Somehow I shoved out chapter 70 yesterday. Here's hoping 71 doesn't give me such a hard time to-day. I hate when I get like this, especially considering how enthusiastic I was just the other day . . .

Last night I dreamt of a man telling of the mermaid society living near the centre of the earth where if a fellow wanted to change his clothes, all he had to do was peel off his skin to reach the outfit underneath. When I tried this (after the mermaid police had arrested me and put me in a cell) I found that the shoes inside my feet did not match, and that their soles were of different thickness, dooming me to hobbling about everywhere.

Ug. Having trouble concentrating to-day. I need to get out of here . . . I really do write better at Starbucks. This house is just too creepy and frustrating.

Blagh! I can't even concentrate on this blog! Grr. If I had some more money, I think I'd feel better . . .

I signed up for classes last night. Looks like I'll be taking British Lit, Japanese II, and the Acorn Review. These are all classes I"ve taken before, all with the same teachers, all in the same rooms. Ye-haw.

. . . ploah! Concentrate Sets! Please?

This is strangely a little like when I was first approaching Seattle, in danger of falling asleep, I actually started screaming at myself. But hey, it worked. I'm not weird, you're weird. Eh? EH?! Oh yeah, well . . .

Look at that, it's time to go.


"Is there anybody out there?" -Pink Floyd

I can't stop grinning when I look at this. She was really happy, as I recall. They seem natural together.

Some Kids . . .


Some kids ride bicycles
Some kids ride unicycles
Some kids ride racecars
Some kids ride aeroplanes
Some kids pilot fighter jets

Some kids are faster than you
Some kids know what you don't know
Some kids get applause
For eating glue
Some kids always know what to do

Some kids swing off metal bars
And fly into the sky
Some kids might run up to the stars
Some kids might just die

Some kids are taller than me
And some kids
Have more money than ye

Heaven sounds troups
And levies gifts in random pounds
Savage matters of fact
Simple doses of natural world

Having to take the walk
And go past the kids who
Do everything else you think;
"Did any kid ever do everything
at once?"

Suffer nothing and there's
Nothing to suffer
Having a nice pond and a koi
Some kids have nothing much
Some kids have everything anyway

I'm gonna see if I can get some more work done to-day . . . typed a lot up yesterday. I think I'll go at my notebook this day.

jane- sarcastic and artistic, you probably spend a
lot of time on the outside, observing and
commenting


Which Daria Character are You? (updated)
brought to you by Quizilla

What a weird collage my life's been of late.

Last night I went with Tim to the airport to pick up his family, who were just returning from Holland where his sister was playing in a soccer/football tournament. I marvelled at the surreal sight of hundreds of athletic young girls in ugly shorts carrying monstrous trophies and luggage surging past members of the national guard whilst Tim explained to his family that, whilst they were away, his other sister had stolen one of their cars and had had a law suit filed against her by Robinsons-May.

I forgot to mention yesterday that I saw a bald eagle while in Seattle.

Anyway. I think I'll stay in to-day and get some stuff done . . . there's a new page of Doll Merchant.

"Rode to Opelousas, rode to Wounded Knee
Rode to Ogallala, home I’ll never be
Rode to Oklahoma, rode to El Cajon
Rode to old Tehatchapi, rode to San Antone

Home I’ll never be
Home I’ll never be
Home I’ll never be
Home I’ll never be"

-from "On the Road" by Jack Kerouac

That's actually from a song, not from the book of the same title and author. I listened to the Tom Waits cover of it as I drove at night through the mountains of southern Oregon for the fourth and final time. It's fortunate I have so very, very many CDs, as I spent an awful lot of time, well, on the road in the past two weeks. When I left, my new car had about thirty miles on it. Now it has around 5800.

After that CD, I put in the Two Towers soundtrack, which ends with a song performed by Emilliana Torrini (lyrics by Fran Walsh) called “Gollum's Song”, and contains the lyrics, “And we will weep/To be so alone/We are lost!/We can never go home.”

And before the Kerouac CD, I’d been listening to a Black Heart Procession album I’d long been avoiding listening to because it had been given to me by Trisa. It also contained lyrics about never reaching home.

