Sunday, August 18, 2013


If you're like me - which I pray you are generally not - you tend to identify with a certain character in a story. In some stories, the author intends for there to be a character the audience identifies most; Iron Man. In other instances, there is an array of characters for you to relate to; The Avengers. This usually happens fairly automatically. Yet in the world of Looney Tunes, I have never felt a pull toward any of the candidates.

But tonight, I have made my bond. 

Hello world, I am Daffy Duck.

You're not supposed to like Daffy Duck. At best, you laugh at him, but if you really are anything like me, you don't even get that much from him. He acts like he doesn't care what people think of him; while this is mostly true, he also can't stand rejection, and needs the occasional spotlight. Daffy needs sometimes to be adored, but also left alone. He learns what is cool and hip by observing the trends other people set, though he never really understands them; he uses these observations to mould a sort of camouflage. He thinks what most people care about is silly, yet is passionate about seemingly random and often inane things.

You're not supposed to like him. He doesn't have much of a filter on what he says, and at times insists on his alternative opinion being heard and considered. He speaks differently than most other people.

He is different. In a paradoxical sort of way, he seeks to preserve his uniqueness, while striving to fit a certain image of what one should be. In this way, he is torn, and though his existence merits some sort of sympathy that all creatures deserve, he is hard pressed to find someone who wants to spend much time with him. For society, he comes in "doses."

Well, this duck is fed up, cuz that is ducked up.

I am unique; in many ways, the things that make me unique also make me seem broken. But I'm not, at least in the way that we are all broken, and I'm not any more broken than any of you. Just in a combination of ways that results in... well, whatever you want to call me. Jake will do.

I believe that diversity is humanity's greatest strength, though it is often a single image that we all are striving for. This separates us from who we are, and robs the world of the greatness that is in the human genome. I should keep this brief so those of you who are still with me aren't totally cheated out of five minutes.

Here's to all my lords and ladies who would rather be condemned than damned.

None of the artwork in this segment is my own, and I mean only to share the wonders that the dreamers of these pieces have created. 

Friday, August 16, 2013

It Hurts

It hurts.

Most days, this kind of statement would piss me off. I need more information: what hurts; what happened; how bad does it hurt; and so forth.

But sometimes, when things just hurt, the most I can muster is a feeble "it hurts."

Things become so irrational when the brain is flooded with pain. Survival instincts kick in, adrenaline pumps; shit just happens.

I can't deal. That's sort of a hip way of saying "it hurts."

Something new for me is that I get mad. Everything becomes a pet-peeve, so my blood boils for no reason, but I don't want to burst, so I avoid things. I run away from interaction because I hate everything, but I don't want to put that on people.

I can become self-destructive. In an effort to block out the soul-crushing pain, I try to shut down, turn off the senses. Where tranquility offered peace, speed becomes soothing.

I was a good person, once. Losing control over my thoughts and how I feel is horribly dehumanizing for me; I feel like I'm not a man. I can't accomplish the things I set out to do.

I am filled with capacity and potential, but I can't realize my dreams.

What the fuck am I.