With the progress that was made with Fogahn, I decided to use that character to represent this account as a wicked looking avatar. In the past, I've simply used a black Texan flag as an icon, so I mixed the two. The glowing orange underneath was supposed to play off of the link to the name "Phobotech" above the image. 

With Fogahn as the base, this was the first.



...But after rocking that for almost a year, I began to look fondly back on the original helmet design, seen here. I began tinkering around with a variant icon that was closer to that design. My favorite colors being blue and silver, the second icon came out more like something out of GI Joe...not what I was going for, but it was on the right track.



I began tweaking around the helmet designs and tinkering around with color choices, until finally I had a great King Fogahn icon that I used to represent "Phobotech." The third icon was one of my favorites.



But now its time for a change. I'm growing bothered by the armored half-halo that mounts at the chest and sweeps over the shoulder. I've been wanting to do a modern adaptation of the King Fogahn helmet for some time. I've done variants with helmets, with hats, with gas masks, with more spikes... Today, I decided to throw in a denim vest I've been wearing for years. Here's the fourth icon!



What do you guys think?

-G-

Ahh...thats calming.

    A week ago I was having a lot of anxiety that all seemed to be piling up at once. I want to assure y'all that most of it has been resolved or its on a healthier track...I've had plenty of enlightening, valuable real-talks with a lot of you guys and family and friends, and I really cherish the feedback I received.

• I was struggling with maintanence on my motorcycle, and through trouble-shooting, researching, and funding every part that I needed with commissions, using my art to actually cover every cost necessary, I jacked my bike up, took it apart, learned about how it works, replaced a couple of parts, and now its working perfectly fine again. I am mobile! Last night was a successful cross-city test ride, and it worked just like I remembered it. I didn't mess up...and thats a relief... (If you wanted to know, the battery kept turning up dead when I tried to start it. It turned out to be the voltage regulator/rectifier, even though I also, mistakenly, replaced the Stator, which is a significantly more difficult part to even get to...the stress was high, but I guess I have a spare Stator, and now everything works.) I had been down without my motorcycle for almost three weeks...it is my only vehicle.
• Possibly from the stress of dealing with the Stator difficulty and my own self-doubt in the task, my lymph nodes began to enflame a little more than a week ago. Like an idiot, I self-diagnosed myself through WebMD and OHMIGOSH, CANCER OH NOOOESS...lol, so I stressed myself out with the possibility of might having cancer. This was foolish.
• Then my buddy from out of town came to visit, handed us out wedding invitations, and we all got pretty crunk. I did what I usually did and drove home drunk (in a car that was not mine). My buddy got arrested for driving drunk, and well...not to make his misfortune about me, but it was a bit of a wake up call...I was wrought with guilt over the whole ordeal, both what happened to him and what I did. He's fine, he wound up driving home the next day, a little embarrassed but healthy. It got me thinking what if he had died? What if I got pulled over, what if I died? What if he or I killed somebody? And it all culminated to a general disgust with alcohol after five years of pretty consistent and excessive drinking.

    I hate to admit that last night, (the test voyage of the motorcycle, post maintanence) I had two shots of whiskey with my buddies that still drink. Didn't even really do anything for me, which is only solidifying my position on the matter...while my best friend assured me, "you don't have to QUIT, you just gotta learn to pace yourself and ration it...not go over the top" I'm of the opinion that if I'm gonna drink, its either going to be all or nothing...and with the embarrassment that I am when its "all", I'd just as soon stick with nothing.

    But what did come out of the conversation with my best friend came down to goals and making something of our lives. I spend far too much time on the internet...facebook is a waste of time, youtube is a waste of time...all of the webcomics that I read while no attention is paid to the webcomics I want to make...the ones that I have the ability to write and create, ink and color and script. Instead of animating, I'm reading Cracked articles. Instead of studying for my solo certification, I'm posting on the BBS. Instead of making steady income, I'm scrolling through the endlessness that is Tumblr. Or I'm fapping.