I had pretty much been choosing CDs at random, at times just reaching into my bag and putting in whatever came out. So by the time I got to “Gollum’s Song”, I wondered if this theme of not getting home was an omen of some kind. I was feeling sleepy, and beginning to feel sick from, I think, some onion rings I’d purchased at Burger King a little earlier. I wondered if I was going to fall asleep and drive off one of the dark, winding roads, falling like slumber into the silent air. I wondered if that would be a bad thing. In Frank Miller’s The Dark Knight Returns, Batman often seems to psych himself out before a tough battle by telling himself that “it would be a good death” if he lost.

Driving off a cliff in those spooky mountains, far from home, after two of the best weeks of my life would be a dramatic and interesting death.

Well, to keep you from suspense, I did indeed make it home. But that’s not to say the omen didn’t prove true. It did. In a variety of seemingly unrelated and gargantuan ways. But I’ll come to that in a moment.

After I finally got out of the mountains, I pulled into a rest stop and crawled into my back seat. And I went to sleep.

I dreamt that Richard and Cryptess were in the car with me, and that I was talking to them. I do not remember any of the conversation. It was as if wordless . . . it was casual symbiosis. I guess, in those two weeks, I greatly became accustomed to living with those two.

The first drive up, I didn’t stop to rest at all. I left San Diego at 10am on a Sunday, and I reached Northgate mall in Seattle at around 10am on Monday. About two hours before I’d told Cryptess I’d meet her there. It was eerie.

I waited, and read Edith Wharton’s Age of Innocence, and was able to concentrate on it somehow—incredible as usually when I’m terribly sleep deprived, I simply cannot concentrate on the written word.

But I grew tired of reading—I began to feel strangely anxious and energetic, perhaps having something to do with the six Red Bulls I’d frantically gulped down whilst driving, trying to keep myself awake (entering the outskirts of Seattle, listening to Sleater-Kinney at extremely high volume, I passed an exit for Sleater-Kinney road, which later turned out not to be an hallucination).

So I drew weird little patterns on my hand, and paced, and bought another coffee.

I’d been to Northgate mall before, when I visited Cryptess a few years earlier. I knew my way around, a bit. I felt, as I walked through its lofty, bright, vaulted main corridor, vaguely like I was walking through a museum of my memory or something—having a bit to do with that sense of timelessness that malls always give me. I felt a little like I was wandering an old stage abandoned by its acting troupe long ago.

But these thoughts went away when a guy who turned out to be Richard walked up and said hello.

We talked about things, and I told him about how I was able to concentrate on Edith Wharton. Then Cryptess showed up, and I watched the two of them discuss math and three pennies.

I had a very great time with those two. Stayed with them in their garage, which was part of Cryptess’s grandmother’s house. They made a mysterious meal having to do with rice and stuff-I-don’t-know-the-names-of that was anyway incredibly good. We watched and revelled in our mutual love for The Family Guy.

Both seemed concerned that I would rather sleep on the garage’s concrete floor than on the couch upstairs, where dwelt the Cryptess’s noisy, er, cousin, or nephew. I’m not sure which. But so tired was I, that I could really have slept anywhere. Oddly, even after having gotten some rest, this was a talent that I got to keep.

Cryptess was at first unsure if she actually ought to go to ComicCon in San Diego (as was the plan) because of her college. So we dawdled for a few delightful days in that city with its small streets designed, Cryptess’s dad informed me, for early twentieth century cars which made it so that now the city’s much employed buses could not pass each other without one pulling over.

What a web of streets. One morning, while Cryptess was at school, Richard and I tried to find our way someplace with directions containing such mystic instructions as “Take a slight left on Greenleaf”. It was some time before we determined exactly what a slight left meant. We also found that 46th intersected with 47th and that there were indeed plenty of roundabouts in America.

Richard’s from Scotland, and hadn’t seen before a lot of the things we saw in the two weeks. But on the road, he had a few reminders of home in the roundabouts and on the freeway, where he saw people speeding and passing on the right.

Ah! There’s so much to tell, I’m overwhelmed, and it’s hard, as I’m depressed at the moment. But let’s see . . .

Cryptess’s college is beautiful and grey and sells cheap TigersMilk bars . . .

