Everything Works Out Exactly as It Should (is Something I’ve Been Trying to Get Myself to Believe Again)

March 26, 2025

I’ve been seriously killing it this month and I’m super excited. I finished My “Everything 2.0” painting, got it photographed, sold, made prints (including a huge 3×3′ giclée on canvas), sold a bunch, and am really excited about the new painting I started on Saturday. I have lots of events coming up that I’m looking forward to and this last month’s events have all gone really well. (Not to be CRASS but – if I did as well every month as I’ve done in March, I’d be SET).

Anyway, the statement for this painting is literally just a transcript of the text that’s scattered across the canvas. I’m a little embarrassed to post it because the person that I wrote about may very well read it but hopefully she’ll not be too weirded out and know that it’s not a big deal.

More importantly, there’s something that I allude to several times and dance around before finally just OUTRIGHT saying what it is. It’s the thing that’s had the biggest impact on my adult life and the thing that I’m most scared to ever acknowledge. But it influences just about EVERY THING THAT I DO and – for that reason – I’m proud of myself for making art that does explicitly acknowledge it. In a sense, any time I make something that doesn’t reference that event, it’s a little bit dishonest. Because it’s always on my mind. It seeps into everything. So while it’s totally possible that someone reading this will be learning about it for the first time and will consequently make negative judgments about me, I feel like I’m doing the right thing by talking about it. My art’s always been all about honesty and vulnerability. If I want to stay true to that, I can’t be constantly leaving out of my work this thing that has so much power over me. I need to be transparent and just hope that I’ve shown the world enough of my heart for people to know that I am not someone who hurts people. I’m a sensitive little diaper baby who worries about even annoying other people. (In that spirit, let me also throw out a TRIGGER WARNING right up front). But the last thing I would ever do is anything to intentionally and seriously harm another human being.

With that said, here’s my newest painting and the text written into it…

“Everything Works Out Exactly as It Should (is Something I’ve Been Trying to Get Myself to Believe Again)” 3/16/25. Acrylic paint and pigment ink. 40×40″.

This is the longest I’ve ever gone without falling in love. I think it’s probably because I’m old and NOT CUTE ANYMORE (so there are fewer girls interested-in-me for me to fall in love with). I’m also definitely not as BOLD as I once was though. A big part of that is the TRAUMA of what happened in summer 2015. But I DIGRESS… 

It could also be that – I’ve convinced myself my next girlfriend needs to be someone who does things (like me). Someone actively creative and inspiring, with things in her life that she’s passionate about. And then of course – because I’m broken – she also has to look a certain way. Because I need people to see me as someone who gets the girl everyone else wants. That NARROWS THE POOL.

But last month, I met such a girl. I was impressed, (I think) genuinely interested, and it seemed like maybe she might kinda like me too. (She gave me her phone number (unprompted) when she had no reason to give me her phone number). For a minute, it seemed like it might-maybe, could-potentially be a thing, but I never tested it. I never said anything direct or even flirty enough to get a response that I could gauge. And then I stopped interacting ‘cause my feelings were hurt by something that probably shouldn’t have hurt my feelings in the first place. But I figured if there were anything there, she’d find a way to let me know. But she didn’t.

The prints I sell of my drawing “Everything Works Out Exactly as It Should” are – I don’t want to sell them anymore. The photograph from which they’re made is no good because I took it before I knew what I was doing. But that print sells a lot so I wanted a replacement.

I started a new drawing based on the original but wasn’t happy. I changed the caption to “Everything Works Out Exactly as It Should – EXCEPT FOR THIS.” That didn’t make it feel any better.

The night I met the girl, I’d just finished the RV and was really proud of it. I had the notion in my head that I wanted to show it to her, but it’d have been weird to ask this girl I’d just met to (1) leave an event, (2) walk down the dark street, and (3) follow me into my vehicle/home. But then, at the end of the night, just as I finished packing up and was prepared to drive off, there she was on the sidewalk, gesturing at me like, “hey – what’s this?”  I asked her if she wanted to come in and see, she did, and she wound up hanging out/talking for at least 30 minutes (even though it was 1am and we both needed to get going).

She told me she believes everything works out exactly as it should, even when she can’t see how. When she can’t see “the full picture” yet, she said that’s okay because she will eventually – so she just has faith in the meantime.

