Progress

I believe it was back in 2006 that I started doing the blog and marketing thing. I recall struggling terribly for a few views and there was no such thing as a comment. I spent quite some time penning articles about nonsense. Thinking back now it was just a serious lack of passion. I had no belief in it and thusly it did not grow. I got by don't get me wrong but it wasn't 'fun'.

I was really leery about blogging again, or going public. I've been hiding in my own little reality for a while and I've come to enjoy the safety of it. I didn't want to spend hours tweaking settings and optimizing everything only to have 2 views. Fortunately I was spared that gut wrenching this time around.

Perhaps I have found something to be passionate about again and it is showing through or maybe it is just a better time for it. Being more social certainly helps. All around I am starting to feel more and more like this ambition may turn into fruition. So far I have established enough views to actually call it traffic. Considering my projects are less than a week old I think that in itself is worth dancing a jig over. I am so pleased to be able to interact with the world outside of a Facebook page.

I expect it will take time to build a genuine readership, and to have folks that actually follow, join, or comment is perhaps a matter of luck. Sometimes you have a talkative audience, more often you have voyeurs. I am guilty of that one myself, lurking in the background. In all honesty it's kind of creepy (which is probably why it suits me) but I am working to rectify that. One thing all artists need, be it visual or authoring is feedback. We need to know that someone has seen our efforts. It's always nice to have someone oooh and ahhh but genuine commentary shows thought and gives us tools we would otherwise not have to work with.

All in all for my first week out here new and raw as I am I feel pretty good about my overall impact. There is a sense of having achieved something I set out to do. Admittedly I am a long way from my goal. There is so much more to be done - after all this is still really in test mode but I feel I've made a few big steps forward.

Now of course I will need to finish some of my projects and get a proper scan of my works so I may present them in the fashion I originally intended. My plan is to spend this entire year building my gallery and setting up so that sometime next year I may make the leap to selling my work. I feel I've made a good foothold here in March. I think the time restraint is doable provided I apply strict adherence to my timeline. This requires at least 6 hours per day devoted to this project. Be it painting, setting up, marketing, optimizing, or gathering supplies it must be spent purely on the goal at hand. So far... so good.

Here's to the future of this project, maybe I will even give it a name as I go lol. Thank you to all who are along for the ride, and have given me the boost of confidence I so needed to keep this going forward!

Becoming Real

I hadn't really thought a whole lot about it until I decided to blog again but I've had separate identities for close to a decade now. There's the me that the people on this side of the monitor know and of course the person that the people on your side of the screen are more familiar with. The two really are not so different. I have a fairly strong personality and it translates accurately. People are just as confused here as you are there. I am a very multifaceted person, I've dealt with a lot, and I have the spirit of an artist. How could I not be a little... eclectic?

Even so, there is the Kij0 persona which has overtaken Laurel for all intents and purposes. There is also the old Rhode Island life that involved many of the people I grew up with as well as the ex (the Laurel). There is the  life that happened after I walked away from all of that (the Kij0). Then there is the now. But up until now I've not really mixed Kij0/Laurel too much. I may seem to be very free and open about a lot of my life but I hold a whole lot back and I am much more private than most think. I am not a picture person, have not been since I was a teeny bopper. I just don't care for my image everywhere so that's one thing that is constant between the two personas. No flashy stuff.

When I chose to venture into painting and started kicking around the idea of going "pro" it occurred to me one of the failings that would be inevitable. I would have to merge the two. Somehow to me it feels like I'm showing my panties. I can't really hide behind one or the other, I have to own my own works. Things I've written, drawn, created, and been involved in are vital in my overall body of work and in proving to myself I deserve the title "Artist". I cringe when I reread things I've written more often than not. Again with the panty flashing. It's worse than an accidental camel toe, seriously.

Social networking is lovely for linking everything together and automating your life. Birthday reminders, intimate detail updates, and mixing every person you've ever known in one feed. Sort of like walking into a room of people and realizing you've slept with all of them, and they aren't all the opposite sex. Not that I've ever had such a thing happen to me....

