Beard

Shaved my beard.

Partly because it was butt fugly, partly because it was a bad representation of what I felt like, and partly because I just picked up a scissors and started cutting without really thinking about it. It was fun, cutting off the huge clumps that stuck together. I have to find someone to give it to. Someone who can't grow a good beard of there own. And has a good enough sense of humor to laugh, not cry.

I think perhaps you, who hear my words but don't see my face, know me better inside than those who picture my mug when thinking of me. What I feel like inside is not well expressed outside. The best way to express most of what I look like from my point of view is through abstract paintings. Angry half-dry brush strokes of red with neatly lined up dot/nipples of blue, super imposed over lurking, childish line drawings of genitalia.

Hell, I should make that painting, if just to be able to give people an answer to the question, "how are you?" If only I had room for a painting studio. I need an apartment. Or even better, a house and some land. I want to start making my garden paradise now, before I actually have to rely on it for food. Fruit trees take time to start bearing.