Significant Cities

Significant Cities

Illustrations & Short Storiesby Jonathan Zajdman

It hadn’t been very long since I start-ed looking for new bike, but I was very adamant about completing the process. My girlfriend at the time forwarded me a craigslist ad posted by a guy who was selling two vintage Schwinn Varsities, one red and one green.I was tight on cash, but going through a time in my life where I was too irresponsible to care. My income left me short of the 120 dollars he was charging for the green bike, but she was a bit more financially secure then I was, and as birthday present lent me the funds. That very first test ride already felt off. The weight of the thing, the stiffness of the pedals, the old saddle, even the rust on the frame that would whistle as it cut through the air. But it was a vintage green Schwinn, and I was too busy relishing in it’s aesthetic value to consider it’s practicality. It felt good to bring it home and to research the pro-cess of conversion. Discovering all the parts I would need and the mechanics I’d have to employ, and decid-ing, despite my lack of experience, it wasn’t going to be an overly difficult procedure. I was really looking forward to building something with my hands. My head was all over the place, and anything to reign in my nervous energy was worth the investment.So I ordered a new chain, bought a chain tool, borrowed a hacksaw for the handlebars, and a large wrench for the large bolts. My excitement was academic; I just wanted to learn how to do something, to accomplish something tangible and indelible. So my girlfriend and I sat in the patio of my parent’s apartment with some tools and and began turning the bike into something functional. Hours passed, and after stretching the new tires

over the old wheels I had a rideable single speed. I didn’t own a pump with the proper size nozzle and neither did the gas station down the street. Subse-quently, our maiden voyage was short lived.A few days went by before I got to the bicycle store, purchased a pump, and took my first full ride. It was an easy two miles to get to work and the route was relatively free of traffic. Despite the removal of gears and pumping of tires, the bike was still sluggish. The pedals still locked up a little with every dozen or so rotations, and I would have to apply extra pressure to keep the bike going.Even still, the first trip was fine, and I my elation at having converted the old seven speed into a new single speed helped me gloss over the pedal issue and it’s impending dangers. The next day I was running late for work. It was a closing shift, four in the afternoon until midnight. I ate a whole package of Trader Joe’s ravioli knowing I wouldn’t have a chance to eat much of a dinner, put on my new bike gloves and grabbed the Schwinn, eager to take it out for another ride.My mom asked where my helmet was, and I said it was in my car and that I’d grab it before I took off. I can’t remember what, but stress of some sort was on my mind, and in a careless moment I bypassed the helmet and set off for work. The bike acted like it had every other time I rode it. I had to apply more pressure then normal to get past the pedal lock up, and it felt like the lock ups were last-ing a second longer each time. But I just kept going, thinking nothing of it.I was on Ohio just past Granville, in front of the cottage-looking apartment building when the pedal locked up for the last time. My speed was average, 17

miles an hour, give or take, but it was enough to send the bike forward when the chain stalled. Physics lose meaning very quickly when you see the ground flying at you. The buildings in my periphery rotated 90 degrees as the pavement rushed towards me. It’s the smallest split of a second from realiz-ing what’s happening to having it actually happen, and the sensation is one I’ll carry with me forever. Rollercoasters come close to reproducing it, and I imagine being yanked back into the air by a bungee cord is a similar violence.Even beauty moves at a quicker speed. It’s terrifying, but seeing things through so rare a filter makes it hard not to admire the uniqueness of your current point of view, regardless how fleeting.But that misplaced euphoria lasted about a second. One last glimpse of the gravel covering the street. Thud. Blackness.I couldn’t quite catch my balance.The bike was outside my frame of vision, but I knew it was close as I lifted myself of the street with my right hand. My left was covering my cheek and temple, where I quickly learned how much a head injury bleeds.A balloon inflated inside my skull while pressure was being applied from the outside. I was con-vinced I’d broken my jaw because the gash on my upper left cheek had already begun to swell while I gnawed on ground up bits of my own teeth. I forced my body to hobble over to the sidewalk, trembling violently all the way, and spun around before I landed hard on my tailbone.A middle-aged woman came up behind me and asked if I was ok and what she could to help. I pulled

CONVERSIONand the danger of restoration

my cell phone from my back pocket, relaying pain though every muscle the process required. I handed it to her and muttered out “Call mom.”I shook out a deep breath, realizing I hadn’t bro-ken my jaw since I could speak. It was a short lived optimism as more and more blood came spilling out of my head, staining my gloves, shoes, & cut off shorts. A taller blond woman ran up and kneeled down in front of me, offering a hand towel and bottle of water. She placed the towel in my hand while she opened the bottle, warned me and poured water on what was beginning to feel like a giant hole in my head.I winced at the stinging while the first lady placed my phone back in my sweater pocket. I could also hear the blaring of the ambulance as the blond ap-plied pressure to my head with the towel. Everything continued to pulsate. I knew a balding man wearing a Journey shirt was talking to me, and I knew that he was offering to hold on to my bike for me while the ordeal ran it’s course, but all I could hear was the fake ocean sound you get from blowing across the top of glass bottles.My mom pulled up seconds after the ambulance, and after her initial shock, anger, and fear all subsided, she called in sick for me. The paramedics wrapped my head up and covered my left eye with some gauze before loading me into the stretcher. I’d been sitting on my patch of grass the whole time & thought most of the adrenaline had passed, but when they lifted me off the ground my legs shot up with pent up energy, and in one fluid motion the paramedics caught me and lulled me onto the gurney.The one-mile drive to UCLA’s emergency building took twenty minutes in the afternoon traffic. Be-ing strapped down while shaking with adrenaline

I only had one trophy growing up and it was for a battle of the bands. Having tangible proof that I en-gaged in some kind of physical recklessness was buried somewhere in my thoughts, like I was making up for having a relatively danger free youth. And despite it’s mangled husk, the bike’s aesthetic qualities were still intact, and it was personal accessory in a room that never felt completely mine.My intentions to drop it off at the bike repair co-op a few minutes away never manifested past my sentimen-tality and laziness. I had even purchased a new bike a few months after the crash and rode it everywhere, so it’s not like restoring the Schwinn’s functionality ever came to mind. I eventually stopped scratching at the one patch of scar tissue on my temple, but I finally realized that having such a useless artifact so close to where I slept and worked, and an artifact from a near death experience at that, was like looking for an ex-cuse to scratch an itch that didn’t exist anymore.The sidewalk was as good a place as any and it was just outside. I knew someone would find it and take it, whether they thought they were stealing or benefit-ting from someone’s generosity, I didn’t care. I just needed it out, and within an hour it was gone from the telephone pole I had leaned it up against.

stretched time & kept me talking the whole ride, but my deliriousness subsided when we reached the hospi-tal and I was brought inside.The whole thing lasted just less then five hours. I ended up vomiting all the ravioli I had eaten in two different sick attacks, making the room they kept me in smell like the Italian dinner from hell. Two shots of morphine, two other shots to fight the nausea, a cat scan, and seventeen stitches on the left side of my face later, I went home. I was scared, but not so much until I saw my father’s reaction at the hospital and my girlfriend’s reaction the next day.My face was almost back to normal within two weeks. The scarring took a longer time to fade, but the swell-ing was gone by the time I called the balding man who held on to the bike while I recovered. He was a clinical doctor of some sort, I can’t remem-ber. But he lived in a nice building just up the street from where the accident happened, and the bike was in the open garage out back. Until that point I could gauge the severity of the ac-cident only by own injuries, but to see the steel frame known for being built like a tank in worse shape then I was in put a finer point on the situation. Half the spokes in both wheels had popped out and the tires were flat. The chain hung loose around cranks, barely latched to the gear I had placed it on when restoring it. With a more discriminating look I could see which of the links had bent and twisted before throwing me off the bike.The fork was hit worst. Having twisted on impact, it resembled the gnarled branches of an old dying tree. I brought the bike, now little more then a large paper-weight, back to my bedroom where it collected dust in the corner for twenty months.

