It's necessary to draw sometimes when a scientist slowly shows you slides of poorly designed sidewalks and says obvious things aloud.
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
So what I lied so what
John's 30th bday portrait:
Well-intended/poorly-attended Atlanta street fair:
Old man bores me at brown bag lunch- food march passes time as does russian handwriting practice and creative reinterpretation of boring talk as tattoo:
Atlanta reveals mystifying secrets to me. Real job, curvy roads, trees, MARTA, racism, deep fried food stuffs, visiting friends, kudzu, salt water pool, puli dogs, roseanne barr saves my soul, explosions, humidity, drivein movies, booze, weed, partying all night long, distance, heartache, Waffle House, Vietnamese sandwiches, Buford Highway, Chamblee, new kindsa punks, college kids, Virginia Highlands, environmental health, bbqs, palmetto bugs, cubicles, cut off shorts, 4 out of 5 personal appearance, picking a new line of work every week (social worker? environmental assessor? lead poisoned baby saver? map maker? lord help me), hot hot bike rides, mosquitoes be the devil, inconveniently timed plane rides, then some fresh new hell. It's been a hell ride. All emotions all the time. Can't wait for normal. Hope normal still exists. Somewhere. Sometime.
Having a couple months out of nightmare school chaos has allowed me to look at it and see-- that was OK and useful. I think I can do that again for another year. But, girl, that was shit was hard. And the other kids like to act like it's easy. Part of the game I suppose. Not my game! I think my victories in the working world this summer have made me more confident, so hopefully this year I'll be able to just come out and say it--This is too much damned work and stress! I hate you forever. Maybe that will make it more manageable. Less scrambling I think is possible.
I'm listening to Brock's latest album. It's powerful good. Unreleased as of yet. It's going to make all the babies cry, I suspect.
Well-intended/poorly-attended Atlanta street fair:
Old man bores me at brown bag lunch- food march passes time as does russian handwriting practice and creative reinterpretation of boring talk as tattoo:
Atlanta reveals mystifying secrets to me. Real job, curvy roads, trees, MARTA, racism, deep fried food stuffs, visiting friends, kudzu, salt water pool, puli dogs, roseanne barr saves my soul, explosions, humidity, drivein movies, booze, weed, partying all night long, distance, heartache, Waffle House, Vietnamese sandwiches, Buford Highway, Chamblee, new kindsa punks, college kids, Virginia Highlands, environmental health, bbqs, palmetto bugs, cubicles, cut off shorts, 4 out of 5 personal appearance, picking a new line of work every week (social worker? environmental assessor? lead poisoned baby saver? map maker? lord help me), hot hot bike rides, mosquitoes be the devil, inconveniently timed plane rides, then some fresh new hell. It's been a hell ride. All emotions all the time. Can't wait for normal. Hope normal still exists. Somewhere. Sometime.
Having a couple months out of nightmare school chaos has allowed me to look at it and see-- that was OK and useful. I think I can do that again for another year. But, girl, that was shit was hard. And the other kids like to act like it's easy. Part of the game I suppose. Not my game! I think my victories in the working world this summer have made me more confident, so hopefully this year I'll be able to just come out and say it--This is too much damned work and stress! I hate you forever. Maybe that will make it more manageable. Less scrambling I think is possible.
I'm listening to Brock's latest album. It's powerful good. Unreleased as of yet. It's going to make all the babies cry, I suspect.
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