monsters and molotovs

once upon a time, i went to college, talked to too many postmodernists, became an even bigger asshole than i already was, became depressed, and suddenly realized i didn’t know anything at all.

and then i tried to write an essay for anthropology class. here’s what i want to turn in instead:

“dear professor,

i was going to write this paper, but then i was hit with a case of nihilism and realized that knowledge is not possible. anything i could possibly have to say about sex, gender, or culture would be tainted by my own cultural, political, and personal biases. in light of that, i am not really sure i see the purpose of such an exercise (which, by the way, seems designed primarily to ensure that i complete the assigned readings).

kind regards,

adrian

P.S. i realize grades are a social construct as well, but could i please have an ‘A’?”

two lonely little sketches, a human and a monster (guess which one is which!):

(spill yr guts)

sometimes files get saved in random places on this computer; here are some of those files. and as ever, blah blah blah wordpress resized my photos, blah blah blah click the picture for a bigger image.

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i do not know how technology works exactly, but um, wordpress resized some of these images. presumably if you click on them, you can see the for real size (which means the words will be more legible).

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i cannot, for the life of me, figure out how to get a scanner connected to my computer. so, yeah, terrible art brought to you by a terrible photobooth picture.

oh heyyyyy! i figured out how to get my scanner working! time for a better picture!

if i ever figure out how to use this thing, i will no doubt be horribly embarrassed by this picture.

actually, scratch that. i already am embarrassed by this picture.

“Hey, I haven’t seen you in forever! How are you?” People greet me enthusiastically. I haven’t seen them in over four months. I nod and smile and give vague, canned responses. I don’t know what to say. How do you sum up four months of your life? How do you sum up four months of your life to people who don’t care?

We talk about “the radical community” as if it’s a thing, a given. We talk about the importance of emotional support, as if we actually care, as if we’re going to have time for each other when one of us leaves.
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suffice it to say that things happen, and that i am trying to find words or pictures or something to explain it all to myself.

in the meantime, here is this picture of me wearing various knit & crochet items that i have apparently inherited from my grandmother. see, my grandmother spent most of her life doing various arts & crafts (she was known for her sewing & quilting skillz, but also crocheted, knitted, embroidered, painted, and god knows what else). as it turns out, i’m the only one of her 21 grandchildren who sews, knits, or crochets. so i guess it’s up to me to carry on her legacy by crafting radical items that would almost certainly offend her.

here are the five pieces that i used for my final peer review thing for art class this semester. four of them are done in chalk pastel, which i don’t like, but what can you do.

i cannot remember what the assignment was here. i liked this one a little bit, although the TA seemed to think it was yet another example of how i need to exercise restraint in making marks on the page. …me? exercise restraint in art? never! (no really, i’m too impatient to do that.)

planar analysis (drawing the planes of the face), with the color scheme done wrong because i did not understand the assignment.
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Dear “At Least I’m Doing Something” Liberals,

Please forgive me for temporarily prioritizing my mental health over activism that makes me feel like shit about myself! God, you’re so right — it’s so selfish of me not to pour my unlimited time and energy into organizing that makes me depressed and suicidal!

The anxiety that makes it difficult to speak up in meetings, that makes me want to vomit before every conference call? I should just overcome it! The “comradicals” who tell me that my feelings are not legitimate; the ones who let me spend a month of my life organizing a convention at which I am too intimidated to say a word; the ones who pressure me into taking on more work than I have time or energy to handle; the ones who don’t understand why we even need to talk about ableism or to provide emotional support for each other; the ones who play into my deepest insecurities by telling me that, on the rare occasions when I do speak up, that I’m “aggressive” and “intimidating”? They’re my friends! And, more importantly, they’re building a better world for us all to live in together! I just need to pull myself up by my bootstraps and be a productive organizer like them!

And thanks to you, loving and caring and wonderfully logical liberals, I can do just that. Thank you so much for helping me to see the error of my ways.

Love,

Adrian The Lazy Anarchist