A lone astronaut drifts through the cold

depths of space unknown – cognitive dis-

sonance and paranoia brood in the trenches

of his mind. The solitary explorer’s path

into the void challenges and reshapes his

core, while mirroring our own seques-

tered maturation through this collection of

contemporary, multi-media space debris.

From L’Keg Gallery, January 2010

SPACE HELL

Alittle over two months ago, on the 13th of October, my very

good friend and band mate Brady Neibert passed away very

suddenly of a brain tumor at the age of 21. Even though he’d

only been in the band for a few months, I’ve known him for about three

and a half years, and we were fairly close the whole time.

In the ‘band members’ section of our myspace page, I’ve been hesitant to

take his name off the list. It sounds clichéd and trite, but not having his

name there is kind of another reminder that he’s not here; I still haven’t

deleted his number from my phone or taken him off my buddy list on aim.

But I think Brady would want the people in his life to keep living their lives

with as brief an interruption as possible in spite of his death.

So in the spirit of moving on, I’m taking his name off the list. Much more

than a band mate I lost a really good friend. Brady was an amazing person;

I think even the most confident people go through their lives caring (even if

it’s just a little bit) about how people see them; their appearance, the stuff

they’re into, the way the act, whatever.

Brady was the only person I’ve ever known who didn’t care, and not in a so-

ciopathic way, but it didn’t concern him. He just lived his life in whatever

way made him happy. I often poked fun at him for his armada of ridiculous

sunglasses and oversized t-shirts, the rate at which his hair changed color,

or whatever other stupid thing people make fun of their friends for, but

nothing ever got to him; he just was the way he was and no jab could ever

matter to him, and I very much envied him for that.

On the flip side, Brady never judged anyone either. He accepted everyone

for who they were, and didn’t have an angry, hateful, or judgmental bone

in his body. In 3 ½ years I can’t remember one occasion where Brady ever

said anything mean to or about anyone; even on his worst, most stressed out

day. He just didn’t have it in him, and it kills me because I was very much

a better person by proximity.

I think the other big tragedy is that in losing Brady we’ve lost a big talent.

We had very similar things going on in our lives in terms of school; we’d

left animation school at the same time to spend more time on music, and

had both been searching for schools where we felt we could learn our craft

and still express ourselves artistically. I was lucky enough to find that not

too long ago, and Brady seemed to have just figured things out, and it really

sucks that he never got the chance to fully explore it.

Brady was a great illustrator and was making a lot of progress as a musician,

especially considering how short a time he’d been playing, and I owe a lot

to him for the amount of progress I’ve made on those fronts as well, because

more so than a lot of my friends, Brady was incredibly supportive and en-

couraging whenever I delved into a project. And while I think Swordfights

would’ve happened one way or another, Brady was my most ardent sup-

porter when things first got going all the way through joining the band, and

devoted as much time to it as possible once he was in it, which means a lot

more to me than I think realized at the time.

Anyways, I think the reason I wanted to put this blog up is because even

though he’s no longer around, and thusly a member of the band, I do want

to acknowledge that he was a part of it, and since myspace will most likely

outlive us all, I figure this is as good a place as any for people to remember

my friend Brady. Guess that’s about it; thanks for reading folks. Miss you

a lot brother.

-jonathan

friends & aquaintances

sharks keep moviNg

sharks keep moviNg

When I was 16 I’d been playing gui-

tar for three years. I’d been in my band, The

PolyVinyls, for about one. Growing up in the

suburbs of Westlake & Thousand Oaks didn’t

provide much cultural stimulation, but when

Seth Brown, the heavy drinking, well tattooed,

ex-punk from Chicago decided to call our tree

lined streets his new home, he brought his indie

record label and magazine, STATUS, with him.

What followed was a small army of riff-rock

bands integral to the late 90’s indie music boom

using our living rooms and karate dojos as their

SoCal touring spots, giving all us local teenag-

ers a venue for our angst and rock star worship.

But for all the heavier bands that came through

town, it was Sharks Keep Moving that had the

most profound effect on me. Their jazzy, subtle,

sit-on-your-porch-and-drink-a-beer-anthems

and quiet epics still give me chills. Years after

seeing them destroy my friend’s parent’s couch

with a renegade crash cymbal, I approached

singer Jake Snider after Minus the Bear, his

new band, played their first show in Los Ange-

les to anxiously tell him how important his mu-

sic had been to me. He jokingly called me a fag

and bought me a beer.

I’ve got my bag slung over my shoulder and in my sturdi-

est pair of boots, I walk the highway’s gravel shoulder

westward towards the setting sun. I got Food but still

have hunger, a woman she’d turned her face toward mine,

and when you feel that kind of hunger a woman knows to

leave you behind. The highway stretches out just like an

angel’s wings to the line that cuts the land from sky,

And god knows I’m a sinner But I’m not begging for forgive-

ness this time. And You walk these streets like a soldier;

a solitary infantry woman. I could have been the heli-

copter sent to save you, but I’m walking away instead.

gotta stop that aeroplane from ever taking off. clock

says 8 pm, soon she will be gone. pilots firing, jet’s jets

as we speak. sunsets marks her through; plane windows

like these eyes use to. she’s coming down - over the great

plains, she slowly descends; plane parts fall like rain

like we had yesterday.

no strikes, but the fishing is good

...THAT he was through

the sea pounds so hard against this old ship where he

had only one wish. home is so far from his memory, the

ships old wet deck is all his family. two days worth of

storm had broken the ships tired mast and captain. the

sea pounds so hard against this old ship where he’d had

only one wish. ‘God is gone now’ is all that he knew, they

saw that last wave come and he knew...

...THAT he was through

I walked into the living room with my socks

on so I could glide across the wood floor

and make as little noise as possible. Sixteen

weeks in the hospital and twice as many

pounds lost pushed my father from looking

as old as he felt to looking as old as he was.

He had become ancient, exhausted, & un-

aware. And from the kitchen, about twelve

feet away, I stared at him reclining on the

couch. Mid nap in the middle of the day. It

was getting harder to tell, but I knew he was

alive. I could see his stomach contracting

and expanding with his lungs, and I began

counting the seconds between breaths like

the gaps between lightning in worsening

weather. It was the only way to tell if the

storm was coming or going.

KILLER OF SHEEPEight fifteen p.m. We’re almost half way through the night, and Chris-

tian puts the movie on. The class is spread out around the computer

lab surrounded by the chilled air, our faces blue reflecting light from

the monitors. The projector isn’t working, so I excuse myself and walk

down the hall to where you’re doing homework.

