life sucks dick.
i'm giving up.
i have a few drawings left if anyone wants them and i think there's another book coming out this year called "rontel".
other than that i'm giving up.
being a sad nobody is funny and interesting at first and then you realize how true it is and there is nothing to do every day and you just feel terrible.
i advise people to do something.
pursue a career.
buy a house.
have a favorite sports team.
become a priest.
get married young/have kids young.
i think i'm going to volunteer/hopefully get a job at a nursing home here.
i'm sick of everything.
i'm so sick of everything i feel like saying "sick of [something]" actually has meaning.
there's nothing to discover about yourself when you're a bi polar piece of shit.
i hate chicago.
i hate my generation.
i hate the little gangbangers who throw rocks at me then run when i try to catch/kill them
what am i going to do for the next one to forty years.
being on tour made me realize there are good people but that good people are destined to suffer alone and without help.
scott, megan, mike, jordan and mallory and everyone who was nice on the tour, they are all good people.
kind of seems funny that all of us probably started writing things as a joke/just for fun and then all of a sudden there were good people coming into our lives and things seemed meaningful, and if anyone i just listed is like me, then they don't know what to do when something good happens.
i lost my pants the first night in columbus and then zachary wood gave me a pair in kentucky and i wore them the rest of the tour and they were fine and then ten minutes after i got home, i bent down to untie my boots and the pants ripped and my balls sort of fell out of the rip (not like, fell out completely, just the ballsack came out).
here's a funny tour story: in columbus i was nodding off badly before the reading and when i read i could barely stay awake and i think i was slowly falling forward the whole time and then when i was done reading i went to find the bathroom so i could puke and right before i got to the bathroom i puked into my balled hand and held it against my face and then the person in the bathroom came out and the puke was coming out of my hand and i made eye contact with the person and raised my eyebrows twice before going into the bathroom to puke more.
not sure what i'm trying to say.
feel like i'm always trying to get people and myself to udnerstand one thing.
like there is only one thing about life you have to understand.
buit then i think about how there's not
there's a lot of small things, like: "if i see someone walking in the alley outside my window should i say hi or not."
and then the small things build up big things you think are big and those big things do damage to you and however you react to the damage is the most important thing.
keep imagining my heart getting ripped out by someone and every time someoe tries to rip it out again it's only a smaller, less developed version of the first heart and there's bruising around the edges of the rip-hole but that just turns into harder skin and pretty soon the rip-hole is the exact size and shape of any hand that could go in and i'm just standing there saying, "go in, go in."
just remembered finding mallory asleep on the couch one of the nights on tour and i walked up and put my hand on her shoulder and kissed the top of her head.
not sure why i did that.
i felt like for a minute i was an angel protecting her.
what is wrong with me.
but yeah, fuck this i'm giving up.
email me if you want anything like an interview or something. email@example.com
i'll be around chicago if you want me to draw you something or just hang out with me/do drugs/whatever you want.
have a life.