Been surfing through the Deviants (in search of the cutie baby pickes, as I have a gun pressed to my head to make posh, uiber kitschy *newborn, gratzzz!* cards.. Ey, I NEED the damn refridgerator, alright? Good stuff is for the soul, the godawful ugly stuff is for the bills. Ever has been.) and I just realized, there are SO many girls like me out there.. Not just the ones who seem to have posted ideas I'm having today a year ago, or the folk who ages ago wrote down storries I've been conjuring up all last week, or the movies coming out I've wanted my whole life to try and make.. The myth of a pot of creation from which God takes handfuls of wisdom and us, who wag our tails underneath, waiting for drops to slip, is getting more and more annoying.. Those kids! Same photo taken in the blunt mirrors, bad light, strange hair, half obscured by the machine, same expression, same low self esteem seeping out from very shadow crease.. Even the drawings are the same - chubby little red haired librarians are everywhere!
If life has so far taught me anything (I know I sound wise, but wait till you've seen me in a 40-man raid and I manage to disenchant my own helmet), is that it takes a wee bit of an active interest to be accepted into a club. Any club. Example - did you know one doesn't qualify for a lesbian of one doesn't follow the mainstream rules, goes to specific lesbian-friendly places to have a quiet, non-political drink, doesn't enjoy concerts delivered to us by more screaming lesbians or - and this is cardinal - is sick of all the 'equal rights' fuss and looks down on beaten up protestants?.. Seriously. I get beaten up like that every time I pick the berries.
Thre's a lot of work to prove yourself to that kind of community. Never mind you find kissing girls to be like that rare oasis of freshness and light in a jungle of panic and fury. That doesn't seem to be it. Never mind you find kissing men equally fantastic, just completely 'apples and color pencils'. You need to get down and political about it! And if in the end, even if the fundamental emotions never falter - never will, dill I die - I choose a man to be my companion, that seems a grave disrespect to the sentiment I wasn't entitled to, officially, anyway. Yeesh, what problematic affair affairs today seem to be :D
Anyhoo, Deviations back on track - it is the same with art. I've spent 30 years a closeted artist. Someone once said - not sure who, but they sure sounded clever - that the real deals never really come with the PR. The proper prophets, so to say, stay quiet. "Do good by stealth and blush to find it fame" sort of thing. You see a famous author behaving like a moron and it's wise to doubt the debth of their intention, or their wit. Not every pompous prick with paint under his fingernails is a messiah of a new page in creativity, no matter how good his PR. But the chubby little red haired librarinas no-one ever notice? Those almost always are.
It gives me such a twisted kick to meet someone who sees my work: like this morning another customer in the shop where I was having my commissioned stuff framed: "You did these? You?"
And I reply: "Yea. And I can read and write, too. Imagine."
If life has so far taught me anything (I know I sound wise, but wait till you've seen me in a 40-man raid and I manage to disenchant my own helmet), is that it takes a wee bit of an active interest to be accepted into a club. Any club. Example - did you know one doesn't qualify for a lesbian of one doesn't follow the mainstream rules, goes to specific lesbian-friendly places to have a quiet, non-political drink, doesn't enjoy concerts delivered to us by more screaming lesbians or - and this is cardinal - is sick of all the 'equal rights' fuss and looks down on beaten up protestants?.. Seriously. I get beaten up like that every time I pick the berries.
Thre's a lot of work to prove yourself to that kind of community. Never mind you find kissing girls to be like that rare oasis of freshness and light in a jungle of panic and fury. That doesn't seem to be it. Never mind you find kissing men equally fantastic, just completely 'apples and color pencils'. You need to get down and political about it! And if in the end, even if the fundamental emotions never falter - never will, dill I die - I choose a man to be my companion, that seems a grave disrespect to the sentiment I wasn't entitled to, officially, anyway. Yeesh, what problematic affair affairs today seem to be :D
Anyhoo, Deviations back on track - it is the same with art. I've spent 30 years a closeted artist. Someone once said - not sure who, but they sure sounded clever - that the real deals never really come with the PR. The proper prophets, so to say, stay quiet. "Do good by stealth and blush to find it fame" sort of thing. You see a famous author behaving like a moron and it's wise to doubt the debth of their intention, or their wit. Not every pompous prick with paint under his fingernails is a messiah of a new page in creativity, no matter how good his PR. But the chubby little red haired librarinas no-one ever notice? Those almost always are.
It gives me such a twisted kick to meet someone who sees my work: like this morning another customer in the shop where I was having my commissioned stuff framed: "You did these? You?"
And I reply: "Yea. And I can read and write, too. Imagine."
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