The Future is Bulletproof

Posted: August 22, 2011 by joemu362 in Joe

The Aftermath is Secondary…the aftermath is secondary.

So tomorrow I begin my last first day of class. I didn’t really think about it until just now, at 11pm Sunday night, but it’s true! It’s actually true. It’s really a thing that’s really happening. Wow.

Before this, it was just, “Okay, gotta be up and ready for work tomorrow and then off to my first day of class.” No big deal. That’s been life for the past four years, what’s the big deal? Then someone reminded me that it’s my last semester and that…well, that’s where things got a little “Holy shit.

But let’s be honest here, I’m really excited about it. Not because it’s my last semester in college and after that I have to find a real job and oh my god oh my god oh muh gourd, but because with the exception of my Advanced Fiction class (emphasis on crime fiction – EEE!) it’s all art classes. All of them. Every last one.

I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this on here before, but my first wish and hope and dream for college was to go to art school. Come out on top of my game and be a serious business cartoonist/comic artist/it’s all the same to me. However, pursuit of a Real Job prevailed and instead of going to college to better myself rather than “Better Myself”, I went into psychology. Do I regret the stuff I’ve learned? No, not at all. It’s fascinating and it’s made me a better writer. But is there a part of me in there that’s still the kid in high school who wanted to go out and draw comic books? Yeah.

And it’s no one’s fault but mine, really. I was given the option to change majors, but I was so obsessed with getting out of college On Time that I felt like it was too late. Maybe part of me felt like it was. I tried to justify it too – “Oh, a lot of the best artists out there never went to art school.” “Oh shit, I’m good enough as it is, right?” Blah blah blah. But instead of doing what I wanted to do, needed to do maybe, I just did what I felt like I had to do.

So where does this fall into the Hellfire Club? We’re all writers here, but before I became a writer, I made comic books. This involved writing stories. Lots of them. I eventually started writing because it was faster than writing and drawing the comics, because that shit takes up time, yo. So call this going back to my roots. Call it me trying to really feel like me again instead of feeling like I have to go do something that’ll make me super wealthy and get me a cushy office somewhere. (Yeah, because writing TOTALLY gets you that lifestyle.)

So here it is. Me with my slicked back hair and my box full of supplies.

Art is the weapon against life as a symptom.

Time to hit the gas.




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