Just finished watching the Sixth Sense...forgive me, all you out there who didn't like it (there are a lot of you), I have had a fascination with ghost stories since childhood. I have never been able to quite put my finger on what draws me so much to the idea of the melancholy ghost; hopefully not too much empathy! Anyways, highly enjoyable, and fuel for my own half-written ghost stories...

A couple of pen-and-ink works from imagination. These ones are more in line with book illustration, which is what I am really aiming at. The bearded fellow is an older, idealised potrait of a friend of mine, J. Mellein. I have no idea where the evil princess came from...

Here are a couple more pictures from class...the doll is weird, I know...just drawing what I see...

I am taking a queue from the Artist Formerly Known As Sinnerman, and will be attempting to post some of my artwork on this blog. The following pictures are from the drawing class I was in recently. This was my first serious drawing class, and the first time I had experienced/drawn nudes. Quite an event, I assure you...these ones are all of the same girl, and all in charcoal on regular paper except for last; it is on rough paper in crayon.

Dz, you need to check this out!

I was awakened at 3:30 this morning by an old friend to the declaration: "We're going to the Sierras!" Rolling over, I thought about this...I wanted to just brightly respond 'okay', and go; but my conscience started reminding me of all the things I would be sadly neglecting if I left for the weekend. I hesitated, though still undecided. He sat down heavily and looked at me: "We've grown up. The wild days of college are over, my friend. I dined with some friends of mine tonight, and I saw the beauty of their family, and how the parents were all tied up with kids and responsibilities and were happy to be so...I just wanted to prove that for the moment I was still free." So we went out for donoughts and coffee on the middle of the night, and ended up singing in a cemetery shrouded in a heavy early morning marine layer. Stumbling back to bed around 6:00am I thought to myself: We are free...even if we didn't go to the Sierras. Occasional brief interludes like this will always be possible whether we are tied down with kids or not...it's not about losing so much as changing.

I just discovered The Pixies. These guys kick "_!" Anyone have any suggestions about which albums to get?

Sitting on the front porch smoking a filterless Pall Mall and blogging via my wireless...it's a perfect evening. Strange, once again I am vehicle-less. Ever since Thanksgiving of Senior Year I have had a hell of a time keeping a running car. Now for a summer of walking, riding my bike and hitching. It sort of feels good, but I have not lost the yearning yet...I would give a lot to head out for a long drive somewhere for the weekend.
I've been thinking: it seems that a proper artist, whether he writes or draws or paints, if he wants to be accurate and relevant he must be somewhere where there are a lot of people and a lot going on. I used to dream of sitting in an isolated country home, drinking my coffee and working alone. But that seems to work only after a lifetime of experience or for simple adventure stories or fantasy-like artwork. If a writer (or artist) means to paint reality and humanity with his craft he must see and understand the people and culture of his times. This may be a simple concept, but it struck me because it is not a matter of desiring to be part of a scene or the fun you might have; it is a matter of observation.

Strange how ART seems to excuse so many things...

I think this is the first time I have really lost track of blogging since I began this crazy thing a little over a year ago. Grasping for many things and for the most part coming back empty-handed. Yet, the important things have remained, and I grow with the losses. I am suddenly stripped of all eloquence, and have none of the usual excuses of fatigue and frustration; no, this is a nearly blind groping. No more to say with gusto "I feel so lost!" while sucking down ales and cigarette smoke. This is a more subtle and far more serious searching. How does a man discern vocation? How can he become holier? And the true answers lie not so much in the glories of beauty and ecstasies of prayer, but in the steadfast hope, and the daily trust in Grace. Life is lived momentarily...with what do we brace against the cold wave?

Bless me Father, for I am about to Sin...

Out of gas
Afternoon passed
Dreaming of
Speaking of
It

Perhaps the most inspiring and wonderful home I have ever been to...We played music with the [Sean] Collins' tonight. I want to be like them when I grow up!

Please, can I, huh? Can I, huh, can I? PPPLLLLLLEEEEEEEEAAAASSSSEEE!!???

There is a supernova where the display on my phone used to be. My computer still won't co-operate. The internet is down at my house. I tried to fix what should have been a simple problem with the Rambler, only to discover that the cam is munched. (I think it's about time to get another car). I haven't had much luck lately.

On the upside... !