INKtober seventeeth

i just feel so sad
i cry
& i don’t
know why
but still
the tears come
will there come
a time
when my very being
is not
composed
entirely
of tears?
just because i open
my heart
does not mean
i am someone
you know
i am
quite
unknown
possibly
unknowable
i don’t want to be
alone
but maybe i
cannot
be
anything
but the loneliest person you have ever met.

i still haven’t recovered from the show the mysteries of laura being cancelled…you know, three years ago–but i just found it on netflix and i know it isn’t really that great of a show…but i was emotionally invested nonetheless. c’mon–i’ve seen every episode ever of friends (when originally aired even!) you know i have my shallow bits.

okay.
so i know it has everything to do with dusty & my lingering love for him. my hope for a thing called “us.”
though there is every chance in the world that i will never be successful in any relationship ever.
but who is? you ask. well, from where i’m sitting…everyone.
or i feel like everyone i see is successfully human & relate-able while i am some funky misshapen thing from outer space….

i don’t feel like arting & inking…but i did this anyway–because it is inktober & i’m trying not to be a drop out because how fucking hard is it for someone with my neurotic & compulsive inking habits to not ink something every day?

i am not sure my art journal page nor my blog about it makes any sense today. but, you know, i’m more worried about what the fuck i am going to disappear into on netflix now that i have watched every episode of the mysteries of laura….

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moses jones episode 3 page 6

here is another page. i am having fun with creating moses jones pages again. judging by audience participation (number of likes & comments) mojo is not nearly as popular as my other creations, but i love her–so i will keep writing her.
plus,
this comic is another way for me to work out my feelings as a mother, as an ex-wife, and as someone who used to live in a dysfunctional intentional community.
it’s kind of like my self-portrait art journal…but a bit more involved.

exposed

how much do i hide
how much do i reveal
is too much of me
showing
am i scaring you
do you feel uncomfortable?
is that a good thing
or a bad one?
i want your attention
look at me
look at me
look at me now
oh
wait
now i’m scared
now i’m uncomfortable…
(is that a good thing
or a bad one?)

it’s this dance i do. ever since i was a kid. dressing weird, cutting off all my hair, being different…and then hiding in a corner.
angry at the world for not seeing me…but terrified that they would notice.
a fucking goofy-ass dance.
why?
why am i like this? i am the invisible girl…splashing paint on myself.

is there anything more ridiculous than me?

crazy broken love

*this is a work in progress

for anyone who wasn’t with me for my whimsical ink stain adventure (all of them are on one of the pages up there) that started with inktober 2016 when i discovered my love for making inkstains and finding pictures in them,
this is what the process looks like.
i make an ink stain, dripping ink randomly on wet watercolor paper.
i let it dry.
then i just stare at it.
for as long as necessary.

it’s therapeutic
and fun
relaxing
and it helps me to expand on my drawing style and discover new creatures.

i haven’t done it in awhile…not since last inktober when i started the month of ink…but then pooped out.
however, i was thinking
just thinking
of writing another letter to seymour
and i started this inkstain as a page on which to write crazy broken poetry about love
for seymour.

i keep asking the universe for a sign that i should either keep up my pilgrimage…or give up on it.
i mean, i guess you could say that seymour’s ignoring of my ongoing expressions of devotion is a sign in itself.
but i would really like something more definite…if that’s not too much to ask.

*i like to post the process of these pictures because it is interesting to me how they develop.

not so bad

if i stop
to take inventory
i’m not doing
so bad
not so bad
if i stop
& take inventory
i see that
i’m actually
kind of
amazing.

if i stop
to see who i am
i see that
i’m not so awful
not so awful
as i’d thought
if i stop
to see who i am
i see that
i’m
actually
quite a good person
after all.

last night i kept myself from being drawn into a fight with dusty. a fight via texting. a fight we have had many times. furious messages flashing back & forth between his smart phone & my dumb one. (his messages flash a bit faster than mine.)
i did respond, with minimal engagement, to let him know i was getting his texts and that my feelings on the matter were indeed final. if i don’t respond, he will become more & more hysterical & paranoid. i can’t have him doing that while he is with our children.
but obvious ploys to evoke a response, i let them slip past me like keanu reeves in the matrix.
so i was actually quite proud of myself for that.
and
though i have an almost full bottle of whiskey, i chose instead to do yoga and have a cup of jasmine tea.
look at that, y’all. it’s like i’m growing up or something.

bonus for anyone who made it this far…i did a rough draft/sneak preview of moses jones page four. very rough…in fact, the final draft might not look anything like this….

mjepisode3p4rough

when in depression-ville…

sometimes depression can help my art.
wait.
no.
reverse that.
art helps with my depression.
and who better to embrace while severely depressed than my tragic alter-ego, moses jones: superstar.
doing this little bit of this page really helped. before i started working on it i was just listening to goyte tell me “your heart’s a mess” on loop (& i’m all like, “no shit, goyte…way to state the obvious….”)
and crying
so much crying.
i’m sure i will art journal about it…this feeling so fucking alone and of waiting for someone to throw me a line….

oh, wait, i guess i ended up throwing myself a line.
(threw myself a line/drew myself a line…you get it)

so this is where i will be if you need me.
drawing the line.
rescuing myself…again.

always you

it was always you
every whisper
every sigh
it was always you
the magic in my heart
my feelings of sunshine
on an overcast day
it was always you
laughing until my face hurt
feeling like
like i mattered
you showed me a world
i had never seen
& have never glimpsed since
but i know it is there
i know you are there
& that is enough
it was always you
&
it always will be.

this is something i need to work through, y’all. being lovesick isn’t the most attractive of topics…but, he was more than just a boyfriend. more than just another warm body. more than just a chapter in the book of a serial monogamist.
he was so much more.
please bear with me (or check back later to see if i have gotten any comics done)
my art journaling is an important part of my journey as a person & as an artist. my art journal is my way of healing…
i want to understand my heart & why it holds him so close,
when it is quick to let everyone else go.

this mighty trap

i don’t want to do this anymore
i don’t
what if
every life decision
i make
is just my setting myself up
for failure
i don’t want to do this
anymore
but i have built myself
this mighty
trap
& i don’t know  how to get out
& then i find myself thinking
well…there is that one way out…
you know
the one we’re not supposed
to talk
about?
& then i think
no.
but when i read
an obituary
i can’t help but think
lucky fucker

this was just about as low as i got this week. of course, there is no escaping my life. it’s not like i can drop the animals off at the humane society & my kids off at the orphanage & go live on the french riviera…
instead i have to do the hard work. you know, learn how to cope. learn how not to resort to being an asshole & then hating myself & hating my life.
yeah.
that.
i guess i need to do that.

ps. though i like to draw myself nude because it seems to portray how vulnerable i feel. i have this weird (catholic?) fear of drawing my pubic area. i was pleased with myself for fashioning a “fig leaf” of sorts in this self-portrait.
ha!

unraveling me

i need this day
to blow itself
away
sad sings in my heart
as i wonder
where does the wonder
spilled from me
for the world to see
where does the wonder go?
is it looked after?
cared for…
nurtured?
these parts of me i share
does someone love them?
as i do?
or are they callously treated
roughly handled
piddled upon?
i wonder should my wonder suffer
is it best to sew up these wounds
stuff it all back in again
fester in silence?
or
do i keep to my journey
and continue to unravel
my mysteries?

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