Babylon 5

     I salute Babylon 5 for being an amazing show.

     I just spent the last two weeks watching seasons 1-4 on dvd.

     Wow.

King Conan #4 - The Scarlet Citadel

     "I have my work cut out for me," David thought to himself.
     "I just read 'King Conan' #4, part 4 of 4 of 'The Scarlet Citadel'.  It was pretty good once I forced myself to read it.  It didn't have the same feel as an original Conan story, though.  It was created by a lesser author."
     "The story was told by the King to his scribe.  Conan related his tale, so it is through Conan that the story comes to being."
     "One thing is for sure, Conan is adept at spinning a yarn.  Also, he likes to drink.  At that point, things might become a little fantastic."

     So there it is, the first Conan comic I have read in a while.  It ended up being pretty good.
     It was hard to get into the language of the comic.  It was actually work to read it.
     I had to stand outside, with no other distraction.
     It seems that it would be so much easier to just make the thing into a video, complete with sounds and voices.  They ought to start doing that for comics, and if they don't, I will.
     This comic was hard to read.
     I was a willing audience member, too.
     I don't know what is wrong, I used to whiz through ten comics in an afternoon, straight through.
     Graphically, they don't as easy on the eyes with all of the computer crap they put in.  They think it works, but it doesn't look as good to me.

     It just makes me want to do my own Conan stories, or to just use the original source material, and do something with that, or to just make my own barbarian stories, in my own land.
     That would be cool.

     There were some full-page ads in the comic, which helped to ruin my experience of the story, which was hard enough to read.

     Comics are still popular, though.

     All I know is that it isn't Conan unless there is a naked woman near-by somewhere.
     There wasn't a single naked lady anywhere in the comic, except in one of the pin-up illustrations, so that made up for it a little.

     Once I actually read the comic, it was pretty good.  My eyes kind of hurt after reading it.  Focusing on all of the small detail is not good.  That is what the new comics do to the eye.  That is why they aren't as good.  They just aren't done as well as the old-time masters.

     However, I used to get tired of how Jack Kirby did things, too.  Same old looks and actions and inking style all the time.
     There was only so much of Jack I could take.
     I didn't think of Jack Kirby for years until he had died, and Frank Miller was really into him.

Bert likes paperclips

     Hi, I've just been working on my blogs for a couple of hours, and I'm wondering if another cup of coffee should be had, or if I should just go home.
     Coffee gets to be expensive when you drink a cup or two every day.  It adds up.

     Anyway, I just read about microblogging on wiki.
     I write something on Twitter once in a great while now.  What I do there doesn't seem to have much of an effect on anything, so mostly, I don't bother.  Twitter hasn't done much for me. 
     I've spent time trying to come up with good, funny, and interesting things to say, but mostly people don't care what I do there much.
     It might change if I get famous someday, you never know.

     I also read the wiki article on blogs.  There are 156 million blogs out there. 
     Blogs are good so that everyone can put out and receive information, or write about anything in the news.  It is good stuff.  No longer do people have to rely on the 'supposed authority' of newspapers and television news.
     They can write the news themselves, and that is a good thing.
     The news corporations write the news themselves, so we may as well be able to.

     Anyway, time for a smoke, and to think. 

* * *

     Sight and Sound.

     Anyway, 2011 is coming to a close, and it will be a new date to sign my artwork with.
     I was thinking of starting my whole art career over again.
     I can just start it from the beginning.
     Why not?
     Who cares?
     No one.
     In a way, that makes me free.

     It's been nice to turn video making into my main art form.  At least people see it.  That is something.  With my artwork, it just sits there unless I figure out a way to transform it into a video, where it can then be ignored properly.
     I guess I am going to have to come up with something that people actually like, that is my problem.

     Well, I can sit here for another hour and blog to my heart's content, or I can just leave and go home.
     I've done enough here today, though, another cup of coffee is starting to sound pretty good, actually.

     I don't know if I can go through the motions of another cup, though.  It means more blog entries, and more cigarette breaks, and I could end up sitting here for another hour, and I am itching to go.  Plus, I have coffee at home, so what is the point?

     I think I have written about everything I want to write about today so far, so there is no need to stay.

     I have to rethink my life.
     I have nothing going on.

     People seem to be encroaching my space today, so maybe it is time to leave.  I've done enough, haven't I?

     I write more than people can read.

     The drama of the day to cap it all off is a guy needs a paper clip.

     That is my cue, it appears.

