I apologize. Every single time I go on one of these installs I swear I’m going to just slave away on the site and every single time the same exact thing happens. Writer’s block.
I do not know how anyone can write in a hotel room. Unless I’m at my own desk or at the very least situated on or around my own furniture, I find it a struggle to affix myself to any non-mindless task. And it is not as if a horror blogging gig takes all that much concentration, there is just something about being in a hotel room that saps all productivity from me. I watched two hours of people playing a billiards game on TV, a game whose title and rules I know not and that was broadcast one hundred percent in a language I do not speak. It was not the first time this week.
I’m lousy with forcing myself to do one task, which is why I am not only able to bring you Jason Chan’s art, whose badassitude is not confined to paintings of children making their last stand against a zombie horde on a playground nor portraits of George A. Romero, but that I also now know the spec and price difference between a Nikon D60, D80, D90, and D200. And I’m not even in the market for a fucking camera. Oh, and since you were wondering, cows with stomach fistulas are as real as the full body squirm I undergo every time I look at the pictures of Man’s abominations.
More Art of Jason Chan means less work on this end. Oh, hey, it’s time to go to sleep. Where the shit does the time go?
I hate the Internet.