You’ll Miss Me When I’m Gone (and Other Lies)

November 24, 2025

You’ll Miss Me When I’m Gone (and Other Lies): The exciting new bestseller from the acclaimed author of “Why Don’t You Love Me Anymore?” and “Wah Wah Wah” | 8/30/25* | acrylic on canvas | 48×36″

It’ll get meaningful by the end, but what you’re gonna read up to that point is stupid as fuck. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

I hate the feeling of BEING IN TROUBLE, especially for something that felt light-hearted. Brandon said he and Nick meant to take Callie’s pumpkins the other night but took another route home and forgot. 

“You wanna go get ‘em now?” I asked. “Sure,” he said. But then Amanda said Brandon wasn’t allowed to go, but I could. So I did. 

This is all for the BIRTHDAY PUMPKIN tradition, by the way. (Abridged explanation: it goes back to our teenage years, it’s basically just wrecking some leftover Halloween pumpkins; METHODS VARY).

I just got one of Brandon’s notoriously incomprehensible voice-to-text messages. I think he’s complaining about having to RETURN THE FUCKING PUMPKIN. Which makes no sense. WE’VE TAKEN CALLIE’S PUMPKINS BEFORE and it’s never been an issue. Why is this a fucking thing? And why is he giving me grief on my birthday for doing what he suggested I do?

I just made a video to promote the market I’m at this morning. I tagged the organizer but now I’m worried they’re gonna NOT LIKE IT ‘cause I said the word “fuck.” Granted, that hasn’t ACTUALLY happened but…

People are fucking squares and I’m NOT OPTIMISTIC about today, personally or professionally. The plan was Brandon and Amanda’s tonight (FOR BIRTHDAY) and now instead of that (or seeing ANYONE) I kinda just wanna isolate in a parking lot for the night.

I’m not TOTALLY BUMMING. It’s not cause for DEEP DESPAIR like it maybe woulda been in years past. But I’m feeling like “fuck everyone else in the world.”

My birthday’s not some precious thing to me. That’s why I booked this Tuesday morning market for today, even though it meant (1) I’d have to get up at 6am and (2) I’d likely spend three hours of my day on the manual labor of setting up and breaking down for very little financial return. (It’s a new market and this is bizarre scheduling so I’m not expecting much turnout). But on a Tuesday morning (even one that happens to be my BIRTHDAY) what else am I gonna do? The opportunity-cost (and fee) are low enough that it’s worth doing. 

So far, I’m enjoying being out here, painting and listening to punk rock, but I just started thinking about how I miss having A PERSON — and how my last person just yesterday flew across the country to go into rehab again. And then I started thinking about nurturing sick relationships. (Not with her; just in general). And THEN it occurred to me that I could use today and no one would ever know. AND I DOUBT I’M GONNA but I HAD THE THOUGHT.

It’s later now (5pm? 6?). Brandon asked if I’m coming over. (Not when, but if). I asked if he REALLY returned that pumpkin or if I got his message wrong. He said he did, so that Amanda “wouldn’t get pulled into PUMPKIN DRAMA.” [that emphasis is my own]. I said, “I don’t know why there’d have been drama and I definitely don’t know why Amanda would get pulled into it but okay.”

He didn’t call and say, “Let’s not stress it; it’s your birthday. Let’s just have a good time.” He texted back: “if you wanna argue about it, maybe it wouldn’t be a good birthday dinner.”

So I just thumbs-upped that shit and I’m not going. Was tempted to say, “OKAY SEE YOU IN DECEMBER” but it’s a sicker move to just let them both (eventually) realize they’re not gonna see me for (at least) 5 weeks now.

Apparently, Amanda bought pumpkins today, but you’d have to fucking pay me to use those as birthday pumpkins after this dumb bullshit. “Birthday pumpkin” is fucking done forever as far as I’m concerned. It was already sorta embarrassing and this was the fucking nail in the coffin of that tradition.

It’s dark now (9pm). I’m not gonna use (obviously). I’m just gonna fix the hot water and then get something to eat FOR THE FIRST TIME TODAY (as per usual). [I’m SO PROUD of my disordered eating].

