And God Said Poo

what it is to me is a visual diary of my life over the last three years. some of the drawings don't make sense to some people, but they all make too much sense to me. i suppose they're a bit like "i guess you had to be there" jokes in that way and no one-- except for me-- has been here through the entire process of this moleskine.

there are 78 drawings and 39 comics of varying skill and style, laziness and dedication, depression and euphoria. in the three years, it's been with me through three girlfriends, four apartments, six [overlapping] jobs and plenty of ongoing schemes.

at times, this moleskine was quite literally what kept me sane and moving when one of the above turned sour or bitter or whatever good things turn when they go bad.

i lost it, once, in 2007. at the time, it was the first book i had ever thought i might fill with only drawings-- opposed to the usual books of scribbled ideas and half-written scripts with occasional caricatures or diagrams.

and i wouldn't have had any trouble giving up on the idea of finishing the book that early on-- especially after having lost it-- but kyle returned it to me. he and rosa told me that they really liked one of my particularly trippy drawings and that i had to finish the book.

i never did pay kyle the free bagel that my moleskine promised to anyone who returned it in the case that it was lost.

but i continued to fill the book.

and i'm glad i did.

as it grew more and more complete i was able to document more than what i had been doing over the past few years, but also how i was feeling while doing those things. i could re-experience my desire to escape, or my contentedness in staying; i could revisit myself losing jobs over girlfriends, and losing girlfriends over jobs.

i was largely influenced by all of it.

during a particularly dramatic break up, i actually caught the newly exed girlfriend trying to steal my moleskine and i couldn't believe her. at first, i wasn't sure why the attempted swindle made me so furious-- whether it was because the act was so sly, or because the book was not rightfully hers-- but when my mind calmed down, it came to me:

i realized i was in love with the moleskine. and i still am. when i die, i want it to be at my funeral as a symbol of who i was. and no one-- certainly not an ex-- should ever try to steal something like that.

but through the waves of chaos and calmness, the book never escaped me. and yesterday, i drew the very last drawing in the very last square.

completing it after all these years felt a bit like seeing color for the first time, and a bit like having my ring finger cut off with a dull knife. it was a strange concoction of confused emotions and i think the only thing i can say is that i am content to see it complete.

i'll put shots of the pages on my flickr this "weekend."

but now, to give it a cover...