Mood has been altered because I went through my bookmarks and found this. Strange how two French artists can produce such mind altering yet different reactions in me.

I think about drawing everyday. Yet I never do it. And when I do force myself to put pencil or pen to paper, the creation that is resultant is always stilted, and all the worlds that I ambition to create in my head falls into dust of the realization that I really have no skill. If I manage to convince myself that skill can be acquired, and I force myself to stare at the daunting mountain of the white page, I am faced with a monster which is impossible to surmount with sheer bullheadedness: A severe lack of imagination. Sometimes my dreams of being another Moebius or working in the concept art department of Weta Workshop or Massive Black are in the danger of disintegrating because of reality forcing itself in. And if they disintegrate what am I let with? I am nothing if not for my day dreams. These are the things that make me stick with a day job and not just give it all up (screw subsistence) and just do whatever. These are the things which tide me through the crippling loneliness of adulthood and not having too many friends.
Yet, I fear the dream is breaking. I don't do nearly enough to make the dream stick together. And one day all that I'll be left with is dust. And that day is not far off.

Discovery of the real joy of reading

There was some jacking about today about Post Modernism. Now that sounds extremely pretentious but trust me it is not. I don't know anything about Modernism or Post Modernism or for that matter Post Post Modernism other than the fact that these words exists, and there are complicated theories about it which people who are very intelligent and like to dabble with intelligence as a gentlemanly passtime talk about them in casual conversations over a bottle of wine and sweetly scented candles. I am obviously not one of them. I'd love to be one of them, for the simple reason everybody else wants to be one of them. Who doesn't want to be more intelligent?
The thing about knowledge and learning when it comes to me is that I don't retain anything. My mind is the proverbial sieve that a people talk about. I read, then I think that I know something and then I systematically proceed to forget to retain anything of what I have taken in. I have been trying to go through my college text books for the past couple of months and I believed, as I read them, that I was understanding a lot more than when I haphazardly read some of the material when I was supposed to be cramming for examinations. But I just don't remember. I remember odd things from them. But facts and figures still elude my memory.
Post Modernism and different -isms, I have vague ideas about, and I should probably read more about it since in my line of work, its a sacrilege not to be conversant with different schools of thought and basic Art History. But I'm afraid that I am an abject failure in this and always shall be because of my lack of retention of anything.
I believe I will just stop the pretension of wanting to remember things and just read for the pleasure of the experience of reading, which is: the momentary illusion of believing that I'm learning something. Not remembering should just be looked upon as an added advantage. I can keep going back to the material again and again and be equally excited about reading it as I was the first time I read it. Who knows? Maybe upon the millionth read, the sieve will finally clog up and I might be lucky enough to be left with a massively gross hairball of accumulated knowledge.

Suffering from deep jealousy of not being in conversational popularity with people who I think are veritable celebrities and over all famous persons. In other words, there is a deep envy that there are people who I know who are friendly and conversational with people who I read and are semi famous. I just get ignored or (oldest grudge in my book of hurts) get labelled and shooed off as spam.

(Please excuse this. Its the middle of the night. And I am a stalker.)

This is what I am totally digging right now. Its Greg Rucka and its one of the best webcoms iv seen in some time now.

http://www.ineffableaether.com/

I was just watching the geek and sundry channel, and one of the vlogs talked about geeking out on the simpsons or something to that effect.
It just occured to me that I like that show a lot. Its amazingly written. But the art isn't something which I immediately think about the moment someone brings up beautiful and memorable comic art. It is entirely a content  driven show. A writers show.
Similarly, I have this natural aversion to pokemon. I can't stand it. Actually that goes for most manga of anykind for me. Some how I cannot get my head wrapped around manga. The art just puts me off. I guess I can intellectually understand and appreciate it. But thats it. I am actually repelled by it, if it comes to instinctual choosing. 

I have developed certain favorites when it comes to tweeting. Warren Ellis is the current favorite. Its like I can keep listening to him grumble and rant forever. Such a bad tempered man. But also strangely harmless. Adorable.

The decision to write everyday isn't going so well. Yesterday was spent in a state of fugue, where I occupied one spot on the bed for the entirety of twenty four hours and then some, with a book, and then with a computer, I forget which, without wanting to talk to anyone. Today was brighter and shinier. So, I ventured out to meet M and walked around commercial street a bit.
I am still eating the gigantic quantities of pizza that was ordered yesterday, and which formed my lunch, evening snacks for the entire weekend. And I come away with

1) currently wearing a watch that is the most expensive thing I have ever owned in the way of apparel or accessories.

2) a stomach full of burger and no space for dinner which I fought for unnecessarily downstairs with the landlady.

Gah.

Hello. Its been two months since I've written anything here. I think I was posting more on the other blog (art stuff). Probably because its easier to do that when I'm working and doodling on the tablet in between and just posting stuff, than think and contemplate. So there is this sudden realization that this is more of a contemplation blog. No one really reads it, it just makes me feel that I am doing something, with a vague chance of someone reading it, but not really. The other blog has become a habit. This blog is a much older habit. One which has died and comeback, with a much lesser personality, one which is less braver and ambitious and cautious, if nothing else. But I do make resolutions here, some of which I never keep. Sometimes I write about things which interest me, and sometimes I relapse into writing about myself. My current resolution is to just write.
I will write more now on. Everyday. I promise. Even stupid inconsequential things. But the point is to write. Because I have some vague goals than needs to be achieved. And realization of what they are, is also a part of the goal. So that's what I want to do now.