    I'm probably fapping.

    And this is nothing new...I've had similar self critical complaints about myself for years of my life, but it always seemed like "Ah fuckit, well I'll go drink with my buddies, play some vidya games, and subject each other to things we saw on the internet." ...and that just won't cut it anymore....and I think the only thing thats keeping my head up is I have a range of goals to pursue. That I CAN pursue, and I can reach.

    Its difficult to describe, and its probably not even that big of a deal like I'm making it out to be, but the successful dissassembly, adjustments, replacements, and reassembly of the functional motorcycle that I've wrecked on twice thats still my faithful steed...still riding like the day I got her...it really did something wonderful for my self esteem, because it debunked a huge chunk of that doubt that I carry around my neck...and having such positive feedback from those that I surround myself with, including y'all, is just...thats really valuable. That albatross fell into the sea these past couple of days, and its instilled a certainty within me that I can succeed.
    Cutting out the drinking is the first step. Losing weight will be a gradual process over time...now that I have a set of wheels of my own at beck and call, there's really no more excuses for procrastinating what needs to be done. To create and to work. I would be at my happiest if I were being productive while flexing muscles that were my talents, or honing skills that I cherish.
    I'll be sure to post what I create here. Hoping to get much more use out of these news posts, and actually start submitting content again...I've said that for the longest time, and the only way to prove that its different is by doing it. I really thank you for your support, and hey, if you haven't already, click that top right <3 icon to follow me...I'm 6 away from 300 and thats a milestone for me!

Lymph node under my left armpit are enflamed...oozing at a spot. Reddish. Swollen. Thought about shaving my armpit hairs just to keep it a little cleaner to manage, and yet I fear damaging the sensitive area...a blink of pain wanes in and out at what seems to be odd intervals...sometimes 10 minutes apart, other times 40 minutes apart. With a subtle ring of pain in my chest...I can't help but feel they're connected...am I having a heart attack, or is this angina? Why has my breathing become manual? Why haven't I been to a doctor in years...

It could've been when I sustained a fall on Wednesday morning...I've read lymph nodes can enflame in response to an impact or injury...at least, I'm assuming I fell at some point then...I can't remember. I drank myself to blackout status on Tuesday night, and I woke up with the left side of my leg and hip sore....drinking at my buddy's house to celebrate the return of an old friend...we both left and drove to our respective beds. I woke up in my bed...he woke up in a jail cell.

Thats what I woke up to. Two text messages from him last night. "Arrested" and "Help."...sent at 4 in the morning when I was already passed out....and fuck, man. What if one of my best friends fucking died on the last day he was going to spend with us in Dallas for a while. What if I got arrested? What if I died? Now a DUI is on the play for him...and I feel awful about it.

He got out yesterday. Got his car from the impound, and now he's driving back home to the fiance that we all received a wedding invitation to THE DAY we got drunk in the first place.

Fuck alcohol man. I've been drinking for years, and not once have I ever craved it. Not once have I ever gone, "Gee, I could sure go for some Bourbon" , "Wow, some Jaeger would really hit the spot!" "All thats missing is some tequila" ....I've never. Craved it. Its always been social. Always the mentality of "Hey dude! You can't drink alone, thats fucked up, lets do this!" or "Hey man, am I going to take this shot by myself?"

...Am I fooling myself that I don't crave it from time to time? Walking up to the front of the stage at some local venue while bands are doing sound check...the palp in my mouth as I smack my lips and think, "This calls for a beer." "Whats that, a free shot? Don't mind if I do."

...Do I have a problem? I feel like I'm wasting away. I feel like I have potential, and fuck, based on what? I feel like I'm getting less and less done as the weeks zoom by. Creatively. Academically. Professionally. Financially. Romantically. Socially? Puh...at least I'm doing one thing right....I think?

I'm a biker. I could die on the road this weekend from some asshole in a truck that was on his goddamned cell phone...on another warm night when I choose clear visor glasses instead of my full-face helmet. The same helmet thats protected my skull TWICE. In the only two accidents I've ever had.

