Haven’t made an entry in a minute. I’ve been hand journaling. It’s more satisfying — incorporating typography into the process of spilling my thoughts with some doodles here and there. It probably looks scatter-brained to everyone but me. Various ink colors signifying my emotional reaction to the initial thought. It works, helps put me back into whatever mental and emotional state I was in at the time. Sometimes, issues need re-addressing.
444, feline black body radiation and ignoring one’s tolerance
If you’re reading this then you actively look for my updates.
Whatever the reason is, thanks for caring that much.
I helped start a podcast. Here’s the 13th (?) recorded conversation. Sorry for the feedback. We need headphones.
I illustrated a kids book. It released in April. Two weeks ago, the author of the book and myself set up for a 3 day book festival here in Baltimore. The overall experience was cool, and encouraging. I shared conversations with a wide variety of authors, educators and creative minds. I was inspired, motivated and further receptive to the fact/truth that I’m on the path that I always wanted to be on — professional artist. Now for the sour moment. We shared a tent with 3 other authors — all experienced in navigating the book festival world. Two guys and a lady. On the 2nd day (I believe), it’s mid-afternoon and one of the guys just asks out the blue “so I looked your guys stuff up on amazon and I noticed it doesn’t have the illustrator’s name on there. Why is that?” I don’t remember the response we gave him. In that moment, half my energy was dedicated to suppressing a “man go the fuck head somewhere with that instigatin’ ass shit!”. I was in autopilot mode. His response was “ahh.. I just wanted to give you guys a hard time about something.”
I wanted to toss him in the harbor.
I play this and I can’t decide if he or Freddie Gibbs rocked the sample better.
I won’t lose my grip, ‘fore I turn Cobain
I like this because Larry King’s ego flexes so hard and Neil Tyson just poots all over it. But un-offensively.
I don’t fear death… I love the unknown.
An almost 8-year-old 13th Witness video of him recording some dude skateboarding through a city in Japan.
IDK, just get random urges to watch it.
Probably some un-satisfied 7th grade yearning to kick flip.
a flick of me in a DC hookah lounge inhaling some alien tainted shit
(wishing it was hash)
I’m a FBZ stan. (you all should see them live)
Do you like being yo mother?
I need to learn how to make gifs quickly.
Submitting the final copy of this book I’ve been tasked to illustrate.
If nothing else, it really exposed my procrastinating side.
We all could get so much done if we created more than we consumed…
or at least at the same rate.
(as I continue to think of irrelevant things to say and links to share)
I’ve been seriously neglecting this outlet. Diving deeper into my art focuses my attention away from the talks with myself that would lead to these journal entries. My thoughts don’t wander as much. And when they do, my body isn’t idle. So sitting down to type things out obviously doesn’t happen as often. I feel like I have to make up for lost time. Well, wasted time to be truthful. Guilt can be fuel for something positive, right? That obviously affects the purity of the act. I wonder if people can feel that tainted-ness in the results of the work. And does it turn them off, I wonder. Anyway, for anyone who reads this and wants to see what I’m up to, I post a lot on Instagram and Twitter. I’ll also be adding more work to my portfolio section on here, and get back to being a little more consistent with these entries. Or at least try.
I think about death a lot.
Probably more than I’d care to admit.
But, I barely care about incoming perceptions.
Most of my cares are superficial.
It’s just the end of things on this physical plane. Right?
Lets say death is that.
What is it about the idea of death that bothers people so much?
Is it guaranteed uncertainty combined with the thoughts of impending pain?
What if you’ve learned to accept uncertainty?
What if pain really is just “weakness leaving the body?”
If one accepts those two ideas as (a) truth, where does that place death on one’s list of concerns?
I think about life a lot
typed over the course of some un-calculated number of days
In November, I decided I would cut meat out of my diet for a month. I honestly can’t remember why I decided to. Maybe just to challenge myself, I suppose. It’s nearing the middle of April, and aside from the 3 times I’ve had grits from Miss Shirley’s Diner — which have bacon in them, and they are fucking awesome — I still haven’t consumed any meat. I even cut down on my seafood intake. My reasons waver to be truthful. I’m under no circumstances consciously aligning myself with any particular group of food specific consumers. I think that shit is unnecessary. I know some people stop consuming animal products for the sake of wanting to contribute to the fair treatment of other non-human creatures. And I totally respect that. They are really snooty about it sometimes, and that holier than thou shit makes you want to slap them with a raw porter-house. I will admit that I do feel better, my energy and stamina levels are up and I’m keeping weight off. My vanity is probably the driving factor. Fuck it. I said it.
Is the defining of something also the beginning of the end of its freedom? Definitions or guidelines are essentially boundaries. Once boundaries are put in place, whatever you’re defining can now only exist within that determined space. Are the definitions of types of people or situations/scenarios just traps we unintentionally put in place? Can a person be too free in how they interact with the world? Can people co-exist in a space without known limits for an indefinite period of time without harming themselves?
There’s a radio show I listen to often, and the host continuously brings up the fact that racism was instituted as a way to mask classism. Let’s say that is fact. That would mean true equality would only come from people of color gaining wealth, and carrying it through generations. He also promotes supporting black owned businesses. I’m all for that. I recently stumbled upon a raw food and juice bar that is a few minutes from my crib, and owned by a black woman. TWO WINS. But then I thought, I’m a forced to be racially exclusive with my money in order to play my part in “black amerikkkans” gaining equality? Will a lot of black people have to be that way in order to see a real change? I realize it’s an instance of showing support, but in basing it solely off race, is it hypocritical? Or do black amerikkkans get a pass because we’re playing catch up with the rest of the country?
Is it still considered a burden if you carry it without acknowledging its constant presence? Can a person make their life easier by worrying less…or at least feel easier? Like, psyching yourself out?
This whole fry thing has gotten out of hand. But in a positive way. I feel like I’m not steering the ship anymore. The winds are running things. Direction, velocity, possible impact from smashing into some rocks on the shore or the dock… totally hands off. A few weeks ago, I was taught a lesson in trying too hard to control situations. I was humbled. I needed it apparently.