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Mechanical bull

It is the return of Saturn, Saturn's return happens once every 27 to 30 years. This astrological symbol represents the return to ones birth, it will occur for every living human on this planet. It happens more than once if you are so lucky, and not at all if you are Kurt Cobain, (note to self, I wonder if actually his Saturn did return and this led to the unfortunate passing from this coil.) I archived all my Journal entries. Refreshed the art portal with a curated slice of some of my best work, and if I am luckier than Kurt still, I will produce many many more. It's interesting ping-ponging between the many aspirations and distractions of this world. Often times I will snag myself on the comments of others. Often times I am wondering if they smell fear on me. I am pushing myself again. Strange people. Strange talks. Strange places. But yet I feel so happy. I crave a solid art day. I crave the inability to make excuses. A short-while ago I injured myself. Right as my journey on weekly art studies was going so well. I'd love to say I took initiative and really practiced with my non-dominant hand. A dream of mine. but I am afraid such a thing is simply untrue and inaccurate. What is less and less inaccurate however is the fact that my touch-typing is getting marginaly better. I'm surprised marginaly is spelled with only one "l". I have a vacation long down the road, yet more work to do. Expect a Lynch piece, and another entry to the Tarot. Took me long enough?

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It's been a long time.

It's been quite some time since I wrote journal entires, since I tried to put things together, since I tried to present a currated slice of myself in a way that was for me and no one simultaneously. Since I last left, I lost one of my domains, learned to use vs code, learned more about sshing. Learned about containerization, about daemons, got a tattoo, got better at art. I've fixed and broken my motorcycle so many times. Maybe I've fixed and broken myself even more. I'd like to add an archives section to this soon, so that you can go and see all my guts and wiring. I'd like to add a script that shows my last song played on Last.Fm. and I'd like to be a better person. One of those is easier than the other. I guess I became a real cyberpunk, wasn't ever something I was aspiring for. Wasn't ever a vision board or a real tangible goal.Just was. I've been trying like hell and mostly succeeding at feeding my zen side. My first order of business was recognizing how much I felt in comparison to people who didn't. I think in some ways self-preservation when overdone makes you an asshole. I just can't help but think if you aren't having fun and bucking against someone holding you down, someone or something, then you might as well be dead. I think about death the little sleep all the time now. For the first time in my life I developed a long-term lasting fear, a fear that it'll rob me just as I reach my potential, my happy. The longing replaced with a deep and dark desire for patience. Wait a bit more I beg. Wait a bit more. Give me the chance to prove myself right before the reaping. Allow me to sow before you reap me, so you may rob the future harvest from the dirt underneath the hand-like grass. I used to be the type to be so angry at the time it's taken and would take, but every step shaves off that impatience. The need and the hunger is still there. The aching of desire. but that is what I need and deserve. To push forward through these hellish days I must constantly need. For satiation would surely lead to a malaise. Another little death. My disdain is the lazy, my disdain is the dead, and I know that I shall join both one day, hopefully long into the future.