So all this flaunting and shameless socializing is playing with my brain. There's that other alias to consider. The seizure side. The sick side. The side that should be stuffed in the closet but instead trapped me in there. The "real" me. It took me a long time to find out I was epileptic, longer still to accept that diagnosis. I spent almost a year hiding it and my ears still burn and my cheeks flush when I say it out loud or in public. It is the one thing that truly can be blamed for a great many unwanted changes in my life. Some people call them excuses, but something about a debilitating disorder really changes you. It teaches you genuine fear, humiliation, mortality, and vulnerability. When it hits you that your body controls YOU not vice versa it's earth shattering.

No matter how much it has crippled me physically, mentally, emotionally some small part of me refuses to give in. I am not ready to accept that I am disabled or incapable of finding some way. I've pulled myself out of the mud when it was ear deep. More than once. I've moved across states, changed my entire life at least four times. Changed job fields at least three times, and even had another baby. I've fought the odds a long time and won. So now comes the mother of life altering events. Merging all the fragments into one working plan that allows me to continue feeling like a contributing member of society. I just simply have to change all of my current ways, learn and implement new and better habits, and be really annoyingly... social. Ugh.

I'll do it. Watch me. :D

The Sacrificial Lamb and the Pit of DOOM

We used to own a sectional couch, and of course the center piece that joins the two ends of it is rounded. Naturally it was a fairly large piece of furniture and when put in a room it covered a good portion of two walls and the center piece had a triangular space between the back end of it and the wall.

One day my daughter dropped her stuffed lamb Lovey in that space behind the couch. She ran to her brother afraid to plumb the depths of the unknown pit and pleaded with him "Bubby I dropped my Lovey you have to save him! " He asked her "Why can't you get him?" She pushed out her bottom lip and in her most despairing voice she said "He's in the… the… the pit it's dark in there."

He reluctantly stopped what he was doing and marched into the living room and descended into the "pit. " She nervously awaited his return standing poised ever so carefully by the edge of the couch end. He decided he would teach her not to interrupt his diabolical plans and laid on the floor of the "pit" and tossed Lovey up in the air while covering his mouth producing a muffled but audible "Helllllp! Ow..owow.ahhhhh!!"

He threw the lamb up several times which attracted our 25lb cat Archimedes. Well Archy ran round the back of the couch intent on pummeling the flying lamb. Just as he got to the rounded part his weight compounded with his acceleration wreaked havoc on his paws and he fell off taking the throw on the back of the couch and Lovey with him. He landed directly on top of my son. This completely unexpected turn of events elicited a shriek of terror from my blanket blinded child.
My daughter, shocked and horrified that I was in fact laughing at this catastrophic affair went running for backup.

 "Daddy! Daddddd Bubby and Lovey fell in the pit of DOOM and they can't get out!" Being the good Dad that he was he came running to find me in a fit of giggles as his son hefted Archy over the top of the couch and came out fussing Lovey's foot clenched in his shaking fist. He threw the lamb at his sister proclaiming he would never ever return to the pit of DOOM again she could save her own lamb! He lectured her further explaining that a stuffed lamb could not die whereas HE nearly did.

She apologized, her lower lip quivering "I'm so sorry Bubby I'll never do it again I don't want to lose you!" She hugged her grumbling brother who nearly escaped death at dooms hands tightly. Thereafter any dark area deep enough to fit a lamb was considered to be 'of DOOM'

Later that evening we were going out for dinner and the hallway light had blown out. While waiting for the guys my daughter standing at the top of the stairs peered down the darkened stairwell. She turned to Lovey and whispered "It sure is dark down there Lovey, I think it could be…of DOOM." She hugged her Lovey tight and said to him matter of factly, "Go see." With that she pitched her (sacrificial) lamb down the stairs and cocked her head listening for the impending sounds of  DOOM. My husband called out "I think we're out of light bulbs." My daughter satisfied there were no sounds of Lamb DOOM replied "Lovey says it's safe Dad we don't need one."

