[Deviant Nation] Raven's Journal

Christmas Pens

Raven — Tue, 02 Dec 2008 07:42:35 GMT

Since I don't have much to say worthy of a journal entry, I thought I'd post pics of a pen order recently placed with me. Man I love making these things.

The top pen is a gift for my father. The other six were recently ordered by a customer.

Stabilized Navy blue maple burl WallStreet II w/ 24kt black titanium and 24kt gold hardware.

Rainforest acrylic with gold hardware

Tuscan Sun acrylic with pearl silver hardware

Red & Black acrylic with gunmetal hardware

Purple Haze acrylic with mat gold hardware

Fools Gold acrylic with mat gold hardware. That's the thing that sucks about this stuff. You never have any clue what the pens will come out looking like when you're looking at the raw stock. This stuff looked much nicer.

Maple Syrup WallStreet II with two-tone silver hardware.

First, Last and Always...
Raven

After everything I've done I hate myself for what I've become

Raven — Mon, 24 Nov 2008 19:46:25 GMT

Did I ever mention that I can be pretty stupid at times? Case in point, I just blew the money that should have gone to paying my 2 weeks behind electric bill Saturday night for this.

Probably one of the best shows I've ever been to. Not just for the fact that he played a really song set (songs played from every full length album he's put out so far), but for having the most high tech stage show I've witnessed yet.

They had 3 seperate giant LED screens for the stage. 1 behind the stage that stayed there for the whole show. 2 more that hung above the stage in front an in the middle of the stage for some really kick ass visual affects.

Sorry for the unsteady camera work on this last clip. People kept jostling me around. That and the picture quality is rather crappy. I mostly just wanted the footage to show some of the kick ass things they were doing with the LED screens.

The highlight of the evening, FINALLY getting to see March of the Pigs performed live. That and Gave Up... the one song from any artist I most closely identify to.

First, Last and Always...
Raven
"Smashed up my sanity
Smashed up integrity
Smashed up what I believe in
Smashed up what's left of me.

Smashed up my everything
Smashed up all that was true
Gonna smash myself to pieces
I don't know what else to do" - NIN/Gave Up

I would like to congratulate you America

Raven — Wed, 05 Nov 2008 06:49:39 GMT

    On electing our first black president. On helping to erase the color lines and show that maybe.... just maybe racism is finally dying out in America.

    Instead, all I can do is shake my head at just how easily you were duped America.

You couldn't be bothered to do a little research and find the truth for yourselves. Or maybe you spent a few hours on the democratic party website, or Barrack Obama's website. Maybe you even took the time to read Barrack's book and decided that all that spoon fed garbage you ate up qualified as "research". Cause Bob knows no one would ever lie in their own book or an "official" website.
    You couldn't be bothered by the inconsistency of a man who claimed to be a Christian during the campaign, but just a year before in an interview with a New York times reporter stated that the sound of the Muslim prayer being spoken at sunset was the most beautiful sound in the world. I suppose you'll say I'm prejudiced against Muslims for saying this.
    You couldn't be bothered to notice that the RADICAL Muslims are calling Obama their savior. That they seem him being elected as being a wonderful thing. Funny, last I heard, renouncing your Muslim faith to most radical Muslim groups is considered to be punishable by death. If you don't believe me, ask any Christian missionary who's ever risked their life in predominantly Muslim coutries by doing any kind of work. They'll tell you Christian families are still dragged out of their homes in the night and put to death for renouncing the Muslim faith. And yet radical Muslim groups are endorsing a man who supposedly has turned his back on his Muslim upbringing in favor of the Christian faith?
    You couldn't be bothered to spend an hour or two doing the research (that's all it took me to find SOLID AND REPUTABLE SOURCES) to see that he doesn't even belong to the minority he lays claim to. Federal law states a person must be able to show proof of having at least 1/8 (12.5%) of a bloodline in order to lay claim to any specific minority. And yet you let your urge to overcome racism, or the fear of being called a racist, drive you into electing someone who has only about half the required bloodline. But I'm sure you'll call me a racist for this.

