This is Ground Control to Major Tom

So Che Guevara’s face isn’t cutting up quite like I’d want him to.

I have two thoughts, possibly connected, most likely not.

If one makes art by drawing what one sees and writing what one knows then art, by definition, is plagiarism. And yes, I know it’s all how you use it, how you arrange it and whathaveyou, but if you’re close to such a person how exactly do you feel knowing you have been ripped off. Used. How far do we take relationships to manipulate the perfect scene.

I had the vaguest notion of a silent girl who viciously attacked literature as she came but I never wrote it down and I’ve lost my point. Other than Romeo never loved Juliet.

Three thoughts, I have.

The world is everlasting. We are not. If you have five years left do you rush to do everything at once, ration yourself to survive or burn out fast. Die now. Beat the system.

Somebody left a comment I am not going to approve. Guess what spambot, I know what baise means. I ain’t gonna link to French porn, unless it’s pretentious. Silly.

I will link to webcomics I have recently read instead.
Anders Loves Maria made me late for a class. And if I were pregnant how could I not love a man who sings Bowie at my belly?

I have been reading Gunnerkrigg Court but it’s hit and miss. I like some of the ideas but I think I’m reading it for the sake of reading it.

And you should just plain be reading Nedroid comics.

it just is

It’s not happening for me.

I’m going back to making skirts out of communist tshirts. It’s a less painful creative process if nothing else.

And the Hippos were Boiled in their Tanks

12 days into the new year and I have only finished one book. Though to be fair to me I read it in three days and lost it for a week under some notebooks. The book was like a conversation. Like two writers met in a bar and described an event that happened to each other. Filled in each others gaps. The same things I attack others for doing I forgive in both Burroughs and Kerouac, mostly Kerouac, because it’s a kind of simplicity that’s poetic. I fully understand why nobody wanted to publish it at the time though. It’s not fantastic, original and the plot builds to an end but it never feels like it is building. But that’s the beauty of such a conversation. Boringly interesting? If that makes sense. It’s like listening to a story you want to hear from a person you do like but it’s not thrilling.