Seven Minutes In Dreamland

I actually fell asleep during an art critique today. This was definitely not a good day to be awake. Luckily the teacher didn't say anything, though she must have seen me. I was probably asleep for no more than seven minutes, but somehow that was enough to keep my head from hitting the desk for the rest of the day. I suppose it's just as well, since I didn't actually have many nice things to say about most of the work that was up. I'm such an asshole that way. I think I even dreamed a little while I slept.

Holy Mother of God, please let this semester end faster. I would like to put myself in deeper shit next semester by taking harder classes as soon as possible, please. kthxbi

On the PLUS side, I finished a couple paintings. Go I.

I Am The King Of Carrot Flowers

Reading over my last post, I realized that my analogy is completely batshit. I have no idea where the shit I was going with that, and how it was supposed to relate to my original topic.

But whatever. I'm practicing for the real world.

I've suddenly been exploding paint all over canvas lately. It started with a few colors, and now somehow it's vomited out a theme and these faces and figures keep appearing under my brush. I'm pretty ecstatic; except for a bout with acrylic a year ago, I haven't been able to finish any serious paintings. Now suddenly I can't stop and I'm worrying about running out of canvases. At the moment I'm working on No. 3 and No. 4, which were other things, but shitastic messes. As in, not worth it. I love glopping a shit-ton of paint on top of a failed piece. Yeah, my original idea ended up sucking, but I can put something new and awesome on top of it instead. I also just love glopping paint and building up texture.

Have Some Class

One of my pet peeves is the millions of parasites on the internet. The kind of people who see a photo or a piece of "art" on the internet and basically jizz all over their computer screen, and then comment so everyone else knows they jizzed all over their computer screen, too. The kind of people who don't actually know what good work really looks like, so they assume any half-fancy pretentious pile of shit is a masterpiece. I don't care what people think, it's when they start assuming everyone wants to know what they think, and spew accordingly. Kinda like when you strut out your front door in some slightly questionable getup. Yeah, it's not all there, but you sure feel awesome in it! You tell yourself, I don't care what they think! But as soon as you notice the stares, the whispers, the covert pointing, the giggling, you're about ready to shit yourself. You were fine with yourself until everyone else made it clear you weren't fine.

I don't think art was meant for the internet.

Literary Mindfucking

In joyous news, I finally finished a painting!
On the other hand, another painting I was working on at the same time will probably be scrapped and the surface reworked for a series I want to make with the finished piece being the first.

In other news, I was thinking once again about the Golden Compass books, officially called His Dark Materials. Spoilers follow, I now claim no responsibility hereafter.

Granted, I read the trilogy rather late in my young life, as I believe they are intended for young people beginning the tumultuous journey into puberty. The first book is properly written for the intended audience: a young girl, Lyra, lives wild over an immense and ancient college campus; she does what she wants, listens to no one, and commands the respect and allegiance of the city's various street urchins. If you had to be an orphan, wouldn't that be the bitchingest way to do it? And of course, that is but the beginning, my good fellow! Lyra goes on incredible adventures, tells crusty old men what to do, befriends a giant talking bear, and, best of all, she's best buddies with her literal and very tangible spirit animal, who can conveniently change shape to whatever animal she wishes. She saves a butt ton of kids from a horrible institution that evil grownups devised to rob kids of their youth.

Naturally, what young adults' book would be complete without serious adult undertones? The theme snaking under this book, though only becoming apparent towards the end when the plot twists reveal themselves, is a diatribe against the Church. My opinion on that is neither here nor there; I'm not offended by the author's dislike of the Church, though I do question his putting it in a book for such young people.

But AHA! You see, the next two books become increasingly darker, and the overall plot becomes ever more convoluted, until, at the very end of the trilogy you realize the author was working himself up into a frenzy. Finally, the death of GOD! Granted, God is a mere figurehead, but considering what he represents, what would his death mean? The death of the Church? I dunno!

My issue with the books is that, starting in the Subtle Knife, our protagonist Lyra gets shoved aside. She is no longer the wild, headstrong young heroine one is led to like in the Golden Compass. Nah weh, mon. Lyra takes a backseat to WILL, the budding young man! Will becomes the possessor of a totally bitching blade, the Subtle Knife, because every hero's got to have a weapon! Lyra, after consulting the alethiometer (an object that knows the answers to everything) decides that her entire purpose now is to help Will find his father! To resolve his daddy issues of course! She does whatever he says (and shit damn if he ain't a bossy little punkass) and I'll be damned if she doesn't submit to his every whim just as if she were a neat little housewife!

Naturally Will is used to having defenseless women around. He had to support his mother his whole life, didn't he? As I recall she has some kind of early onset dementia or whatever because Will's dad disappeared ten years previous. Funny, isn't it, how the women in these books become either mum puppets or wicked villainesses at the attention or neglect of their male counterparts.

You have to understand, I loved the Golden Compass. That book was great. And I certainly loved aspects of the other books. The guy used the proper formulas to ensure he had a fantastic fantasy-scifi-adventure story. I just think his personal agenda kept reaching up and bitchslapping me.

I Got Smooth Liquidations

I am working on a fucking masterpiece. A couple, actually. Who's to say they'll ever be completed, but they sure add to the relatively sparse decor of my room. My gosh.

Some musicy people I've been gettin' down to recently:
Ty Segall (what a fucking dreamboat)
Betty Davis (hot black funkboat)
Lykke Li (one a' them europeans)
Cake (a resurgence)
The Doors (holy shit!)
Feist (cute)

What I've learned, however, is that The Shins are still my favorite band in the entire fucking world. They're what I listen to when I'm not in the mood to dance and I need to retreat into the log cabin by the serene lake of my soul, so to speak. I don't know why this is. A Zen thing or whatever, I guess.

One of the nicest things about tall guys is being hugged by them. They pretty much have to bend themselves in half to reach you, but in doing so they form this cocoon-like space that blocks out sight and sound. It's pretty rad, all in all. Being hugged by not-so-tall guys is pretty awesome too, but they can never be the chrysallis to the caterpillar-state of your mind. You know, when you feel ugly and unhappy and then BOOM a tall guy hugs you and you emerge as a slightly less unhappy-type butterfly-thing. Or something. Whatevs.

Looks like party season is coming up. Like, tonight. One tonight, one tomorrow night, one next weekend...it's time to pull out the nice clothes I never wear to work or school. But not the super nice clothes that I don't want to get beer or vomit on. Definitely not those. What happens is, I spend months gradually collecting pretty things that I figure I'll never wear, and then I usually don't, not even to parties and such, because they always seem too nice even for social outings. But this time I'm determined to look damn fine!

"Oh darling...please believe me, I'll never make it alone.."

This person I served today irritated me so much that I forgot to make sure she left before I started bitching about her to one of my coworkers. Unfortunately, she was still there. She was sitting far enough away that she possibly might not have heard me, though I was speaking just loudly enough. Plus when I glanced at her a few times after realizing my mistake, I'm pretty sure she was glaring at me. Ai me. Thank god she left shortly after finishing her food, though I wished she would've left sooner. I'm not sorry for getting irritated, but I felt pretty bad that she probably heard what I said.

My floor is currently strewn with books on feminism. I decided to focus on aspects of feminism beyond the white middle-class bra-burning Amazons. I also have to finish my notans for art class.

I have to wonder if I'll ever catch up on sleep. Signs seem to be saying no.