Creative Output: nil

I find the most frustrating periods in my life have been where I cannot make anything both substantial and artistic. Plays, short stories, brief essays, comics, drawings. Cheap, little sketches that act as records of my fingers twitching do not fucking count. I don't mind overmuch that my output is not exactly prolific, but I would like it to be steady. Could do to buckle down and force things out, but I'm almost never happy with the results of efforts along those lines. Might be because I have trouble committing to such a program, but whatever. I don't do this stuff out of a desire for discipline.

Fah.

I feel so inarticulate when I set out to express myself in one of these moods, and it only gets worse when I try to do something creative.

I put it to you:

What is wrong with moustaches? Eh?

For Every Problem, a Solution (4)

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

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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