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?

 

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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.)

 

anti-versaries….

fifteen years ago
i married the man i thought i would be with
forever
i thought i had done my time
suffered my losses
dug my way back up from hell
& now i was being rewarded
we had a picnic wedding
we had a slip & slide
& a dunk tank
we wore flip flops
made up our vows
and promised to always
always & forever
be there for the other.
what happened?
what went wrong?
like every other event in my life
i have analized
& apologized
& tried to puzzle it out
but i guess i never actually made it out of hell
i was just on a new layer
of fresh pain.

curses

The literati mafia

say it in anger
say it in frustration
in sadness
& sorrow
say it in exasperation
in amazement
& awe
say it for effect
for emphasis
say it to make yourself
laugh
for levity
for celebration
for kinship
say it
just to say it…
(i for one
am glad to live in an era
when it is–
at the least–
acceptable for a mom
to curse
like a sailor.)

© quixotic mama 2018
for more of my art & writings jump over to quixotic mama
the image is one from my self-portrait series, done with ink pen & ink brush.

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turning a page

granted, due to the amount of ink & water i use, i am only able to use one side of a page, but yes–i am finishing another journal. i have written onto the final two pages & now just have to illustrate.
& i have written an entry already onto the first page of the new one.
i started the almost finished journal in early march of this year. a little over four months, and it is full.
wow.
when i look back through them, i am amazed.
who knew i had so much to say?
(okay, i knew–but before i started doing this art journal exercise–i mostly just said it to myself)
this is the fourth journal i have filled since last october when i started doing my self-portrait project. is there a world’s record for self-portraits? how many more do i need to do?

also, i am exploring more environmental/food stuff issues with my journaling–not just the wreck of me, but the wreck of all of us.
so we’ll see how that goes.

“The challenge for all of us is to find those few causes which are peculiarly our own, those to which we are clearly called, and then to embrace them wholeheartedly,” writes Scott Russell Sanders in his book Hunting for Hope.
for me, that is our food systems & how far we have all wandered away from nature & good food. the environmental effects of our lost ways. other than healing my own wounds through my art (& reaching out to others who know my pain) i hope to influence a shift in how we see our food systems and the destruction they wreak on us & on our world. maybe it is arrogance & delusion to think anyone would listen to me…but i at least have to try.