glorbist

it is a very sad thought that one of the most common axioms regarding the human condition is that the inevitability of death reinforces the importance of happiness and, by extension, life. the dichotomy between life and death is certainly something to take into account, but why attribute mortality to life's very meaning? i think some people are too buried in their own psyche to consider that life's "meaning" does not come intrinsically or as a byproduct of the inevitable

im all for some great psychological discourse, but i do think life is way, way too short to haver over its meaning

he is rotating with a great centrifugal force. it is the new detox craze and cleanses him of his wrongs

yesterday, i dreamt i had the keys. just the keys - a nondescript set. where they led i hadn't a clue. there was some pleasant irony though. isn't it nice when you think about having for a change rather than losing? as i type this i dont know where my studio keys are. r'ev yvvm uvvormt z tivzg hvmhv lu olmtrmt ozgvob, yfg r wlm'g pmld dszg uli.

wrote a ridiculously stupid short in class today. may or may not build it into something further. a line involved "armstumps" in german and i stumbled upon something perhaps even better than the script itself

do they say this in germany? i am imagining a conversation about arm stumps. sein armstumpfen ist sehr gut. your arm stumps are very unattractive. i decorate my armstumpfen with rhinestones because i am punk as "freak" yo

sitting on a little handmade raft in the middle of the atlantic, he wonders if he'd left the stove on. spores on the rotting wood. he's supposed to head north, but they are telling him to head west.

eating cookies lately.

why do people ask other people if they're stupid? that is an inherently stupid question. the answer is probably yes becuase we are all kind of stupid.

what if instead of using currency we bartered and carried out transactions using woodchips? you can make paper. you can make your own paper. what the hell

today, running off dr pepper zero. i dont have energy drinks. it's good, but there's little caffeine in it. they should make dr pepper with 600mg of caffeine. and also l-theanine. and heroin. and napalm. anything to stimulate the brain.

i recently finished a comic entitled "albatross" and have begun writing something with it... maybe i'll upload it. i guess it's less of a comic and more of a picture book. i dont know. i have a lot of ideas for it though, which is always exciting. it's one of those concepts you can fill with ideas without exhausting yourself, if that makes sense? only problem is that "albatross" is kind of a mirage of different weird stories, so writing a script based off one of those is a game of choosing which is the least frivolous.

at work, somebody mailed us a postcard of an aborted fetus, which was really interesting to look at when i was getting ready for the day. it sat there on the table and oogled at me like it were some cursed object; that if i looked at it for too long, my head might explode. or maybe it was a time-traveling card and it would abort me itself. damn it, i can't get the thing out of my head. who sends this stuff?

lately running off that one monster lemonade/iced-tea sludge... god, it's so good.

what's the secret to a good drip coffee that an idiot like me could never possibly know? i've made coffee with countless a coffeemaker, and it always comes out as this murky, gross mess, and i get worried that there's something cultivating in there. sometimes it hisses at me and makes lewd gestures. the convienence store down the road does drip coffee in those huge "coffee urns" and it always tastes heavenly. even beforehand, when they used to straight up leave the decanters on the table a decade ago, it still tasted great. what the hell am i doing wrong? give me a sign!

while preliminarily moving some stuff into the studio yesterday, i spilled some water onto a cardboard insert within a cubby. i thought nothing of it until i lifted the insert to find approximately 3/4 of a scene... drenched. shit. rest in peace to the little bastard. looks like its quite literally back to the drawing board.

me and a friend are now renting this tiny office space, and next week we'll move into the process of getting all of our crap into there... i had a scene to animate yesterday, so, in lieu of a moving-in ceremony, i hitched across the road carrying my animation disk and a box of free pizza hut breadsticks and sauntered my way into the space, animating in a carb-induced frenzy. then i got too sleepy. such is life. i wonder what it looked like to drivers; a meandering, strange thing like me dragging himself across the crosswalk, fucking desk and breadsticks in tow. sorry guys

the apparatus was defective and under voluntary recall because they care.

i was walking along the street one rainy day in january and near an abandoned convenience store was an envelope, "love, ursula" enscribed on its cover. it felt wrong to read, so i didn't, but i think very often about its contents because it was closed. it looked like it hadn't even been opened. a love letter? a hate letter? holy shit, imagine if it was like... dear [whoever], i hate your fucking guts, love ursula -- that would be a lovely use of postage

today, im renting an office space... which is a strange and freeing new experience. sharing it with a friend. we're using it to work on films. it's strange because it's a bit of an investment... but freeing because i get to work away from home. hopefully the camera stand can fit within the tiny space and the paper stock doesn't catch fire

lately i've been obsessed with satie's "je te veux". i'd like to animate something to it and i seem to already have ideas for what it could be. it's a beautiful little piece and i'd want to play it should i do anything visual with it.

the hail comes down like torrents of knives raining upon the group. one keels over, overwhelmed, while the other stands proudly, giant kitchenware adorned. "it's a good thing i have my giant pot", he exclaims, thinking about all the disappointment in the faces of those who'd told him it was a lousy buy. soon enough, though, he feels the hail box against his head. has his armor failed? only briefly, as the hail begins to fortify his pot. he is unstoppable. he is the man of the elements and will entertain no lamentation

"Everything comes from everything, and everything is made out of everything, and everything returns into everything, because whatever exists in the elements is made out of these elements." - Leonardo Da Vinci, Codex Atlanticus

i recall a really distinct retail memory that i've never really let go of; a while back i was helping a guy who did one of those shopping delivery services get a box of printer ink off of a locked shelf. walking over to help him, i was a little dumbfounded; it was some strange lock, you see, that wasn't able to be unlocked with my set of keys. or so, the little idiot cashier in me thought. my supervisor was on break and i didn't really care to bother them, so without thinking, i sort of just yanked the box off the shelf. problem solved. will attach a stick-on tag to it and call it a day. well, the guy didn't take very kindly to that, and immediately got pissed at me. i told him i'd just get him another one (this time asking my supervisor to unlock the item), yet he still berated me, going so far as to call me a retard and that i should "learn how to do things". hey now, they don't tell me about new types of locks. there's like a billion of them. all of this in front of some 70 year old lady too, who sort of just watched in bewilderment. suffice it to say it was a fun night. admittedly i probably shouldn't have yanked the item off the shelf but it was still the same item regardless; plus, i offered a solution. this is starting to sound like one of those "am i an asshole" posts so i'm going to stop writing now

i tend to remember weird sentences. i think everybody does if they're weird enough. my high-school film teacher once randomly blurted out "acupuncture leads to finger movement". i think he was referring to an article he was reading, but it still struck me as a peculiar statement. i think that's what's great about unfinished sentences. they're these weird little building blocks that sound terribly stupid on their own, yet terribly intriguing as well. it's those sentences that tend to give you ideas, and at least, for me, moreso than logical sentences. logic is concrete. does that make sense? i'm going on about this. the point i'm trying to make is that these strange, candid thoughts that people feel the need to spill out make excellent sources of inspiration. i'm thankful for that human trait.

yesterday, i learned about sudden sniffing death syndrome. what a strange thing. markers already give me headaches. i can't stand the shit, but i ink with them, so i need them. that smell, though; even for some sort of high i couldn't imagine willingly huffing that crap. the thought alone makes my head hurt. then again i drink energy drinks, which are probably fucking up my guts in ways i couldn't even picture. so i says let kids be kids. remember though, children: markers are gateway drugs to...certain death, apparently. so make of that what you will.

a while ago, i intended to register a domain - "globist.com" - but accidentally thought of "glorbist". not sure what to do with this site. maybe i will just talk and say stupid things. bloggy blog