Something in my DNA buys into the hype that tortured artist-types cannot function without the aid of illicit substances.  The poison I picked years ago to deal with the world around me is alcohol.  It does wonders for lubricating the social interactions that my non-intoxicated self is adept at grinding to a halt, but it doesn’t really do wonders for artistic progress.  Lately I’ve been experimenting with combining alcohol and art, but it hasn’t yeilded stellar results.  My coordination lapses to the point where I can’t steady my hand correctly, and if I’m trying to come up with sketches/rough drafts it dulls my wit too much.  It does aid me, however, in my ability to write something nearly worth reading.

So it looks like my substance for visual artistic creation will continue to be coffee.  That is, unless hallucinogenic mushrooms prove to be punchline gold!  Tune in next time!