brock boner


We are (Not) Amused

Get your Lurk On

morning terrors
brock boner

cant sleep. must write.

I used to be able to sleep for forever. Back in highschool, when I lived in my attic bedroom that was so much like a tree fort, I could put away hours and hours in the constant hazy permadark. Sleep was my escape from so many things. I slept away my problems, not wanting to face reality and look around myself. It was so cathartic without even being anything. I let time suck me down into a black hole. I didn't want to have to see the degenerating relationship between my parents. I didn't want to have to deal with any of my then beginning steady gender issues, or to think about any of my feelings of inferiority towards other girls.  About why I wasn't good enough to date, or why adults seemed to always be angry with me. I didn't want to feel small or stupid or looked down on, so I dreamed it all away.

The habit of putting my problems away continued with me into college. Freshman year, Allie and I mutually slept all our shit away, intermittently waking to work, smoke weed, drink beer, watch MacGyver, and fall back into bed again for the following 13 blackout hours of silence. It was strange and reassuring to see somebody else deal with their psychological bullshit in a similar manner, and I think I loved the fact that our bedroom was even more of a wreck than our brains were. It seemed not to matter. And then last year, without any preamble, I stopped being able to sleep.

It was around the same time of the year, a crispy September or October. I remember so specifically because I was reading Catcher in the Rye and it was making me feel like I was going insane. I had gone to Shrine Mont, a mountain retreat hotel my church annually goes to. I had gone every year with my family when I was a kid, and decided to return again for the first time after a great length. Everything was the same. The worn but clean green wood plank walkways, warped from being painted a thousand times. The comfortable but lonely chairs placed in the middle of big empty spaces, under solitary trees, meant for reflection and meditation. Even the same football was wedged into the beams of the roof of the pavilion that had been there when I had been to summer camp years before. It was eerie as much it was comforting. It remained a functioning relic, and I spent the weekend begging the mountain to heal me and my problems while I played basketball by myself in the powerful sunshine of the early morning. I didn't sleep through a single night there completely, without waking up in a cold sweat at least once. Even when I drank an entire bottle of wine on the steps right before bed, I couldn't sleep.

I remember when I first met Palmer it was my birthday a week later, and he was standing in front of my house with a sheepish expression and a stack of comic books as a present. I liked him so much, it was a surprise even to me.  I think it must have something to do with his constant, infuriating smile. His shit eating grin. One of his front teeth pokes slightly out from all the times he's fucked up his face, and it gives him this whimsical, mischievous quality that is impossible to look away from. I was so happy to be able to lean on someone for a change, when I had spent so much of my time before alone and closed away, that his permanent 'fuck it all' attitude quickly became a staple to my mental health. I could sleep again. Babies wished they could sleep like I could when he was with me, even though he was always complaining about his feet sticking off the end of the bed and getting cold, or rolling around in the middle of the night like a horse, and twitching as he dreamed. It didn't matter that I knew his smiling was like a manhole cover above a deep hole. I was just so happy to be able to sleep again, to feel relaxed, and to begin to start feeling like myself for the first time in what had felt like forever. But like everything does, it ended.  After a lengthy stroll into Palmer's much more fucked up and convoluted problems, we arrived at an impasse. And suddenly we were broken up and we both stopped sleeping.

I had been doing alright on my own, more or less, until then. Agitated, becoming reclusive, sure, but I hadn't really wanted anything. Before, I knew what I didn't want, and I had thought about that. After I broke up with Palmer, my thoughts inverted, and became focused on things I wanted to take in. In some ways this is exquisitely worse, because it is a permanent suffering of the 'grass is always greener' syndrome. I had failed at my  job. I had failed at my relationship. I had failed at school. I had failed at having a successful connection with my father. I had failed at maintaining so many things. I wanted stability, a dog, a boyfriend, a house, to put down roots, to do what I love as a job, to make money and stop being poor, to love my family and be of some benefit to my neighborhood and my city. But I couldn't even figure out how to pay my bills on time, and suddenly all the troubles I'd been siphoning off and putting away since high school had become a huge and terrible storm cloud hanging over my head and preparing to rip open, dumping a whole life's worth of pain and torture straight down on my fat, stupid head. All because I couldn't sleep.

