On Spatulas, Wearing Pants, and Robot Monkeys....

This post is an update of my life and how it's changed since April. Only within the past three weeks has my life taken a turn of the positive since I last wrote in this blog. SO MUCH has happened! I guess I can only start from this moment and jump backwards to explain I guess.

So, RIGHT NOW, I sit in my parents house, my cat Shrubbery walks into my room with trepidation, probably wanting to play with toy squid on a stick with me. I sip on orange juice and I have been walking the east side while smoking a black and mild. I went to Jim's (one of my best friends - who's been there since 1st grade) and before that went to the back to cash an abundance of pay checks I have gotten over the past few weeks. The time change has happened and it's throwing me off, I have work tonight at 10p until 630am as a graphic designer/ production artist. Today is about putting things I have learned in the past few months in perspective, and putting some awful shit behind me so I can enjoy new stuff.

Yesterday I was terribly hungover - I slept a lot, but I think is was REALLY NEEDED and the booze not only killed off the cold I had, but the sleep put the nails in the coffin. I did drink with friends on Friday - went to an art show, saw drag queens, discussed relationships, played harmonica in a blues band, and tried not to get sick when we got food later. I have not been hungover like that in so long I dont remember when it was.

I have been working as a graphic designer for about 2-3 weeks now. This was a job they said I didnt get and the guy they hired in my stead was apparently a jerk, and got fired... so I am a graphic designer out of pure serendipity. My boss is really flippin cool, I can set my own pace, and it will pay my bills with benefits... and it looks good on a resume'. It may cut into my time, but then I am able to pay bills and still have weekends.

Actually I want to talk about that for a minute. That's kind of the point of this post. SERENDIPITY. I will get to it, and it's important, but I am setting things up.

I have been figuring out how to write a real story about Flloyd the Mutant Coffee Table - a character that explores dimensions as a delivery guy/ guide. Weird stuff happens to him, and I have been reading and studying how to tell a well told story about him and his life. It's one part really silly, one part really serious if I do it right. I really want it to work, and the sheer scope of it is intimidating... it would be so easy to just make it stupid and so easy to take it too seriously. I am working on balance.

I recently (about three weeks ago) went to Con on the Cob in Akron. This is a gamer con more for art professionals and their families. It has all the hallmarks of other cons, but is very fun and easy going. On Friday of the Con I found I got the job at Custom Deco (listed above), I went to a friend's friend's 21st birthday. Saturday I saw Ivan Stang give a "sermon" about the Church of the Sub-Genius. I was transfixed to say the least.

The Sub-Genius religion is weird and unsettling on purpose because it's a big joke that involves aliens, conspiracies, and hokey religion but has more truth between the lines than most holy texts would say directly. I felt... power behind what Stang said... not because of the whimsy, but because of what he said about being ourselves, and how important it is to believe in that. It's what gives one "Slack" - the ability to get something done by doing "nothing"... which implies Zen and a myriad of things I already believe. Imagine being so natural in yourself that you just be you and you dont have to try... and then not taking it so seriously that you have to fight and die to believe in it, because it's all a big joke anyway. It's more like a really good idea than some faith you desperately cling to... which would be a solid beginning to enlightenment - if it didn't take you there straight up.

So while this was being said at the Con, I "christened" my new sketch book. I felt like it would be a good day.

BECAUSE - I had been in places as of late, and being a Screamster at Cedar Point helped balance me out and I developed my monster in the Fear Faire more this year - serenading the people with "Strangers in the Night", and "Moondance" and creeping them out with my blank mask. Being a goofy bastard and "scary" on MY terms went a long way toward my recovery. I was a far better Screamster for it.

As for "The places" I had been, they in were dark and deep and were the direct result of my friend Jess Lohr killing himself in August, modified by the death of my father in July.

All this with the previous year of dealing with angst from my previous failed relationship and fighting the fight of being single (sad and pathetic "please love me") vs being willfully single (Hey nice to meet you, I would not mind touching your bits, although I do not need to because my life is whole and complete with or without you. You DO make me smile though, so would you like to dance?"). As you may have guessed, it's a lot harder to be willfully single. Building up your self esteem and awareness of yourself is a long and difficult road.

