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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anti-versaries

ah crap. it’s september…such a wonderful month for fall smells & sights…and the anti-versary of
meeting my first big love/heartbreak/betrayal
marrying my first husband
& meeting my last big love/heartbreak/betrayal

no wonder i feel like a big bag of hopelessly crappy crap.

fuck you, september
(please stop being hot now & at least give me some 70 degree weather)

image from an art class…moses jones as an archangel, slaughtering dusy–or, you know, the devil.

moses jones…homicidal mama

in march i re-started the third episode of moses jones: apocalyptic mama with this page. before that i had gotten several pages into a third episode only to realize i didn’t like the direction & wanted to change it…. plus my real life relationship went from trying to work it out again–to finally giving up on it for good.

so i killed off dusty rather than reuniting with him as i had started to….

mjp41

plus i wanted to rework the artwork a bit & return to some of the more edgy art i had used for the mojo prototypes.

mjversus

i wrote three pages of the new episode…then petered out in the spring of this year. but all of a sudden, as i am laying in bed trying to fall asleep, i have started writing new pages in my head. i know what is going to happen now! yay! but the problem with comics is…it takes for fucking ever to get from point a to point b. you know, layout, blue pencil, rough drafts, and 17 pages just to express one idea. and if you are a luddite like me–doing the whole thing with pen & brush on paper rather than using a computer program…eternity.

but!
i have started writing the script & it is just flowing out of me.
so…here’s a little of what is going to happen next.
(if you are interested & want to know what is going on, i have two pages on this site dedicated to moses jones. i am not sure about the artwork…but you can at least catch up on the plot so far.)

moses jones…episode three…homicidal mama

moses & the minions come out of the woods and over a rise to see the house ahead of them.
moses stops.
the minions stop around her.
moses: something is wrong
they are all quiet & still
fidgit: i hear a baby crying
moses picks up misha & breaks into a run.

moses: what happened?
susan: lucy…she’s–
malcolm: where were you? why weren’t you here? you should have been here!
moses: where’s lucy?
malcolm: she’s dead! you weren’t here. we needed you. but fucking moses jones has to do what moses jones has to do. fuck what everyone else needs.
moses: what happened? where is she?
malcolm: do i look like a doctor? she died. she had a baby & it killed her.
susan: (whispers)
there was so much blood.
malcolm: shut the fuck up, susan.
moses: what about the baby? is the baby okay?
malcolm: fuck the baby!
moses: can i see lucy? can i see the baby?
malcolm: no! (stalks off)
moses: (to susan) has he let anyone see her?
susan: cheetah is in there. he is cleaning her up.
moses: where’s the baby?
susan: (shrugs) maybe with one of the others? oh! i think amanda has it.
moses: who’s amanda?
susan: some girl that dusty brought here while you were gone. she stayed here when he went looking for you. did he find you?
moses: (without hesitation) no.
susan: so he’s still out there?
moses: i don’t know. so where’s this girl then? wait–was dusty supposed to let me know lucy was in trouble? was he supposed to find me to get me back here?
susan: um…i think…i think her labor had started…i don’t think he knew that was a problem? he showed up right after you left. him & that girl. i don’t remember for sure what was next. he went to get you though. you didn’t see him out there?
moses: no. so what happened? what went wrong?
susan: she was in all kind of pain. she said something was wrong. she knew something was wrong. she collapsed. then she had the baby. then she started bleeding & wouldn’t stop. there was nothing we could do. i don’t know why malcolm blames you. i don’t know what you could have done.
moses: he’s in pain. he needs to blame someone. maybe it is my fault.
susan: there’s nothing you could have done.
moses: you don’t know that. if i had gotten back in time–

so there it is. my work in progress. now i have to finish writing script & start thinking about layout.
i will probably skip the blue pencil…y’all should know how much i love my mistakes.

revolving door

i’m ruined
every time i see you
i’m ruined
how are you still able to break my heart?
how are you still able to make it beat faster?
i’m ruined
every
time
i
see
you
it sucks
so fucking hard
to realize
i still love you
i’m ruined
i have let you go
so many times now
i have become a revolving door for you
leaving me
ruined.

another page inspired by seeing dusty and having to fight the desperate longing for him that i thought i had managed to kill.
fucking dusty.

 

misha’s birth day

i know another reason why i’m feeling warm & fuzzy towards dusty right now. when we were married, i surmised that if we were ever trapped somewhere, dependent on working together to get to safety, we would die.

my observation was true of every time i needed him to be there for me.
except one…misha’s birth.

misha is my third child. my first two were c-sectioned because my body likes to take more than 42 weeks to perfect a baby–& doctors do not like to let a woman go much past 40.
so, twice, i let them cut the baby out of me because they said that it was for the best.
when i got pregnant with misha, i could not bear the thought of another c-section.
so i fired all the doctors.
problem was, none of the midwives in madison would support my birth because i had been deemed too risky.
i had never had a vaginal birth. i was 40 years old & prone to long pregnancies. these were my crimes.
misha is the one who suffered for  them.
i found an outlaw midwife who lived one state over & would travel to me when i went into labor.
second problem…i didn’t know what labor looked like because doctors had never let me get that far.
by the time i was certain i was in labor–& not wasting the midwife’s time–misha was on her way out.
she came out fast. relentlessly fast. none of the stages of labor i had read up on were observed by misha as she rocketed out of me.
there was one doula present and dusty.
we were in a kiddie tub on the fourth floor of a 30 person cooperative.
when misha was born, she was having trouble breathing. she probably just needed a few puffs of air to get her going, but none of us knew what to do. by the time the mom down the hall called her midwife to come help, misha was showing signs of seizure.
the paramedics took her away.
the NICU kept her for 12 days.
they told dusty & me, best case scenario: misha has coordination issues & learning disabilities.
worst case scenario: cerebral palsy or epilepsy
i cried so hard as they said that. my heart broke. it was all my fault. if i had just been unselfish enough to get the fucking surgery…to have another fucking c-section…misha would have been fine.
i waited for dusty to blame me. he blamed me for everything. it was always my fault.
this time he would be right.
except
he didn’t blame me. he told me it wasn’t my fault. he zoomed me around the hospital in my wheeled chair–being silly & sweet–as i was still too wrecked to walk much after the birth. he watched the boys while i kept vigil at her side. he came to be with her when i was forced to go home & sleep.
he took care of us.
he was there for me.
seven years later, just as i would remember & be traumatized by a bad event, the good things that happened feel as fresh as yesterday.
and i miss that version of dusty.

