August 25th, 2005

(no subject)

It dawned on me today that I had not written anything in about two weeks (not anything of substance, at least). At that moment it also dawned on me that my books are completely handmade again, which in some respects is exciting and in others pisses me off. And then it dawned on me that I'm actually head over heals in love with the city of San Francisco, but entirely unsatisfied with my lifestyle. It consists of Bunny and Bob and drinking 40s at Union Square every night. It consists of skateboarding everywhere I go and getting drunk and having insane dance parties every single night, sleeping with someone that really cares about me, doing shitloads of art for which I receive excellent grades when I actually put forth the effort, and finally experiencing how great life is when you live with someone who loves to cook experimentally.

Now to you that may sound like it's all well and good, and believe me, it is. And feel free to call me a wanker for complaining about it, but something just doesn't feel right. It's because I get that girl and that boy and that skateboard and that 40 Every. Single. Night. There is no variety in my life right now, and that drives me crazy knowing that I'm living in a city completely drowning in diversity and I can't find a night that stands out. I love everything about the things I get to do and where I get to do them, but I want More. I want everything I have now and more. I want the boy and the girl and the board and the beer, but I want new experiences and action-packed Saturdays and kids to show me the roads that are smooth sailing down a never-ending stretch of downhill, too. This is too eccentric of a city to feel like your life is headed towards mundane.

I go through phases where I have nothing to say. When I get into these slumps it effects my happiness drastically and not being able to write about my dissatisfaction only makes it harder to tolerate, being that writing is my outlet. Art doesn't do it for me the way writing does. I have barely any words, they don't come out right, and when they do, there's nothing to use them for; I have nothing to talk about. To put it simply, I am a writer, which dooms me to the occasional influenza of intellectuals: Writer's Block.

So since I can't write shit, here is some art for you to look at.