I’ve been reminding myself of that lately but it’s a challenge. When I first got out of rehab, started as an artist, and drew the original “EWOEaIS,” I was in a wild place spiritually. I’d finally let go of my DOGMATIC NIHILISM and “nothing fucking matters” attitude and was in the unfamiliar territory of gratitude and faith – not [faith] in anything specific but just generally. My hostility toward religion was even gone and I had this kinda hippy-dippy, go-with-the-flow, everything-is-cool-for-everyone sorta mentality.

That faded over time (especially after summer 2015) and my old “nothing matters”/“I don’t believe in anything” mindset returned to fill the gap.

As that girl and I texted over the next week or so, I had a thought: “Fuck that drawing; I should make my big work-in-progress painting into my new ‘Everything Works Out’ [and incorporate the conversation we’d had].” That was a game changer. The painting needed direction, this felt like the right one, and I figured Rick (to whom it was pre-sold) would like it. But it needed an update to be real and honest because I no longer believe everything works out exactly as it should.

“Everything Works Out Exactly as It Should (is Something I’ve Been Trying to Get Myself to Believe Again).” 

Which is absolutely, painfully true.

It’s really, really hard for me to imagine what good could ever come from that incident in summer 2015. (And let’s just say it: I was accused of a rape that I didn’t do).

Nothing’s been the same since. It’s been much worse. It took 9 years for me to work up the courage to even try to have a life again. In those years, I thoroughly believed I’d never again be as happy or successful as I had been before the accusation. And I’m still not sure that’s wrong. But I’m trying very hard to believe (and prove) otherwise. I’m working to rebuild my art career and livelihood and – ever since my last relationship fell apart and I got clean – I’m trying to find love again.

So far, the first part’s going better than the second. Not well enough that I’m satisfied but well enough that I probably should be. (At least considering how little time I’ve been back at it). With regard to both though, I’m hopeful. I don’t believe they’ll work out, but I’m pretty sure they won’t if I’m not giving it my all. So that’s what I’ve been doing.

Maybe that’s why I met that girl: just to hear her tell me that just because I can’t SEE how everything will work out – that doesn’t mean that it won’t.

Maybe the partnership and career I’ll have someday will only be possible because of what I went through ten years ago. It’s tough to envision, but I’d like to believe it.

That’s where the painting’s text ends. For anyone that’s just now learning about what I went through ten years ago, I hope you don’t now think I’m A VIOLENT SCUMBAG and do, in fact, believe me when I say that (as rare as they may be) false accusations do happen. I obviously wasn’t convicted of anything but it was still enough to shatter me. Maybe that’s because I’m so sensitive and maybe I let it effect me more than I should have, but… it really has taken all the strength I can muster to even be writing something like this right now. To even be going out in public like I have been. I’m pretty terrified to even be typing these words right now. It’s not something I want to publicize because I still worry that there are people out there who know nothing about what really happened but will still try to use it to hurt me.

I could probably ramble on about this forever, so I’m gonna cut myself off here. On a more positive note, I’ve got a handful of events scheduled in the Sarasota and Tampa areas (and one in Lakeland this weekend) and I’ll be regularly adding more, so be sure to keep an eye on the Events page.

And (of course) if you’d like to buy a print of this painting, you can find it in my webstore. The original painting is already sold but (like I said) I do have a 3×3′ giclée on canvas for sale, so reach out if you’re interested in that. It’s NINE TIMES BIGGER than the 12×12″ prints and looks AWESOME.

Thank you for your time, attention, and consideration. I know what it’s like to have lost everything, I’m so grateful for what I’ve been able to get back so far, and I know that none it would be possible without your support. It really does mean the world to me.

If you’re not already, follow me on TikTok, Instagram, and Facebook for more regular updates! And if you missed it, check out the entry I just posted YESTERDAY for my other new painting: “Motivation (Will Work for Food (maybe) / Will Beat Off on Live Webfeed For Perfect Love and Acceptance).”

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.

What Makes Life Feel Worth Living

July 1, 2024

“What Makes Life Feel Worth Living.” 6/16/24. Acrylic paint. 24×24″.