This painting’s not about about going away for 5 weeks. Its title (LIKE ALL GOOD TITLES) is a suicide threat. I’m not even 5% of the way to that BUT I STILL ENJOY THE SENTIMENT. And I finished painting it 8 weeks before this all happened, but it’s felt like it’s missing something — and that something is definitely some petty/diaper-baby text. So I’m gonna hit it with a pen and work most of this in there. “BIRTHDAY PUMPKIN IS FUCKING DONE FOREVER” strikes me as especially funny. [I’m such a substantive, serious person!]

BEING DEAD so EVERYONE CAN FEEL BAD ABOUT THE HORRIBLE INJUSTICES THEY INFLICTED UPON ME is a nice fantasy. Emphasis on “fantasy.” No one gives a shit and I’m a fucking crybaby. Good thing I was INSIGHTFUL enough 8 weeks ago to NAIL IT with the (“and Other Lies”) subtitle.

Speaking of which, the other text on the book’s cover is: The exciting new bestseller from the acclaimed author of “Why Don’t You Love Me Anymore?” and “Wah Wah Wah.”

I came up with the title and subtitle one day as I was driving around, listening to punk rock, and smiling my dumb little shit-eating grin. But the part just below that (“the exciting new bestseller…”), I came up with all that on the spot, as I was painting. It’s my FAVORITE PART. “Wah Wah Wah” certainly seems to capture the sentiment of everything you just read.

I am a (now) forty year old fucking child.

A few notes as I write this two weeks later:

  • As I mention in the statement, this painting was “finished” by August 30th and what you just read wasn’t written until November 4th. But the painting and the text seemed to belong together so – now they’re together. I wrote all that text onto the canvas on November 7th.
  • When Juliana and I broke up, Brandon and Amanda took me in. I was still shooting up. Other friends warned them not to do it. Or to undo it as I continued shooting up but assuring them that I was titrating down. They ignored everyone else and took a chance on me. A month or so later, I was clean and I’ve been clean since.
  • In those early days, it was Amanda who helped me sort out the legal mess I’d been ignoring for eight years. She helped me get my driver’s license back and resolve my outstanding warrants.
    And it was Brandon who pushed me to start making art again. I was resistant. I was scared. What if I “didn’t have it” anymore? What if the world didn’t give a shit anymore? He got me through all that.
  • All of this is to say that I don’t know what my life looks like today without Brandon and Amanda. They were there for me in a way that no one else was. They let me go at my own pace. FOR THE MOST PART…
  • We agreed on a deadline. When I woke up on April 8 (2024) – no more shooting up.
  • Naturally, on the night of Sunday, April 7, I decided to take another stab at a fatal overdose. But I didn’t die and they still didn’t give up on me. And – sure enough – April 8, 2024 is my “clean date” now. And this is the longest clean streak of my life.
  • This blog entry is scheduled to auto-publish on November 25th, but today is the 18th, so it’s been two weeks since all that embarrassingly stupid pumpkin shit, and I’ve still not spoken to either of them. It occurs to me that this probably warrants some action on my part. But I don’t think I’m gonna reach out. I am, however, gonna pull THAT FUCKING CANVAS OUT AGAIN and add a bunch of this text. (It’ll be there in there by the time you see this). ’Cause the painting deserves it and they deserve it. It shouldn’t just be the dumb, petty shit.
  • Changing a painting TWICE after I’ve already paid to have it professionally photographed, that’s not normal for me. With very few exceptions, once one of my paintings is “done,” its FUCKING LOCKED. But this one won’t let that happen apparently. It doesn’t want to be finished yet. Hopefully the same is true of my friendships.
  • It’s embarrassing but putting this in my art and putting it out into the world – that’s maybe as close as I can muster to reaching out. Acknowledging that is even more embarrassing. Contemplating whether it will trigger a response, well that would be too much even for me. SO I’M DEFINITELY NOT DOING THAT.