“It’s called Killer of Sheep. I had to watch it in a film class years ago.”

You make a joke about the movie’s title, we talk about the drawing

you’re working on. I loved watching you work. How you’d wince and

stick your tongue out like a cartoon, tense but still confident, and delib-

erate in all your actions.

It isn’t a movie you seek out when you want to be entertained. It’s

paced slowly, in grainy black and white. The audio is mixed poorly,

and the music, as great as it all is, is very low fidelity. It isn’t an easy

movie to watch.

The main character, Stan, is trying to get by. Kids look for ways to

entertain themselves in boring neighborhoods and two men steal a tele-

vision in broad daylight. Stan works in a factory butchering sheep and

comes home tired but he still dances with his wife.

I start thinking of that area where your hip starts to curve out from your

body. It seems to have been made especially for my hand. Standing,

sitting, but most of all lying down, I place it there like the missing piece

of a puzzle. I travel down your outer thigh, slowly, and gently back up,

and you always quiver when my hand lands back in that spot, your

body communicating with every shake. Your skin is smooth and calm-

ing, but I always feel goosebumbs there. I smile, kiss the side of your

neck and feel close to you.

There’s a sharp sound from the speakers, it’s one of the butchering

scenes and I’m paying attention again. It’s violent but in a quiet way. I

have my sketchbook open under the pretense of taking notes, but there

isn’t much I want to write about. Mostly I’m thinking about how the

last time I saw it I wasn’t as affected. It’s the kind of movie that makes

you think about yourself, how you live, how you grew up. No grand

philosophical statements, except that they’re usually aren’t any to be

made.

One last butchering scene. I’m going to draw some portraits. Christian

turns the lights on, says something encouraging to the class regarding

our assignments. I find you getting your things together, you smile and

we leave. I have the song from the last scene stuck in my head.

“Man, I ain’t poor. Look, I give away things to

the Salvation Army; you can’t give away nothin’ to Salvation Army if you

poor. I mean, we may not have a damn thing sometimes - you wanna see

somebody that’s poor? Now, you go around and look at Walters. Now, he

be sittin’ over a oven, and, and with nothin’ but a coat on, and, and sittin’

around there rubbin’ their knees all day and eatin’ nothin’ but wild greens

picked out of a vacant lot. Now, that ain’t me... and damn sure won’t be.”

letters to the editor

I love broccoli though. It’s a high source of vitamin c and dietary fiber.

letters to the editor

Sunday, May 22nd, 2011 6:36am

I realized today that I’ve been depressed for the last few years of my life.

I think it’s been obvious to a certain extent, but I think my depression has

been more severe then I’ve admitted to myself and to most of the people

close to me.

Any number of factors can be blamed – Brady’s death, my financial and

academic struggles with Art Center, my relationship with my Dad – there

are other things. The problem is that I’ve been so overwhelmed and

plagued by crippling self-doubt, I’ve cheated myself out of a life.

When Brady died, I didn’t really talk to anyone about it. I told people what

happened, recounted the events, delved into some of the more graphic as-

pects of his passing. But his death had a really profound effect on me. A

lot of his closer friends came to me after to talk about how much I meant

to him, how important I was to him; his father mentioned my name and

Swordfights way too many times in the eulogy for me to feel comfortable.

This was all very difficult to hear.

That sense of responsibility was compounded with a survivor’s guilt I’ve

been carrying around because of how similar our lives were at the time.

We both left A.I. for the same reasons, we both wanted to pursue illustra-

tion, we were both playing music, and we’d both just broken up with our

first serious girlfriends. I’ve felt the responsibility to achieve a certain level

success for both of us because he was robbed of the chances that I’ve had to

make good on our talents, and living for two people is a precedent no one

should set for themselves. It isn’t fair to me, it isn’t fair to Brady’s memory,

and no one could live up to something like that. I need to start living life for

myself, not for anyone else, living or otherwise.

For me, that’s been way easier said then done. I’ve carried a hatred for

myself these last few years, and I’m not sure where it started. But my

self-image is so horrible I talk myself out of doing most things because I’m

convinced at the outset it’s going to fail anyways, and I’m incapable of pro-

ducing anything of value.

It’s a toxic feeling, and I really, really want it out of me. When I think

about the amount of work I would have and the quality I’d reach with it if

I hadn’t prevented myself from taking on so many ideas and projects I’ve

wanted to, I can’t tell If I become more angry at myself or more depressed.

And I want to make more work so badly. I know I have creativity and tal-

ent in me that a lot of people will never have, and if I didn’t doubt myself

like I have in the past I could actually use it.

When I lost my loans for Art Center I translated it as some cosmic event

that something or someone had set in motion as a sign that I didn’t deserve

to be there. Which is insane. There isn’t anything else I could’ve done to

stay in that school short of winning the lottery, and I absolutely deserved

to be there. I’ve had a really hard time believing it, and even as I type this

I have to read the sentence over to convince myself that I do. Thinking it,

let alone typing, is physically difficult. But I worked to get accepted into

that school, and the only reason I wasn’t able to stay was money. Plenty of

people in my industry have careers without degrees, and I can do the same

if I man up a little.

Art Center brings me to the subject of Brianna. I broke up with her, and

I’m mostly glad I did. But most of, if not all of my self worth was tied

up in that relationship. She’s been my connection to illustration, and to

have someone with the talent and drive that she possesses recognize similar

qualities in me was the only thing that kept me going for a long time.

I’ve been legitimately pissed off and angered by some of what she’s said

and done since we broke up, and plenty of things from while we were to-

gether, but a lot of it came from this feeling of worthlessness I got as a result

of certain exchanges, which I was projecting. Especially now that she’s

shown such little interest in speaking with me, my confidence levels have

dropped – to have the person who was the physical manifestation of what

little confidence I’d retained all but disappear has wrecked me.

Seeing her blog features, her new work, all the things that are clear signs

of the success she’s going to have definitely made me feel insignificant.

But, and I believe this because of the amount of and quality of the people

who’ve said this to me, there is nothing she is capable of creatively that I’m

not either. She isn’t better then me. We both have our strengths and weak-

nesses, but we’re equals, and the only thing she has that I don’t is confi-

dence. I can easily achieve the same level success if I allowed myself to try.

Tonight was a difficult night for me. I kind of spun out of control a little,

the overwhelming feelings I’ve been having really caught up with me, and

I called a suicide prevention line. I don’t think that I would ever kill myself,

though the thought has been popping up in my head with enough consis-

tency that I was scaring myself and too embarrassed to speak with any of

my friends about it. I’ve engaged in physically self destructive behavior

in the past, but I’m less of an active self mutilator and more likely to put

myself in a situation where I know I’ll get hurt.

I’m glad I bottomed out though, and talking to a stranger was actually re-

ally cathartic. Telling someone these things so openly with no knowledge

of my past made a difference. And I don’t think I would’ve had this mo-

ment if I stayed in Los Angeles. Taking this leap of faith, the subsequent

hardships and isolation you can feel in a new city and my normal anxieties

combined have really pushed my insecurities up to the surface, and it’s

forcing me to deal with this problem more honestly and severely.

I came close to getting over it once, but I don’t think you can completely

get over something if you aren’t aware or honest about the entire problem.

