Pointless Man

The world around us is in no way required to conform to our expectations, beliefs, or desires. Rather, it is all but guaranteed to disappoint us, at least once or twice a lifetime. The loftier (or more deeply felt) our ideals, the more this may be true. When we accept this incongruity and are keenly aware of it, but cannot change our thinking, absurdity steps in. T he world no longer quite makes sense. It is untethered from rational or moral concerns, adrift in a bizarre joke told by no one. Desire for normative order is often irrational and misplaced. Placing ethical constraints on amoral matters makes no sense. Yet these appear (sometimes, seemingly) inescapable conclusions. Hence the sensation of absurdity. We can apply these incongruous demands to anything and anyone. But this is not a universal philosophy. It is a philosophy of the self, a diagnosis.

Mindful concentration and earnest effort make health, safety, and creativity more likely, but there are no guarantees. Every plateau has a cliff. Each incline can become a decline. These paths require attention. When we traverse uncertain ground in the darkness, if the wind sweeps past, we may keep our feet or we may lose our footing and tumble down. When I requested February 14th off from work, I didn't expect to spend the day alone, you know. Now, it's just another day on which I should be doing chores. There is so much to do around my small apartment. It's almost amazing. But of course I realize, keeping our spaces clean requires persistent effort, as well. Still, t here are cliffs all around. Some of them seem treacherous, others quite comfortable.

"'Can I get a witness to all this poverty?' There's no need to, brother. Everybody can see," Joe Strummer sang, but I think he was sadly mistaken.  As I used to argue in non-defense of the G. W. Bush administration, the rich and powerful are so generally and fully ensconced in their rarefied territory, they are mostly unaware of the underclasses. Thus, actions which, with greater understanding, might be seen as intentionally evil, are merely ignorant (though arguably still evil). This helps to explain Bush's approach to Katrina, black people, the poor, public schools, and those foreigners he tried to help free with two wars in their homes; Catherine the Great's inability to tell that her tours of supposed Russian towns involved the same actors, playing the same roles, and using the same set over and over; Marie Antionette's "Let them eat cake;" the casual cruelty of roving gangs in Fist of the North Star 1 ; and Republican efforts to someho...

I mean it this time. For years now, I have intended to purchase something to protect my ears, my precious, precious ears, from noise--particularly loud concerts I am likely to attend with my friend, Noizetrauma. Once again, I have neglected this duty, exposing my hearing apparatus's to a four show set at Seattle's Neumos featuring noise-rock, industrial metal, drum and bass, and ambient drone. Clearly, this was a mistake, as I am now suffering tinnitus a full day later. However, I do not regret going. The opening set (by La Fin Absolute du Monde, an appealing duo composed of one talented, handsome, black, male guitarist, and one Asian, mood-setting, beautiful, and less talented female keyboardist/computerist/singer) started off laughably bad, but was short, and finished very strongly with a distortion-laden peon to breaking up. With some packaging (including better production and some voice training), this group could put on a good show. The second set (by the second of wha...

Problems with my computer require enough work to set me back from using it (and my scanner) for awhile. The upshot is most of my computing now must be done via my Kindle Fire--though I'm taking a much needed respite as I type this from a library PC.  As a gadget, this kind of tablet is cool.  As a tool, it ain't so great.  And, honestly, that extends to the iPad, as far as my experience goes. I can hardly wait for Microsoft Surface tablets.  I'll just need to find some way to scrounge up the money for one by 2013. As the comic says, "For every problem, a solution. For every solution, a problem."

I believe stupidity is a condition of humanity (much like tribalism or social drive).  I think the one thing that unites everyone is they're wrong about something (and probably most things, often for bad reasons).  I don't believe in the certainty or inerrancy of any proposition.  I believe people inevitably make mistakes (though no one mistake may be inevitable).  Perhaps as a result, though I am not above following others, it isn't something which typically appeals to me.  So, it's weird listening to someone who says a fair amount I agree with almost completely, as here . Or, in the case of Doug Stanhope , it's depressing and alienating.  Seeing Stanhope live was one of the most angst inducing experiences of my life.  It felt a bit like staying up 'til three a.m. alone doing nothing for fear of not being able to sleep, hating all the motherfuckers cozy in bed, but with laughter added in. Anyway. ... Sole has far better raps , music , and videos ...

'Leary' and 'wary' are synonyms. This does not mean you should combine them. 'Weary' means 'tired'. It should not be used in place of 'leary' or 'wary'. Stop raping your own language. It isn't pretty.

or, Tell Your Friends They Suck. With some exceptions, like this post, I think I've been putting together something pretty cool ever since I got back to posting in April. And yet, in all that time, how many people have commented? Six. Even if one in ten people who read this blog respond to it--don't ask me where I got those numbers, they're completely arbitrary--that would mean only 60 people have read anything here in three months. The rest of you not reading this don't know what you're missing. You make me cry angsty tears of almost justified sadness. I hate you all.