Hurricane Milton < Hurricane Juliana

October 10, 2024

After packing my entire life into my car, stashing it on the fifth floor of a parking garage, and preparing to go to my grandparents’ ALF to wait out the hurricane (‘cause the building is “hurricane-proof” and has generators), my ex got around my many blocks (phone, email, social media) and begged me to give her ONE MORE CHANCE. And I brilliantly allowed her to come with me. It was fine (even GREAT) for that first night and then – the day of the hurricane – it became clear that nothing had changed and I was trapped in there with her.

It was torturous. To love someone so much, know it won’t work out, and then be stuck someplace together. And she just doesn’t get it. She still thought we were going to sleep together that second night, cuddled up, spooning on the couch. (There was no bed in the room we stayed in). I don’t know if she’s a sociopath or just has the emotional intelligence of a five year-old but I also know it DOESN’T REFLECT ESPECIALLY WELL ON ME that I was ever in love with this person or thought I wanted a life with her. I know I say this all the time but “we are attracted (and attractive) to people with similar levels of emotional health/maturity.” I would like to believe that my reluctance/refusal to engage with this anymore means that I’m getting better.

Anyway, it turned out that even though the hurricane made its initial landfall RIGHT HERE IN SARASOTA (less than a mile from my place), everything was alright. And nothing happened to my car. So I spent all day putting my life/home back together (just finished this minute) and I can LICK MY EMOTIONAL WOUNDS from the comfort of my home.

Things could have been worse. I need to remember to be grateful for what I’ve got. Friends (that helped me unload my car and then FED ME PIZZA), a home that I like, people all over that care about me, I’m clean, back to making art, and I don’t need to rebuild my life from scratch simply because of a natural disaster/GOD HATES ME. (Or maybe he doesn’t, seeing as how it worked out). But he PROBABLY does.

This was originally written simply as the caption for a TIKTOK VIDEO (I wonder if those words will ever not sound ridiculous to me?) because I’m currently operating under the belief that TikTok is my best shot at marketing myself/rebuilding my career, especially as long as I’m still just living in Sarasota. Here are the photos from the post for anyone that doesn’t wanna use that app.

Photo I took from the garage where I parked my car.
That’s one of my dad’s sculptures front and center. He died in 2021.
Where I write, draw, and do any computer-kinda work.
Where I paint.
Me, in bed, with a print that I stuck over my head, just to take this photo and make it more interesting. Because I’m both vain and self-promoting.

Run Free, Spit Fire, Yell at Clouds

October 6, 2024

“Run Free, Spit Fire, Yell at Clouds.” 1/11/18. Acrylic paint. 40×30″.

This painting was commissioned by a wonderfully supportive patron named Maura, as a tribute to her friend, Tommy, after his passing.

I knew Maura a little through emails but didn’t know Tommy at all. Honoring someone I didn’t know was a little intimidating. It felt like a big responsibility and I wanted to do a good job. 

After looking over his social media, I was able to paint little allusions to his interests, but I knew the text was gonna have to carry most of the weight. I needed something that would pay tribute to Tommy and – hopefully – bring some comfort to Maura and anyone else Tommy left behind that would see my work.

A week or so in, I saw a feature column about suicides and empathy that triggered something. I started journaling about it in the silver quadrant of the painting, but it didn’t really go anywhere. If it weren’t for the bit where I name a few friends, cut myself off, and instead say “WHOEVER READS THIS AND WANTS ME TO BE SAD WHEN THEY DIE” – and the fact that that gave me a shitty little smile – I probably would’ve painted over it. I’d mildly succeeded in amusing myself but certainly wasn’t meeting the bar I’d set to honor Tommy. I took another shot at it in the green quadrant:

This painting was commissioned for Tommy, who’s not with us anymore. Maura told me about this poem he liked. Asked if I could incorporate it somehow. The last part was his favorite. “I was a dog on a short chain and now there’s no chain.” I (think) I get it. It’s about being free. Which I can appreciate. I mean, I am a STRAY DOG. (Even if I sometimes consider trading that freedom for  the warmth of a home). Now - thinking of Tommy and the way his chain’s really been cut… Death is the ultimate freedom. It’s freedom from everything that fucks us up in life. AND it’s a home (of sorts) and…

That train of thought hit a wall. I was rambling again, lost, trying stumble into meaning.