(in the NICU…& one year later when the neurologist said, “oh…nevermind.”)

don’t be sweet

please don’t be sweet
i can’t
bear it
with your playful eyes
if you are sweet…
it is so much easier
to hate you
i only want to
hate you
i cannot afford to
love you
to fall back into that
easy rhythm
of us
that close to
destroyed me
so please
don’t be sweet
with your seductive eyes
so sweet that i
remember
all the good times
burying
the bad times
reaching out
to touch you
knowing
if i do
i will be caught in a cascade…
i’m begging you
please
don’t
be
sweet.

so i had an on-again/off-again relationship with the father of my children that lasted close to forever & almost killed me.
it took me so many times of trying to leave him…& so many years to recover from his influence on me.
he is emotionally abusive, manipulative, & narcissistic.
but, apparently, i love him?
what the fuck.
most days i would not admit that. most days i would have a clear & close hold on to all the bullshit he put me through in the years i have known him. a shield made of bad memories.
but i saw him on tuesday…
& he was all sweet & silly.
he was dressed so strangely. unorthodox. which, of course, caused me to find him attractive. i mean, he is attractive–physically. when i met him he was kind of awkward & goofy, but as he aged he became gorgeous. so when a gorgeous man dresses in an unorthodox way–it has kind of a stunning effect…at least on me.
crap.
so now i am trying to hold it together.
to not do anything
slippery.

status update: overwhelmed

the minions returned on tuesday–i drive & meet dusty half-way to wisconsin. usually we do the swap at a rest area, but dusty volunteered to meet at culver’s & have a birthday dinner for misha (for anyone not in the midwest of the u.s., culver’s is a wisconsin based hamburger chain–the only chain restaurant i willingly eat at.)
so i spent too much time with dusty for my own good–upcoming pages on that!
and i got my four wild children back for the rest of the month.
add on to that an explosion of ducklings. my muscovies enjoy hatching eggs, but then they abandon the babies leaving me to find duckling bits around the yard. if i am lucky, i find them before they are dead, but it’s about 50/50 at this point.
additionally,
my brain is not able to completely come to terms with life & death on the farm & instead of staying up nights stressing about having to butcher lambs, i decided to get rid of my ram (so no more pregnant ewes) & to just have some fat, happy ewes eating grass. someone offered to buy my ram–luke (pictured above after a horn injury.) luke is a sweet ram & iggy (my child who is convinced i don’t love him–or so he says) is very attached to him. so there is a lot of drama over his leaving. we are all very sad. plus, the couple buying him wanted a ewe to go with him so they could start breeding. so we had to send our beautiful buttercup with him. which is also sad. plus buttercup left behind the other ewe & buttercup’s six month old lamb. so everyone, me–iggy–& all the sheep–have been crying since yesterday when luke & buttercup left.
good news. they are going to live on pasture of a small farm & get to have babies. the other options for sheep aren’t as nice. so i am happy they are going somewhere nice…but feel like a penniless jerk because i am unable to give them a home–forcing them into the scary move & causing all the other sheep (& iggy) to be sad.
but i keep thinking of winter & all the hay i need to buy…plus not wanting to “deal” with lambs when they get to a certain age & i can no longer put off the inevitable….
i’m just in over my head.
seriously.
with four very demanding minions & a yard full of animals to take care of….
it’s overwhelming.
i’m exhausted.

i have pages written & two more canvas ideas…plus! one night while unable to sleep–i started writing more moses jones!! i have been stalled on that since, what, april?
so i’m taking my journal with me to a car maintenance appointment & will try to get pages done/mojo plot written.

destroyed

i hate feeling like this
every year
since he has died
i hate it
i never knew
this level of hopelessness
with all the bad stuff
toppling
the way it
does

i hate feeling like this
every year
since he betrayed me
i hate it
i never knew
this level of hopelessness
with all the bad stuff
toppling
like it
does

my brother’s death
my ex-husband’s birthday
one day
that destroys me
every goddamned
year.

i used to joke that dusty and i would never be able to survive if we had to depend on each other in a time of crisis.

then my brother died
on dusty’s birthday
& i don’t think he ever forgave me for it.

i decided to divorce dusty the day of the funeral.
never had i ever seen a complete lack of empathy in a person
as i did that day
dusty intentionally hurt me as my brother’s coffin lay before us.

of course,
anyone who knows this story knows
i did not get rid of dusty for another eight years after my brother’s death
meanwhile dusty played me like a fucked up fiddle, even convincing me that it was my fault he was cheating on me…right in front of me….

sigh.

all this pain surfaces now.
this time of year.
my dead brother
my narcissistic & sadistic ex….

i lay awake at night & count my scars.

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