I was fighting symptoms more then I was fighting the disease. And that’s

what this is, a disease. It affects me physically, it’s venomous and horrible

and it’s shaved years off of my life.

But here and now, a month before my 27th birthday and three weeks after

I made this move, I am committing myself to destroying this. It’s difficult

and embarrassing to admit what this has done to me, how it has suffocated

me. But I want to make good on the promises I’ve made to myself. I’m pro-

ducing the work I’ve been wanting to produce, I’m getting the kind of job I

came here to get, I’m entering all the illustration competitions and making

myself known to all the blogs come hell or high water. I know that every

day will be a little bit of a struggle, and I’ll still have moments of doubt, but

I will overcome them, and I’m achieving the things I came here to achieve.

I just want to live my life already.

Monday, May 23rd, 2011, 12:18am

These are the moments that tend to be the most difficult. I’m not quite

tired but I don’t have the emotional or mental energy to engage in any kind

of real productivity. Most of my friends are either asleep or busy, and the

ones that are awake are the people I don’t feel comfortable talking about

this with, or they’re the ones I don’t want to burden any further then I

already have. It’s good though, because these are the moments I need to

learn to live through.

On the whole I do feel better then I did 24 hours ago. I haven’t purged all

of the negativity yet, but having opened up to my closest friends, my sister,

and my parents has set me on a tangible road to recovery. I left Brianna a

(lengthier then intended) voicemail apologizing for bothering her like I’ve

been and admitting that a large part of my lashing out at her was a result of

this condition I’ve finally come to terms with having.

I regret this a little because now I find myself waiting for a response I really

don’t think I want or need, and it may have done more to push her away.

Whatever the case may be, admitting that her hold on me was coming from

my own feelings of insignificance alleviated a bit of the stress that’s accom-

panied every thought of her.

Going to dinner with friends, as new and somewhat superficial our con-

nections may be, was good. I had to force myself to go to, but I had a good

time. The company was good and I think a big part of this process is learn-

ing to embrace the chances I have to be around other people, whether

they’re close friends or strangers. I’m able to make people laugh, they ask

probing questions about who I am and where I come from, the things I’ve

done and am attempting to do, and it feels good.

The emptiness in me, the nameless thing that causes my self-doubt, tries to

creep out in moments like that. And in the course of conversations about

school, work, ex-lovers, and the like, it finds it’s way, and I say something

self-deprecating under the guise of a joke. My friends laugh because I’m

being funny, but I’m not being funny. The tightening in my chest occurred

once or twice, but I managed to fight it back and have a genuinely good

time.

I’ll admit to having had one or two brief suicidal thoughts over the course of

the day, but I got rid of them quickly. I think what I’m learning to do is let

the thought happen, and then get rid of it. My sister pulled me aside this

afternoon after I confessed to her the things I’ve been dealing with, and she

told me how much I scared her and how she’d be devastated were I to ever

act on these impulses.

This is where the inherent selfishness of suicide became even more obvi-

ous to me, and it isn’t something I want to engage in. Based on my own

thoughts, I imagine a fair amount of potential suicide victims focus on the

reactions they’ll illicit once they’ve killed themselves, sort of a “when I’m

gone, they’ll all see!”. As I type this I realize what a vindictive thought it is

to have, especially in lieu of the conversation I had with my sister.

This isn’t an easy thing for me to admit, but these people love and care

about me deeply. I know what it is to lose a close friend, and I wouldn’t

want to put somebody else through that. The helplessness and confusion

in the aftermath of that situation, the guilt...to inflict those feelings on

another person by taking your own life is a violent & cruel thing to do to

people who would help you if you put a little faith in them. Depressed as

I may have been, that isn’t an action I have in me.


I woke up with a tightening in my chest thinking about Brianna. I’m still

using her as this standard to weigh my whole life against which isn’t doing

me any favors. I’m not sure if speaking with her would hurt or help the

situation.

Last time I saw her in person I know it helped, albeit temporarily, but de-

spite this process of learning to judge myself only against my own accom-

plishments, her taking the time to sit down with or even talk on the phone

would feel good. I don’t want to use her as a crutch, I just want to have a

normal conversation and catch up. I hate that I care about and miss her,

but I know deep down it’s because I’m not totally ok with myself yet, but I

think I’m a little bit closer then I was yesterday.

Tuesday, May 24th, 2011, 1:31am

Progress in situations like these can’t really be measured all the time, It

sounds corny, but feelings can’t be weighed in any real way. That being

said, I feel pretty good right now.

Jacqueline and I had a conversation shortly after I had something of a

freak-out this afternoon. I still have the tendency to be pretty volatile in

certain situations. But it was a constructive talk essentially about vocabu-

lary. I’m not trying to get better; I am getting better. I’m not trying to be

an illustrator. I simply am an illustrator. It’s such an obvious concept, and

something you hear so often in mainstream therapeutic culture, but it’s

easy to ignore clichés when you chose to spend time ragging on yourself.

The one major breakthrough I’ve had since coming out with this problem

50 or so hours ago is that I’m aware of and changing my vocabulary fairly

quickly, and though the road to recovery isn’t over I’ve definitely noticed

my emotional reactions to using more confident language.

The Brianna issue has come to a close as well. I i-chatted her asking for

a few minutes to apologize and explain myself more properly in lieu of

the message I left on her phone, still agonizing for a response to a certain

extent. She responded to let me know she was going to write me, which

admittedly affected me emotionally.

Her email was short and to the point. She accepted my apology and said

exactly what I wanted and needed to here. It was vindicating; it’s obvious

she’s lost some respect for me in the ensuing months and that’s probably

helped her move on to a large extent. I can’t blame her though, because

I wasn’t respecting myself at all for a long time, how could anyone else?

Thankfully it’s also clear she cares a lot more then I was allowing myself

to believe.

The vindication comes from the sense of release I’ve had in the hours since

our first totally civil and constructive exchange in months. She is not the

bastion of all things illustratively and culturally significant I’ve been mak-

ing her out to be. Part of what happens when you have such low confi-

dence and self-esteem is your sense of self becomes shattered.

My tastes in music, movies, literature, art, people, anything, and everything

have been worthless in my head, and I began latching on to the things she

was into very aggressively. I think like most couples there was a fairly even

cultural exchange of bands, artists, tv shows, movies, and whatever else we

got each other into, but I was at a point for a while where I became embar-

rassed of the things I loved.

And I have really good taste – not everything I like is high art, but a lot of it

is, and regardless, it doesn’t all need to be. I pride myself on having eclectic

tastes in many things. Apologizing for whatever inspires you is a good way

to never be happy with the things you create. I love the things I love, and

it’s ridiculous to feel bad about them.

All that being said, it sort of reminded me why I broke up with her. I wasn’t

in love with her anymore. Our personalities didn’t totally work together,

there’s a lot about her that always bothered me when we were dating and

those are things I don’t miss at all. I definitely want to mend our friendship

at some point in the future, but that clarity proves how much of my longing

for contact was a projection of my low self image. My search for her ap-

proval and acceptance is over.

