say ‘what’ again, i dare you

i want to be
the samuel l. jackson
of the art world
i used to say
you know
grandma moses
so i’d have
plenty of time
but now i’m thinking
sooner
rather than
later
& with
as much
profanity
as
possible
so…
hold onto your
butts.

samuel l. jackson had a relatively late start to movie acting. he got rolling in his 40s. now he is an icon.
so, yeah. that’s my aspiration.

but, i will keep doing art either way.

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all of me

there was a meeting
& a vote
a consensus
(minus one)
where the nihilist
the fatalist
the realist & the idealist
decided
it was time to do away
with the
optimist
“she fucks everything
up,”
it was agreed
raising expectations
so high
too high
only to see them
crash
when the rest
cannot keep up
don’t even wanna
keep up
leaving everyone
ruined
feeling as if they
were drowning
in that glass
half-full
of unrealistic
dreams
& so
added to the agenda
“how to kill
the
optimist”
…to be
continued….

so i’m not saying that positive thought is dangerous–i am saying that unrealistic positive thought is dangerous.
so, like when i am taking baby steps and things are going good & i am feeling good
but then a little voice pops up and says, “you know, you are so awesome, you should just throw caution to the wind and leap over that bottomless abyss.”
is it optimism? or something entirely different? for the purpose of this page, i have called it optimism. i mean, realism can be positive. and idealism is totally positive. but that part of me that sets me up for failure by making me think i can do more than i can do (or even want to do) that voice has to go.

as much as i admire homesteading. i was perfectly happy doing it in my own small way in an urban setting.
but that little voice was all–no, you should go to the country & go full blast homesteading.
and i did.
now get more & more animals to take care of!
and i did.
and now i am isolated, overwhelmed, and miserable.

so death to the optimist who gives me misleading advice. death.
die die die.

ps. my hair this morning looked exactly like the me smoking the cigar. the “optimist” has the hair-do that she does (two little buns) because i find myself thinking it would be a cute hair thing to do…it’s not. not on me.

ps.ps. i am going through a tremendous energy transformation right now. it was happening already, but then i started reading dodging energy vampires and my world turned upside down.
there will be more on this….

credit to “dogs playing poker” for this illustration

scabby

i push
everyone
away
because i can’t deal
with me
my children, my pets
the ones who least deserve it
i push
hardest
i hurt them for being
a mirror
to my own
bad behavior
my own
shortcomings
proof
that i suck
so i shove them
with all my might
push it all
away
so i can say
“see?
i am a monster.
see?
no one should love
me.”

do you ever just look at the illustration for one of my pages and think, “fuck this shitstorm,” and then flip on past?
i did not know i could draw anguish this well. holy fuck. i look miserable. and when i look at the drawing, i know exactly what it feels like even though i am not feeling it at the moment…i was still able to draw it, even though i am not feeling it at the moment.
turns out, i am one of those people who believes things heal faster if you pick at the scabs.
that’s what this art journal is at least half the time.
my picking at my wounds to encourage them to heal…or at least make a scar i have a good story about.

so. i love children and animals. i’m not always a monster. but a lot of my injuries are from my own childhood & around my relationships with animals. so i have a lot of unresolved issues with children & animals that i struggle with.
some part of me thought it would be funny to surround myself with animals & children.
haha. so funny.
like immersion therapy or something? it doesn’t work like that. and as much as i love animals & children, i often feel as if i am drowning in my own inability to heal. it’s more than just picking at the scab–it’s poking an open wound.
it’s all me. i know that. my goat isn’t trying to be an asshole. my dog isn’t trying to overwhelm me with neediness. my children don’t intend to drive me insane (at least, i hope not, that would speak badly of their survival instincts….)
i can’t have less children. i am trying to thin out the herd of critters. and focusing really hard on not having those days where i am all, “why don’t i get 16 more things to take care of (aka stress out about.) surely i can handle that.”
that’s my next page in my art journal–killing that voice. that fucking voice. that “everything is wonderful–good time to make your life more complicated” voice.

anyhoo.
so i hope you stick around for my shitstorm
because after the shitstorm, comes the rainbow.
just, you know, bring an umbrella

flying colors

my past
is no longer
my prison
shackles
holding me
in place
my past
is a test
i have passed
with flying colors
y’all
i am
flying
colors.

this kind of goes a long with my post a new day. it is my new way of looking at things. i need to keep reminding myself.