Futility

     It is frustrating with these blogs to get them all going.
     Each one is like an online character, and they all need attention.
     That takes time.
     It takes a lot of time.
     A lot of focus.
     Then, all you can do is sit there and wait.
     You wait for hits.
     They don't come.
     Every time you visit your blog, you get a hit on your little counter.
     Even that number helps you to get hits, because if people see that your blog is visited, they will be more likely to peruse, which will increase your overall hits, which will lead to even more hits.
     That is how it works.
     Then, once you get hits going, then, you hope that will get clicks, which is people actually clicking on ads.
     This takes even longer.
     Once you get enough clicks, and generate enough revenue, then, in theory, they will pay you.
     To get paid can take a long time.
     It can take over a year to get that first check.
     I have not gotten a check yet.
     I need more hits and clicks.
     Maybe I should research how to get more hits and clicks on blogs.
     That would be nice.
     Once you have an audience, then your content needs to be good.
     The content at that point has to be real good, because people at that point will be expecting a lot out of you, and if you let them down, they will not read you anymore.
     All the work you have done can all go to hell if you start writing blog entries that suck.
     Nobody wants that to happen.
     So, a lot is expected of the blogger.
     You have to be quite a performer.
     I could spend the same amount of time and energy to play the guitar, but I feel that I can express myself better with words than I can do with notes of music.
     I guess I could go stand out there with a guitar and go out and play songs and sing, but I suck.
     I could go out there with my painting easel, but then people judge you, and it gets mighty cold out there sometimes, and being in the sun for too long is no good.
     I could always go home, and go get my paints, and paint in the cafe like I used to, but then I end up drinking too much coffee.
     I actually like to paint in the cafe.  It is good.  It is a good place to paint.  They have a window with northern light.  It is awesome.  You can actually see things how they are supposed to look like.  It looks beautiful.
     I need somebody to pay for my daily coffee, or, I need some people to buy my work, and to sustain my art career.  That ain't no easy trick, you know.
     Some people are able to make their art and make a living doing that.  I don't know why I can't do that.  I am going to have to do something about that soon.   If I knew how to go about doing that, I would have done that a long time ago.
     At least I have all the tools I need at my disposal to make all that happen now, and that is really fucking cool.
     I love it.
     The Universe is at my fingertips, and I can't get enough.
     I am afraid that I might have to end up in some stupid, meaningless job again that will sap all of my energy on a daily basis, and slowly destroy my soul.
     That would suck, dude.

     Okay, that is enough for now.  No need to go on with this trite exercise in futility.

Hey, does someone out there want to give me a million dollars?

     I just thought I would ask.  I might as well.  I have nothing to lose.
     The rebellion needs funding.
     X-Wings require fuel, and that ain't cheap you know.

     Jedi have expenses.

     Who pays for The Rebellion?

     Somebody has to.

     Anyway, I have worked it out mathematically.  I really need a million dollars, and all I want to do is put it in the bank, and keep it there.
     Having lost a lot of money in investing recently, I can't really say that investing a good idea, not with this economy.

     Maybe there is somebody out there who wants to float me $3000 a month if you like my work, and you like what I do.
     $10,000 a month would be rad, that means I could make $120,000 grand a year, and then I can make art all day long, every day.
     I could also upgrade my art studio, and that would be nice.

     I can't make good work without funding.  I don't know what people expect of me, but I know they expect a lot.  They want the best, despite whether or not what they do is any good, they want the best all the time from everybody else, for their own selfish purposes of entertainment.
     Humans are bastards, aren't they?

     Anyway, please give me money, and give me a lot.  I really need it.

     In the likely event that a person from 'Clone Wars Adventures' sees this someday, and thinks of me as a 'Beggar Adult', well, what I'm doing here is business. 
     If somebody wants to give me money, why shouldn't I facilitate that happening, so my life can be made a little easier so that I can live my life and do what I want, and create a lot of art which is what I want to do?

     Kids don't always understand how the world works.

     I am seeing more and more that companies, well, a lot of them are 'beggar companies' and sometimes they need bail-outs.

     The bigger a company is, the harder it is to make a profit.

     I'm just a single solitary person, living a humble life.  I need X amount of dollars every month to live, and to keep doing what I am doing.
     So, if you want to give me money, let me know.
     Even mailing me $1 will help.
     That would be cool if somebody sent me $5, or maybe even $25.
     It would be awesome if someone sent me $50 or a hundred.

     All my former schools, they all ask for money, so are they 'beggar colleges'?

     Maybe every one on the planet is a beggar. 
     Everybody asks for something once in a while.

     Most of the time, men ask women for sex...haha.

     In my case, I just need funding from month to month so I can get back to painting.
     Paints aren't cheap, you know, and neither are canvasses.

     I still have student loans to take care of.

