I quit smoking dear god. since my birthday. with a few smokes on the side (namely while getting incredibly intoxicated around my birthday, but even then only one or two)

I'm considering this cold turkey. Maybe its not, but when you've been smoking up to a pack a day for the past few years, its hard not to consider this successful.

now there are a few withdrawalbacks. get it? ask yo momma. this nervous twitch being one of them, but there's a good chance that was always there.

I keep talking either REALLYLOUDANDFAST to people or r e a l l y s l o w a n d q u i e t.
And then i think that i'm getting a nicotine buzz when i'm obviously not and i keep losing my train of thought which of course then is when i begin to think if this is what it will be like forever and that reality grips me. what-if-the-tobacco-was-the-only-thing-suppressing-the-cancer???

GAH!!!

In other news, I'm working on a short comic strip for a quarterly publication called ALWAYS COMIX. The strip i'm doing will be called "The Born-Again Loser" and is funny and sad.
you'll love it.

"I'm going through a fit right now so i'm not certain who exactly "you" are anymore"

"Well that's okay. I doubt you are feeling the same way about yourself."

"That's true."

"Then perhaps it's doubly okay that you are just writing all this to yourself anyways."

"Oh, that's good then. Right? Wait why would I, or anyone, do that?"

"You mean, write about what you are thinking? Well, to gain some distance from your on thoughts, I suppose."

"Oh. Well why would I put my thoughts on a public forum."

"That's a better question. Especially when there's a good chance that most people aren't all that worried about the inner musings of one person; then again, in the greater scope we are all connected and find some truth in all other's thoughts. We are all the same.
You, however. You're probably writing to leave something of yourself behind. Some evidence that your ego wants to make public that you are in fact as human as everyone else."

"Well, I know that."

"Do you?"

"..."

"Do you?"

December must be the worst month and it's here. well i guess not right here, but the damned bastard begins truly on thanksgiving when you see that family you may or may not have ignored since christmas last year. Its the beginning of the so-called holiday season. I'll spare you the tru-meanings-of and what-i'm-thankful-for speaches. Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years. And for me, my birthday somewhere in there.

This year I get it finally. I hate this month. Don't get me wrong, I love the season. The insanity and the-true-meaning-of and what-i'm greateful-for. The rediculous of ANY christmas story is too brilliant not to celebrate.

But this year i'm down and i'm trying to pick myself up, but the truth is i'm tired of seeing the family. This is supposed to be the month (or at least a week in here somewhere) where i can let loose and celebrate myself. Everyone else does it, they have a week to party and have a fun birthday. But I can't because in the back of my mind, Christmas is coming and not only do i have the insane pressures of an only child raised by a single mom... with multiple hearings around the hlidays. I also have an ultra-conservative aunt and uncle who dissaprove of everything. So i invent a lot of shit tnot to disrupt the family balance.

So to make this shorter, i hate this month. I find myself mumbling to people, unable to look people in the face, multiple thoughts coming out of my mouth at one time. I've just always had a hard time finding myself this month. And i think that's what i need o do.

Mostly I'm hibernating this month. Reading, staying in, losing touch with the outside world (except at work) and saving some money to spend for christmas.

and i don't want you'all thinking this is depression. I feel incredible today! Despite working a double in a few minutes, i feel very healthy and positive and capable of
good deeds.

My point is, if anyone wants to do anything for my birthday, please drag my ass out of my apartment. I haven't seen so many people for far too long.

it never fails. everyday i pull myself out of bed. after a night of drinking, a little later than usual, but verday it is the same.

"fuck me!" i say to myself looking out over a once again new day. "Today i'm going to start over. Start doing things right. Quit smoking," as i light my first cigarette, "quit drinking," despite it being part of my job, "start cooking and excercise more." amongst dozens of other ideas that i have for myself throughout life.

