Moving on

It’s been a full year now, since the journey began, still I’ve only just found my path. 

Easter Sunday, 2018

I was slow to get up off my ass that morning. The night before I decided to stop by at my moms and just be lazy. I started my business, ordered all the tools I needed, they were on their way. Bought show insurance, had the truck, had the supplies, and my first official show on my own was only a week away. Life was good and promising, though, I hardly knew what I was doing or how things would ultimately pan out. Still, through Hell Fire and on I go. But for the moment, it was time to be lazy. Haven’t been home in months. Was just 40 min away from home for a few weeks but I felt like lounging out at my moms house. After a time scanning my Facebook wall for something interesting to laugh at besides Easter, and jesus memes, I finally decided to head home. First I accidentally bumped into the basketball net that was lost in my blind spot and I ripped out my turn signal light. That sucked, but Gorilla Tape and Me is the name of my Life Time movie. So I fixed it the best way a scrub possibly could. Then I was on my way. I was feeling good so I decided to swing by my landlord’s place and drop off my rent. But upon making my grandpa-slow move to park... SURPRISE! Here comes speed racer fresh out on a bright sunshine ride to throw his crochet rocket into my axel. He lost control, doing what best I could tell was a speed not recommended for a residential back country road. He jumped off and went tumbling. He was fine, thank god, and refused an ambulance. But I broke his toy, and it in turn broke my work horse. I was back to ground zero.

I scrambled. Had to find a new car fast, but now I was broke having put all in on my new business. Funny how I was out of funds trying to get funds, and now I was out of a truck to get me to the place where I needed to make my money. I got lucky and found a place to get me a loan on this old crummy cargo van. Fast forward to a full year later, I have a very successful caricature art company, a paid off van, and a brand new truck. And all my debt that has plagued me for years is flattened. I am very grateful for my strange luck and fortune. But the road has only just begun. Soon I’ll be publishing some writing here on my blog, perhaps even get some legitimate novels done, and I’ll be expanding my business within the next few weeks. Busy times, and great sacrifice, but it’s all worth it. 

Wish it all could have come a different way, but accidents happen, and some times the worst accidents are the beginning workins of something good for you. Maybe that guy won’t go flying down a back road like Tom Cruise in a mission impossible movie anymore. And I will certainly take even longer than I had before to park my truck and switch lanes. 

News (April 2019)

Happy April!
I am working on a lengthy follow up to my short story #bassysbasilica 

Season 1 will be presented with a wicked noire themed title that is just the longest title ever. I was inspired by Rob Zombie to make these ridiculously long titles to break up part 1,2, and 3. They all have meaning, and they are all like twisted riddles that I hope will engage the quriosity of my audience before the stories are posted.  Kinda like a puzzle for everyone to try and decipher before show time. The universe I am building is called ParaVice, which is the nickname of my fictional city where these events will come into play. My ultimate goal is to have a chapter ready every Thursday starting in the month of October. I want the segments to be short enough to enjoy by reading from digital tablets and phones, leaving every installment with a cliffhanger that will hopefully inspire my friends and followers to continue coming back to see what happens next. I am really having fun creating this world and these characters. But it is a challenge. This is the first time I am trying out world building, and I'm moving through the project as quickly as I can with my free time. So this is my Toy Box. These are my kickass action figures. And come Fall it’s time to play. 

News (February 2019)

Back from my hiatus!

The past few months have been a challenge. I finished my season (in case you don't know, I draw caricatures for a living) and scrambled to find a job to cover me as I attempt once again to survive the always grueling winter season. I landed on a maintenance job thanks to a good friend, where I was employed primarily to handle snow removal duties. Needless to say, that job got hard quick. The hours went from too short, to too long in a heart beat, and my old knees just weren't cooperating with me. Throwing 50LBS bags of salt rock all day for fourteen hours starts to breakdown any immortal fantasy I might have had about my age and abilities real fast. I went from being excited to have a regular job, to finding out just how much work is required when the snow does finally come down, to somehow dismantling a snow blower (which I never used before in my life), to getting a golf cart stuck in the mud, to trying to give my job away to some random guy, to quitting, to feeling bad about quitting, to getting back at it, to not liking it again, to discovering I can make more in two days drawing cartoons, and to quitting again. It was quite a trial. So unfortunately I had to move on from that business. Good job, but one for the young, and not me anymore. However I did score a couple of pet expos, and dog shows to draw at, and that was a lot of fun. I hope to do more of those soon.