     Damn, I don't know how I am going to do all these blogs when I have to get some stupid job that will consume my life and my soul.  It's going to suck, I just know it.
     Unless I can generate some income with my art, it looks like I am fucked.

     So, all you rich people who say you want to help artists, well, cough up some cash in my direction.  A thousand is nothing to you, but it will pay my rent for a couple of months.

     What I need is multiple people donating money to me every month, so I can live.  That sounds good.

     What I am proposing is not impossible.

      I am going to make it happen.

      I have to, or I will die, to be honest, and I don't want that to happen.

      Dieing inside slowly at a crappy job you hate is the same as dieing in other ways.  I've worked enough jobs to know.

     I figured that you don't get what you don't ask for, so I am asking for a million dollars.

Alien guy in a dress

     Daiv just had to endure the male alien in female clothes.  He had seen him/her before, and was slightly annoyed at the sight.
     "It just doesn't work, nor does it convince anybody.  It just makes people feel uncomfortable."
  
     Then, he was outside, and he/she was walked outside too, and what was heard from the she-male was, "Goodness me, it was like shit in my mouth!  Hahahahahaha" in a high-pitched, stupid, cackling, baritone giggle.

     Normally, Daiv would utter some curse to his pagan gods at this utterance, but sometimes, there was just nothing to be said.

     At least the she-male was gone with his friend, laughing off into The Sunset of Doom.
     "I hope they have a good time...somewhere far from me."

     It was all no big deal, just something he had to tolerate in the city.  Minor annoyances would pass, and at least gave him content to put onto The Intergalactic Usernet.

* * *

     Songs and music could sometimes transport him to another head space.  He was thankful for music's ability to do that.
     "Music soothes the savage zintharbeast, man," he said to himself reflectively.

* * *
     He didn't want to think about what had just happened.  He wanted to be free of outside influences, and just explore what was inside his own mind.
     He liked sitting at the cafe to unwind, and to think.  He liked the environment, and the freedom.
     Having his own table for a while meant a lot to him.
     He could do what he wanted for a short period of time.
     He considered being at the cafe to be his office.  He could think clearly, and the situation made him work instead of doddling, which he often did at home.
     Other people in the cafe seemed to get him to work, even though other people's conversations could enter his head and disrupt his routine.
     Other people were an annoyance, but they also gave him something to bounce off against.
     "One thing is for sure, art is not created in the void of space," he stated silently so as not to bother anyone around him.
     He had only been in the cafe for an hour, and already there had been drama, with people and aliens talking so loud that it filled the entire cafe.
     "How annoying," he thought.  "Some people think they are in a movie every where they go, and that the whole Universe is a stage for them to perform on.  When I want to see a play, I'll buy a frickin' ticket."
     With that, he sipped his bovacoffee.

* * *
     There was another alien in the cafe.  A Hipslog.  A typical alien in these parts.  Daiv had heard him play music on several occasions, and wasn't too impressed.  When he wasn't playing badly, he had a tendency to talk a lot in the cafe, making it hard for Daiv to think.

     Anyhow, Daiv was trying to decide on whether or not to take a speederbike ride across the city.  It would only take an hour or two, and there was no guarantee that the trip would be worth his time. 
     Daiv was weighing out his decisions.
     "Dang, I hope I didn't miss my window of opportunity.  Knowing me, I might have blown it, though, and that sucks."

     Everything seemed to suck for Daiv lately.  He had to fix that, and he had to fix it soon, or else all would be lost.

* * *
      Daiv had read some comic books the previous night, and in the morning, for entertainment and research.  He didn't know if they were that good or not.  The text was hard to read being too small, and what was written wasn't all that great, as if the writer didn't really have a command of The English language.
     "Not always easy to cram words into little boxes.  But if you are going to do it at all, write something decent for the reader.  Geez," Daiv thought.
     He had committed many literary crimes in his own comics, so he wasn't one to talk.
     "Aw, crap, it all doesn't matter.  I had a good time reading the comics, so I should be happy with that."
     It was actually nice to look at a comic book again.  The ads were annoying, and were so dominant that it kind of ruined the enjoyment of the comic.
     "Dang, it sucks when you are trying to read a story about dudes on another planet, without all of a sudden seeing some ad for sport jerseys," he complained bitterly and softly.  "Frick"

     Anyway, that was how people had to make a living in The Galaxy, by selling their souls for cheap.  It wasn't as if the art was all that great anyhow.  It was just commercial work, designed to entertain a teenage mutant goon.

     Anyhow, he felt that his time at the cafe was coming to a close, and he hadn't even gotten started yet.

