Random Tuesday chat, Again

So I took out my imaginary friend for a walk. We stared at the street lamp, stared at the corpses of leaves on the ground, I showed him my favourite bench so we can comfortably stare at busy people passing by (they never noticed it because we're so good). You know, we were having great time and all.

ha

Autumn is a rich celebration of welcoming death and decay to take over the world. Autumn is balancing on the edge of depression as a weather descriptor, and the peak of nature's mature glory and fruitfulness, it's the most decorated and the least promising season. Cheesy as it sounds, I feel some deep connection between us, as if I already knew something about the day I will die. People who die in autumn should become a foggy morning. All of us should, probably. I wouldn't regret dying if I knew I could still amaze someone at least once in a while.

So now, son, we're heading towards the end of this month. We're in the middle of this season, while this year is already at the doorstep, bending down to put the shoes on before leaving, smiling at its own back pain.
_
And here's something I leave for myself to learn and remember.
There's a narrator to each fairytale. But it doesn't matter how soft and nice his voice is, or how gently he holds a book, he is not a part of a fairytale himself. He just reads it out for you. He might even not believe in that fairytale. And that's not a sin, even though he might be a sinner. He is just a bulb, not the light. Do not mix it. Stay sober, and do not invite the narrator to join the fairytale, you don't need him there. He can take you home, but you can't try to take him on stage. Everything and everyone has their own place. And that's good. Good enough.

wow
I don't know. I'll try to draw something. I can't, but I will ignore this. Too shameful. 

as close as you could possibly get

A day with me.

I was lying on my bed, trying to stay asleep. In the meantime, somewhere something was trying to keep me awake by showing me pictures of dramatic fall from the stairs out of nowhere down to nowhere. After surviving falling down the stairs for the third time I decided to get my subconscious to stop bullying me before I get a brand new phobia. At that point I wondered what would be the word for the fear of stairs? It turned out to be named "climacophobia", and I thought that the "limaco" part of that word is somehow clumsily cute. Also, I discovered that if you rearrange the letters just a bit, you will get "iia choco lamb", which is certainly comforting.

 

After reading enough about people getting traumatized in all possible ways by this extremely foul and quite old (they are believed to appear around 6000 BC) creation of human desire to feel higher than they are, I turned my attention to the wall, the closest reachable object, apart from my depression (that was a joke, I'm not depressed). My wall was white and cold, and I found someone's hand dancing on its surface. She wasn't mine, because my fingers aren't that long and beautiful. She looked very anxious and didn't know where to go; she was taking peace in desperate trying to repeat my moves, stretching and transforming it according to her very own dimension. I think she was lost, way too lost to realise it even. I took a photo so someone can find her someday.

My mother dropped in my room. She said she doesn't want me to be sad. That's good, because I really don't want her wanting me to be sad. That would make me really confused.

Sadness is the most gentle feeling that we can experience towards ourselves, that's what I thought next. Pain, happiness, excitement and boredom are too brutal, too primal. Sadness is sophisticated, melancholy is the greatest luxury. It's like blue cheese, and sadness is the mold growing through it. For an undereducated man of a surface it would be a flaw, but that exact flaw is also what makes it a delicacy. The connection is obvious, there is no way no one has thought about it before me: feeling blue, blue blood, blue cheese. It's relative, see? I might be a genius.

Then I drew a little cute picture. I placed it above these lines, and I really like it. A little tiny place of my own, it doesn't even have any curtains - why would I bother, if no one's watching me from the outside? I wanted to read something to confirm my deep devotion to wasting my day away, but my phone rang then. 

It was a wonderful man whom I've seen whole four times, and who's seen me only twice. We spent some time of ours drinking alcohol on the phone, time too short to justify the difference between us - too big to ever feel like living in the same world. Excitement of a human contact and alcohol took over, and the desire to have more of both started to grow bigger and bigger on me. Both are poisons, both are addictive. Both are something to live for, both can destroy you if you do. The man will ruin me, but that's just what I want. It's still better to be ruined by someone beautiful then to ruin yourself on your own, regretting not giving in.

These thoughts led me to abusive listening to the songs I can't relate to, but I like to imagine that I do.
There's something unfair about those. For a long time I thought (sometimes I still do) that no one ever feels anything, because clearly I did not. Everyone's just pretending, that's what it felt like. Blindly searching their role, finding the script purely by intuition, reading it without knowing the language and playing it selflessly, like the last damn thing they've got in this life. What am I even talking about?

This is basically about my day. Two hours of my warm blood circulating intensively through my very own body.
I could've written 10 times more, but I was afraid to sound too fun to hang out with.
(just joking, everyone already knows I am)
My days are alike. All good. If anyone wants to the the chairs I sit on, or know how I smell without smelling me, or which tree I say hello to every morning, you may express your wish anywhere I have an ability to detect it.
I will go away drinking milk now.
Be nice! Good night.

