“never once say life is crap; everything slays”

Today I went to Kinko’s and had a beautiful conversation with a dude from the Arkestra. When I got home I watched The Saint, Hellraiser, Beavis and Butthead Do America and Barton Fink. I completed the camp comic, Apple and Banana. There are sixty numbered copies each with their own covers made from collages of color copies of six different A+B drawings along with little collages made from a giant stack of finished drawings and whatever that I found in the art barn before we left. I am extremely psyched about these.

My mom called me yesterday and said “It was six years ago that you called me and said you spent Labor Day by yourself and that you walked out to Wendy’s to get a cheeseburger by yourself.”

After Susy and I ate breakfast we drove over to her old house on Osage. For years people have been telling me that my eggplant allergy isn’t an allergy, just my saying that I have an allergy. We opened the garage and I took Allison’s dresser and put it into the trunk. We closed the garage and got back into the car. I felt a dry feeling in my throat and began to cough. Soon I opened the door and threw up (silently, says Susy) a little pile of falafel in the old driveway. There it was, my mark of two years spent on Osage: the keys left on a table, the dresser gone, an old story realized and left to dry in the afternoon sun.

It’s hard to make a list of things that happened at camp, or to parse them in normal life terms. I’ve been much more conscious of my diet and exercise patterns since getting back. At first I was disappointed at how quickly I thought I had fallen back into my normal schedule, but it’s at this exact moment that I’m realizing how I haven’t. My workday has normalized into a “project period” that runs from around eleven until around five, I actually have been eating more than once a day, and I actually haven’t been up later than two more than a few times. I worked on my room and my house and my walls every day since I’ve been back and have biked and cooked plenty. Am I actually more motivated, capable and temporally aware than before? Isn’t that what I said I was trying to get out of camp?

I did highs and lows yesterday.

Tomorrow I’m playing brain jammerz with Ben and Clint of Wilde Stallions as an opener for Sunburned Hand. I’m going to finish-finish the camp comic on Wednesday, and when I do, I’ll scan it in and mail you one. Travis and I are going to start a new one as soon as I mail him fresh drawings. I’m going to New York as soon as I find time.

Not that I think it matters much or anything but in this continuity-crazy wikiworld I was just thinking that maybe the trick with Roadrunner v. Wile E Coyote is that they aren’t specific characters. Like how not every lion on animal planet is the same lion in some new weird scenario, where he starves or eats his young or something and then comes back next week to try to beat the drought again. So it’s not one tenacious coyote who never learns but a thousand ill-fated cousins who all get one grim attempt each, etc. When I was little as I probably mentioned on at least three blogs already I used to hate when he would try to kill the roadrunner in such a way that he wouldn’t then be able to eat it. I wrote the coyote a letter wondering if he had thought of this himself afk;dlsafk

You be the judge of what any of this has to do with my month at camp, my new house or my work. You’ll know whether you were right or wrong tomorrow or the next day when I’m not too tired to tell you.

I have a lot of new things to show you and I’ll do it soon.

I’m moving again. What a life we lead!

Write it in your phone and then watch it become true in just one year or less. What they don’t tell is that the deer snort and the wild dawn dogs run free.

All-time worst nightmares last night. I’ll tell You about them some time.

Wile out, do jumps, do gantma, bust guns, squat the land, lose the game, bugs got it, bridge-burner, spork, we eat what we like, you win this round, the yellow particular to (reserved for?) highway-side Adult Bookstore signs from Michigan to Tennessee, serving those content to live life on their own terms, The Destroyer.