Poo on Society's New Fangled Halloween. Let me tell you, Witches generally lived in climates where miniskirts are just f****ing suicidal.

I think I'm going to try to be a Kabuki dancer for halloween.

One of Josh's friends is having a "Haunted Circus" party, and they told me a should be a sexy clown. What the shit is that? Sexy and clown are two words that should just never coincide. Period.

I suggested I could be a big top ringleader (excuse to buy a top hat). This girl didn't like the suggestion much. I suppose that's what she - host, it's a given - had been planning on.

I can only hope (probably in vain) the trend in Halloween as excuse for hooker outfits in public does not infiltrate grad students in the bible belt.

I could yell for a long time about how much I hate that trend. If I wanna dress like a hooker, I'll do it on a day that I command it be Erika Dress Like a Hooker Day. I don't have to wait for some paltry excuse.

Reminder...

The world is full of freaks. The breed out here seem like they'd fit in perfectly at, alternately, Nascar and South of the Border as receptionists to the berated and tired I-95 drones.

It kinda scares me how many old ladies out here wear their hair like frazzled, orange Sarah Palin bouffant-toupees. It's just bizarre.

Also:
Multiple small frustrations are infinitely worse than one roadblock
Desperation is the best inspiration toward action
Hope really is a sucker. Hope used to depress me, but that might just have been because I knew I really had none.
I hate the same people Stef hates.
I don't enjoy anger, but a good clean hatred can be a mighty fine enema.
Joshua is a saint for lending me blank CDs and teaching me guitar.
I am not good at repetitive motion, songs consisting of a repeated finger picking bar are beyond me.

um... Stale espresso is the devil's way of reminding me I'm far from The Lost Dog.

Limbo, 2

The first week of autumn has seen us nothing but blue skies over Stillwater; accompaniment provided by 80 degree air. That is, perfection.

Working indoors all day long finds me thinking -- well, damn, if only I could get outside and drowse in the bright blue-gold.

As soon as I get out of work I rejoice in the free of fryer air and hold my arms out like a tree -- just like that scene from Girl Interrupted, but I really am a tree -- not a shrub.

Then I drive straight home, have to meet up with Joshua and walk the dog.

Once home, I'm exhausted. It's amazing how draining a hatred is on the body. To counteract the constant, pointless motion of work I sit in my office and occupy myself with any number of things that may or may not survive to be impressive. Immediately, these activities are still and mentally challenging. Thus, relief.

The more I read this Absinthe picture book of mine, the more I understand the slide into "Being an Artist" by nineteenth century standards; except my bank account doesn't support lounging around on the terraces of cafes.

Mostly I'm afraid to walk anywhere in this town without shoes, and would have very little luck in finding a place anywhere in the town to walk about and enjoy sunshine anyhow.

This particular realization made me miss Shepherdstown keenly. This was a place where -- no matter what got tossed on the ground and broke -- I never once hurt my feet by being barefoot. Never was there a shortage of pretty places to sit. Never a hunt for pretty. That might be another reason for my sudden effluence in art work, the distinct lack of pretty that exists here. Get out of town during a roiled weather day, perhaps, yes, the landscape is gorgeous like linen, but in town we are in a scrap of New Jersey tossed as far as possible and festering with franchise.
And nothing is within walking distance from my apartment.

There are two bike places though. When I stop owing Joshua money I'll check them out.

Limbo, 1

I spoke to the lawyer today. He apologized for not hiring me. Apparently longevity of an employee is more important than the quality of work they will produce.

Apparently, the whole Brightest Candle Burns Quickest thing, or whatever, doesn't apply to the wider employment world. Why build it just to watch the next guy leave it die?

I've nothing clever to say about this, but I picked up my little employment wanted papers today and have resolved to start lying about how long I'll be staying in this state.

Also, I talked a credit card company out of making me pay over $150. This is entirely ego boosting, especially in the light that I just got turned down on a job to work with a lawyer.

While on the phone I doodled. The hold music was horrible. What started as an arrow ended as a fetus. Whitney would be so proud.

Bigger drawings are producing themselves in my head rather rapidly. Two Victorian, French ads. A girl in headphones and a girl pouring tea.

The last two are just Vermeer enough to make me think myself rather arty, the first two fit me into today's consumed world with a fashionable touch of nostalgia.

Yep, I have time enough to draw. That hasn't happened since I lived with Genelle and Johanna. I listened to alot P.O.D. and System of a Down then.

Hmm. I like to think all this Radiohead is an improvement...

I love you all.

Recovery

Points of interest:

+ The OSU newspaper is worse even than the Picket.
+ I have one penicillin pill left meaning I can restart my concourse with TB sufferers tomorrow.
+ My left bruise is gone, but my right cheek still looks terribly bad-ass. I'm so happy! A couple guys at work and I are trying to convince customers that I got in a chick fight at a bar last week.


Blog:

With aid of hydrocodone and no continuous sleep, I have read a whole lot, written a whole lot, drawn a whole lot and watched many movies and episodes of Rome.

Now, I'm off pain killers almost completely, only administering aspirin when the need arises--about twice a day--and back to drab-ass work. But I have come away from my not-quite-spiritual experience with a renewed confidence in my "work."

I no longer care if what I am creating is Great or Big or will hold past posterity. The idea is to capture society as it is right now. The idea is to be that zeitgeist that kids will hate in 200 years. My relief comes from the idea that we have no clue

a) what will survive to 200 years from now
b) what society will value 200 years from now

So it's out of my hands. I think this is a type of religious faith I've found. My holy foods, as you may know, are pistachio or mango anything and absinthe. Falafel and pesto may make onto the list. They're pending.

I am now accepting zealots, please form a queue to my left; Pistachio or Death.



PS. Hydrocodone: not a fun drug. No hallucinations, just drowsiness.