By the way, Flo Jo. Learning to juggle spatulas in Ann Arbor, and meeting everyone there who is awesome and supportive and wonderful. I wanted to twirl fire, but didnt get a chance to because of the job I started. I wanted to learn acrobatic trapese things, but did not get the opportunity... one for the bucket list me thinks. I say this because this was a ray of hope and sunshine in this intense emotional climate, and I aim to go back somehow someway.

SO ALL OF this was building up while I was sitting there listening to Ivan Stang prepping myself for the parties later that night at Con on the Cob. I knew my friends Bunny and Gator would be about and John Arcadian and Lance and Amber Miller would be carousing as well. I was ready to blow off major steam and I was inspired!

For the party at the USS Casual, I was dressed that night in my red Rincewind bath robe. I had Marti Gras Beads, glowing light gloves, Spider Jerusalem glasses, my fedora and swanky pants... and of course... my Spatula! I was "ready to dance" as I am wont to say.

Anyway I won't go into details, but I met a girl at this party I will refer to as "Blue". I have been smiling about it since, and it's important that I met her. On Sunday there was a band that played the washbasin, the ukulele and kazoo. I played the spatula on kitchen utensils. I was in accordance with my nature.

Serendipity. I had asked to meet her me thinks. I had prayed for a Priestess before, I had brought my spatula as a symbol so that she might see it for what it was, I have played songs in the nighttime so that she may hear it... I feel like I am being ridiculous- but there's the nature of living in accordance with one's nature. Like owning your own skin. I don't want to read too much into this, and I scarcely believe... but there has been serendipity afoot. Kind of a big deal.

When my father died in July, it happened as positively as it could have. Sure it hurts, and yes it's sad... but Mom and I pulled it together, said what we needed to and dad said what he needed to, and I was there when he went. It was a week before my Art Show, "Completely Ridiculous" that I had been building up to for two months. It was happy and wonderful and I got to play the harmonica and everyone was awesome. The Dirty Damn Band played and the ladies brought their skillz! I made money enough to pay rent! Ten shades of Birthday YES!

This past August was hard though. Jess Lohr killed himself. He was the sort of guy that got the joke, and tried to make sure you saw it, but took it so seriously that he never laughed himself... no he did laugh - All the time... he just thought no one else saw the joke. He threw awesome parties, sang in a band - and played harmonica in fact - he always drew the most awesome cartoons... I even included his art in my show. I saw him the Sunday before he died and watched "Cowboys and Aliens" with him. I sensed there was something unspoken with him, and I should have asked about it... but I just thought he just might have been fighting with his wife, and they were working to making it better.... I didn't know...

All I do know that from that August 18th until Screamsters on Sept 15th, I was lost and broken.

SO YOU KNOW FAIR READER!- DRINKING DOES NOT FUCKING CURE DEPRESSION!!!!!! I FUCKING MEAN IT!!!! It robbed me of any coping mechanisms that I could use to deal properly! You need HIGHER COGNITIVE ABILITY TO DEAL WITH THAT KIND OF DEPRESSION! I drank for a couple days and It solved nothing... and if I kept drinking, shit would not have gotten solved!

SO WHAT WORKS? Doing something that you have never done before, or something that gives you a lot of emotional release. Being a Screamster (scaring the shit out of people at Cedar Point for money) helped immensely, as did learning to juggle. Affirming life and what is important is also key. I dont care if you are sad do it anyway! It'll be different for everybody, but the hallmarks are the same. Playing the blues makes a difference!

Starting in June, we told dad he was going to die. I had been talking to him before then, and we would actually have good conversations. The day after we told him, his mind and words were gibberish. It's like he just decided and gave up. Once we got him home we thought it would be months of care. I was planning an art show, but we would make it through. You have no idea how happy we were to master the art of diaper changing! It pulled us together in masterful ways that oddly, I long for now. Hospice was good to have and everything helped.

Anyway, when you don't know how to die, and you let your health go due to the Diabeetus, blood sepsis, and lack of exercise, it apparently takes about three weeks. Not months. Also The way they breath is a good indicator. Aspirating food and liquids is a good indication of a possible death rattle incoming. IT DOES NOT MEAN IT ABSOLUTELY!!!!!! (So medical professionals, I know, I know) but it's the beginning of the end unless there's a will being it to live.

In May, Dad was in the home and I would visit. May was... different than now, and the April entry was a good indication of my thoughts then.