This painting was essentially the product of my second month clean and single. To be fully honest, I was still pretty hung up on codependency issues and  the fact that, for once, I didn’t have a girlfriend. I found myself experiencing kind a low-grade depression a lot of days, not really wanting to get out of bed. In my head, I kept thinking that finding a new girlfriend was the answer to all my problems but I knew that, really, that would just be a way to distract myself from my problems. In any case, I was too embarrassed to make a painting about that immediately following one about my ex. I pushed myself to really try to get at something deeper in my journal writing. It took a couple weeks and quite a few attempts before I felt like I got at anything remotely meaningful. That’s what’s written across this canvas (in the upper left and just to the left of the very bottom center).

I struggle a lot with meaning and purpose. “Does anything matter?” “What’s the point of doing anything?” “The world’s a mess,” “I’m a mess,” “is anybody really happy?” I don’t know the answers to those questions but – as long as I’m gonna not-kill-myself and keep living – I’ve gotta try. It’s really hard sometimes. I’m not alone but I feel like I am a lot of the time. One person can really make a difference in that. Whether it’s A GIRL PAYING ATTENTION TO ME or someone deciding to GIVE ME MONEY (for my artwork).

When I tell people about my first month clean and making art again, it’s a success story, mostly on account of the commissions I got from Rick, a stranger walking down the sidewalk. But because I was painting outside and because he stopped to talk to me and took an interest, it’s given me concrete reasons to keep painting and writing. Pretty random, very easily could have NOT happened.

It’s genuinely INCREDIBLE when someone tells me how much my art means to them (and I don’t wanna discount that) but when they PUT THEIR MONEY WHERE THEIR MOUTH IS, it’s crazy validating in a way that’s rivaled only by A HOT GIRL WANTING TO FUCK (or date) ME. (Which is totally unrelated and indicates just how broken I am but that’s an issue for other days). It says that what I’m doing has actual value worthy of supporting human life – MY life. That hard validation can bolster my spirit against any/all of the negative feelings I have that could otherwise overtake me.

Even when everything else is wrong, one well-timed “yes” can make all the difference. A thousand rejections are nothing against a few key “yeses.”

These things are small and inconsequential in a world that’s so random and meaningless but when nothing matters, we choose what matters and I choose what makes my life feel worth living.

Taking a chance is worthwhile. Saying “yes” to someone is meaningful. Helping another person, offering encouragement, supporting an artist (ESPECIALLY WHEN IT’S ME). These are things that count. We never know what small act might be HUGELY CONSEQUENTIAL for someone else.

I still don’t know if I’m going to be able to revive my art career and make a living like I was, but it’s working out so far thanks to just a few people and a few key moments and decisions. It reminds me of the last lyric from one of my favorite songs: “just one good thing, that’s all – sometimes that’s all it takes.”

I lined up a handful of commissions right out of the gate upon getting clean: paintings that I had no idea what they’d be but that were pre-paid-for before I even started them. Knowing that a painting is already sold while I’m working on it is really motivating. It gives me a push to get to work. That’s over (at least as of this moment; no one has pre-purchased my next painting). That makes me a little nervous but it’s also how most artists operate – not to mention the only way I’ll ever be able to amass enough paintings to ever have another exhibit. I’m on my own for the first time in a while and need to start hustling again – whether that’s going out on the street to paint in public while slinging prints or putting more effort and thought into my social media. Probably both. It used to come so easily to me but now it seems almost impossible – though much less so than it did even a month ago. One of the main reasons I stayed on drugs so long was because it was an excuse not to do anything else. I’m so afraid of trying and failing. But I’ve got to try. I’ve gotta put myself out there. And hopefully I’ll get the “yeses” I need to keep going.

I’m in danger of rambling now. I wanna say something about how those “yeses” are less-than-ideal external validation in the same way that female attention is, but that’s a subject for another time. The spirit of this painting was about the positive feelings that come making something meaningful that resonates with another person and the positive consequences of that other person’s response. Not everything needs to be overanalyzed. Nothing is perfect but sometimes little things spark joy and pride and feel an awful lot like fulfillment – even if only for a moment. And sometimes that’s enough.

The song quoted in my painting (on the little blue guy’s black t-shirt): “Precious on the Edge” by Drunken Boat

This painting has already been sold but limited edition 12×12″ signed, hand-numbered prints are available for purchase WHILE SUPPLIES LAST.

Diagram of Sickle Cell-Affected Brain

October 26, 2013

"Diagram of Sickle Cell-Affected Brain." 12/17/12. Colored pencil, ink, collage. 8x7½".
“Diagram of Sickle Cell-Affected Brain.” 12/17/12. Colored pencil, ink, collage. 8×7½”.

