at least angst is an effective muse

he is the drink
that i shouldn’t take
the fall from grace
the downward spiral
to hopelessness
& a crippling
lack of faith
he is the drink
i shouldn’t take
the step towards
no control
my soul crumpled
on the floor
forgotten panties
stained & unwanted
he is the drink that i should say
no!
to.  the drink i should
feel strong enough to
avoid.

…why am i not strong enough?

i say, “i feel this way.” next time we fight he mirrors my words back to me. some fucked up mind game. some
fucked up
mind
game.
does he even know he is playing?
i wonder.
is it a reflex? a survival technique? does he want to hurt me?

or is he just protecting himself?

journal

you’re overthinking it, em. i tell myself. what do you want?
what do you feel?

journal2

i don’t want to share my life with him.
he is a big parasitical turd.
i don’t want to share my life with him.
we go for a walk in the woods where i grew up.
where i wandered & where i found myself
the first time i was lost.
my church.
i go into these woods with him, and i feel like it is sacrilege.
he shouldn’t be in my church.
i shouldn’t let him near my soul.
my being.
it isn’t safe.
i don’t want to share my life with him.
is this a want? or a warning? an instinct?

journal3

maybe he’s right
maybe he isn’t the problem
maybe i am the problem
but that does not change the fact that i do not want to share my life with him.

 

the far beyond

days & days
of staring at an inkstain
drawing a line here
& there
squinting to see the shapes
in shadows & smudges & splatters
meanwhile,
putting up beehives
raising chicks
building pasture
planting seeds
& trees
& flowers…
eleven days into april
just one inking,
but so much work

i’m exhausted. but i finally finally finished this. there were several times when i thought i was done…but then the light would hit it just right & i would see another face…another creature…more magic.

i am having trouble focusing on my artwork. it shouldn’t take me eleven days to do an inking. or should it? i am distracted. with spring and all the work of a budding homestead.

but, also, with dusty around, the little voices whisper to me that he thinks i am wasting my time.that he thinks i am neglecting the minions. that he thinks i am being silly–thinking my art is a worthwhile endeavor. that i should be doing something else–something worthwhile.
when dusty is nearby, it echoes of my childhood & when my dad would enter a room, i feel like i have to look busy…i feel like my artwork is not real work.

i could very well be projecting this.
or i could very well be sensing it from him.
he has made snide comments in the past.

some days i think i can keep dusty in my life.
i am trying really hard to be nice to him
to see if that changes how he treats me…

…but most the time, he is still a turd.

sigh.

dream weaver

i have a wicked head cold.
which might be responsible for this inking & its title.
which may have been a psychosomatic response to my letting dusty move back in.
i can barely breathe.
i can barely think.
my functionality is pretty limited.

sigh.

dreamweaver3

it might be a defense mechanism of mine.
i was once sick for a month straight in one doomed relationship.
i can’t remember which one.
it’s like my body says, “this is bullshit.”
and shuts down.
my immune system gives up on me.
or thinks, “maybe this will get her attention.”

fuck.

dreamweaver2

how many times can i fuck up in the exact same way?
maybe that should be the title of my memoirs….

dreamweaver1

edge of the world

i’m in kind of a “meh” mood about my art.
that happens.
periodically.
maybe i should work on a different project for awhile.
my memoirs.
or an illustration gig for a friend.
maybe make a zine.
or work on a new page of moses jones: apocalyptic mama. right? who remembers mojo? who misses mojo? i miss her sometimes.

edge2.JPG

speaking of…things have taken a weird turn with the dusty knickers of my life…okay…not so weird, if you are familiar with our on-again/off-again relationship which showed up in my comic as his disappearing every time moses got pregnant. my dusty never left me–in the physical sense, but did pull away emotionally. and behaved self-destructively. and was incredibly manipulative.
and i swore it was done and that i would never ever ever ever ever take him back again (i have broken up with him–maybe as many as seven times?–and he has inched his way back in, waiting until i am vulnerable….)
but i invited him back in, again, on a trial basis. and it is really nice to have him back. i am well aware that this is the “honeymoon” period…but–as cautious as i am, it is nice to have  him back.
so…can people change?
he had some life-changing stuff happen. he realized a lot of things about himself and how his relationship with his mom shaped his self-destruction, lying, and manipulative behaviors. and now…he is behaving in a healthy way that i have never seen from him. like…communicating…like…having conversations & being human.
it’s weird.
and even though i am lonely and desperate for company and tired of doing this alone…i don’t think i am vulnerable. i mean, i know i can do it alone if i have to.
but i don’t want to.
but i know that i can. and i am willing to do it alone rather than be in a fucked up relationship.

i guess we’ll see what happens.
i don’t have the best track record for making good decisions about men & relationships.

but…people can change…i mean, i have changed. i really have.

and you know what? i threw him out. i did it. i can do it again. i know i can. i know i am stronger now. more sure of myself.

he knows it, too.

edge1.JPG

story time

except i’m not going to tell a story
not this time
things in my life
too weird
to be
stories
stranger than fiction
as they say
and i try to find the corner pieces
so i can put this puzzle together…
or should i just drop it on the floor?
say, “fuck it”
and walk away?story time2

i can tell you this: i love doing my art. i love it. it is the best part of me sometimes. i love looking and finding and drawing out the image that may or may not be just in my head. if nothing else in my life makes sense…my weird-ass whimsical inkings do.

so that should tell you something.

i think i am going to put a few of them on mat board and try to have a show.
i think i am going to send a few of them off to publications and see if anyone bites.
i think i am going to rely on my art to give my life some sort of meaning when every other avenue is confused.

