festering pot of rot

my words aren’t
making
sense
not even
to me
i feel like i am
shifting
moving
glitching
my thoughts are
disjointed
reluctant
maybe my brain is rotten
a festering
demented
pot of rot
but…my own special
demented
pot of rot….
strangely
i kinda like it
that way…
stumbling over my
words
keeps me honest
makes me look
deeper
discover
more.

i wrote this when i was struggling to find the right words for a few days. i think i have stumbled through and am blundering on with my art journal adventure. though the self-portrait for this page turned out not as i was expecting, & i am posting it even though i feel it speaks badly of me. but who am i if i don’t post my ugly for everyone to see?

i sent my short story collection, tangled together, to a potential publisher today. a crazy little punk rock press hellbent on challenging the system. it reminded me of me. so hopefully they don’t reject me
because
what would that say
about me?
(nothing new–it would say nothing new)

it felt good to send it off. i had to make a new to-do list to hang over my desk.
1. work on art for journal book
2. work on chasing ghosts
3. work on captain blonde beard
4. don’t forget moses jones

also! i am trying to get started on a series of maps. we will see how that goes. the idea is still evolving–percolating–in my festering demented pot of rot.

ps. it appears as if tumblr is not happy about my drawing my boobs so much–or maybe it’s my profanity. you think they could tell the difference between kiddie porn and self-expression. i suspect my account over there will soon be frozen. so, you know, #fucktumblr

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