This world rewards the greedy...

Those that have are endeared by the masses as the divine.  The sacrosanct.  Unbefuddled by the realities of feeble necesity.  Want, requirement and pure pain.  We, that are limited by pure inability to achieve greater.  Perpetuality of income.  Perputuality of societal caste.  A definement of who we are by what we have.  Nothing.  Chewed and spat back out by the faux sincerities of a greatful nation.  No one to help you at your darkest.  No one to listen or give back in minute perfunctoriness.  Rage, o muse, pure and utter rage.

Finally done with soul sucking art class

Of course the fakers win.  All the talent got some parting shots from the teacher.  Fuck her.  Did my best to protect the weak as much as possible.

Here comes the summer of discontent...

Summer's beginning to start and with it the end of continuous schooling which means the end of VA money (which isn't very reliable anyway).  This summer is going to be extremely long and the wifey and I will both have to be looking for jobs to make ends meet.  As if we were making ends meet to begin with.  Living paycheck to paycheck sucks.  I'm a friggin' air traffic controller shouldn't I be making more?  Drastic times call for drastic measures.  Might have to move into a 2 bedroom again and voluntarily give back the Mazda to the bank.  That would hurt, but those are just material things after all.  I'd like to believe my family will be able to survive.  I don't know where this is going.  All I can say is fuck the VA and fuck Congress for cutting into my GI bill money.  Our degrees are now in jeopardy.  Thank you for your service.

Art or design class thoughts.

Been going to design class for the better part of 5 weeks now and have to admit it is disheartening. As someone that gave up art (or better yet had art/creativity beat out of him due to the military) it was very exciting at first to show off my talents in a classroom setting. But as the class has progressed, an old internal debate of artists vs fakers seems to have arisen.

A faker is someone that has no talent, but attempts art and calls themself an artist. This person may make convincing art, but to talented people who know better, it is not art and is the artistic equivalent of tracing. Someone that if you gave a pencil and a piece of paper, locked them in the room and said to create art, would not know what to do.

An artist is someone that is incredibly humble, does not call themselves an artist (as that is a title that is bestowed upon you by others), and has talent. They've learned on their own how to craft their trade initially and have fine-tuned their abilities. They can create something out of nothing, meaning out of their mind without looking at anything, or can recreate scenes/people in their own fashion. But most importantly, they are not Xerox machines.

Though I have been creating several pieces for this class that, in my opinion, have ranked high in artistic skills, each piece has been verbally destroyed by the instructor. The biggest faker in the class, however, has been getting praise left and right. It has been very hard and at times I have felt depressed. Just getting back into art after about 10 years and to have another soul stamping art teacher, like Ms. Buck, is enough to make me abandon it again.

But I know I have talent. The old man nurtured that talent and I feel the need to continue to explore it. In the mean time, I have to endure the abusive relationship that is art/design class. Just have to take it and keep my mouth closed.

Ugh.

Been busy with work, school and family to find time to update this thing. It seems mostly to be centered around monetary issues. Finding enough money for school and family is a constant pain. Fiduciary triage is necessary.

Anyways, I've kept up with the autocross thing and have finally taken the Mazda out for a Solo round and did the 1/4 mile in it at the Speedway. The autocross was a lesson in measured patience; so much work is to be had to drive the car quick. Much more work than the point and shoot nature of the VW. I was about 5 seconds off the times of everyone else and it was an extremely short course. Not the Mazda's forte, I'd say, but there was another person with the same vehicle that was with the gamut in times, so I'd say I need work as a driver.

The 1/4 mile was equally disappointing. Though the car feels faster, I got a lower relative speed than the VW as well. Very frustrating.

A friend asked what the point was with all that. What is the point of speeding or racing or the like. I never can answer well when someone asks me. I always blow it off like it's no big thing. And apologize. Oh it's dumb, yeah. Somewhat embarrassed that I'm equated to the losers on the street or the dick measuring contest that is the 1/4 mile. But the truth of the matter is: it is my release. I don't drink alcohol, I don't smoke, I don't even drink caffeine anymore. When I was mad before I used to go for a run or go lift weights, but now those don't do anything for me. Driving fast is my release. There's a certain amount of adrenaline that cannot be matched by any other activity. I have to feel a slight fear of killing myself to make myself feel alive. Squealing the tires in a turn over 70 mph, knowing you're this close to losing it all. That first time you had to input a bit of opposite lock. Enough in measure and the swoon is better than any drug.