A Truly Beautiful Mess
Here's my long ass autobiography for my Artist Composition class. I haven't bloged in a while, so I decided to post my ROUGH DRAFT here. It's not as thorough as I would like it to be at all, and it's a bit all over the place. But fuck it! LMAO! At least now with this last bit of homework done I can go back to playing The Sims.
"Oh, No!!" Those two words must have been shouted the day my soul came to be...
March 18, 1976. Two months early… Or was I late? I don't remember. Either way, some miscellaneous flap of skin opened and released me from seven months of watery solitude, give or take a few. A solitude where I oftentimes wish I could return.
My artistic life started almost immediately when my mother dubbed me "NoShell". NoShell? What is a NoShell? How can someone with such an outlandish name, someone whose name so blatantly announces the fact that they are extroverted be so shy? This is the beginning of my life as a living oxymoron.
I had a rather isolated childhood, on the wrong side of the tracks, so to speak. My mother and father divorced, so for a long time she and I were flying solo. I was mercilessly taunted a lot by the neighborhood hoodrats for being an only child in an area where everyone had at least three siblings. That, coupled with the fact that I was raised Wiccan in the Bible Belt, was more than enough to set me on the path of being a loner. My mother, whom was always my best friend, was super eccentric. She often made her escape from the harsh environment through books and film. I chose music as my fantastical media, and spent endless hours losing myself in Classic Rock, Classic R&B, Pop, Heavy Metal, or whatever else caught my ear on the radio.
In elementary school, I was a quick-witted and mouthy kid, always in the accelerated classes. I happened to be a fast learner, and was so easily bored. When I wasn't doodling, asleep, or sneakily...
