i am pretty sure
that my opinion
will never be a popular one…
that never stops me
eggs me on….
so listening to david bowie while doing self-portraits can have interesting effects. this one actually reminds me of my sister patrice. i figure if i see a family resemblance in my self-portraits, i’m doing a good job of it–especially since i rarely look in a mirror–ever. i mean, i am often out in public going, “holy fuck, i have no idea what i look like,” and hoping for the best…though suspicious when everyone is smiling at me in a sad sort of sympathetic way….
you know those days where you can just smell
in the wind
& it seems like something good is bound to
you know those days when your heart just feels
& you cry for no reason…
or for a lost reason…
or maybe there are just so many reasons you can’t even separate them
that’s me grown up, and me as a girl–a two-fer self-portrait. if you are wondering, i did look like eddie munster as a child.
i’m not sure i captured what was in my mind, but i am happy that i got pretty close.
another bonus for those of you who actually read this…my future in greeting cards…i painted this huntress for my sister-in-law’s birthday card. i thought it turned out okay for just winging it.
overall, i am going to rate myself with three stars today. haha.
too many men
haunt my heart
they would say
i didn’t love them
i would say
i loved them
a bright light
i burned out
i had another dream/nightmare about dusty last night. why? why? i keep asking myself that question. why is he haunting my fucking dreams? why do i spend my nights chasing something i do not want? begging him to take me back?
he would love to know that i have reoccurring dreams about loving him.
i would love to know why i am having these dreams. what does he represent? what does our fucked up relationship represent to me?
why am i being haunted?
i replay the dreams in my head. i look for clues–for meanings. maybe i am over-thinking it. maybe i should just let it go…instead of being pissed off all day long because of it.
what’s the worst thing
you can do
to the girl
who is full of anxiety
constantly looking to her worst-case-scenario
the girl with the abandonment
her diabetic boyfriend
her diabetic fiance
the love of her life
you know what you could do?
you could go into insulin shock
once a week–at least
you could do that while you’re driving
crash your truck into a utility pole
& laugh it off
leaving her desperate
you could do that
while never-ever realizing
that you are hurting her.
you were happy to let me take the blame
when our world fell apart.
this one. the one i should be over by now. but–you know–stuff it all down deep enough & you won’t have to deal with it. just keep piling more crap on top of it.
except…it seeps out. and i end up sending him psychotic communications. desperate pleas for forgiveness. and he just plays me like a game as usual.
i did awful things in that relationship. things out of my character. things i have never done to anyone else. and all i can do is blame myself…but what if i did it because i was so scared he was going to die on me?
i was sure i would come home & find him dead. so many times i came home to find him convulsing in insulin shock. what happens the one time i don’t make it home in time?
a girl terrified of death. a girl terrified of being alone. a girl who would shut down rather than risk feeling for a creature that might die on her….
fuck the fuck.
it hurts so much to let this surface. i guess that’s good? i mean–is healing supposed to hurt this much?
are one of my very most favorite
of facial features
i love them so much
that i used to pump up the muscles under my eyes
hoping that the bulge
would somehow add contour
to my own face
add some character
to my “girl next door” blah
when people asked
i told them
that i was working on building up my under-eye muscle
so that one day
i would be able to close my eyes
from the bottom up
like a frog
this is one of those random things about me. something i think is hilarious…but that is probably just me.
i thought of it because i have been watching terriers on netflix and michael raymond-james has the yummiest eye pockets i have seen in a long time.
i want to marry his eye pockets.
granted…i am lonely as fuck…but he is hot.
and i am lonely as fuck.
sad & lonely & thinking about eye pockets.
he is still in my dreams
& i want him so badly
it is pure pain & longing
something i used to feel
when i was awake
that crazy desire
my skin on fire
willing to do anything
anything for him
…but what he asked of me
it killed me on the inside
killed my burning desire
leaving me empty
but still feeling the pain of it
when it shows up in my dreams
& i wake up crying
for love lost
& cruel reminders
he lures me outside with a cigarette
he wants “to talk”
he always wants “to talk”
except when it mattered
years & years ago
& years not so long ago
when i tried
& tried & tried & tried
to get him to talk to me….
he’s leaving again
i’m making him leave
& he is sad
& i try not to let his sad seep into my soul…
once the talk is done
we come back inside
& as i remove my coat
the necklace that he gave me for a birthday long ago
falls from its place around my neck
a broken cord
…how much more symbolic can you get?
this self-portrait got away from me. i ended up looking like my mom…again. or tom waits…and what the fuck is up with the coloring?
with all of these journal pages, i think i will re-do them as a finished piece…one day…if i like them enough.
maybe then this one won’t look the way i feel inside.
(or is that a good thing–art wise?)
while doing this, i also did a collaboration with misha who wanted me to paint the hand she had drawn. i like the way this one turned out. i think we should print it up and sell it. misha can do all the sales though–she may not speak coherently, but she has oodles of personality & charisma…probably inherited from her dad 😦