As for writing, I have been working very hard on that. Been studying and practicing my craft every day. I have some stories set aside, made specifically for my blog, which I do plan to share in the very near future after some touch ups are made. I also have a continuation to my Bassy's Basilica sketched out. That will go up probably closer to Halloween, though, as it is a horror and I want everyone to be in that sort of morbid mood when reading it. I have also begun to write some stories I want to send in to competitions, and started a new fantasy that I will be taking very seriously. I am 34 now, and I have been writing since I was thirteen years old. It is well past time I had a book listed in my achievements, so that is my main focus right now. Getting one done, and doing it right. But writing well is a learning process and I have a lot to learn. My biggest revelation this year is finding out that I was never doing enough to get better at it. Now I am, and already I see big changes. For now, Its just going to be a lot of senseless babble until I have the story I was born to write in an agent's hands. Until then, Just got to keep on working at it. Write every day, and don't quit.

It's Called Horrorcore?

#MNE
#TWIZTID
#HORRORCORE
#ICP


One question was about to change my life forever…

“You never heard of the Insane Clown Posse?”

The question came suddenly and caught me unprepared. I would not know then that it was a question that would move my world into a new horizon for years to come. I was young, and just starting to understand that I enjoyed music, especially rap. If you asked me why now, I’d tell you that I was attracted to the rambunctious culture, and the fuck-you-I’ll-say-what-the-hell-I-want attitude that stained my soul over the years. But the truth is, it was trendy. The Thug Life era was just coming to a close, ushering in the age of Dr. Dre’s Aftermath, Missy Elliott’s weird fish-eyed-lens music videos, and Busta Rhymes’s apocalyptic fast word-play. I didn’t know what I liked as far as music went, but I was impressionable, and I was at a fertile age that was ready to root some new seeds. Eminem’s first mainstream album had just exploded into our not-quite-ready-for-that-nasty eardrums. I couldn’t possibly know at the time that he had flung open a dirty door that would send in an inundating flood of potty-mouth art to mold an entire generation. All I knew for certain was that I liked it.

The only albums I owned then were the Blade Motion Picture Soundtrack, the Bullworth Motion Picture soundtrack, and something else, who knows. I was still asking for action figures for my birthday then. So when I met my buddy James and he introduced me to the world of time-to-get-into-your-teens-now I was not ready for this question. As far as music went, I only listened to what my sister liked. She was older, she was an influence, and she taught me about Rap. Eventually I would get to appreciate the Gods that came before, such as 2pac, Biggie, and the Wu-Tang Clan, but I did not know shit back then. I understood that a new paradigm shift in music had been born. I remember the impact when 2pac was killed. I did not get why his fatality was so important, but I remember vividly when mom told us like it was some life changing political news.

But this question, I was not ready for. It was such an alien thing then. Rapping clowns? What!

“Ummmm… Who?” That was all I could manage.

James rolled his eyes, like I was some sheltered creature hidden away from the sunlight all of his life. He told me about the wrestling, he told me about the Disney conspiracies that had been blown way out of proportion from hearsay. But it all sounded stupid, because it was.

“That sound’s wack.” It came with a disparaging laugh I hadn’t meant to slip out. I also did not know that it was pretty much the general consensus on this particular topic. Still, I never meant to offend.

Indignant, James huffed and puffed and made me listen to a track called Piggy Pie from their album The Great Milenko. I was actually very impressed after the first listen; however, I’d like to add one note: It really is not fair to start a fresh palette on a new flavor by playing only one of their best pieces off one of their most critically acclaimed albums. But I digress.

I wasn’t quite hooked just yet. James was cool, wild, and very much a bad influence. He would fade from my life forever, and faster than Thanos can snap his fingers. But that song stuck with me. I held on to that experience for a long time. It was like my first taste of a drug, and it had that very same effect. Your first high was always the strongest, and then you hunt desperately to maintain that same high. And will fail. But with the Clowns, I needed time.

