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Why does this world revolve around money? I wish it wasn't so; if only I could get by. It's just no good.
I'll have to sell my body to some eatery and service customers.
"Standing on a hill in my mountain of dreams, telling myself it's not as hard, hard, hard as it seems..." -Led Zeppelin Marketing my paintings and churning out "popular" material would make me ill. If I wrote songs for the general public I'd sound like an idiot.
I believe in music having either inventive/solid lyrics or great instrumentals. Or both...
I like the words to my songs, but my voice is abysmal and I pretty much suck at the guitar.
Then my paintings. Who wants to buy some creepy animals-dissecting-people painting? Correction, who with money would want to purchase that?
So I'm left with a terrible dilemma. Paint grapes and wine bottles, possibly take panoramic landscape photos of the Columbia river...or keep brewing nightmares/fantasies.
I know which one I'll chose right up until I become an emaciated crack whore.
McDonald's here I come?
Despite my personal financial disaster and all the unfortunate occurrences in May/June, I have real hope for July. Yeah, I'll be stuck in an awful statistics night class. Yeah, I'm still incredibly broke. But honestly, I'm happy. And I'll get a job at the tea garden.
Things to do this month:
1. Go to Vancouver, WA
2. Go to the Sandy Beach again?
3. Get a job.
4. Ride my bike somewhere.
5. Play guitar at the park.
6. Finish Chocolate Eater's
7. Have a picnic in the middle of the night.
I haven't been sleeping enough. Writer's club is creating some dark circles under my eyes. I don't mind, in fact, I love it.
(Not the circles, the club)
I can't write anymore without talking about a certain gentlemen. And I'm still feeling insecure about...things, so I think I'll wait to regal you all with great letters of my affection.
You don't mind, right?
So in conclusion, have a fantastic July everyone.
I haven't been nurturing my artistic soul enough as of late.
I don't know when my last honest to goodness photo-whoring was. (And Haley, don't get all offended, I'm talking about glitter, fake eyelashes, high heels, a strange set, fake blood, and a film camera.)
Recently I have been entranced with Lilith. I want to do a scary succubus of man photoshoot. She's a red head who gives birth to hordes of demon spawn.
I'm thinking some lonely mountain for the setting...but perhaps that includes too much walking/hiking.
Also I want desperately to do the water nymph pictures in the river. Too bad I don't have an underwater camera. But I'm envisioning draping trees with barefooted girls roaming about in soggy white nightgowns.
In other news, does anyone want to see a fantastic video of the "I Hate Gabe Knutzen" song?
I could upload one soonish...
The book is stalled right now because someone is too lazy to attend writer's club. And someone else is too bored to write her story.
I need an angry fan base to yell at me for my underachievement.Maybe then I could pick up a paintbrush and finish the alien abduction painting.
Or better yet, illustrate Attack of the Chocolate Eaters. And yes, I freaking italicized my BOOK. Someday it will be just that. A book.
I found hope the other day at Walgreens when I stopped to read The Big Ugly Monster and the Little Stone Rabbit by Christopher Wormell. It was beyond depressing. So tragic. And the ending left much to be desired. I figure that a dead parakeet in my book isn't the end of the world. (You guys should read it, the drawings were very good.)
My point though is this,
Actually it is more of a plea for help.
Someone inspire me to get off of my ass and make creative-ness.
Please?
Someday.
(http://monislawa.deviantart.com/art/A-Way-Of-Suicide-126952127)
The picture to our left is by Monislawa on deviantart. I love the photographs that this lady takes. (Just giving credit where credit is due)
Last night I discovered something about myself. My self preservation instincts are a bit lame. Imagine, you are deeply asleep. It is two in the morning. In the middle of a strange dream about headless men in business suits you are awoken to the soft creaking of your front door. You live alone, in one room.
As your head turns toward the formerly locked door, a man's silhouette is looming near your bed.
What would the typical person's response be?
"AAAAHHH!!!" Right? Possibly an accelerated heart rate, a defensive posture?
Mine was, "Who are you?"
I said this very calmly and remained peacefully wrapped in my blankets.
It was Nick.
He used his key (which I made him give me back) and we had an odd talk about his life. I felt like a Catholic priest. Except my hair was a hot mess and I was wearing sweatpants.
He left and insisted on leaving me cash. A donation for Jesus?
I woke up around eleven today and decided it must have been a crazy dream. Nope.
The money was folded up neatly by the bed.
Drat. I have been floating along now for two or three weeks, waking lazily at noon. Sad times are ahead; I signed up for two classes at CBC this summer. It is all a part of the whole Western plan...but how I loathe the thought of statistics at eight in the morning.
My schedule:
8:20-9:30 M T W TH
Statistics
(Online Class)
History of Jazz
This will bring my total credits to...65! Yipee.
It all began this morning, with brown browns. I rolled out of bed looking like I was Fraggle Rock's biggest star. (A fraggle is pictured above) Then I thought to myself, you know what sounds just delicious for breakfast?
A three day old sub sandwich from Winco.
So I walked the two and a half feet to the fridge from my blankets and unrolled the plastic wrap to reveal three more succulent inches of bread and turkey. How nutritious.
(And curse you Alec Chunn for leaving all this food in my shed. I think it is quite rude and that you are NOT a gentlemen.)
How did I complement my rudimentary sub? With brownie batter BJ's!
(Ben and Jerry's for those of you too skinny to be in the know)
This is where I ran into a slight roadblock. All of my spoons were dirty. Not only that, all of my dishes were dirty and relaxing in the sink.
"Well Tipton, I guess I should clean these while I'm washing the spoon..." I remarked to the ant that was perched by my toothpaste.
He nodded in approval.
First thing in the morning and already doing housework? By Scott, it's a sign of the end times!
Anyhow, I dumped some dish soap in the sink and got to it. As I was dumping the stagnant water from my cheery red bowl I found myself facing the first nausea attack of the day; grey-green mold came slopping from the dish.
It smelled rank. It looked vile and rather malicious. I had to urge myself to continue my work. With a face towel pressed against my nose and swallowing bile, I scrubbed at least half of my dishes clean.
Then my dear sister called.
And I remembered, BADMINTON. Don't get me wrong, I love the sport. But today my stomach was feeling discontent and I'm truly a lazy bastard at heart. A promise is a promise though, so I went willingly with little complaint.
As we dashed around the backyard volleying, my stomach threated rebellion again. Apparently Monster and cigarettes are not so in line with physical activity. Oh well.
Haley then treated me to the biggest spectacle of gluttony I had been involved in since I moved in to the shed and quit my job. Thai food, butterflies drenched in oil and full of cream cheese. How fantastic. At least until the car ride home, whereupon I was clenching my swollen belly and caressing the food baby within.
Currently I imagine that I appear at least three to four months pregnant.
So ends the day. Hopefully cat-man managed to start his tractor and Haley has worked on the Apria Delink story that I love. We can only hope.
Yay optimism!