Well, this is it. I'm going to quit smoking before my birthday.
My smoking stems from my social anxieties. also genetics. also i like to have a cigarette. but its gotta stop.

so starting this new day again, i will attempt the evolution of my personality, while still embracing the things that although i may have tried to rid myself of before, i now know some things are with me to the end and i will use them as strengths.

look at that smart ass picture of me. who does that fucker think he is!

really.really.really.

i have no intelligent way of summing this up. but i'm going to keep writing these blogs and if you find them annoying or arrogant, don't listen to me.

well i need to startwriting again. my spacebar isn't working so well plus i'm slightly intoxicated. waht else is new. so it turns out that jesse doesn't know how to operate himself on a public basis. in fact he is completely afraid of any public forum and is intimidated by the dance moves which is obviously a metaphor but carries over into a literal rhelm. people scare the shit out of me. they all know something i don't. its how-to-have-fun. and i know i haven't posted a blog since my accident. and that's what we're calling it now. in-m-oti. if you're still on myspace. you were a stranger and still are. but i remember you paying attention to what i wrote back when i started this stupid ass myspace thing.

thank you for caring about someone you never prbably will know. its a good feeling.

i haven't paid attention to anyone but myself in the past few years. because of that i am in my own hell instead of sharing a human experience. since my accident--which is what we're calling it.... i have become a shell with nothing important to speak of. that changes now. or a few weeksago but i haven't let anyone be privy to it.

the revolution is now. and i will soon begin to post my exegesis on life itself. it is time we start living and stop dying. ths sounds like utter crap but be assured. I am not a fuck up. things will change. and i'm not speaking of my own life. soon you will say-- listen to this man. he is a sinner. not a saint. but as sinners ourselves why should we choose to follow a saint.

follow me. i will follow you. the revolution is upon us. "the revolution will be streaming"

its time for something new. follow me, dear readers. and i will follow you.


call me your poor-man's-scientologist. call me a fraud. call me sinner.

but we wil overcome and garnish saints that deserve sainthood.

personally yours.

Last night while Kristin, her roommate, their friend Ryan, and myself were hanging out enjoying some beer in their apartment (located in a quaint, GATED apt. complex) someone came in. Walked right in the door. It took a short while to determine that none of us knew the guy, though some had their ideas, no one had seen the guy before. The girls seemed welcoming to his presence, at first, although everyone was skeptical after he started freaking out, dancing, singing and talking about dope and ecstacy, and how hard he was tripping. He then made a pass at my girlfriend and I threw him out; not so easily, not without insult from the guy, at least this time without injury, but I threw him out, and called the police.

This is not a bad neighborhood I'm talking about. What is going on? Why am I put in this situation repeatedly. Should I be living somewhere other than Philadelphia?

This isn't the first time since the incident either something like this has happened since my trip to the hospital. I had to physically push someone out of my work at closing who was causing probems a few weeks ago, but that wasn't as scary as this. sorry I didn't go into too many details, but i'm disturbed by the entire event.

In other news, Victim Services was picking up my full tab for my hospital visit, until the new bill arrived today, which exceeded their award maximum. I'm pretty screwed.

I'm sorry it took so long to write this update, everyone has been so supportive through this whole ordeal. On Friday I had my stitches removed and they told me there should be little scaring as long as I continue to take care of the wounds as I have been.

The MRI has yet to happen and I'm sure a lot of you are gonna yell at me for that, so read on, friends. The public clinic on Gerard Ave. told me to get there between 7 and 7:15 am to get a good spot in line for when they open at 7:30... the clinic did not open until 8am and by that time it was freezing rain and i had a painful bout of heartburn (I guess from a chocolate chip muffin?). I needed more rest desperately and had the deepest 3 hour snooze i have ever experienced... then off to the hospital. But on thursday I did recieve a copy of the cat scan report (shout out to my lawyer Andrew for helping me out with that) and the docs seem to believe whatever thing is in my head (I call it Mitchel) has been there for a long time and seems to be no threat. i'll write more on that soon.

Right now my stitches have been replaced with some sort of tape which magically falls off when it's ready to be replaced.

I just got ahold of the copy of the police report so I can now pursue victim's compensation... its so strange to think of myself as a victim of anything. I feel completely free to walk around neighborhoods, and none of my worldviews have changed. I hear so many stories of people's lives changing after something like this, but i'm guessing those things are just stories, or I'm being naive. I know some of my friends have had similar experiences and of course they were shaken at first, but they're outlook on things have continued as they always have. This is a good thing.
Level headed friends.

I going to be contacting an insurance company just so that if this should happen in the future, I won't have to panic financially.

I'm going for my MRI on Monday. My mother is visiting me tomorrow. Stop by the Foodery tomorrow night and say "hello". Have a fantastic Irish holiday.

A lot of you have been asking for my address so here you go...

2530 Coral St.
Philadelphia Pa, 19125

Its not really Fishtown. Its Kensington. Word.

Thanks again.

