A post that isn't about something I drew...

It was bound to happen right? No. Not really.

I'm drifting around in this big metroplex with a worry in my heart and a pair of kickin' sneaks. The places I try to access seem restricted by a bunch of clique-ish heathens, desperate to keep the Others away from their tiny stash of golden bricks, all the while patting each other on the back in a big masturbatory slick-fest. It's a little sickening, but it's oh so much fun.

I wonder what I'm doing here sometimes. I wonder if I fit. I certainly don't like it all that much, but those few commonalities that come within reach are always such a pleasure. And suffering is a part of growing is a part of the whole damn thing. And how much am I suffering really? I'm working on my art, I'm loving my creativity. But I'm at such odds with the professionals, the money-making, the business side of things. I just don't get it.

Like every artist, I'm trying to break out. Searching for that little hole in the apple I can wriggle into, searching for the juicy sweet nectar on which to gorge myself rotten.

Best to end this before it gets all emo. I'm just not interested in that sort of self-absorbed self-effacing self-pity. We'll leave that to the rest of those lackidazical folks.

I'll scan the next page of the comic as soon as I'm done a inkin'. Which should be tonight. Please please please distribute these things to your friends.

Her life is in your hands, dudes. Her life, is in your hands.

Somebody get me a Texas sticker.