Journals11
Newest
Sometime soon
1 min read
I just started making stuff again after a full year off, so eventually you should expect something by me popping up.
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Supafly's addiction
8 min read
Haha, its not a real addiction.
Most commonly surrounding cigarettes or narcotics, and the topic of many cartoons involving rocket ships shaped like hypodermic needles flying to planet "Totally Uncool," addiction problems effect most people at one point or another. Usually these addictions are based around dependencies that are developed after prolonged usage; not to be confused with obsessive tendencies that crazy people have where they can't wear anything other than red or they will transform into a screaming 5 year old. Substance Abuse its called, where it becomes a needed daily function along with the only two other things that are required daily: eating and crapping.
Junkies are addicted to drugs, fat people are addicted to butter, ugly people are addicted to Wal-Marts, and Grandma is addicted to bingo. Come to think of it, everything has the potentiality of being addictive. Even the smell of vomit had to eventually start smelling like cocaine to at least one of the ride operators at six flags; hell, with all the old women addicted to the smell of cats, the existence of "vomit smell addiction" is more probable than you having a mother.
The reason I bring up addiction is because I have recently realized that I have an uncontrollable addiction to creation. No, not "creation" as if I had been struck dumb by the word of God and I can't stop smelling flowers and running through fields because I can't get enough of "creation"; I mean I am a creative fag who needs to create. This had only donned on me when I went computer free for a week or so, courtesy of a colossal move from one house to another. After the first day I started to get restless, and along with that I was getting a little depressed thinking that what I really had was a computer addiction and didn't have a life outside it. But, since staring at the latest processor on the market or coordinating my system clock with my pulse doesn't appeal to me at the moment, I doubt I can be in the same BO saturated virgin wagon as the average computer fanatic. No, I am certain that I just needed to get my hands on that damn stylus and keyboard, seeing how I am now forced to use a pen and paper for the first time in several months since I decided to gradually replace everything I use with objects from the future. You read me correctly, sadly, this was originally written with a pen on notebook paper, also used for 3 doodles of boxing elephants and drawing of a half-broom half-pogo stick man I named "Bristlieboop."
If you look around you will find that a lot of humanity shares this addiction. Some would call it ambition, and if drawing clouds had the ability to cure cancer it would be, but it is just a plight on those who don't create since they are the one's forced to look at it all. These days there is a terrible problem with people generating something, declaring themselves a genius, and then shoving their masterpiece up the noses of everyone around. Right now I am forcing you to read my unprofessional opinion on something you don't care about, which as I write now is just a product of my creation fixation.
Most people are eager to read what I write however, despite the fact that I never considered myself much of a writer. But I don't mind shoveling my steaming shit onto the world then if they are waiting for it with their mouths open, and they love it. The ice cream trucks in my area don't play music off a jack-in-the-box anymore; they just read one of my articles out loud into their megaphone to attract kids. But not everyone who needs to create is so well liked, and gets bombs instead of panties in the mail. They do continue, however, to display their handicapped writing style to the world, unable to stop.
Could this all be a means for more attention? Of course it is. Unless the person was a schizophrenic and exchanged critiques with themselves, they were probably planning on showing someone else. But don't think that the basis for starting would be from "not having anyone to talk to." If you walked by a person every day without noticing them, then that person writing a poem about waterfalls isn't going to make you notice them any more.
Even the most brain-damaged Special-Ed students know that if they were really starved for attention they can find better means to get it than scribbling down what little thoughts skittered across their minds. If I, for example, desperately needed attention, I wouldn't be wasting my time writing, I would be walking around downtown in a giant grapefruit constructed of flashing lights, while wallpapering posters of my face on every parked car. It would be a tiny miracle if I didn't end up on every news stations' 'pick of the day.'
Of course there are some people driven solely on the hope that their work would mean being known to slightly more of mankind, but I am not convinced that the millions of people out there who are writing short stories or drawing pictures of eyes do it in hopes of someday meeting their local mayor. I actually think it is a much simpler and obvious reason: people can't get enough of their own work. This is very awkward since most people claim nobody hates their work more than they do, and that is modest bullshit. Take all the people you have shown your work to, then multiply the amount of times you asked if they looked at it by the amount of hours you spent working on it, and that would be how many more times you like it than them.