My mom loved comics. She took us out to the comic book store to check out the new releases almost every month. I only just started getting attached to one publication. I loved Image Comics. It was mostly for Todd McFarlane’s Spawn, but still, I enjoyed everything they put out. It was like a dark take on superheroes and antiheroes, and beyond. I always loved the bad-guy story, and Image delivered. This time at the shop I stumbled on a new release from Chaos: The Insane Clown Posse and their Comic book debut Raze The Desertz of Glass. Now they crossed into my territory of interest. I bought both versions of that special issue. I remember they came with a special Pendulum album track on cd for every issue. Collecting all the issues got the entire secret album which would later be released gradually on their Forgotten Freshness cds. I thought it was a neat promo grab to get people to buy. But I actually really liked the artwork as well. I enjoy that visceral, gritty, ugly look in illustrations like that. It was why I always loved Todd McFarlane’s work. The grimy details were always fresh as fuck. Chaos Comics did a hell of a job bringing to life their free rolling mythology too.

I remember coming back home all excited because finally I got it. But I didn’t. I was a noob, in a sense. And I only made it not cool, if that can even be a thing considering. But these were the building blocks toward a foundation that would eventually shape everything I would grow to be.

James fell out of it, and I stuck to it.

My next cds were the Riddle Box, and The Amazing Jeckel Brothers, which was their new release at the time. On that album I saw an advertisement in all comic-book glory fashion for Twiztid’s first mainstream release: a remake of their street classic Mostasteless. That fucking cassette ended up becoming one of my most cherished possessions for a long time. Then, hearing what they were saying like “blow up the white house” and using the word without a care for consequence was both shocking and crudely inspiring for me. My mom didn’t care, she got me them for Christmas, (though Twiztid I had to discover on my own). She heard a rumor from some party spoiler at her work that admonished her for buying me them, and mom delivered that warning to me. I took it the same way a smoker acknowledged their surgeon general’s warning that they were going to become creatures if they kept being a chainsmoker. Thanks mom! Well, going to my room to listen to my jams.

The poison was in.

I grew up. The last joker’s card came out and I was confused by the grand finale. James went on to become a cult leader or whatever. I went on to jump in and out of the following. Then I graduated, got a job, and I forgot. But my dad brought it back. One day on our way to work he played the fuck off song on Jeckel Brothers. From that day on we used that song as our coffee to start the morning. I rediscovered my taste for it. I went back to my old cds and threw them in to the old disk jammer. It was late, but I rekindled the candle for that dark wicked-shit horror themed hiphop, and I wanted more. So I got more. Picked up ICP’s Bizzar, Bizaar. Bought merch at Hot Topic. And I repped that shit proudly. Most people never cared about it because they did not know. Eventually that would become problematic, but not yet.

Soon I would learn about ABK, Blaze Ya Dead Homie, Boondox… Boondox was a funny one. I scoffed the infamous Scarecrow and his shoddy gimmick, until I saw him in concert and finally shut the fuck up. Now he is one of my favorite acts. My first concert was The Tempest tour featuring main acts Twiztid, and Insane Clown Posse. In that show my homie Brandon made us do it. At first, I was nervous. Never been to a Psychopathic Records show, and I heard nasty stories. And when we got there, we went straight for the barricade and stayed there until the war was done. And I mean War. Everything was chill until Twiztid took the stage. When the lights went out moments before their opening song the ocean of people behind us began roiling. They pressed us against that barricade until our ribs felt as though they might burst. When the lights hit, the base filled our lungs, and the mist flew out, they materialized under a veil of swirling fog. Then they hit that “Axe murderaz! WE DON’T DIE!” That’s when we felt the full force of the mob behind us. They crowd surfed, and we got kicked in the face, but it was awesome.

We have gone to a thousand shows since then. There was this one Twiztid show in Philadelphia Pa where a chubby, but haughty security guard wanted to talk bad about everyone that was set to perform that night. Brandon and I caught him punching audience members at the barricade. We caught ahold of one crowd surfer and together we launched his ass at that security guard. The next moment, the guy we threw was back on his feet Whoop-Whoop’n unbothered, and Big-Mouth security guard was being walked out with tears in his eyes. Apparently we shattered his arm. At the Gathering of The Juggalos we got a brutal first-hand taste of global warming as the sun beat the shit out of us and saw Tila Tequila get bags of piss to the face. Actually, we only heard about that the next morning. Whatever, the point is: It happened and she deserved it. Hate if you want; that woman dissed the Fam and took the stage anyway when clearly nobody wanted her there.