This was an assignment at the end of group one day. I forget the specifics, but I think it pretty much amounted to “here’s the outline of your brain – fill it in.”

While everything here is rooted in truth, there’s obviously a self-deprecating humor underlying it all.

I started to write up a statement but so much felt redundant when taken in conjunction with a lot of my other writing that’s already online here. Since it’s really sort of an index  of my brain anyway though, I decided to use this entry as a sort of directory. In the course of compiling it, however, I came to realize a few things…

First, I’m great at pointing out those weaknesses of mine that make me sympathetic (lovable), but am significantly less inclined to open up and and shine a spotlight on my more deplorable faults and flaws. Especially when it comes to dishonesty, manipulation, or anytime I’ve caused another person harm.

Second, when it comes to the things that have really hurt me: same problem. Hurts that I’ve conquered, I’ll talk about all day long because it feels like victory –  but the things that really left a scar: not so much. I’m embarrassed by them and they make me feel weak. (This is especially true of events from childhood that now seem petty or trivial).

Third, for a recovering heroin addict that still thinks about heroin on a daily (if not hourly) basis, I don’t seem to ever write about heroin, except in the past tense, like when I’m telling a story.

Fourth, while I’ve shared more of my thoughts on it than a lot of people ever will, I’m still pretty meek when it comes to writing about sex – at least relative to my approach to lots of other socially taboo subjects.

Anyway, here’s the little directory I put together with regard to each “segment” of my brain, as depicted in this drawing from December, although a few are either curiously thin or entirely absent…

Lovesickness (girls, relationships, and associated consequences)

  1. “Autobiography” (also re: “strategizing”)
  2. “Girls Are Not Pokemon”
  3. “Little Vomit-Colored Hearts”
  4. “Another Opportunity For Growth”
  5. “14”
  6. “The Island in Pinocchio Where Bad Kids Go to Be Bad”
  7. “Pulp”
  8. “Chrissy Fit”

 

Hope and faith

  1. “No Accident”
  2. “Maybe I Don’t Believe in God”
  3. “Everything Works Out Exactly As It Should”
  4. “Whatevermind”

 

Fear and doubt

  1. “Blueprint For a Successful Evening”
  2. “Ugly and Dreading Everything to Come”
  3. “Moving Boxes”

 

Peace / acceptance

  1. “Bug Problem”
  2. “Bright Side Nihilism: (Syria +/= Video Music Awards) < The Dog Peed on the Futon”
  3. “Whatevermind II (pinkhairdontcare)”

 

Staying sick

  1. “Still Sick (The Illest)”
  2. “My Treatment Plan”
  3. “All I Really Need to Know I Learned From a Drunk 14 Year Old at the Mall”
  4. “You Make Me a Worse Person (I’ll Feed My Negativity and Roast in My Fucking Hate)”

 

Self-image

  1. “Insecure and Overwhelmed”
  2. “Values Are For Shoppers”
  3. “Beachtown Graffiti”

 

Evil, sarcasm, provocation

  1. “Evil”
  2. “Merry Christmas 2K12”
  3. “Funny”
  4. “Toilet Humor (Sex With Children)”

 

Sex

  1. “Hard Feelings”

 

Neurotic and/or compulsive behavior

  1. “The No Self-Esteem Engine”
  2. “Walgreens is Dicks; I’m Irresponsible”
  3. This… what you’re reading right now… the fact that I’m still making this fucking list when I know that I really ought to stop, elaborate on the things that warrant elaboration and not just keep thinking up pieces that fall under each of these headings. But I’ve made it this far and I don’t want to feel like this was all for nothing….

—–

It was at this point that I paused and rewrote the introduction to this entry so as to include the things I learned about myself in the course of “curating” this directory. Although, remember – you can always use the search box at the bottom of every page to find content related to whatever you might be interested in. The tags just below the title of each entry can be useful too, although I haven’t always done a great job of using them as well as I really should. (I know of at least one tag that’s never been misapplied to an unrelated entry though)…

—–

tipjarThis entry is TOTALLY two to three hours past due but I was locked out of the site for a few hours on account of all the super 1337 h4x0r5 that have been fucking up my shit (and my webhost’s server) these last few days. I’m just glad they weren’t able to do any serious damage, so I’m not gonna bum out over the little stuff.