    Frankly, I'd have gladly vote for a female midget Muslim who spoke with a bad stutter if that was what was best for America. But I wouldn't vote for anyone who lies about who they are and what they believe.

    So you just keep on patting yourselves on the back while corporate America continues to fold or move overseas because they can't afford to do business in the United States. While abortion clinics spring up on every street corner and teenagers aren't even required to notify their parents first. While they take the guns from your homes.

    You wanted change... and you're going to get it.

First, Last and Always...
Raven

Post Script: There's a reason comments are disabled. If your only point is to call me a racist or something, please don't waste my time with hateful private messages. I am neither prejudiced to religion or race. I just didn't cast my vote out of blind fear.

For those of you still speaking to me after this, sorry I haven't been around. Life is just too busy right now.

You call it anger management issues, I call it doing my best to eliminate noise polution

Raven — Sat, 20 Sep 2008 07:02:13 GMT

    Let me just say right off the bad that if you haven't read my profile description before, please go and do so now. Pay specially attention to the part that describes things I hate. Two of those things very much came into play today. I'll even give you a hint. The incident about which I'm going to relate to you took place at a local gas station here in my home town. You can be relatively certain it has little to do with my pet peeve of people sending me friend invites when they don't even know who I am. Funny how often that happens even when I specifically state it on my profile.

So have you had enough time to read my profile yet. Good, let's proceed with the story shall we?

    So I'm in the truck with my father on the way back to my house after completing some work done on one of his rental properties. I ask if we can stop at the local gas station so I can buy a pack of cigarettes as we're approaching one of the two gas stations in this town. He decides this would be a good idea as the gas gauge in the truck is on the empty line.

    So he pulls up to one of the gas pumps and I run in to buy smokes while he's filling the tank. It's a rather large truck with the kind of tank that normally requires a second mortgage to in order to acquire the money needed for a complete fill up. This means I have plenty of time to go inside, make my purchase, and the stand outside and have a smoke break while waiting for the tank to be filled.

    For what it's worth, I am very much aware of just what a nasty habit it is I have, so I always make sure to stand well aware from the store entrance so as not to subject others to the unbobly stench of my cigarette. But that's really neither here nor there at the moment.

    So anyway, I''ve been standing there about two minutes smoking my Camel 100 when this young lady pulls into the parking lot right next to where I happen to be standing in what I can only assume was a brand new Pontiac G6. It's either brand new, or she has some weird fetish for putting brightly colored pieces of construction paper in the rear window that look suspiciously like those temp tags you get at car dealerships when purchasing a new car.

    She leaves the car running as she gets out AND the driver side window is rolled completely down. At this point, the car is silent save the quiet humming of the running engine. She covers about half the distance from her car to the front entrance of the gast station and suddenly doubles back towards her car. She gets to the car and leans through the window for a second. Moments later the blood begins to gush forth from my ears as I am mercilessly assaulted by the worst and loudest rap music I have ever heard. Although, I have to admit the worst and loudest are rather relative terms when it comes to rap music as I've never heard any type of rap that was ever played quietly or was worth listening to. I have no idea who the so called "artist" was who's mindless rambling was spewing forth from this vehicle. Who knows, maybe it was that inbred fucktard "lil wayne"... the one who spends more time with his hand glued to his crotch than a paranoid leper wondering if his dick finally fell off or not.

    So I'm standing there in stunned anything but silence trying to figure this out. She wasn't playing any music when she pulled in the to gas station. And yet she felt the need to crank her radio up to what had to be at least two thirds it's max volume capacity after getting out of the car. Why?!?!?!? Why I fucking ask you, why!!!! This woman has managed to simultaneously combine the top two pet peeves on my profile in one senseless act.

    Being the heartless bastard that I am, I quickly come to the conclusion that this thoughtless action completely warrants the devious idea that pops into my head. As luck would have it, I can see my father getting back into the car just moments after this lady walked into the store and I know he's ready to go. And yet I still have half a cigarette left.

