Scary Halloween introspection BEWARE
Why do you do what you do?
I came to my vocation, prepress, from various paths. The digital printing revolution was just beginning when I was in college, and I had the extreme pleasure to work at a weekly newspaper, put out by 6 people... and Tetris had just been invented! Exciting times! There are really amazing things you can do with the process of printing, the craftsmanship of lithography. I've been doing this for 20 years, holy crap... 20 years!
Also, I like the texture of paper and connotations of paper making. Paper is an artifact, a made thing, and has many uses and qualities.
Ink on paper is the ultimate trans-dimensional time-shifting human creation, it is the transmission of culture, ideas and information, from one mind to another, across time... all that energy, all that power, from ink on paper.
It is an interesting irony I'm epiphanized while being bombarded by photons shooting out of my computer while pondering boring old paper and ink.
...
(imaginate a spooky haunted house, 'cause this is the scary part!)
Work is a drag, a high-wire act with the spotlight on you all day long. Detachedly, I can observe that this whole scene is going to fry my mind and body, and yet I seem powerless to change, or really care to strive for something grander. paaaa-thetic.
I'm asking myself, "What are you going to accomplish today? What are you proud of? And where are you going?"
And why do you do what you do? Which is what got me up, and down, and on my ass and typing, instead of just cacooning... I feel the vast spaces around me... Why do I torture myself, wondering why i torture myself, wondering why and how? Is it misapplied subconscious "motivation" or, a sinister defect in my psychology? dammit!
There are less paranoid, gloomy, retched headspaces to be in, how do I get there from here? I *know* there are green, wide-open prairies of gigglinghappytime, and I WANT IN.
Unfortunately, I can only see these happy places after coming home from work, and smoking a joint, and drinking two beers, and relaxing just enough to see these things in my imagination, and also be concurrently feeling so achey in mind and body, it seems like it's going to be an uphill fight to get there from goddam here.
A teeny part of me relishes a challenge, the rest needs... something. how!? I want an interrobang. grumble.
As grim as all this is, I have a kernel of... hope? pride? self-worth? self-realization! something that will overcome!
Postscript: I have the feeling this post is one of those you don't want showing up on a potential employer's data-mining expedition. dammit.
I came to my vocation, prepress, from various paths. The digital printing revolution was just beginning when I was in college, and I had the extreme pleasure to work at a weekly newspaper, put out by 6 people... and Tetris had just been invented! Exciting times! There are really amazing things you can do with the process of printing, the craftsmanship of lithography. I've been doing this for 20 years, holy crap... 20 years!
Also, I like the texture of paper and connotations of paper making. Paper is an artifact, a made thing, and has many uses and qualities.
Ink on paper is the ultimate trans-dimensional time-shifting human creation, it is the transmission of culture, ideas and information, from one mind to another, across time... all that energy, all that power, from ink on paper.
It is an interesting irony I'm epiphanized while being bombarded by photons shooting out of my computer while pondering boring old paper and ink.
...
(imaginate a spooky haunted house, 'cause this is the scary part!)
Work is a drag, a high-wire act with the spotlight on you all day long. Detachedly, I can observe that this whole scene is going to fry my mind and body, and yet I seem powerless to change, or really care to strive for something grander. paaaa-thetic.
I'm asking myself, "What are you going to accomplish today? What are you proud of? And where are you going?"
And why do you do what you do? Which is what got me up, and down, and on my ass and typing, instead of just cacooning... I feel the vast spaces around me... Why do I torture myself, wondering why i torture myself, wondering why and how? Is it misapplied subconscious "motivation" or, a sinister defect in my psychology? dammit!
There are less paranoid, gloomy, retched headspaces to be in, how do I get there from here? I *know* there are green, wide-open prairies of gigglinghappytime, and I WANT IN.
Unfortunately, I can only see these happy places after coming home from work, and smoking a joint, and drinking two beers, and relaxing just enough to see these things in my imagination, and also be concurrently feeling so achey in mind and body, it seems like it's going to be an uphill fight to get there from goddam here.
A teeny part of me relishes a challenge, the rest needs... something. how!? I want an interrobang. grumble.
As grim as all this is, I have a kernel of... hope? pride? self-worth? self-realization! something that will overcome!
Postscript: I have the feeling this post is one of those you don't want showing up on a potential employer's data-mining expedition. dammit.
posted by benzilla @ 9:24 PM
2 comments
