The workers are human too!

I am really quite happy right now. I finally figured out how to make my videos look super-hot on YouTube. I've been trying to get it right for months, and after working all day for like 4 days on these animations, I finally figured it out. The problem was the compression. YouTube has this awful flash compresion which ruins everything. Anyway, part of the deal is to compress it as a Jpeg photo out - which makes a huge file with more info. You also have to de-interlace it (which is pretty technical, but tvs actually show images as two series of tiny horizontal stripes and you have to use a program to throw half away and fill in the black gaps). But the deepest secret is that although YouTube claims to be 320x240, it is actually 425x318.

There.

Now, that information has been what has actually been on my mind for days. It took forever to figue out, and now it's just sitting on this block like a puddle in the sun. The distance theory...

Funny how telling secrets is. Maybe that's what I'm talking about here...

No, but I'm not joking. That's what I've been thinking about... And there were a few flashes of inspiration today. I could tell you how thrilled I was, but if I explained what I was thinking, I would... I don't know. My fingers would get ground down.

Sometimes I remember why I became an artist and not a writer. It's because my mind falls down the drain too easily. By which I mean I grasp at a thousand flying, flashing diamonds and come out empty handed. But with stuff attached - paper, pencils, pens, paint, cloth, wire, wood, saws, knives, hammers, pliers, nails, tacks... - then the drain gets clogged and the pool is still. I can swim well. How I love the cool blue - diving down in the deep end to thirteen feet. How long can you hold your breath? I can for more than two laps. For more than two minutes. I love holding my breath. And I love the stuff I use to make art because it is so beautiful and I don't want to hold my breath ever for more than five minutes.

That and I can't spell.

What is the point of all this thinking? Why am I so addicted to reading about shit and talking about shit? Cause that's what it is. Will I ever be still again? Will there ever be some kind of time-out?

If there is, I might explode afterword.

Putty in my hands...
Voodoo voodoo voodoo!
Paint-by-numbers propoganda
Fame Is Magic!!!

FUCK YOU, NEXUS!