04.27.2024. J001

Consistent opinions are what make me love something. How can I not love something that does something I like, nearly without fail? All of us in this star system are consisted of behaviors-- actions which are guided by some cosmic force of.... preference. Sometimes, I call these "opinions." I'm guessing it's not a surprise that I would, honestly, take unprecendented comfort in being loved, and being wanted. Not out of others' fear of my power, fascination of my strangeness, or a habit to protect my health as a fellow person-- but from what I say and do not say. Recently, I've been more immersed by the delicious writing, drawing, and video of those who I cherish from a distance: Analysts more than critics; artists more than journalists. It reminds me to get going-- to put my feelings and knowledge out there in the public moreso than the month before, before I eventually forget what I care about and become content to wait around for nothing. I think about these video essays and comedy comics. I imagine where my favorite writers had to begin from, and I decide, again, older still, to write again.

Motives are what make me love something. Be it a person or a creation on this planet, we are consisted of motives-- actions which are guided by some cosmic form of opinion. Sometimes, I think about "guidance--" what I want to navigate someone else to, and for what effect. I hope that, in regards to guiding the viewer, the gap between my drawing and writing close. I want the viewer to really be a visitor or a resident of the places I build. When someone takes the effort to travel, they should be fed well so their entirety can thrive.

Writing, without being read aloud, is a communication for those with vision intact. What one does when they read is translate. By translating, one might absorb something from what they read. That's my immediate way of saying that writing is strong, yet limited. And-- I can choose to write it that way, without an immediate need to think about my vocal inflection or speed of talking. The written word is also dettached from other vision (the body, the face, the origin of oneself) and conceals the writer in a mysterious cloak. All that remains, usually, is what the reader can take away from the remains of this person: the words. It's the reader who decides how malicious or magnificent the writer is.... I ABSOLUTELY hate you. Was that genuine? Was it entertaining? Well, we both made it to the end of this paragraph (I as the writer and you as the reader.) Maybe, we're both incredibly intelligent and attractive people.