It's currently 5:48 AM. The original Star Trek is on the television. What makes me a Romulan rather than a Vulcan? Casey is asleep softly snoring. The Cat, Sweetiepie is curled up in my spot. I've smoked so many cigarettes I can taste a foul yellow coat lining my mouth. I'm waiting for the sunrise. I love the sunrise. I've seen it for the past few days.

The giant monitor is looming and glaring around the clock. I've discovered many shows. Earlier I passively took in "Dirt" the FX series. It's a fun time when stereotyped characters exhibit traits of mental illness. VH1's reality shows consumed my time earlier. I Love New York too.
She's a drag queen minus the package.

As far as my bizarre sleeping patterns go... I wouldn't say they are aligned with my excessive electronic intake. Last summer in Greensboro at the Elsewhere Artist co-op, I took on the job of night watchman. I'd curl op on a couch, down in the store and read poorly written romance novels throughout the night. My fellow artists seemed to think I had a bizarre sleeping rhythm. When I was in my solitary little place in Buffalo nobody took any particular interest in my unusual state of being. I seem to be throwing Casey's schedule off...

At this time I could be more bored and lazy than usual. I've never been a huge fan of the original Star Trek. I've always been partial to The Next Generation. Now I've seen 3 original episodes in the past 2 days. I'm actually impressed, not as impressed as I was with Rocky II, but still quite awed by the inventive mind of Gene Roddenberry. Hell, I even watched an episode of Voyager tonight. I can't stand the Doctor on Voyager. He ain't got shit on Dr. Beverly Crusher.

But on to more interesting subjects... I've started an Alliance character in Area 52. Nothing magic, just a strong woman with big tits. I can feasibly start living a simulated double life.... To bad this laptop gives pain in the neck after a while.

I need to get out of my comfort rut. Casey has recently rented an office space so he'll be out of the house more often. I visited the space today. It looks like an art gallery, tall ceilings, white walls and a polished cement floor.

It's strange living here because so little of my material being shows itself in this apartment. It's really Casey's place. He's told me to use his desk and computer in the living room but I'm stagnant. I need a room of my own. Yes, I've been corrupted by Virginia Woolf's essay A Room Of One's Own.

Woolf's recipe for creating was...

... it is necessary to have five hundred [pounds] a year and a room with a lock on the door if you are to write fiction or poetry." (Virginia Woolf)


so... money, privacy, space and time are her key ingredients. Not that I'm bitching because I want to be a poet... I want to work with words and images. I think Woolf's recipe can apply to a range of creative activities.

... at the moment... I have time. Money, privacy and space are things I need to work for. If I work for the money my time will be compromised. I've got to sort out these things, find some balance. These odd hours must give me an edge in some kind of field, however, it's not apparent.


Blah blah blah

today it was character acting.

here is a lil photoshop thing




more later

Ok....
I don't know if I've posted about this already but lately I've been dreaming about oddly shaped hummingbirds. This drawing is from the first dream. In the drawing there is a 16 year old boy in a hummingbird suit that he made himself. He flew up to me while I was sitting on my parent's front porch and scared the cats. He was a sweet kid. I thought he was innovative for making himself such an unusual functioning flying suit. It was furry like a teddybear with a body shaped like a punching bag(the kind you hit and it pops up again.) The wings were tiny, smaller than I drew them but they fluttered so quickly like a hummingbirds and kept the boy afloat in the air. I think that boy is me, how I want to be.