I used to be very proud and vocal about the culture that I would later learn was known as Horrorcore. The legendary Esham the Unholy began it. ICP emulated him with their clown faces and murder themes, Eminem exposed them to a broader audience, and they collectively paved the way for horror rappers of all walks of life. Soon there would be too many experiences and acts to count, but I enjoy a good bit of them. I think these days the legendary Tech N9ne and Twiztid are my favorites in this category. But I feel like a new face (forever face, rather) is about to revitalize the industry. They’re like a true honest to god Horror Movie if it was transformed into rap. I am referring to a new phenomenon called Alla Xul Elu. There is also G-Mo Skee (who adds a nice Eminem like flavor to his work), Gorilla Voltage, Lex The Hex, Hopsin, Lo Key, Scum, and as I said, too many more to mention. Alla Xul have a massive following already, and now that Majik Ninja Entertainment (Twiztid’s new rap label) have provided them a hot spot light to show off their work I think they are destined to become equal entities to their founders, and the high-rise foundation they have made.

I have met everyone from the old Psychopathic roster except for one act. So I bought the VIP pass for Frightfest 2018, and at last I got to talk to Twiztid in person. Drew them a couple of caricatures, and they were just like two excited, grateful kids to have it done. And I was greatful for that reaction as I just kind of figured they have gotten better art before. But they seemed genuinely impressed by my technique, and the small time it took to complete. They invited me to consider drawing at their convention early next year, and it was an all around great experience. I am 33 years old now. Been listening to these guys since 1999, and now, everything has become like a new chapter turning from a novel that had begun with a single question. Thanks James.

Happy Halloween! Stay wicked, stay true to you. Think for yourself dude, and don’t do what they do. Just do what you want to do. The haters are going to hate anyway, so you might as well just have fun with it.

Whoop Whoop!

Wicked Shorts Story

Wrote as a guest blogger for Wicked Shorts! My featured story was made from a prompt that asked for a tale under 1000 words based on: Lone Survivor on a Deserted Island. And as is my nature I had to twist the rules some. Here’s the link:

http://www.wickedshortsblog.com/2018/09/something-got-out-jarce-artthor.html

Writing

At World’s End

Decided to make a stop for a much needed getaway from the World, so I chose At World’s End State Park in rural Pennsylvania. Got lost on a trail, got caught in a storm, and lost all cell phone service. It was exactly what I needed to do. Found a couple cairns and deep wooded shrines. I have lost myself in the modern world, becoming as dead as the concrete and manmade structures that surround me, and all their tribal, political drama on both sides of the fight, and I desperately needed to shut it off. And that I did, without even knowing I would, here at world’s end. With comfortably affordable camping, and a wide option in trails that stretch to lengths that even an experience hiker would be made satisfied, this was the respite I desperately needed to experience. 

A Night Out

The music is beating, like a heart testing it’s mortality against a can of Wayyy Tooo Much Shit Fo Dat Vein Energy Drink. The drinks are overpriced. I hate everything! Why the hell did I come?! Everyone is dancing bad. One guy is ambling along, droning around with high sleeves, showing off his new whatever tat, looking tough. I love how people bitch about high shorts on young women but never peep a word about the man-sluts with bare Planet-Fitness-level bicep syndrome. And on that note, the world is getting hot, so skimpy clothes makes sense now. I suddenly realize—naw, I’ve always known it—that I’m no better. I’m that fucking guy who thinks he is so cool that he has some over-all-this-shit attitude, sitting there judging everyone doing what adulthood and what little rope society will allow them to have on this thing that we try to call fun bull shit! All the while I’m wishing I had the guts to be so untethered. I’ve been derided for being a man, for being ugly, short, balding, for having bad teeth, having a quick temper, for being weird, liking stupid bands, wearing lazy clothes, I’ve been ripped apart so much that I am literally afraid of being caught enjoying myself. But I’m thinking shit about these goddamn people, placing everyone in categories, judging, when I’m the one that is damaged. I want to dance—damn it—fuck off, if you hate on it! But instead I drink, and I hate before they can have the chance to hate me. I’m at the club, making stink-face, talking shit, praying I live in a world where the hot girl, with the midriff and raccoon tail—don’t ask—dancing to anyone who she might get a free drink from, will see how cool I am. But no. I suck, and in the worst kind of way. And she gonna get her drink, and I’m gonna keep sitting here writing this story like a miserable fuck who don’t know how to enjoy life anymore. And I deserve it. I’m no better than this guy, or that one. All of us are trying in our own fucked up, damaged-by-the-cards-this-world-has-dealt-us way to stand out and maybe get the girl that does not know we exist. The twist in this story is that sometimes that girl is trying to do the same thing. Most of the time, not so much. Most of the time people just want to have fun. Men have forgotten how to do that as they have left their young-self lost in oblivion. The club is a place for old people to try and remember to let go. Have fun. But things said, things experienced, the disparagement, the jokes, the lies, the peers who have even bigger scars, they make us forget that, and instead we remember all of that which we wish we would forget. So the base thrums, the beat kicks, and we scowl, we float around looking angry or creepy, we sit and brood hoping it somehow looks captivating, we want attention, we want the fun ones to notice, but we only make ourselves look worse than who we really are. Misperceptions sometimes even make us worse than who we are. Being a man should not be so ugly. It should be embraced. We should be proud. And free. We should be like, “fuck you! that’s my song, get the hell out my way!” But who wants to be laughed at? I think that even as I watch these ladies dance with no damn clue what the hell they are doing. They figured it out, but I can’t. Even though I know. I know that I need to just let go. But I’m afraid. I’m damaged... and I’m drinking an over priced light beer. $5 for this shit! Fuck this song, fuck this club, where the cold pizza at?! 

