Some Random Sketchbook Pages

I am at the library today to scan and post some pages from my sketchbook representative of the pathetic trickle of creativity I've attempted in recent years and months. I can't trust myself to be dilligent or industrious. I'm hoping this will change soon. God help me.

Just doing this for the fuck of it, to show that I can. I am a person in my own right!

Aliens are real! The PTB have been interfacing with them for years; get used to it!

Just experimenting here. Yes the layout is crap.

Even a blind squirrel gets an acorn once in a while.


Self-Important Statement of Intent

I had originally intended this to be a fictional chronicle from the point of view of the main character of an epic saga entitled "Existential Dilemma." It was an endeavor that proved too ambitious for someone so chronically challenged with sloth and torpor. When my hard drive was attacked by malicious electronic invaders and I lost the bulk of the prose I had managed to accumulate thus far, I abandoned the idea that Bob Loehr should have his own blog. Anyhow, I want to commit my thoughts and ideas to cyberspace as they relate to various topics; Dreams, Awakening Consciousness, Creative Process, Synchronicity, My Story and its structure. I'm not sure exactly why, because I can't imagine that anyone will read it, and if they do, the content may incriminate me. There is an urge to write and a conceit to publish instantly.

The bottlecap pictured at the head of the page is significant, in that it spells out the most important message for me personally and for the character of Loehr.

I had a significant dream last night. I got to bed late again and woke up at around 5 a.m. suffering from a double whammy of indigestion and acid reflux. I could not get comfortable for another few hours. When I did get back to sleep, Heres what transpired:

I don't know how I got into this situation but everybody in the group is compliant. If they say we have to give each other injections through the ear and into the center of the brain to finally remove all capacity for critical thinking, well then, what can anyone do? this seemed to be the sheepish reasoning among the group I had somehow ended up casting my lot with. I couldn't accept the inevitability of it and I was wringing my hands looking for a way out. The complacently powerful masters paced their patrol of the labyrinth. One spotted me and I pretended to be headed to a urinal. Apparently that allayed his suspicions and I was able to crawl through a window. I knew I would have to abandon my automobile and get away on foot. I made my way through the maze of structures, going through private residences, over rooftops and through alleyways, anywhere I thought would make pursuit more difficult for the cult leaders who would bring me forcibly back into the fold and lobotomize me. My goal was to make it to the airport and somehow get out of the state. I ended up going to a church and contacting people in the congregation who knew the group leaders. I reported that they were up to no good. The whole time I was worried about the retrieval of my material possessions. I had left a car in good working order, a thermarest and sleeping bag. I was glad when I awoke to realize that my car was in the driveway and no one was chasing me.

Obviously this is a picture of my fear of PTB trying to hold me back from doing what I want to do with my life. My job is to make the effort to go forward, to escape from this mind-numbing paradigm of lies in spite of my conditioned fear.