UNEMPLOYABLE 6

Knee deep in the wreckage of my stalled life. With lots of time for sleeping and selling off all my acummulated possessions. I am chilling out developing interesting nuerosis'. It feels very productive and profitable at times. It even feels like legitimate work. And maybe it is. The gross profits are high but the net is really much more humble of a figure. More like me (minus the major attitude.)

After a blissful 2000 day stretch of gainful employment, I have been awakened from my sleep-trottened routine. And looking back, I have learned a few real-world tricks this time around, and this unemployment will be different, better, last longer, maybe even parlay into something like the life of an artist that doesn't grab ankles for 8 hours a day.

I am at Misha's Coffee House, RJ's favorite place, unless Blue Bottle has surpassed them, and on second thought they definitely have for me. With a Back-hoe and a Jack Hammer in the street right in front of the open air shack, Blue Bottle is still better. The expresso still managed a silent perfection. A smoothness that stopped the world and when I came to the city works guys were giving out earplugs. I declined with some sort of east coast gravity toward the negatory, but what a city! I say. I guess that is why its been called the most livable since the early teens of the 20th century.

But right now back in VA it's raining outside and the traffic is crawling all over the place from the mixing bowl to Silver Spring. So I am just waiting it out. Fielding questions about my possessions on the table in front of me. And wondering when the hell I will ever follow through and meet A.M. Wood again for a movie.

I am real excited about two new illustrations that have come to me lately for my vintage wood series. The first is the 'Death Hoax' illustrated with a smiling double-ended noose and will be followed by all those in participation. The second is the Impotent Blimp, this illustration is a bit fuzzy.

I have interviewed another contractor to help rebuild my suburban modern 70s condo. Things are looking good, this guy could be the one to finally free me from my nest on the east coast. Hopefully things will be wrapped up by March 11th and at 38 I can try again to relocate to a place with a pulse and maybe even start fucking things with a pulse again too, the martz vase with the surgical glove taped over the mouth and the middle finger pulled through the bottom and the moaning soundtrack just aren't cutting it. I could go on and on about my social life but I don't want to push you beyond boredom. This is just an illustration in reality to show how overdue the attention to myself has been. Maybe after denying my true-self these are the consequences. I don't know. I am just a small selfish man with a bit of talent, and like everyone else I have a bucket full of unrealized potential. This bucket will probably follow me to my grave. I think my key to failure thus far is not knowing what I want out of life or simply wanting it all. I gotta marinate on that for a while.

"Do not lead a life of quiet desperation." (Ed Korac from the GB Coffee Shop.)