It's the shutter-clack rhythm and the seat of sun
makes the taste of grit on my tongue worthwhile
and greasy hair
that breaks combs' teeth
coat of dust on coat of arms
screeching winds with scattered storms

then deafening silence in empty fields
cigarette smoke in the night air of unknown location
where destination is secondary

oh, for a nursery rhyme to soothe a restless heart
rocked to slumber in steel beds barefoot

The conundrum.

I forgot how much I hate commercial work. If I adhere to a rule to work in a field that disregards this, my options will be severely limited. This is when I scratch my head and wonder if I really ought to be pursuing something like animation, instead.

The real secret ingredient, the skeleton key to anything I really want to do at this point, commercial or not, is to draw a fuckload even more than I'm trying to.

Right now I'm mostly fretting over yarn-creations, though, as Christmas is coming up. I hate the holidays. When I have kids, we're going to celebrate post-holiday season. I mean, the same gifts will cost that much less, who cares about some designated day when Jesus was born? (Well, rather, who in my life outside family is really going to give two hoots?) It's such a family holiday, though...I'm crocheting a gingerbread man scarf for my niece at the moment. I have three hats to complete (I lost mine a few months ago), and some armwarmers.

Also, stool is really fascinating. You can learn a lot from somebody's waste. Not that I stare at all the crap I come across, but, y'know. May come in handy one day.

And to wrap up my wandering mind, apparently I'm allergic to nutritional yeast if it's in large quantities. Say, in the gravy recipe from The Grit. I lose.

Food glorious food.

I've never been to The Grit in Athens (though I've been in Athens...one night), but apparently it's one of the best vegetarian/vegan places known to mankind in the United States. I have made this delicious vegan chocolate cake from their recipes before for 6/6/6, but other than that I hadn't really delved back into the cookbook.

Until today. It is heaven. I made the golden bowl, which is tofu fried up a little (I used Bragg's seasoning instead of soy sauce), and this amazing vegan gravy, which I have about four cups of and need to share, brown rice, and some sautéed vegetables.

I have way too many yarn things to still get through, and it's going to make a madwoman out of me. I guess I should stick to the two things I have a deadline for.

The Golden Compass came out today and I am sad to not see it yet. Then again, I'd rather avoid the throng of noisy children who're brought there because it's probably been marketed as a kid's movie.

Giving up on giving up.

I'm not even sure what it is that opened this door that was previously wedged shut in my mind, but somehow I'm doing art again. I mean, really doing art. Not anything epic as of yet, but still. The desire to actually draw -- fervently, even -- has been an alien concept to me for the past few years.

Pretty much since my second year in college I'd lost the desire to really work on anything. Oh, the ideas were there, all right. But there were a lot of personal conflicts at the time that affected my drive to create for the sheer sake of it, which is why I'd enjoyed drawing and writing and such in the first place. One of my biggest problems has always been putting too much weight in the words of others, which holds especially true of people I'm in close relationships with.

In hindsight, I really shouldn't let other people tell me how to think of myself or my passions. If anything, that's the signal that a relationship needs to end. (Unless of course my passions were upsetting and/or violent.) Who the hell is someone to tell me that my love for animals, or writing stories with other people (MU*ing in this case) is laughable and a waste of time? And why should I care, anyway?

All these past years I kept talking about getting my act together, or finally having a sense of work to do, et cetera, et cetera. The saddest part of this is that it stemmed out of my recognition for my abilities and talents, and even my desires that had fallen dormant, but that I hadn't revived my passion for. So much talk and no action -- and sometimes I would try to work on my drawing, but it just felt like a chore. You can only do so much when something feels like a chore, which is vastly different from when something feels like it's too hard -- that's when you're plain old giving up.

I also realized these past few days, while this sudden fascination for life and art and such that I once had were regenerating, was that I'm tired of being apathetic on social issues at large, I.E., humans in the world and how we're affecting it. I still feel changing "the world" is a daunting task, and that protests don't really solve it or are even that effective, but to enter into the political field is even more of a drain of one's life with the great possibility of not really making much of a difference at all. What I have to offer through my talents would be more influential on people's minds. You have to pick your battles.

I should at least care about what's going on around me and not just recognizing it. Being flippant gets me nowhere. ...Depending on the situation. But in this case, yes.

It's also really obvious that the power has always been in the hands of the people; it's just that everyone has to realize that. One person is not enough. But politicians and even the military don't have as much raw power or numbers as the rest of us. These are ponderings for another day, though.

Well, here I am now, at the ready.