What the fuck am I even talking about? I don’t know anything about anything. I wanna believe that Tommy and all the people we care about but aren’t here anymore - that they’re all free and okay and “singing loud” and safe and “warm” and… I don’t know. Maybe they are. Maybe it’s a nice thought at least. 
Fuck it. You know what? (You know where my fucking name comes from?) “Thrash life! No death!” And I think that’s the same sentiment that Tommy appreciated in that poem. Forget all that shit that comes with “the ultimate chain” or the freedom that comes in death. Tommy wanted to break the chains here on earth and LIVE FREE. So that’s what we ought to do and that’s what I wanna focus on. I wanna RUN FREE, SPIT FIRE, YELL AT CLOUDS, sing dumb songs, and thrash life. This one’s for you, Tommy. I hope you’re out there, fucking shit up in the ether.

It’s been six years since I painted “Run Free” and wrote those passages. Looking back at it today as I finally write a statement to accompany the painting, I can’t help but think of my friend, Steph, who just died. I didn’t cry right when I found out she was gone, but I did cry when I woke up the next morning, thinking about how trapped and hopeless she must have felt. We’d not been in regular contact for a while but she was important enough to me that – had I known how close to the edge she was – I’d have told her, “If you don’t want to go back to Jacksonville – fuck it – come here. You can stay with me. Or just try something – anything – different from what you’re doing now.

Could I have fixed her? No. But we could’ve spent time together. We could’ve laughed. And maybe she’d have seen that things weren’t so bad outside of the shitty little world she’d constructed around herself back in New Orleans. Maybe she’d have found it in her to build something new.

Life is hard enough for anyone, but when you don’t believe in anything and you’re miserable, it’s pretty tough to justify not killing yourself via overdose (intentional or not) – or even arguing to a suicidal friend that they wouldn’t be better off dead. But life can also be pretty great every now and then. Being in love. Genuine, caught-off-guard laughter. Even just seeing something that reminds you of someone you care about. Mischief. PUNK ROCK. Setting a goal and meeting or exceeding it. Making something that’s meaningful to you and then OTHER PEOPLE TELLING YOU IT’S ALSO MEANINGFUL TO THEM. Shit – last night I posted my first TikTok video that actually seemed to get some attention from strangers who are now following me. 

Some of these things (okay – mostly that last one) are pretty trivial. But they’re also ENERGIZING. They FEEL GOOD. Even with friends dying, and some girl breaking my stupid fucking heart, and feeling lonely (and like a 38 year-old fuck-up who’s starting from scratch again, barely able to support himself, AND (so far) NOT SELLING ANYWHERE NEAR AS MANY PRINTS FROM MY FRESHLY LAUNCHED WEBSTORE AS I’D HOPED). 

If we don’t know what the alternative is – and if it may well be simply ceasing to exist, why not try to make the most of the time we do have? What do we have to lose? 

And what can we do to honor the people we’ve lost?

Not much. But we can live in ways that would make them smile if they could only see us. And maybe they can. (Probably they can’t). But LET’S JUST SAY THEY CAN and do it anyway. If nothing else, it’ll make it easier for us to keep going. And we might as well. Those little moments and good feelings are worth living for.

Being a commission, this painting is already sold, but 16×12-inch prints are available (and BEAUTIFUL) in my new webstore. And if you’d like to commission your very own original painting, I would (of course) love to hear from you.

Your support (sharing/reposting, buying, whatever) means everything to me. Thanks for reading.

Happy Martin Luther King or Valentine’s Day

March 25, 2014

"Happy Martin Luther King or Valentine's Day." 12/11/2013. Colored pencil and ink. 4x5¾".
“Happy Martin Luther King or Valentine’s Day.” 12/11/2013. Colored pencil and ink. 4×5¾”.