(Sigh) whatever, watching Lost in Space on Netflix 

Home Alone: Drunk In New York

(((Disclaimer: always drink responsibly! Be safe out there, kids)))

One Dollar Pizza, Up in this BEATCH!

I didn’t so much exclaim it, as I was far too busy veraciously gorging myself, slamming that juicy, lushes piece of heaven on bread down the ol’ gullet. But somewhere my inner voice found a party horn and a disco ball, getting the house jump’n on the happy-train that was rolling blissfully across my pleasure sensors. Look, I’m not Michael Crichton; I don’t know all that fancy science jargon to tie your brain up with how it all works. I just know that pizza was damned good! It was a small Italian restaurant just around the bend from Washington Square. I spent a day bathing in the summer’s heat, watching this rich-kid, transient—who probably got tired of his dad telling him to put grandma’s oxy back in the cabinet and get a real job already—break dance around the central fountain. There were pot heads blithely sparking up in the open, there were homeless people, and there were art students pretending they were homeless people, panhandling the even richer students leaving NYU. It was wonderful! And then there I was, clad in a knock-off Insane Clown Posse concert t-shirt, threadbare Walmart purchased shorts, dirty old off-brand kicks, and probably brooding with resting fuck-off face trying to hustle street caricature draws for tips. I didn’t know my ass, from my easel back then, but I knew where the good Dollar Pizza was, and I knew where the beer was. When you are a working street artist in New York, that’s pretty much all you need to know. 

I remember I had just finished the day making $100 On tips. I was pretty excited, and the blistering sun was waning on its final hours, so I called it a day. Trucked my easel and chairs on a collapsible hand cart to the pizza shop. Hadn’t eaten all day so I had me about four slices. For a dollar a hit, that shit was a drug. Then I went a little further on my way to this quaint little bar, you had to go down into a sub level entry, kind of like where everyone got killed in Inglorious Bastards. They had sports on the tube, and they had live entertainment in the back room. It was an Irish pub so I thought I’d get started with a double shot of whiskey. That night was featuring stand up comedians. The one guy was pretty entertaining. I drew a quick cartoon of him while he was working the crowd. He told me it looked like a Jewish Obama. It always looks like Obama. I wonder if Obama ever got a caricature and said, “ha! It look like Obama!”

Anyway, I got another shot. Then another, and another. Putting them down harder than Blodeuwedd and Gronw Pebr... that was a Celtic joke... you see, because I was in an Irish Bar... forget it; you’ll laugh later after you google it.

So after wandering off on a reverie about something I couldn’t begin to tell you what, I was suddenly waking up on my friend’s couch. The world was gone in a snap, and a new one had fallen hard on my head. I sat up feeling like a sack of sand and horse shit. What the hell happened last night?

Like a smart detective I referred to my phone, to hunt for clues. My screen saver had a picture of a smiling turd I must have left somewhere languishing at the bottom of a stagnant toilet bowl. I winced and recoiled. Then I laughed. Poop is funny, whatever! Sometimes I like to play pranks with myself when I get wasted like that. 

I unlocked the screen and went to my photos. I catalogued it all in my photo album. Took the subway home: “A”train to Brooklyn. There I am with a crooked grin snapping selfies as a ninja turtle rat scurried on by in the background. 