My Grandma

I've been doing a lot of personal reflection lately, wondering how I came to be who and where I am today. I expect I am experiencing a mid life crisis, but in all my self analysis it occurred to me to consider the cloth I am cut from. I have said many times, I am not like other women/people though most smile and nod and think uhuh that's what everyone says. With that I thought I would like to share with you some stories involving the fabric from which I am cut.

 My Grandma is a truly unusual woman. I can honestly say that I have never met anyone in all my life even remotely like her. That probably accounts for why the majority of my family are unique individuals as well. Grandma has been playfully described as 4' tall x 4' wide. While that may sound unattractive, believe you me she carried it very well. She has always been a beautiful woman, perfect baby soft skin, gorgeous hair, and so full of personality that we think she literally had schizophrenia. I lost count as to how many times she's been married but last tally was either 5 or 6 and to date even in the nursing home she had a boyfriend… or two.

While she was undeniably beautiful, and charming enough to be promiscuous well into her 80's she is also mind numbingly insane. She used to do the damnedest things. For instance she was a kleptomaniac and a religious fanatic. She always had a small blue paperback prayer book a scapular and a dozen or so of what I would describe as little scapulars completely unsure what they are.

She loved to visit everyone unexpectedly. She would show up out of nowhere in the afternoon, and steal things. Sometimes a fork sometimes a small knickknack or photo, but she would always leave in its place some religious symbol, be it a mini-scapular or card. She would take nonsensical and completely random things she had no use for, well that any of us knew of.

When you went to her house you would inevitably come across one of your things. If you asked her about it she would blush and giggle and say God worked in mysterious ways. Well yes he is .. God HE can get away with that, however it wasn't very explanatory for her.

There is also no food on this earth she did not like. The family took turns taking her out for meals. She would take out her dentures and set them in a glass of water beside her plate. When she cleared her plate she would then pick it up and lick it clean. Yep, right there middle of the restaurant despite the guffaws and gasps from mortified onlookers.

She once explained that as a child she was told never to waste a thing and that she had best lick that plate clean which apparently she took quite literally. She would go to salad bars and request doggy bags. I think the most unusual of her habits was where she kept her belongings. Everything, scapular, prayer books, money, random forks, was wrapped up in either plastic bag or napkin and tucked into her bra.

She did that right up til the day she died. How she fits it all without ever looking misshapen is a mystery alas she managed it.

One afternoon my uncle Robert had taken her to Pondersa's breakfast buffet. Where she asked for a doggy bag and was refused. Not only refused but I think between the dentures in the glass, the plate licking and then the doggy bag request the concierge was about fed up and got a bit sarcastic with her. She was pretty well upset and made her last trip up to the bar.

Afterwards my uncle Robert who was about as embarrassed as a person could be from her adventures decided to take her for a ride to his brother Fran's house. They arrived where he had at the time a full house but welcomed them just the same. My uncle Fran had a dog named Sasha who was running circles around her, jumping on her and even peeing a little.

Everyone watched surprised that the normally quiet dog made such a big fuss over her assuming she must have some knack for animals. Sitting on the living room couch in front of all the guests she suddenly looked as though she had epiphany. "I know what she wants!" She proclaimed grinning like a madwoman.

She reached into her bra and produced, her typical prayer book, scapulars, a bag of rolled quarters, two spoons, a butter knife, prayer beads, bottled water, a happy meal toy for her grandbaby, moist towelettes, ziplock baggies, a stack of napkins and finally wrapped in one of those napkins a pair of Ponderosa's finest breakfast sausage. She held them up triumphantly and promptly fed them to the dog.

 It has on occasion been pondered if she carried her children when she was pregnant in her bra as opposed to the normal way.

Is it really any wonder that I have always been a bit different from most? While I don't carry around everything but the kitchen sink between my titties I am fairly certain I stand out just the same. I guess it could always be worse after all, but I think now that I really must be losing it because when thinking back I seem to understand what may have driven her at least to swipe the silverware. I would think to make sure she was never without something to stop and have a bite to eat with, after all her bra (of DOOM) could accommodate a breakfast in napkins. Heh she had no need for restaurant devices to bring home leftovers she had her very own boobie bags.