    Gee..... it    would    be    such     a    shame     for    me    to     be    soooooo      wasteful     as     to    throw    away    half     of    a    cigarette    unsmoked.    I should really find a use for the last part of that cigarette since I don't have time to finish it myself. And since I just happen to have to walk right by this ladys car to get to the truck, it only made sense to just drop the unused portion of my still lit cigarette right smack dab in the center of that pristine leather front seat of hers.

    For those of you who think me an ass for doing such a thing, I remain unrepentant. My only regret is that I wasn't smoking one of those huge cigars. You know, the ones so wide around that they could most likely sexually satisfy a woman in ways that myself and Bill Clinton can only fantasize about doing. That way I could have burned a much fucking bigger hole in the seat!!!!!!!!

No Subject

Raven — Thu, 28 Aug 2008 07:55:55 GMT

Sorry I'm not around much lately. Seems all my time is spent either working for my dad, working on my art, sleeping, or doing the ChaCha thing. *sigh* Now if only being an expeditor for ChaCha paid enough to make a living off of. I should have a new piece finished and pics up in another day or two. Looks like I'll probably miss the deadline for that art gallery. I hope the owner will settle for 4 or 5 pieces.

Gargle... rinse.... repea.....WAIT A FUCKING MINUTE!!!!!

Raven — Tue, 19 Aug 2008 23:07:23 GMT

    First off, my sincere and heart felt thanks for the private emails sent from so many of you. I'm still majorly stressed over the deadline and all, but your support and encouragement has really helped with that rather bitter initial disappointment I was going through. And an extra special thanks go out to Peachy and Tiger Wilson. Thanks to them, I may still be a broke and somewhat neurotic artist, but I am no longer a starving one. I'm really not sure what else to say. I know I should say more, but I never seem to be very good at this whole word crafting thing when I really want to be.
    And now, for your amusement, I present to you todays brain fart.

The Reasoning: A empty Aquafina bottle makes a much safer ash tray than a regular one. When working in a shop where the floor is most usually covered in a fine film of rather flammable dust, it just makes more sense to keep a half full water bottle by the lathe so I can drop my finished cigarette butts in that and screw the lid on. This way I always know the cigarette goes out immediately when I'm done with it.

The Potential:  Another bottle is used for actual water drinking purposes.

The Confusion: Bottle A is kept in entirely too close of a proximity to Bottle B.

Possible Influence: Insignificant amounts of sleep, followed by significant amounts of time working.

The Problem: Failure to more closely examine both bottles before blinding grabbing one for a drink.

The Result: Population of discarded cigarette butts in Bottle A reduced from 36 to 32. Population of discarded cigarette butts in stomach dramatically increased from 0 to 4. Further investigation into dramatic changes in population not deemed necessary at this time.

The Findings:  As well as an excellent compost material, wood shavings are also good for absorbing the end results of an unexpected street pizza delivery.

First, Last and Always...
Raven

Paint me a picture

Raven — Sat, 16 Aug 2008 11:05:55 GMT

of a world where everything works out in the end. Where people never say the worst things at the worst time...

So I finally got the nerve to do it. To see if anyone wanted to display my work in a local gallery. So I head out with my mom with the plan of making a day of it. We do stuff together all the time as I'm normally very close to my parents. First try was a little gallery that just opened up here in my home town of Oologah. It's a small town with two gas stations, a Sonic and one stop light. Moishe Shagal himself would never get rich at this tiny gallery in a two horse town. Hell, she'll be luck if she can even manage to keep the place open for 6 months. But I figured it's better to start small. I have enough self-esteem problems without adding dramatic rejection of my art to the list. It was a bust. The lady tends to be a bit unpredictable about when she's at the gallery to open and it was closed when we went by.

