I just woke up from a nap. It was one of those naps where there was no actual sleep, and my eyes only stayed close if I concentrated on them doing so. Really, it was just a brief period of complete and total inaction. No thought, no movement. Much like watching TV, but without the painful numbness that accompanies prolonged exposure.
When I returned to general consciousness, I was filled with an overwhelming sense of dread. A harbinger of doom was sitting in the corner, making snide commentary. After checking all the usual sources, it was finally concluded that the harbinger was just having fun at my expense.
***
I'm closing in on finishing the first chapter of my new project, Paracosm. If there was anything for me to be excited/anxious/ecstatic/concerned about, it would be this. However, instead of taking any real pause to consider what its completion might create, I am more interested in writing the next few chapters. Especially since the conceptual format of the project is so fluid. Paracosm - Chapter 1 is a pale shade of what it was upon conception. Overall, Paracosm has a loose sense of where it should go, akin to the directions of Horace Greeley: "Go west, young man."
Move forward. The only direction I have for this project. Years of planning and practicing and preparing have ultimately left me with nothing but drive. Cast aside are any concerns regarding quality. Instead, I'm doing a project that is solely for my own interests. Most of the work that has gone into this project is just a method of chaining down a fleeing sanity disgusted with the environment it has been left to deal with.
***
The picture above reminds me of an extremely short story I wrote possibly a year ago. If you will permit, I would like to share it with you:
Where the Ideas Come From
Underneath my bed, there is a small troll named Brikabrak. He is not a troll like the ones of legend, known for eating children and other horrible things. Nor is he one of whimsical fancy, associated with granting wishes and being generally delightful. Brikabrak is, for the most part, just an ordinary troll. However, at night, when I lay my head to sleep, Brikabrak climbs out from under my bed, and whispers stories in my ear as I dream. Sometimes they are old stories, like how the tortoise got his shell. Some stories have yet to occur, such as the story of Zeta, the first child born of the singularity. But he tells stories. New stories, every night, only ever repeating himself to suit my own preferences. And as such, I have yet to banish him from under my bed. For as long as he keeps telling stories, he shall always have a place in my room.
***
I've started reading Cerebus. I'm starting with Volume 13. It is good. That is all I'll say about that.
***
April 9th is Mini-Comics Day. I may do something to celebrate. I'll let you know if anything develops. I encourage you all to try something as well. Even if it is as simple as folding a piece of paper twice and scribbling on the sub-pages, there is something uniquely fulfilling about creating something that you cannot understand until you do it yourself. The more I think about it, the more likely I am going to create some sort of 8-page monstrosity for the sake of creation. For now, I think I will end this one-sided discourse with the web in favor of meandering whatever ethereal pathways I can find between now and slumber.
Peace and Love, my very special friends!