Oh! And the college she doesn’t go to, the one downtown, was absolutely gorgeous and wonderful and I thought it looked a little like Buckingham Palace.

(listening at the moment to Elvis Costello and Tom Waits’ cover of Bob Dylan’s “I’ve Forgot More Than You’ll Ever Know About Her” it occurs to me that people are rather like old peanut butter and jelly sandwiches you’ve left in your desk drawer and forgotten about until they start giving off an obtrusive smell).

In a comic book store nearby, I purchased for Cryptess a Sandman Dream action figure, completely on a whim, as I was terrifically excited to see it--I hadn’t seen it in a store for a very long time (I hardly ever buy action figures for myself as I have nowhere to put them. Instead, I buy ‘em for friends who have shelves to put them on—I came up with this strategy when I realised one day that I spend a lot of time looking at friend’s shelves or piles of stuff).

Cryptess was a little taken aback by the gift—even though I told her it was a birthday present (an excuse of course)(and anyway she’dgenerously given me the Sleeping Beauty soundtrack earlier)(oh, her birthday was coming up too, I ought to’ve mentioned here . . .). I guess because shortly after arriving I’d deposited in her tiny arms several stacks of my old books. I also gave Richard my copy of Naked Lunch and a D&D book so it goes to show that friends are really great for offloading stuff you’re not using anymore.

Richard showed me the movies Battle Royal and, er, another one, produced by Oliver Stone, the title of which escapes me.

Battle Royal was a strange Japanese film about students put on an island to kill each other and the other film was about kids in Brooklyn who stumble into wacky murderous mayhem. Generally fun and/or interesting films.

And I introduced them to Mysterious Science Theatre 3000, which is an excellent show to watch with new people as, with all the obscure jokes made by Joel and the ‘bots, there are a few you never get that other people do, and vice versa. I’ve seen a lot of these episodes over and over again since Junior High, but they just never stop being fresh.

So, yes, we did decide to go to San Diego Comic Con. Bad traffic jam leaving Seattle and we stopped just before reaching Sacramento at about 1am, and got a motel room. Nearly seventy dollars.

“These things should be free,” I said to Cryptess.

“You say that about everything,” she responded with her pretty braces smile, and I realised this was true. I’d said it a lot, and it seems natural. Things ought to be free.

We left at noon or so the next day (we went to Denny’s after checking out)(gods we ate at a lot of Denny’s. As I told Tim last night, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to taste Denny’s again without throwing up).

(Now listening to Elvis Costello’s High Fidelity, and I probably oughtn’t).

Traffic thwarted us again in, of course, L.A. This town Richard and Cryptess found to be quite fascinating, and I realised, having seen now Sacramento, Portland, and Seattle, how exceptionally big and bright and sprawling L.A. county/San Diego county is. Richard and Cryptess were both reminded of Rouge City from A.I. Artificial Intelligence, which is a film they’ve developed an affection for simultaneously to, but apparently independently from, my own affection for it. Which was weird.

(Richard finished saying things a lot with “Which was nice”, strangely echoing a joke he’d told me. He also had a lot of stories that ended with “which was really quite unpleasant” and a grin)

(Speaking of Richard echoing things, a girl named Echo in one of the Denny’s fell in love instantly with his accent, much to his visible chagrin. That was fun).

Right then, where was I? Ah—we got into San Diego just after ten, in time for me to immediately take them to Grossmont Centre’s Barnes and Noble—one of my regular hang outs. Cryptess, who’d seemed nervous in L.A., now started to look a bit more comfortable (she bought a sketch book and a copy of American Gods to Be Prepared). Richard correspondingly became more nervous, and perhaps justifiably so, as we’d kinna left plans for their accommodations ‘til just that moment.

A while ago, they had checked on Yahoo! for places to stay, and had told me that there were absolutely no vacancies in San Diego county. We’d agreed that this was absolutely ridiculous, but, after the Barnes and Noble, when we were roaming about, going from one absolutely choked motel to another, we finally realised this might not have been so far fetched.

Of course, it was a dark and rainy night, which added to dramatic effect—it did not rain once, nor was their even so much as a cloud, for any of the time I was outside San Diego. Which led me to believe that weather had simply not been programmed for outside the region I lived in. Which is damned sloppy.