     "It sucks, everything sucks," he yelled inside his mind.

     Nothing was going to ruin his day, though.  He was going to have a good one, and with that, he smiled, shut down his portable computer station, and walked out of the cafe.

Daiv at The Galactic Cafe

"Well, I guess I could go to the credit branch by the sea, and get a nice speederbike ride out of it," Daiv thought to himself.
     It was a drag to go across town for errands.  There was a lot of traffic during the daylight. 
     What he wanted to do was work on his own stuff all day.  Instead, he would have to put things on hold while he took care of business.
     "%$&*", he muttered to himself.  "Not this again."
     He had done pretty well financially for some time, but his funding was running out.
     "This is not good," he thought to himself.  "This is not good at all."
     He was up to his neck in debt.  This had to be taken care of, or else bounty hunters would come after him for sure. 
     He wasn't too pleased with the prospect of a couple of heavies showing up at his door, with some electro-cuffs nearby.  That did not sound too good at all.
     All he wanted to do today was have fun and play video games.  He had some quests he wanted to take care of by day's end.
     To compound everything, it was his birthday in two days.
     "Eeeek....there is nothing wrong with getting older, but my desire to work for The Man diminishes every day."
     He wanted to do his own thing, and be his own boss.  He was good at what he did, but he currently did not have any clients.
     "That is most unfortunate," he thought to himself.  "In fact, it sucks."
     He had no back-up, either, at this point.  All his resources had dried up, and what was left of his family, well, they had limited resources and were in no position to help.
     He was on his own.
     "Crap".

     All he could really do was just laugh it all off for the meantime, and enjoy his time at the cafe. 
     Something had to be done, though.  Something had to be done soon.

     His options weren't too numerous.
     Suicide would suck for him because, it would not work.  He was the kind of person to botch that job up, which would probably result in him surviving the attempt, and being in worse shape than before.  He wasn't into it.  Life was too precious anyhow.  The thought of never being able to see a hot alien babe zoom by on a speederbike, well, that was what kept him going.
     "Once you are dead, that's it."
     He was pretty sure that once you kicked the canister, that was it. 
     "There is no after-life except the thoughts of you in the minds of the living.  That is the only way your soul survives, as an echo inside another being....if that."
     He was pretty sure that people who had died were living in his mind.  He could hear them once in a while.
     "Just products of my run-away imagination," he figured.
     All he knew was that there was a lot of energy in The Universe, and it had to go somewhere.

     Anyway, he had begun a career as a Usernet writer and content creator some years back.  It was fun, and he enjoyed doing it in his spare time.  He would write articles and upload photos, same as most people.  He was glad he could participate in what he called 'The Galactic Conversation".
     There was a new system they had come up with, though.  Usernet Central would need information from him that they had never asked for before.  They wanted personal codes, passwords, and data numbers.  He was reluctant to do this.  However, it was the only way he would get paid for his content.  He simply had to at some point deliver the information to them.  He would do it eventually, if he could get organized.  He needed the credits.  The amount wouldn't be much, but every bit would help at this point.  He liked to eat.
     "Yeah, eating is nice.  Can't live without that.  Can't live without females in silver bodysuits, either, but that is an issue that can wait a day or two," he joked to himself.

     Anyway, he was screwed, and he knew it.
     Things were not looking good for our hero.
     The situation seemed hopeless.
     He needed a lead.
     He needed friends.
     He needed back-up.
     He needed a safety net so that this kind of thing would never happen again.

     Yet, he was still alive.  He had survived this far.
     Meanwhile, a famous comedian had died recently, and he was two years younger than Daiv.
     "Damn, that sucks," he thought.  "At least he lived a life, and made people laugh, and provided that service. 
     "Me?  I haven't even gotten my life started yet, and that sucks even more."

     If he was going to die, he wanted to be remembered.  He didn't want his life to all be for nothing.
     "That would suck most of all," he mused.

The Rebellion needs funding

     "Dang," Daiv Coffeegordon said to himself while at the cafe.  "I need an influx of credits to come my way, or else I am screwed."

     Daiv hadn't always had the easiest time in his life.  His adult life had been one struggle after another.

     All he knew today was that the Galactic Credit Union wasn't too happy with him.

     He had debts up to the yin-yang.

     He had to do something, and quick.

     He had forgone a normal life and a normal job for odd jobs, and for free time to develop his art.  So far, his plan wasn't working too well.  He needed new ways of thinking, new ways of living, and new ways of making cold, hard cash.

     One thing was for sure, it wasn't going to be easy.

     He was going to be fine today, everything was going to go well.  It was tomorrow he was worried about.