I guess in some sick way it was my fault. Of course there are so many variables in the situation, in the final analysis blame needs to be dealt to the asshole in this story and that asshole certainly wasn't Kristin, was neither June nor her friends nor myself.

Saturday I could not be more excited. June was coming down from Reading to visit me for the first time since moving to Philadelphia. She and her girlfriend, Jen, and our mutual friend, Tina, Myself and my girlfriend Kristin rendevoued at my work, The Foodery in Northern Liberties to pick out some beers before leaving for a party.
Many hugs and introductions. After picking out a few six packs we proceeded to head to our cars to drive to the venue on Delaware ave-- no one wanted to walk because of the rain. Outside of the store was an entire sixpack smashed to bits and beer on the ground. I joked, saying that we were all looking into the future of our evening, briefly forgetting the future would arrive quicker than usual due to Daylight Savings time.

We got to the venue, where there was little going on and decided to show my friends the swank bowling alley fate had happened to grace me with a short walk from my work. Had some Old Chubs (a malty brew good for going fishing orbowling with) and took off, where the Standard Tap was closing down much sooner than they normally would, a fact until this very moment i haven't seen to be a variable. Plus, they've always let me in as a regular and as a friend with several Standard employees. The door man said no, last call at 1:30.

We continued on to Delaware Ave, where the venue (still nameless I believe) was sure to be crowded by this time. We arrived at the door whereupon we realized a sixpack was unaccounted for. Kristin decided to walk back to the car herself, which I wouldn't allow, beings the car was parked in a somewhat scary alleyway and the club from across the street was letting out, a club known for large angry men getting their testosterone pumped through the roof off gangster rap and too many shots.

We retrieved the beer and quickly walked back to meet our friends. What happened next happened very quickly.

A random passerby, there must have been hundreds getting out of the club across the street, grabbed the beer out of Kristin's hand. She struggled with the man as I started to join in as well to pull back what wasn't his. We let iot go, the guy was clearly angry and drunk and probably violent but I was upset. Men should never do this to women. As we were walking away I decided to let him know, I said aloud the previous sentence or something close to it. We walked on about 30 feet further from him when we could hear the atmosphere change. The guy was running towards us. This is what I know...

Something hit my face hard. a few times. everything went black.


Evidently, this is what actually transpired... The guy threw the bottle at my face and proceeded to hit me in the head and the ribs. Kristin threw herself ontop of my unconscious body believing he wouldn't continue hitting me if there was a girl there. In retrospect I think he left because of club bouncers who rushed over to the scene , I must have been drifting in and out of consciousness because I remember June holding my face together. i remember not remembering what she- and then I- was doing there. When the ambulance came the EMS drivers asked me what year it was and I honestly couldn't answer. I said the future. And I later found out that the sixpack we went back to the car for got completely smashed somehow in the chaos.

The hospital at 2:30 am... out by 8 am... Two giant holes in my face, with stitches I don't even want to count. I'm on painkillers of some kind now and will be going back to work tomorrow. And I'm thanking God everyday that I have Kristin in my life. She is going to the ends of the earth for me, and I love her so much for all of this. I'm writing this right now at her apartment on her laptop.

But this story doesn't end there. Besides having to go back and get stitches removed and soon having to go file a police report, I have no medical insurance. I have about $75 in my account and $20 in my pocket. Up until this point I had everything down to a delicate balance that i could afford everything. I'm certain that for this accident I could get on a payment plan for a while and eventually pay it off if not for one thing....

At the hospital they did a cat scan. They found something in my brain, unrelated to this incident, that is... well, they didn't tell me that. But it could be severe. So I need to get a MRI... so the doctors can tell me if I have cancer.

Basically there is no way I can pay for this right now. besides shopping around to try and get some insurance, I need to raise money fast. So I'm going to start selling drawings and paintings and whatknot from $15 to $25 or more if someone wants to spend more in order to pay off these bills. just drop me a line and let me know if you want a drawing or something, I'll design you something fantastic.

And if anyone wants to help out in anyway, if you have other suggestions for ways I can raise money (please no jokes about selling myself on the streets, no one seems to give up on what is clearly a tired joke) please send those sugestions my way. its for a good cause!

As you can see from my new profile image, I am painting again. Well, the image you see currently as my profile pic is a painting/digital manipulation... as I still enjoy the occasional romp in Photoshop and Illustrator. Eventually I hope to have several depictions of this painting but as of now the painting is just getting started... I mean, that's not a finished product (but thank you, Rob, for buying me the canvas, the attention you give to peole's lives never fails to amaze me! I knew my first piece of art needed to be done on that support.)