My grandmother wouldn’t let them stay at her place, so we were damned lucky when Tim offered his, as his parents were in Europe. Luck was definitely on our side, as, when I checked Tim’s computer later, it appeared that indeed, there were absolutely no vacancies anywhere in San Diego county, not even as far up as Oceanside.

Tim’s couch is as comfortable as a bed and he doesn’t believe me.

Comic-Con . . . was crowded. It seemed tremendously plausible, then, that there were no vacancies anywhere in 200 miles. But it was a good Con. Richard and Cryptess seemed to enjoy it far more than Tim or I. They were still scampering about the floor, meeting artists and porn stars while Tim and I were sitting on the floor near the bathroom, comparing spoils.

One thing I was excited to get was the free Maharajah Donald comic book which I’d read as a child and I quite loved.

But the only thing I actually purchased was a copy of the collected Optic Nerve, which I told Adrian Tomine to sign to Trisa, which is probably unfortunate as she, it turns out, never wants to speak to me again.

(Tomine, apparently, grew up in Sacramento. Having recently become acquainted with that place, I felt bad for him).

We were there for the third and fourth days of the con, so we missed a lot. We saw Jill Thompson’s panel on the new Death manga, and she sold three of us on it—on Monday I promptly purchased it. Cryptess and I read and greatly enjoyed it.

On Sunday, I saw two panels. The first was the CBLDF panel where I could have sworn Neil Gaiman was staring at me, although it was hard to tell as he was wearing dark sunglasses. In the hallway afterward I could have approached him, but I got nervous and tongue tied and blah.

(the CBLDF panel was fascinating and horrifying, by the way. Do see their website).

Shortly afterwards, I met up with Cryptess and Richard in the hall where Cryptess, spotting Gaiman, followed after, giddily entranced. In the ballroom I watched the oddly adorable scene of her approaching Gaiman.

“Hello,” said Cryptess.

“Hello,” said Neil Gaiman.

“How’re you?”

“I’m good. How’re you?”

“I’m good. Can I get a picture with you?”

“Sure. Is the camera ready?”

Then very nervous looking Richard stood back as Gaiman enveloped little Cryptess in his arm/leather jacket. He proved to have very red eyes in the photo later.

Cryptess was very pleased that day.

A few days and more than a thousand miles later, we were back in Seattle, watching more Mystery Science Theatre. I stayed for several days, during which time I finally got to have food from the Thai restaurant Cryptess had been raving about ever since I met her. It really is deserving of praise. It is also spicy.

My last day, we met Mel for breakfast, which she paid for. Terribly nice of her—a tremendous service to me for giving me real, non-Denny’s scrambled eggs.

And then I bid farewell to my friends.

Fifteen or so hours later, I was waking up at a rest stop at 3am, having dreamt about them, and noticing that I’d been sleeping on the belt from Cryptess’s coat.

The trip back went mostly smooth until LA, where a traffic jam extending all the way into San Diego County gave me the peculiar feeling that San Diego didn’t want me back. But I still made damn good time, pulling up to my grandmother’s house at around 3pm on Saturday.

Now . . . why I can never go home again. The first reason anyway.

Walking up to the driveway, heavy black bag in hand, I saw the top of an enormous desk, leaning against the side of the garage.

My desk.

The desk my grandfather had designed and built himself.

The desk designed perfectly for use with computer and office stuff . . .

I walked into the house . . . piles of my things in little islands everywhere . . .

When Cryptess and Richard and I had stopped by my grandmothers before, she’d been taking down all the lovely cupboards in “my” room, and my things had been all over the bed, and I had been, um, upset.

Well, now I was furious. And indignant and outraged and . . . gah.

The weird thing is that my grandmother was surprised that this angered me. Huh.

So I took a shower. My first in two weeks. At least the shower was still there. And I realised I still was not going to be able to sleep in my own bed that night, due to the strange man wandering around my most prized and previously private possessions with a drill.

One of those moments where you don’t realise what you’ve got ‘till it’s gone . . . I really loved this room. Also a moment where I realised anew that this is a place where I stay as a guest, and that it is not my home.

