not and say we didn't.

Was supposed to meet my mom at the hospital about now to offer support until she goes in for surgery. Various problems, including an inability to contact her, her friend taking her to the hospital, and my step-dad who might know what I need to know, have made this rather difficult. Never mind my headache which wants to be a migraine or my having overslept like a dumbass.

I feel like a total heel. This is only shored up by my recent inactivity with respect to school. Good God, Tavis is slipping. Can he turn it around? Can he make up for his mistakes? Fuck forgiveness. Can things be fixed--at all?

Small consolation, and likely a neat piece of mental defence: The aesthetics of disaster, destruction, and misdeeds have a certain horrible appeal for me. They are beautiful in their way. Thus do I marvel at myself, wondering at the neat little hole I am digging.

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For Every Problem, a Solution (4)

God as depicted throughout the ages. No Alanis Morissette, and, no, that isn't ironic.

An introduction to a book that doesn't exist:

Prose and verse are generally accepted as distinct writing formats with their own rules, styles, and grammars. Though their borders are somewhat vague, they have come to be seen as something of a dichotomy in the eyes of the general public. There are, however, at least 3 other popular approaches to writing as exhibited in picture-books, comicbooks, and plays. Though sometimes given short shrift, these styles are accepted as literature. They are included in libraries, book stores, and academic study. Most importantly, they are read. In the general case, there is clearly writing being done in the creation of any one of these. But what of the wordless comic or silent play? Should we consider scripts written, but fully realized plays, comics, and picture-books, to be performance, art, or some other kind of non-literature? These worries of theory are kinks to be worked out, surely, but they are not of immediate practical concern to the writer...

My room is a mess, my painting unfinished.

...and I still haven't found a good alternative to my scanner with its missing power-cord. Almost finished with this painting, though. I just need to put in a bus seat in front of and behind the passenger. Incidentally, the Seattle Metro buses have the ugliest upholstery I can remember seeing, and I spent five years working at a used furniture store.

Pointless Man

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