I don't think I make the projectile vomiting image clear enough in the final panel. There's so much I still have to learn about comic art. I've got a bunch on instruction books. I checked a bunch more out from the library over these past couple of months. The ones specifically about comics talk about how the reader is supposed to almost forget that they are reading a comic and get so absorbed in the storytelling that the artifice of constructing these pages just melts away for the reader.
Day to day routine has, once again, taken over from all of the preoccupation with my own narratives that purport to tell of catching serial killers and thwarting rapists and so on. This here story is one of those, but today, September 7, 2024, I'm not so preoccupied with this stuff.
I open up and close again this stuff when I do these books. If one believes that art is inherently redemptive in the practice of it for the artist, then maybe this is the kind of art that may or may not be good for me to do. I don't believe that making art, in and of itself, will invariably save the art maker, and I don't think it should.
What helps me more involves managing my personal problems, such as my addictive personality, outside of the realm of art making. I think I managed my illness as it concerned that former cashier I still go on and on about pretty well. I don't think she ever had much of an interest in me, but it wasn't because of anything I did towards her. I think my behavior towards her stands up as exemplary.
That's important to me, because, whether I look back at a fixation I had on a girl at fifteen, or nineteen, or twenty-two, there remains one constant in all of them: me. I can't make someone such as that former cashier like me as much as I like her, but I can work on my end of it over, and over, and over again when I find myself in such a situation. That's why I've said, many times, that God is giving me plenty, but plenty, of chances to get my deal with women such as that former cashier right.
Day to day routine has, once again, taken over from all of the preoccupation with my own narratives that purport to tell of catching serial killers and thwarting rapists and so on. This here story is one of those, but today, September 7, 2024, I'm not so preoccupied with this stuff.
I open up and close again this stuff when I do these books. If one believes that art is inherently redemptive in the practice of it for the artist, then maybe this is the kind of art that may or may not be good for me to do. I don't believe that making art, in and of itself, will invariably save the art maker, and I don't think it should.
What helps me more involves managing my personal problems, such as my addictive personality, outside of the realm of art making. I think I managed my illness as it concerned that former cashier I still go on and on about pretty well. I don't think she ever had much of an interest in me, but it wasn't because of anything I did towards her. I think my behavior towards her stands up as exemplary.
That's important to me, because, whether I look back at a fixation I had on a girl at fifteen, or nineteen, or twenty-two, there remains one constant in all of them: me. I can't make someone such as that former cashier like me as much as I like her, but I can work on my end of it over, and over, and over again when I find myself in such a situation. That's why I've said, many times, that God is giving me plenty, but plenty, of chances to get my deal with women such as that former cashier right.
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