quixotic cards…

i have no interest
in ever making cards
for money
though if someone wanted to buy some
i wouldn’t say no….

what i mean is…
there seems to be a capitalism bone
missing from my body

i love to do what i love to do
but i don’t want to do it
for money

money is dumb

here is the first card for my february calendar of birthdays. one of my nephews. he has never liked me. i used to take care of him as a baby, & he would so give me the stinkeye. but! always time to build better bridges…until it’s too late, that is….

anyhoo!

i missed at least three birthdays in january. i have managed to make a grand total of two birthday cards this year.
but, hopefully, i will continue this little exercise
in being a better aunt, cousin, sister, friend, & person.

in complete opposition to my short poem about capitalism sucking…i would like to let you know that if you forgot to get me a valentine, it’s not too late. you can buy yourself a copy of the book i illustrated–mistress of mud–to show how much you love me!

little bits of me

i have determined that i am
unable
unwilling
to sell myself
henceforth
you can have my pretty pictures
i merely ask
you give me what you believe
a piece of my soul
is worth

art for resistance

i have an inbox full
of requests for donations
to resistance movements…
but i am so so broke.
how about,
if you buy my art,
i will donate 10% to the resistance movement
of your choice.
then we can both feel better
& you have supported an artist!

i am working on getting those less expensive pieces
ready . they will probably be priced at $75 to $125 a piece
depending on how much i worked on them.

saint valentine’s day massacre

i am a mess.
i can’t seem to create.
i am all grumpy & screamy & desperate for space from children…& closeness with a grown up.

i tried to do an inking yesterday. it sucked ass. and then a minion got something on it. so i burned it in the fireplace.
it was called “unraveled”

yesterday i also got the bright idea to make valentines.
so i spilled red ink all over the place.
now i actually have to find the focus to make them.
when all i feel like doing is hiding in the closet with a bottle of whiskey.

i used to love valentine’s day.
you know, when i was stupid & optimistic
(i still am…now i call it “quixotic”)
i have no good experiences on which to base my love of valentine’s day.
just that annoyingly optimistic willingness to be loved.
i want(ed) so badly to be loved…that i was willing to enter hopefully into every valentine’s day.
i have never been the type of girl to get flowers from boys. no matter how much i wished it.
i’m just not that girl. i don’t know why. and sometimes i let it break my heart.
usually after i have a charlie brown valentine’s day.

i have written about my lost love of my life.
the one i have finally accepted that i will never get over (which really doesn’t make it that much easier to live with–my acceptance of my infliction, that is)
when our relationship came to it’s terrible conclusion, it was valentine’s day. he was in love with someone else, so he got me something i really wanted for valentine’s day.
a pair of white wingtip doc martins.
and i knew i had lost him.
guys only get me good stuff when they feel guilty about something.
that’s what i have learned over the years.
i get guilt presents.
not love presents.

i’m not a materialistic person. but i do like getting presents. i like flowers. i like feeling special. i like feeling like someone loves me.

i’m struggling with this so much right now. this crappy loneliness and heartbroken bullshit. i’ve had two lonely marriages. i have two ex-husbands actively regretting that they treated me so callously. do either of them get me flowers or a bottle of whiskey?

no.

they just lament treating me like crap.
loudly.
as if that helps.
it doesn’t.
because then all i wonder is where this devotion was when i was in love with them?
i’m not anymore.
i’m not in love with them.
but they behave as if i should welcome their renewed love
with open arms.

but, still, no flowers
no chocolates
no whiskey

and the one man who i want to hear renewed devotion from
remains quiet
except for the occasional flirty text:

what’s better than roses on your piano?

tulips on your organ.

and that’s the closest i get to a man giving me flowers.
and the closest i get to having a sex life.
sigh.

well, to make myself even more miserable
i put a price tag on my art.
to make myself feel even more rejected
i am putting my art out there…ish.

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