Gonna start today by running an "advertisement", okay?
Read kcgreen dot com dot com
Good comics archived--HIAGB (award-winning? no?), Back (with beartato), other goods including something happening to an increasingly distraught pig
God's Hands updating (the only cartoon you'll ever need, may help the blind see [against their will])
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Just something I've wanted to try? I guess the way this could work is, if I ever meet the guy, I will ask him if he has any coins on his person, and if I can have them. He probably can't spare them just as bad as I need them, and the exquisite pain of that moment will fuel us both. And like, if he wants to give me a piece of metal, I'll carry it in my pocket awhile before I lose it or make it an arduous part of a transaction.
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It's kind of a Try To Have a Good Mental Health Friday, I guess? Even though I've been having paranoia about things, like wondering agitatedly whether the jokes or compliments or both of what I'm saying up there somehow some kind of terrible, irretractable mistake that will wound me viciously one day.
Oh well! I've been looking at the dude's comics since like 2004. It's good art, good comix. It's important comix, to my way of thinking.
Just that I have traumas about people I write jokes about somehow, fucking somehow, even though I am a degenerate of no regard or impact, seeing it, reposting it on main, and batting back.
The annoying closer for Time Magazine did this to me when twitter was newish. Griped about him, basically trashing his intellectual capacity (as a younger man, I was sometimes Quite Bad on webz) and he shortened my jab into something truly garbled for his post, not a true retweet--my joke made to no one, to thin air--I literally didn't have any friends on twitter yet! I was just trying shit out, playing with a toy--anyway--he made me look stupid to boost himself with a self-deprecation. I was horrified. I felt used, and also rendered both miniscule and painted with a huge target. I closed that twitter and didn't make another for years. Never fully recovered, apparently.
The pain of the idea that it would be horrible if I made anyone have shitty feelings based on just shit I typed is an inbuilt part of the game, I guess. You can and must at least partially forget about it while you're writing, but it's not like any callus builds over the spot. It just twinges.
God, I pray to Jesus and Mary and every blessed saint that neither person I have mentioned sees this, and if they do, I guess at that point I just have to bear whatever happens with as much equanimity as possible. Also I hope I haven't told this story already, that would be egg on my face like three times over or something.
My regular paranoia is about way scarier shit than this, by the way. This is just a way to kind of talk about it without directly typing the actual thoughts out, and being forced by my own hand thereby to parse the evidence of my madness--or perspicacity. For not knowing which is half the struggle, eh?
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Ok, whatever. What the fuck ever! Who cares. I've been at this too long already. I'm gonna play Fire Emblem, which gets weirder all the time. They never forsake my precious grids on which to plot the movements of toy soldiers doing interlinked sets of rock paper scissors, but they have added like datings sims and farming sims and a bunch of other shit and tied it into unit growth, so I'm always having to do a ton of work around the battles. But it is just and correct that it should be so. Battles are 99% preparation or something crazy like that irl, and they are fought by complete people with whole lives and mindsets and circumstances, and they indeed have to do shit like muck out stables and dig latrines and drink tea and eat scones and give each other dozens of presents and shit.
Then they go blast the shit out of each other with magical energies derived from tomes groaning with the whispers of dead languages, armed with weapons forged in the unknown mornings of unremembered histories from irreproducible alloys, woven with the killing intent necessary to pierce scale and flesh and boiling blood--to reach the hearts of dragons.
It's sensible. But...hm. Sometimes the contrast can be a little jarring.
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Still no job, but Monday I interview for a seasonal position at a local movie theater.
Like in the famed, smash webcomic, Multiplex, featuring motherfuckers working at a movie theater. That one's been around awhile, too.
Man, senescence sure takes the time that it takes and not a minute less, eh boys?
--JL