Marekting... My Way.

How's that for you're eyegasmic enjoyment? Look at those neatly stocked shelves that make you feel insecure about the orderliness of your own food cupboards. The glaring light over the refrigerated section sometimes even with the one faulty bulb that just flicks on and off with that gentle humming that makes me want to roll around on the floor spastic with seizures. Don't you just want to inhale the sweet smell of paper bags and pet extermination chemicals? Listen to the rhapsody of a squeaking shopping cart wheel as it plays gently on your eardrum? Doesn't this make you want to leap out of your chair, throw on your shoes and run to your nearest grocery store??  If so I suggest rigorous therapy for a very long period of time.  

Running packages to the post office, paying bills, grocery shopping, checking the mail, and walking the dog are errands. That's right… work, things we do because we have to, not because we are simply dying to. The most exciting part of town runs are getting crispy chicken wrap at Wendy's. Some highlight that is considering that the entirety of my going out to eat budget is $1 plus tax and no fries or drinks either. This does not in my mind constitute going out. There is nothing memorable and lasting even more seldom is the random 'lesson learned' while out on these trips in which we writers so relish blogging about.

This is exactly the sort of thing that has me carving twisted sculptures in the snow. After so long when the only out of the house activity is errand running you start to look for other ways to amuse yourself. I find myself eyeing the shopping cart of the victim sharing the aisle with me.

I stand there studying a box of cereal looking completely enthralled in its dietary information all the while watching her pick something up off the shelf and mindlessly drop it into the basket of the carriage positioned 'just so' beside her. She leans down to inspect the size difference between this week's sale beef stew and the name brand. I take a stealthy step to the left and quietly push her cart gently forward just out of hands reach and jump back to my original position swapping out my Raisin Bran for a sexy looking box of Fruit loops. She reaches mindlessly and drops her carefully selected can of beef stew directly onto the floor.

I honestly couldn't tell you how much fat or carbs are in any of the cereals but I can tell you it is possible to get away with this up to four times before your fellow shopper begins to wonder how his/her cart seems to roll away with a life of its own.

I do so enjoy the shelving units that are simply stocked on either side and with minimal rearranging you can reach the hind side of the shopper in the next aisle's selections. I've held the boxes and made them tug to get it from their end, staring at it flipping it upside-down trying to work out why it wouldn't come off the shelf. I've also gently pushed things just far enough to teeter on the edge of the shelf so a passing shopper 'accidently' knocks it off. That never gets old, especially after an aisle or two they start to walk directly down an imaginary line in the dead center of the aisle.

Then of course there are always the *SBD  farts you can muster in the meat aisle and skip around the corner as an unsuspecting onsmeller happens upon the aisle. "Oh My God Martha can you smell that???!!!"  "Yes Beatrice I think something must have gone bad… maybe we better get the roast at Shaw's instead." All the while I am in the next aisle making funny half snort half unfing noises in my attempt to not laugh maniacally. This generally amuses me even more making it harder to look innocent enough to terrorize more shoppers. So I gather the remaining items on my list and mosey on over to the check out aisle.

Normally I am somewhat preoccupied in the checkout lane because they have magazines and recipe books and other things to rest my attention on. Now and again I've had a really boring week or already read all the latest gossip and headlines. In these moments I usually like to antagonize the stock people and put every little book upside down completely ordered mind you neat and in line as if untouched. I don't know if it amuses me more that it takes several days for stock people to notice this at times, or that I do it in plain sight and nobody ever seems to catch on to what I'm doing.

These are but small examples of the havoc I wreak on the public at large when I am insufferably bored. Thusly I plead with my significant other to take me out, not on errands for  fucks sake, OUT to a restaurant or social event where I may interact normally with other bipeds. A little mental stimulation would allow me other things to think on aside from terrorizing the denizens of this demesne.

The moral to this story is never tell your wife, lover, or any manner of significant other that going to run the weekly errands is considered a valid day/evening out or an activity that is enjoyable. Learn the difference or risk shopping alongside people like me, or subjecting your beloved to the boredom that inspires these events.