I went out for a while. I decided to go to Parkway Plaza mall . . . I guess that place is really the closest place I have to home. When my mother first kicked me out, I hung out there a lot . . . I guess because it hadn’t changed, even though the whole rest of my life had. Like I said, there’s a timeless quality to malls for me. Richard and I had had a discussion about how malls are kinna microcosms, their own self contained worlds. Apart from everything else . . .

I wanted two things there, two things that’d started to tug at my mind as I neared San Diego. I wanted a burrito from Rubios (all the burritos in Seattle tasted like microwave burritos) and I wanted to call Trisa.

Trisa informed me then that she didn’t feel like it would be a good idea for her and I to continue our friendship. Amongst other things, she’d been upset by the fact that in an e-mail I’d told her that I’d fantasised about killing her current male friend, as I had felt instinctually that he had usurped my territory. I told her that I’d day-dreamed about killing the man she loved, and it’d freaked her out. Go figure.

She said a lot of people had always advised her that I was not right in the head, and that she would do well to stay away from me. That was chilling, it’s true, but oddly flattering as I’m so accustoming to viewing myself as consummately harmless.

From the sound of things, what had began as a hiatus for the two of us turned into her making a new life for herself that I wasn’t to be a part of. Trying desperately to convince her that we could still continue our friendship, telling her I love her, and all that soul pouring goop, I realised that things had very quickly gotten to the point where I very simply did not fit in her life any longer. And that even though she has, as she said, affection for me, there was no place for me with her. Finally reading over her journal a short while ago, I realised this instinct was accurate.

Anyway, as she explained to me that she felt it no longer healthy to expend energy on me—sensing that I would never get better—she finished with a “I’ll see you later.”

“You will?” I asked hopefully, desperately.

“In a manner of speaking,” she said angrily. Then she said bye and hung up.

So I hung up, and walking through the mall, on my way to Rubios I noticed three new stores, and that the Disney Store had closed.

Home I’ll never be . . .

. . . and now I seem to be in Seattle, in Cryptess and Richard's. Ahoy and stuff. The trees here are gorgeous, and Cryptess is wasting time doing something called "math", and Richard is being "practical". What strange voodoo camp have I gotten myself into? There are weird magics, and I'm not sure if I'll ever stop being sleepy. Whatta drive!!

Or am I sleepy? Fact is, I'm not sure.

Departing to-day for Seattle. Weather's good, so's the current. Crew muttering superstitiously, but they always do.

Ze cat will not let me sleep.

Housesitting at my aunts here, where Macy the cat enjoys pouncing on my stomach just before I start to nod off. So I've finally given up. I've fed her, and now I'm making ready to leave.

There are supposedly two cats under my care, but I have yet to see the one called Sonic, who I remember as being a huge, battle-scarred fucking bull of a cat. He's the outside cat, and perhaps the reason I haven't seen him yet has something to do with the raccoon I met in the garage last night--the garage being where Sonic sleeps and eats.

The raccoon fled the scene when I entered the garage . . . almost. He stopped halfway through the pet door, stripey furry tail hanging out. I could already tell that he did not want to relinquish the sweet deal he had somehow determined this garage to be.

Finally he did go all the way out, but, after I waited for a moment, his head darted back in.

One look at me, and he pulled out again. I squatted in front of the pet door, looking at him, and he sat there looking at me. He released a frustrated sigh, and I mimicked him, which made him do a double take.

Complicated complexity stuffs I'm doing!

Oi!

To-morrow looks like it'll probably be the last day I'm able to sleep in. Saturday I gots to get up early to pick up my new car. Beginning on Friday, I have to housesit at my aunt's and feed her cat at precisely 6am for some reason. And at around noon on Sunday, I'm prolly leaving for Seattle, unless something stupid happens. Yahoo! maps says I oughta arive in Seattle before noon on Monday. I'm gonna meet Cryptess and possibly Richard at the mall. Such is the plan anyway. We'll see!

And now I have to go to work . . . this be mine last Thursday at the fucking place. I can't wait for it all to end. Saturday, it sure does.

"The talks have been shrouded in secrecy. The key figures involved have yet to be identified." -Reuters

There . . . The deed is done.