Occasionally these creative types are called "artists," sometimes they aren't. I am not quite sure yet what would deem a man qualified of that title since it is always people who know nothing about art that decide who is an artist. But from what I have picked up, it seems that artists are just normal creation addicts, only incredibly fucked up. See, if I drew a scribbled accident that vaguely resembled a circle and showed it to someone, they would either laugh assuming I was joking, or they would punch me for making their day just a little more sad. But if a blind man drew the same hideous mess of crappy drawing with his ears, then the drawing would suddenly become a beautiful work of inspired art that just happens to look identical to my work of inspired recycled paper.
I'm not saying that a drawing by someone who couldn't see isn't more impressive than a drawing by me and my perfectly seeing eyes; I am saying that even if it were drawn by a dead Eskimo parrot, a shit drawing will still look like shit. So if artistic talent has nothing to do with being an artist, then really the only way to be considered a part of the elite "artist" faction at the creation addicts anonymous meetings is for something to be wrong with you.
Rack your brain for a moment and try to think of any great artists who were perfectly normal. Could you think of anyone who weren't raped as children, continuously strung out on drugs, too depressed to even cry, missing a very noticeable body part, or couldn't speak English? Sure they have an addiction to creation like everybody else, except their painting of an apple is much better than yours, even though it looks like an asshole.
So unless you are missing a lobe of your brain, or can only communicate by signing with your toes, a your visual creations will be cherished by give or take 1 person; because it sure as hell isn't art, and wouldn't be worth seeing. If you had the qualifications needed, however, your talents would be much better served as a medical test subject for laxative eyedrops. The creation of art came about when the government of the caveman nation Ugagabagoo needed to find something for the weak, slow, stupid, and bad tasting cave dwellers to keep busy with. And so after beating them up a few times, they figured out that they could be used as entertainment. The art of being beaten eventually evolved to scribbling stick figures on the walls and then later to modern day's 20-foot goats blood murals.
It turns out then, that an addiction to creation has as many practical uses as every other addiction: zero. Sure, the result are entertaining, but so is watching an alcoholic homeless person stutter out the one verse they know of "American Pie" 6 times for a handful of change. Everything I have said in fact is complete bullshit probably, and is about as enlightening as reading the back of an orange and learning what color it is. Maybe someday, if I catch a magic grasshopper or something and it grants my wishes for a flying lawnmower and the power to turn dirt into kittens, will I have the opportunity to use my addiction for something other than eye detonators.
Most commonly surrounding cigarettes or narcotics, and the topic of many cartoons involving rocket ships shaped like hypodermic needles flying to planet "Totally Uncool," addiction problems effect most people at one point or another. Usually these addictions are based around dependencies that are developed after prolonged usage; not to be confused with obsessive tendencies that crazy people have where they can't wear anything other than red or they will transform into a screaming 5 year old. Substance Abuse its called, where it becomes a needed daily function along with the only two other things that are required daily: eating and crapping.
Junkies are addicted to drugs, fat people are addicted to butter, ugly people are addicted to Wal-Marts, and Grandma is addicted to bingo. Come to think of it, everything has the potentiality of being addictive. Even the smell of vomit had to eventually start smelling like cocaine to at least one of the ride operators at six flags; hell, with all the old women addicted to the smell of cats, the existence of "vomit smell addiction" is more probable than you having a mother.
The reason I bring up addiction is because I have recently realized that I have an uncontrollable addiction to creation. No, not "creation" as if I had been struck dumb by the word of God and I can't stop smelling flowers and running through fields because I can't get enough of "creation"; I mean I am a creative fag who needs to create. This had only donned on me when I went computer free for a week or so, courtesy of a colossal move from one house to another. After the first day I started to get restless, and along with that I was getting a little depressed thinking that what I really had was a computer addiction and didn't have a life outside it. But, since staring at the latest processor on the market or coordinating my system clock with my pulse doesn't appeal to me at the moment, I doubt I can be in the same BO saturated virgin wagon as the average computer fanatic. No, I am certain that I just needed to get my hands on that damn stylus and keyboard, seeing how I am now forced to use a pen and paper for the first time in several months since I decided to gradually replace everything I use with objects from the future. You read me correctly, sadly, this was originally written with a pen on notebook paper, also used for 3 doodles of boxing elephants and drawing of a half-broom half-pogo stick man I named "Bristlieboop."
If you look around you will find that a lot of humanity shares this addiction. Some would call it ambition, and if drawing clouds had the ability to cure cancer it would be, but it is just a plight on those who don't create since they are the one's forced to look at it all. These days there is a terrible problem with people generating something, declaring themselves a genius, and then shoving their masterpiece up the noses of everyone around. Right now I am forcing you to read my unprofessional opinion on something you don't care about, which as I write now is just a product of my creation fixation.