P.S. Thank you Martha and Beatrice that roast was lovely!

*Silent But Deadly

Expectations of Grandeur

I believe whole heartedly that happiness is something you find and/or make for yourself. It isn't something anyone else can just give to you. No one else should be held responsible for maintaining your inner smile but you. A lover or friend may be able help you maintain it from time to time but ultimately that is an insanely large demand to place on someone. Only you can determine how you feel about yourself and that feeling is a large part of how happy you are in life.

However, this is not a piece about happiness. It's a piece about expectations. More specifically; what we expect from our friends and lovers in the pursuit of happiness. We all want terminal relationships. We never go into it considering an end. We have this til death do us part ideal, hence the term terminal. We expect one person to go the distance with nary a rest stop in sight.

Ask yourself how much you've changed as a person since just last year. Imagine the transition if you will from a perky teenager to a married adult. Big difference huh? We learn something new each day, and grow just a bit more. We have epiphanies and revelations and astonishing moments of clarity that redefine us constantly. We may retain the same mannerisms or style for great lengths of time but still other facets of ourselves change and evolve every day that we are upright atop the ball that revolves.

Is it fair to expect someone to understand this process while they too are undergoing it? Two people who are the sums of their thoughts and experiences which are completely different events and perceptions can compliment each other and have astounding similarities. At some point there will always be a difference of opinion, or opposing goals and ambitions.

We seldom realize that what we need comes from a network of people not just one. We need a confidante and a best friend. We need people to go places and do things with. We need to have someone who always makes us laugh and another who wipes our tears. Kind of like the saying it takes a community to raise a child, it takes a network to balance the many needs of emotional/mental health and happiness.

I made the mistake once, of thinking that one person was all I needed. I had such a hard time understanding why that one person couldn't be my lover, best friend, confidante, ego booster, partner, support system, and dinner date at the same time, all the time. Because I honestly believed I had been all of those things to him all along.

One day I saw a commercial where this little elderly couple was sitting on a porch with drinks before them. The old man looks at the woman and shoots his straw paper at her. My husband said to me "That will be us in 20 years." That was the most frightening idea I had ever heard. I thought dear god will I really have to keep doing this job for decades? I wondered if I would have to continue sacrificing my soul until death really did us part.

As much as I loved that person and as much time as I had invested in him, I understood how linear relationships are and just how much is also expected of us from just one person. I too expected everything from him and realized he wasn't holding up his end. The thing is that isn't necessarily his fault-- he was making the same mistake as me right along. We expected too much. We also held one relationship to high above all the others that were equally important. Friends, family and even those who oppose us tend to motivate us to rise to the challenge if only to shove it in someone's face. We need interaction with a variety of people to meet our individual needs.

This realization was a major step in my understanding that happiness doesn't come easy it must be worked for and isn't something anyone else can give us… let alone just one person. Somehow I doubt that revelation made me any less demanding, but I think I finally found the road leading to my path of happiness. Only I can walk this road but there are many stops along the way with a variety of people who affect me in a variety of ways and make me one whole multi-faceted person. Along that road some relationships will end not all of them can last a life time and we aren't always allowed to choose which and/or how long.

Request and tagging

So this is really just a filler blog to establish social networking requirements. I have to add things like code so places like Technorati and other ping sites know I'm back in the blog. I would like to take this opportunity to invite readers to join/follow via email or registration if you would like to follow this particular blog. Later I will create an art blog with my paintings and info for public consumption and this blog will be restricted to friends as I don't want to air it all out to all my prospective clients. (The millions of adoring fans!)

This is the real me, the not perfect me, the public me is far more professional and flawless for obvious reasons.I won't be making the registration change right away because it will take some time to get the art blog sorted. Mainly because I really need to scan my work as opposed to terrible cell pics if I have any hope of eventually selling anything.

I also strongly invite you to comment and join in. I know, I know, it's so much easier to just talk on Facebook but if you could take the time to open this link you could just as easily shoot the shit with me here. This way my tantrums are far less public and I can be happy jovial Laurel over on stalkerbook.

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What's a Kij0?