I had a fleeting dark moment this afternoon during my freak out and be-

fore I spoke to Jacqueline. Diving into traffic while I was walking home,

or thoughts on how I would shoot myself found their way into my mind

but they were quickly expunged. These thoughts are to depression what

coughing is to the flu. Painful symptoms of a larger problem, and I’m treat-

ing them as such. You cough, and though it hurts it also alleviates some

pressure. I have these thoughts and they’re painful, but I get rid of them

in a flash and feel relief.

Tuesday, May 24th, 2011 9:25am

I’m not totally sure what happened – I know this massive closure I feel

about Brianna (and myself really) is a big factor. But I fell asleep with a

smile on my face last night. Recounting the things I wrote before going

to bed, thinking about the friends I’ve spoken about this problem with, all

these other little road signs that are tangible side effects of admitting I’ve

had this issue and making steps to fight it…it’s working. My head was a

little non-stop, I kept replaying all this stuff, and I couldn’t stop smiling and

laughing for like 15 minutes until I fell asleep.

Wherever this feeling came from, I’m holding on to it.

Wednesday, May 25th, 2011 12:43am

There’s a levity I felt today. I’m in a far better mood then I’ve been in a

while. I’m realizing that I am making new friends and putting myself out

there a little more each day. Speaking with my older friends – Brad, Brynn,

& Patty have been good listeners and insightful – has really made a differ-

ence. It’s probably the 3000 miles between us, but I’ve even had an easier

time confiding in my Dad.

Thinking about Brianna can still send a quick tightening in my chest, but

it’s very fleeting. I’m over her romantically and I’m not interested in her

friendship right now. Drudging through the job postings on all the differ-

ent websites is still stressful, but I know if I keep sending out my resume

and networking like I have been while I continue to produce new work I’ll

find the opportunity that’s waiting for me.

With the momentum I’ve gained from yesterday’s moment of clarity I’m

squashing some of my bad habits too. I’ve spent a lot of time looking to be

entertained. Searching on Hulu or Netflix or itunes or whatever medium

for the perfect thing to watch or album to listen to while I work, and it’s a

really huge waste of time.

I think part of it comes from laziness, but I think the laziness comes from

this anxiousness I tend to get when I’m alone…the lack of confidence and

loneliness puts me in this place where I long for any number of distrac-

tions, and it’s part of the process I used to talk myself out of things. By the

time I would settle on something to satiate my nervous energy hours passed

and I would lose the motivation to work.

That’s an activity I’m not repeating. I rode my bike from Williamsburg to

Queens earlier today. The exercise felt good…it was nice to be so physi-

cally wiped out afterwards, but mentally sound. Usually I feel the reverse.

Biking through Queens was gorgeous; the air smelled like hickory in some

areas and the weather was clear. Now that I’m here and a little more

settled, I’m only giving myself an hour in the morning to go through my

emails and job search. I busted out the Windows series of drawings and

got good results. I’m going to do the same thing tomorrow with these new

projects I’m starting.

I’m starting to like myself as a person more – the wiring is reworked, and

I’m following through with the plans I’ve made.

Wednesday, May 25th, 2011 4:50pm

So, a road-bump of sorts. I started drawing for a little bit, but quickly be-

came frustrated at the lack of appropriate photo reference for the drawing

I wanted to get done.

I started fixating on frustration, and ended up not even attempting to start

the piece. This is the exact opposite of what I need to and want to and

should be doing. I suppose every day will present a little battle like this

for me to overcome. The day isn’t over yet, so I can still win this one. I just

need to buck up and get it done.

UGH!! Maybe some fresh air is in order, I don’t know. I’m taking deep

breaths – I know I can make the drawing I want to make. I have confi-

dence; I’m allowing myself to overcome the negativity.

Thursday, May 26th, 2011 10:55pm

So here’s a life lesson if ever there was one…

Today was an alright day. I woke up in the full sized bed Dorita and Javier

are providing me in their house here in Queens, and was biking by about

11. I was out and about for a couple of hours, did a little drawing and spent

time taking in the surroundings, which were pretty amazing.

I got back home, showered, took my clothes out of the dryer, started draw-

ing for a few minutes, but allowed myself to be taken over with some form

of anxiety. I managed to get a few more productive things out of the way,

but on the whole I spent most of the day thinking about things.

Tyler wrote back to the email I sent him about all this stuff, and he had

some encouraging things to say. Part of me is still processing a lot of new

information, but I think I need to be careful with how much time I allow

myself to digest everything versus actively doing something about it.

So about three hours ago, I decided I was hungry, and instead of taking

advantage of the hospitality in front of me, I decided to get food from a

place 5 minutes walk down the road.

I had my dinner alone on a bench facing the highway entrance by the Little

Neck Parkway, eating my calzone and drinking my sprite before consum-

ing the slice of tiramisu I bought for myself out of pity in the isolation of

an intersection filled with cars. Dessert will make me feel better! I had a

blah day! Never. Again.

I walked the meal off for about a mile, which was cathartic physically and

mentally, but started feeling pretty horrible in the stomach region with

about a quarter mile left to go. I was doing the clenched-anus-speed-walk

people do when they have to poo and there isn’t an available restroom for

about 200 feet.

It was getting bad, and I considered going in the street, but there wasn’t an

inconspicuous enough spot and the next street I crossed was the last before

the house, so with less then a block left to go I clenched-anus-sped-walked

right inside, brushing off Javier & Dorita’s greetings for the bathroom,

locked the door behind me and engaged in the most manic shit of my life.

The immediate reprieve granted was euphoric, and to my own glee my un-

derwear was free of any marks despite the feeling something had poked out

during the tense walk. But I stood up for a moment and checked behind

me to make sure the toilet was clean, and it wasn’t.

Brynn and I use the term mud-butt to describe horrible craps. This was

the first time it was totally applicable. I felt bad for the toilet seat, and I

was embarrassed as it looked up at me in horror while I knelt over it’s tank,

wiping my own excrement off it’s bowl. It wasn’t an easy process – what

had come out of me wasn’t a solid thing. It took several passes and a liberal

amount of Lysol to hide the evidence of what occurred.

That event was the culmination of my day. Low self esteem, treating my

body poorly, staring at a pile of my own muddy shit. The simple thing of

it is this; I know how good I feel on days where I’m social and productive,

regardless of the results, I put out the effort of being with people or making

work and I love it and enjoy it, and on days like that, I never end up wiping

my diarrhea out of the crevices of a toilet.

Friday, May 27th, 2011, 10:15am

I know some people from high school & college, even some of the jobs I’ve

had who’ve gone on to do some amazing things. People I played music

with and studied art with all experiencing success to some degree or an-

other, and I let this affect me way too much.

I dwell on the idea that they have something I don’t, whether it’s more

talent, or more resources, more support, more technical skill. In some situ-

ations, one or two of those things might be true. But it’s totally irrelevant,

because there are so many more people who are experiencing success with

way less talent, skill, support, and resources then I have.

This goes back to my issue with Brianna. I invested my self worth in her

image of me, and have been using her accomplishments to gauge my own

life against. I realized last night I’ve been doing that with all these other

people I’ve known (and still know in some cases) who are out there mak-

ing something of themselves. The only thing, and I can’t emphasize this

to myself enough, the only thing they’ve been utilizing that I haven’t is

confidence.

