Obsessions, fixations...

Now that I've got your attention...

I simply cannot understand people who say they’re bored. They make me angry.

I start my day at 5:30 a.m., but I still can’t find time each day to attend to all my obsessions. And as someone who has an unhealthy fixation with death, and an unrealistic wish to live forever, I crash into bed each evening exhausted, straining to stay awake while I read another book – because reading every good book ever written is just one more obsession.


I did find one alternative to reading recently at Audio Books For Free, which really does provide free downloads (that is, if you can tolerate the poorer quality sound of the free downloads – if you want better, you have to pay them). So for a time that option allowed me to indulge my obsession for fiction aurally, while I did other things. But of course, it’s not the same as actively reading.

I already doubt the wisdom of putting my old dreams on the net. I dislike adding footnotes saying ‘Of course, it was a dream, I’m not really like that’, because (a) I like to think that people are intelligent enough to figure out the truth for themselves, and (b) the whole point of dreams is to bring to our attention those things we’re not consciously aware of, and sometimes they suck!

I was looking at my Spanish friend’s blog just now; her openness and obvious lust for life are probably her most endearing qualities, and make for a great blog. I'm never sure if it's going to make me laugh or break my heart. And this morning I learned that a mutual friend’s worst fears have been realized as surgery has confirmed that the cancer has returned to her mother’s belly.

Sometimes life sucks. And you find yourself thinking maybe you should take up praying, because, after all, just maybe there's something in it. Maybe it helps anyway.

There is so much to do, and that's what love of life is all about. Drawings, photos, music to make and listen to; gardens to plant (I bought a small tree this week, a ‘twisted hazel’). There are stories and letters to be written, pictures to paint, websites to build. And who really gives a damn if a dream gives away a little more than we are comfortable facing up to.

‘And what is the use of a book,’ thought Alice, ‘without pictures or conversations?’

Yes, it’s time for another picture. This one needs finishing, too. I keep telling myself there’ll be time. Trouble is, I don't believe it.

Another Crucifixion Sketch

I once drew two pen-and-ink crucifixion sketches. Both were drawn from a 'god's-eye-view'.

The one that I can't find showed the victim's face turned up, glaring with a horrid resentment and malevolence at heaven. I can't find it because it disturbed me so much at the time that I hid it away.

I hid it too well.

I keep searching.

Waking the Giant

My last post was more of a whimper than a moan. Do I owe apologies for that? Only to me. I suppose I could make excuses, like 'Maybe I wasn't talking about boredom, rather depression, and you know my serotonin supply just wasn't reaching my brain (a regular thing)'. But what the hell, it's another day and I'm getting back to the grind again, and I figure it really is time I got my house sorted and got back to the drawing board. Literally, perhaps.

I was talking about sleeping giants in the last post. Giants of the unconscious, unfulfilled potential. Occasionally we fulfil that potential. Here's a giant I drew a long time ago. I was into comics big time then. Anyway, now a smaller version of it's become a home-made, home-burned CD compilation cover. I like to draw. It's a kind of meditation. Meditation is just 'being'. And it reminds me I'm alive. I should do more of it.

Living is cool.

OK, just let me finish the laundry. Then I'll see what I can do. Meanwhile, here he is.