Illustrated doodles from a coach/couch-sona within the furry/oc fandom. Along with WIP sketches and updates.
Neurodivergent memoirs included.
Story sketches, drafts, and captioned cartooning are covered.
Agent acting as an ally. A lawyer ally is an ally indeed.
Terms to look out for: Perpetuity, work for hire, right of refusal. ( Got that from the comic lab podcast, I'm still listening. )
Overlooking legalese, and its theory, is a dangerous oversight indeed.
What will they neologize next to weasel out their way of not paying the artisans and activists? The for profit commercial industry has an incentive, obviously, to have this hidden landmine of contract piracy. Where clarity is paramount.
Indirect exscuses are still exscuses where no clowns exist. No matter how buddy buddy it gets withe the comradeship dropped like a lead balloon. The commercial arene is something.
Are these untruths I tell myself for the advertising industry just? Am I sufficient? That fuzzled my brains to what is suitable to the eye as it were to everything else.
Bobby has seen his entire industry as me as his break in. The standard to which he aspires too. I'm the celebration, the celebrity, the well known well knowns of a tautology.
That's the job. This checking can't be good though.
This is what is left, the stuff that's redefined and left within the echoes of tomorrow. Into new Bildungsroman.
The mantra of being nothing but the work, to carry on the duty, with what is left. This spiritual task of what is left out of the law is then brought into question.
Wave away, moving on to the next projects, at that singular point where everything matters into the next one. Generations and generations of our time and history trail off into the long line of projects we do.
Droplets, that connect into what is next.
There was an artist who could not handle the paradox of commercialized attention on social media, I completely understand. The process of social media influences to turn artists into salesman or upstagers can be too much.
Omnipresence ends the moment the rules of the boundary of what is written is drawn.
Ouch ouch, do the ID and superego fight. You can't help it. There we go.
Should you be spending more time in your own ideas and writing rather than social media grooming again, that's my job. I'm the social media groomer who does the response rates, the memes, the social media advertisements. All that, the embodiment of everything you and your artistry does not want to think about when navigating in this commercial quicksand.
Driven by our clownish impulses, we are not meant to be saved, we are the ones that are to bring the entire building down to the ground with what is demanded with our bodies.
Twist and distorted, it don't matter. It's ours for the taking for the showing of a lifetime. Let's see if this prayer you have will save you now. A calling where the dignity is within a Leper's hideout. We are deluded on the grandeur of godhood, all within a little box.
Sexual taste dysmorphia, you have it now. Algorism of a body part to star, so simple and not satisfaction.
What do you expect for such a circle of ecstasy that has tingled with the now to it tingling no more? Leave one to their devices as our work to fill our coping mechanisms are like the appetite of food and water.
Everybody needs the sexual passion, that excitement of a thrill of freaks that know what the flesh is for. These are the work and toil for things that can't be controlled, no hypodermic needle. It's not a shopping mall of kinks that you can have a happy meal with.
You pay what is due. Sexual gratification is an obsessive revealer. It finds you with no announcement of its leverage till it's already got you. It's not genetically determined, but our shadows of our souls. Where it's not separated from our feet.
Who are you kidding, the cake can't be eaten with the unconvincing paradox. Neither of this is merit.
You know the business models on business models, and the mercenary can't compare that to the damned sex work you're driven to now. What it is what it is. You know that, being a copywriter, a meta of salespeople, a meta of salespeople who pay for interruption.
The pendulum swings, you say it's distasteful, yet you don't! Polarity beckons and you may make a choice. You're submerged into me, it will be time after time that and after-dark part of you will surface.
Little shows, we will do our best. When it comes when it's the time for entertainment. It's asked a hundred up through the Mystical lands where there is no mysticism, technique over and out of the mysteries that we then discover.
Yeah, doors closing around him. Including new gates of being built like an incestious circles, yet he has to perform because its that they do for business. Whatever performance, the burlesque to the serious.
It's the only thing they have to their grave, the internal desire with no parachute. Raw expression, then edited, then out. What else can they do?
It's a bird nest from the garage from the groundhog day, it's a quaint groundhog day and constructing a lifestyle around the art I'd like to do.
There was a quick swipe, Theft of two laptops with not my wallet being swiped, from the car number was red-handed. The thief is going to be seen. Everything needs somebody, reasons I cannot think.
A little bird's nest from the burglary that happened, luckily nothing to my production that happened. I'll be watching it, though. That moment of watching the birds being careful with what they've got. It's bliss.
That bird real showed me how to live for that moment when I was trying to calm my temper with walks. Being slumbering within the forest construct of billowed smothering.
I don't know if it's a song bird, what type. Do I need to know? He's made his own life with the way I've built mine, It's something that could be called a home or a way of being. Let me look at it, and move on, the temper is gone.
It's the urge to drag through this mess of an internet so what holds each hobbyist and salesperson together.
"Love conquers all" is the reductionistic theme of most commercial romances, the status quo is what it does nest to serve the audiences what they want with fairytale endings. A positive attitude, a love with or without a test that is the blip of this earth that simply pushes towards courtship, both for the prescriptive and cautionary uses.
Raw expressions of rudimentary connection made into eloquence, then refined into interpersonal passion, differentiated by love. Physical/mental. A distinction laid out.
Mere catharsis of dopamine. The short rush of pleasure ain't enough to ahead.
Is there such a thing as being overserviced? To cope with a serviceability of climate and Culture this day. It all can become a naive shield for what is to become of the next day.
What do you expect from the nothingburgers? Of the utilitarian force over the deliberate illiteracy. It's best celebrated within its own category. Since there's always going of a marketability with this. This goblin mode of work is only successful on a scene-to-scene basis. It can't hold attention for long though.
