somewhere along the line i convinced myself that i like the humidity--that the stinkier and slightly more hairy i am, the more real the weather is, and the more real i become. it's like being a martyr for the reevaluation of hygiene. note that humidity doesn't cause hair; it's just that once you romanticize the effects of summer on your body you just start to let it all go.
there's something about each season that frightens me:
winter: too flat; sad
spring: too bright; overstimulating
summer: too "fun;" exposure
fall: too nostalgic; longing
blogs are for writing about the weather.
rupert is brilliant and we put alfalfa sprouts where the sun don't shine.
somewhere there is a line between teaching a person to conform so as to forge ahead with their own independence, and teaching a person to conform so as to avoid your own humiliation. if one is more okay than the other, it's not by much.
and finally, the only drawings i'm interested in doing are those made by an EEG machine connected to my head, for when i sit and think about all of the work i would make if i had the money/time/energy/etc, or for when i sit and look at other people's work.
that or ouija board diagrams...telepathic Q&As...with texts...or people...or pets...or with someone over the telephone, so they have their board and i have mine...imagined correspondence over a predetermined span of time...