audience participation…

okay.
so kaddie tucker over at down a long dark road was the first (and only so far) to request a polishing up of an art journal page.
i changed it a lot. both the art & the poem. i was in a bit of a weird mood so it turned out not as dark as the original. i hope it still works?
thank you, kaddie!

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no wonder

The literati mafia

i still wonder
but i no longer
hope
but
that’s not true
i always hope
but i have no
faith
or do i have faith
but i just don’t
believe?
i look for
truth
i look for
authenticity
but it seems
i find
nothing
a world
full
of
nothing
people full of
nothing
& then
the wind blows
just right
the sun sparkles
just so
& all of a sudden
i have
everything
after
all.

© quixotic mama 2018
for more of my art & writings, go to quixotic mama
the image is an original from my art journal self-portrait series

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the hunt

when i was in my twenties
i would have chased you
like a wolf pack
on a caribou
but…
you know…
in a sexy way
except
i’m not sure i’ve ever been
sexy
mostly maybe
aggressive?
that’s what they called
girls like me
…& not in the good way
now
now i am a tired wolf
a timid wolf
gun shy
& a bit more leary
before i give chase…
&
my chase
is more of an amble
like…maybe i’ll catch up…
if you trip?
or
maybe you could chase
me?
before i head on back
to my cave.

seriously. i was relentless when i was younger. i chased, and they ran. i hunted boys for sport.
but those days are long over.
i really don’t want to chase boys anymore. i don’t want to be chased either. i want something mutual and perfect. right? but does that ever happen?
meanwhile,
i also want to be a mongolian falconer. that just sounds like a much better way to live. i wonder what romance is like in mongolia.

the colors kind of got away from me in this one. this might just be the most color i’ve used in an inking? maybe? it’s a bit over the top. but that’s what came out of me tonight.

powerless

i hate this feeling
of being
powerless
politicians do what they
want
corporations do whatever
without
consequence
forests are cleared
oceans are poisoned
entire species go extinct
& everyone
all of us
look the other way
people die
& are abused
people
starve
& have no access
to shelter
clean water
health care
the safety
that others
so easily take for granted
meanwhile
life goes on
for those of us who live
in the bubble…
& then i have to wonder
are we actually powerless
or
just calloused?

 

mother help us

we call her “mother”
mother earth
mother nature
no wonder they fuck
her up
so completely
have you see the way they treat their
mothers
sisters
wives & daughters?
have you seen what happens
to the mothers
in this world?
maybe
maybe
we should start
referring to the earth
as a rich
white
man
so everyone will
protect the planet
instead of relentlessly
raping
her.

another attempt to relay the frustration and immense angst i feel about the world i live in. i wish i knew how to do it more eloquently. i wish i knew how to make people listen & pay attention. i can feel the urgency of the situation in my blood & thoughts…but then the trees whisper that they have a plan.
if i cannot trust man, i must have faith that the trees have a plan.

gothic tendencies

“christian” farmers
playing god
deciding
the landscape
of our lives
growing crops
designed to fatten
the pockets of corporations
praying to god money
as the planet
& it’s people
slowly
wither
& die.

with credit to “american gothic” by grant wood,
i continue my crusade.

spinning

this is how it is
with me
i go in circles
for years
convincing myself
i am on the right path
& where i want to be
following my own lead
believing my own gospel
until one day
like a light switch
i see the fork
in the road
& i take a new direction…
never turning back.

fickle? i like the word fickle. it rhymes with pickle.
in high school my friend dubbed me a “spigot of passion.” that works too. i pour it all out, all over the place. and then i shut it off.
i
just
shut
it
off.
but, in my own defense, all the times i have shut off my passion…i have done it in my own defense. i tend to trust my heart with ones who should not even be trusted with a lesser organ…like an ear…or an appendix. i give them my heart and they use it for an ashtray and eventually my self respect, my self preservation kicks in…and i just shut it off. i shut off my love. i close it away to somewhere safe(r).

this happened recently with my seymour saga. he finally crossed the line where i could no longer pretend he wasn’t doing a tap dance on the tattered remains of my heart & soul.

so i shut it off. turned it off.
he has nothing on me now.
he is nothing to me now.

does that make me calloused & cruel?
or does it mean i still have some love left
for me? after all i gave to him…i still have
some
left for me.

okay. seriously. “me & bobby mcgee” (seymour & mine’s song) started playing as i typed the words “so i shut it off. turned it off. he has nothing on me now. he is nothing to me now.” what the fuck, universe-that-insists-on-talking-to-me-via-songs-on-the-radio?? what the fuck? so i got up & turned off the radio & put on some amanda palmer on pandora. (oh do totally watch that video…it always makes me smile.)