crusty & morose

my soul
is dislocated
i cannot feel
anything
but a raging fire
of
indifference
with light showers
of disgust
& several hues
of irritation
life feels like
lukewarm
leftovers
that i am hungry
enough
to eat
some of
but then the rest
is left
to become
crusty
a half-finished
bowl
of
disappointment.

it’s like a drinking game for mixed metaphors. ha! i am starting to feel better. doing art has relieved some of my angst. but it is still there. seeping. dripping. getting under my foundation and uprooting all my so-called progress (i had to throw in another fucking metaphor.)
i feel ugly & fat & my hair is just stupid & everything sucks.
but!
i will keep drawing & see if i can ink myself out of this corner. (does that count as a metaphor?)

credit to evelyn de morgan for the illustration today. she is pretty awesome & all of her artwork just oozes gloom & doom.

fallen X

your whole life spent
in punishment
for your sins
did you choose
parents would would not
love
you
naturally following
a choice of men
who could not
love
you
to draw the
conclusion
you
are
unlovable?
your punishment
your sins
your wrongs
you’re wrong
you have not
sinned
you do not deserve
this
hell
you lock yourself
into
no
no more shackles
no more self-flagellation
you are
lovable
you do deserve
love
spread your wings
you sexy
beast
spread your wings
&
fly.

catholicism, that double-edged sword–messed me up a plenty, but also gave my art & writing a flavor that i love.

still invisible

every time i think
of writing
you
the words turn into
poetry
before i can pen
them
& next i find
myself
hoarding my own
words
clutching them
close
not wanting to
share
wishing myself
invisible
again
remember when i was
invisible?
camouflaged inside my own
life
unremarkable
me
oh how i miss
my
solitude
but these words i show you
now
they are my new
camouflage
because, really
you may look
but you still can’t
see
me.

just feeling a bit conflicted about how visible i make myself. there is comfort in being invisible. as much as i try to be seen…sometimes i want to disappear.
most times.
just call me the invisible exhibitionist (so totally a title to an upcoming memoir)

fly, my lovelies, fly

i love to set
my demons
free
go
fly
my lovelies
fly from me
swoop & terrorize
with shrieks
of
delight
as i loose you
onto the world
loose you
from my cobwebbed
mind
& you take with you
the dense
darkness
of my heart…
i never ask
what you did
my demons
when you
return
to roost
i only
revel
in the short but light
time
of mine
in a head
in a heart
that is
not
haunted.

yesterday i posted about my crap-ass experiences with my own motherhood. i was in pieces as the words spilled out, but by the time i posted them, i had pulled myself together.
because i wrote it out
i let it out
i am not joking when i compare my art & writing to an exorcism.
it so totally is.
my art & my writing keep my demons at bay. keep them from gnawing too deeply into my soul.
some of my stuff might be difficult to read…but don’t worry, you don’t have to read it.
i, however, have to write it.

INKtober twenty-seventh

i don’t want
to feel
angry
every time i see a forever
couple
in love
i don’t want
to feel
sad
wondering what is wrong with
me
that i am denied
that perfect
beautiful
love
still…
i hold on
imagining strong arms around me
feeling that warm embrace
knowing love evades me
i am doomed
to am amazing
inner
life
& an empty
outer
one.

i do not know what is going on here. it appears my vagina is a black hole vomiting stars. okay.
i draw what comes into my head.
sometimes i have an idea.
sometimes the idea has me.
as always, you are welcome to analyze my art & let me know what my subconscious is trying to say.

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….

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.

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