I’m done comparing myself to everyone around me. I know I’m capable of

the same accomplishments, and like I’ve been saying and slowly but surely

improving, is the drive I have to deliver on my own potential.

Sunday, May 29th, 2011, 5:12pm

I had a good last couple of days. I went into the city Friday morning and

walked around the Met for hours until I experienced a bit of art-overload,

but it was really inspiring. I ended up having a good dinner with Jacque-

line, checked out a gallery in Greenpoint, and had some beers. I was in a

good mood, and think for the first time in a while had legitimate fun.

Saturday we walked around, bought groceries and had a BBQ in the eve-

ning with some of her friends, and I really enjoyed myself. I’ve been doing

one little drawing a day in my new sketchbook more as a mental exercise

then an illustrative one, but I feel like I’m beginning to regain my motiva-

tion and love for doing it, and I think that’s the most important thing for

me right now.

Admittedly, I’m still struggling with confidence a little. This isn’t the kind

of thing that you overcome in a weekend, and I’m trying to find the balance

between giving myself time to heal without using it as an excuse not to

work. I’ve been better about internet stalking those who I’ve been com-

paring myself to, not looking at their activities professional and personal

and then getting down on myself for not being as active, or feeling like I’m

forgotten and surpassed.

Like Tyler said, my life is MY life. The only way I’m going to feel bet-

ter about myself is to do things for myself, not for anyone else. And my

motivation needs to come from a place of pride and exploration – not pet-

tiness and some abstract idea of revenge against those who I’m putting on

a pedestal. I AM TALENTED, I AM CAPABLE, AND I WILL HAVE

THE THINGS I CAME HERE TO HAVE.

When I was 21 years old, I looked at my life and decided I wasn’t happy

with certain things. I weighed upwards of 267 pounds, was listless and

dissatisfied with my academic situation.

I visited Jacqueline in New York right before my 22nd birthday, and the

experience of being here for the first time really changed me. I saw how

good she was doing, how happy and independent she was, and walking

around Manhattan as much as I did sort of reinvigorated my physical en-

ergy, and I knew I wanted to change things when I got back to LA.

That year, I lost about eighty pounds. By my own sheer force of will, I

changed myself very completely, body and mind. And it wasn’t easy. Most

people will never experience something like that – to take command of

one’s self with such conviction and change things so dramatically. That en-

ergy still lives in me. It isn’t about other people…it’s completely about me.

If I was able to do that five years ago, there isn’t any reason why I can’t ac-

complish the same thing now. I am doing the same thing now. I have the

talent to make this career work, I have the hunger for it, and I’m getting the

drive back quickly.

Thursday, June 2nd, 2011 2:04pm

I haven’t written much this last week, which I think is a good thing to a cer-

tain extent. My frame of mind has been much improved. Still not 100%

in terms of motivation & productivity, but I’m definitely making improve-

ments. Additionally, what results I have produced have been satisfying.

I started the big tree guy drawings, or at least the first one, and it’s looking

pretty cool so far. I connected with Cat at 22 magazine, and though it’s

non-paid work, it’ll be strong work for my portfolio and foster some strong

professional connections. Likewise, she has pretty good taste in art and

illustration, and had a really strong, positive reaction to my work with an

unbiased opinion. I’d say that’s a win on any day.

The stress of unemployment and financial dependence still lingers, but I

know beyond a shadow of a doubt they won’t last, and I’m going to find the

right opportunity soon. Working with Cat is a solid first step to entering

the business, and it’s only uphill from here.

Wednesday, June 8th, 2011 7:54pm

This has been a bit of a rough week in terms of motivation and productiv-

ity. I finally did some mock layouts for 22 Mag and I think they look good,

so at least I’m beginning to add more graphic work to my portfolio.

I definitely need to start making some kind of income soon though. I have

four dollars and change in my bank account and I’m pretty hungry. Luck-

ily Dorita has fed me a few nights, but I feel really uncomfortable making

food for myself when I don’t own anything in the refrigerator. I’ve been

sneaking snacks when no one is looking to parlay whatever embarrassment

I feel over my poverty, but I know I’m not being as sly as I think I am, and

I’m sure they’re more perceptive then I think they are.

It is what it is though, I’m making due. Everything is going to work out

sooner then later.

Tuesday, June 21st, 2011 9:05pm

It’s been just short of two weeks since I sat down to get any thoughts out

about anything. I think I said this the last time I made an entry into this

series after a sabbatical of some sort, but I think I’m talking less because I

have less to complain about.

My financial and employment situation are on a climb upward. Things

with 22 Magazine are kind of percolating, and we’re still pretty early on in

the design process for the next issue but I’m confident that the work will

be strong when it’s done and I’ll have some strong additions to my portfolio

that should help with the job situation. I started doing illustrations for ma-

datoms.com as well. Again, it isn’t ideal, but it’s something to cut my teeth

on and they’re offering a small stipend. All good things.

I’ve been slowly meeting people and enjoying myself more too. I’ve been

hanging out with this girl Lauren, who in some ways is sort of the ideal

woman and in other ways someone I’d never picture myself dating. It’s

interesting hanging out with a girl in this context after being in a two-year

relationship. But I’m having a lot of fun, she’s a smart good looking girl who

also happens to be something of a sexual deviant, and, for better or worse

the whole situation has a time stamp on it because she’s moving to Seattle

for a PHD an a little over a month.

I think the important thing is that I’m feeling a lot better about myself. I’ve

been biking like crazy and feeling more in shape then I have in a while. Ad-

ditionally, this last birthday weekend was pretty awesome. I said I didn’t

want to turn 27 in Los Angeles, and I didn’t. Goal accomplished.

Things are definitely looking up and improving, I just need to keep work-

ing hard and have faith in myself and in my surroundings.

Saturday, July 9th, 2011 11:14pm

The last few weeks have been interesting, definitely good, but not without

a few weird occurrences.

Starting with the good, I went to the beach with Jacqueline about week

ago. So for the first time in well over a decade, I was at the beach, took

my shirt off, and swam in the water. I was also barefoot in public, which

hasn’t happened in a million years either. It felt really great – being in the

ocean definitely had some baptismal qualities to it...the whole thing was

a very cleansing experience. Just sort of letting go of a lot of my baggage

and pushing myself to be the person I should be, even in ways as trivial as

going to the beach.

Work wise I’m making progress to. No big jobs have been landed, but I’m

getting more and more responses and have been feeling more comfortable

with my work. I do think I’ll get this comic book job (I’ll find out tomorrow

hopefully), and I’m definitely submitting to Creative Quarterly at the end

of the month. I’m going to really push myself for it, and I think I have a

strong chance of getting in, which would do wonders for my career and

self-confidence.

I also restrung my acoustic guitar and started writing new music that I’m

actually really happy with. I have to be careful not to get to carried away

with it and not draw and design as much as I should be, but the release is

tangible and important. I think anything to help me feel good and improve

my state of mind is worth investing in.

The weirder/not as good things…Brianna came across my profile on Ok-

Cupid, which as funny as it is, definitely got me thinking about her more

than I have been in a while. Certain things on her profile really turned me

off to her…she said she was two years older then she is and said she’s look-

ing for someone up to 32 years old, which kind of grosses me out. There

were other things and pictures that didn’t do anything to make me feel bet-

ter about the state of things though, and I (ignorantly or bravely) contacted

her for a friendly cup of coffee. I thought if anything is a sign of how silly

things are between us, it would be me getting an alert that she was looking

at my profile and that we’re a 96% match. I haven’t heard back, and it’s

bugging me, but less so every day. Being productive is a great tonic for

feelings of shame and embarrassment.

