(New tag Reading WordPress) While scanning WordPress, I read a post called “4 Reasons Why You Shouldn’t Attend Art School”,* which was a followup to some reasons why art school should be attended (one of the reasons was access to Adobe progs on the cheap??? What???**). Here are 4 reasons why you should attend and pay for art school: 1) You don’t know how to draw (/you are not a graphic designer just because you know how to push shit around in whatever Adobe prog u think graphic designers use)–just because it looks like the thing in front of you doesn’t mean it means like the thing in front of you or mean in the way you intended (/just because it looks cool doesn’t mean it is well-designed). At (the right) art school, you learn how things mean and how meaning is conceptually conveyed. You also learn that there is a difference between Art and Design. 2) Art practice is a discipline and, more importantly, art has a context. Dicking around on yr own doesn’t mean yr making art. Making art in the vacuum of your spare room and occasionally showing your work at a craft fair IS NOT art. You’ll be around people who are vastly more talented than you and you’ll compete (with yourself before them) to become a better producer. Competition, and what can be learned from it / participating in it, always gets such a bad rap. 3) If you go to the right art school, you figure out how to make a LIVING from the shit you create. Or you’re next to a neighboring school where you can learn these things and your time at that school counts as credit. Or you can cross-register and enroll at that other school and walk away from art school as more than an artist and walk away with another skillset that can be used for find a job in Reality that supports your artistic practice. 4) Criticism. At the right art school, you’ll be around educators and other artists who will tell you your work SUCKS and you’ll obsess about why your work SUCKS and you’ll make better work and focus on what you mean, why you mean. You get the opportunity to figure out who you’re meaning for. You learn that you’re not ORIGINAL and that TALENT is a load of shit. And if you know the latter already, you learn how to be some humble asshole capable of asking questions about your work, like Does anyone need this shit? Is this changing the world? How does this change the world? How is this new? Does it even have to be new? | What a jumble!

I will never be able to call myself a New Yorker, but I love being able to call New York (namely Manhattan) home. | I occupy two worlds right now: Reality and This World. | Reality: Still chipping away at the 2-day extended break from Reality. Reality includes the 9 to 5 and all the shit that goes hand in hand with pretending I care about the thing, really caring about it, etc. etc. etc. My boss contacted me to scold me about a $600 invoice that was not paper mailed and therefore not scannable and then about her not knowing about it. I mean, what am I supposed to write back (read in-head in robot voice, think Vicky from Small Wonder): Hi, hello, I do not have access to your email. Ergo, I cannot read it. Ergo, I cannot tell you about pressing deadlines I have no access to. Peace out have a good day. Over the last day of my self-imposed break from Reality, I have to send followup emails, worry about when I will receive my paycheck (now 8 days left and officially illegal/citable), contact some well-known architect for his _ for one of the Principals like I could somehow get him to pay attention to such a petty request, ETC ETC ETC ETC fuck me. | This World: This World has been a real bitch lately. It is difficult to stand up for myself, | I can’t keep writing.

Life is shit, but there are things that are not shit: The Met Breuer Sottsass show (dick vase, drawings), the Deadeye Dick show at Peter Freeman¹. The latter is one of the best I have seen in New York and the thing was joyful. Going back when I resume work on Tuesday, good lunch break, plus I want to take a picture of the _ _ portrait of Bellamy. | I took 4 days off work and so far the 4 days have involved someone telling me what a shit I am. It is not fun, but I am nice anyway. And not in the way I am nice to Captain Yale because that is a false nice used to manipulate our boss into thinking that everything is just fucking fine at the office. I stopped by the office to pick up a copy of a book containing an interview I transcribed to give to the person who has been telling me what a shit I am. | I am a person whose love language (I have never read that book) involves making shit for other people (objects, projects, writing), making shit with other people in mind, filling IRL mailboxes with greetings in the form of _s with, by now, illegible handwritten text, etc. This hasn’t changed since I was little and it all started with a painted _ I gave my father on Father’s Day. He brought the thing to the office and kept it in all his offices since I gifted it to him, so I figured he liked it. I have never given my mother anything but heartbreak, but that’s not to write that I don’t love her. I try to love her. | I have to stay focused the next few weeks. I have to be a good friend over the next few weeks. I have to be good. I have to recover my routine. I have to schedule time with my analyst. I have to recover some interest in my 9 to 5. | How I describe my 9 to 5 to other people I have a dumb, architecture related job. It may be dumb, but I do it well.

I am that asshole who doesn’t need Facebook to remember your birthday. Who quit Facebook in order to remember it off the top of the pink. I am the asshole that remembers your birthday even though it is inappropriate to well wish you. I am the asshole that remembers your strengths and dreams and fears. I am the asshole you don’t talk to for 10 years then suddenly contact out of the blue. | Talk about being in a bad place. She tells me If you find yourself there you need to find someone to talk to. and I believe her. | Fear of abandonment, fear of rejection are all nothing when compared to the fear that even those closest to you won’t stand up for you. | The fat man on the train smells like a synthetic bath surround caked with too many dead skin cells x molded bath towel that tried to scrape off rings of dead skin. Belly flop, belly top. | If there was a guarantee that no synthetic clothing is worn in Heaven holy shit sign me up for all that hullabaloo where people want to end up there. My father’s hullabaloo, the hullabaloo P got into before he died at 32. Hook me up with that brand of Fear of God. F.O.G. | I took a risk and chose the option that was, by her what I imagine constant judgment of me, less obvious. AirBnB, no staying at the house I love. When I think about the house and the work I did in it, all I can think about is (continued later). House I Love II, that is.| Distance between two people is a bitch. Or put distance between two people and it will certainly almost always turn one of them into a nasty bitch toward the other. Or both into clawing bitches capable of the worst both bitches share. Or put distance between two people and maybe, just maybe, the hope of one is enough for both.

