THE POINT

There should always be a point where there's absolutely nothing you can do about it. All you can do is be patient and allow it to surface all on its own. And this is where most people get into trouble. It's where I often get into trouble. You'll drive yourself crazy and you'll think too much and drink too much, and then you'll make the biggest mistake of all, which is involving other people. And you'll just drive them crazy too. All you're doing is wallowing around unnecessarily in the fear and confusion and self doubt. And worse, you risk the chance that when it finally does appear, you will no longer be in a position to see it, you'll be too distracted worrying about it, looking elsewhere for answers. But if you can teach yourself to avoid this, to actually enjoy it, to enjoy the magic and excitement of it, when it finally comes, it will always be perfect and as indisputable as the body at the morgue. The way I see it, the way I gage what I'm doing, if there isn't this point, if this moment doesn't come about, then I'm clearly onto the wrong thing.

SHIT LIKE THAT

Yeah, I don't know, man. Shit like that just doesn't impress me anymore. I'm not even that jealous of great climbers or musicians or actors anymore. It's like you don't have to do all that shit. People are also hiding behind their doings. They'll do anything to avoid facing what's actually there. And hey, I don't blame them. What's there is fucking frightening. And if you're gonna do something, you might as well do something badass and get some reward. But anyway, you know, it's just that the things I'm after these days can be conveyed with simple words and stick figures. Or it's like you don't even have to do it at all, you could just explain to someone what you WOULD do if you were to do it. You know what I mean? Maybe in some ways that's enough? That's why I like doing those undrawn cartoons. I mean, why would they ever need to be drawn? In the end, no matter what we do, we're left no better or worse than where we started. It's the ridiculousness of our expectations that makes the emptiness so hard to swallow. You know, I see Obama or pretty much any man, a surgeon or a pilot or whomever, and I just think, yeah, but then a huge part of that man just wants to be left alone so he can jack-off to porn. It's true, right? That's pretty much what I see whenever I'm face to face with another man, it's just some creature that recently jacked-off to an ass or is about to jack-off to an ass. You can talk about whatever you want but that's pretty much all that's going on there. And women, they're just as fucked up as men. They want their man but then they're completely repulsed by their man. I heard a woman say to another woman the other day, "It's funny, we knew each other for years and I never once thought of him that way. But now here we are. I don't know what I would do without him. He's my rock." There was something so sad about that to me, so delusional and weak. To need someone like that, to have to fill a gap like that. I don't know, man, maybe I'm just not seeing things clearly anymore? I'm just so fucking exhausted. If I don't start getting some sleep, something's gonna get me, I know I'm gonna die. I got angry at the little ring pulley thing on the new half and half container this morning. I mean, I yelled out loud at it. Fuck, man. Anyway, people think I've gone dark, but really, what's darker than turning your back to the darkness?

I DON'T KNOW, IS THIS IRONY?

One afternoon in the dead of winter, I saw a homeless man walk up to a foggy window of a diner and he stood there and stared at the contented people eating their warm lunches. He then reached a hand down and pulled at his filthy pant leg while kicking his foot a bit, and lo and behold, out rolled a steamy wet turd about the size of a mouse. What was most interesting about this was that he just kept staring at the people. He never once looked down to see what had come out of him. I was on my way to shoot a job for Men's Health that day. I tell ya, I was far less disturbed by that homeless man than the people I ended up working with. Oh, and then they ended up not even running the editorial.

