Attempt to self reflect, even if it’s lousy.
I’m going to treat this as a journal because I actually put thought into it. Not sure if it helps any or not.
The demon you bury into your clutter will eventually resurface, leaving you with the choice to either make peace with it, or let it fester in you until you become a neurotic riddled with stomach ulcers.
As I slowly finish my undergrad and step towards my masters I decided to take the initiative and begin tossing/donating anything I don’t use so when I take my leave in 2 years I won't have so much weighing me down. Through the cleaning I found some neat things I thought I lost. I found a copy of Pinocchio Vampire Slayer I thought I lost to a girl who never gave back an old copy of Sandman. (It’s alright though I never gave back her copy of The Walking Dead so in a way we’re even.) It’s a really nifty comic, and it’s pretty self explanatory with Geppetto trying to kill the entire village because he’s a vampire and out of his mind. I found a few other books I thought I lost like MW, a book about dreams and Jung, and a torn up comic with Blade in it. Sadly the comic was beyond repair, but it was wonderful finding things I thought was buried among the junk that has built up over the years. As I tossed more and more things into bags I found other things I never wanted to see again.
I found letters from old friends, a framed picture of a boy I once loved, a folder of old ideas from a goth phase that’s left it’s mark on me and is the butt of jokes with friends from time to time. The letters would’ve meant something two years back, but I suppose that’s why I still had them. They were from a former friend who would’ve graduated into a partner if he wasn’t a nerd who clung to his mother. He’s a story for another time when waves of nostalgia come to shore. Another letter was from a teacher who thought I was going to shoot up the school and tried to bolster her morality by trying to take in socially awkward students like lost dogs and make them happy devoted servants of God.
None of those letters meant anything so they went straight into the trash. As they went something was unearthed.
I found an old suicide note I thought I burned. It fell apart as soon as I picked it up. It really didn’t matter if it was intact of not, I’ll never forgot what it said. It was a poorly put together will of all the junk I had in earlier years and a confession of lifelong self loathing and a nihilistic view of the flesh. That’s yet another story for another time, though I think one or two people know how I feel about that.
I sat there in my closet for what felt like hours, I lost sleep looking through the old junk from family I no longer speak to. It felt really good, like a 25 lb. weight off my back. The weight was still there, but I brushed it off as I found old drawings from 2010/2011 I wanted to post on NG, but lacked the skills to really give it justice. You’ll see them later this week. I debated whether to redraw them, or just keep hem with other snippets of things friends and loved ones have given to me. They will be up as two of them are awfully sentimental.
For the first time in years things in my bedroom looked clean, it didn’t look like the shithole it was becoming 2 and a half years ago. It looks a lot better than the semi shithole from October. I think it’s due to marathoning hoarders, or just sick of sitting in a world of shit. Very few people saw the junk and shit clothes that formed a second floor of my bedroom, if I acted more like my mother’s side of the family I’d be a full blown hoarder. Why do this, why place so much disrespect on your body, life, work, and to an extent your relations with friends and those you love? The shithole affected the way I treated my body. I don’t know when it started but for as long as I can remember it would develop into some sort of cancerous growth, then fade away like the growth is going over treatment. Like addicts it didn’t last long and only got worse. Any kind of infliction of the body on a budget would go on. I think the worst of it was the fat fuck years after highschool.
I don’t remember how I got to that point, I mean how can you get lower than rock bottom unless you dig like a blind rat. I couldn’t go out the normal way via hanging, or something more elegant so a slow death of fatness seemed appropriate. Whatever could drive away any positive potential was great. Fatness and rusty year old razors from hair tools was like a pack of cigarettes to me. I needed it, I needed for everyone to go away so it would make the process go by smoothly. I think it would’ve gone on (or have an intervention at an obscene weight) if something didn’t snap n my head.
It was around the time where I would give anything for the work I do, as time went by I became more devoted to my work and ideas. If it wasn’t anything I didn’t’ want to do I wouldn’t taken the initiative to go to school to learn more of the trade. I figured if I was going to destroy myself I can leave a pretty body and a large body of work that will make people uncomfortable. Of course if you force that goal to make people uncomfortable it’s shit, you have to let it flow out. It’s like a little proverb a kid told me a few years back when I taught munchkins art. “Arting is like a fart If you have to force a fart it’s going to be shit.” That’s beside the point I’ve gotten off track. As everything is being unearthed the old skeleton in the closet bounces on my chest. One day I’ll confront it, I made it this far so what would be the point to ignore it again? It can only go both ways now.
This might as well be a novella at this point; I’ll cut myself short before I go deeper into the rat hole and level up into an even greater melodramatic cunt.
The rubberneck store will have the discount special until October. The code is on the front page and there might be a few knick knacks coming up, but I’m more focused on getting rid of the ratskull necklace since that was an event making it. Waiting for the flesh to rot away, cleaning gnarled fur and bleaching it. It was fun and hopefully it can decorate someone’s neck.
Things have been looking up with a huge hiccup within family life, I have a show in November I’m beginning to worry about because ideas have been going around, I wanted to have nothing but animals with human heads, but that changed. It’ll come so I really shouldn’t fret too much. I'm training to be docent for a secrtion in the MFAH so that's pretty neat. Cool stuff it coming this way, I’m going to attempt to put up a story in a similar fashion of the Abby series, or I’ll put them in the art portal if I can’t figure out the programing. I thought about bringing her back, but the story has changed and the original scripts are long gone. Putting an old story with outdated ideas is shit. Thanks for all the support and what not, you all are very good people. Have a nice week. :)
If you're curious about the comic I mentioned you can see the cover where the arrow is!
Okay, goodbye! Thanks for reading!