I thought I would take this time to discuss where my thoughts are on my current series... (Yes! Series, I'm already on painting three, which is incredible for my procrastinating ass
considerng I've made like twelve acrylic paintings in the past year and a half.)

Anyways... Hot chicks and Zorro... I don't think I need to go into detail of why I have decided to paint hot chicks. Anyone who reads this knows that I love the ladies, I was told recently to paint what is honest to me, and most of my conceptual non-objective art fell apart quickly for me due to a rapidly fluxuating world view.... But Ive always loved beautiful women.

So onto Zorro... why Zorro? Well, for one Its about the "z"... When I was a young teenager, I had a T-Shirt that had "Z?" written on the back. To this day I don't know what they meant by that. But that's my jumpig off point...
what Z means....
I have always been into comics, but one of the most intriguing characters is Batman. Probably because he is human. The original Batman legend is that The Wayne's were shot in front of a young Bruce after exiting the theatre... the movie that they had seen (unlike the new movie) was Zorro... which eventually gave Bruce the concept of costume to inspire fear. I often feel close to the human Batman. Having no Brothers, Sisters, or Father... and spending a great deal of my life alone. My art dealing with comics is a simple relation in that comic art is probably what got me interested in painting, as for many creators in my demographic. So Solitude is a piece of the Zorro thing...

I used to watch Zorro on TV and what I remember of it is that he had one woman he was always fighting for. I relate for some strange reason, like I have lived much of my life, or tried to, in favor of one woman. But the insanity is I don't think I know her yet....

The Z also represents sleep, which , if you frequent my blogs you know, I constantly struggle with. as a sleep stigma, the "Z" continues to relate to the comic field.

Z is also the end of the alphabet and for me it therefore represent Eschatology and Millenialism, or Ammilenialism in my case... although it is a constant question... but, as I stated before, Z is the question.

Z also represents other faith issues. For example, 200 years before Christ was another messianic prophet worshiped primarily by the present day Iranians... Zoroaster.... who had pretty much the same story Christ did... which brings up the validity of Christianity, or, at least Evangelical Christianity. The issue of faith is something I wrestle with regularly, but recently have come to accept that I will never be a Christian proper because of two things...

"Z"
.

and hot chicks.

so that's my art. It is poppy. Of course the only paintings I've sold in the past year have been pop pieces, and I did begin painting (back in high school) painting the same subject.

not really zorro so much... but the women.

cheers...
z
.

The Album Leaf at Johnny Brendas was amazing. I only stayed for half their set because I was overtaken by beauty and sadness and said to one of the members of the other band, "I need to buy the album and leave". It was the opposite of a train wreck... it was too beautiful to be seen. Mabye if I had other friends into it they would have prompted me to stay. But I don't know enough people here and I'm shy in crowds.

Matt Dotty was there, the guy who I almost moved in with. I embarrassd myself because I didn't realize he just got back from Taiwan and is a mmber of my favorite instrumental band Saxon Shore.

I will never compete in Hipster Central

I just drank the very last Pumkin Ale in Philadelphia. "Ichabod" from New Holland Brewery. The Saranac was the best by far, it had the fullest body. This one was weak, but not as weak as the Jack's Spice. I also gave a bouquet of flowers to two pretty ghetto chicks standing next to my new apartment. I hope it meant something but why would it?

word, dawg, word.

well, I made it at the beginning, everyone, I am in Philadelphia set up in Fishtown with some great people in a ghetto where gentrification is almost regularly promised in order to promote the industry in which I subscribe to. (that's a quizzlebunk I won't delve into at the moment)

Oh, and I have jobs. And not at a factory; although I do miss the routine of patent protected plastic products proceeded to prisons of packages and polybags.
No, I sell beer. But good beer, it isn't a cornershop pushing 40s in the hood. we have some 500 imports. Beer is good.

So thats all settled... now what?

do I return to painting after such a great hiatus?
pick up the line of unsellable installations and sculptures where I left off?
graphic design was interesting but then I discovered circuit bending...

so where to?

send me some good thoughts and maybe it will come in a dream. like the dream about my cousin on Oprah discussing the benefits of consuming spotted owl semen.

now is your chance to rock the vote, let me know what your favorite is and maybe ill do it.

probably not though.