pain is an indicator

i say fuck so much more now
my face is always in a grimace
it's causing wrinkles
if i don't keep bending my leg i will never be normal again
shit
but bending my leg is excruciating
nah it's not that bad
i'm so sick of fuckin painkillers...
the thing is, workin out my leg is pretty similar to working out...
but i'm like spending like four hours a day trying to just bend my leg 90 degrees!!!
ah...whatever
fuck everything

doin it

yeah feel like dancin
not really
sometimes
hard days are good days
motivation comes and goes
kanye west can draw but he chose music
cuz...'you can't turn the drawings up'
fuck man. i feel that. too bad i can't rap or sing
well fuck you Kanye, thank you
Lance Armstrong said turn a negative into a positive
fuck you thank you
I will draw
and I will blast the fuckin roof off this mother

I can see clearly now...

ah...
i am finally getting the hang of this blogger site...
title is title of blog but I can actually have multiple categories of blogs!
I see.
clearly.
now.
i.
am.
a.
modern.
poet.

cloudy daze

is this right?
i donknow
moms friend has breast cancer...
lance armstrong had cancer...
thats so scary...
i want to be healthy
maybe i should try to be healthier

total failure

i cut down smoking weed to about once a week.
i don't know if it's being at home again, being cut off from society, or whatever
but--i feel like my life is over
i spend all my time reflecting. remembering random ppl from my past
reliving sexual encounters in my head
looking thru old sketchbooks and reading...
oh reading
i read like a true Lai would, should
nah but i read a lot more than i used to
so anyway...
ok, i'm not dead
i mean my mind is alive and kickin
but my body, my will, my energy to focus, converse, joke
has kicked the bucket
it's like i'm constipated
My art is shit. and it wont come out
maybe once a week.
what else do i do once a week?
coincidence, i dunno
but i know once i get high...
the pen and paper wont stay dry
then the next day i wake up
like bruce banner wakin up
lookin at his torn clothes wondering what the fuck happened last night
except i didn't turn into the hulk,
i became NewYork Potto.
New York Potto who used to be energized by that damn city. That grid with the legendary streets which bred angry poets and failed artists and lonely filmmakers whose only true goal was to build up enough frustration so that they could actually blend into the ugly crowd.
but the clock has struck midnight or noon, it's all the same now
and i'm back in the suburbs reading comicbooks and eating my mom's cooking
shit what next
that was a long game
almost forgot who i really was...
what's next, who's next, where's next?