~awormyourhonor

Between school being out, and George Carlin dying, and dissidents in the streets of NKorea, and reading Little Brother, and Brave New World, and caffeinated unrest, and Thomas Jefferson's words burning in my brain; I want to beat and bludgeon a pig with his own truncheon. I want to fire flaming rocket-propelled American flags through the pentagon. I want to not trust anyone over twenty five.

I want moar sugary cereal.

HOT DAMN.
I am kicking so much ass in ADOM.
My level 3 grey elf wizard found an eternium halbred [+11 4d7+8] [-2 +0] in the training caves. I opted for the Keethrax quest and I am kicking ass in style. Although admittedly I did a little item scumming in the infinite dungeon first. Now I'm level 11 with strength of atlas and a bitchin magic missile score. {and anything coming NEAR me dies in a fine mist of +11blood4d7+8.)
I'm also my god's fervent follower.
I'm starting to pity those greater demons already.
HOOAH!

Now that I haven't been active in the community for about a year I'm suddenly getting all the comments and favs, and only on the amateurish twisted stuff.

Although I must say that in looking back on what I have here it all seems amateurish and not nearly twisted enough. I'll take it as a great sign.

So I need to ask, wtf internet?
What do you want?
Why you no love me no more?

my art of war

If your moral standing is fluid dexterous motion, and your wit a weapon of the highest caliber, your words will either be feared for your teeth, or rejoiced as the battle cry of true justice.


With your knowledge, whet the razor of your morality, wherever that incredible tool may lie; so when your enemies charge, you know exactly where you may deliver your blows, and how hard.


know your opponent, know his wit, know doubly well his moral position, and use his own oil to sharpen yourself.


knowledge is ammunition. Bring as much as you can carry!


Knowledge is attained through precise questioning, observance, dedication, and practice, seldom accident or genius.


A bad liar will spread his knowledge in abundance to cover a single lie.


A truth seeker doesn't fear knowledge, yet only uses enough, seldom more.


With these tools separate yourself from a fool's words like a Ginsu infomercial.


"The threshold of wisdom is inscribed with these three words 'I don't know'" -Some man


Your memory is poison, for as long as you remember the un-addressed wounds of your enemy, he still bears their burden.


forgiving your enemy once he is remorseful too is useful, as knowing the bounds of your own thought will create the deadly edge he fears.


honesty will keep you sharp, lies will make you dangerous. Use this sentence as you will.


Your move should be 90% knowing the next of your enemy.


While you are down, your opponent will kick you.


sarcasm is throwing their own shit. If you must, never let them see it coming.


if you search for enemies you will hurt yourself. Instead, let your foes test themselves against you. If they are not sound, let them fell themselves.

If they are sturdy, they would make good allies.

If they have no interest in alliance, I told you to whet your morality.

if you must learn a lesson from this: gaining knowledge is often painful.


balance your every thought, lay aside patches of questionable knowledge, and smoothe out cognative dissonance.


Imbalance can be carved from you as easily as you can spot it, and carve it from your enemy.


Light of reality hurts a liar, they will stop at nothing to shield themselves from it.

If you are a liar, do not let yourself be seen flinching from the light.

If you are a truth seeker, questions shed light and are often sharper than any wit or morality you may posess.


In time, thoughts and opinions will seem frail next to yours. Never forget, they are of the grain in the great grind stone to which we are all slave.

No longer a paying member of your warm milky deviant goodness.
I've forgotten how sweet all of your work is even if it makes me jealous. It's inspiration, and not the competition that's killing me.
It's being an abrasive advanced narcissist that hurts.

And my drawings are repetitive, dark, colorless, and repetitive.

So now I'm casting off my chains.
It's better to be seen as weak and taken advantage of
than strong, bitter and alienated.
To have dramatic relations, not small fake ones.

My old work is literally falling apart in my hands.
Super glue unsticking, alcohol fading, wires getting all tanged and stuff. And then there's the lack of equipment. Maybe I need that.
To not give a fuck about my work for a long while. I'll be your squishy pink opinion pleasure center.


Or maybe I haven't made up my mind yet.

"I'm sitting here" I really hate when those are the first words of a poem or a song. I've never taken any writing classes but I'm assuming that must be one of the major faux pas. Announcing yourself to the reader. But in my case it's not only entirely true, but an overstatement. Because I'm doing that. Just sitting here.

In my senior year of high school I had an art teacher. The fantastic, the edgy, wonderful, inspiring, supercalifragilistic Mrs. Daignault. When I first met her, I hated her. I thought she was too appreciative of every student's work. I was sporting the work of a first year AP college student in a twelfth grade class, and I thought I deserved recognition. What I failed to understand back then, was that in everything she told me were the words 'You need to grow.'
I was far too self absorbed to realize that. Only until the end of that year did I understand what she was saying, and it was too late. She moved away to North Carolina. Maybe never to be seen by me again.

When I mentioned my plan to jump off the grid, move to NYC, no plan, no future, she looked me in the eyes and said 'DO IT.'

She was the only influence in my life that told me to take that jump. My family, and adult friends who were a close knit circle of preachers and bible thumpers, forced me into a Christian school in Michigan where I squandered everything I thought I had. What Mrs. Daignault knew that not my parents, or any of the other talented art teachers, or even I knew about myself was that I need pressure.

In Michigan I fell lax and festered.
It wasn't until the end of the year when I learned that I was failing did I start to produce art by the truckload, but not for class.

I filled the campus with unsolicited public art. I made signs, bent forks, painted totem polls, put up garbage, painted sticks and old boards from the shop. I was called truly inspirational. Everything I made was in futility and desperation, yet carried such a positive message. And it was all under lots and lots of pressure.

Having squandered the money I earned from a local art scholarship on Michigan I came back here to NY and applied to OCC. Some dream. My work is dead again. I have no motive. Nothing matters here.
My goal is Cooper Union, the big league art school NYC, but I've got nothing to lose. I sit in my parents bedroom, blog all day and want to punch myself for it. When I look at a canvas anymore I feel like crying, and I did this to myself.

I tell myself I'm honing my writing ability, but anyone who's been keeping track of my work knows its a lie.
I think the right series of inspirations finally lined up today. But I've thought that a thousand times before. I think I'm ready to paint, to earn my bread, and dedicate myself. But that only lasts for an hour or two.
This vision of myself as an artist has become a handicap.

Having read the blog by HarmoniMcG on the issue of her self image complex, and working toward the writer she wishes to be, I have come to the conclusion that the answer is to jump.

Each of us is given the opportunity at a young age to fall of the grid and fudge up. Each of us carefully looks over the cliff at their fears, and builds a block in their minds.

It's a bit like they used to teach kids how to swim. At the right age they would bring them out to the middle of a lake in a boat and drop them in. You rip off your band-aids, you take the hit, you toss away your fear for the great big balls of the American dream. You put aside your internal conflicts of futility and just jump. And somewhere between the jumping in and the swimming, and the struggling, something clicks. We wake up. We swim.

If there's anyone out there that reads this, finding themselves in my position, please, take the leap. I'm sending my portfolio to Cooper Union in mid-December. I'm trying to salvage what I can from the smoldering wreckage of attempting to take all that 'good advice' everyone seems to offer. My advise, is don't take advice.
Not even your own advice.
Just do it.

-AMW