Hello, my name is Judas Gutenberg and this is my blaag (pronounced as you would the vomit noise "hyroop-bleuach").
got that wrong
fun social media stuff
Like my brownhouse:
my tendencies for obsession
Sunday, December 29 1996 During the morning at Comet, I created another "Spins" essay, this one about the significance of hair length in various sub cultures. I'd been moved to write such an essay ever since reading Web bellyaching by old school Metallica fans about the band's new shorn locks. For the record, I mostly had long hair from 1987 until 1995, though there was a period in 1993 when it was short, and it never has been very long since 1989. It was useful to have long hair when I used to bang my head.
At the Rising Sun Bakery I started painting the words on the outdoor sign I've been working on. I used very dark blue paint and a font with dendritic serifs, a style I'd used on bozART's old sandwich sign. It's kind of creepy, but it also has an alive or even "fresh" look which can only be good for a bakery. Meanwhile a couple groups from unfamiliar demographics (yuppies in their early 30s or late 20s) sat and chatted and laughed endlessly, mostly while discussing their up and coming careers. It would have greatly improved their conversation had they discussed the romantic intrigues of their absent friends.
I slept from 1:30 until 5:30pm.
I returned to the bakery to obsessively continue work on the main text of the sign. The text has to be gone over several times to get a crisp solid look. Then I added high lights. It was beginning to look metallic, but still fresh. The project had originally been an ordeal. But now that I'm going, I'm becoming obsessed with my creation.
I'd just like to point something out to all you non-artists who may have the good fortune to stumble upon an artist at work someday. An object that an artist is working on is UNFINISHED. That means that you can't hope to know what the finished product is going to look like by viewing it in the early stages. So your advise is useless and your questions are misinformed. Go away, let the artist work in peace. Conversation makes him exercise his left brain which he is TRYING to suppress for a goddamn change.
Word on the street has it that Cecelia the Brazilian Girl and Vanna the Increasingly Gothic Punk Rock Girl are back from their travels to the west coast. Tonight they were supposedly with Theresa whooping it up at Cecelia's parents' house. Those parents are gone, see.
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