That's fucking stupid. I'm an organ donor thats itchin' to share.

I might want to be a pilot, I may be a coordinated vehicle operator, but I am taking fucking idiotic risks driving drunk. Time, and time again...of course I've spent the night after a party. But on the sole basis of "it hasn't happened yet" I pull this bullshit again...and again....and I'm good! I drive abreast to active duty police officers on the abandoned streets of 2 or 4 in the morning. Or maybe they know, and they don't want to deal with me. Maybe I'm a problem that'll sort itself out in a ditch or in the side of somebodys car up the road.

Is luck finite? Will I even live long enough to find out!?

...and I'm done....I don't even want to drink anymore. I'm done with this shit. I feel like my conciounse is hungover. I want to cry, and I just want to crawl away and sleep, but I can't even do that. I stare at my ceiling and my mind travels in awful places...horrible simulations of what could have been. What can very realistically be....and it scares the shit out of me.

I'm done. If I want to show people what "L33T FUCKING SKILLS" I have as a driver or biker or pilot or whatever, they won't care, but if I did....I'm doing it sober. I'm so done.

 

I've been making commissions doing storyboarding, where its become evident that I need to practice on my speed in my free time. I've said this for years, but now that a client is dependant on my abilities, its really hit home that if I want to keep making money, I must be faster.

I've been neglecting my flight studies for quite some time now. Whats a bitch is theres really no way around finding just a "flight tutor", but on the other side, I've been all over the place making band art, band fliers, storyboards, local movie concepts, and miscellania, on top of helping my elderly dad, that I haven't had the time to check out other flight schools.

Still, I have a deposit remaining in this flight school...the sum of only a couple of hundred dollars which could definitely cover my solo certification. I want to at least earn that before I hit the road...either to a more cost-efficient flight training program, or a job or...something...I've even explored the option of sneaking my way into being able to AFFORD being a pilot by looking into aviation mechanic training.

That's been fresh on my mind on account of all of the stress I've endured with the motorcycle. Critical electrical failures has made riding it, my only vehicle, not as reliable. The battery keeps draining to death...and it ain't the battery's fault. I narrowed it down to either the Stator or the Voltage Regulator...and thats when shit took a turn for the crazy in my life.

See, I need this vehicle in my life...not only do I love it, but its my ONLY ride...one day I would love to afford something with four wheels, air conditioning and a roof...having been fucked over by garages far too many times in the past couple of years, I took it upon myself. I bought a $30 owner's manual, and I did me some READIN'. This book details every part, everywhere, how to tell if its busted and how to replace it if it is. I knocked out the maintanence myself.

Its been slow...its been exhausting...its been nerve wracking, since I'm dealing with a magnetic component that gets crammed in with moving parts, submerged in oil at the low end of INSIDE the engine....but I did it...I ordered the voltage regulator online, its a significantly easier part to replace, and I wait for its arrival. Either Friday or post Memorial Day.

I won't relax until after a safe test drive...

...in the meantime. I've been frequenting the forums more often...things have changed slightly, but I think its for the better. I still miss epic photoshop threads from time to time, but maybe they'll come back someday. With the stresses of my motorcycle lately, and the worries of my future in aviation that past several seasons, I haven't really touched flash, but I haven't forgotten about it either. I still honestly WANT to animate again....but the speed of the storyboards and the detailing of some of this album-art esque designs have spirred a vigerous motivation to start doing comics again...like, NOW. So get ready for that sooner than any animated toons!

*sigh*...I want to fly again. I want to ride again. But hey, at least I can vent to you guys. Thanks for taking the time to read. :D

So shit has been pretty slow on my end, and I'd like to apologize for that. But I haven't forgotten about Newgrounds...and I'm confident there's much more fun to be had here.

