Icing on the Cost…

Does My Imaginary Butt look Fat?

I doubt that this is true for everyone, in fact..I know it isn't, but I do know that it's true for myself and for many that I call friend: Having a crush on somebody can be it's own incentive to accomplish certain things that you have been neglecting or lethargic about to some extent, an incentive that can't be found or equaled anywhere else.
I'm not talking about the little everyday crushes.....the ones where you find yourself thinking, "That person is cute...I wonder if they would like to shag and then never cross paths again?" No. I'm writing about those gut fucking wrenching crushes that you can't explain and won't leave your thoughts ever, whether you're awake or sleeping...usually involving a person you have no chance with either because they are already in a relationship, married, gay or already issued a restraining order against you.

Those are the crushes that kick my ass, where I find myself immersed in drawings or writing for whatever reason that I tend to do that. To be honest, I have to think that my reasons are of the 'distraction' sort, because let's face it: my chosen passions tends to be ones of a solitary existence. Going through a manic productive stage for me means that I become even more reclusive than I already am.

In any case, the fact still remains: a heart poisoning crush puts me at my most creative, which is a place that I would like to be in right now. The problem being, I have no crush to speak of.....actually, I haven't had one for a long, long time now. Years to be more to the point.....and I'm not entirely sure why. I wouldn't dare to say that I think I'm incapable of them anymore, because that would be like saying that I doubt I'll ever get another ticket on my car for having no front plate even though I do. I just think my unconscious is smart enough to leave well enough alone at the moment.

So, I decided to create a crush. An imaginary one that we'll name No.6 to keep it impersonal. I would describe her for you all if it weren't for the fact that I can't. The problem with having a make-believe infatuation for me is that my imagination tends to wander. At one point, No.6 was a brunette....at another point, a red head. She even had three arms for a short while because I thought that would help in her knitting, which she likes to do, but then she gave it up to raise legless otters. Of course she has a thick Russian accent, but for a short period she had the voice of Scott Baio in his Chachi days.....which really, really disturbed me and caused me to drink heavily that night!

Do I honestly think that manufacturing a person to obsess over will work at all? Of course not. The whole idea behind this came about from a night out with new friends over drinks at the Sputnik. At one point we brought up that we agreed it would be great if we could bottle that intensity a crush generates while leaving out all the negative side effects....like, oh I don't know....despair?
As you can tell, I genuinely like the whole idea....enough that it put the whole subject of crushes in my mind, and made me almost wish that I could feel that again. That is until I take a step back to witness all the violent ups and downs my friends seem to be going through with their significant others....and then I thank my unconscious for keeping that door closed for the time being.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I think there's an imaginary lawyer at my door to issue me a phantom restraining order........

Flaws in the Holding Pattern…

It Happens Three Times Twice…

Who Runs Bounty Town?

I've probably mentioned this before, but it's a rarity that I am actually lucky enough to remember my dreams...most likely due to the fact that I spend enough energy daydreaming that my mind thinks to itself, "why bother?". But every now and again a vivid enough dream breaks through to the memory of my waking life, as the one from last night did.

In short, I dreamt that I was in a post-apocalyptic future, dressed to the nines in the latest of canvas, leather and rubber found objects. Everything had been destroyed and then haphazardly attempted to have been reassembled with duct tape. The landscape looked like a Cormac McCarthy story setting. You get the picture, I hope.
I was with a group of similar vagabonds, traveling from destroyed area to destroyed area in search of what was now the most valuable objects in this new world. Could it be gasoline? Maybe uncontaminated water? Any sort of hope or reminder of a better world before? Actually, it was large caches of gleaming white rolls of Paper Towels. It turns out that when the entire infrastructure of the world crumbles to dust, normal everyday accidental spills are the battles that are still worth fighting.
The dream ended during a fight with another nomadic tribe of clumsy drinkers fighting us for a found pile of white cottony gold. I didn't get the satisfaction of knowing wether we were victorious and therefore free from a future of small puddles for a short time....but the dream made enough of an impression on myself that not only did I wake and immediately check my kitchen for paper towels (of which there are still several rolls...take that you Cruel Hand of Fate!!), but I was inspired to do a little inspired sketch at work for Crumbly Nevertheless:

At this point I have a few hundred of these little drawings floating around my drawing table here....many of which I have already posted to the Crumbly Nevertheless Blog.....many more I need to do so with this weekend.
What started as a way to pass some down time at work with a ballpoint pen and some paper has become a little obsession for me....and as the reader count of that little corner of the web grows, I have entertained thoughts of how fun it would be just to have a showing of these little guys, even in this time of fear of all that is NOT archival in the art world. Still, it's a cute thought.....who knows?