I’m making this entry free to the public because I can’t imagine anyone would pay for it.\u00a0<\/p>\n
I’m going through a bad time right now. I had a terrible dream sometime this morning that caused me to oversleep. Then I made the mistake of watching Pollock<\/em> with Ed Harris, a movie I love and have seen before, but which cast a very sobering (no pun intended) pall over the day. I forget on a regular basis that the artists I admire led very painful lives and made little to no money. I confuse the lives of artists to whom I look up with the idea of their lives in my own mind, when these things could not be more different. I judge my own lack of success against the huge impact an artist has had on my life. That doesn’t make sense on any rational level.\u00a0<\/p>\n Once the movie was over I sat motionless for I don’t know how long, one shoe on, having intended to get on with the events of the day but possessing not even the desire to put on the other shoe. I can’t convey properly the futility and malaise I feel. There is no point to anything.<\/p>\n Ten years ago I was turning out page after page of new material. I was surrounded by friends who encouraged my efforts. When I wasn’t drawing, I was plotting out stories and hammering out ideas. I had a network of friends that I could bounce ideas off of. Now I feel like such a bothersome burden that I don’t even want to type this. I can’t imagine why anyone would care what I have to say, or what I think. I wonder why I should even bother to speak out loud anymore. I can count the times I’ve laughed this year on a single hand.<\/p>\n I’m tired of living like this and I wonder if it’s just my time to fade out. The “pandemic” did its job and destroyed interpersonal relationships. Literally everything I enjoyed about life and being an artist has been ruined. I belong nowhere. I don’t get inspired anymore; I just try to pull something from the shell that was my life and hammer it into a saleable object, before I watch it sit on a shelf and not sell. It’s extremely difficult to satirize pop culture or current events when you don’t really care about any of it. Nothing I have created will endure after I am gone anyway. It seems silly to keep at it. I’m not even angry. I’m just tired.\u00a0<\/p>\n Already I am predicting the callow reactions to this entry. Why wouldn’t I just “be a man”, “suck it up” and keep going? Haven’t I dealt with “hate mail” since high school? Well, that’s the problem. I can handle hate. I like<\/em> hate. It’s honest. It’s indifference<\/strong> I can’t take. And for some time now, indifference is all I’ve known. Nothing I create matters unless it makes money. That’s reality. And brother, I don’t make money doing anything.<\/strong> I am as useless as tits on a boar. I could drop off the face of the earth at this very moment and no one would give a shit. The work of every artist that ever inspired me could disappear forever and no one would give a shit.<\/strong> Don’t kid yourself.\u00a0<\/p>\n The terrible dream I had earlier, which felt so real that I wasn’t moved in any way to wake from it, involved going to some labyrinthine shopping center teeming with people and actually purchasing a new Transformer, a favorite activity of mine that it’s been literally years since I’ve done. Somehow I had the money to buy a gigantic box that contained a Transformer so huge that I had to spread it out onto three tables to assemble it. His name was “Anarky”, which I’m aware is both a DC and a Quake III: Arena<\/em> character, but resembled neither, and was instead a colossal six-foot robot that would transform into an utterly enormous WWII bomber plane. I was agog.\u00a0<\/p>\n As I set about putting the thing together out of literally thousands of small pieces, customers began to pass by the tables upon which I was building it. Many of them began to pick up pieces and look at them, before placing them somewhere outside of the arrangement I’d been organizing. At least half of the robot had taken shape on one table, and was so large that I could no longer lift it. Kids started swiping pieces I had carefully laid out. I tried to shoo them away as I still<\/em> unwrapped new parts from the original box.<\/p>\n The new parts felt different. They were soft and rubbery, like dog toys. When I looked closer at them they weren’t parts of the robot at all. They were cheap models of what I suppose were intended to be buildings from The Simpsons<\/em>, complete with cheap decals of the characters, drawn sitting inside. Noting my confusion, my friend showed me another sheet of instructions from the Transformer box, stating that the robot’s other leg had yet to be rendered, and that I would have to wait another day for the leg parts to arrive. It was some sort of mix-up at the factory, and the cheap Simpsons<\/em> toys were some kind of consolation gift.\u00a0<\/p>\n The dream makes no more sense to me now than it did while it was happening. I thought typing it out would make me understand it more, or feel better, but it didn’t. It was just something that confused me into thinking I was normal for a few short moments. That life had some kind of point, for me. It doesn’t. I don’t know what the point is in anything anymore. I’ve never felt more selfish about the idea of taking time for myself, or creating. In the end nothing about my life will have mattered or made any difference. Before yesterday I lost an entire day. I thought it was Wednesday. It was Thursday. The food pantry was closed. I lost a day. What day it is hardly seems to matter. Eating hardly seems to matter. I eat to survive for another faceless day, in the hopes that things will improve. I don’t think I can fool myself into hoping anymore. In my heart, I feel that things will only get worse. They always do.\u00a0<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Thanks for your time.\u00a0<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" I’m making this entry free to the public because I can’t imagine anyone would pay for it.\u00a0 I’m going through a bad time right now. I had a terrible dream sometime this morning that caused me to oversleep. Then I made the mistake of watching Pollock with Ed Harris, a movie I love and have … <\/p>\n