in addition to continuously working on relationships & my bamboo pen skills, i am also continuing to work on my figure drawing skills. i have a few figure drawing books, and when i’m not looking at cocks & boobs, i am really trying to get better at figure drawing. i know i have problems with it. i would list them for you, but i am practicing not drawing attention to my shortcomings. mum’s the word.

so!
figure drawing & remembering that my past–though it has sucked ass–it has made me the awesome fucking person i am today who is able to draw herself falling–no, flying.

fallen XIV

it always seems
i am looking
at myself
from a place
other than
me
taking notes
making
observations
i am my own diane fossey
studying
the mountain gorillas
of my mind
i am always
removed…
maybe
i need
to come down
off
my mountain
&
get
dirty
with my human
self.

i am turning myself into a work of fiction for my fallen series. this is an interesting development for me. i mean, it’s me…but on a fictional level. i am sure other writers are familiar with this. becoming their own characters. being a character…as well as the creator. this isn’t the first time, of course. all my life i have been a character in my own story.
okay, several characters, depending on which voice is narrating.
the fallen series is just a new flavor for me…(new flavor of me?)
i like it.

fallen XIII

no wonder
you think
you don’t like people
yet
are strangely
fascinated
by them
no wonder
you think
you’ve always
believed
you could fly
that there was more
than just shoulder blades
sprouting from
your back
no wonder
you think
lights go dark
bulbs explode
when you walk down the street
electricity never behaves
when you are
around
no wonder
you think
you could always hear
the whispers
of trees
& suffered
the wrath
of disgruntled fairies…
you watch
as the puzzle pieces
snap
snap
into place
a complete
picture
is forming
a picture you have avoided
looking at
for
your
entire
life.

using second person in place of first person is so much fun. i mean, since i am always looking at myself from a place other than me…it just works out for me.
(i just totally wrote an art journal page about that)

this exercise is working its way into being a full-length work of fiction (lets call it fiction.) i am pretty excited about it.

fallen XI

sometimes
i want to
watch
the world burn
as i drink
the blood of my
enemies
other times
i’m happy
lazing about a meadow
wild flowers
in
my
toes
finding dinosaurs in the
clouds…
you know
before setting the world
ablaze
& using my enemies’ skulls
as
goblets.

life is just so much easier as the devil than as a single mother of four isolated in the flat lands of illinois.

this is the second version i did of this one. usually i will go with the first version unless i royally fuck it up. but every once in awhile, i do a second version because i cannot bring myself to post the first one.
this was a case of that.
i liked the first version, but i was a bit frumpy in it.
jesus, i’m frumpy enough in real life, i thought to myself. if i’m going to be the devil, i want to look good doing it.
so here is my version of my looking good.

and i drew clothes on me for those of you who think i always do nudes because i’m too lazy to draw clothes (ha!)

caged bird drawing

clipping digital
coupons
entertaining children
with my drawing
skills
(at least someone
appreciates
them)
baking bread
washing dishes
cooking meals
wiping butts
dreaming
of
being
fabulous
while living life
in the body
of a low income
middle aged
single
mother
of four
i took the bait
without seeing the
trap
i made my nest
without seeing the
cage
now i sing my
song
but
nobody
hears
me.

more moping.
you would think, after thirteen years, i would have a hang of this motherhood thing.
but no.
i still look & wonder & cry that i am alone at it.
alone & broken.
maybe in a parallel universe i have a supportive husband who did not make my life hell for shits & giggles.
maybe in the parallel universe, being a mom does not feel like a trap & a cage.

my egg tooth

it has taken me
a lifetime
of butting my head
against walls
to finally
grow
my egg tooth
which erupts now
in all it’s glory
a narwhal
tusk
miracle
jutting from my
smile
as i plot
my escape
my
own
rescue.

okay. i really like this idea.
however i needed to argue with fidgit about whether or not mermaids have gills.
he says because they have boobs (indicating mammal-hood) they must not have gills.
i say that there is no way they could live in underground kingdoms without having gills and that maybe the boobs are ornamental. i do not remember ever seeing a mermaid breastfeed…but maybe their culture is as stupid about that as ours is and mermaids are forced to breastfeed in secret….
nevertheless!
i really like my words.
the picture might need work.

in other precocious kids news, poppy (who is a bit of an ass man) was shouting into my bottom while i was doing dishes, then assuring me the sound would come out my nose.
i thought it was hysterical.
i apologize to future romantic partners of my children.

and now misha is asking for a picture of her as a mermaid. i should have seen that coming.

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