My car . . . is empty. I don't think it's been this empty since I got it. Even when it was being practically reconstructed after being hit by a green bug (driven by someone smoking a green bud, heh heh *cough*), it still, even then, had a buncha crap in the back seat. Well not now.

And gods, the nostalgia. At one point I became overwhelmed by the shear quantity of drawings I have accumulated--many dating all the way back to Junior High. Not just the massive stacks that I pulled from my car to-day, but also the drawers in my old desk that're filled to bursting, as well as those contained in bags, old backpacks, and large plastic storage containers. Don't even ask me what I plan to do with all of these drawings. There're a lot I'm not wholly proud of, but each one has it's own charm for me somehow, even if it's just 'cause it reminds me of where and who I was when I drew it.

I have to get up early to-morrow--eight a.m.--and I hope I can do it. I was thinking, as I was going through the stuff in my car, about how my alarm clock is kind of dodgy, and sometimes chooses not to work . . . when I found, buried under some things under the driver's seat, a combination calculator, calender, and alarm clock. So many random things in my junk, it's weird sometimes how things can turn up just when I need them. It's weird, in a way, but sometimes I feel like my junk is my caretaker.

I found some chopsticks too.

I'd better get to sleep now . . .

Cleaning out my car some more to-day. The task seems endless, yet I know I'm gonna need to finish before 9:30 to-morrow morning. I haven't even started on the trunk. Among other things, I know there's a VCR buried in there somewhere . . .

Some of the best things I found to-day: Neon Genesis Evangelion volume 11, Sandman volume X, and Mystery Science Theater 3000: The Movie.

Some things that had another effect on me: a green cigarette lighter, a broken Hello Kitty compact, and a tiger named Koohii.

Well, back at it . . .

What a day.

What a journey through the back of my car!

I found;

Tom Waits' Alice, Neil Gaiman's Sandman volume VI, the Marquis deSade's 120 Days of Sodom, and a sketchbook filled with drawings I'd forgotten about, many of which were actually illustrations for my novel. I think I may actually use some of them.

I also did a very strange page of Doll Merchant.

And now I'm very tired, so I shall sleep.

This promises to be a very busy week for me. I have to clean out my car for one thing, which I am most certainly dreading. But then again, who knows what that excavation might yield? I'll probably find shit I thought long perminantly lost.

What a beautiful episode of Farscape last night. I only wish I'd caught part 1 of the two parter, but who knows when the frell it aired, what with Sci-Fi channel screwing with us Scapers.

Now what shall I do first? I feel like just working on my novel . . .

"Even though my heart is aching
I should be drinking a toast
to absent friends
instead of these comedians."-Elvis Costello

This SHALL BE, unquestionably, my last Sunday at TJ Maxx. Hell yeah.

They already screwed me over, and tried to screw me over further--originally, I was told my last day would be the 11th. Now it's the twelfth. I noticed this on the schedule last week, and when I pointed this out to the manager, I asked, "So then is the twelfth my last day?"

"Well, you agreed to the fourteenth as your last day actually, since you quit on the first. But okay, the twelfth's your last."

This easy acquiescence seemed bizarre to me at first until I realised that this conversation--quoted above--was taking place on the first! Basically, it seems she had planned to keep me later and, knowing I have a bad mind for dates and such, use the excuse that my two weeks noticed began on the first. She was taken offguard by my bringing up the subject this early, so she automatically refered to her pre-planned view of reality, realising in mid-sentence that things had collapsed. So ha! In this battle of wits, I am the one who is victorious!

...

Walking through the mall as I often do, a smile and even, occassionally, a giggle comes over me when I notice Victoria's Secret's "Look, I'm topless but you can't see my tits!" ad campaign. The looks these women have on their faces is priceless. They seem to be saying, "This is the dead serious game of woman power, do not defy me, and I bet you can't see my nipple!"

While we're on the subject of ubermench (uberfrauline?) femininity in the media, I've realised that there are few things more glamourous for a woman than to appear in a Vagisil commercial. Seriously, those things crack me up. Something about the spanish guiatar in the soundtrack, the sensually billowing white dress hems of purity, whilst laughing, mature woman faces suggest to us that, er, difficulties in the genital area are adventures of the most profoundly romantic variety, and that they're all part of the sacred cycle of being mamma-little-girl.

