these might be getting worse on purpose
these might be getting worse on purpose
im running this newsletter like a weed out class for your reading comprehension skills
Imagine I’m in a super sunny high rise apartment in an all white outfit with all white bedding and all white furniture and all white art on my walls, and i’m recording this in selfie mode on the tiktok camera when you read me saying: it’s time. to get. in your CURMUDGEON. ERA.
I know a lot of us are past this, right now we’re doing dinner parties and seeing movies with crowds and listening to house music and hitting the bars and being kind to one another, celebrating our wins and expressing our love to who we love and who we hate and who we feel incredibly neutral about, after years of a cold and isolating pandemic drugging us with despair, but i have to be honest i am still feeling GRUMPY.
i have got a zit on the left side of my right thigh, and you know what keeps brushing up against it? The right side of my right testicle, and i’m not kidding. I’m sorry for telling you this, i know it’s horrifying to imagine me with body parts, but they’re there whether or not any of us are happy about it, so let’s try to love them together.
It’s a little bit too cold on my porch, and in my bathroom, but my desk is right under the window so you could probably fry eggs on it from 11am-1pm PST. I’m like 15% congested, i washed the dishes and forgot a bowl and a fork i had left in my room. i just sneezed. kids from across the street keep kicking their balls onto my lawn and my own children just don’t call enough anymore!
I’ve started spending my days on the job-doing-machine, and waiting for one of the dreams to come true on the dream-catching-machine, which im using right now to type this newsletter. there are a lot of dreams to catch. But using the dream-catching-machine after a day and another day and a day and another day and a day and another day and a day and another day on the job-doing-machine makes them both just mostly hurt my eyes.
to relax at night, i use the movie-watching-machine with little breaks for my connection-to-my-loved-ones- (and-sometimes-total-strangers) -machine.
Today, the job-doing-machine told me to avoid spending time on machines, or else i might need even more machines in the future, when i get the disease. i work for a company that mostly talks about the disease, you know the one. it makes a cell then a cell then a cell then a cell then a cell then a cell then a cell then a cell then a cell then a cell then a cell then a cell then a cell then a cell then a cell then a cell then a cell then a cell then a cell then a cell then a cell then a cell then a cell then a cell then a cell then a cell then a cell then a cell then a cell then a cell then a cell then a cell then a cell then a cell then a cell then a cell then a cell then a cell then a cell then a cell then a cell then a cell then a cell then a cell then a cell and then someone has to claim your old webkinz page or something. and i can say that because i’ve had to claim a lot of webkinz pages. and it sucks
I feel good about the curmudgeon era. If i were you, I would start buying stock in microfiber dusters
also, the web series I co-created is coming out soon. We started conceiving of it in the fall of 2020, shot it in the spring of 2020. it’s almost done being edited, and soon will be out. I just got a tattoo of some of the artwork from the web series, which is a weird thing to do for a project i haven’t even seen yet. The trailer is here.
It’s weird to make things. I constantly ask the paintings on my walls what they know about me that I don’t. I draw in my notebook and wonder if it’s the work of a 6 or 18 or 32 or 65 or 45 or 23 or 24 or 25 or 19 or 20 or 27 or 28 or 4 or 99 year old version of me that’s really coming through. everything i see and touch is a national geographic anthropological study of my insides and i can’t imagine there was ever another option for what to do with 90% of my free time.
As i “make” more and more, my trust in those who watch or read or listen grows. I feel the need to get more abstract, more absurd, like a test to see what flashes of truth you can see, even when I try to obscure it. I wonder what flashes you’ll see in a web series with 30 other hands involved, and what you see in what you’ve read tonight, provided by my own 10 fingers and a picture of my foot.