I've been preoccupied by going to the gym three times a week. I've been focused on my aviation studies, and my solo certification test is rapidly approaching...with that, I'll be closing the gap between me and the IFR certification and I'll be striding headlong into looking for a career as a pilot.

But I won't be flying all the time, methinks. In my down time, it would be ideal to throw down on my art. I even dabbled around with some of my unfinished flash animation files, and on one end its like learning it all over again, but in the other end, its something I absolutely want to return to.

I'm grateful, because I've been surrounding myself with the company of very creative people. It's stimulating to the imagination, and it shows me that its really a very important passion in my life. I want to be a pilot AND an artist, AND an animator, and there's so much going down...I'm terrified that I won't be able to do it all...but time will tell.

So yeah, I've been focusing on running, my nose has been in a book about aerodynamics and airport signs and FAA laws, and I've been hanging out with great people in the DFW area. I feel really shitty I haven't been updating much here, and I promise to fix that with new content. After I become solo certified, Private License in hand, I'll definitely be less stressed out and the time will be in my lap to twist out something cool for y'all.

Here's to new beginnings!

-G-

IF YA LIKE TO DINE OUT
I'LL TELL YA I'M YOUR MAN
YA CHOW DOWN- TAKE OUT-
IT'S ALL THE SAME TO ME

THE PLEASURE IS TO EAT
IT MAKES NO DIFFERENCE WHATS THE TREAT

IF YOU DON'T SHARE MY GREED
THEN YOU WILL NOT IMPEDE me;
THE ACE OF PLATES!
THE ACE OF PLATES!

CLEANIN OUT A BUFFET
AND DODGIN DIABETES.
SLOWIN DOWN MY BLOODFLOW,
ITS ALL A GAME TO ME!

SEVEN AND ELEVEN.
STEAL TAQUITOS, TOO!

DOUBLE UP OR QUIT.
DOUBLE SIRLOIN TIPS.
THE ACE OF PLATES!
THE ACE OF PLATES!

THE DOCTOR SAYS I'LL LOSE
AND GLUTTONY'S FOR FOOLS
BUT THATS THE WAY I LIKE IT BABY
I DONT WANNA LIVE FOREVAH!!!

...AND DON'T FORGET THE DESSERT!

MASSIVE ROTUND BELLY
I KNOW YOU'VE GOT TO SEE ME
MY SCOOTER BEEPS.
BACK UP TO THE HOT DOG STAND!

I SEE IT IN YOUR EYES.
TOUCH MY FOOD AND DIE.

THE ONLY THING YOU SEE
YOU KNOW I'VE GOT TO BE
THE ACE OF PLATES!
THE ACE OF PLATES!

Yeah, so flight hours have ground to a halt; I've been focusing on getting my shit together and shooting for my solo certification. That'll make it easier and cheaper as I close the gap for the necessary flight experience to gain an actual pilot's license.

Unfortunately, that means I need to focus on my academic achilles heel in math. I have about a month left of this math course and then I'll be back to square one after my solo certification.

There's a lot of work to do in order to work.

In the meantime, I have more than plenty of creative projects to tackle. I'm trying to get motivated enough to return to flash, and in the meantime I've been surpassing my self-expectations with a bit of a web-comic expirement hidden away in the BBS...I've written the issues specifically to fit within the General BBS image parameters, and the word document is at the finale...still...words won't mean shit until its all drawn.

Buckle your shit, because I aggressively tackle these projects to procrastinate on math homework.

Film at Eleven.

-G-

I really kind of detest this whole "Daylight Savings Time" practice. It's bothersome and confusing and wholly impractical. Come to think of it, timezones kinda suck too! If only there was a uniform time the whole world could use at once...and by living in the region, you begin to gain a sense as to what time the sun sets and rises. Kind of like aviation's "Zulu time."

I've been studying to become a pilot over at Addison Airport off-and-on, and lately I've been studying the book-work necessary for a private pilot's license so I can gain my solo certification first, Pilot's license second, and Instrument Flight Rating third. Kind of bummed out because I'm stretched for cash after earning 23 accumulated flight hours, when I need 40 for a Private license, and 250 (!!!) for a Commercial Pilot's License. This shit is going to take a lot of time...