Beware of overserviceability, even yourself. Misserviceability it an ouchie too.
The time, uninterrupted. To separate the hours and then make the commitment, to show up.
Enough to alienate, enough to do alone, and enough that one may need to hire professional mourners for the obituaries. Inside a shell, with the digital pen, as if it's the only thing that matters.
Enough to escape the self-indulgent tantrums, whatever the muse will lead astray. Enough to look at the madness of the cutting that a bodybuilder does on contest day and go "yeah, I could do that."
Beyond money and time running out and funding.
That work ethic and seductive emotional labour that follows.
This is a brandless soda can of the cream soda, stuff that I won't pay for specific expectations that are fuelled for the need for conveniences. As Tim Wu articulated.
There are none of those memories, just water here sucked from a can then flattened for recycling. What's it worth, though? It's that visit to the candy shop, and then the love of sugary onto the palette.
Those details are the stuff that are in the mind's eye of who's going to buy, and it serves that. Not the cost. What it's worth is within the mind of the prospect and the buyer, who does not know of the vocabular the education to bring it into the other side.
There more to this commodity pitch now. Even irrationally.
Wish fulfilment prisons of those money shots, manufactured bliss points.
Once the dopamine of such a fantasy wears off, though, where will you go? Physical blips of quick fire that cannot be sated.
Deep down, the satisfaction of such a beast cannot be sated. The strings of fractured many-minds knows. That such authenticity is merely a pipe dream.
Masquerade it all under a marketingese, or hide it under a private account. It's never enough.
Back with the same excuse. Of the priapismic prison. Pray that your receptors don't wear out and rot. With that lingering sense of unimportance. Locked, with this walls.
You must make it airtight a bulletproof on your land! It's leaky it's whiny, it is the only thing that's brings a utilitarian value to a thing that we call business! The overly easily measurable thing!
(Perhaps too easy, keep the expectations low.)
Clean its diapers! Read it bedtime stories from direct marketing to force your prospective user base to become payment. Be sure it ain't leaky now, and make the passage pain free!
One hit wonders and overnight success are a lottery, almost impossible lotteries.
The 'friends' are direct response statistics for a marketing funnel of loyal, paying customers. Even as others go long term, the fundraising will have to be adopted by the marketingese too.
Authenticity? Marketingese. All of it for branding. Or create a prison.
There's this cat, possibly stray. Already the marketing terms are coming as he prowls around a place. Emerald eyes and tabby fur.
I hope it's fed, I'll have to bring its attention to the dog grooming place if it keeps coming, use a motivator of guilt to get me it's way.
What a shame. It climbed a particular door with claws madly, so its territory must be close, the owner may have punished it for something, I can't tell. All these inferences are not something for me to entertain it. Maybe that tin of mackerel will aid that purring fuzzball. All with the schedule being disrupted.
Long car journeys. Car nausea that subsided due to the focusing of my attention towards the horizon.
They stand strong with trying to remember occurrences.
This trip towards the care home felt like another time period being visited, one with a record of Christian track being played with crackle. This is another realization that time is finite.
That bent back reminding me to do Romanian Deadlifts, that fading memory reminding me to keep up with my craft. Unsure if it's going to lead into another cycle for another year.
They don't know I'm trying to build an online presence. As an entertainet.
Grandma said, "Make the most of the time you have." Reminds me of this post about death.
This is the card I prepared.
These quickly sketchbook works are the use my weathered moleskin will do on this day. With a "See you next year" for the other time.
"He's addicted, addicted to the short-rate return rather than anything of trust."
"Liam has genuine talent, but it's almost beside the point. To get ahead, he needs to attach himself to others who mastered the game of likes" Douglas Rushkoff
Or, let me add, ahead of the direct-marketing game, y'know what that means!
This was back in 2010's I feel like the brain is reaching that now.
Volumize high traffic to make unique visitors/regulars to make a living, or so the internet says.
Usage of content to worship virility to what is defined as a living. Kim Kardashian! Book Deals. Mass. More, more. Body.
The maximum response rate, not art, negativity! Rants. Get it out there.
18min documentary On how Jim sterling had to do some direct advertisement to stay within business.
No long term! Short term! Get Rich quic- Enough.
This is what happens when the brain is addicted to the short term measurement of response ratings and traffic. A simple numbers game, with no oversight, that is used by social media sites to sell to advertisers. The direct responders.
Put it in the box with the refusement of response rate and AB-testing and in the corner. The way those response rates and traffic movements go is better not understood. We have a new name for hacknification and it's called direct response.
Direct response, what are you going to do with it. It should be the forewarning of every website. Every number and the association of better with more numbers, inducing a positivist response/reaction.
All the measurement's for. The art of transaction. Will ramble about this again.
Already within a plan of recurrent use revenue, already a means of utilitarian product to the advertiser. A sociological consumer.
Already commercialized, something so innocent as a social communication and community. It's alone though, remotely where the work gets done.
The product is away from loneliness, is doing so to take such a bait to use it for the direct advertiser to reach us with an interruption. Our communities of practice made into something else.
All this alienation is designed with artifice, to buy ads.
Part of the signed deal. Already because, they know we are going to follow there calling to make a living
Already in a network scam of attention. This is a good Seth post.
One must be wary of the "Making a living" as means of pretext, to scurrilously deceive and lead one astray.
Even full athenticity of that sentiment is to be questioned, the age of skepticism is before us. An infinite means of calls to action to making a living.
An infinty, gurgled amongst semiotic noise as we set up, establish ourselves then make it to the other side of what this market. We have to look towards ouselves to provide for others.
I hope you understand Gregor, of what we ae to do, what these numbers of ours serve.