     "*&#$%#," he muttered to himself.  "Well, nothing I can do about it now.  I guess I'll go stand outside, have a deathstick, sip my coffee, and watch the aliens walk by."

The Point of Art

    Well, I don't know what the point of art is if nobody sees it. 
     I was just outside, standing and thinking about Cezanne, who used to spend all day long everyday outside painting his heart out.
     Is that what a man is, standing outside and observing the world?  It could be.  There might not be anything else to do except to stand out there and paint.  To me, that kind of makes sense.
     Plein Air painting isn't all that fashionable these days.  The kids like all that graffiti and hip hop stuff which I don't seem to care for much unless it is painted well.  Most of it, I don't care at all, because the information for those paintings don't seem to be too interesting to me.
     "Okay, so you don't comprehend English that well, and you live in the urban landscape, and you like cartoons, and you write graffiti in bathrooms and on public walls, and that is a life."
     I don't seem to get it, and gangsta rap hasn't influenced me all that much.  I just hardly care.  So I rebel against all that stuff, and I know how unpopular that is, but just because all of the cattle are there, doesn't mean I have to join them.  I don't see what the point is.
     I'm the kind of person to go on my own secret journey.  It's my life, so I can do what I want with it.  I don't see why I have to follow the pack at all.  There is no need for that.
  
     Of course, my biggest problem right now is my lack of income.  I'm going to have to do something about that soon, or die.
     I have to go home and make some phone calls right now, so even that is an interruption to my writing.  I just want to be free to write and create, and there always seems to be something in the way of that.

     I was just thinking about how we never really had a music room in our house.  We had a baby grand piano, but things were never really set up where someone could really jam out on an instrument of his/her choice.
     Some households have the music room set up as a necessity. 
     It just depends on the household, I guess.
    
     Our priority room was the television room.
    
     That is sad, or, it is just the American Way.

     I figure with all of my blog entries that all I have to do is write them, and then later, when I reread them, I can make changes as I think best.
     That is what I like about electronic publishing, is the ability to always be able to edit the material.

     I guess my death is my final deadline.  After that, nothing will be changed.

     Well, I have my work cut out for me today, I guess I had better get on it.

     I have videos to make.  I don't know what my next one will be.  I have some new footage, so maybe I will just use that.

     To get into 'video-making mode' is its own thing.  It is quite different than writing a blog.

     Another thing I like about blogs is that it is an 'endless page'.  You never have to change the paper, and you never need a new typewriter ribbon. 
     That part of it is really nice.
     Oh yeah, no need for 'white out' ever again, thank god.
     Also, no need for stacks of paper with writings on it that you will never look at again.  God knows I have enough of that stuff.

     So what is the point of art?  I don't know anymore.  The world has changed.
     There actually is a lot happening in The Art World, but one thing I am sure, is that it will never occupy people's minds like it does The Sports World, which seems to be all encompassing.
     The Sports World is a gaseous giant like Jupiter.  In comparison, The Art World seems to be like The Cold World of Pluto.  Go there to see some art, and also get some attitude.
     That is one of my problems with The Art World.  They should be thankful to anyone entering a gallery or museum, as in, being really nice and considerate.  Instead, you sometimes get judged and you get an attitude lip from somebody.  That has been my experience at times, and I'm an artist.  They should be kissing my ass, because it is people like me that even gives them product to sell.
     I have met some really nice people in The Art World, too, though.  Some really good people.
     If The Art World wants to survive, they ought to treat everyone super nice, because their future depends on it, and I'm not joking.
     Galleries close their doors right and left all the time, if they even manage to survive the first year.
     The Art Business is tough.  Good sales can come in periodically, but often not in a sustainable amount.
     To even have an art show in a gallery, the printing of the cards, and mailing them out can get quite expensive right off the bat.  Then there is the wine, the coordination of events, and the overhead.  It all gets pricey, so unless a gallery has financial backing, the chances are slim that it will survive.
     Some galleries are very commercial in the hopes that they will sell a lot, but then they end up showing and selling a bunch of nice but crappy art which to this viewer, seems very superficial.  I've seen a lot of galleries like that.
     There is an audience for that kind of art, though, because, this is America, and we don't always have good taste.  That much is true.

     Caricatures?

     Here is a good one.  I love the colors, and the figures.  It's just great.

     Wow, here is a caricature from Pompeii of a politician.  Just a simple cartoon of somebody, but it works ever so well.  It's probably the only thing that exists of that person, a satirical drawing on a wall that I only discovered because of my curiosity for knowledge.
     I guess it is more important to be remembered as a dick politician than forgotten in the waste sand bins of time.