Like most mornings recently, I woke up before the sun. This is what I normally see:

I've taken to sleeping with the lamp on my desk on. Probably some fucked up psychological aversion to the dark I loved so much in high school, I can't explain it. But this morning I woke up to the light having burnt out, and all I could think was that my Spirited Away poster had morphed from refracted light from the window into the horrible face of a monster.

Sen's red outfit had become the horrible bulbous nose of some translucent, pasty faced ghost, huge and immediate, unavoidable as breathing air and staring straight at me. I feel like I must be going crazy, even as I feel myself adopting Palmer's technique of putting a cheerful face on, despite whatever may be happening beneath the surface. That face, that is the monster face of a tremendous pressure bearing down on my entire ridiculous life. I can't get over it. I can't get over it so much that I had to write about it. All of these things are whooshing around in my brain and I can't get them to stop. I'm waking myself up.

Good morning, creative writing. Heal me! And for the love of God, won't you let me go back to sleep?

Hey, this thing!
cameron painting

Hey..! Oh, hey!  I sorta kinda forgot that I had one of these suckers! Is it the desire to vent my various emotional maladies to the general public, or is it my quest for frank and honest prose that returns me to these deceivingly adolescent habits? Who knows? Or, more importantly, who cares? I figure, if you don't give a shit about my life, you probably aren't reading this. And if you are? You're probably only vaguely interested, so either way I'm deciding it's a win/win.

Though I am no longer unemployed, this wicked thing we call your 20s isn't being particularly kind. The boyfriend who at first I was so sure wasn't going to work out? Remember him? Well, he made a complete 180, seemingly over night, and became maybe the best boyfriend in the history of the universe. Sweet, sarcastic, smart, handsome as fuck, sexy as all get-out, and attentive. Jackpot, right? No. Wrong. Woah. The bigger they are, the harder they fall. Now this girl is sitting on what could have been the greatest romance of her young life after an abrupt and egregious end, feeling more useless than maybe ever before. (Yes, I did just refer to myself in the third person omniscient. It has to do with the fact that I'm royalty. Queen of the ice kingdom, from now on.)  How did this happen? How did I let myself become so attached to somebody? It's weird, considering I have the worst romantical social skills maybe ever. That, and I am a gigantic proprietor of never letting anybody get too close, because then it would interrupt your time in your nerd cave. I love the nerd cave. I'm there now, I've been playing FFVII Crisis Core and Drawing scifi novel fan art for the past week. But it doesnt stop the keen and penetrating sting of losing something precious. The kind of sting that keeps you sitting up at night, or drinking your weight in beer until you're stupid again, or rattling the lonely last zanax in the plastic bottle. Or taking up Dungeons & Dragons. Yikes.

I think what it comes down to is that I'm an isolationist. And unfortunately, so was Palmer. Despite the fact that he's 26 and too old to be having adolescent jitters, or that I am notoriously bad at following through with things, or that he hates his job and drinks too much or that I take thirty minutes to go to sleep and kick him when I finally do. Relationships have problems. They all inevitably do. They plague you. They are horrible torture sometimes, making you think and feel obviously insane things, and do things which are even less savory. The real danger lies in those quiet in between places, where you get your head hugged or your eyelids touched or your collarbone kissed and you feel really fucking happy. The kinds of small things that get you walking around during the day feeling satisfied. Because after everything blows up in your face, which seems like it eventually happens no matter what age you are, those are the things that come back to taunt you later. The bad shit gives you enough to worry about, but it's the good shit which makes the whole situation just so poignantly grim. Drunk texting is definitely a problem.

I've done my part. I was consistently drunk on the porch for a week and a half of my life. Patsy Cline and Hank Williams 1, 2, AND 3 are very good friends of mine. We won't even discuss Lucero. But I can no longer bear the weight of being so aggressively sad, and so, like all times in my life when things get hard, I have turned, once again to drawing. My good old friend, drawing, who always pisses me off and makes me satisfied in the same swoop, regardless of whether or not any of my scribbles will ever be acknowledged. I get to look down at my forearms, now gorgeously colored by Mike Moses of Salvation Tattoo, and feel encouraged. There is no dark place too deep that drawing cant reach it's big old hand down in there and scoop me back out again. So here I am, and hopefully it's where I get to stay for a little while.

