Big Whoop

A man named Garvey sedated me once, though the whole outcome could have been avoided. We’d begun feuding the week prior, a trivial dispute over the price of corn muffin mix. Stupid, right? Well, this Garvey feller sure didn’t think so. And it just so happened that his friendly neighborhood drug dealer unloaded a ton of vicodin on him that week, so he was bound to sedate me whether or not we disagreed on anything. I may live to regret having anything to do with that man, but life is a rich tapestry that deserves its fair share of intrigue.

His sister, Nancy, had her own agenda when it came to handling the G-Man. Having lived with him a majority of her life, she’d developed an ingenious coping mechanism for dealing with his ridiculous foibles. Any time he began ranting about the military industrial complex, the go-to strategy would be to bring up the time he’d run into Steve Harvey while jogging on the riverfront–near the Wrigley Building. That would immediately stop his conspiratorial theorizing and send him spiraling through all five stages of the celebrity run-in phenomenon. Turns out Garvey is this joker’s last name. First name: Steve.

Originally, Nancy had only been prepared to shift her brother’s mania away from excessive government spending, but she eventually developed a secondary strategy out of necessity. After letting Steve go on about the Garvey/Harvey thing for a couple minutes, she’s gotten quite skilled at channeling his enthusiasm into a creative jag. Now–since Garvey prefers to make ink drawings, Nancy has set up a corner in her apartment designed solely for her brother to zen out after he gets a little too worked up about the 10-second exchange that he and Steve Harvey’d had. The passion lends itself to the page as he jots up a storm. He doesn’t want to burden himself with any extra material possessions, so he leaves all his creations at Nancy’s place. Nancy has turned a tidy profit from his efforts, since Steve-o gets worked up quite often. It’s reached the point where Nancy could take a year-long hiatus from waitressing and not feel pinched for a minute of it.

So yeah, I let Garvey sedate me. Big whoop. I was hoping he’d feel bad about it and draw me a nice picture that could finance a backpacking trip through the Black Forest.

Harmony [VISUAL]

Suppose for a minute
that you write the odds
for this universe,
should such a position exist.

Would you change things
based on your previous experiences?
Would you consider
the entire scope and slope of existence,
careful not to upset any balances?

Whatever you do, rest assured
that something will go wrong.
That’s just how it goes, baby.

Tattoos – 23:26GMT

I can hardly remember what my tattoos look like at this point. I’m even having trouble remembering how many I’ve got, and where they were placed on my body. My mental map is eroding by the minute. I know I had good reasons for all of them, but it all seems so trivial now. I’ve definitely lost the sense of wonder that brought me to the tattoo parlors that many times in the first place. Now I can’t stop thinking about all the money I spent on the damn bits of tribalistic symbolism and wondering what I could have done with that scratch if I hadn’t squandered it on body ink. I could have invested it or at least put it into a rainy day fund. Would that have prevented my captivity and objectification as a pawn in the scheme of God knows who? Maybe, maybe not. Who am I to judge the divine plan?

I really wish I could use my arms.

Beltway

I call this one Beltway because it was the first word that came to mind.

It’s on an 11×14 sheet in a snazzy sketchbook.

Pardon the low-quality file and strange lighting and weird shadows.
I won’t complain if you don’t.

Honestly, if I start to upload things this way, you’re going to get sick of my drawings.
Not because of the image quality, but because of the frequency of those uploads.
I doodle a lot. On a lot of different things.

Well, I hope you don’t (whoever you are).

-Aidan