Most people are eager to read what I write however, despite the fact that I never considered myself much of a writer. But I don't mind shoveling my steaming shit onto the world then if they are waiting for it with their mouths open, and they love it. The ice cream trucks in my area don't play music off a jack-in-the-box anymore; they just read one of my articles out loud into their megaphone to attract kids. But not everyone who needs to create is so well liked, and gets bombs instead of panties in the mail. They do continue, however, to display their handicapped writing style to the world, unable to stop.
Could this all be a means for more attention? Of course it is. Unless the person was a schizophrenic and exchanged critiques with themselves, they were probably planning on showing someone else. But don't think that the basis for starting would be from "not having anyone to talk to." If you walked by a person every day without noticing them, then that person writing a poem about waterfalls isn't going to make you notice them any more.
Even the most brain-damaged Special-Ed students know that if they were really starved for attention they can find better means to get it than scribbling down what little thoughts skittered across their minds. If I, for example, desperately needed attention, I wouldn't be wasting my time writing, I would be walking around downtown in a giant grapefruit constructed of flashing lights, while wallpapering posters of my face on every parked car. It would be a tiny miracle if I didn't end up on every news stations' 'pick of the day.'
Of course there are some people driven solely on the hope that their work would mean being known to slightly more of mankind, but I am not convinced that the millions of people out there who are writing short stories or drawing pictures of eyes do it in hopes of someday meeting their local mayor. I actually think it is a much simpler and obvious reason: people can't get enough of their own work. This is very awkward since most people claim nobody hates their work more than they do, and that is modest bullshit. Take all the people you have shown your work to, then multiply the amount of times you asked if they looked at it by the amount of hours you spent working on it, and that would be how many more times you like it than them.
Occasionally these creative types are called "artists," sometimes they aren't. I am not quite sure yet what would deem a man qualified of that title since it is always people who know nothing about art that decide who is an artist. But from what I have picked up, it seems that artists are just normal creation addicts, only incredibly fucked up. See, if I drew a scribbled accident that vaguely resembled a circle and showed it to someone, they would either laugh assuming I was joking, or they would punch me for making their day just a little more sad. But if a blind man drew the same hideous mess of crappy drawing with his ears, then the drawing would suddenly become a beautiful work of inspired art that just happens to look identical to my work of inspired recycled paper.
I'm not saying that a drawing by someone who couldn't see isn't more impressive than a drawing by me and my perfectly seeing eyes; I am saying that even if it were drawn by a dead Eskimo parrot, a shit drawing will still look like shit. So if artistic talent has nothing to do with being an artist, then really the only way to be considered a part of the elite "artist" faction at the creation addicts anonymous meetings is for something to be wrong with you.
Rack your brain for a moment and try to think of any great artists who were perfectly normal. Could you think of anyone who weren't raped as children, continuously strung out on drugs, too depressed to even cry, missing a very noticeable body part, or couldn't speak English? Sure they have an addiction to creation like everybody else, except their painting of an apple is much better than yours, even though it looks like an asshole.
So unless you are missing a lobe of your brain, or can only communicate by signing with your toes, a your visual creations will be cherished by give or take 1 person; because it sure as hell isn't art, and wouldn't be worth seeing. If you had the qualifications needed, however, your talents would be much better served as a medical test subject for laxative eyedrops. The creation of art came about when the government of the caveman nation Ugagabagoo needed to find something for the weak, slow, stupid, and bad tasting cave dwellers to keep busy with. And so after beating them up a few times, they figured out that they could be used as entertainment. The art of being beaten eventually evolved to scribbling stick figures on the walls and then later to modern day's 20-foot goats blood murals.
It turns out then, that an addiction to creation has as many practical uses as every other addiction: zero. Sure, the result are entertaining, but so is watching an alcoholic homeless person stutter out the one verse they know of "American Pie" 6 times for a handful of change. Everything I have said in fact is complete bullshit probably, and is about as enlightening as reading the back of an orange and learning what color it is. Maybe someday, if I catch a magic grasshopper or something and it grants my wishes for a flying lawnmower and the power to turn dirt into kittens, will I have the opportunity to use my addiction for something other than eye detonators.
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Superdupercuts
3 min read
Now I am positive I am much more attractive with short hair than long. The other day I had my hair cut after going 6 months of growing it out due to being gone to war in antartica, and since I was now a war hero to Ice sculptures everywhere, I thought it should only be fitting to get a hero's haircut. Since I am at my parent's house currently I don't have the luxury of having my favorite haircut place (they give you a photo of you with your hair with every haircut), and so I was forced to seek out a substandard barber called supercuts.