Likewise, I met up with a girl named Julia, and as interesting, fun, and

pretty as she is, she looks exactly like Brianna. Exactly! It was like hang-

ing out with her taller older sister or something…not a fan of the situation

at all. It was just weird, it made me feel weird, it brought out feelings and

thoughts I want nothing to do with. So that was that.

I also didn’t get a job I was fairly excited about, I think it had to with the

fact that I was charging 400 bucks for the job, and that was out of their

price range. But the company is pretty legit, and while I need the money

I don’t want to compromise services for price…it’s a precedent I need to

work very hard to avoid.

At the very least, and this is nothing to shrug off, I’m feeling motivation

like I haven’t in a while. I’m being bolder, and it’s continuing to snowball.

Everything is feeling more and more likely to happen and tangible…people

keep telling me how talented I am and if I keep pushing harder like I have

been I’m going to be where I want to be soon.

Thursday, July 21st, 2011 10:40pm

I’m not entirely sure what’s going through my head right now. Things are

on some kind of upswing; I’m working on this comic, for which I’m being

compensated reasonably, and perhaps even more important I’ve made a

friend and collaborator in Eric, the guy who hired me.

As far the 22 goes, I’m a little behind in the amount of work I’ve produced,

but I’ll catch up quickly, and Cat seems to be interested in collaborating

on more projects and furthering each of our careers, or at least helping me

to get mine started.

In the meantime, I’ve been in New York for about two and a half months,

still a little on the broke side, and feeling pretty isolated in Queens. Some

recent family news that I don’t even want to get into prompted me to con-

tact Brianna, who as of this second hasn’t responded, and I’m not sure why

I’m expecting anything or what it is I’m even expecting.

There’s this (probably) ridiculous notion in my head that however much

time needs to go by will go by for me to turn into the person that both I and

she wants me to be, and we’ll have another go around with our relationship.

I think that thought is very abstract; I don’t know how much I really want it

or how realistic that really is. The bottom line is that thought is a continued

version of my self worth being wrapped up in her fucking image of me, and

I still haven’t completely worked past it.

I know it’s less of an issue then it was before, but it’s still not totally gone.

Meanwhile I’m looking at her facebook and getting worked up because

she’s maintaining a correspondence with Randy of all people, and she’s

now friends with some designer guy based in Brooklyn, and of course my

immediate thought is they’re fucking, which is totally likely. And even if

they are, what business is it of mine? And why do I care, I’ve had plenty

of sex since we split, and I’m sure she’d be just as jealous/bothered if she

found out.

I need to stop worrying about her and focus fully on myself already. I want

to be living in an apartment in Brooklyn, I want to be supporting myself

with my skills as a creative person, those are the things that will make and

keep me happy, not anything she has to offer. I’m good at what I do, and

I’ve definitely been pushing myself harder lately. I’m still not at the level I

need to be, but everyday I get closer, I can absolutely achieve what I want

to achieve if I focus. I just need to stay happy with myself, and it’s getting

easier every day.

Remember the things you’ve achieved, remember your talent, remember

your drive, and remember that people care about and are impressed by you

on a daily basis. Jonathan, you have it, have the balls to use it.

Thursday, July 28th, 2011 11:32pm

I’m nearing the finish line on this comic book project and getting a rea-

sonable amount of work done on a daily basis. I’m frustrated being in

Queens right now, and feeling really lonely. If I don’t make the effort to

call my friends I usually don’t here from people, and certain people whom

I shouldn’t be thinking about are clearly in the opposite situation.

I was on the phone with Clarice the other night though, and like she said,

this is a test to see if I can make it….I know I can, I just need to stick it out a

little longer. And so I’ll keep working and that’s all I can do.

Wednesday, August 3rd, 2011 3:55pm

Today marks my three-month anniversary of moving to New York. It’s

feels much longer and much shorter in different ways.

On a personal and emotional level I feel like I’ve made a lot of progress. If

there was an emotional rock bottom I could’ve experienced, then I experi-

enced it a while ago and I’ve been steadily climbing back up to normalcy

with each passing day.

I don’t have suicidal thoughts anymore, at least not serious ones. In the last

month ideas of self-mutilation have popped in my head once or twice, but

it fades more quickly then ever and I pay as much attention to them as I

would a fly. I feel lighter and healthier. I’m laughing with more ease and

carrying my self with greater confidence then I have in years, and though

I haven’t made as many friends as I’d like at this point, I’m getting there.

Being marooned in Queens has gotten really old, and I’m hitting the job-

searching pavement more aggressively then ever. I know that whatever

day job I have, whether it’s art related or not, I have the tenacity to come

home at the end of the day and still be creative and productive, and at this

point I need an income so I can get my own place already. Whatever prog-

ress I’ve made hangs on this financial and residential precipice, and until I

have more tangible independence there’s danger of a relapse. I don’t think

it’s super serious yet, but the issue remains.

On a creative level, things are moving along quite nicely. I haven’t pro-

duced as many finished pieces as I wanted to at this point, but I’m drawing

way more then I was before leaving Los Angeles, and I’m at a point where

I feel like the work is making more sense. I pointed this out to Brynn the

other day, and she agreed that a lot of my drawings looked like they were

under Brianna’s influence. The moment it came out I think that part of

my brain turned off.

There were tools and ways of doing things I felt compelled to use because

she did, and though she encouraged me to try new things (like the things

she was doing), I sort of just realized which of them didn’t work for me, so

I’m not using them anymore. I’m drawing the way that makes sense to me.

The results seem to be speaking for themselves.

My temper and stress are still subject to volatility. I don’t get sent over the

edge as often or easily I as I did before, and I can control it way better when

I do, but it still happens. I think that aspect of my personality is something

I’ll be dealing with my entire life, but hopefully not to this degree.

I still think about Brianna a lot. I think a chunk of it can be attributed to

my loneliness and being in Queens, and that’s one of the reasons I want

so badly to get out of there. I’m about 90% sure that if I saw her in person

I’d be surprisingly unaffected, it happened the last time I saw her. A lot

has happened to me since then. Mostly good things, and who knows what

she’s doing and with whom she’s doing it, but there’s still some kind of

unresolved energy between us, at least on my end.

The more I focus on myself and continue to make progress the smaller a lot

of other issues become, I guess some days are easier then others.

Tuesday, August 30th, 2011, 6:37am

I’m not sure what to write, there’s a lot going through my head about a

million different things. My apartment hunt is nearing it’s end, my job

hunt is half over with this new part time waitering/bartending job, and

I’m generally mostly happy. My productivity has taken a bit of a hit with

all that’s been going on, but I know I’ll get productive again fast once I’m

settled somewhere.

Certain things and people still plague me a little, but I’m getting better. I

need to keep going and stay positive like I have been the majority of this

last month, and trust that one way or another things are going to be great.

I said that 27 was going to be my year, I said I was going to make a new

portfolio, I said I was going to lose weight & be healthy. So far everything

seems to be going my way.

