burning bridges…i brought my matches!

klu klux kraken

life is too short
to tolerate feelings of hate
comments of hate
& oppression
overt or covert
directed at women, people of color,
homosexuals, transgendered people,
people with religious differences, immigrants,
or anyone else who is just trying to live their life
in peace.
seriously.
in idle conversation
in heated arguement
in snarky
clueless
comments on social media
i will not tolerate any of it

(i did the above comics in early 2016 when people were getting hurt at his rallies…i wish they could have been filed away and that i never had reason to share them again. i wish we had stopped this when it was just starting to crawl out from under its rock….)

i am quick to burn a bridge. i barely speak to my parents who are abusive, narcissistic, and destructive. i liberally use the “unfriend” option on facebook. i recently told my younger sister–my polar opposite–who voted for trump because he was “god’s choice” who is a total racist despite (??) adopting a black son who loves to tell everyone else how to live their lives who grew up poor but hates poor people who once told me, “don’t vote for so&so because he is for gay rights,” thereby bursting my bubble where i believed everyone has rights….
i stopped talking to her when she voted for trump and  have since let her know that i have no time for her hypocrisy–via a letter she sent me which i returned unopened because i knew already what i would find inside….

so it’s difficult & confusing for me to see the posts of friends on facebook who engage with their racist friends–nicely & with tolerance. and then i wonder–are they better than me? or is their friendliness flawed? at first i thought they must be better people than me. kind to those who are evil or whatever. then i thought, “no. if we treat these motherfuckers with kid gloves–they will never realize they are motherfuckers.”

this helped…i saw this on facebook today:

racism

so i am going to keep on burning my bridges.
life is too short.

 

sophie’s choice

so i am applying for this award that goes to mothers who write &/or draw.  there are a bunch of categories, but they encourage you to only enter in one. i have been agonizing over whether i should go with the graphic novel category and enter moses jones or if i should enter in the drawing category and just showcase my ink stain whimsy series (among other drawings i feel strongly about.)

seriously, it has been agonizing.

last night i was sure that i could write a graphic novel to go with my ink stain whimsy series and enter it & mojo in the graphic novel category…. and maybe i could. and maybe i will! but not right now. i started to. split into a few different directions. saw images in my head i knew i could not at this time create.

finally, i started to physically go through all of my pages of moses jones and all of my ink stains.
reading moses jones had a much stronger pull for me than my inkstains.
i love my ink stains. they are totally a relaxing and fun art to do.
but graphic novels…
moses jones…
how i love my graphic novels.

i even dug through some of my other comics. weener coop and just me & my lizard brain:

man, i love comics & graphic novels.

so i am going to convince myself that the judges will see the beauty i see in moses jones and award me a greatly needed cash prize.

 

missing moses jones

i haven’t done many inkings lately with all the other work i have been doing just by surviving my every day. i miss doing art.
however, when i went looking through my old moses jones pages, i was horrified by my art. i was all like, “who reads this atrocity?” (well…no one other than my handful of dedicated fans [i love you]) but that doesn’t mean i shouldn’t try to do better!

before my several months of doing inkings & neglecting comics, i was already frustrated with the style moses jones was starting to take on. i prefer the earlier pages. i super prefer the original moses jones prototype drawings.

so after purchasing a wooden katana (technically a bokken–used for training) at an olde english faire, i felt compelled to do some sketches of some of the characters from moses jones.

it felt good to sketch her again. and to do it roughly. no blue pencil…just ink.

i mean, i guess i just continue the story but alter the art?

or start a new chapter over again since i am only a bit into the new episode & completely forgot that i left lucy in labor at the end of episode two?

i need to start a new chapter. start over–ish.

but first! i need to work more on this project i am illustrating for a very cool woman i know. i have been playing around with that character as well. this is what she will look like:IMG_4059

so now i just need to get her story illustrated.

then! on to moses jones & more inkings….

