Time, or lack thereof. The 21st century rant. So what the hell am I doing starting a blog?
Je ne sais pas.
Could be that I live alone.
It's -3000.
I'm acutely aware that it's December 21st and ... I am alone.
I have 1\2 of a channel on TV.
I've already watched the foreign films borrowed from a Saskatoon library.
I'll sometimes go to great lengths to avoid writing "real" stuff, that may one day end up (or not) in a book.
My dog's not great at making conversation.
It's not yet 10 p.m. I simply cannot start going to bed before 10 p.m. And what? Wake up at 3 a.m., like last night, and draw self-portraits in charcoal (while not wearing my glasses). Horrors.
What does it say about my potential as an artist that it's always more fun to make up the titles than it is to create the work itself?
Ay.
No one knows I'm out here yet, but I'll say it: Hello, world. Wow. Like throwing a rubber ball (those red and blue ones, with the white stripe in the middle) against a brick wall. Comes right back at ya.
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