What it is.

I know a girl with an artist trapped deeply inside her. She provides for herself, she don't need you to like her. She dresses like a famous portrait. She talks like an angel with the makeup of dangerous torment. She don't wanna get married, she wanna get carried away. And figure out how to display all the things she wants to say. She would try to paint. But she don't got the patience that it looks like it takes. Plus her thoughts are too colorful to fit inside a picture. Her spirit is the genuine elixir. Her personality is such a brilliant, fucking work of art. She's a devil with a sensitive heart. She don't like the boys that feel like they gotta be cool. And she don't like the fake hoes in Cosmetology school. But one day, she'll show the world That she's no ordinary, god damn woman.

Perhaps you've decided that you wanted to make great artwork. Perhaps you’re having a hard time getting started creating great artwork as you’re afraid your artwork won’t actually turn out that great. You start looking for a great idea because you want your great art to mean great things to great people. Before you know it, you may be thinking you shouldn't make artwork unless it can decided on a purpose its way of life, a consistent approach to an impossible end, or even an imagined end. You find yourself not making anything at all, and what’s more? You hate every minute of it. Well DON’T. Forget all that. Learn to say "fuck you" to the world every once in a while. You have every right to. Just stop thinking, worrying, looking over your shoulder, wondering, doubting, fearing, hurting, hoping for some easy way out, struggling, gasping, confusing, itching, scratching, mumbling, bumbling, grumbling, humbling, stumbling, rumbling, rambling, gambling, tumbling, scumbling, scrambling, hitching, hatching, bitching, moaning, groaning, hoaning, boning, horse-shitting, hair-splitting, nip-picking, piss-trinckling, nose-sticking, ass-coaching, eyeball-poking, finger-pointing, alleyway-sneaking, long-waiting, small-stepping, evil-eyeing, back-scratching, searching, perching, be-smirking, GRINDING, GRINDING, GRINDING away of yourself. Stop it, and just DO. Do something. DO anything. Do drawings. Clean, clear, but crazy like machines. Larger, bolder, real nonsense. That’s sounds wonderful, real nonsense. More nonsensical, more crazy, more machines, more tits, twats, more tallywackers, whatever. Make them a bound with nonsense. Try to tickle something inside of you, your weird humor. You belong in the most secret part of you. Don’t worry about cool, make your own un-cool. Make your own world. If you fear, make it work for you. Draw and paint your fear and anxiety, stop worrying about big, deep things, you must practice being stupid, dumb, unthinking, and empty. Then you will be able to do. Do something, do anything. Don’t worry about trying to do good work, try to do some bad work. The worst you can think of, and see what happens. But mainly relax, and let everything go to hell. You are not responsible for the world. You are only responsible for your work, so do it. And don’t think that your work has to confirm to any idea, or flavor, it can be anything that you want it to be. But if life would be easier for you if you stop working, then STOP. Don’t punish yourself; however, chances are it’s so deeply ingrained in you, it would be far easier for you to just do. Do something, do anything.

       But there is another aspect to this. I feel like confidence is an actual hindrance to me. This is going to sound weird to say, but I almost feel like I have got a little custodian living in my brain somewhere, and whenever I say or do anything that isn't totally saturated with humility, he will cause me to screw up royally so I get too embarrassed and never act arrogant again. I have a little half-assed theory that this principle works something like this. The custodian in your head has been monitoring your emotional outlook. If this has been consisted for an extended period of time, he just gets very used to it. However, if he suddenly receives signals that are contrary to that sad outlook, he doesn't know how to handle it. He totally freaks out and does whatever he can to sabotage them so he can go back to what he perceives to be a “normal" state of mind. Now I’m not saying this state of mind cannot eventually be changed, but speaking from experience, your brain can be a stubborn asshole about these things sometimes. But there is one last thing, let’s say you’ve finally decided that you are sick of being in the arena of the “non-confident.” You learn to talk the talk. You learn to walk the walk. You are embraced and accepted by the people, the mentality, and the lifestyle that you thought you always wanted. Do you think it’s possible that it will go through your mind: “you know something, I feel like an impostor, and what’s more, if these “confident” people actually think I’m confident, then they’re really easily fooled.

Now I don't want to make any huge generalization about women. You know, I'm not here to do that. That would be vulgar. BUT all I'm saying is women have no feelings. I'm using the word "feelings" very loosely here, by the way. Because it's actually men who you will find to be far more romantic. Men are the people you will hear say "I found somebody. She's amazing. If I don't get to be with this person, I'm fucked. I can't carry on, I just can't do it. No, I mean it. She has totally transformed my life. I have a job, and a house. It means nothing without her. I can't stand it, I have to be with her because if I don't I'm going to end up alone in some bed set, I will be alcoholic, and I will love itchy trousers. I can't walk the streets anymore." -THAT'S how women feel about shoes. But maybe that's just me.