Next stop is a little gallery in Tulsa called Mama Trizza's. Unfortunately the website is rather under construction right now. To call it a very prestigious gallery would be a rather large exaggeration. It's not the kind of place where you feel like you stick out if you're not wearing a dress shirt and tie. You won't find any waiters wandering around in penguin suits carrying trays of champaign when this gallery has an exhibit. I've always loved the art you find at those places, but hated the galleries themselves. Reminds me too much of a rich persons home where everything is very clean, very fancy, and you're afraid to touch anything. No, this place was originally converted into a gallery from an old chicken coop. Sounds bad I know, but the place is gorgeous. And the man hosts all kinds of artists. Copper sculptors, pottery masters, glass blowers and stained glass artists, jewelry makers, wrought iron sculptors, wood turners... pretty much everything but painters. Between the warmth of the exposed wood structure, the water flowing from the hand sculpted fountains and the Sarah McLachlan playing softly overhead, you're immediately filled with the urge to just make yourself at home with a cup of coffee and a good book in a warm chair. Hell, even mom was unable to resist the charm of this place. She couldn't make herself leave without putting a down on a beautiful $800 antique stained glass mosaic.

I've been to the place several times and I always come back. I'm just captivated by the charm and peaceful energy this place emits. Had I known what I was getting into before hand, I'd have been too nervous to even poke my head through the front door though. Like I said, it's not a real elite gallery, but it's a bit more popular than I knew. Apparently the man advertises on several different travel channels and CNN. Why CNN I have no idea. He's also VERY selective about who's work he'll display in his shop. That's easy to tell just from the first minute you walk through the door... and looking at the price tags on everything.

So mom and I go in and as luck would have it, are immediately greeted by the owner himself. The last two times I was here, they either were not open or the owner was out doing something else. Anyway, I mention that we were just in the area and I was checking with local galleries to see if anyone might want to carry my work. That's a lie. It's a 30 mile drive to get to this place. When I tell him I'm a wood turner, he immediately informs me that he already has a wood turner who displays her work exclusively through his gallery. Apparently it sells well enough there that she doesn't feel the need to display it elsewhere. I get the usual speel about how he appreicates my coming by and that with all the galleries in town, someone is bound to be interested. I thank him for his time and mention that I figured it was worth a shot since I was in the area and had some of my work with me anyway. Upon hearing this, he says I should go ahead and bring some of my work for him to look at... since I'm already there.

This is where it get's interesting. Well..... interesting to me. The rest of you (those still reading) are bored stiff at this point. I'm sure you'll find your own special way of coping with the boredom though. So I bring in two of my most recent pieces. One that I posted a gallery on not too long ago documenting the various steps involved in making a segmented vase.The other I'll post a pic of when this blog is done.

So anyway, I let him know right away that the first one is only a sample of the kinds of colors and patterns available and isn't for sale. It was my first experiment with this kind of turning and has a lot of flaws. Basically, I don't want something that flaw associated with my name. He spends about a minute looking at both pieces and tells me he wants me to make 4 more. He wants me to have 6 pieces ready for his gallery by October. Holy fuck! It takes at least 2 - 3 weeks just to make the relatively simple designs I've been doing so far, so saying yes may not have been a good idea.

This should be the happiest day I've had this year. To finally get the one thing I've wanted more than anything from my art. Recognition from a professional. Sorry if that sounds insulting. I appreciate so much the comments people on here have left on the pics I post. Encouragement from friends and family means the world to me. But recognition from someone who sees this kind of work every day and knows what truly is or is not a talented work.... that's what I've wanted more than anything else. The only thing that could have possibly topped this was to have one of the fellow wood turners I admire so much there at the time. This should be the happiest moment of the year for me... but the story isn't quite over yet and I mostly just want to put a bullet in my head right now.

So we go straight from there to the Wood Craft store. It's a high end store for woodworkers. I spend pretty much my last penny to buy a few things I'll need so I can work on multiple pieces at the same time. After that, we head home. I can't wait to tell the good news to dad. A lot of what I do is thanks to him and the money he's spent buying some of the equipment I use. I always assumed it was because he believed in my talent and that I could be great some day. He'll be so happy to hear about this.