When I sent cards to the people I care about for the holidays in 2012, I didn’t end up getting most of them mailed out until early in 2013. With that in mind, I figured I’d play it safe this time around and draw something that’d play off my anticipated tardiness. So (of course) the cards ended up being totally ready to go with more than enough time to spare before Christmas. But that’d mean my joke wouldn’t work! So I held off on asking for addresses ’til I figured it was late enough that people wouldn’t suspect I was asking for the sake of Christmas cards and then waited even longer (January 1st) to actually drop them in the mail.

I held off on sharing this cartoon ’til now because I wanted my friends to see it for the first time when it showed up in their mailbox. And then a couple months went by and I just forgot about it.

So here it is, “Happy Martin Luther King or Valentine’s Day! (punctuality’s not really my strong suit).”

If we’re pals and you didn’t get one, it’s ’cause (1) I asked for your address and you didn’t give it to me; (2) I didn’t ask for your address ’cause I thought I already had it but you’ve moved and I don’t know it; (3) you were just one of those unfortunates that was probably on my list but got lost in the shuffle. Better luck next year! (And in the meantime, send me your god damn address). I love all of you.

Annual Check-Up

November 26, 2013

"Annual Check-Up." 3/1/13. Oil pastels. 5½x18".
“Annual Check-Up.” 3/1/13. Oil pastels. 5½x18″.

“I get a physical at least once a year. Not by design. It’s part of most places’ intake process.”

I don’t remember if I had this idea or if I just drew something that developed into a kid in a straight jacket and then added the caption after the fact. Either way, it’s silly but it’s not really a joke. The only check-ups I’ve had in years were all in treatment centers, mental wards, and methadone clinics.

—–

I’m still outta town, visiting a friend. Today, I met James; he’s seven years old and really great at Mad Libs. For example:

Yesterday my friend Poop and I walked across town to see Santa at our local poop store. But there was a long line of kids waiting to poop with Santa. As expected, he was a big, round poop who wore a bright red poop. Whenever a little kid came up to him, Santa would sit the child on his poop and ask, “Have you been a good little poop this year?”

James has been lucky to find his niche early in life and I admire his confidence in ignoring his detractors and refusing to deviate or stray from his vision. He knows what works and he delivers.

Sharps Attack

November 24, 2013

"Sharps Attack." 2/13/13. Watercolor. 9x12½".
“Sharps Attack.” 2/13/13. Watercolor. 9×12½”.

The plans were made and my flight was booked just a few hours before I made my way to the airport; I left Florida this morning to visit a friend for the week. She picked me up at the airport and we went back to her place, where I found this watercolor painting that I had given her after painting it back in February. It was my first time using non-Crayola watercolor paints, which were a gift from a friend. The special (watercolor specific) paper I used was also a gift from a(nother) friend. I’m very lucky in that sense. The words are still a little uncomfortable but… I’m very blessed.

I’ll be fairly preoccupied until I get back to Jacksonville on Friday night, so don’t take it personally if I don’t respond right away to comments, texts, emails, etc.

And if you ordered the Like Bats cassette and/or any art/prints last night or today, my apologies for the delay. I had no idea (or even any reason to suspect) that I’d be taking this trip until earlier this morning. I’ll ship everything out just as soon as I get home.

Matt

November 19, 2013

"Matt." 2/1/13. Colored pencil. 8x10".
“Matt.” 2/1/13. Colored pencil. 8×10″.

Rather than pay attention in group one morning, I decided to try and sketch my friend sitting across from me.

I’m pretty sure that this was my first (and only) attempt at an honest portrait. My technical ability as an artist is so limited that I rarely ever risk even trying to draw caricatures. I can think of seven exceptions but the only ones online so far are Rational Anthem, Heather, and Servo & Megan.

Matt and I were sitting outside smoking cigarettes one day and he had some paperwork to fill out. We both thought it was pretty silly that the form asked for his race and ethnicity and, while he was initially hesitant, I was eventually able to convince him to have a little fun with it.

Matt's Paperwork

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