(X number of) Pictures; A Quick Jog Through Sklogs

I originally meant to just upload all the sklogs I have onto this blog so I’d have an online chronological record I could show them to friends after we’d all had a few beers but it turned out that I’ve never bothered to go through and name the files with dates that make any sense, and after looking through the long list of files in my sklog folder I lost my will and sense of purpose and so I decided to just upload a certain number of them and call this new autobiographical series after a number in the tradition of “6 Crises; Memoirs of a Membership Coordinator” and “6 Migrations…” because it is after all a continuation of my life story begun in those previous series, and I was even thinking it would be cool to call it “6 Pictures…” which would be even more in keeping with the tradition, and is a very small and manageable amount of Sklogs to upload, and furthermore, having three consecutive series titles beginning with the number 6 would be cool from a rebellious I’m-so-bad kind of way, except that I have serious family responsibilities now and can’t go around having people think I’m a devil worshipper or even worse, having people think I’m immature enough to think that pretending to be a devil worshipper makes me cool or attractive to college girls.
So with some reluctance I gave up on beginning the title with “6” and thought that maybe I’d begin it with something ambitious, like 20 or something, but that wouldn’t fit with the other titles at all and what’s more the thought of all the work associated with uploading that many Sklogs made my stomache churn and I lost my will and sense of purpose until I came up with the idea that I wouldn’t promise any number and would just see how it goes.
This Sklog happens to be the second file in the folder, which recommended itself to be uploaded, and I also happen to like the picture, which includes my beloved mother. The words are garbage, like they are in all the Sklogs, but since I’m supposed to be reviewing them I will say that most of the letters are legible and they don’t obscure the picture. I also remembered this visit to my parents’ house as particularly pleasant, if it was a visit. There is also the strong possibility that I was actually living there at the time and just described it as a “visit” because I was still single, and didn’t want any women who saw the Sklog to know that I was living with the my parents because that had caused me trouble in the past with women who were shallow enough to find my lack of direction and purpose and career prospects and financial situation to be unattractive instead of loving me for who I was and giving me happy good time in private grownup sense of the words without expecting me to pay for any dates and contribute anything to the relationship beyond a pleasant attitude, which I was prepared to provide in abundance!
Anyway, I enjoyed this picture but none of my friends seemed to think much of the Sklog. I don’t blame them, now that I read it. There’s no good joke or punchline. The graphic novel referred to, Antelope Island, was a previous Sklog series that I’d had tremendously big plans for, because I’d re-read some of my old comic books and decided to write an incredibly powerful graphic science fiction novel with strange twists and otherworldly characters and maybe some sexy scenes, and I would include three characters that I’d drawn in a previous picture and that I’d built up a whole history for these characters, as the childhood friends I never had…I did actually have childhood friends who were actually fairly normal people, but for some reason I began to like to point to the original picture of the three characters and say that they were my childhood imaginary friends even though they actually had nothing to do with any real or imaginary friends I’d had in childhood. I gave these imaginary imaginary friends names that I thought were funny and cool but in retrospect I don’t know why I thought they were funny, because I’ve never read any book where - no matter how funny the rest of the book was - the names made me laugh or even tickled my fancy in any way, but authors seem to try it all the time anyway. So I put these three characters; Gunthor, Frank, and Eddie, into the graphic novel for no good reason other than obsessiveness, and then I really didn’t know what to do with them, and the series became for me an obsessive drawing exercise, drawing horribly bad renditions of the characters from the original horribly bad drawing into the usual hurried sketches that I put in the Sklogs. It was an interesting challenge because I have no idea how to organize a drawing and make it proportional, I just kind of try to draw from one edge of the page to another, and the proportions and perspectives are all out of whack, and a person standing in front of a tree ends up far from the tree on the page, and seems to be taller than the tree, but the grass he’s standing on is still back under the tree, which leaves the person in a difficult predicament. So putting the imaginary characters into the pictures of real rooms and scenes was an interesting exercise that I never completely succeeded at, although I was fairly pleased with one of the pictures I did of the bathroom at my work, I felt the rabbit looked fairly believable on the toilet.
But since I hadn’t had any friends like Gunthor, Frank, and Eddie in real life or even in my imagination, I couldn’t think of anything for them to say that even sounded like something a real imaginary friend would say.
This new series is a continuation of my life story, begun in “6 Crises; Memoirs of a Membership Coordinator,” and continued in “6 Migrations” and “Fish Lake Oddyssey”. As Winston Churchill once said; “This constitutes my life’s work…. and I am content to rest my reputation upon it.” He wasn’t talking about the Sklogs, though. I believe he was referring to his leadership in the fight against Hitler.