So like I said, when you’re a kid you don’t really understand the concept of death which is logical because you don’t really understand the concept of life either. Even though a lot of people try to tell you about how precious life really is, it is really difficult for it to sink in then because almost everyone who tells you this doesn't appear to be having a particularly a good time anymore. There are many, many theories about what death is really like. I have heard a lot of them, but for some reason the only ones I believe (not really) are the ones told by junkie rock stars who were dead for a few minutes, and then revived. usually they say they saw a light, had a trippy out of body experience, and then nothingness. Although cemeteries are often regarded as a depressing place to hang out, I always thought they gave me some sense of perspective. When you start thinking that for the time they were alive, everyone of these people was at the center of their own universe. They all had varies wants, hopes, and ambitions, and maybe even believed they had all the time in the world. I always used to get paranoid that when lying on my deathbed I would be haunted by the phrase “If you don’t make the most of your life, you've got no one to blame but yourself.” When the time comes though, I plan to comfort myself with the phrase “ We are here on Earth to fart around, and don’t let anybody tell you otherwise.” I don’t know if I’m all that afraid of death, but I have made it a point to try and not die stupidly because it would kind of a drag to spend after life and eternity feeling like a dumb shit. If you ever had the experience of really thinking that you might be facing death, you might be also familiar with the temptations to make deals with whichever supernatural powers you may believe in, and vow to be a better human being if you happen to get out of it. I hope you also know the ecstatic feeling of being let off the hook, and the threat of immediate death has been inverted. But then you may also understand how the vow to be a better person might wear off after a while. I don’t know if this sounds dumb or not, but if I was dying, I doubt I will be concerned that I didn't earn enough money, status, or power. But I do think I’d be annoyed that I didn't spend enough time lying down in the park looking at trees. I never really understood the allure of having children until last year when I saw this old man playing with his grand daughter. It sort of hit me that when you’re really old and your friends are dying, and you know your time is almost up yourself, it’s not a bad idea to mix in some little life in there as well. A couple years ago I was visiting a grave of a friend I knew, and it occurred to me that I had no idea what was the proper way of honoring the dead. While I was standing there, two kids and their dog came tearing through the cemetery, and started brushing the snow off of some of the headstones saying “who’s this guy?” “I don’t know.” “I wonder what he was like!” And then they ran off having themselves a grand old time. I stood there for a minute, and I thought for myself: “you know something, I think those two are doing a better job of it than I am.”  Lev Yilmaz.

What are fruits, anyways? They're just God's way of showing off and saying "look at all the colors I know!" I remember when I used to put avocado stones with three match sticks on the side inside a shot glass by the sink. That used to be a thing that I did. Take the avocado stone and pop it with match sticks and put it in a shot glass...because after you leave it there and after a couple of days you have....nothing. It's just an avocado stone with three matches inside a fucking shot glass. What the fuck is wrong with me? I should get on with my life.

You have this illusion all the time that you're "cool." People do. Not just younger people, everybody does. All men. 99.9% of men are convinced that they have to live silently with the bitter irony and twist of reality that nobody knows they're actually a spy. AND an amazing guitarist. Men give serious time and thought to "how would I deal with it if a rocket came out of that street right now? Yeah, I think I'd handle the situation pretty well, actually." A spy who plays the guitar at night. You have to tell yourself this bullshit just to keep going because you're constantly being reminded of how redundant you really are. 

Maybe the glass isn’t half empty or half full, maybe the glass is just a glass and doesn’t want to talk about it.

I remember when singers were SINGERS - ugly people. It didn't matter though, they were beautiful people because of what they could do. Now they have those poptarts popped out of some producing machine. Some of them have no talent whatsoever, but they have body parts that are more famous than them. You know, they have their asses flown in a different jet into the gates. They're not even real people. They're just those things that occupy thongs and boxers.

Mornings. What is that about? That time is a huge lie. "Get up, get up! We’re going to be late! Quickly! Late, imagine it! The disaster if we’re late! What’ll happen if we’re late? I can’t even bear to think about it!" Late is an idea. Late is bullshit. It doesn't matter how fucking late you are, you can turn up in your pyjamas scratching your nuts with a fork, the same old shit is going be there. People running up to you saying, "what do you think?" In the morning! Think?! I’m not even fucking breathing, go away with your "think." It takes you three quarters of an hour to find your face and apologies to it anyways. And how do they lure you back into the world, into the human race, into consciousness itself? With the great traditional breakfast! Fried slices of dead pig, tubes of dead pig, some fungus and a chicken's period on a plate, "WELCOME BACK! WE MISSED YOU WHILE YOU WERE SLEEPING! ENJOY!" And of course you can always have the healthy option, some yummy cereal, mhhhhhhm dust with milk! Says it right there on the box in big primary colored letters "contains fiber." Goody gumdrops, I was up all night fantasizing about fucking fiber. You know that feeling when you get a belly full of fiber and you can skip round the room taunting everybody who didn't get theirs? Remember all those times in your life when you stopped strangers in the street and screamed at them “I need some fiber!" Morning is a lie.