story time1

to save olphelia

when i was young
and writing comics about
my disastrous relationships
i wrote one about my olphelia fantasies.
floating peacefully
serene
safe from love & madness…
you know, dead.
as i got older
and accumulated
more & more minions
my olphelia fantasies
were replaced by those of
sylvia plath.

olphelia2

i did this ink over the past few days. i saw olphelia floating there. and it seemed to me that all of these fantastic creatures had gathered to save her.
to save her from herself.
to save her from love & madness.

i thought that was a better ending.

notice the fantastic.
look for the magic.
let nightmare creatures
sink deep into the water.

olphelia1

when dogs flew

i have not lost my mind today.
and that is something
yesterday the chickens got out
and those fuckers like to tear up my garden
so my inner control freak
took the reins
as i ran like a madwoman
trying to herd chickens
shouting incomprehensible orders
at the minions
i did an awesome impression
of my abusive father
and how he would scream at us
because we weren’t doing it right.
even if we didn’t know what
“right” was
exactly
i went after poor fidgit
like a mad dog
which makes sense that he would draw
my fire
he is the one most like
me.
my nerves raw
from being a mom
and feeling always
like i am doing it
wrong
so a day
where i have not lost my mind
is a small celebration for me.

dogsflew3

i have not had a beer in a week now. every day i feel like the universe is pushing me with all it’s might to go get some beer…or whiskey…my favorite ways to self-medicate. it’s not like i get drunk…but i am building up quite a tolerance. like the song says, it used to take one & now it takes four. which gets expensive…and does not  help with my body image issues either as i get stouter & stouter.

so i’m trying to go without.

dogsflew2

no one should have to parent sober. it’s a cruel thing. but now my inner control freak is seeing it as some kind of sick challenge & won’t let me get beer now even if i wanted to. i have started hinting to it that next week is st. patrick’s day & it wouldn’t be very irish of me not to drink beer then. for many many years my inner control freak never let me drink. my dad was a horrible nasty abusive alcoholic. so i did not drink. all my friends were potheads, junkies, and alcoholics and i hung out at bars & parties…but i never drank. not until i started drinking to spite an ex-boyfriend…but that is another story.

i don’t want to be my dad.

not wanting to be my mom affects my relationships with men.
not wanting to be my dad affects my relationship with my minions.

but i didn’t lose my mind today…and i did it without having a beer.
so…yay!

dogsflew1

i listen for the little voices it is night time when their voices are loudest

longest title yet for one of my inks.

this drawing made me think of my anxiety…it made me think of all the stuff going on in my head all of the time…especially at night, laying in bed.
i don’t mind the little voices too much. not the constructive ones anyway. the destructive ones can fuck the fuck off. you know, the ones who blather on and on about how you should have said this instead of this and now everyone thinks you are a great big idiot? i am learning to tune them out…except of course when i most need to tune them out….

littlevoices3

but!
the constructive little voices…the ones obsessively trying to figure out how to save the world…how to be the best mom ever…how to finish a piece of art…how to start a short story…what project to tackle next…how to deal with this problem, or that one. those voices rock. it’s like i’m doing the prep work while i’m laying in bed. i work it all out and then i’m ready to go.

those little voices convinced me, after reading a carrie fisher memoir followed by a carrie fisher novel (the two overlapping quite a bit) i realized, i should be writing my memoir…as fiction…or creative non-fiction…or in long hand! with illustrations! and i can publish it as zines!

littlevoices2

alas, the destructive little voices were stressing about yesterday’s post and telling me it was pretty fucking dumb & unhelpful…then the constructive little voices started suggesting follow-up blog posts on sustainable living–talking about all the things i do every day. i mean, if i want to be a trend-setter, i do have to start sharing more my awesome trends in sustainable living…(okay, awesome to me, the destructive little voices are going to have a hay day with that.)

or i can turn it into a zine too–with illustrations!!

okay. i just had a cup of coffee. i haven’t had one in days because one of two appliances i own–my coffee grinder–broke.
but today i realized that my other appliance–the blender–is actually just a giant coffee grinder!! another step in sustainability–no specialized appliances!

but i do need to get a mortar & pestle for grinding spices…or make one.

littlevoices1

goddess

when i was just 19
i pulled a knife on a guy
well
i guess
actually
he was my boss
i pulled a knife on my boss
because he kept
grabbing my ass
not just grabbing
but fondling
stroking
caressing
my ass
i really don’t know
if i ever said “no”
i was a good girl
taught to
smile!
to be pleasant
to say “yes” to men
especially those with authority
smile!
be pleasant
so he would molest me
as i tried to do my job
working in this kitchen
in this college town
just 19 years old
and i probably
nicely moved away
nicely tried to keep my distance
nicely smiled
until
one day
i grabbed a kitchen knife after he touched me
not a sharp one
a notorious dull one in fact
but i grabbed a knife
and held it out
as a threat
as i smiled.
he smiled too
and walked into the knife
to show he wasn’t afraid of me
it barely scratched him
if at all…
but!
he never touched me again

goddess2.JPG

i have been embarrassed about this for years. i can’t believe i pulled a knife on someone. not just someone, but my boss. i don’t talk about this story because i felt like i was in the wrong. all these years, i have felt like i was in the wrong for doing it. i beat myself up and tear myself down for not having better coping mechanisms.

but i really didn’t. i was never taught to stand up for myself. quite the opposite.

so i snapped and went into fight or flight. flight hadn’t been working out for me. so i fought. and i won.

so why do i look back at this memory & cringe?

fuck that bullshit.

today i am cheering for that poor little girl. today i’m ready to tell him where the fuck to get the fuck off. fuck intimidation. fuck molestation. fuck all that. i am proud of myself for finally standing up for myself…even if it was in a pretty drastic way.

goddess1

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