Colourings: Comics

Happy New Year. This new year begins with the generally frustrative frettings that are speciously bundled with the young financially insolvent artist package, into which I sold myself, upon moving to the land of thousand dollar rents and thirty hour days. A New York minute is not nearly as fast as you'd imagine, or it's not fast in the way that you'd imagine, unless you're treating it as a commodity and selling it to the highest bidder, someone who's looking to revamp their hook with that old 'say no more' sort of Broadway flair. A New York minute is fast because it requires effort, it is fast because it has so much potential behind it, potential driven by the cost of using up a New York minute. A New York minute is fast, and it's heavy. The overbearing mass of choices that stretch tall and thick as midtown and its traffic weigh on every decision, and the coupling of this weight with the pain of the money-lenders knobby shillelagh prodding at your behind, sticking you right through the padding of the wallet in your behind pocket, reminding you that you ought to plan your next minute before this minute is up or you'll be out two ticks on the big hand with no better handle on the matter, well, that coupling can cripple an honest man (given time). The two little men or women sitting on your shoulders, the angel and devil characters in the polarizing theatrics of popular culture - here in New York they are elephants! Big old imported-direct-from-the-dark-continent lumbering savannah crawlers that treat your back like an orator's stump. One's spouting off about how the weather's nice and there's a brown bag with a mickey in it waiting for you at the liquor store and a patch of grass just your size in Central Park, and the other's reciting verbatim the 'raisons pour habiter a la metropole' - to get ahead, to learn, to make progress towards sustaining your niche vocation, and neither is wearing a costume; they're just two huge stinking elephants, naked and invisible as radio, crushing your hope for building momentum. The real rub is that they don't smell peanuts on your yoke and come propping themselves atop your perch unless or until you stop moving.
Were I a decadent man, bent perhaps on self-destruction, I'd bask in the waste and weight of a New York minute spent in a quandary. But I ain't one. So, through the struggle of small steps, and the hope of those elephants finding someone else to bother, and news of some way to pay that money-lender with the knotted stick, I'll make my away along the string of New York minutes that weigh the day into relative stasis. This is a long segue into explaining why I decided to make some more Complementary Colourings yesterday, despite them not doing a thing for my wallet or my penchant for merrymaking. I made then because I had to get my mind off the malingering bulk of the New York minute. Whew.