...So in the meantime! Guess who's been cracking out Photoshop and Flash lately? That was a rhetorical question because it's meeeee.

It blows my mind that I've accumulated as many fans as I have over what little I've done. I'm also trying not to think about how many years it's been, and the fact that I'm staring at "Death's Abacus of Aging" on the 20th. If ever there was a time to bridge the gap in my current skill level and the skill I want to be, it's NOW.

I've struggled with depression, family issues, other obligations, blahblahblah, but the important thing is, "the pain of not creating is outweighing the struggle of creating."

Repercussions of Evil was my last animation, and so far my most advanced. My motto is to consistently improve. Doom:RoE earned me a Daily 2nd and Weekly 2nd...I'm aiming for Gold, baby.

"Plea From a Crisis Suit" is also one of my finest digital art pieces. I aim to improve with the next three unfinished photoshop files I've been stashing and prodding for months.

I'd love for you to believe in me. I want to do this for you and myself. Expect another news post when content is completed!

-G-

Art is a form of creative expression hinged on emotion. This emotion swirls and twirls in the artist's mind, and it is their challenge to project that emotion in a conceivable form. Inspired by a video game, I once projected the passion of fun and victory on a little sheet of construction paper at the age of six. I felt the emotion of jubilation and achievement upon completion.

However, when Mrs. Calvary, the squirrelly, eye-darting battle-axe of McLaughlin elementary made a paranoid assessment from this particular piece of art produced by what she perceived as a hell-spawn...that emotion was fear...palpable, witch-trial fear. However, my emotional response seemed less complex:

"What the hell did I do?"

Doodling has been a favorite pass-time for me all my life. As a toddler, I had a concept of perspective that translated on paper as a bunch of people with big feet, long towering legs, and tiny-heads. After all, I crawled around all the time so this is just what I saw. From Batman, to choo-choo trains, I loved to draw. But there was one event that happened in the day where I set the pen and paper aside, and devote my full undivided attention to.

Game Spectating.

I looked up to my older brother, Chris. We shared the same taste in music, entertainment, and we critiqued the game together as he played it. It never got old for me. I found it better than most TV and I frequently envisioned myself as the player in this colorfully pixilated bloody fantasy world where you readily ate food off the ground and sprinted backwards firing a never-ending arsenal of weapons.

As if the game said, "Wolfenstein 3D, you are an American prisoner of war in World War Two on a secret mission to assassinate Hitler! You bust out of captivity for freedom, and these Nazi fascists are gonna pay! Are you a bad enough dude to take them out?

"Hell yes" we thought.
As thrilling as it is replacing entertainment from Tom & Jerry food fights to "Juiced-up super soldier railing down rows of SS with a Chain-gun" at age five, Wolfenstein lacked grit and other-worldliness. Not supernatural enough, it failed to scare me. Level after level, the same flat chasm with occasional flares of Eagles and Swastikas reminded me that the hero traversed through the belly of the beast. I needed a game that took me worlds away...put me in the shoes of a one-man-army mortal hero up against tremendous odds, ready to crap his spine out in fear of what stood around the next corner. I needed something...

...Awesome.

I remember the day that Chris showed me something incredible that he discovered on Dad's computer. Like a hidden jewel in a text-based treasure-chest, he stumbled across the file plainly named "Doom.exe" with the intent of looking for something titled significantly less intimidating. He had discovered a digital, first-person-shooter utopia. An ideal playing field with massive, rugged-looking space-stations tattered and littered with what appears as layers of conflict and bloodshed. A wonderland where we played through layers of carnage and technology thickly constructed in layers of awesome.

Compared to Wolfenstein a year earlier, it would be like comparing your backyard to a rainforest; you go from something familiar and simple, formulaic environment, to this immense, alien, almost threatening entity. Threatening in an unknown way, majestic and awe-inspiring at the same time...a place like nothing we had ever seen before.