People take themselves way too seriously around here, I swear.

Will Not See


Sterile swamp land
In the underground parking garage
Seen from the oil spot
Seen through binoculars

Drifting dense
Swelling sweep
Of feathers and dust
Through the air of fumes

Can see a flower here
Yellow, red, violet;
They’re all big around here

Nothing to see around here
But the waves
Of heat

Can’t see the sun
You were made for;
You’re misplaced

Misplaced and firmly
Stuck
In this place

Sterile swamp land
Where nothing grows, and grows fetid
Dripping ooze of white plastic

Twisting tails
Of lizards long dead;
All the animals are ghosts
And are not distracting

Can find all time
To think about
What you will not
See.

Will not see
That behind every pillar waits a man
Your men, and for you
They have knives

I think the most annoying thing is that I've got "All You Need is Love" stuck in my head, and the only words I know are the chorus.

And so things don't get better. They seemed to get worse.

I exiled myself to North County Fair yesterday. Where shall I go to-day?

Yesterday I bought Batman: The Dark Knight Returns and The Books of Magic. The Batman volume was extremely good. I stayed up reading it until the wee hours.

Now what'll I do to-day to distract me from my empty innards?

Well now.

I looks to my left . . . no one. I looks to my right . . . no one.

Okay. I think it's safe.

I don't mind telling you, now that we're a little more intimate, that I'm feeling heartbroken right now. Ain't I a stinker?

If you were (un)lucky enough to read my blog between 4am and 8am on Thursday, you would have seen a rather nasty post that I deleted when I woke up at 8 because it made me feel sick to look at it. I lashed out at people I know, and people I don't know. I was angry. When I awoke, I was ashamed and tired of listening to myself bitch.

The unfortunate thing is, I have reason to bitch. It's just that my malaise tends to be rather annoying for everyone.

I've failed someone, you see. I was not there for her. Boo hoo, right? Cry me a river . . . I'm thinking I would like to be one of the Berserks. Except it would be so passe, no?

I'm dying here. No I'm not. Yes I am. No I'm not. I can't decide.

Bottom line: Don't get mixed up with me folks. I'm stupid, and I cry a lot. If that's what you want, I suppose you're better off with that big guy from Goonies.

I wonder if things are reparable? I wonder if even a golden ticket for Willy Wonka's factory would help at this point.

On the positive side, I did get a lot of writing done on Thursday. Seems like that's the only thing that's full-proof . . . I go all crazy otherwise. Guess I really am a writer.

Speaking of, I did a new page of Doll Merchant.

Now I'm gonna try to sleep. As I mentioned, I only got four hours of sleep on Wednesday/Thursday. But somehow I think guilt is going to keep me awake. And just plain old sorrow.

"Well I get up in the morning and I'm looking in the mirror to see, ooo wee!
Then I'm lying in the darkness and I know I can't get to sleep, ooo wee!

Nobody loves you when you're old and grey
Nobody needs you when you're upside down
Everybody's hollerin' 'bout their own birthday
Everybody loves you when you're six foot in the ground " -John Lennon "Noboby Loves You (When You're Down and Out)"

You're the Cheshire Cat. Your mysterious aura and
your penchant for riddles keep your friends
guessing. You dislike staying too long in any
one place. Your advice is always sound, if
somewhat enigmatic. The sum total of this is
that people are always following you and you
just WANT TO GET AWAY!


Which famous feline are you?
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A while back, I got a nice surprise when Cryptess sent me a bunch of her drawings in the mail. This is one of them:



Just thought I'd share.

...

I haven't eaten yet to-day. Not sure what I want besides orange juice and coffee. I need to buy some bags . . . some kind of containers to use to move all the stuff that's in my car into the new car I'm probably/maybe going to get within the next couple of weeks.

When I woke up this morning one of the first things I realised was that I have simply made too many plans for to-day. They can't all possibly fit together. I'll just have to let them fight it out to see which ones get done.

I suppose I should get started . . . I do hope one of the things I do involves writing . . .

I need more time. I can't wait until I"m done with this job.

Not much to say right now. Been writing a bit, not as much as I'd like. I've been feeling restless . . .