I am channeling my awkward nerd heartbreak by, uh, what else? Drawing a comic about it. I find particular schadenfreude, as the Germans say, in the fact that, not only have I decided to render Palmer exactly as he is in the story and publish then it in a color anthology, but that the release party is going to take place at the venue where he works. Though I'm not sure I have a specific outcome in mind for when it all comes together, I do sort of enjoy the thought that it forces the both of us to realize that neither one of us is vanishing from the same realm of existence. We know the same people, drink at the same places, and we will just have to deal with the situation as it is. Though hopefully now with less breakup sex and more really masculine hand shaking and shoulder punching and playing friendly games of air hockey. 

Work is good. I work at a comic book store now, though for some bizarre reason I seem to have ended up in charge of a lot of the porn. Let me tell you, there are some heavy mouth breathers in that back room. Some of them stay for hours. But I also work on Wednesdays, and am loving the new Return of Bruce Wayne. This week Bruce is a pirate. what the fuck?  I'm moving into the most up the punx neighborhood in the city soon, in an apartment above a bunch of my best friends around my old stomping grounds from before Baltimore, which I am going to tentatively say is a pretty good thing. I'm getting a car again, I have a show on the first with my friend Jenn who is into drawing stuff like greasers water ski jumping on dolphins wearing kitten earmuffs, and it's almost time for my paycheck to show. I'm homeless until august, but am managing to keep myself fairly out of trouble, minus one naked police chase and a broken finger. And my mother keeps giving me expensive wheels of cheese. I'm not really sure why, I think she's upset I've been sighing a lot, and is trying to drown them out with the happy gurgle of a coat of brie throat lube instead. I don't know.

That's it. I really DON'T know. How do you get over being in love with someone? I guess I'm too sentimental. Back to being an emotionally unavailable ice queen. Whatever, I didn't really want to go out anyway. I've got like fifteen more hours on FFXII. All will be well, nerd cave.

seven reasons
flapjack frowns
Last night at the bar I brought pen and paper so we could play games while we were drinking. I made a fortune teller and these are the anonymous fortunes I got back:

1.  the skills you spent your whole life developing will never make you any money. enjoy dying poor and in bad health.

2. you will have a small penis, if you not have a penis you will get one and it will be small.

3. everything will make you sad. you will drink too much and kill yourself.

4. you will have a snot procket blown into your asshole & every step dad will beat you repeatedly.

5. no man hates war more than me. And if someone says they do, they better have a knife! get bent.

6. do not get mouth aids on the first date. its real.


I list these only because I feel like they are an accurate representation as to why I've been missing for so long.

that is all.

flapjack frowns


relationships are so dumb. Well, actually, lets rephrase, -dysfunctional- relationships are soooooooo duuuummmbbbbb ahhhhhhhhhh

got told today via Palmer, that I am not allowed to discuss anything serious with him, about, literally, anything. not him, me, or our relationship, ever, ever ever ever, or I would need to find somebody else. seriously. really. That. just. happened. god damn.

correct me if I'm wrong though, isn't the point of officially dating anyone, or even just consistently seeing the same person, that you get to be closer to them than a one night stand? right? isn't that... like... part of the logic of intimacy? I get upset, Palmer makes a borderline mean joke, then he laughs it off, and goes to sleep. what. the fuck. Also a true story.

you guys, never live in a dream world! it's so stupid! You just float happily along, assuming everything is finally working out for a change, and the big fat fist of reality slams down on your fantasy logic. You think your relationship is going REALLY really really well? You could be wrong.




In other news, I won this month's Velocity comics contest, finished the color on my forearms, drank my body weight in PBR, and plan on finishing the month off by ceremonially lighting fire to all of our house bills. Baltimore, I'll see you soon.

I update my blog a lot now also, check it out. It's my blog, but this is a blog too I guess sort of, so I'll just call this one my BLARG and the other one my blog. blog blog blog BLARG

school is for chumps. I hear that.
sick sad world
secret thoughts about being woefully uneducated and unemployedCollapse )

some things and some stuff
brock boner
I think this probably doesnt even make any senseCollapse )

collecting bitch slaps
id hit that
So I'm collecting manga pages where people are getting slapped. Not punched or shoved, but really, like, prissy head jerking neck cracking bitch slaps. I've got 12 or so that I've gathered over the past month just from general reading, because shit happens all the damn time. But that's not going to be enough for what I have in mind. So, here's a general call: know of any really good manga slaps? Let a girl know.

that is all.

save a mountain spring, drink butter.
draco waggle
Didn't make dean's list. surprised? nope. Didn't make any lists. Well, except maybe the unemployment list? Or, maybe the highest consecutive number of morning classes to be slept through in a row list.