Door after door, lifted hiss-after hydraulic hiss, we encountered massive structures, puzzles, traps, overwhelming, powerful demons. Hellish Imps of nightmarish murderous intent pressed me to deplete my entire arsenal before being overrun. We got to do something that no one could ever do in real life. We pumped rockets indiscriminately into explosive barrels conveniently stacked around waves of demons. All of this right from our home, where we harmed no one.

Doom would always be remembered as one of the first games I played alone on Dad's computer. With little effort I had it down to a science; hop into the room, pan around, spot an enemy, strafe-and-shoot, then look for items and secret doors. With stress I dealt with jerks in school, I chose Doom as a method to vent my frustration. I chose Doom as my digital solitude.

It launched me into gaming...and I could not stop thinking about it. In school, my mind filled with thoughts and played with possibilities about the later-announced Doom Two. "What would be different? What new guns will they provide? How fun will it be? I had to know."

I thought everything else seemed so boring in comparison.
One day in school, I talked to other kids about Doom to see if I could relate with any of them. I discovered their parents limited them to the Nintendo Entertainment System with the old-school Super Mario Brothers and Duck-hunt games. Some had never even seen a video game. I pondered ways to enlighten them. I wanted to show them my paradise. My retreat from figurative hell to digital hell. My words could not convey my message to a fascinated audience. An audience now infatuated with this wonderful world. Their parents remained scared of these games and I felt a responsibility to show them, but how? I wanted to bring them to the game or bring the game to them.

I proceeded by drawing the game to my best ability. I displayed images of epic victory and graphic violence. My work challenged me and enlightened my peers. My brother saved up enough allowance to buy a magazine which featured artistic covers for the game, which gave a visual reference to base the main-character's appearance.

The most awe-inspiring cover compared to anything I had ever seen before: the wicked, menacing half cybernetic-half ancient "DOOM" letters loomed above a lone, battle-scarred space marine. He fended off hordes and hordes of Arch-Vile. Horned demons clawed at the green armor-clad hero centered on a hellish mountain. The space marine's Plasma Gun ripped through one particular demon and painted his fellow Arch-Vile behind him in a splatter of green blood. I needed lots of greens, reds, and fire colors.

All of this, of course, done to the teacher's orders; she failed to actually specify what to draw on that day if I remember correctly. Bluntly, she told the class to draw what we looked forward to do when we got home. As she perused across the tables of her students, she expected a pattern of subjects, ranging from playing with the family dog, or playing football with Dad.

She might have thought, "There is little Susie drawing a doll-house...or maybe that's her house. There is Tommy drawing a soft-ball...he sure does like sports! There is little Geoffrey using lots of red. He seems to be using a whole lot of ...red. ...what-the? Okay, there's a lone green man in the middle...wearing a helmet and armor...he appears to be holding a large board...or...no...wait a minute...that's a weapon. And that mass of red in front of him...that pile of pink mass...what-the! Oh God!"

Allow me to introduce you to Ms. Calvary. She began her first year as principle of the school, and she knew my name well. I acted a bit of a smart-ass regularly at that time. I used my intelligence to mess with the teachers and students indiscriminately. I passed the time waiting for dismissal by including elaborate pranks, jokes, sabotage, and daring feats of escape as a regular routine for me. I familiarized myself with the contents of her office and I remember vividly, that she sure did like Jesus. Waaaay more than anyone I had ever met before.

On that day, I remember my drawing laid neatly on the center of her desk. A portrait made in Crayon of the triumphant space marine, rocket-launcher tube still smoked, surveyed a pretty damn impressive array of dead demons. I figured if she hated hell as much as any Christian, she would like it because the good guy has clearly won with ease, which implied that evil made manifest remained frail, and very dead. In hindsight, I realized I missed the point completely.

