Summer has left me with a depressing grey backdrop.

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Optional

For no particular reason, at least none that seems readily apparent, this silver back and adjustable tool are the representation of the drawing I will attempt to explain. (Silver does jump out at me as I look at the world around me. The reasons seem to push forward and want to become the conclusions for why I would choose a silver back gorilla as the mascot for this entry. The sky is grey but brightly lit. The puddles on the asphalt parking lot are highlights in this sparsely occupied truck stop. The semi trucks that wait have more chrome than average, including mine. The lonely dime that someone dropped mentions it’s similarity to a common theme.

But none of this seems to be anything more than a passing theme in this midday silence.

I am sitting patiently filled with a quiet sadness at the loneliness that surrounds me. I realize that I am writing this in hope that I can inspire myself with this Saturday morning cartoon. This gorilla and I share very little in common this morning.
He is angry.
I have suppressed my rage to frustrated levels. My mind has reasoned to find quiet resolve in that which is beyond my control. I am attempting to channel that rage into a sense of completion and explanation. It’s a human adult attempt to resist my impulses and to utilize the skill I have to build something rather than to destroy it. The last time I encountered a gorilla in the zoo, he seemed to recognize my anger and ran up and punched the glass.
Pounded is probably a more accurate description. Just a warning. It took me by surprise but I couldn’t resist standing my ground. I didn’t provoke him in anyway. I have a lot of respect for his stature and potential. I’m sure that he could overpower me easily if given the chance. But my general demeanor seems to always alert any other creature in the vicinity.

I do have an attitude problem.

I’m working on that.

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I finally drew eyes on this guy. Ever since the conception of this drawing, he has had a blank stare. If the eyes are the window to the soul, then he had none. Blankly not caring about any events or adventures. Robotically reminding me of the defense that I built to get through the busy season of moving furniture. Pushing emotion to a section where it could be ignored for efficient operation.

Until now. I’m trying to unravel my fears, frustrations, and anger at my predicament; into an understandable tool. So I look into his cartoon eyes, to better understand myself as an adult. Trying to push outside of the illustration.

He was conceived as I attempted to maintain a mantra to get me through desolation and obstacle of the lonely road.

This.

This is the day that I am in right now. I have to accept it or change it. Or maybe a bit of both.

This day right here and now. With all of its ups and downs. It isn’t the same day as I was given yesterday. Today requires more patience.
Yesterday I was exhausted. And I have no idea what tomorrow will bring.
I have to face the challenges of today. Through my anger I seek an adjustable wrench to attempt to resolve the particular challenges I face.
Even when I feel like the lightning strikes against me and I am the target of attack.

This
Is the day.

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I’m hungry.
I’m going to find nourishment from the same choices that I face every day.
And I’m going to devour it.

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I was challenged by a friend to explain my art better. So this is one of my first attempts. It’s a bit of an exercise, and I’m wavering between writers block and a belief that my opinions aren’t popular, so I avoided writing this as much as possible….. Now I am simply putting my large thumbs to tiny imaginary keys in order to satisfy my own drive to accomplish what I hope to be good for me. Like taking handfuls  of vitamins, I mearly want to be healthier as a person to be able to raise the children that surprise me with their ability to steal my heart. The self destructive rock star in me has not only lasted years beyond my goal, but embarrassingly has to hurry out of the truckers lounge because the father son reconciliation movie would make me choke back tears. Bleg. Feelings….. Can’t live with them. Can’t live without them. Better to admit them to the few people who might read this than to the other lonely truckers who have also sacrificed seeing their children grow up in order to try and put fast food on the table for those at home and on the road.

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Against on the forward downhill slide of an N.
N easy slide of my previous aspirations to a stack of undone items on my to do list.
N heel dragging attempt to gain traction while I continue to pull the floor out from beneath me to keep me on my toes.
N angry attempt to change the world while quietly realizing that I struggle to change myself.
N first attempt to conquer what scares me and to bonk heads with an obstruction because that type of adventurous spirit runs in the family and seems to be facilitated by running headlong into the unknown.  ( Caxton recently did this on his first trip down the water slide, but it seems like his grandpa or I are constantly running headlong into trouble because we would rather risk than sit comfortably in fear. )

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Typography was the reason I stumbled politely into a dream of making a living off my art. Or perhaps I was simply encouraged to do something with my talent for drawing band name logos while I listened in class.
This drawing was done the first Sunday at a church which overwhelms the senses. I enforces more uncommon scents than I have in my life of exploration. It’s wooden seats are more uncomfortable than it’s structural participation.
I’m attempting to loose myself in the structure of the ceiling as I make small artistic capturings of the wooded cross and cross members.
Post sermon I attempt to inspire creative problem solving with Caxton and Diedrich as we see a lone balloon trapped at the tall ceiling of the reception hall. Get a ladder? Find a big stick to hook it? Shoot a hole in the roof to let it escape? Let a bird in to peck it?
I love the creativity of my children. I won’t push them into an artistic direction as a career because I have always found it frustrating. However I want to encourage them to think outside of the box. Even if one of the solutions is to remove the roof to set the balloon free. Isnt old church architecture meant to point towards heaven. Wouldn’t it be worthwhile to sacrifice expense to allow one single soul to float to heaven?
M, give us life. Keep us faithful to an ideology which would look outside of ourselves to be more aware.

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Keeps us. Seems like everyone I show this to can’t see the word us. Maybe it is because I struggle with the idea of “us” that I subconsciously hid it. The whole idea of being a new father to my fourth child; (I’m writing this almost five months later), is scary.
I’m a loner. A bit of a rebel. How I wound up in a good relationship with a wife and three kids is beyond my comprehension. And having two boys and two girls is more balance than I was expecting.
The graphic of bricks has been a theme in my work as I have grown as a parent. It isn’t an accident that we have Mortar to help keep us together.
As I look back on these notes, I remind myself to believe. And submit. And that there is confirmation that what worries me has ascended. Past tense.

Suspense keeps us Motivated.

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I have to go to work.

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