So what did I learn from all of this? There is no easy answer, but the catch phrase goes like this:

Be yourself, dreams can come true - IF you work toward them WITH the right frame of mind, Looking Foolish is part of the fun, My spatula is in fact magical, also MAGICK (with or without the "K") - is fucking real, and Life is Short... but way longer than you think, so if you are depressed, MAKE THE FUCKING MOST OF IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! - note the exclamation points?

Also I write this more for myself and the semblance of wanting to sound really cool:
"I must not fear.
Fear is the mind-killer.
Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.
I will face my fear.
I will permit it to pass over me and through me.
And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.
Where the fear has gone there will be nothing.
Only I will remain."

I really have to read "Dune".

Signing off,
Chris Curran - Artist - GrillNinja - Wielder of the Sacred Spatula - Pirate Ninja.

Ooh lost in the woods, but not in that awesome way...

I have been drawing a lot lately. This means that I am able to genuinely shut myself off from the world and focus on art. I think it has everything to do with the knot in my gut. Recently my life has been evening out from the previous turmoil over the summer. Things have been better and I am starting to find my place again in the scheme of things. Although at times I still feel like I am losing my mind.

I have come to the recent conclusion I do not want to date anybody. I want to actually be willfully single. Although how I can accomplish this I do not know... at least without feeling like a douche. I do not know. I don't like playing with people's hearts or hurting anybody, and I feel completely lost on what to do with it.

This is also in complete contrast to a recent realization that I know where my heart lives again. I had seen the movie "Sucker Punch" and the girl there uses dancing to zone herself to fight against her situation... this thing is I had done that before myself... and it's weird I guess to identify with this movie chica, but there it is. I had done exactly what she had done. All I know is I had broken into something that I had forgotten... like the Dogma incident... and all I could do was laugh and cackle madly as I drove home... hell bent and focused.

Compare this with recent situations in life and choices. I cannot stay at my parents much longer even though I know my Mother would be sad. Dad has been gone a while and hit an equilibrium within himself and I think it has helped him heal. I know if he comes back home it will just get worse again. This place needs to change is so many important ways if it is to be a home again!

I am so angry at myself and what I've become in life... no this is not exactly right. I think about it and I do have a lot going for me, and it is not as bad as it has been, but there are certain persistent situations right now that I cannot even begin to deal with. Everything is such a muddled mess since I quit Kwik Dry. I think of my future and the possibility of a family or whatever, or a career, or making a difference in life and I can't see it. I just can't fucking see it. I can't see me happy with anyone, much less myself. I have always been this way too... it's just now it's been driven home with my every action, word, and deed. I see it as this fucking shadow or a tumor or a constant burden that I do not want to bear but I cannot change.

I was always like "no, but blah blah will be different, or when this happens blah blah will change" when discussing with a previous lady about my life choices. I always feel I am right as well. What I think I am learning as a result of being back in my parents house with no money is how much shit I am full of. Or no... not exactly that.

It's more like I am aware of my values and how I was raised - it's like I can see how it holds me back, but also shapes everything that I am. It's hard to let go and not be fourteen again when I am here. This place can be so miserable and to fix it would take... like three miracles? I do think Shrubbery is one though... he makes things so much better by being here... although even he feels it's effects I know.

Life is exactly this that I live. It's not what I want out of it though, and to get there I need a clear vision of what I do want. I just can't see it. I look and look, but I just don't see!

As a guy who is all about perceiving reality for all that it is, this not only kills me inside, but it makes me Angry. I have so much on my mind right now... I had a dream that I had a son... and everytime I dream of a kid I am so broken and edgy the next day. I fear that I never be "good enough" for something that would be so easy if I just didn't care.

I am so flippin lost that I crave oblivion that only video games, endless hours of minecraft, and drawing some seriously random shit could solve.

Did I learn a lesson? *shrug*

I feel the need to write something, but I don't know what it is yet.

I have taken up pen and ink in a proper fashion, my CoH toons are kicking ass, I am willfully single. I will be looking for some sort of day job soon. Just something basic to pay bills while I focus on art. There could be ladies I guess,but I am really not looking for them. Dates maybe, but nothing epic.

That is what I have learned about myself. My whole life I have always wanted to be in love, to have that perfect lady in the perfect sitch, perfect in my perfect head. Right now, it is one of the last things I want. Too complicated, too sad, too "I have to do this to live up to the male end of the mating ritual". This all a great concept except all I can think of is: "Daaaaaamn they're hawt!" So that kind of cramps this whole self-reliant dream shattering post relationship thing.