Currently taking a well deserved break from the insanity of christmas at my mom's house, by hanging out alone in my dark apartment with a gigantic pan of garlicy white wine butter. All the mussels are gone, but damn, this sauce is fucking delicious. I clearly am better off drowning my sorrows in clarified seafood sauce and brie cheese than my usual whiskey pittance.

The fam got so drunk last night that aunt steffi beefed it on the stairs and royally fucked up her ankle. There were tears. There was spilled red wine on white clothing. There was a gigantic ham steak and like 20 lbs. of half baked brownies. I'm a little shocked I didn't immediately start my period after being around so many emotionally charged estrogen producers. Youngest and yet still driest member of the family, represent. I had to make up for it by being the man of the house and drilling and setting up the christmas tree, staple gunning the lights to the porch, and chopping fire wood. I'm officially the shortest man in the family.

Spera comic coming along very slowly. Due date rapidly approaching. Nothing done since last update except the layout and linework of the second page. I think it's probably because Palmer's been hanging around sooooo much, and all he wants to do is roll around on top of me and eat food and drink booze and take naps and make me watch East Bound & Down. Enjoyable, but certainly not productive.

Christmas card making madness to take place right now.

Spera stuff
look @ comic
After begging the creator to let me be a part of it, I finally get to be a part of the cool online comic, Spera! Part 1 is released already, and Part 2 comes out early January. Part 2 is where I got wedged in, and I'm having a LOT of fun doing the pages for it. I've struck on a fun format for my part, and I sit in bed giggling as I edit, it's fucking great. There's a lot of cool artists already involved, and I'm really stoked to see the project to it's completion.

check out Spera part 1:

and check out the first page of my contribution under the cut. coooooolllll yeaaaaahhhhhh!!!

ps, if you've been wondering where I am, I'm... uh... right here. Doing this. I swear I'll catch up to all my other obligations. Eventually?

post battle princess chatCollapse )

richmond comicon
look @ comic
For the first time in over 25 years, Richmond hosted it's 2-day comicon event down in a half a football field's amount of corner space, and I am here to say that it was pretty alright! As a student I got in for free, and managed to haggle paul pope's book, 100%, down from $40.00 to $15.00, which I was pretty proud of, considering it wasn't even sunday, and it was early on the first day. There were so many people, it was impossible to move around! oh my fucking god. Imagine being swallowed by a sea of sweaty no-necked comic fatties with bald spots and ponytails all in the same hairdo, wearing navy blue and black nerd shirts and stained khaki shorts. Then, add sexually charged band geeks that love anime, millions of underfoot little kids, and every dude you ever went to high school with that has extreme social anxiety, all eyeballing all the fire exits with panicked expressions and occasionally lapsing into aggravated fits of shoving. Good times.

I went with sparkly-eyed Palmer, who I always get fucking tongue-tied as a bitch around, and Tim, who I think could smell my fumbling for what it was, and spent most of the day stalking around like a monster in his too-big cowboy boots and sunglasses while we were still inside. The flipside of all these anxious nerds in one place was, there was all these nerds in one place! People watching is fun for me, there were so many trekkers! And anyway, I made out like a bandit on everything I bought, which was rad.




hahaha, this series that I idolized when I was younger. I loved it. I still do. It's like this bubble gum explosion of color and violence. But Rick Spears was there and I got to hang out with him for a while again. He seemed really relieved to have fans come up to his table, because thus far, not many of the people around were that into his stuff. But Tim and I went, and so I got to see the new pencils for the LONG AWAITED NEXT ISSUE THAT EVERYBODY THOUGHT WOULD NEVER HAPPEN. :D :D :D The pencils weren't by Lolos, but the inking will be, and the script is all finished, so I got a sneak peek into what's to come, and got to talk about the pros and cons of Rick's ideas about how to end the series. it's looking cool! And then I bought a Black Metal shirt because he wrote that book and had sweet limited run stuff he made himself, and then I went home.

Unfortunately now I'm forced to return to my mundane and repetitive school life again. I'm still so bitter about being forced to repeat my sophomore year when I'm supposed to be a senior that every time I sit down to do work, it feels like I'm so angry that my blood is evaporating because it's boiling so hard. fuck you, VCU, I'm going back to MICA and I'm gonna rule the fucking school.


...right after I finish watching New Moon online.


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