He wasn't happy at all. His only words were how I need to get more serious about job hunting and find myself a REAL JOB. That wood turning is something I can do as a hobby on the weekends to kill time.

Oh really? I wasn't aware that I was unemployed and broke. I mean, just because the only food in the entire house is two bananas and a couple of strawberries mom brought over last week. Just because my stomach rumbles all the time and I don't even know if I'm gonna eat from one day to the next if mom doesn't help out. Just because the next electric bill will be coming out soon and I'll probably have to sell some things very important to me to pay it. Just because the internet bill is nearly 3 months past due... Bob knows why they haven't shut it off yet. Just because I rarely leave the house any more cause I'm scared to use what little gas I have left in the car. I wasn't fucking aware that I was unemployed.

Thanks for the reminder dad. You could have said you're happy for me. Congratulations, I'm so proud of you. I always knew you could do it. You could have said any of those things, but you opted for the best one of all. Reminding me what a loser I am when it comes to a career and how my work is only good for a hobby to kill time on the weekends.

I love my parents. More than anything in the world. I've always been so proud of them and bragged to people about how awesome they are. Anyone who's ever met them knows why. My mother... she gets up 2 hours early every day and prays for people. Family members who are sick, friends who are having a hard time. She has a list of people she prays for. Some, if not most, of which she doesn't even know. And it doesn't even matter if you subscribe to her religious views or not. The sheer compassion for people that it takes to get up so early and give up hours of your day just to pray for the well being of strangers staggers my imagination. My father trained at a Judo dojo in Japan that only a hand full of Americans have ever been allowed to see the inside of. For 6 months, he let them beat the crap out of him for 4 hours a day, 5 days a week. Just to earn the priviledge of training there. I guess it paid off cause I know he was the state champion here in Oklahoma for 3 years running. And while I got a bit mixed up on the details, I know he was ranked 2nd in the United States (or maybe the world, I'm not sure) in his weight division. I've always been so proud and so inspired by my parents.

I don't think the feeling will ever be mutual. It shouldn't fucking matter. I should be able to say fuck everyone here, fuck all my friends and family, FUCK ANYONE WHO DOESN'T LIKE MY ART. But I can't. 38 years old and it just shouldn't matter. Pride in myself should be enough... I shouldn't be so desperate to win the approval and pride of someone else. My own dreams and determination should be enough... but it's not. And it never will be. 38 years old and I've never hated my father more than I do now. And I've never hated myself more for being so old and yet so craving the approval of someone else. I should be working like a mad man right now to make that deadline. All I really want to do is make a bonfire of those pieces I made and never touch the stuff again. It just doesn't fucking matter anymore...

Try walking in my shoes.... or at least breaking into my house

Raven — Sat, 02 Aug 2008 11:28:21 GMT

    It's during my more more bipolar moods like this that I often times find myself pondering many of the more obscure mysteries in life. That's what I've come to talk to you about this evening.... wait... is it evening. Damn... power went out and all the clocks reset. Hmmm.... guess I could take the .2 seconds to check the clock on the task bar. Nope... morning. So I've come to talk to you this morning about one of the more obscure mysteries in life. Actually, I'm celebrating discovering a new flavor of Ben & Jerry's and the consumption of yet another bottle of Baileys and coffee, but the whole bipolar thing sounded better for this story. Oh.. and some raspberry iced tea. I'm sure there was some of that involved too.

    So during my more unstable/insecure moments, I often times find myself wondering what a person would think of me if they were to take a tour of my house while I'm not here. Given the price of gas these days and the fact that I live at least 30 minutes from my nearest friend, that someone would more likely be some inbred drunken redneck with a beer gut hell bent on an evening of drunken ransacking. I wonder, what would Bubba do... no wait... that's a t-shirt isn't it? So what would Bubba THINK if he were to take a not so innocent tour of my place during my absence?