No Accident

August 29, 2013

 

"No Accident." 12/12/12. Oil pastel and pencil. 12x18".
“No Accident.” 12/12/12. Oil pastel and pencil. 12×18″.

On October 2, 2012, I was kicked out of Tranquil Shores. It was my third time being kicked out of rehab that year. This time was different though. I knew what I needed to do and, on October 19th, I was welcomed back.

When I had been kicked out of Hazelden and the Wellness Resource Center, a lot of what was going wrong with me had to do with girls. At both facilities, I got “involved” with another patient. That hadn’t been the case this time but, when I was readmitted, I started doing it again. This time, I was determined enough to succeed that I didn’t let it control me the way it had before. We had more than a few conversations about how we were just friends (even once in the presence of the treatment staff when they began to worry about what might be developing). But I held on, I didn’t give in and do anything that would have been automatic grounds for my being kicked out again. Still, it eventually got to a point where we had resolved to be together after we got out of treatment and that’s the kind of emotional attachment that’s not good for anyone early in recovery, let alone a basket case like myself.

I don’t mean it as an excuse because I don’t see it that way but my thoughts, emotional responses, and consequent behaviors are not like most people’s. I “have” borderline personality disorder.

Something happened. It doesn’t matter what. She and I weren’t getting along and it was fucking ruining me. And because I wasn’t supposed to be involved with anyone (let alone a girl I was in treatment with) I couldn’t be honest with my counselor or anyone else about what was eating at me. It occurred to me that – if I wasn’t willing to talk about my issues – there was no longer any reason to be in treatment. Things got worse until one night, alone in my room, I lost it. [Since that’s a whole story of its own though, I won’t go into the details here].

The next morning I woke up feeling thoroughly empty, thoroughly hopeless. In my head, I had convinced myself that I wasn’t really doing anything wrong because I hadn’t actually slept with the girl. But I was fucking destroying any shot I had at ever getting better. I was already contemplating leaving and I knew, if I went down that path, I’d be shooting heroin again in no time. I was keeping my mouth shut for the sake of my relationship with this girl, but if I didn’t start talking and sort this shit out [if I left Tranquil Shores] the relationship was over anyway; I’d lose everything. I talked to a friend and realized that I had no choice. So I told the truth about everything that had gone on between us.

And she denied everything. She told them that it was all in my head – that I was even sicker and more confused than I seemed. I couldn’t believe it. I thought this was going to be the best thing for us. We weren’t supposed to get mixed up with each other in the first place but… it happened (nothing could change that) and now we’d be able to deal with it. And get better. It was going to be awesome. The greatest relief ever. But she wasn’t interested. She stuck to her story: that I was out of my fucking mind. I had an encyclopedia’s worth of Facebook and text messages to prove otherwise, but when my counselor said I could show them to her if I wanted to it felt petty. I realized that the truth didn’t matter. It was a big epistemological lesson for me. Emotions are stronger than facts. If I held that this relationship had happened, my treatment was going to progress as if that were the truth. If she held that it hadn’t, her treatment would address the issue as if that were the truth. [Weeks later, she did come clean and acknowledge that everything I said was true, but that’s not relevant to this piece].

After the dust settled from the shit storm that had been that afternoon, I went back to my room and wrote.

Pretty bummed out right now. Sad about the person I’ve let myself become. Not feeling totally lost though. I’m grateful for the lesson I was able to learn today and for the opportunity to use that knowledge to make my future better than my past. It hurts now, but this will be a good thing so long as I’m willing to utilize it, grow, and change.

I needed to get out of my self for a little while so I started to draw. Three hours later, I was flooded with feelings that I didn’t know what to do with. I stopped drawing. I scrambled around my room looking for something to write on. I found a piece of paper that I had traced my arms onto three weeks prior [for a project I hadn’t finished; I still needed to draw a knife into my right hand, for starters]. A few days prior I had that intention, but couldn’t bring myself to do it. Now, I didn’t care about that. I just needed something to write on. What spilled onto the paper was very stream-of-conscious. Just before I touched my pencil to the page, I decided to put it in my left hand since (it’s said that) writing with your non-dominant hand helps with honesty and hinders pretension.

