Trichinosis

A disease of the pig. No, I don't have the bacon lung. What I do have is a pleasant demeanor combined with the sheer annoyance of media proportions.

I know my blog is my blog, but that does not mean I can go on a tirade against current media trends, considering that I'm slowly becoming a part of that trade.

Anyway, back to H1N1. I think I'm going to make a picture that's reminiscent of this phenomenon. Human sickness. Of the stomach. Of the mind. Scary, scary.

Thought.

You now know my design ideas for the Octoberfest competition. DONUT STEEL.

I also got some other upcoming projects that I need to finish sooner rather than later.

Here is heartwork, my WIP for the SIGGRAPH logo competition.



And here are some things I made as a result of free time and more free time.



Indeed.

I wonder if I should continue posting poetry on here. Probably not, considering it's not new.

Hrmm...

Frowny face.

HAY PART TRES

Some of these are titles to my poetry, others I just made up.

And with this, I am done with my album cover. Yay!

HAY PART DEUX

Finished.

The band names aren't real...well they are in some sense.

They're from my book.

HAY

Front of album cover



Inside of album



CD sticker or whatever one calls it. One more part to go!

YEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH

Told you.

I am the most reckless human being ever

And I guarantee that it'll be finished, shaded, printed, and cool looking by tomorrow morning.

Good luck to me. heh heh heh.

Don't drink the sea water, it'll make ya craaaaazy!!

Or at least that's what Cap'n K'nuckles told me. Ordinary news today, I'm going to SIGGRAPH, or at least trying for an officer position within the club. This news is ordinary because I expect that most of my readers are also going to be my peers, my comrades, my competition.

And you know what? That's fine. I don't really have a competitive streak in me, nor do I always try to do my best, but I try, and that's all that matters to me.

Got a couple of design ideas for SIGGRAPH's logo this year. I'll toss some WIP up in this bitch when I get around to actually fleshing out my concept, not to mention all the other stuff I'm supposed to be doing.

Clock.
Typography.
Album cover.

I can at least show you the album cover I've got going on right now. Didn't have access to a drawing pad to actually do it right, but I think I'm comfortable with it.



And here's the typography portrait I'm going to do. Adam 'Doseone' Drucker. One of the best rappers I've ever listened to.



No, the band (Satellite, not Doseone's work) doesn't actually exist. And the title is from a book called WE, by Yevgeny Zamyatin. Think of Brave New World and 1984, only like 12 times better.

Seriously, go read it. Literature is not dead. I won't allow it.

EKG

Give me a current
a source for the palpitations
the murmurs
and biological imperatives

Living

Pulse fast for me now
rapid and raging
knowing the unsettling in
one's chest

Breathing

Task me with the first impossible
to tell a muscle to stop cold
throbbing like those
on the edge of sex

Writhing

Eaten by undulating centipedes
Eaten by earth sick
Eaten by trepidation and entropy
Eaten, and again eaten

Rotting

Told to, Needed to, Probably wasn't a great idea

A generalized concept, yes yes.

Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.

Or at least give me a solid concept to work with, people.

Ah, but that's fine, that's fine. I'll toss my two pence into this scene, give some solid feedback.

Alas, I've got one idea, and I think I'll stick to my guns on this one.

Some think calling people cogs is a derogatory term, being merely part of a machine. However, I respectfully disagree! We're all part of a system, something greater, something that we may not like, but ultimately we must work with.

Such is life. Such IS life, in fact.

To work in a well oiled machine is to function as a human being, thus we are gears in a clock.

Why a clock? Well, I believe, or rather, I'm trying to convey the belief that

"in the span of a second, design can convey an infinite number of possibilities."

Thus is my design. Please don't steal, and if you do, for the love of karate jesus please do a better job than I did.

The steady ignition of a cigarette
Held by the rather dapper man
Unmarked
Unfiltered
Black ties and narration
Against those desperate individuals
Under starlight
Under dreamscape

[ I alone am alone ]

The soundless footsteps of a storyteller
Owned by the authoritative voice
Indeterminate
Incomprehensible
Nightmares and distortion
Acted for that captive audience
In mind
In matter

[ I alone am not ]

By Bitter Work

I'll not waste feelings here, potential readers don't need pockets filled with trauma that doesn't belong to them. Suffice to say, today has been...odd.

So, we'll discuss work. My work. Our work. On the world, on our lives. Suffice to say, and I'll say that no more, it seems like an arduous task. An impossible task, to change, to evolve as human beings and as creatures compelled to create.

What are my creations?

Well, they're skeletons. But they mean more to me than a display of Shakespeare's rotting bones. No, no, they're much more.

These skeletons are an extension of mankind. Beneath all the artificiality and exploitation of the flesh, they lie in wait. They show the truth beneath the facade, the dim light behind the massed shadows, the unsettling thoughts and feelings we seek to hide from others, and from ourselves.

Ah, bleached white relics. I'm not quite sure why I admire them so much, maybe it's their foundational nature, maybe I'm crazy.

And honestly, it's probably both. And honestly, I'm alright with that.

And again, to you, a good day, a bad night, whatever you wish.

Probably.

They were naught but vessels
Those contemporaries of our time
Lead filled
Bile filled
Based and grown in muddy waters
An informal torrent
Of bitter, dirty rain
Perhaps compelling in its pelting
Its cold searing
Its displacement upon the whole world

Atoms and cells alike

Swelling us
In the nature of driftwood, bodies
Mildew

Dread