Depression and Madness

     I am an artist and a fucked up person.  Maybe I ought to get back into a yoga class.  I am starting to feel the effects of not taking a yoga class.  Instead of feeling slinky and slithery like a grooving snake, I am taking on more bloated pig-like features.  This is not good.  It is much better to feel all glowy.
     Anyway, I got hammered on New Year's, and I was feeling pretty low yesterday.  I haven't felt like that in a long time.
     Alcohol is a depressant.  It makes you happy for a short time, and miserable for a longer time.  Just how it is.  Often you can get laid because of alcohol, but it is important that you don't do too much because you can a) vomit in the girl's mouth while kissing ( it has never happened to me, thank god ) or b) you can't get it up, or you can't come.
     To be that drunk where you can't get it up is bad.  That is a sure sign that you should get off the booze for a while, lol.
     I haven't had that problem, thank god.  I can always get it up.
     It did happen once where I couldn't get it up, I was so drunk, but then I finally did, and then it was a whole other matter of coming. 
     That must be disappointing to a woman when the guy can't get it up. 
     Women choose the damndest times to have sex, too.
     I can perform perfectly fine right now, but not a girl in sight.
     Get drunk, and maybe a girl will show up, and then god knows what the fuck happens.  It is all fucked up how it all works.  Perhaps it is best not to think about it too much.

     Anyway, so, there is depression, and then there is madness.  That is another breed of monster.  Both of them, however, can make your artwork very interesting.
     It is all about achieving balance.
     That is not always easy for an artist to achieve.
     A lot of artists are very conservative, and they make really boring art.
     Others are completely crazy, and their artwork is all over the place, usually lacking in concentration and focus.
     There are a lot of trippy-dippy artists out there, that is for sure.  The paintings seem fine to them, but a lot of art, especially in San Francisco just looks like their acid trip, and, who cares?  Not me.

     Anyway, it is a nice day.

     The mood I am in right now is odd.  I feel fine.  I feel that I can write, but I don't feel that my mind is in a state where I can actually read over what I wrote and make sense of it.  I will have to do that later.

     It was nice that my friend showed up and we had a good talk.  He is a good person, and he is pretty funny, and is usually in a good mood.  He's got the music in him, I guess that is why.  He never has a bad word to say about anybody, and people seem to gravitate towards him.

     Anyway, it is getting to be that time when I should go.

     My coffee is damn good, but there are only so many cigarettes I can smoke at the cafe.

     While I am thinking about it, I hate those big, puffy jackets that those gang people wear.  I fucking hate them. 
     "Dude, those are for wearing when you are out fucking in the snow!" I want to scream at them.
     They wear them to increase their anonymity, and to conceal weapons if need be, and also for street cred, which is a bunch of bullshit, but people do it.  It is important to look tough where ever you go, you know, but a lot of those guys are pussies, and they will cry if put in the right circumstances.  They get frustrated because they can't express themselves verbally, and then they get mad, and they will kill you  if you piss them off too much.  Sounds like great people.  I hate those motherfuckers, god knows I see enough of them.  And fuck their graffiti, too.  I will fucking go over to their goddamn house and tag their front door and their living room, and let's see how they fucking like it.

     I just had to get that out of my system....haha.