Itstartedin82 is Tim Coon's weekly updated personal weblog that is used to document his current freelance work, sketch book, and other forms art that he is currently working on. If you would like to contact Tim for a commission you may email him at or go to his website and fill out the contact form on the website.

All work on this site is property of Tim Coon and cannot be used without his consent.

Friday, July 30, 2010

Sink into the Pacific "F"

The Letter "F"

F is for Forever...
I am listening to a mix I made for a woman in my life. As per everything up until this point it is complicated. And it also makes me happy. Whatever. It isn't for forever.

Forever for me has been many many different things. States, counties and cities. Homes, houses and apartments. Fiances, girlfriends and fucks. Heartbreak, loss and indifference. That has been forever.

I am spending multiple minutes of multiple hours convincing roommates, friends, best friends, coworkers, ex-lovers and the occasional lawyer that I am fine. Amanda got me a little bit ago, and it still stands true...

YOU are all I ever want. I am a hopeless romantic. (This blog has just officially lost any street cred by that lame exclamation. whatever. street cred is for assholes and I am a hopeless romantic) All I look for is Family; Struggle.


This isn't where it is supposed to be...

Forever is something I thought I understood; I do not anymore.

I am so close to putting my foot in my mouth it is almost hilarious.

Don't worry, you will totally see it happen. Shit, it might have already happened tonight.

So it goes.


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Sink into the Pacific "E"

The Letter "E"

E is for Elizabeth...
There have been multiple people, men and women both, in my life that I have treated less than satisfactory. This is for Elizabeth. She was one of them. I hope she knows I am sorry, or at least forgot about me.

Of course we worked together. We always work together, don't we? We bought a six pack of Anchor Steam at a beach-near liquor store. It was the time in my life when I thought that more expensive beer made me feel better about the shitty decisions I made. I'm not there these days. No beer makes me feel better about my decisions, and they aren't any excuses left. It is honest; it is nice. You had driven to that beach city. We parked between a harbor and the beach, between a comedy club I went to once and patch of sand I lost one of my many parts of innocence in. There was a blanket, yellow maybe, it doesn't matter. I had recently gotten back into the swing of things, as someone might say. Everything was new. It was as if I had just woken up from a coma, shaved off my huge beard, and tried to stumble my way through a sexual encounter. It was sloppy, uncoordinated, and earnest. I will always remember one moment. My lips found your left earlobe. It was soft, had a bit of give to it. It didn't taste like perfume, or lotion, or anything; just flesh. I sucked it in between my lips and gently bit down on it. Where this technique came from? I am not sure. But you thanked its parents with your breaths and moans. We had a late start, that night, and we left soon after. I also remember a long straight drive, on another evening, to your place. It was out where the wind was even less forgiving then the rest of that god forsaken valley. You had your own place, but only showed me your living room and your photographs. You were probably the first photographer I fell for once I could understand photography. I owe you that, thank you. We slept together that night, underwear and spoons. Everything in that house, the few times I visited, stayed in the PG realm. That was fine. That is fine. We figured the rest of that out later. That is where things get bad. I don't care to revisit them on these pages, not today at least. But know I am sorry. And yes, yes, in the past I told the story about how the end of our sexual encounter on your birthday was less then satisfactory, especially in terms of me as a lover. And yes, I took you back to you car as the sun was rising. And no, I had nothing to do that day. I am selfish. It is not an excuse. Maybe a back story, but definitely not an excuse.

Funny thing about all of this. It is two in the morning, and I am writing a belated "I'm Sorry" letter to a woman I talked to for the first time since 2007 about two months ago. In a virtual chat. And I am drinking beer alone. And to the best of my knowledge she has a loving husband and beautiful child and lives three hours ahead. Congratulations Elizabeth, you pulled it together. Me? Well...