Sobs all over. | I have taken to being as nice as possible toward Captain Yale. I figure if he’s not going to treat me like a human being, I may as well practice at treating everyone like one on him. Today’s hit: Captain Yale sat in the other Project Manager’s seat, at which point I turned to him and said Well, hello [other Project Manager’s Name], at which he let out a lil laugh. | As an elementary school kid, I wanted to be the class clown, or at least the girl class clown. I think I was mostly successful, but a lonely sort of it. | A BEE or WASP or WHATEVER THE BLANK ELSE THAT STINGS bit me on the spine, lil shit went right through my bra band, on Sunday while I was up at _’s house dicking around in the weeds. I’m probs the lil shit that deserved it though, for poking around at some flowers WHATEVER IT WAS wanted to have a go at. I spent a sum of an hour Googling X bite on dark skin, X bite on _ skin, X bite resembling burn, tick bite through clothing, tick bite with no ring, X bite dollar coin size, X bite with dry skin patch around, X bite dry skin patch rash around spreading, X bite numbness leg hand one side of body, X bite tetanus shot update?, X bite develop symptoms slow to show–all -animal. I didn’t even care who saw all the Googling. I didn’t really come up with anything and I’m in a real panic and feel like a bear with an itch on its back and when I take this pair of antihistamines I’ll feel like a voracious bear with an itch and will probs have to head down to the friedfooderia to get my fill. | He is humorless. | My humor is odd and best expressed through my tough as shit and ugly at some angles short hair cut. | I can hear him saying You’ve (just) never had any direction. That’s what the problem’s been the whole time. | I’ll internalize everything sentimental I’m reading in some book I’ve been enjoying reading on the 6 ride to the chokehold on making time and then back to The Hood. This Island’s The Hood proper. | I spent 20 minutes of the WHATEVER STUNG ME hour wishing I could die from the whatever’s sting, multiplying the dollar coin sized burn mark on every last surface of my body. My Girl. My Boy. My Bite. Google, X bite death.| She told me about swimming in the Lake and an eloquent 32 year-old she met on a boat on the lake and I thought I am terrified of the way she describes me to other people but I care about her more than she knows anyway and tried to calculate her age based on the year she was double mine. | The laughter I had toward the words in the book snapped out of it and I was just sitting there sobbing. I wondered what I am practicing, what I still have discipline enough to practice and really (just) came up with nothing.

When Captain Yale drinks his coffee, he slurps it. Suhhhhluurhp, suhsuhsuhlurrrrp. This happens three times a day. When I drink my coffee, I tip my cup to clear off just enough foam so that when I drink out of the cup the foam does not hit my lips. Treat the foam as a decorative layer. By the time I get to the end of the cup, there is a layer of foam with either a heart or leaf shape, depending on who prepared the coffee. The leaf is definitely executed with more care. The person who prepares the coffee with the leaf looks like he should be from Salt Lake City. I think I annoy Captain Yale a lot because I can’t sit still at work. I mean I get it. Blank I hate me at work too. | I spent 5 hours of the work day on some project of mine which involved worrying for an hour about whether Super 77, when dried out between two layers of _, would cause an explosion when run through the _. A tangible sort of worry. A sweat through my poplin shirt sort of worry as I hit Print. No explosion, but the worry was enough to make me reconsider adhesives. Silicon it is. When I see the word silicon I think of those children’s toys, those weird infinity wiggle tubes–what exactly was the point of those / the things have nothing to do with silicon / what I am writing has nothing to do with anything. / At 11:30, my phone apes out and rings and vibrates: It’s time to go to bed! Stop whatever the blank you’re doing! You better not be staring at a screen! | The slurping really bothers me. It’s the sort of shit only men who don’t put the toilet seat down at an office where everyone shares the same wc do. It is rude. There should be a Seat’s Up! alarm in the office wc. Thing’d be going off all day. Tuck yr junk in seat down wash yr hands u fuck. | I got so much done at work today. I responded to all emails within 5 minutes. | Phone says it is time to sleep. Peace Out!

I woke up in a crisis this morning but am pleased to write I got 3 hours of sleep. | Recent sleeplessness has meant aping around on the World Wide Blanking Web and buying a bunch of random blank: a round dome short brim (as in under 3″) winter hat (full wool and price was decent bc nothing with a firm brim is ever 100% wool and made in not China), some _s for a project, some sleeves for a project, more _s for a project, a Junot Diaz book, some program on a CD (lol $11), some shoes, a mug for my favorite asshole friend (MFAF from here on out but maybe I have too many of them at this point), some old book called Nonverbal Communication that is heavily illustrated, who cares done with this. | I am reading Priestdaddy and was LOLing on the train. Viva fun! Viva vocal laughter around a read! Good God! | A friend was going on ab an ex and god went green in the face. | Captain Yale and I sit with the invisible Project Manager between us and I wish the invisible Project Manager would come back soon but she will be in an Asian country until mid-(!!!)October and I don’t know what I’m going to do w/o her and I wonder why she decided to stay for so long. Something is up and when she gets back I will do a little digging. Know-zeeeeee. No-zzzzzzzzs.