I’ve been thinking a lot about what separates successful and unsuccessful

people. And I don’t mean that in a rich/poor kind of way, but success in

terms of creative productivity. I can draw quite well, exceptionally well

when I put just a little effort into it. I can play the guitar with similar ef-

ficiency and people tend to really like my songwriting.

But in the past I had a large problem with laziness. Something got lost be-

tween the idea of something and the motivation to make it tangible. Person-

ally, that laziness was a byproduct of depression. I spent many years in a

bad state of mind, I was timid and lacked confidence, and I would end up

talking myself out of things before I started them. Less so with my music

then with my illustration work, but the problem was there.

In the almost four months I’ve been in New York I’ve almost solved this

issue completely. Controlling my time wasting-internet impulses helps,

and I find that starting something is the hardest part. Once I put pencil

to paper it’s hard for me to stop, it’s just getting over that weird hump in

the beginning.

I think that ability is where the separation occurs; success can almost

always be achieved just by showing up, by being there and following

through. If the actual results are sub par, and sometimes I produce a shitty

drawing – it happens to everyone, I still learn something from the process

and come out a little bit stronger as an artist and draftsman. I came here

to be an illustrator and designer, and I am one. I may have to get an unde-

sirable job to pay the bills while I pursue this goal, but I’m going to keep

working hard at it and it’ll happen for me. Too many people tell me I’m

too good at this and I don’t want to be known as someone who squanders

whatever gifts I’ve been given.

Tuesday August 30th, 2011, 4:49pm

There is this place in Park Slope called the Tea Lounge. It’s a very bohe-

mian/hip kind of coffee shop. The atmosphere is mellow, the drinks and

snacks are good if not a little overpriced, and there’s plenty of seating avail-

able on all the mismatched couches, tables, and chairs. They also have a

pretty strong collection of bands playing and even a reputable open-mic-

night adding to the artistic street cred.

I first heard of the Tea Lounge in one of Brianna’s tweets…she just men-

tioned it as a place that’s cool near bye. I first came here with Amanda to

see the Bjorkestra perform, not realizing until after I was here that it was

the same place. Admittedly, I’ve been coming here (I type this sitting in

one of the little railroad booths they’ve turned into a chair) pretty regu-

larly ever since, admittedly to try and fabricate a chance encounter. It isn’t

healthy behavior. I feel like a drug addict, and every time I hear the stupid

front door open my heart skips a beat and I prepare for the worst.

But I also just really like this place, so it’s a tough call. Oh well.

Sunday, October 16th, 2011, 3:53pm

And life is moving along in good fashion. I’ve been living in my new place

in Prospect (or Crown) Heights for a little over two weeks, and I really

love it. The house itself is huge, I get along pretty well with all three of my

roommates, and Lexi’s boyfriend who spends about half his time at the

house. The vibe and décor is very adult; it feels like the kind of place I’ve

wanted to live in for quite some time, and having a place to settle down

finally is really helping me to improve things.

My bedroom is lacking any major furniture, including a desk, which has

slowed down the transition from couch surfing to truly nesting, but it’s

coming along slowly but surely. At the very least I have privacy, and 120

square feet I can call mine and mine alone, something that hasn’t been

true for years now.

Employment opportunities are beginning to present themselves as well,

and tomorrow I have easily the biggest interview of my life for a Jr. De-

signer position at Random House Books. I applied to the position through

a posting on indeed.com and felt pretty good about it; I had a phone inter-

view on Thursday and the request to come in person Friday morning. I’ve

been riding high on it the last few days…the job sort of already feels like

it’s mine, and while there are a few things I’m slightly nervous about work-

ing against me, my positive vibes about the job far outweigh my concerns.

I know I’ll nail the interview, so hopefully things will work out well. To

even be considered for the position is definitely a win. Likewise, I had my

first illustration published this month in CMJ’s print issue, and the comic

I did with Eric came out this last week as well, both looking way better

in print then I was expecting, and both earning me more street cred…ev-

eryone who saw the book at comic-con really enjoyed the artwork which

was felt really great.

I still have a couple dark thoughts and dark days here and there, but I

really feel like things are turning around, or that I’m finally turning them

around. I know I have a lot of work to do on myself professionally/men-

tally/emotionally, but it’s not as overwhelming an undertaking as it felt a

few months ago. And I think I’m going to get this job…I really feel like me

coming in is more of a formality then a full on interview.

Saturday, October 29th, 2011, 9:27am

I didn’t get the job at Random House. There’s a bright side in that I made

connections and I’ll do what I can to foster them, but I also just kind of

want to opt out.

Wednesday, November 30th, 2011, 1:15pm

If I spent half as much time working on my career as I have trying to track

down a bottle of sleeping pills I’d probably be working in some design

studio somewhere. I honestly just want to kill myself. I’ll picture myself

being successful - good job, girlfriend, doing a lot of illustration, making

music, and then I’ll picture my funeral, and the latter gives me more sat-

isfaction. I don’t feel like there’s a place in this world for me, I don’t even

know what I want to do and what makes me happy anymore. I’m not try-

ing to be dramatic…this is what’s been on my mind for the majority of

the last few months, I don’t know how or even want to find help and the

people who know about this seem to really underestimate what it’s doing

to me, which frankly tells me they don’t care all that much. I’ve consid-

ered cutting my wrists open, but I just feel about making a mess. I may

start caring less though, we’ll see.

Wednesday, December 7th, 2011, 1:28pm,

There are a few job prospects I feel pretty good about, but it’s all kind of

a crapshoot and I seem to have exhausted my parents financial assistance.

I have no idea how I’m going to come up with 750 bucks to pay January’s

rent, or how I’m going to eat in the interim. I’m relatively certain I’m going

to kill myself in the middle of the month when everyone is out of town.

I’ve been researching ways more and more often, I’m going to plan some

fail safes and make it happen.





close to me.





























































































































time.
























situation.


































to believe.



















































































































about 200 feet.






































confidence.















me right now.






























drive back quickly.




























sooner then later.





































going to the beach.







self-confidence.





























































found out.








easier every day.

































































true for years now.

























want to opt out.

























sooner then later.





































going to the beach.







self-confidence.





























































found out.








easier every day.

































































settled somewhere.






















the beginning.







































true for years now.

























want to opt out.



























close to me.





























































































































time.
























situation.


































to believe.



















































































































about 200 feet.






































confidence.















me right now.






























drive back quickly.




























sooner then later.





































going to the beach.







self-confidence.





























































found out.








easier every day.

































































settled somewhere.






















the beginning.







































true for years now.

























want to opt out.























is a collection of short stories & illustrations made

(mostly) between 2009 and 2011. The type is set

in Fanwood, Raleway, Ostrich Sans, Junction and

Orator. Illustrations, writing, & layout by Jonathan

Zajdman.

Sharks Keep Moving, “Join Up”, “Jets Jets”, “Open

Bay”, “Sailor.” Sharks Keep Moving, Status Re-

cords, 1999.

“Killer of Sheep”, Directed by Charles Burnett,

1977

Words & Images © Jonathan Zajdman, 2011

www.jonathanzajdman.com

significant cities

pg. 18 - 21

pg. 32 - 33

ZJ

Documents

Significant Cities