Since I was a hero now I was a little eager to get my hair cut by a Superhero, so I could share hero stories and recepies, but apparently Mr.Supercuts was away when I got there so I ended up having to get one of his sidekicks to touch my hair instead. I was a little dissapointed at first, knowing that my fragile hair would not be in the hands of superclippers, but the woman that was standing in was pretty cute and around my age, so I didn't mind.
Now keep in mind that my hair was resting on my shoulders, and since I am a tough guy war veteran, I never comb it; so I wasn't looking too flattering. But as I sat in that chair haveing my dew cleaved, and more of my movie star good looks was gradually being revealed, the young hair maiden was becoming more appreciative of my heroic presence. In fact, she was starting to bluntingly flirt.
Now, since my only mistress on this planet is danger, I was able to withstand her well groomed advances, but it got me to thinking: if my sex appeal grows with the diminishment of my hair, and I am already a heartbreaker as it is, imagine what it would be like if I was completely bald? Though the thought did tempt me, I decided that it would be too dangerous to unleash that type of sexual power over the women of earth. Maybe some day when the world needs an army of beautiful amazon women to fight the evil forces of Dr. Destructocron in 2024, I will consider it.
Hopefully next time the mighty Supercuts won't be away fighting the hairy forces of russian ape-men when I need my head to be groomed, and I will truely get a supercut. But I did make a valuable discovery that hopefully will be used for the forces of good, and not the forces of stupid.
Since I was a hero now I was a little eager to get my hair cut by a Superhero, so I could share hero stories and recepies, but apparently Mr.Supercuts was away when I got there so I ended up having to get one of his sidekicks to touch my hair instead. I was a little dissapointed at first, knowing that my fragile hair would not be in the hands of superclippers, but the woman that was standing in was pretty cute and around my age, so I didn't mind.
Now keep in mind that my hair was resting on my shoulders, and since I am a tough guy war veteran, I never comb it; so I wasn't looking too flattering. But as I sat in that chair haveing my dew cleaved, and more of my movie star good looks was gradually being revealed, the young hair maiden was becoming more appreciative of my heroic presence. In fact, she was starting to bluntingly flirt.
Now, since my only mistress on this planet is danger, I was able to withstand her well groomed advances, but it got me to thinking: if my sex appeal grows with the diminishment of my hair, and I am already a heartbreaker as it is, imagine what it would be like if I was completely bald? Though the thought did tempt me, I decided that it would be too dangerous to unleash that type of sexual power over the women of earth. Maybe some day when the world needs an army of beautiful amazon women to fight the evil forces of Dr. Destructocron in 2024, I will consider it.
Hopefully next time the mighty Supercuts won't be away fighting the hairy forces of russian ape-men when I need my head to be groomed, and I will truely get a supercut. But I did make a valuable discovery that hopefully will be used for the forces of good, and not the forces of stupid.
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Drawing
1 min read
Between many things I have been doing recently, and my new found addiction to drawing, I am actually getting new peices finished! So, each new work is getting better and better so be sure to keep an eye out.
PS, I AM NEVER AROUND.
PS, I AM NEVER AROUND.
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Artists: I agree with Seanbaby
4 min read
THE MEANING OF ART:
It's a common misconception that art has meaning. I've been to enough gallery critiques to know that after 8 years of art school, a person can trick themselves into thinking some ass-colored paint splat is telling them something about how smart they are. Don't fall for this. Any painting that has a secret meaning is just an artist sucking his own dick about how some people can't unriddle their profound wisdom. And their profound wisdom is usually that yellow looks pretty next to purple, they don't like television, or how the government should fill their asshole with sexy miniature firemen.
This is a true story: when I was in art school I had a dipshit in my painting class that painted a guitar on fire. He stood in front of the class and actually said, "I painted this to show my burning desire... to write songs for the guitar." I still hadn't stopped laughing by the time another girl showed her swirls of nonsense colors and said, "I was trying to show the emotion... of anger." It was about there where the professor asked me to laugh the tears out of my eyes somewhere else.
That is exactly what's wrong with artists. In the 10 or 12 hours you spent on a painting that someone might interpret to mean that you love the guitar, you could have knocked on 800 people's random doors and told them all, with no misunderstanding, that you're one hundred percent behind the success of the guitar. Or better yet, if it's really that important that everyone knows you enjoy the guitar, FUCK YOU.
