I've been debating in my head whether or not to go on a walk which I know will take a hell of a lot out of me... but it's a Friday, and it's a few hours after noon, and I've got nothing better to do...so I keep walking.

The entire purpose of this walk is to get away from everything. The only supplies I've brought are whatever I need to survive, i.e., a jacket, a backpack full of food, some extra clothing, a change of shoes, and a few other select items of luxury. Like I said: only what I need.

Consider me Guy Montag, on a quest to fight censorship... or an ex-drug addict, fighting the restrictions of life. Or, you can consider me as what I am; a man trying to get the most out of life. Sure, no one will know what I'm doing--and I don't think it'll make a difference in my life--but I hope ... I pray ... I can find whatever I'm out here to do. So I keep walking.

City block after city block. Hour after hour. The sun slowly fades behind the mountains, spreading a kind of orange light over the horizon. I view it for a few minutes as I keep walking. It's beautiful.

Take into account what it is; pollution. I wonder what the sky would look like without pollution. I divert my vision back to the ground ahead of me. There's a highway to my right, and another street to the left. Right in front is a long, straight, cracked, old road. I can see plants growing in the deep crevices and potholes inlaid in the surfaces. I like old--I like worn. I take the road ahead.

The orange light slowly fades out, and soon the moon comes into sight. There are no stars, and I can hear wildlife around me in the distance. Whatever civilization there once was is now gone, and it is only me and the road. Darkness engulfs me, and I begin to want to turn back. I'm not afraid of the dark...why am I afraid to keep going. Lack of sociality? Lack of friends and family? I can go without those for a weekend. Fear of death? Let me get out my fucking checklist.

I don't need to worry. It's not like there are any animals around here that have rabies. It's not like I'm going to get eaten out in the middle of a desert.

...right?

I'm not the type of person who goes around, bragging about all the alchohol he drank the night before, and how many girls he laid, and how much pot he smoked, and how much alchohol he drank--I'm the type of guy who sits around, thinking about things, and, if nothing comes from that, drowning my brain with fluid electronics, and more input than anyone else should take.

I gathered that skill from my father. We're the type of people who will leave the television on, put on some headphones, listen to a radio, an internet broadcast, while someone is talking in the background, and typing up a report on our laptops, which are on our laps in front of our computers, which is downloading eight files as we click rigorously through some PDF file, searching for a phrase or word that will complete the crossword puzzle we have resting on our arms, to make sure we don't miss the movie we've got scheduled for five minutes from then. It's a blur. Why else would I waste my valuable sleeping-time to hang on to another hour or two of pointless web browsing?

Because I'm not fulfilled. I need more, but I don't want to do more. Fuck more. Life should revolve around me.

Life does revolve around me. I've never been shot, stabbed, or killed, and therefore, my life, and anything and everything in it, belongs to me. I control my destiny. I tell people what to do, and not vice-versa.

I'll get my way in the end, even if that means I have to do someone else's dirty work for a while. Sure, I can do your laundry. Sure, I can do your dishes. Sure, why not? But what am I getting out of it? Life experiance? Bullshit. Bull-fucking-shit. You want me to do something for you? Reward me. That's why I do it. I do it for insentive. I do it because there's something in it for me.

I'm getting off on a tangent here.

Rain starts dripping down my neck. There's never snow--only rain--and I hate it. Cars are flying by, as are white doves. I pass a cement-surrounded tree. It looks like it's grown out of the pavement... but maybe they just made it look that way? Then out in front of me steps a man, up to another man. Both are about in their fourties. "Hey, pal!" he exclaims happily.

"Hey!" The balder man replies. "I havn't seen you in ages!"

"What are you doing here?"

"Looking for some movies, know of any good ones?"

"Must Love Dogs. You'll love it."

"I will?"

I step around them, and purposefully nudge them with my shoulder. Neither of them pay any attention to me. I like that. I like that I can go out, all by myself, and just head nowhere. No one knows where I am, and that's reassuring... in a way. But this isn't where I should be. I should be out of the city. I should find a river, a creek, and just follow it for miles into the mountains. It's raining and damp, but I've got an umbrella, and it's only noon, so I open it, and hold it up. Now I hear melodious raindrops pat, pat, patting on the thin, water-resistant cloth hanging above my head.

Just keep moving, I tell myself. You'll have some fun by the end of today.

Who knew I was an artist? Me. That's who. There will be more sketches, and most will be better than this... this was just something I threw together pretty quick-like. You like that word? Yeah.

This image was brought about as I recalled the quote: "You are an old soul, Cory."

"WHO TOLD YOU?"

That second part took place on November 2, 2076.

And while I'm linking Images, I can show you guys something I had fun working on, even though it is still unfinished. Make sure you have Firefox, or a better browser than IE to run the GIF. Just a little flash project I thought was pretty fun.

Here's a little "Part on and may be continued later" type thing for all of those who, like me, enjoy the "Want to go out and change your life" novels.

"I like the way the room shakes when I get angry--it's soothing. It's a twitch I've had ever since I was about 12, although it could've been self-inflicted. I've never really figured out why I got it, but whatever the reason, it probably has something to do with anger because those are the only times I feel it. My entire vision blurs and my left eye twitches uncontrollably back and forth, while my right eye stays in the same place, unfocused.

I've told some of my friends about it, and they just joke about me being high. Shit, I wonder what I look like when it happens. My eyes become a dark pool of red and I look past what I'm trying to see, while forcing myself to remain calm. Maybe there are some childhood problems that need solving...or maybe there's something deeper I can't put my finger on...or maybe it's just a lack of something. I don't give a shit. I'm making a fucking mountain out of a molehill.

The weirdest feeling, however, is when my eyes don't shake, but instead the room does. For example, say a subway was passing by somewhere outside. The room begins to shake and soon I begin to feel angry. Is it a reflex or just a memorize emotion? Like I said I'm making a mountain out of a molehill. I need to calm my thoughts. Listen to the patter of my shoes on the thick concrete beneath my feet.

I pass a store. Two men are sitting outside it. I pick up a few words carried over to me carefully and plopped in my hands soothingly by the wind. I move them up to my ears. "And who the fuck is willing to pay that much for an apartment?" "Hell if I know." "Do you need a refill on that mocha latte?" "Who doesn't...."

It makes me sick, listening to mindless dribble. But all I can do is listen. I can't go up to them and say, "Shut your fucking brain-hole you motherfuckers," because that'd be rude...but it'd be fun, so I murmur it as I walk by. If we were back in the older days I'd just go up to them and smash their fucking heads in, and no one could stop me. Nowadays, I can't do that anymore. My instinct has been washed away, leaving bone and mind and conscience and choice, but no boldness or violence. I am a weak, pathetic human being, minding my own business, walking down a sidewalk, thinking, listening, and hoping: soon, something in my life will change. Soon, I might be able to get out of this place."

I'm different.

Now most sites you might see in this place are riddled with bad grammar, poor punctuation and spelling, and usually just don't appeal to certain audiences. This might, or might not, be for you.

It's pleasant to know that I can come in here, share experiances I've had after a hard day, and you guys might enjoy them. Laugh your ass off, people. Do it.

I've been finding a "Blog-space" off and on now for months, maybe years, and now, I've got a simple one (simple isn't always my thing, but hey...if the shoe fits...).

While I can't customize this Web-Blog like I want to (see funboxcomics.com), I still can edit it to some degree. What degree that is? We'll all see soon enough.

This will be the start of something great. There will be stories, poems maybe, and just plain-ol'-fun. Stick around, hos and habanas, you just might like what you see.