25 Oct

Just checked my email for the first time since forever.

These lists get big if you leave ’em be long enough. Some people I wanted to hear from but didn’t. And I feel disappointed. A bit sad. Then there are all the people I’ve been ignoring. And I feel regretful. A bit guilty. But I’ve had to keep everything on the outside these past few weeks, people too. Finally I’ve learned when to stay home, get things done.

Now I have to learn when to go out again. Go out and interact with other monkeys. To look into their soft eyes and …connect. This is hard. The brain is like anything else in your body. Fail to use any bit of it, gets slack. Someone who’s been bedridden for months must learn to walk again. Their muscles have atrophied. And like the man with weak legs my listening skills have atrophied. I haven’t had many conversations this year. I’m out of practice.

I’m also full of shit. I’ve been stuffing my head with all sorts of stuff these past few years, been out there learning and competing and joking via a new type community courtesy of the good people who brought you the modern era. Here’s one of ’em”


I know he doesn’t look like much fun Saturday night in de club but without him you wouldn’t be able to send each other dirty text messages. Hell! Without him, de club would be a leaky shack full of dirty men drinking cheap lukewarm ale out of a clay pot.

Anyway my head is full of all this… shit. Good shit? As in: this is the shit. I don’t know. You decide. I have projects. I’m just beginning and it will take me a long time to finish. (This blog isn’t a project more like therapy.) My head is full of shit and my listening skills have atrophied. I’m typically a good listener. Perhaps too good. People take advantage. Now I’m seriously impaired and out of my mouth comes this flow of… shit.

It’s automatic. I don’t even know what I’m saying half the time: yak, yak, yak. Then I realize I’m being an egotistical bore and shut-up, try’n encourage the monkey I’m with to chatter only to find they’re intimidated or lost. They hesitate, but they do talk finally. Monkeys love yakking, most of us. And when these monkeys chatter I have to really pay attention. And even then I still miss vital bits of dialogue. I have to be careful ’cause it might look like I’m not listening at all.

So I’ve become a bad listener and a blabbermouth! This is weird for me. I’m usually the other way around. My personality has changed consequence of a long period of asocial concentration. This year I haven’t written much. Just this blog and comments on other people blogs. Drawing and painting use a different particular type of cognition. I’ve finish with a certain project and I find I’m one of those guys. The egotistical, self-absorbed art-wankers I’ve always written off as hopeless tossers. Now I sympathize, empathize with ’em. Still I won’t stay this way. I’ll get better. Like the sick man who gets up everyday and takes shaky, crutch-assisted steps I’ll make the effort, get out of my comfort zone. Reach out.

This blog is reaching out. I started the day after, the day after I finished the full-time art. No agenda, no design. Just an old-school web-log. A daily diary published for myself and anyone else who cares for whatever reason. Just trying to figure out what I believe; what I think, how I feel. Considering the new ideas I’ve absorbed what has stayed the same, what has changed.

This is introspective and there’s no reason anyone should be interested. But there’s a small community out there of regular readers. I mean small. Good cocktail party number. No comments much. Don’t expect ’em. What the fuck do you say to…that? Whatever the hell this blog is it ain’t about precipitating debate. There’s enough out there already that do the job better than I could. But there’s some small circle of silent readers and I like that. That it’s small. I’ve never been one for big parties.

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