Key-Joe
Wow, long story. *Deep breath*
So, about a decade or so ago I discovered the internet. My ex said to me "You're going to have to learn this computer stuff because I don't have time." Well, I did. Probably a lot more so than he ever intended. I make no apologies, I'm a geek and that's what geeks do.

One of the first things I learned about the internet was there were famous people online, author's artists, actors. People you would never dream of having access to. I once conversed with Terry Pratchett about fairies via email. Of course nowadays the famous are wiser to the ways of net and not as open to speaking to everyday joes as they once were. So of course I looked up all kinds of people I admired. Around the same time I was very much into anime, DragonBall Z especially. I ran into a voice actor named Kyle Hebert, a very fan friendly guy who was putting up a website with a friend who lived in Mass. Turns out I'd been to a party with that person and he knew me. As time went on I ended up running many aspects of the site alongside them and it also worked out that the majority of people there were elite at something. Be it writing, art, or say... computer hacking. Needless to say I fell under the wings of some very tech savvy friends who taught me the ropes.

At that time I used my real name Laurel, because to be honest I really didn't know any better. But as time went on and I eventually left I decided I needed a new name. I was given the name Kij0 by a friend/teacher. It's a Japanese word that translates roughly to demoness. Well it stuck. People around me in person started to use it instead of my real name.

Fast forward to the breakup. When I left the ex and moved off to Kentucky the first time, it was with my besty that I'd spent years talking to online and she naturally called me Kij0 so everyone else here did too. I got rather used to it, in some small way it was a means to leave behind the ill parts of me that I needed to shed in lieu of my preferred strong and lethal persona. Gone was the meek and sickly abused and scared woman, here to stay was the woman I need to be, the demoness.

I met my current partner, my teddy bear and he knew me as only Kij0. So even when I moved elsewhere I was so accustomed to the nick that when I landed back in RI and people called me Laurel  I barely responded to it anymore. I had to get used to hearing it again. To this day very few people actually call me Laurel. Mainly only family and long time friends and I don't think to answer to it outside of when I am traveling and expect it.

When I lived in Maine and took up marketing the first thing taught was to brand yourself and I was writing under several alias'. Kij0 being my most public and because it has a zero in it, the search engines just ate it all up and even currently it traces back to me. I love the name though many I'm sure would disagree. Laurel is a pretty name, but rather than dropping my married last name it seems I dropped my first name instead.

I can be found as Kij0 much easier than as Laurel and as for the adult writing, well good luck figuring out what nick I used for that because I'll never tell but you can find me at Literotica. You'll just never know it was me unless you know me very VERY well.

Anyway I'm happy people call me at all, so call me whatever nick you are comfortable with, just don't call me late for dinner.

Where do we go from here?

One of the things I discovered about myself recently is that I am a purpose driven person. If I am chasing something I will stop at nothing, until I have gotten what I set out for. Unfortunately there is a downside. Without a purpose to chase I'm a lost cause. Not any old thing sets that fire inside me either. So a simple objective like "live a happy life" is not enough. I have to really want something and believe it should be mine.

So what do I want then? Well I left the ex, changed my life, got my kids back. That was years of grueling tooth and nail fighting but I won. I took a good long rest after that and for some time I was just at a loss. There is always hope of higher education and I've always had business ambition but seldom is it paired with direction. I have the things I thought would make monumental changes in my life and for all intents and purposes they have. So it all comes down to what? You guessed it, money.

It is insanely hard to get a non fast food job where I live. There's lots of doors of opportunity they're just shut and locked especially to a newcomer. I've struggled for a long time with the possibility of applying for disability.
I know the odds are very good that I can get it, I'm by all accounts damaged enough. But I'm a victim of my own mind and in my head it translates, weak and useless. It's a step above welfare but not an honorable one to my thinking. That would mean I'd have to admit of all my skill sets and experience I can use none of it for any length of time to earn a living. I don't want to be so broken, I feel I'm still young. Simple fact; I can not last 40 hours in any work setting without needing two days of recuperation. So starting the disability process is on the list of important things to do.

