Have you ever gotten a body rush? I'm sure everyone has, but have you ever gotten a body rush in which you feel your front incisors sinking lower and lower into a mound of flesh and sinew? Where you feel the goose-flesh of the outer epidermis, the hearty muscle beneath and finally feel the rush of life washing over your teeth and against the walls of your mouth?

That might have been one of the more gruesome things you've read today, and I'm far from being a cannibal, but sometimes when I'm feeling sleepy or out of it that's the first impression which comes to me, and it perks me up like a shot of espresso. I feel primal, I feel the hunt, I don't feel hungry per-se, but I yearn to see the disfigurement, the consequence of that action. I think that's what makes me draw.

I'm perplexed, because I've been drawing a lot more lately, and not only that but I'm finally satisfied with it. I haven't been satisfied with anything I've done since I was 16 or so and doing some of my best, most surreal, most gruesome art work. Here and there I've come out with something which satisfies me, but it is after months of effort and it usually exhausts me for a while after. Lately I've been drawing a picture every two days. Some of them surreal, some not. Some of them representative of something, some not. The fact of the matter is that it feels as if my mind is rotting back to what it once was when I was sixteen. Which is honestly, the best case scenario. Although no one could truthfully say that their teen years and high-school were comfortable by anyone's standards, I felt at that time that I knew myself best. For the past 5 to 6 years I've been in an agony of indecision where I did not know who I was and art was difficult.

I'm starting to remember though. The resulting outpouring of artwork which you will all probably see in the near future is likely a bio-hazard because right now my raw imagination is just spewing out filth like Chernobyl spewed out ashes and radioactive waste. I mean that in the most self-complimentary way as well, as only a Russian major/artist could.

Oh well, back to the drawing board.