This is the build-up, the run-down, this is the part that happens now.

Staring at a field of limitless text like I’m looking into a mirror. Like anything ever matters ever at all.

I’m not going to have as much time for this, come November. Come November I’m going to throw myself back into a project again. I love writing, you know I do, but I feel like I have to feel like it’s going somewhere, or it’s just all for nothing.

It’s like fucking. You know I love fucking, right? But like, there’s nothing worse than good sex with a person you don’t want to be with. Because the whole time I’m just thinking about how, once I’m done, once the lust is gone, I’ll just want to be alone again. I’ll want to sneak out, or pressure them out the room, or you know, something terrible like that. So why even bother? Why fuck people you don’t want to spend time with? I don’t fucking know. I do a lot of things because I just do a lot of things. You know that.

Anyway, writing is like that, not about the liking the person, but just feeling like there’s a point to it, like it’s going somewhere. Or rather, I have all of my ego and self-esteem caught up in my writing, so like, in order for me to feel like my life is going somewhere, so does my story-telling. 

Blah. And I haven’t been much on the train for the past while. I think I wrote something I could shop around, but I’m too scared to look into publishers for my first book. Just too fucking scared. I’d rather, you know, blog, or smoke pot, or drink tea, or feed birds, or talk to girls, or wash dishes, or fold laundry, or read comics, or whatever. You know. It’s not like I’m in a hurry to get published, or like it’s a process that’ll take a really long time anyway… So like why even bother? Hell, why not just stop writing now? Why not just chop off my hands? Why stop there? If my life has no meaning, why don’t I just kill myself now, and spare myself the indignity of working for a living for the next sixty or so years?

So yeah. Writing Novels. I don’t even know if I have any more ideas. Ideas for books. Fuck. Books. Silly things. Like I’m sitting here trying to write “The Unbearable Lightness Of Being” as I scribble violent mutant priestesses masturbating in atomic-powered jet-cars. 

Fuck. But I figure like, there’s something to be gained from the silly shit I write. There’s a subtle poetry to the stupidity of my literary actions. “Sexy-violent cartoon stories for grown-ups.” I don’t fucking know. I hit my face against a wall. “Give me some Tarantino and Douglas Adams, you know, random comedic fuckers being shot in the face and then saying something dry and pithy. 

So yeah. You can see where this is going. It’s going through tea and smoke like a ship in a fog. It’s going up to your hand and sniffing at your fingertips for attention. It’s going quite nicely, really, thank-you. 

I was talking about my influences yesterday, and then last night I watching a movie, and it kinda reminded me that I’d left one of my major influences off the list…

There’s something about “Funky 70’s culture when viewed through an intelligently post-modern lens” that I love. I’m not sure quite what it is, but it’s got something to do with like, Black guys with giant afro’s calling other guys “Baby” and women with snub-nosed revolvers worn under their dresses. 

Start with like, Blazing Saddles, and then use Luke Cage as a jumping off point to Quentin Tarantino. Are you following me? 

It’s a kind of meta thing, ‘cause I know the stuff I love about that time period, is post-modern satire, but that’s just kinda cooler. Because the real 70’s, they weren’t all funky and cool. Most of the stuff I like the humour and music that came from a lot of personal and cultural struggle, and I don’t like to paint a false face over that shit. I prefer to enjoy the false face that other artist’s were doing.

Ugh. Wait. I’m not sure about any of that now. It sounds reads quite wanky.

ANYWAY.

When I was 15, my dad took me to see Pulp Fiction, and it was one of the biggest influences I’ve been exposed to. I love the Cadence of Tarantino’s script, and I love what he does with the camera. 

There’s a number of artists out there, who I’ll admit I’m living in the shadow of. I can’t help it. I admire the fuckers so much! I wake up every day wanting to do something as great as them, but uniquely my own! They’re inspiring, they are. 

Tarantino is one of those guys.

Dot is one of the main characters of The Young Offenders. 

She’s definitely the most mysterious member of the team, or at least, she’s the one I get the most questions about. Who is she? What’s she all about? Why’s she so mean?

There’s a bit of The Boondocks’ Huey Freeman in the inspiration for her, and maybe just  hint of the the 90’s Marvel character “Night-Thrasher,” though the implications of that reference are a little obscure. 

I love Dot. She’s cute as a button, and swears like a Tarantino movie.