This nervous little buck-toothed principle sporting a thick, disturbingly stereotypical mousy country accent somehow convinced herself I seemed possessed by demons. She thought I had become one with Satan's infernal legions. In the game, bosses predominated satanic, which sparked a thought in the back of my mind that her foolish paranoia could get me qualified being rendered as the final boss for the Doom saga in the future. One man's trash could have been another man's treasure, just as her repulsion could have been my juvenile flattery...my response? "Sweet!"

Horrified, Mrs. Calvary clutched onto her cross necklace and erratically called me out of her office. She misinterpreted my incredibly out-of-context response as prosecuting proof to her suspicions. Calvary demanded a parent-teacher conference. She directly accused my parents of poor guidance, to which my Dad promptly responded he established, as we grew up, distinct boundaries between fantasy and reality. "Love imagination, just know that there is a lot of stuff in movies and games that you should never do or say." My father said.

My brother and I understood the difference and the circumstances. However, the demeaning school faculty insisted we children were complete morons. Based on our father's guidance, we were perfectly capable of discerned fantasy from reality.

Calvary, in her stubborn, jittery paranoia, insisted I be assigned a counselor to explore deep corruption on my psyche. She needed a judgment on my sanity.

No surprise to anyone but her and some three or four members of the school staff, the counselor confirmed my sanity. "He is a healthy, smart kid, with an incredible imagination, only translating a harmless video-game onto paper," the counselor reported.

Calvary nodded professionally, and weighed her options, which left her no logical choice but to exile me from her school. I transferred to a school for the mentally and emotionally challenged.

So there I sat, with my wonderful new classmates like Jeffery, the lonely, slow-thinking country kid with the shaven head. He proudly exclaimed our fictional twin-like brotherhood to complete strangers because we shared different variations of the same first name. CJ, the slouched-over scrawny kid that, when denied anything, would bite one hand and hit himself in the head with the other while he cried very loudly. Lastly, I remember Stephen, the attention deficient hyperactive disordered Cambodian kid that literally darted around class for no other reason than to dart around the class like a cat. When Stephen got in trouble and spent time in the prison-like magnetically locked time-out room roughly the size of a closet, he stripped completely naked. Then somehow climbed just high enough in the empty room to see out the plastic window designed to be at a height that only teachers can look through. Only a kid, and already felt numb to insane behavior like streaking. I remember the frequent warning used in the classroom, "There goes Stephen...he's...doing it again," Said CJ.

Not until middle school, I learned the full story as to why Calvary exiled me from a comfortable school with good friends, good teachers, and good school-work. During middle school it finally hit me that all of the trouble came from my drawing of the triumphant space-marine and his fallen foes. I felt a strong dislike towards a squirrelly mop with wide, fear-filled eyes, and a quivering lip failing to mask two shovels of buck-teeth. My feelings evolved into a strong resentment and hatred towards Mrs. Calvary.

I felt comfort knowing that I would never see her again. I felt comfort knowing that despite her efforts I still succeeded academically while in my free time honed my violent, "demonically" inspired pixilated killing-sprees. This time, instead of in innocent fascination, I played for fun.

In a way, I am grateful for the minor setback; it taught me the power within art, and my ability to produce it. It taught me that my talent in drawing can be so profound it can change where I go, like a sail-ship I have not yet learned to control. Calvary and the rest of the paranoid faculty suppressed something that I loved to do, and that suppression may have fueled me to delve deeper into it. If not for the "Doom Incident", I might not have pursued an art major instead of an associate's degree in something else or joined the military blindly.

The "Doom Incident" became a profound turning point for me; a fumble in my education that only enhanced my personality. Now I have caught up in school, and I feel it suits me perfectly.

My hatred towards Calvary wilted into pity; I surmise her life must be incredibly boring. When she calls in another boy into her office, armed with a horrifying drawing of gore and violence on the back of a test packet, she must wonder somewhere in the back of her mind what happened to the evil one from McLaughlin.

At some level she knows I am at home, playing Doom Three with a smile on my face.

GG