That is a signature I've been using for a while now alongside fingerprints, cursive initials, and my own singular style. No, not the giant, freaked out eye. The squigle in the corner. The eye speaks for itself, metaphorically.

Just a tweaked out copy of an old sketch run through Photoshop--all made possible by my crappy new scanner. Hoorah.

Having been conceived over ten years ago, it has long puzzled me that no other accounts of these events have been published. Yes, it was more than a decade ago when I first set out with my friend, JB, to write the story of the Beatdown Squad and its fateful encounters with that infamous Mass Murder Guy. We got so far as a rough script detailing the Squad's misadventures in a nameless prison--a tale which housed the origin of the Squad's interest in Mass Murder. After accomplishing an outline of what would follow, the project foundered. However, my involvement did not end there, nor did I cease involving others. I cannot say how many people I have regaled with the Squad's exploits, but surely it was enough for someone else to take up this task. The Beatdown Squad and Mass Murder Guy will not leave me alone. They insist their story be told. I cannot express how bitter their persistence has made me. Their demands can be resisted no longer. Well, fine then. In some measure of v...

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.

Lacking definite obligations should free up more time to do whatever one enjoys doing or feels should be done. While I have that time, I do nothing with it. I have never taken freedom well.

In speaking of Phonogram (which is excellent, self indulgent work, by the way), I mentioned how weird it was to realize 12 years had passed since I discovered Britpop, and to think on just how good and dead the scene was now. Whereas it had once been vibrant, canny, and full of promises, it seems mostly dated and silly in retrospect. I loved that stuff once, you know. Some of it still hits me. Well, I had one of those moments this morning before heading off for work. Different material, though. For some reason, I was thinking about late '90s J-rock. It's been about five years since I was avidly following Japanese pop culture in the form of manga, anime, and music. Anyway, I decided to check up on a few bands I remembered from back then. Luna Sea, Siam Shade, the Yellow Monkey. Broken up, years ago. All gone. No more. About the closest I've ever become to being part of a 'scene' was my time from '97 to '01 as an otaku, anime fanboy, or whatever you want to c...

So the size I'm looking for pumps the cost up somewhere around 2 or 3 grand for scanners. Shoot. I might be able to find one for just over a grand or so with a similarly sized scanning bed. But is the quality as good? I don't know. No review seems to care about reproducing original, hand coloured material. I don't give a fuck how good a machine is at digitizing a shiny photograph, a glossy magazine page, or a transparency from someone's lecture. None of that matters to me. They might as well tell me just how useful the box it comes in is when a kid's trying to make a fort in his parents' living room. God damn it. I just want to know how it handles regular fucking paper. How good is it for that? No reviewer seems to know or care. Why would anyone use a scanner on regular paper. Artists wouldn't have a use for that would they? Fuckers. I could, I suppose, turn to other artists already working in the digital realm, but most of them are just so intent on using P...

After a week of training a useless middle aged woman with no experience in coffee, customer service, casheiring, or food prep; after 10 days of work, including a 60 hour workweek; after dropping $75 to get my own computer back up on the net, I find my keyboard is broken, and I need a new one. The relacement must be a USB board, and must have a USB hub unless I want to buy one of those, too. So there goes a fair amount of that money I made doing loathesome amounts of work. I don't see the point.

No. Let's make that 6 days and 50 hours of work. Ah, heck, why not just make it a full week? Sounds fun, right? How about another seven days next week? Yay!

Last night, there was an electrical overload resulting in a blown out fuse, and a flaming outlet in my brother Devin's bedroom. He used a fire extinguisher and called the Seattle Fire Department. A truck showed up, they went inside, took out much of one of the walls, and decided everything was cool. So we all went back inside, and tried to get some sleep. Two hours later, I find I'm unable to sleep because Devin's roaring explatives downstairs. When I finally can't take anymore, I open my door only to be accosted by smoke, once again. Great. This second flare up was aroung 2 AM. So we call the FD, and they show up this time with five trucks, 3 command cars, two medic units, and some sort of back-up team in case anybody has been exposed to smoke. And the fire is serious, bursting out of my brother's basement room to lick the sides of our house. But it doesn't require all these guys. They're just there because their buddies fucked up. Then City Light shows up,...

Had a nice bout of drawing about a week ago. I made my kid brother's birthday dinner and cake icing on Tuesday. Outside of that, I can't think of anything productive I've been into in the last few weeks. Semester's over soon, so I got a change of pace coming up. Hopefully, that'll help me out a bit. It also means I've got some papers I gotta write pretty soon. Papers I should be working on now. Right. I'm looking forward to working on some art projects with my mid brother, before year's end. Hope to finally get some of my more recent comics scanned and up at my website . Put up a poor composition there that I've been tooling with in Garage Band. Just something to get me used to the program. Not like I'll know what I'm doing once I figure out how to exploit its features. >_> ... Been reading manga off the net recently. The names that have stuck out are those of Hiroki Endo and Yamamoto Hideo. Nothing groundbreaking in their art or layout...

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.