Shame.

You’re too fat. You’re the wrong age, the wrong height, the wrong size, the wrong shape, the wrong type, too slow, too quick for your own good. You’re too dark, too light. You’re “only pretty”. You’ll never look like that. You’re ugly as sin. You could be a model. You’re plain. You’re nothing without your makeup. The beard makes you look like a dork. You should go natural. You’re a pizza face. Cover that shit up. Why can’t you be bothered to take care of yourself?

You’re a wallflower. You’re too loud. You don’t speak up for yourself. You’re too defensive. Too passive. You’re too angry. Too aggressive. You’re much too sensitive. Too needy, too self-possessed, too self-obsessed. You’re an easy target. You put yourself on a pedestal. You’re too outspoken. Too independent. Too negligent. Too proud. Too humble. You’re too easily influenced. You’re too stubborn.  What’s your problem, anyway?

You need to speak out. You need to shut up. You need to stand out. You need to play dead. You ought to have the strength of your convictions. You should do as you’re told. Keep your nose clean. Be yourself. Don’t rock the boat. March to the beat of your own drummer. Why can’t you be a team player?

You haven’t slept with enough people. You’re a slut....unless you’re a stud. You’re an old maid. An old fart. You’re pussy-whipped. You’ve checked out. You’re too involved. You give too much. You’re completely useless. You’re a busybody. You’re always helping the wrong people, making the wrong decisions, doing the wrong thing, hanging with the wrong crowd. You need to get seen. You need to be invisible. You need the right things. All of them. Real people have the right things. The right house, the right track, the right career, the right connections, the right clothes, the right car. Wal-Mart is for the subnormals. Are you subnormal?

They saw you were weak. They didn’t like your friends. The way you dressed. Your bumper stickers. Your books. Your thoughts. The things you did. The things they imagined you did. You didn’t share their interests. Wrong faith, man, wrong practice on the wrong day. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time. You fought back. You tried to ignore them. You pointed them out. You asked for it. You flaunt it. You give it away for free, so they came and took as much as they wanted. What were you expecting?

Pull yourself up by your own bootstraps. You shouldn’t need any help. You’re a parasite. You work too much. You’re lazy. You’re too young to understand. You’re too old to be making these kinds of mistakes. You don’t have anything to offer. You’re sitting on your talents. You should do something popular. Sell your soul on the open market. Make something unique. Take risks. Play it safe. You should have known better. You’re nothing but excuses. Just get over it. Why can’t you get your act together?

You should be ashamed of yourself.

Go Ahead.

Fall.

See if I care. 

I'll be laughing as I follow you 



all


the


way 


until you hit



BOTTOM.

Antifesto

It's time I gave you an update. 

Something happened to me in 2010. Something huge. 

January 15th came and suddenly I was 40 years and one day older than my dad had been when he died.  

That threw a switch in me. I have pulled the plug on my professional career. Too blunt? Okay, I've put it on indefinite hold. I do teach on the side for the Laguna College of Art and Design with a wonderful gent named Bobby Hernandez. That gives me just enough to keep the engines running. 

Why am I doing this?

2013 is the year I begin busting out my own stories. This January I completed a project called the Little Book of Pain. It's an eBook at present, available on iBooks; the Kindle versions will be uploaded as soon as they're ready. My first offering may seem like a strange way to start, all personal and soul-bearing and such, but I owe some of my healing to those who have dared to let me see their pain, and I want to repay that debt the best way I can. Kay Jamison, William Styron, Andrew Solomon, the anonymous voices in "A Music I No Longer Heard" by Leslie Simon and Jan Johnson: they showed me I wasn't alone. It's my hope the Little Book of Pain will have the same effect on someone else. I call it a "Shitstorm Inspirational". I started on this quest in 2010, the year I gained the distinction of being my own dad's elder, and it seemed appropriate that my first book should be about him, and me, and the Little Kid forever caught between us by his suicide in 1976.

There's much yet to be done for the LBP. I've got the Kindle versions to complete and the hard copy of the LBP to finish for the Kickstarter campaign. I don't think I will be done with this story for a very long time. It's taken me thirty years to realize I'm living the damn thing and I can do more than cope. I choose to thrive.


I've worked with others to help them tell their stories for more than 20 years. Now it's my turn. I'm off. I've got enough material to keep me occupied for the rest of my days. I aim to catch your curiosity and hold it tight. My next project is already building a head of steam. The prologue for my tale will appear as part of the Dead Anyway comic anthology. It will mark my first dip into the terror-filled world of comics.

It may not always be a smooth ride, mind you. But I promise you it won't be dull, either.



The Facebook Page for the Little Book of Pain:

TheLittleBookOfPain

I post news relating to my book there, art and such, but I also share things I find inspirational. Videos, animation, links to resources for depression and other mental health issues. There's a lingering sense of shame in our culture around mental illness. We've got to break that down. Depression can be treated. There are people who care and places where you can get help. The LBP page is my soapbox for issues like these. 


You can find the eBook here, on iTunes. I apologize to all those with Kindles! I will have the Kindle version up as soon as I am able.

The LBP on iTunes

Lastly, here's the Facebook Page for Dead Anyway, well worth checking out:


Dead Anyway