So I'm running for Man of the Year on F-book because I know I'll win.

One pill makes you bigger, and one pill makes you small.

Every time somebody makes a special piece of glass or metal or clay, I think, Man, this shit was on fire! I think, It is so good to learn the old crafts because that’s where our knowledge of chemistry comes from. I feel empowered to touch the fire and carry its wisdom.

But then I see het glas werk of my good ex Kristoffer, and I feel proud. I’m glad to know this skilled worker. I don't appreciate artists without humility. There’s Liana, Cat, AJ, Kikau, Shannon-Rose, Isobel, and Krissy. I’m proud to know Andy and Kyle and to have met Ian for a time. I’m lucky to watch Lake in his pupal stage and know that he’ll develop the shit out of his skills and ravage everybody with a pen.

There are these days when I’m just proud to be where I stand, that to be able to do what I’ve done and see what I can see into the future, it’s pretty damn good. They remember me at the galleries. I’m sure they’ll remember the letterman patches on the sorority tees, the stripes on the judo belts, the rank on the berets and flight suits, the badge on the biker jackets…. It feels good to straddle the divide and know how to sew up the gaps. Yes, I can sew people up together pretty good. Like I said, It’s like sitting on this ledge overlooking the next world, and I’m determined to take the fall.

But then again, watching so many talented people do what they do, I know I could have: if the time was there- if the focus was decided- if only I didn’t buy into engaging with people socially and having a job to pay for it all. To justify this, I tell myself,
Self: you’re here because this is where you were determined resolved authorized to be.
Self: you are worthy of the skills they say you have.
Self: you don’t make quite as often as you scribble, while the others have completed portfolios going into grad school… but you are armed with th’Aquarienne swords, and they will slash you a pretty good clearing to do your work.

The professor whom I regard holds regard for the work that I do- little ol' me. Even so, it’s like the gods of fire have passed me by, and I feel _impotent. Man’s got his doubts.

^annexBut maybe reading three Alan Moore-like novels at the same time doesn't really help me here.