I need money before anything happens anyway. So in the mean time, I am contemplating the nature of my art.

Pants.

Meanwhile, for the next five years...

So where have I been for the past 2 months?

In a place.
Right now I sit in my studio, listening to the Moody Blues eating a tuna sandwich from table 44 here in Toledo.

I have been... dawdling? Hanging back? Not living up to my potential? Not true. I have been trying to finish a commission, design graphics for shirts, and basically figuring out what I want to do with my career as an artist.

Meanwhile my Dad is in and out of the hospital, and is currently there for congestive heart failure and pneumonia - although he's doing better.

Meanwhile I have been... dating... sorta. I cannot express the existential dread I have for the concept right now. I used to be so optimistic when I had the honor of hangin out with a lady, now I just feel... jaded? Unnerved is a better way to put it.... I feel so bad, but I don't know what I want, or how it should be done, or what will make it better or... anything. But those ladies over there sure do look nice... *sigh*

Meanwhile, money? Bah.

Meanwhile, my City of Heroes character Edward DeZombi is a Fire Kinetics Controller. He is possibly the most badass toon I have ever put together. I love to put together some awesomeness when making characters.

Which brings to mind that I have been blowing off gaming. It... makes me sad, but it is also a question of myself at this point. I used it to define myself for so long, that I question what I am without it. I've been playing CoH to get my mind off the drama, the ladies, the responsibility, the question of where my life is going, what's happening with my Dad and all of the questions of this shift in my life.

That's just it. This past year has been about seeing myself and reckoning for all that I have wrought since this age started. I can't say when it was heralded. Possibly in 2006? 5 year cycles? Who knows?

I have just been blaah, but not necessarily bad, just it's difficult to see where I'm going or where I am going to be in the next five years.

The Broken Plate.

Soooo... I just broke a plate. It went like this:

I got two slices of supreme pizza and some cheesy bread from Little Caesar's on a blue durable plastic plate. I put it on the dresser in my room on my extra jacket. It was dark so I went to turn on the light after I put it down. I heard it slide as the extra pizza and the bread hit the floor of my old hairy berber carpet. I only caught the plate and one piece of pizza. I picked up the extra bits off the floor, put them back on the plate which is on my extra flannel jacket, and although I didn't register any real anger, I punched down on the plate. I suspect because of the soft cushioney backing, that is the main reason why it broke into almost four equal parts with smeared pizza, cheesy bread dipping sauce, and accompanying cheesy bread... all over the inside of this jacket.

I have a problem. I have always been like this, it arises not out of "anger" per se, but of frustration. My whole life. I have always been this way. Even when I was five I remember coming home from kindergarten and scolding my stuffed Kermit doll for being mean to my other stuffed animals.... so I swung him around the room.... maybe it is out of anger. Real anger.

I have always been quite adept at being ragey... more like a berserker warrior. It sneaks up on me... I am very good at dealing with emotions however. I know when I'm feeling it and I can usually talk myself down, or because I do not like to hurt anyone or anything and I appreciate peoples places in life... so right now it's like a menu option on a computer program rather than something that automatically happens... but sometimes there is still that plate.

Also this behavior has also been limited to inanimate objects - walls, phone books, my desk, and other casual things.

There has never been anywhere to go to discuss this. I don't trust psychologists, or other mental examiners because they have their own ideas about psychology and they would probably give me "Medications" and honestly, I have met like three people who think like I do... some of which were medicated and frankly it just makes their lives dumber.

Talking about it seems to help, and having the will to respect my psychological differences with others, while aiming at being better seems to be the way to go.

Maybe this happened because I just got back from the Hospital to see my Dad... or maybe this has just always been there. I was writing some darkness in my tiny sketch book. He pisses me off so much, but he is so scared and dense from where his life is. There is no answer for him. I doubt he will take "rehab" well for his muscles and health, I bet he will piss everyone off... because he's the sort of guy who would fart in the direction of one's girlfriend at his son's birthday dinner... or he wants you to insult him and to call him names it seems to reinforce some sort of masochistic regime he has built in his head and heart. I really do not know enough about where he is where he came from or why to understand how to fix this... or at least make it livable for Mom and myself. I heavily suspect he really wants to die... or at least thinks he does... because to him life has nothing left to offer... because the drugs and parties are gone.

There is more to life and weather than sunshine... and this broken plate may be the barometer.