Then I was at my friends apartment; they left it to me for the weekend and I must have been bored after drawing. I was taking shots from on top the roof where you can see the shimmering skyline of the city. It was pretty cool. What was not cool is that I was standing near the edge brandishing a bottle of sickness. Who ever decided time travel wasn’t possible never knocked back a full bottle of Evan Williams on the roof of a friend’s apartment in Bed Stuy Brooklyn—all theses ingredients are necessary to bend space and time. Take heed, scientists, so you can act all omniscient about it later on your Facebook page.

I kept flicking the screen to see what all came next. I left the apartment! It must have been like 1 am. Not a good idea. There was another snapshot of me on the subway again. Then there was the Empire State Building. Did you know there is an excellent comic book store there? I do now! Then I was at the shoreline near the new World Trade Center. Then I was at the World Trade Center. A gloomily nimbus fog snaked around the then not yet finished shinny new tower. Had to photograph it. I also took notice to how dark and very much Alone I was. Not smart. 

Then I was at a bar, remembering the abundant craft selection of beers they had. Then I was stumbling out again and on the subway. Brooklyn at that hour was not a safe place. But no one bothered me. No one hectored me, or even asked for money. 

My head hurt trying to figure out how I managed my field trip unscathed. I then noticed that I was still wearing my raggedy ICP shirt, with the two infamous painted rap villains smiling crazily on the front. I wondered maybe if everyone just thought I was the psycho homeless person who needed to be avoided. That’s called a revelation!

Never drinking again...

That’s called a lie. 

News February 9

Here in Lakeland Florida to draw live caricatures at a small church carnival. So far its been an up hill struggle. Was banking on landing a campsite at this park only 37 minutes away, but it is first come first serve, and haven't had any luck catching them with vacancy just yet. So first night I worked out at the gym until 1 am, and then I tried sleeping in the back of my truck at the walmart parking lot. Ended up sitting up all night watching some dude get his car ripped apart after the police were called on suspicion of drug abuse. They pulled an OD from the vehicle, and quite a hefty find of meth, and a bunch of other shit. I got a front row seat to an episode of Cops sipping on some juice and wondering how the fuck I always end up in these weird situations.  "I picked a hell of a day to quite drinking..." Actually I've been one month completely sober on that note.

Anyhow, I'm doing this gig Raw-dick style, because I'm low on funds, and it is a rung to a major festival that I can't wait to get to. Ill be busy working my way to that, and finishing up a couple of mixed media commissions I started for a few close clients. Got me back in love with Adobe Photoshop and everything I can do now in the digital art world. Will be doing much, MUCH more digital drawing once I get some new equipment, and some money to buy what I need. In the coming weeks ill share some of what I have been working on in that department.

The new story I am writing is taking on a life of its own. Every new piece I drop into the universe begins a seed and grows into something big all on its own. Drawing up the characters, and finishing up the rough draft of the first section of the project. I want to complete the first quarter before the end of the year at least. Would be awesome If I could have a nice scary excerpt for y'all to read by Halloween, but I'm not yet holding my breath on that. What I have learned about writing is that it is an art that changes fast, and is as complicated sometimes as the human genome—thats an inside joke that only I really get, my bad. I have also began putting together a treatment for my historical fiction, and I am planning on going back and perhaps rebuilding that one. The original draft just got way too complex for the sort of story I had initially wanted to tell. I basically just have to rewrite it more simply, and more focused on the core characters and their emotional trials.

Ill be keeping the old blog regularly updated where ever I can catch a breath to spare on it, so hopefully I will have more material to throw up on here very soon. Take care, and stay Artsy, and Stop Hating, And... Pretend I wrote a clever revelation here at the end.

News (Jan 13 2018

Back in Florida again. Had one day in the sun before the cold found where I was hiding. Now it’s been slated skies, and fuck-your-comfort kind of weather since. So my 2018 has become a positive set of goals thus far. Been working out every day, even in this 9th circle of hell winter blast sent by someone dead that hates me climate endeavor. Also focused on writing a book; praying I can get something finished before the end of the year, but that is a up-hill battle through a jersey rush hour traffic kinda venture... in short: writing is hard as fuck. Out here drawing caricatures with icescicles hanging like polar bear Jack, but I’m enjoying life. Going to be sharing some new art soon and hopefully some more writing shorts, and essays. Take care, y’all