fort building

here is a box of me
a box of my comics
my art
my thoughts & stories
here is a box
that kind of
terrifies me
no one is going to want this,
i tell myself
oh fuck…what if someone reviews me?
how will i answer them
when they ask me,
who the fuck do i think i am….
remember
when you were 17
& you just knew
you were
destined
for greatness
ready to take on the world
a famous novelist
in the making?
what ever happened
to
that
girl?

so, yeah…. if you want an autographed copy of my book, let me know. meanwhile, i will be using them as weight while building my blanket fortress of solitude….

weener coop page eight

so here is where i discovered the ink brush method of shading. i was going to uw art school at the time & had an “aha!” moment with ink brush painting as opposed to scribbling in the dark bits.

also, for some reason, i put panels in.
hmm?
the dialogue does not seem to be very linear, but with perseverance, you might be able to make sense of it.

between homes

summer 2015
while trying to convince the dad to move away
leaving a “commonwealth” scam
leaving a doorstep haunted by a predatory woman
leaving a sadness that soaked my bones
just leaving, i begged
or not…
i tried to to convince the dad to move away
somewhere cheaper
far away from his predatory “other woman”
i tried
& failed
he would not leave her
& stupidly
i agreed on a rental that would not be open until
the end of
summer
summer of 2015, between homes
bouncing around
crashing, house-sitting, visiting relatives
only to land again
in my own
sadness

i have been thinking of that summer, if only to remind myself that i have been “between homes” with four children before…& survived.
i am hoping that this time i do not land again in my own sadness.
the dad has been trying to convince me to come live with him again….
right???
what insanity would that be?
i have broken free of him & to give up that freedom would surely mean the end of me…
but, i might have to turn to him for temporary shelter. i am trying to find other options, but having a safe place for the minions to be trumps all other concerns. & where the minions go….
i’m trying to be excited about a change, even an uncertain one. i mean, i am excited about it…but also worried sick. i turn every scenario over & over in my head. i do everything in my head, first, preparing myself for anything unexpected.
this is how i survive.

to help support my traveling circus & our search for a forever home, check out my patreon page where i am working on character development of a comic book hero who has been in my head for about five years now….

and being a patron of mine of the $5 a month or more, gets you personalized art postcards like these:

new moon magic

i call my challenger
i look inside
i call you
wild womyn
to be my challenger
to face my fears
to break down
self-imposed walls meant
to keep me from
action
call me to arms
wild womyn
i am ready
***
i call my healer
i look inside
i call you
unblemished girl
who is still whole &
not
broken
i call you to teach me
again
to whisper magic
to the world around me
to listen
to hear
& to heal
the hurt
deep inside
i am ready.

it’s a new moon. as i work “the healing wheel” i have struggled to do this part. calling my challenger & my healer. so i decided to look inside & see what i could find.
the challenger was easy. i have felt her in there all through my life. now i just have to embrace her & listen to what she has to say.
the healer was a bit trickier as i sought a mother figure, however…
an internal mother figure is strangely absent (thanks, mom) but i found this little version of me. the one who would tromp around the woods rescuing animals & talking to trees. i think she is my healer. i think she will help make me whole again.

so a little witchy woo on this new moon as i continue to try to survive & heal my broken with my art journal self-portraits.
(in case you’d forgotten why i am obsessively drawing myself)

my brain hurts (but my heart wants all the attention)

demented
deranged
like a mix tape
stuck on a loop
picking petals
off of flowers
loves me
loves me not
surely loves me
now
surely surely
at least a little?
how about now?
at least give me my heart
back
i’m surely sure
i need it
if i want to survive
this
demented
deranged
long ride on a
short
track
& please don’t
leave
me
alone
to figure out
the end
all on my
own.

in our ever-loving & slightly incestuous wordpress community, there is the inevitable inspiration via another blog.
after reading mike’s post about icarus, i was all like, crap–i haven’t done me as icarus yet.
so here you go.
i am the sun (look at me shine) that i fly too close to…but, my wings are not melting. goddammit, i am not falling. i am going to fly right into my own light. just you watch me.

great gatsby!

okay chickadee
make a choice
drink whiskey
or
play around on
dating sites…
no more
swiping under the influence
for you
yes, lonely eats like a
velociraptor
at your heart
& every
one
could be
might be
the one
especially
after a couple of glasses
of whiskey
but
don’t waste you
don’t waste your creative
energy
on men who don’t even stop
to listen
to your magic…
so
drink your whiskey
alone
& write
& draw
& paint
your lonely
your beauty
your masterpiece of you.

happy new year, y’all. here’s me as a flapper with some side boob. let’s see if that holds you over until 2019.
this is about as close to having a new year’s resolution as i get.

(i’m not drinking alone; the fruit flies are dying for some whiskey.)

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