i am more powerful
than i know
i am not as deeply flawed
as i tell myself
no matter
how long it takes

i wrote the first part of this on the 25th of august. i finished it just a couple of days ago when i inked the illustration. i have been up & down in the meantime.
this is a pep talk, i think. as i struggle to think of myself as a good person.
and my thought today is that transformation can be as big as a volcano, but it can also be as subtle as a leaf falling.

the narrative

“the night smelled of grapefruit–“




“it’s my story; i can make the night smell any way i want.”

“But grapefruit is more of a morning smell.”

“maybe that’s the point.”

“I’m just saying.”

“what do you want? tangerine? clementine?”

“At least clementine is ambiguous…but why does it have to be citrus at all?”

“because that is what the night smelled like!”

“How about the night smelled of pine & fertile soil?”

“that is a completely different story.”

dialogue has always been my favorite part about writing. maybe because of all the voices in my head? this is a conversation i played in my head one night after i smelled a citrusy evening. i am also drawn more to works that contain more dialogue than description. waiting for godot was a favorite of mine. also rosencrantz & gildenstern are dead.
once upon a time i thought i would like to write screen plays…but then i got distracted by comics.
i just love a good conversation.


summer flowers
& autumn leaves
as we enter
the twilight
of the season
the tween
a doorway
blue skies to thick
sunshine to a wind
that will make you
despite the sweat
(or because of)
that the heat had
drawn out of you
just moments
& you shiver again

this was written after i watched the wind rain walnut leaves down on my lawn full of summer flowers.
it felt magical.
& also a cause of anxiety as i still need to insulate & properly heat madness manor.
a reminder of all the chores that need to be done before those autumn leaves turn into a snow shower.

lucky number seven

reading the dead
at the bottom
of my beer glass
like they are tea leaves
fortelling my doom
but look!
my lucky number
& i strain them out
so i can finish
my drink.

a companion page to yesterday’s. though i still like beer…it does not seem to like me very much. i’ve started suffering from headaches & joint pain when i have just one beer. having two results in journal pages like this one….

hazy lazy afternoon

don’t worry
i’m just trying
to go into an alcohol induced
to meet my true love
on some neutral plane
parallel universe
on this
a too warm breeze
through an open curtain
suicidal fairies
in my too warm beer
as i drool
on the fabric
of my armchair
“where are you already?”
“isn’t this where we agreed upon?”
“i don’t understand”
“i…miss you…”

sad & true. i am not longer to tolerate any kind of strength in a beer & may have to swear the stuff off for good. which makes me a little sad.
i will have to find new ways to commune with otherworldly realms.

worship me

in working towards a book version of the invisible exhibitionist, my lovely publisher needed for me to get better images of two of my inkings. however, said inkings had already been sold & altered into altars by the wonderful artist & poet robert. i am not sure if she will choose to go with the altered versions of my self-portraits, but i loved seeing what robert had done with my work. i took the opportunity to document all of the altars he has made out of my inkings so far.

wild thing

who knows
maybe somewhere
there is a max
king of the wild things
who has a trick
of taming me…
until then
i will roar
my terrible roar
my terrible teeth
& show
my terrible claws
& wait
for someone
who understands
who will not go
i love him so.

i kinda feel bad for anyone who ends up in a relationship with me. it will take a special one. i find myself stalking the tender-hearted…but as i posted yesterday, i usually end up just tearing them to pieces. the tender ones are yummy…but i might need someone tough….

call of the wild

i am a wolf
my yellow eyes glitter
growing brighter
with the moon
closing slighter
with the moon
& you relax
your weakness
i am a wolf
& i tear out
your throat
not because i want to
but because
it is pre ordained
by my
my instinct
my nature.

i’m feeling extra feral these days it seems. i like the feeling. the moon was coming full as i wrote this. it’s waning now. but i am still waiting, watching with my yellow eyes, deceptively closing slightly with the moon.


just like my mother instilled in me a fear of bird lice and tetanus, my dad taught me to hate sparrows. common & pests. sparrows. my dad was an avid birder, putting out bird feeders & bird houses. planting bushes & trees just for the birds. even putting a bubbler in our pond to keep it from freezing so the water fowl could be happy (so much for ice skating…)
a million years later i find myself chasing the sparrows away from my bird feeder, hating myself for it. but longing for the chickadees & finches. the jays & cardinals. wanting to feel special…not…common.
which is funny in its own way because when i read that some people are orchids & some are dandelions and realized that i am a tender, easily damaged orchid…that i am unable to grow in the crack in the sidewalk…i was devastated. i want to be a dandelion…but maybe just for the wishes?
i do not want to be a potted plant in a green house no matter how pretty. no matter how popular. i want to be a wild flower. a song bird. i do not want to be something pampered & kept safe.
i want to be free.
a magical thing.
something glimpsed causing you to gasp & feel a tug at your soul.

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