confusion perfume

i’m at a crossroads
turn back?
to the crap i know
the familiar crap
the daily rejections
or forward
left or right
does it even matter?
onward
to unfamiliar crap
& all new rejection
fresh horrors
which way do i go
when all i want
is to be heard
to be seen
to not just be their mirror
for their warped soul
eyes that only seek out
my own
for the benefit of seeing
their reflection
in me
which way do i go…
wait
can i unfold my wings now
can i choose to fly
not backwards
not forwards
not left or right
but up
up & away?

so i’m still trying to do the internet dating thing…though i have deleted my profile at least 3 times & started over….
i’ve made dates & broken them.
i’ve been made fun of by men who think they’re smarter than me.
i’ve been asked to be a submissive (told him i can’t do what i’m told to save my life)
i’ve been asked to be a dominant (never responded because i was so creeped out by this guy)

i dunno.

i started just messaging guys who had interesting or intriguing or message-worthy profiles. some actually messaged back. one seems pretty cool….

meanwhile…

dusty seems to think we are in a relationship. or desperately wants to be in a relationship with me? that’s the way it goes with dusty. he only wants me when i don’t want him. and i used to only want him when he wanted me…but then i realized that i don’t need to be rejected to feel loved. funny that.

so he is always asking to “talk” to me about something. after how many years of marriage of my begging him to talk to me. after i finally divorced him. after he tried to hurt me with other women. after i gave him an ultimatum and he chose option b….
now he wants to talk.
all the time.

i haven’t told him i am trying to re-enter the dating pool. i’m not sure it’s any of his business. i really don’t think it is. i have been clear with him…if he chooses not to listen to me–still!–is that my fault?

so today i dug out the test i wrote back in my late twenties.
no one ever passed it.
i eventually gave up & got married anyway.

also!
i dug out the comic i wrote about the test i made and the fact that i never followed through with it….

which made me miss writing comics a lot more than it made me miss dating….

bruised

when i was a little girl, i loved to draw and i loved to write. i won (or at least came in second) in different competitions for both of them. i was good. at some point, i decided i had to choose between the two. i don’t remember why i decided this…but it seemed like the thing to do.

i chose to be a writer.

effectively, i stopped drawing and put all my energy into writing. i wrote my first two books while i was in jr. high school. i wrote another in high school. i wrote another directly after high school. i would spend many hours a day writing. in notebooks. on typewriters. on napkins. on word processors (it was the 80’s & 90’s). i wanted nothing more than to be a writer.

i moved to iowa city directly after high school to attend the university of iowa and it’s famous writer’s workshop.
but life got in the way, and i decided, “who needs to go to school to be a writer? live life & write to be a writer!”
so i did that. while living life, aka working in a bar, a girl (colleen coover) told me i reminded her of a character in the graphic novel love & rockets. and that began my love affair with comic books.

maybe it was with my fourth book that i started thinking maybe i could turn it into a graphic novel. so i sought out the local iowa city comic guy (paul tobin) and asked his advice. like most men comic bookers, he was just excited to see a chick interested in comics. he was trying to break into writing serious stuff and turned it around so i was helping him. and he tried to get into my pants. it all ended up with our becoming good friends, but he never took my becoming a comic booker seriously–so i never did either.

(coincidentally, i eventually introduced colleen & paul and they later became a comic booking team and romantically involved…or vice versa)

(also, coincidentally, i later dated tim bradstreet–another comic artist–who also declined to take my aspirations seriously.)

anyhoo!

i focused on writing for many many years, ignoring my love of drawing.

but i love them both. words & images. i love them. you can do so much with either medium.

