Art, anyone?

http://rhinofeeder.deviantart.com/

http://aacollins.daportfolio.com/

Those links will guide you to my photography collections.

Also, I need more models.
You won't get paid...but it'll be a blast?

Spooky Couch

As I write, Albert Hammond Jr. is playing a lovely song. I first heard it in Bellingham, riding around in a foreign town, dreaming about making a life there.
I was slumped in the driver's seat, letting the sound waves wash over and through me. I was driving down the highway, fantasizing about holding someone's hand.
The windows rolled down, a cigarette dying in my hand, my hair blowing around, the trees.

Love is so awful sometimes.


People keep informing me that I am so depressing. That I make them sad.
Well, sorry.
I am what I am. I've never lured a person into being my friend with false promises of how cheerful and upbeat my personality is.
You all know what you're getting yourselves into.
So just leave me.
So just stop calling.
I just don't fucking care.
I refuse to repent for my nature.

It seems like I'm at some pivotal point in my life.
If asked where I planned to be in six months, I would have no idea how to respond.
I've floated along all summer. But that has to end sometime. Right?

My head is throbbing. And this blog leaves much to be desired. Oh well. I just liked the picture Alec took of me today. It was perfect.

Living in a Plastic Bag

http://icanhascheezburger.com/

I know just how that fish feels.

What is wrong?

http://bohemian-me.deviantart.com

I haven't really cried in a long time.

It's unnatural for me, I've always been overly emotional. I cry at movies, books, etc...etc...
I sobbed hysterically once when I lost yarn thing for the thousandth time. I thought Sheri had vacuumed it up, and that it had been ripped to shreds in the belly of the beast.
At one 'o' clock in the morning I cut open the vacuum bag and dug through filth, pet hair, human hair, dandruff, skin flakes, pennies, etc.. until I found this yarn-ish material of the same hue. I was convinced that it was the corpse of my long loved Christmas present from 2006.
All that over a piece of yarn.
(I found it later.)
Now I lost the real thing. And I can't summon up the waterworks. Why?
Am I losing my humanity? Are my feelings numbing as I age? Is apathy an acquired skill?
I find myself wondering about these things in the small hours of the morning.
Maybe my brain is defective. Maybe that's why I'm never happy. Why I destroy the things I love quite systematically. Perhaps.
But...
I don't want to be summed up in electrical impulses and floating chemicals. I don't want to be a flesh-bag waiting to die and fertilize the rhododendrons.
I haven't thought about God in a while.
Maybe I have avoided the idea on purpose. After all, there are plenty of other things to keep me up at night.
I wish I could put the scrambled pieces of my life together and make a meaningful picture. I feel like those awful Picasso women with the hook noses and skewed eyeballs. The nose coming out of my chin and the teeth scattered everywhere.
Somehow I always come back to this ugly place in my head.
How do I fix myself when I don't know what's broken?
Is there really anything to do but survive?
The worst part.
The dream life, the three day a week bestselling author job, the gallery full of my paintings, Mr. Yellow's record breaking album,the thin 118 pound body, boobs that actually match, a straight nose, a strange and wonderful closet, the movie deal, the international travel, and all the cats...I'm not sure if that could be enough to make my life endurable. I don't know if everything I ever longed for/worked for could even fulfill this gnawing awful blackness inside my head.

What the fuck am I supposed to do with that?

My days as a hobo are coming to an end. (Temporarily)

http://misstouky.deviantart.com

So I got a job at Amazon.
Full-time unfortunately.
Oh well. I'll use my money, that I'll first see in three weeks from now, to do the things I have been longing for.
I'll hit the casino with an ever-growing list of lovely people on some balmy night in mid-August.
Alec, Haley, Janet, Eileen, Lauren, Sean, Alec's G-ma, Me...etc.
How thrilling. I'll smoke like a fiend and waste fifty dollars. (Maybe)
Dinosaur park. Here I fucking come.
Prepare yourselves for beautiful images of friendly stegosauri and brontosaurs.
Then, in September, watch out Vancouver!
I'll troll the art museums and theater things and food-ries. I'll find nature and hike through it. Adventures abound.
This is enough motivation to slug through a work week, right?
That and cigarettes.
And gasoline.
And maybe...even a meal?

Pin Up Girl

Miss Shepherd, don't make me remove those little shorts.

Big Companies Blow

http://ariokh.deviantart.com

Yuck. I honestly loathe big business.
And I'm such a liar.
I have to pretend to be a different person at every job interview. Oh yes, I love to bring joy to the customer,
I am VERY organized,
I just love covering shifts and taking overtime,
would I describe myself as a team player? Oh definitely.
Bullshit.
I have no passion for customer service. I won't take extra shifts if I can avoid them. Me, a team player? Craziness.
Oh well. Today will be a blast nonetheless. I'm taking Pin-Up girl photos of the lovely Miss Shepherd. I know you're all waiting with baited breath for those images. Well looks like my unemployment streak is coming to an end soon. (Eventually.) If I don't get hired here I'll be a sad janitor. But honestly? Mopping floors appeals to me more than licking other people's assholes to appease them.
I know, I'm too vulgar.