THE T-SHIRT INCIDENT

Yeah, he just came right up to me all pissed off and he goes, "Dude, why would you wear that shirt?" Oh, man, you should've seen this fucker. He was just this great big overgrown fuckin' baby. I bet he's never had sex with a chick who wasn't completely ashamed of herself. I don't know, he was probably 26 or 27 years old? He was fucking huge, like six three or six four and maybe 270 or 280 pounds. He had been talking loudly, trying to let everyone know that he had been a soldier. But I bet he wasn't even. I bet he was just in the National Guard, you know. Either way, I'm sure he didn't see much while he was over there. There was just nothing to him, he was just this big fat pasty blob of nothing. I actually heard him say something earlier about going to see System Of A Down. I mean, Jesus Christ! Seriously, that's the one thing with people that I can't get over, that I can never forgive, if they listen to shitty music. I have no idea what it is about it. I mean, hell, man, you can be a Republican or you can be one of those fucking assholes that drive up the mountain in their goddamn 4X4s and shit. I have friends that drive fucking sports cars and ride goddamn Harleys. I have a few friends on here (Facebook) that work for big oil companies and even one that used to work for fucking Monsanto. I'm just saying, I'm a very forgiving person. I even have a friend who just had all these little pieces of wood engraved at the same studio I had my pieces done at, and the little fucker burned Lou Reed quotes in 'em and put 'em up all around town. I mean, I can't tell you how many people have come up to me, asking me if they were mine. But aside from that, aside from the embarrassment of anyone thinking they were mine, I couldn't care less. I actually enjoy being ridiculed. I love being mocked and attacked. But anyway, back to the dude, I said, "What?" And then he said, "Terrorist Are People too?! What the hell kind of shit is that? I don't understand. That shit's not cool. Why would you wear a shirt like that?" It was then that I looked down from those two empty eyes buried in that fat disgusting face. That's what he looked like, he looked like a potato, like a boiled potato. And so I looked down and saw that he was wearing a goddamn Abrecombe & Fitch sweatshirt. I mean, I'm talking one of those ones with the goddamn logo across the chest. I mean, seriously, I would rather walk around in a godamn bunny outfit than wear something like that. It really makes you wonder about a person. I'm not sure if I could ever be friends with someone who wore a shirt like that. I mean, they'd REALLY have to redeem themselves in other ways. Anyway, I looked at this poor bastard, at this happenstance of a creature, and without any expression, I pointed at his shirt and I said, "Why the hell would you wear a shirt like that?" He looked at me, baffled. "Seriously, man," I said, "I'm really curious, why the hell would you wear something like that? You realize, you're the one wearing a lie, right? He looked around for a second, then he looked back at me. I waited for him to say something else. I could see it in his eyes that he had just realized he had stumbled into something which he had not the capacity to comprehend. He sort of smiled and shook his head. "Whatever, man," he said as he walked away.

It feels like your brain is on the outside of your head or something. You turn to look at something and it takes a second or two for it to catch back up. It's dizzying and you feel like you're gonna pass out or vomit. And it's like people are barely even there, ya know. They're like ghosts. It's a very strange dichotomy, you have more sympathy and love than ever before, but then you no longer feel the need to show it. And then suffering and death becomes more and more insignificant. It's like there becomes less and less of a difference between the perpetrator and the victim. I really have no idea what to make of it. All I know is that I enjoy being here FAR more than the alternative.

UNDRAWN CARTOON with title: Look! It's Frosty The Snowman, kids! Oh Wait, Jesus!

A neat family- Father, mother, son and daughter (8 & 10 respectively) stand in front of good old Frosty on a pleasant winter day, only everyone is absolutely shocked because... Frosty is in a deranged stupor (coal eyes spinning around and around), furiously masturbating (fat, gnarly, erect, slightly crooked carrot for a penis). CAPTION: "Fuckity fuck fuck, fuckity fuck fuck, look at Frosty go!"

THE LEAP

I would say it feels like some sort of necessary sprouting, but no, I think what's in store for us is a Darwinian leap, a mandatory letting go so that we may have the chance to somehow grab on to something else. Right now, we're simply crowding the rim at the misty edge of everything we've ever known. You look back and see nothing but more and more of your fellow man staggering blindly towards it as well. The great exodus. It's funny how everyone knows it but so few are willing to state it out loud. The toll booth attendant knows it, your kid's teacher knows it. The mayor of your town knows it. Obama knows it. The waitress knows it. We've become as lifeless and locked in our doings as those mechanical puppets at Chucky Cheese. Ah, the whole thing is just so goddamn embarrassing, yet more and more, just so wonderfully comical. The cop in his uniform makes me laugh. The checkout lady makes me laugh. Just to look over and see another person sitting behind the wheel in their car, makes me laugh. I remember sitting in the warm sun at the edge of our yard, playing with my army men beside my mother. She was picking weeds and she looked as beautiful as a person could ever be. Those long tan legs sticking out of her cutoffs, a red bandana tied around her head. The wind blew a bit and she looked over and smiled. I guess I had been watching her. "What is it, Philby?" she asked. I just smiled and went back to playing. I didn't know what to say. I still don't.