As I write this, I’m currently sitting in the very modern (for Cincinnati, anyways) Contemporary Arts Center. The CAC along with the Cincinnati Art Museum and the Taft Museum make up the trio of my favorite places to visit when I need a shove in the posterior toward proactive creative output. I was here a few weeks ago when Mark Mothersbaugh, Akron native and dude from DEVO, had an exhibit here entitled Myopia. Would it be ironic – and not a bit cliché – to call that one an eye-opener?
The CAC has a café, in which I currently sit. I can’t connect to the wifi thanks to my Windows 8 Lenovo laptop being an absolute bastard. On my left is my buddy Alex, he of the Penetralia blog. This is the last day we can hang out before he goes to greener fields in Tacoma. He does a lot of role playing game design and artwork, and Tacoma, WA, apparently is the mecca for the gaming life. I’ve written many times about our friendship and the sick & twisted antics we come up with. I’ll miss that, certainly, but we’ll have our friendship.
He’s hitting a reset button on his life and, frankly, I don’t blame him. In fact, I kind of envy him. Maybe envy isn’t the correct word. Alex has his shit together in terms of getting paid for his creative work and has many contacts in the gaming industry. Me? I’m still starting out and haven’t put my shit together enough to, say, reach out to editors and pitch story ideas so I can start getting paid for my glorious writing talents. He’s getting paid and doing what he wants; I’m not and not getting much out of my limited time on Earth.
There’s no reason why I can’t get paid for what I do. I’ve written professionally before: news teases, promotional pieces, and whatnot. Yet, I cannot seem to muster the courage to do that again. Brian’s brain, though, is holding me down for some reason. It’s scared and overwhelmed. It thinks that I need to have X, Y, and Z results, that maybe I’m too old to learn new tricks, that unprepared this and unworthy that. Heck, right now, I’m inner raging because none of this sounds new because it’s the same old bullshit. I know it’s pointless to keep this up but here I am spinning my wheels. Fuck, this shit is frustrating.
My therapist suggests that I go to Tacoma with Alex, if only just to get out of the cocoon I’m in right now. I like that idea and I’ll do it once Alex gets settled and has his own place.
I’ve had to find ways to occupy myself as Alex works on drawing turgid dick wizards and other unspeakable Lovecraftian delights.
As of late, I’ve been reading and researching Chaos Magick. I’ve dabbled in it before many years ago but never fully embraced the DIY method of it. Last night, I began sketching out a meditation ritual to contact my spirit guide and trickster god, Groucho Markhor, the esteemed goatboy of Freedonia.
Part of my intention for coming here today was to job search but since my laptop is a jerk, I’ve been working on things like practicing making sigils, defining Groucho Markhor and rituals to contact him, as well as reading a bit on Chaos Magick in general. Also, I opened up a Word screen and started blubbering in here, which is where this blog post began.
The café is staffed by myriad folks with handlebar mustaches, knit caps, gauged ears, and other fun filled hipstery accoutrements. Not that that’s a negative or a positive, per se. It just is. I know we all feel more 1337 than others (the greyfaces, the pinks, and the hoi polloi) in our heads.
So it goes.