But that's not enough to keep my mind busy. Without purpose I'm just an emotional windbag wishing I was moving forward and feeling like I'm sitting still. Painting has been very therapeutic for me, barring of course the battle with the 3 year old to paint and keep my supplies. Like any other human I want to be special, I want there to be something I do that people love and appreciate. So I thought why not try and take painting to the next level.

Slowly but surely I am building up my works, showing it to a small audience via Facebook to get a little feedback. But I will really need to reach the masses to push my 'product' sooner or later. So I have plans for a solid business plan, some research for funding and supplies, and I am gradually putting together the various public outlets that will be needed. Deviantart, an art blog, and of course a website. I have to get those things off the ground in addition to painting to make it happen. But at least I have a dream. I have something to keep working towards. Lets now see if I can fit it within a realistic timeline, the year I've given myself to get my crap together. All of which requires me getting a printer scanner hooked up. I've been begging the other half for some time now but he's not decided I need it yet. Here's hoping.

Overflow

As the title implies my head is just swimming with too many things. I literally need to write some of it out just to put some order to it and figure out where to go from there. I am a fan of lists compartmentalizing things comes naturally I just normally do it within the confines of my head. There's just no space left for that currently it's all mushing up together and cluttering up the joint.

Years ago I wrote for a living. A small unluxurious living but it got me through and covered Christmas. I had a few clients, mostly dumb shit like penis enlargement ads and hairdressing pros, cons, and tips. The most memorable and probably the only one I was really proud of was a heart surgeon. A kindly doctor who used marketing to raise funds for children who desperately needed surgery but their families could not afford it. I had a good grip on writing though I admit I really hate writing for profit but the bigger foray was into the wonderful world of marketing. To this day my name is still branded in the search engines and a few remnants of the garbage I produced are still floating around the internetz.

It was fairly clear to myself and those within that world that I had potential. Problem is I hate sales. I have to believe in something to really push it. My powers of persuasion are great but useless if I am not a believer. I struggled to find my niche or someone else's niche that I could get behind but it never presented itself. Well years later it dawns on me oh yeah! I can paint. Hey wow if I sat around and put a little effort in I might have a marketable product. Even to date most of whats out there is kiddy, digital, or still life. All have their place in the scheme of things but I know what I'm capable of and I believe it's sellable. I can't say I'll ever be an Elmore or a Vallejo but it could be possible to have a little recognition.

To do that I have to wrap my head back around business. All skills I have they're just a little dusty. Before I can even really do that I need to dump some of the overflow off my chest. All the little things I can't say, the pent up frustration, anger, and loneliness. There is nobody to listen, most are too busy doing the talking. So this is my attempt to cauterize the gash and stop the bleeding, Maybe then I can pull myself out of the ditch again. Another journey begins here, those of you curious or bored are welcome to read along but you can expect a lot of emotion and unbridled aggressive from the hip thoughts hot off Kij0's keyboard.
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Kij0's Kill Jar

is a place used to quell emotionally disruptive issues in my life quickly and with minimum damage. These are the many things on my mind, in my heart, and in some cases up my sleeve. Here is where I put my issues to bed so I can move forward with a clear head.

Tuesday, February 28, 2012

Request and tagging

So this is really just a filler blog to establish social networking requirements. I have to add things like code so places like Technorati and other ping sites know I'm back in the blog. I would like to take this opportunity to invite readers to join/follow via email or registration if you would like to follow this particular blog. Later I will create an art blog with my paintings and info for public consumption and this blog will be restricted to friends as I don't want to air it all out to all my prospective clients. (The millions of adoring fans!)

This is the real me, the not perfect me, the public me is far more professional and flawless for obvious reasons.I won't be making the registration change right away because it will take some time to get the art blog sorted. Mainly because I really need to scan my work as opposed to terrible cell pics if I have any hope of eventually selling anything.

I also strongly invite you to comment and join in. I know, I know, it's so much easier to just talk on Facebook but if you could take the time to open this link you could just as easily shoot the shit with me here. This way my tantrums are far less public and I can be happy jovial Laurel over on stalkerbook.


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