Don't take on too much

It's the last sunrise over Mongolia. No tears! You could not possibly do anything. 

And just let me conclude with something great.

Just a little bit of

Hey there a white square on the screen that I have to fill with some meaningless information!

How's it going? I suppose great, still being so white of infinite possibilities, huh? See, your life cannot be boring - just think about it, what if someday something really great becomes your body, some real masterpiece of human thought will paint your insides, what if you are chosen to hold the cure for all the bad, peace for all the insomniac, life for all the bored? And even if that never happens, it is still not your suffer - let those who marked your virgin body be the ones in pain, pressed all the way down by the heaviness of their grandmothers' expectations.  Let them think of your face in their nightmares, when you look at them, a hungry believer, a clean slate, a murder list with numbers only, prepared to be fatal, prepared to be something at least. But what did they do, what could they do, what could they even think of doing to you? They'll wake up screaming under your stare, what have you become, what could you become? The terrifying Anything is too much to handle for the sanity, but the little your hands allow to make out of it, the reduction of making it physical, making it yours, making it real - it is even more terrifying.

Despite (or considering) the shitstorm above, today I just feel like rambling about this and that, so hey. Let's chat, but it will be only me holding the mic, and you don't really have to be here - though I would appreciate your clapping or at least a tip, if you feel old enough to do that. 

Anyway, really, I am grateful to anyone who took their time talking to me/looking at me throughout the past month, you were nice - I wish someday I'll be able to pay you back for your politeness and sweetness and all the -ness we can derive from just pleasant people, but for now... For now I'm taking it all with me, carry it around like a baby, in and out of the rooms, popping up here and there, out of nowhere, you know? 

I've been thinking about the word I absolutely hate yet it is impossible to avoid using it not awkwardly - it's inspiration, you've heard that one? Why does it sound so pretentious to me?

There would be a Muse, for example, you know - the one that stands behind the shoulder of each artist or Artist, or sitting on their table, under the table, in the whatever pose you prefer, clothed or undressed, bold or bearded... I just wondered once what mine would look like, why shouldn't I have it--(him? her?), especially now, at our time - bless our time! - it's not her who picks me, it's me who picks her, or him, or them, whoever, well!

I think I want a human - most certainly I want a human, not even a tiny army of the Hattifatteners, or a giant snail (I still really want it so bad help), or not even a fried banana. A human is still what makes me the most awake, a worrying animal I am needs someone to be worried about, so I can complain about being tired of all the worries, yet I need someone to complain to! Not sure if my muse will allow me to do that, but let's assume it will pity me at least a little, because I need it to be gentle. Gentle in that sadistic way, with all the teasing, all the scars covered by kisses, not painful enough to kill you, but just about right to keep you half mad. Oh yes, that would be perfect, so much better than a fried banana - in fact I can fry it for them every morning. They will not like it, and I will be so mad throwing plates on the floor with all the drama and chic. They will abuse the opportunity to watch me and I would love to allow that, maybe it's even the only thing I really need. Am I describing a real person now? It's funny.

Anyway, I need to give in, it's getting colder and my thoughts will turn into nothing but a girly talk if I keep on. Here's my song of the week, and I leave this place. Will be back tomorrow. Was nice to chat with you (me). Peace!

Ain't need no other burger

You know what? I like comics, I've just never read them. Because I am still discovering stuff about this world (I'm a late bloomer, okay?), so here's my confession - this is the first time I took a comic magazine in my hands. And bought it immediately.

 It's Stripburger and it's absolutely awesome.

So I was there - in the bookshop, touching and smelling it, crying over my life spent on nothing, touching it more - the paper is so good, I mean I don't know if it is actually good, but it's still SO pleasant to touch; each press had such an adorable cover, the translation to English is carefully given everywhere possible (it's way too nice, I know it makes perfect sense but I still somehow got touched by it)... You know, the feels and stuff.

It's basically a Slovene comic magazine, filled with mainly (but not only) European authors (for example, in the latest issue it was a Norwegian invasion), interviews with cool people, strips strips strips... What really gets me about this magazine is the variety of styles and topics displayed there and I love love love it, especially for me as a noob learner it's just a treasure, I am absorbing it all like a sponge, and soon I will need more - these four cannot satisfy the hunger it has waked!

Anyway, in this post I just wanted to express my newly discovered love. I would have written more about how infinitely RAD this magazine is, (still would really love to talk about it) but I'll leave it for sometime later because I feel like shit (let's put it simply). Nothing gets me excited these days, so I have to wait till this wave passes. Well-well.
Not excited by AM, still listening to it whole day long. I just enjoy getting myself as low as possible. Anyway, not a bad cover of John Cooper Clarke. Nothing unexpected. In any way, nothing. And that's why it fits.

