November 24, 2025
It’s the morning of my birthday, I’m in a tiff with my friends, and – even though I’m generally having a good time right now – that conflict is adding a dark undercurrent to my feelings.
I just had a moment – and the feeling that I miss having a person. That one person who I can share everything with. I thought about how my last person just flew across the country to go into rehab again. And then I started thinking about nurturing sick relationships, which brought me a sinister kinda delight. And THEN it occurred to me that I could shoot up today and no one would ever know. And I doubt I will, but I still HAD THE THOUGHT.
It’s around 5pm now and Brandon texted to ask if I’m coming over. (Not when, but if). I asked about THE PUMPKIN at the heart of the embarrassingly petty conflict between us.
He didn’t call and say: “Let’s not stress it, it’s your birthday, let’s just have a good time.” He texted back: “If you wanna argue about it, maybe it wouldn’t be a good birthday dinner.”
So I just thumbs-upped that shit and I’m not going. I’m not feeling anything like DEEP DESPAIR, but I am feeling a little like “fuck everyone else in the world.” I leave town soon so now it’ll be at least 5 weeks before I even have a chance to see Brandon and Amanda again.
Those two are my best friends. They took me in when I was at my worst and helped me get my life together when everyone else told them not to take a chance on me. Without them, I wouldn’t be making art or building a career. I wouldn’t have any reason to leave town for 5 weeks.
But knowing they haven’t realized they just missed their last chance to see me until December – that gives me a sinister kinda satisfaction too. I’m PUNISHING THEM.
This painting’s not about going away for 5 weeks. Its title (LIKE ALL GOOD TITLES) is a suicide threat. I’m not even 5% of the way to feeling suicidal BUT I STILL ENJOY THE SENTIMENT.
Being dead so EVERYONE CAN FEEL BAD ABOUT THE HORRIBLE INJUSTICES THEY INFLICTED UPON ME is a nice fantasy. Emphasis on “fantasy.” No one gives a shit and I’m a fucking crybaby.
“You’ll miss me when I’m gone?” I mean – sure, sort of. But not really. People move on.
The small text on the book’s cover is: The exciting new bestseller from the acclaimed author of “Why Don’t You Love Me Anymore?” and “Wah Wah Wah.” I wrote it with my ex in mind. She says she loves me but – even before she flew off to rehab – she wasn’t with me. I don’t even know that I wanted her to be, but I did want her to want to (be with me).
That’s dumb ego shit. I need to drop it. All the “sinister” stuff – that’s dumb too, but I ENJOY IT SO MUCH. And it might be an inexplicable part of who I am. I’m sort of okay with that because I think it’s a coping mechanism and – so far as coping mechanisms go – I’ve had worse.
You’ll Miss Me When I’m Gone was painted from 27 June 2025 through 30 August 2025, with additions on 4 and 18 November 2025, and major revisions on 13 May 2026.
I’ve historically had the policy that once a painting is finished, it is locked in amber as a snapshot of where I was as a person (and an artist) at that moment in time. But I’ve been thinking more seriously about my career lately and want all of my work to be of the highest caliber. After this painting was finished, I wrote long journal entries that I transcribed onto the canvas and used as the foundation for this statement. Months later, I repainted 15-20% of the canvas and cut most of the journals from the statement. They were PRETTY TRIVIAL and I no longer think my work needs embarrassingly specific details to be interesting. My standards for color, composition, and expressivity, on the other hand… KEEP RISING.