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Sink into the Pacific "D"

The Letter "D"

D is for Don't...
Don't is the only advice I get lately, from family, friends and from myself. Don't drink too much. Don't go to that party. Don't invest in foreign currency. Don't call him. Don't send her that text. Don't forget that birthday. Don't sleep with someone just so your bed isn't empty. Don't wear your heart on your sleeve. Don't show any emotion. Don't cry. Don't fight. Don't hate. Don't scream. Don't sing out of key. Don't believe everything you hear. Don't skip work today. Don't take a nap. Don't borrow money from lovers. Don't collect keys. Don't keep doing the same things and expect a different reaction. Don't seek sympathy. Don't over-react. Don't talk to any Asian women. Don't save slow dances for anyone. Don't smoke. Don't try to match. Don't put food and drinks on the same tray. Don't make that person cry. Don't give up. Don't sell out. Don't get married. Don't start a family. Don't plan for the future. Don't paint. Don't waste any talent. Don't listen to that band. Don't blindly recite quotations that you can't put your heart into. Don't dance. Don't forget postage. Don't sleep on your arm. Don't waste your time. Don't waste your life. Don't talk to strangers. Don't tell anyone how you feel. Don't be so honest. Don't like her. Don't let him in. Don't invite them over. Don't take those drugs. Don't eat those pills. Don't settle. Don't fucking settle. Ever.


Sink into the Pacific blog

Monday, July 26, 2010


It is 96 degrees in Lancaster and poor Missy is inside relaxing on the couch. My dog needs to get a job.

Park Avenue Part 1

Friday at 9 pm I started working on the mural at Park Avenue Salon. I worked till about 8 am in the morning. My first idea was to do a paste up, but then I changed my mind. Then up until 9:15 pm Friday I was going to use a projector. That plan will end when I discovered I couldn't move some of the stations blocking the projector. So I went with the grid method. I was taught how to do this by my first art teacher Bobby Whitaker. It is a task setting everything up but once you start it moves pretty quick. The grid I am painting is 8 feet high and 19 feet wide. Then with the help of Photoshop I created a grid that was 8 inches high and 19 inches wide. It took an hour or so to set up the grid. Then I started sketching it out. I have finished a rough sketch and started painting a few squares. It is a single color painting so it will take a little less time to paint, but it is very detailed so it will still take a long time. My friend Johnny showed up around 3:30 am to give me some company and brought me a Monster energy drink. He did some mopping and cleaning for a while. Then I gave him a brush and had him paint in the solid squares. Here is a picture of the grid I will slowly up date with more pictures as I go along.

Thursday, July 15, 2010

Sink into the Pacific "C"

Letter C

C is for Chances...
There are never too many chances to give or too many chances to take. There are never unnecessary chances. I take chances. I give them too. You are welcome to them, as many as your heart could possibly desire. I'll need a basket full too, if you have them to spare. I've known people to give them to men, women, sports teams, organizations, political theories, pants, parts of this country, other countries, wives, husbands, children and grocery stores. One of these days soon I won't need any more chances. I will wake up to just before the sun rising and not fall back asleep. I won't need coffee or amphetamines or the hair of the dog. I will put on my favorite shirt, the one that is in all of the pictures, and it will be soft, soft like the skin of the woman I am leaving alone in my bed. It will smell like her, and every bird, every song, every thought and every crack skipped over for the sake of saving backs of women I will be forever in debt to will remind me of her. Flowers. Dinners. Rage. Tears. Museums. Sandwiches. Love Songs. Appliances. Wine. Poems. Paintings. Sweat. Baked Goods. All of it. Everything. That day all of those things, and things I failed to mention, and things I don't even know about today will take the place of all of the chances I've been burning through like matches behind the gym at some Midwest high school. Chances. Second Chances. Third Chances. No need. No need at all.


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Wednesday, July 14, 2010

Sink into the Pacific "B"

Letter B.

B is for Bending...
The idea is to bend, not to break. I will bend my morals. Wait. Do I have morals? Hmm. I will bend them if I do. I will bend a situation until it fits me exactly how I want it to. I will bend your words to fit what I think you should be saying. I will bend my plans to include you. I will bend my history to hide the bad parts. I will bend my walls to let you in. And I've figured all this out. I don't worry about hearts breaking, especially my own. I don't worry about habits breaking. I'll make new habits and just throw the other ones away. I'll bend for you, wherever you are, whoever you are.


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