    Our story begins, as most stories do, with Bubba breaking in through the window in the north bedroom. If you didn't realize most good stories start out with someone breaking in to the north bedroom, then you obviously haven't read most of the books on that whole meme popular books list thing that was going round a while back. Shame on you!!! Actually, if Bubba were smart, he's just kick in the back door. It's rather flimsy and hidden from view from any of the distant neighbors. Besides that, the window for the north bedroom is in plain view of the neighbors and is about 3-4 feet off the ground. But since I'm not sure how I'd write this story if Bubba were to start out in the MIDDLE of my house, he'll just have to suck it the fuck up and figure out how to drag that 50 lbs of beer gut over the window sill.

    So, Bubba somehow manages to defy gravity and the nosy neighbors long enough to get through the window. His first thoughts are most likely that this will be a very short and fruitless evening. This room is empty. And I mean EMPTY. My home is a work in progress and I don't have the funds to do much renovating right now, so the back portion of this place is unused and sealed off. No furniture in that room, no fixtures of any sort (wiring is being worked on). Bubba is just about to say the hell with it and go back out the window when he remembers how much trouble it was getting in to begin with. Might as well ransack everything else on the way to the front door. At this point, Bubba will notice the room isn't quite empty. There are 8 concert posters laying flat on the floor. I keep them laid flat so that they'll stay in good shape for when I have them framed to decorate the walls when I finally fix this room up. The posters are 1 Clan of Xymox, 2 VNV Nation, 1 Attrition, 1 Assemblage23, 1 Project Pitchfork, 1 Icon of Coil and 1 Haujobb. Bubba moves on to the next room.

Bubba's impressions of me so far: "What kind of fucked up person lives here? Not one Metallica, Nickleback or Lynnard Skynnard poster anywhere!"

NORTH END OF HOUSE
YOU ARE STANDING IN AN EMPTY ROOM.
THERE IS REFUSE ON THE FLOOR.
YOU SEE TWO DOORS TO THE SOUTH.
>use right door
THAT DOOR IS LOCKED. TRY AGAIN FUCKTARD!!!
>

    Okay, so maybe I don't recall any lines like that in the original Zork. BUT, on the off chance that someone calls and begs me to help them rewrite the scripts for the 40th Anniversary edition of Zork, I want to be prepared and get some practice in now. Anyway, that door isn't actually locked. It's nailed shut. Normally it would lead to the second bathroom, but since the room is so small and there's another hallway entrance to the bathroom, I decided to maximize wall space by eliminating one door. Eventually I'll remove the door and wall over the entrance entirely. However, Bubba doesn't know this. And the concept of an interior door being locked while no one is home is a somewhat staggering one. It takes him several minutes to mentally work through this confusion before remembering the other door.

>use left door
YOU ARE STANDING IN THE NORTH HALLWAY.
TO THE LEFT YOU SEE... of fuck this. This whole Zork format thing is a pain in the ass. It'll take all night this way.

So Bubba is in the back hallway now. First thing he'll most likely notice (and who the hell really knows what a drunken redneck is likely to notice) is the bathroom to the right. Bathrooms aren't usually the most profitable room in the house to ransack, but since the first room was a big zero, he's willing to try anything. Before he makes it to the bathroom door, Bubba notices packs of those big long matches all over the floor. The ones that are supposed to be for safety but are purely fucking useless cause they snap off if you try to light them while holding them from the safe end so you end up holding them right next to the tip while lighting them which really defeats the fucking purpose doesn't it kind of matches.
Bubba's impression: A freak AND a pyro?

