Walking On Broken Glass

not quite as romantic as poets and songwriters would have you believe

Alcoholics Anonymous

i went to an aa meeting monday night. it was a "young people's meeting" so the group was composed mostly of people in their late teens to early twenties, with a couple of old dogs here and there.

seconds after parking by the curb outside the church, i stepped out into the cold and promptly slipped and fell into about eight inches of fresh snow. i dusted off and headed into the church. i was extremely nervous at first. everybody there seemed to know each other from past meetings and i felt like i was the sole newcomer and that all eyes were fixed on me.

a couple of the regulars were selected for readings from "the big book" and, after the group leader went over the basics (we aren't a religious organization, a charity group, etc.), the hourlong meeting began in earnest. people volunteered their stories of struggle and dependency, always beginning with "hi, my name is (blank), and i'm an alcoholic." many of their stories mirrored my own, including details about family members who were also struggling with alcoholism.

at the end of the session, everybody in the circle held hands and recited a prayer i didn't know. i held the hand of the pimply blonde skater kid on my right and felt dozens of little twitches throughout his body. but still, it felt nice to hold hands with people, even strangers; it felt just like church.

before anybody gets any ideas, i don't have a problem with alcoholism. i accompanied a denver friend of mine to the meeting, out of the desire to support a friend, as well as more than a little bit of curiosity. afterward i carried with me a really positive feeling. not a bad thing for me these days.

i'm not an alcoholic, but i do quite like the stuff. in reasonable amounts anyway. since it's been snowing so much lately, i figured: "when life gives you lemons, fuck it. drink a lot of beer"

cheers

Denver Zoo

more good times

Denver Art Museum

good times

Maybe in the next life

three-piece suit
matching knit ties
wind swoops and howls over the ground outside
fruit smoothies at the mall
medicine for the sick
plans to go on holiday or take another trip
she's got alicia keys cankles
and a cindy brady lisp
she buys closets full of clothes but nothing ever fits

maybe in the next life

for now you seem just like a tourist, looking up at all the tall buildings

Adventures in Photoshop

i'm still not very good, of course. but it's much better to have more left to learn than you already know. wait—does that make any sense?











also. i just finished watching michael moore's "sicko," which, if you haven't already seen it, i recommend, if only to remind you filthy son of a bitches of the fact of canadian superiority. tres bien

Everybody loves each others’ dick and balls: A comedy in two parts

i'd like to start off with a poem; it's very personal

"drinking orange juice and jacking off
is there any other reason to live?
if there is, i haven't found it.
on second thought:
maybe mashed potatoes"

i hope those words strike you as deeply as they do me, the world's own tragically undiscovered genius.

it's so cold outside, and inside too sometimes. i find myself haunting the supermarkets here, staring into the blotchy red faces of my adopted countrymen. trailing behind the muslim dress of the faceless faithful as i scour the shelves for cheap cereal and pop tarts. i wait for the moment i carelessly slip on one of their outfits, like a clown on a banana peel.

cue laugh track and applause, erupting cannisters of tear gas.

this is maggie, my temporary roommate

wtf

it's fucking 19 degrees outside

Sick and Tired

thanksgiving was nice.

i was appointed lead wooden spoon, in charge of the stuffing. it wasn't family, but it was something.

today seemed to drag on forever. like sitting in detention for something you didn't do.

you've got your golden ticket
a fistful of quarters
and a ring of chocolate
around your mouth

i think it's time for plan b
hopefully they'll have me

Postcards from Outer Space

It snowed again today. everything's bright white outside. snowflakes are falling down from heaven like the angels are shaking out all their dandruff.

i stepped out onto the patio, planting one foot into about 2 inches of powdery fresh snow, and i lasted close to 15 seconds before it became too much and i had to come back inside.

days like this remind me of the times in elementary school when they'd bring in snow from japan and dump it in the courtyard for all the kids to play with and generally just run amok. of course, by the time it got to guam, the snow had melted together into this sort of shaved ice and all the kids would be throwing snowballs at each other, getting hammered by large junks of ice. good times.

definitely more fun than when "spider-man" would stop by and jump around the roof of the school, spazzing out like somebody who's had too much coffee.

but still, good times.

The World Won't Listen

this is my first post here, as you can see. hello!



this is a picture of a friend of mine back in guam. she really loves chips and dip (and i really hate drawing mouths).



and this one is radiohead guitarist jonny greenwood, after being taken over by the space invaders.

i guess i prefer a clean, simple look for my illustrations; not too much unnecessary dressing. these two pictures might not look out of place in a children's coloring book.