Showing posts with label failure. Show all posts
Showing posts with label failure. Show all posts

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

"Do You See a Problem With the Stunt Cock?"

I wonder if it also tells the story of how she became white in two weeks...

Found this awhile back and just forgot about using it. This is probably better than anything I'll ever come up with in Gibberish, but what can you do--people's failures are often more amusing than people's successes.

In other news, I finished reading One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest last night, and it is a book that everyone should read. And I don't say this lightly--especially if you write yourself. Kesey has created characters so wonderful, and situations reeking with tension, that anyone paying attention can learn by leaps and bounds from this novel. Read it--even if you've seen the movie (which is still a good flick, just different.)

Also, I started working on my first "real" painting the other night, on canvas and everything. It's going alright, I just wish it didn't take so long for the paint to dry. Stupid oils. Teach me not to just use acrylic. I'll be sure to post a pic of it once it is finished--maybe even turn it into a Gibberish. We'll see.

Have yourselves a wonderful day, and I'll see you tomorrow.

Thursday, June 12, 2008

The Detrimental Muse

I'm all for things being so freaking awesome that it sparks whatever little goblin that lives in your creative organs and fires them up, but sometimes, the world proves that too much of a good thing can be bad. Every now and again there is that piece of work that makes me just want to cry because it hurts how perfect it is. Then there are the things that have to go in, fiddle with your inner gears, and change your outlook for the rest of your life.

Lois Lowry's The Giver sprouted my eternal devotion to books.
Jeunet and Caro's The City of Lost Children made me want to be a director.
Failure's "Fantastic Planet" plucked a heartstring that is still twanging.
Alan Moore's The Watchmen showed me what comics could be, thus making me want to create my own.
My brother's art threw me into a lifetime of doodles.
And now there is Junot Diaz's The Breif Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao.

I don't think I've ever read something this perfect. It's so good that it makes a wannabe writer such as myself want to just say "Screw it. If there are people like this out there, why does the world need me?" Luckily, for every life-changing book that hits the shelves, film that flickers in theatres, album to download, there are about a thousand more that out and out blow. I hate the moments like this, when I'm so inspired by the work of another's hands that I loose the tangibility of my dreams...