Once again Bubba's lack of knowledge of the resident leads to another misconception. What Bubba doesn't know is that the central heat furnace is located right next to this bathroom. He also is blissfully unaware that the heater core shielding is cracked and thus, the pilot blows out any time I get a gust of wind. In the winter months, I went through enough not so safety matches to do a not so small mock up of the California wildfires with those things before getting smart and switching to those extended reach butane lighters. I've since gone through enough of THOSE to barbeque half of Bubba's heard of cattle. Fortunately, those lighters give you an extra foot of reach. Which is ideal since those normally docile cows tend to get a bit angst ridden when you try to barbeque them. Don't let those Blue Bell commercial fool you folks. Elsie would be one violent sonofabitch if you went chasing after her with nothing more than a mini Bic and a steak knife.

Now somewhat shaken by the thus far discovers contents of the home, Bubba decides to shorten his stay by foregoing the second bathroom. He instead opts to move forward into the livingroom where more pawnable treasures are likely to be found. He finds a livingroom mostly cleared for open floor space with the exception of a unremarkable couch and small side table. Bubba does happen to notice the handle/shaft of a broken fiberglass golf club leaning against the wall. Being a redneck, Bubba knows little of golf, other than that the name Tiger Woods is always good for telling some beastiality jokes.

Bubba's impression: A pyro freak that probably acts like a little kid play sword fighting in the living room when no one is around to see.

As a matter of fact, for once, you're not wrong Bubba. Being a redneck, you wouldn't know anything about Princess Brides or Mandy Patinkin. Laugh all you want, but all I need now is a black masked fencing partner, and a ceiling fan that doesn't hang so low and I'll be blissfully reenacting fencing scenes from the movie in my own living room. Or maybe just a higher ceiling. Sadly, I've run into a bit of a stumbling block here. Every single person who answered that personals ad for a black masked man came over with other things in mind than fencing. What the hell kinda freak do they think I am??? You ask for something simple like a fencing partner willing to wear a mask and call you Inigo Montoya and suddenly people start making all kinds of presumptions.   Grrrrr.......

Okay folks.... I'm out of Baileys, Ben & Jerry's, raspberry iced tea and unpredictable mood swings. Come back in a few weeks when Bubba discovers what a man with a 28" HD computer monitor is REALLY compensating for!!!

First, Last and Always...
Raven

Quote of the day:
"When you're an out of shape wimp like me, going to a Golds Gym is like going to a high school reunion where only the school yard bullies bothered to show up."

Hope revised... or lack thereof

Raven — Fri, 11 Jul 2008 10:19:21 GMT

I suppose it's about time I write an actual journal instead of just posting a comic laden substitute. Sorry it's been so long since I wrote any kind of a real journal. I suppose everyone has their own reasons for keeping a journal. Whether it's simply to keep in touch with friends and let them know what's going on in your life. Or maybe just as a means of venting all your frustrations. For me, I've never liked the idea of using my journals to post about the bad things happening in life. Don't get me wrong, I'm not trash talking those who do. Just that for me personally, it never felt like the write thing to do.

But life has mostly been sucking right now and if I keep waiting for something really good (or at least amusing) to happen in my life before I post another journal, you might all be waiting a very lonnnng time.

Also, I've been unemployed for the last 2 months and there's no good prospects on the horizon. The last few interviews didn't go so well, so the money will be running out very soon. And since my internet bill is two months behind now, I might get cut off some time in the next two weeks. Figured I better post something now before that happens. So maybe this is another false alarm, or maybe it's my last post for a while... who knows.

Either way, I've had a lot of time on my hands today and decided to spend it making my first video music video on YouTube for a poem I wrote long ago. Those of you who've been on my friends list a long time will have seen this one before. For those of you who haven't, I wrote this years ago shortly after being divorced from my childhood sweetheart. I think I was 26 at the time and we'd been together for about 12 years. It's a very surreal feeling to wake up one morning and realize that nearly 40% of your life up to that point no longer exists...

Seeing as I'm in about the same frame of mind as I was back then, and this musician has helped me burn my way through more bad memories than any other... well it only seemed appropriate to put the two together. Unfortunately, the text reads a bit faster than I wanted, but it's a short song and counting today, I've only got about 2 hours experience making these things.

Well you wanted a real journal... this is all I've got.