i didn’t know who i was or what i was doing
i’m not whole yet but I’m closer than ever
remember october?
i realized I could choose to not be an obnoxious, negative problem
november ended, i forgot
today is 12-12-12 and i just remembered
and i learned something new today
i can choose more
i don’t have to be confused
i don’t have to send mixed messages or be inauthentic
i can be whoever i want to be
I KNOW WHO I AM TODAY
i am honest sincere loving compassionate kind intelligent fun dedicated loyal creative talented doing my best sorry for the harm and hurt i’ve caused proud of my achievements and sam NICE TO MEET YOU

I’m embarrassed of this piece sometimes. The old, guarded me would call this the dumbest shit ever. But – as I commented when I first made it – it’s the most positive, productive thing I’ve ever produced. In recovery, there’s lot of talk about a “spiritual awakening.” This is the unintentional document of mine. I’m so grateful that I have it to remind me of exactly how I felt in that moment. I only wish that I could feel that way all the time. My resolve to be the kind of person that I described had (and has) never been stronger.

Everything Works Out Exactly As It Should

August 25, 2013

My first reaction to twelve-step programs was: “Required belief in a higher power? This isn’t going to work for me.” I read “We Agnostics” and heard about the proverbial higher powers of atheists (light bulbs, door knobs, etc.) and it was all bullshit. Besides, from what I could tell, these programs weren’t talking about “a higher power of your own understanding,” they were talking about GOD. Narcotics Anonymous goes so far as to refer to God as “Him” (with a capital fucking H)! The Alcoholics Anonymous text is even worse; with exclamations like “May you find Him now!” they might as well have a crucifix on the cover. I was equally unimpressed and unswayed by the guy who told me his higher power was Spiderman. And the people who said that NA or AA was their higher power just seemed to be reaching.

It wasn’t for me. “We Agnostics?” More like you agnostics. I wasn’t an agnostic or an atheist because I’m not even acknowledging it.  If someone asked me if I believed in God, I’d look at them like they were retarded. “It’s not something that concerns me. It’s not a relevant question. Who fucking cares?”

In December of 2011, worn by desperation, my mind opened just a little bit. In my room alone, my second night in (my first) rehab, I accepted my first higher power. It was something. Literally. My first higher power was something. “Whatever it is that those addicts who recover share in common – that’s my higher power.” My thought was that I may not be able to identify or articulate exactly what that was specifically, but that only made the concept seem more in line with what I thought conceptions of God or a higher power are really all about.

As I became more well-versed in recovery speak, I would playfully throw the slogans and principles around – mock-chastising staff and peers when they’d do or say something that could be interpreted as out of step with recovery. This, of course, included statements invoking God. As it so often happens in rehabs (or kindergarten classes – or any place populated by those with the emotional maturity of children) someone made a joke that sparked a whole series of related jokes, perpetually retold, refined, and expanded. In this case, the joke was Sam’s punk god. I loved it and, somewhere along the way, actually adopted it. Accepting a higher power in spite of my awareness that it was the product of our imaginations – in a way – showed willingness. It required more than ordinary faith; it required total nonsense. And while completely irrational, it was still (as I’d love to point out) every bit as valid a conception of God as the ones presented in religious texts. Its absurdity was part of the appeal. “Punk God isn’t really concerned with sin,” I’d preach. “Except for voting. Punk God fucking hates voting. If you vote, you’re definitely going to hell.” In more earnest moments, I’d confess: “I don’t actually believe in Punk God, but as a concept – as a tool – sure.” Eventually, I’d need something that could offer me more guidance than a parodical exaggeration of myself. But for a time, the idea that Punk God was looking out for me was enough.

Something in me changed. I was building up to it over the course of more than a year but there was a moment when it really crystallized and I became a different person. [See: “No Accident”]. I’m still somewhat embarrassed to talk about it isometimes, but I got to a place (emotionally) where I could accept a real higher power.

Love.

I’m not perfect when it comes to practice but, in a tough situation, sometimes I have the peace of mind to pause and ask myself: What’s the loving thing to do? What action can I take in this moment to demonstrate love for myself as well as love for others?  If I answer it honestly – and have the discipline and willingness to honor the answer in that moment – life seems to… everything seems to work out pretty okay (better than okay: extremely well).