Art would like to think that it's some sort of secret communication device between the intellectual elite, but all it's doing is circling a message through the same group of fags that they're all pissed off. It's a waste of time; you can tell someone you're pissed off with a simple karate chop. Karate attacks or just words about karate attacks are a cleaner and faster means of communication than painting floating eyeballs with your body fluids ever will be. That's what makes this exploding cow so special. It wasn't a visual interpretation of some profound statement. It needed to happen because there are no words that will ever be as rad as filling a cow with dynamite and dropping it from the sky. Unless you're a hypnotist and you say the words, "Take off the Wonder Woman outfit and make out with your twin sister."
-Seanbaby
Besides his discouragement of creating art, I have always held the same basic beliefs about the concept of art in general. Artists believe they are supirior to the world, which they aren't. They believe they are exceptionally different, which they are; but it isn't that much more significant from anyone else's differences from one another, they are just different in a louder and more visual way.
This all plays an important part in why I have been afraid of art. I do not want to box myself in from the rest of the world, claiming that I can never live happily among them because they could never possibly get me - unless they bowed down and treated me as their god. Being forced to starve, and practice my work in a dark corner mumbling about how I enjoy the emptiness, after cursing at a fast food commercial.
But, as the bum realises that begging isn't a career, I have realised that I shoulden't let the stereotype that idiot artists allow themselves to be enveloped by, be a reason to fear it. I am my own man, and if I don't want to become a friuty pansy, then I won't. I can be logical and artistical can I not?
What I need is a mentor, who is like me. To help me through this transitional period in my life. And keep me from getting frustrated with the accentric members of my society. Maybe I should move to Europe... :L
It's a common misconception that art has meaning. I've been to enough gallery critiques to know that after 8 years of art school, a person can trick themselves into thinking some ass-colored paint splat is telling them something about how smart they are. Don't fall for this. Any painting that has a secret meaning is just an artist sucking his own dick about how some people can't unriddle their profound wisdom. And their profound wisdom is usually that yellow looks pretty next to purple, they don't like television, or how the government should fill their asshole with sexy miniature firemen.
This is a true story: when I was in art school I had a dipshit in my painting class that painted a guitar on fire. He stood in front of the class and actually said, "I painted this to show my burning desire... to write songs for the guitar." I still hadn't stopped laughing by the time another girl showed her swirls of nonsense colors and said, "I was trying to show the emotion... of anger." It was about there where the professor asked me to laugh the tears out of my eyes somewhere else.
That is exactly what's wrong with artists. In the 10 or 12 hours you spent on a painting that someone might interpret to mean that you love the guitar, you could have knocked on 800 people's random doors and told them all, with no misunderstanding, that you're one hundred percent behind the success of the guitar. Or better yet, if it's really that important that everyone knows you enjoy the guitar, FUCK YOU.
Art would like to think that it's some sort of secret communication device between the intellectual elite, but all it's doing is circling a message through the same group of fags that they're all pissed off. It's a waste of time; you can tell someone you're pissed off with a simple karate chop. Karate attacks or just words about karate attacks are a cleaner and faster means of communication than painting floating eyeballs with your body fluids ever will be. That's what makes this exploding cow so special. It wasn't a visual interpretation of some profound statement. It needed to happen because there are no words that will ever be as rad as filling a cow with dynamite and dropping it from the sky. Unless you're a hypnotist and you say the words, "Take off the Wonder Woman outfit and make out with your twin sister."
-Seanbaby
Besides his discouragement of creating art, I have always held the same basic beliefs about the concept of art in general. Artists believe they are supirior to the world, which they aren't. They believe they are exceptionally different, which they are; but it isn't that much more significant from anyone else's differences from one another, they are just different in a louder and more visual way.
This all plays an important part in why I have been afraid of art. I do not want to box myself in from the rest of the world, claiming that I can never live happily among them because they could never possibly get me - unless they bowed down and treated me as their god. Being forced to starve, and practice my work in a dark corner mumbling about how I enjoy the emptiness, after cursing at a fast food commercial.
But, as the bum realises that begging isn't a career, I have realised that I shoulden't let the stereotype that idiot artists allow themselves to be enveloped by, be a reason to fear it. I am my own man, and if I don't want to become a friuty pansy, then I won't. I can be logical and artistical can I not?
What I need is a mentor, who is like me. To help me through this transitional period in my life. And keep me from getting frustrated with the accentric members of my society. Maybe I should move to Europe... :L
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