falling apart

i’m on the email list
apparently
for my old co-op & keep getting emails
about the upcoming reunion
fuck me
i want to burn that place to the ground
i moved in there
full of hope
i escaped there
a jaded & broken person
people are liars. people don’t even know they are liars.
but
they are liars.
they lie to themselves.
they lie to you.
they lie to me.
they pretend they want social justice
they pretend they want to make the world
a better place
they pretend they care about you
they are motherfucking hypocrites….

the carpet folks who saved my mom’s basement (where i live)
have not been paid
i contacted my siblings
before calling in help with the flooded basement
everyone told me to go ahead
call in professionals
the professionals came…did their job well…and saved
the carpet & wood siding
now no one is paying them
i don’t have the money
my mom does
my siblings do
not me
in my stupid stupidity moving here so my siblings could forget about this place
now my heart hurts
for a carpet company
who was unintentionally scammed
by me
it seems
am i a liar?
if i knew then, what i know now
i would have let this place
sink into the mud.

in one week
i will rent a u-haul
& go in a general direction
i have no destination
just
a
general direction
hoping
beyond hope
i will
somehow
land on my feet
once more.

here’s stuff going on over there:

the main image of this post is an art page that went south & so i just doodled the fuck out of it.

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gender bending

my first boyfriend
wore face powder
& lip gloss
(i still remember
the smell of kissing him)
his hair
was longer than mine
but once i shaved
off all
my hair
every one of my boys
had hair
longer than mine
because i so loved
the girly boys
with their long
slender
fingers
& their long
batting
eyelashes
every once in awhile
i dated
a chiseled-chin
dimpled cheeks covered
in manly stubble
all the more fun
to dress
them in
lacy lingerie.

this poem was inspired by a completely harmless innocent tiny little crush on my gender fluid editor-to-be…because i wouldn’t be me if i didn’t develop inappropriately intimate feelings for someone i am to be working with….

meanwhile, the ryan renolds movie marathon continues. (i watched the nines last night & loved it. i am pretty sure i am also a nine & that i have created y’all)
i bet ryan renolds would look hot as fuck dressed in “women’s” clothes….

in other news, i am having dizzy spells & my head feels weird…so i’m pretty sure i have a tumor. here is a conundrum…how does a hypochondriac know when they are actually sick? my anxiety manifests as physical symptoms…but what if i really am sick & just dismissing it as stress-induced?…(see how that can spin out fast?)

also, my lawn really really is supposed to be mowed by conventional standards, but i have a hard time thinking about mowing down all those innocent flowers.
if it weren’t for ticks & mosquitoes, i would totally have a wild as fuck lawn.

may the fourth be with you.

all of me

i just wanted to see
if i could fill up
a page
with me

originally posted on february 1, 2018

another one for the invisible exhibitionist.

IMG_2463

i have been sick all week. plus i did a 10 hour roadtrip to a small iowa town & then did a four hour roadtrip  with picnic & half-assed hiking the next day to pick up the minions.
i totally want to move to that small iowa town…but am having trouble finding a rental or other living space…. i’m trying to trust & to not freak out about it.
but i am freaking out a little.
which makes my head cold that much worse. & my minions are also sick. so i am not able to rest much.
i have not been drawing or writing much at all in the past week. i’m tired. i’m so super stressed out sick. oh–& i have the menstrual cramps real hard.

i have been wanting to re-do “all of me” for awhile. it’s one of my favorites. i like how it turned out.

don’t walk away

though i feel comfort
at the thought
of a no-more
a
never-more
i am invested
in this story
& long to know
how it will
unfold
will i laugh?
will i cry?
i will not stop
turning the pages
of my life
even if at times
i feel
like
setting the book
down
& walking
the fuck
away,
i come back
i come back
i pick up
where i left off
my story
this
is not
the end.

originally posted on august 31, 2018

another one towards the one day realization of the invisible exhibitionist.

i tore up so many versions of this. i am still not completely happy with the final…but there is a lot i like about it too.
i am not sure why i went with lewis carroll’s drawing of alice for this one. i do know that i have always loved this illustration. when i re-did it, i worked from my version of the illustration, without looking at his, which is my habit. to work from my own art that i first borrowed from someone else….
if that makes sense.

anyhoo!
i noticed that this as well as my last post are about survival & not doing myself in as the little voices sometimes suggest…so that’s nice.

& for my next trick…

surviving myself
may be
the best trick
i have ever done
now you see me
now
you still
see me
i’m still here
manacles
straight jacket
cement shoes
submerged in a tank full of every tear
i have
ever
cried
&
i climbed back out
i
survived.

new kid on the block

i’ve been spending a lot of time in the shed today. so much cuteness.
but i am getting some art done.
a little.
claudia the kids is nursing successfully & has dried off so she is actually adorable now.

& i’m trying really hard not to obsess about death….

my puzzle to solve

you can walk a mile
in my shoes
i will take a turn in yours
but don’t
judge
my crazy
whatever gets you through
the night
whatever keeps you
in the fight
just don’t you dare
judge my
crazy
i put it on display
my porch light
so you know you are
welcome
know you are not
alone
my candle to find a way
through the dark
but my crazy
is my own puzzle to solve
you don’t know my pain
anymore
than i know yours
so
don’t mess with my crazy
sometimes
it is the only thing
that makes
sense.

panic attack

i am 
literally
having a panic
attack
looking through 
google docs
& files files files
on my hard drive
& months months months
of writings
here & in the physical journals
from whence
they sprung
…it’s
too 
much
too fucking much
how many words 
can there be?
how many 
emotions
vomited
all over my laptop?
now
fuck it
there is one more.

i am serious about getting together a collection to try to publish…but holy fucking crap. there is so much–crap–to wade through. 
do i keep it to the actual art journal project?
do i add in some older stuff?
some sideways stuff?
some stuff i don’t even remember writing? 

i need a personal assistant/editor stat!

this is going to be one of those “kill your darlings” moments i always heard about in writing workshops, isn’t it?

get me a bottle of whiskey & a blowtorch, y’all, i’m going in!

INKtober thirtieth

i can feel my brain
clawing
desperately
looking for a way
out
a rat
scrambling to escape
a watery grave
or an all encompassing
flame
smelling her own
singed fur
choking on the smoke
realizing
her fate
a wolf
gnawing off her own
paw
to be free
of the trap
where do i think
i will go
who do i think
i will be
if i escape
myself?

so.
been feeling a bit angsty these past few days. i have not yet gnawed off my own arm, but it has been a close call a few times.
i have hated almost everyone i can name who is in direct contact with my life.
so much hate. so much anger. i just want to disappear sometimes. get a mind wipe & start over somewhere i have never been.
innocent & free.
sigh.
but now it is the witch’s new year. day of the dead. a waning moon. and new possibilities on the horizon.
fine.
let’s see what tomorrow brings.

fun fact: one of my eyebrows is higher than the other & one of my ears is lower than the other, so i cannot wear a pair of glasses without the glasses appearing to be crooked.

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