If you ask me what to read

I wanted to make a post about Stripburger, but as my lovely friend asked me to write something about my favorite books (10 favorite books huh?), I'll first go on with that.
Now, I am not sure if I even have 10 favorite books - as most of my favorite authors are the best in the short story format, but never mind, I will just tell about my favies, and that's going to be cool enough!

The stuff post

Sometimes people ask me about the materials I use - what do I draw with, how much of stuff do I have, you know. Things. So I've decided to make a blog post about it, because... because yeah! Let's just start.

I feel like the first thing that I have to mention is something that is just becoming such an inseparable part of myself that I literally feel anxious if I forget to put it in my bag before going out. No need for long introductions, meet the pilot g-tec-c4 (0.4mm) black ink pen! Coming together with a bottle of indian black Daler Rowney drawing ink. These are my musts, and I just cannot be myself without them.

Well, to be honest, lately I feel like it's about right time to step into a new level - I started to see the 0.1mm pen in my erotic dreams, but I just can't find the appropriate one... The existing ones claimed to be 0.1 or even 0.05mm are no better than my good old 0.4 pilot, so I am still sticking with that. But if, all of a sudden, you feel like you want to make me the happiest ink pen freak in the world - you know what to search for, right? And I told you the trick - THE THINNER THE BETTER.
There, said it all.

The next thing is something that brings me huge amount of fun, and is least depressing of all the things I'm used to work with - a charcoal pencil! Mine is Koh-i-Noor Hardmuth one, and it comes from "Gioconda" art set.

 

 Why is it cool? So many reasons for that, bro! First, it's a charcoal, which is always extremely fun to play with - when I'm sketching with a charcoal, I always feel much freer and more just like playing around and enjoying the thing, than when I sketch with a pencil. Definitely. And it is in a pencil form - which significantly reduces the amount of black that covers your hands, face, clothes, paper, mum etc - you know what charcoal means. And you can blend/shade it awesomely - no need to worry about small mistakes. Actually, no need to worry about any mistakes at all - just cover it all black!

Now, done with the blacks - let's go to some colours, shall we?

First of all, of course, colored ink.

These six from Winsor&Newton, come in adorable boxes, and bottles with same pretty illustrations. I've only got six of them, as I don't feel a great need to buy any more colors - I rarely use even these. But they are great, and it's very interesting to try them out on different paper types. Here you also can see my beloved baby W&N brush - I need to say that this is my absolute favorite one. Being a compact brush, it has two separable parts: a cap (5.5cm) and a brush body (6.5cm), so you can make it a 10.5cm brush (which is my most comfortable length) or fold when putting in a case. It's metal, as you can see - probably steel, although quite light, also it's thin - what else should I say? Just perfection!

This piece (it's unfinished and I think I've never uploaded a photo of it) is an example of how you can mix some of the ink colors above.

I think it's brilliant green, blue, viridian + some out of the box. This is not the best thing you can do with it, okay. Maybe the best I can do though... Let's move on to my another favies!

Winsor&Newton, again. And I know - it says "calligraphy ink"! "For fountain and dip pen", I can read it, yeah. But damn, I don't care, these two colors are just fantastic!!!

Especially the blue one - it's called "blue black", but it is only black taken on an extreme concentration, the more water you add - the more magical the color gets, and the texture is just fabulous. This kind of ink especially does not tend to forgive you mistakes, so you should be extra careful - once you've touched the paper, it's there forever and ever. Even the thinnest layers make the difference. But as I have no life, these two are my best colors for the moment. The crimson one is also very cool, for example, I've made this one using crimson calligraphy ink + two (black'n'red) ink pens.

It's a pure pleasure to work with these, I swear - just try playing with the concentration and layers, and you'll see what I mean. Magic.

The last picture is mainly my stationery, stuff that I have at home, watercolour kit and some watercolor pencils. Pretty much everything that I have...Looks messy, but that is what my room is about. +some additional ink, some additional pencils, some additional... glue... and screwdrivers... Just in case.

Though I would like to mention these Derwent watercolour pencils: I started to use them recently after wanting them for long long time, (uh, uh, so expensive, uh) decided to buy it and never regret getting 10 of them at once - they are great. The blend together greatly, and I am much more confident about using them, particularly when I have to use them in areas close to already applied ink... They don't require much water, and their texture, when dry, seems quite pleasant to me. So if you are a little bit clumsy around the liquid stuff - try them out! I think such are pretty enjoyable.

I guess it's everything that I have to say on this, but if this is an interesting topic at least for one of you who reads this sentence, I will keep writing about materials and stuff, because there is always plenty of coolness around. Well, bye then!