This might not always be the case though, were it not for the second of my (let’s call them) “spiritual principles.” When something bad happens, I don’t accept that it’s bad. It might seem bad, but it isn’t. I might feel some kind of pain in response to it (whether physical, emotional, or [whatever]) but it’s a good thing. When I struggle with something, that’s a good thing. It’s an opportunity for growth. It’s a chance to become a better, stronger person. I believe that everything happens exactly it’s supposed to or, alternately, everything happens for the best. This is not a belief that I get consequent to some other belief (for example, that there’s a god up above that’s playing chess with all of our lives). This is a choice. I choose to believe that this is true. And – on a very basic philosophical level – it is very much, absolutely true – so long as I want it to be.  Reality is reality. I can’t change it. What I can change is my perspective / attitude.

It’d be easy to conclude that terrible things happen on this planet and that we live in an awful world. Even in examining my own situation, I could conclude that I live in my ex-girlfriend’s parents’ house because I’m fresh out rehab; I went to Georgetown Law and I don’t even have a job; I sit in a dark garage all day and generate my only income by selling weird antique dolls on eBay; I’m 27 years old, spent most of the last 16 months in rehabs and mental health institutions, and can’t even get a bank account; the record label that I poured myself into for years has crumbled and my band doesn’t even really exist; I’m a fuck-up, a loser, and I have no prospects for the future.

Instead, I choose to see it more along the lines of… I was a trainwreck of a human being and behaved abominably; in spite of that, I have people in my life who not only trust me to live in their home, but allow me to do so rent-free; I got to take more than a year out of my life to study myself with the help of incredibly gifted counselors, therapists, and doctors and finally figure out why I’ve spent most of my life unhappy, and discover a new kind of happiness that I never knew existed; I also discovered visual art, something that I was once too fearful to even attempt seriously, but that I now enjoy as thoroughly as anything else in this world (even pop punk!) and that has allowed me to connect with other people (people still struggling with addiction, people in recovery, and just regular people) in a way that those people tell me has enriched their lives and, in turn, enriches my own; I have dreams and aspirations that I work toward everyday and I enjoy that work regardless of any external success that might or might never come from it; I have beautiful friendships with inspiring people whom I admire and a girlfriend with whom I am thoroughly in love; life could not possibly be better.

Only one of those two statements is true but I get to choose which one it is. This is where the old, abandoned concept of Punk God comes in – it’s all about choice. No one can prove me wrong. Things may look one way – it doesn’t matter. Everything is exactly as we believe that it is. Right and wrong don’t really exist. Not in any practical sense anyway. I choose to believe that everything works out for the best for the same reason I chose to “believe” in Punk God. Because it helps me. It makes life easier. And just as no one could prove that Punk God wasn’t real, I can’t prove that everything doesn’t work out for the best. So I believe that it does. And I’m right!

"Everything Works Out Exactly As It Should." 3/14/13. Marker on foam board scrap. 8x10".
“Everything Works Out Exactly As It Should.” 3/14/13. Marker on foam board scrap. 8×10″.

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  • Prints of this piece are now for sale in my webstore.

Weird War

August 20, 2013

"Weird War." 8/20/13. Mixed media. 9x12".
“Weird War.” 8/20/13. Watercolor paint, watercolor pencil, marker, pen, and oil pastel. 9×12″.

I started (and finished) this piece in the van, but also worked on it at the Ski Haus in Carbondale, (where Rational Anthem played with The Heat Tape, Future Virgins, and Hate Waves).

My primary purpose in creating art is emotional balance / regulation. Sometimes though, when I don’t like what comes out of me, the process can actually throw me off base a little bit.

I’m pretty fragile. Little things fuck with my head. I sometimes forget that I can write private journals that don’t have to go online immediately. When that happens, I lose one of my tools.

Noelle said this one looks like a warzone. From the beginning, I was pitting the top right and bottom left against each other, alternately considering cropping one or the other out. It took a long time to bring them together in the center in a way that felt right to me. I think the combination of textures (through the layering of the different materials) helped a lot with that. So did journaling (privately) in order to really examine the forces behind my feelings. Taking a suggestion made by a friend a few weeks back, I wrote on the back of the piece. As I wrote on the front of “Iowa,” I don’t need to put my every thought up in lights for public scrutiny.

Noelle works early on Wednesday morning, so we decided that tonight (in Valdosta) is the last show before we head home. We’re running more than a little late, but I’m not stressing it anymore. I don’t know how tonight will shape up, but I’m excited for whatever’s coming next.

This piece is currently listed for sale in my webstore.

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