(sigh)

so one of the projects i am playing around with is taking all of my random stories & thoughts and putting them in a visual context. i know i have already talked about this…but not with such a fascinating backstory!

so this one is the start of a short story that i never finished. bruised. about a woman who has a seizure and comes loose in time…ish. like i said, i never finished it…so who knows what happened next.

but i had fun doing this. the first attempt went into the fireplace…but i am pretty happy with this one.

death to tyrants.

i’m still a mess.
thank you for asking.
i’m pretty sure no one has even noticed my facebook absence.
i like the word “pariah.”
i often feel like i am one.
pariah.

maybe i shouldn’t live in isolation.
well, we did go to the park today.
so it’s not total isolation.
of course, we drove 15 miles to go to the park.
fuck.
we live in isolation.
in trump-ville, illinois.
okay, not everyone is a republican here, but the votes of this part of illinois are offset by the votes of chicago. this is the red part of illinois.
so red.
and i am here.
a freak.
a pariah.
at the park with my kids….

okay, it wasn’t that bad.
though i have lived in college towns the majority of my life for a reason. i don’t worry about sticking out–too much. college towns are liberal. pekin, illinois…not so much. (up until very recently, their highschool mascot was the “chink”)
fuck a duck.
but small towns can surprise you.
just like liberal towns can surprise you with how white they are
small towns can surprise you with how much they care about you–as a person.
as an individual.

one of the reasons i am so depressed & generally antagonistic
is that i am lovesick
which is extraordinarily dumb
because said person, my unrequited love, is just that
unrequited.
i love him still
after 20 years
or more.
i fucked up a good thing
and now leonard cohen is dead.
(he introduced me to leonard cohen…and yes, i broke down & bought some beer & now i am fuzzy.)

have you ever seen cat on a hot tin roof ? brick drinks to hear that “click.”
that is what it is like sometimes when i drink.
when i am depressed & drinking & just looking for the click.

fuck a duck.

god, i’m grumpy.

shortly after trump (or turnip as i drunkenly typed first) was elected, i was looking at the obituaries and found myself thinking, “ah…the lucky ones.”

anyhoo!
so this is a comic that i thought of today when i realized i could shout, “death to tyrants!” every time i swatted a fly and maybe the universe would carry the action of my killing a small parasite to a realm of the world where that energy could go towards stopping a big parasite….
so i did a comic.
remember, i do comics.
but i really get more satisfaction out of my daily ink blot tests….
hmmm.

mister chicken

so as it turns out,
i’m not crazy–i’m an empath.
okay,
sometimes i’m still crazy.
but when i get super sad and then feel elated the next minute–
the thing is–
i often don’t feel my own emotions,
i feel other people’s emotions.
so weird.
i always knew i was really really empathetic
but only in the past couple of years have i learned about being an empath.

so i’m an empath.
i feel things
and know things
that other people cannot sense.
i know when someone is lying.
i can see an aura better than i can notice the color of your eyes.
and it has come to my attention that being an empath–& not knowing how to protect yourself–is a dangerous & even a bad thing.
i don’t know how to protect me.
i lay open for everyone to just dump their emotions in.
and then i turn into a raging pond of dumped emotions.

so today i was reading a book about service dogs for families that have special needs children and i felt profoundly sad.  and instead of just feeling sad, i examined why i felt sad…only to realize that the sadness was not my own, but the sadness of these families.
it finally clicked.
i was not feeling my own emotions.
i was feeling someone else’s!!
and just like that, the sadness evaporated.
how often am i doing that?
being angry with someone else’s anger?
being happy with someone else’s happiness?
being frustrated with someone else’s frustration?

i wonder.
when i was a child, i loved animals. all animals. i loved them. i collected them. i had over fifty pets as a kid–and even more imaginary ones.
but my dad was so angry.
and he put that anger on us kids
and on the animals.
and i felt myself absorb that anger.
i felt it grow inside me.
i recognized it when it came out–it was his anger, not mine.
but over the years i adopted it as my own.
i was the one being angry at the animals.
it stopped being his and became mine.
and i felt so horrible about it
about myself.
i cringe to think that that is who i am.
but what if it isn’t?
i wonder…
if i now realize it is not my anger after all…can i send it on its way?