loving the lunatics

holy crap
what if
what if
you can’t do
normal
what if dysfunctional
is the only
speed
you move at?
you say you want
stable & secure
but then
then
you secretly shop for
fucked up
you crave crazy
you love the lunatics
lists of issues
are a turn-on
is this your sickness?
is this something
you can recover from?
or is damaged
&
broken
just the way you
roll
your own
warped
happy
ish
ending.

originally posted on october (inktober) 7th of last year. this page of the invisible exhibitionist was inspired by/stolen from one of my favorite male artists (& a bit of a freak himself) egon schiele.

i usually post a picture of the finished portrait next to the original…but my camera, abused by minions, refuses to work. i had to go shopping for a cheap replacement & am waiting for it to arrive. when it does, i will post some before & afters of this page as well as “the wrong one.” though i still don’t like my re-do of “the wrong one” (i tried three times to get it right) as much as i did the original.
sigh.
for love, support, & a new camera... (haha, you totally thought i was going to link you to my patreon page….)

an open book

he says
i never told him
why
when actually
he just never
never listened
to all the times
& all the ways
i did tell him

i have always
been
an open book
that no one wants
to read
i make the words
louder
the pictures
brighter
only to have my cover
snapped
shut
that much quicker

i try so
so hard
to be seen
to be heard
fearing the attraction
i have never gotten
but craving
that
validation
so badly
so fucking
badly

this was originally posted in may of 2018. i re-did the illustration. now it is another finished piece for my the invisible exhibitionist project.  it was based on an egon schiele painting.

peeling the onion

what if
my overwhelming desire to be out
of that
relationship
by any means necessary
was not a reflection
on my
ability
to commit…
some sort of self-sabotage…
no, not at all
in fact
a survival instinct
what if
i knew he was wrong
wrong for me
wrong to me
even though on the surface he was
mr. right
what if
my escapist tendencies are all
the only thing
that keeps me from falling
into
the
abyss
of a relationship with a narcissist
not a bad thing
not at all
not something to punish myself for
20 years later
but!
something to celebrate
i
survived.

i’m finding layers, y’all. all kinds of layers. things are not just black & white, good or bad…there is all kinds of stuff going on in the layers.
my energy is shifting.
it’s kinda pretty awesome & i feel a giddy feeling about it. so giddy.

this is a thought i had about a person–many many posts on him. we were together and he said he was my true love and all i wanted to do was run and i did run a couple of times but i tried so hard to make it work and all i wanted was out.
then he left me for someone else. in a pretty fucking cruel way.
and i spent too much of my life thinking i did something wrong & fucked my entire life up by not being able to love him the way i thought i should have loved him.
then, i realized, though he did it a bit differently, he was pretty much the same as all the other charming assholes that my gut said, “RUN!!” about.

funny that instinct. not always a bad thing, running away.

the illustration is based on an egon schiele sketch.

love in the time of ocd

is it love
or ocd
do i want him
or is it just
that i want to get it
right
have a do-over
fix a wrong
scrub a black mark off
my soul
forgive me, ex-boyfriend
for i have sinned
it might be love
but it is most definitely
ocd
he is my crooked painting
my light switch
maybe left on
he is that itch
that involuntary
twitch
getting over him
getting over it
is my
mount everest
(i’m ready to start
climbing)

busy with the self-analysis, and it felt like an egon schiele moment.

i like how it turned out. this is how i feel. lumpy bumpy and dislocated. hunting for publishers and refreshing myself on writing query letters after a couple of decades of lying low…as i said in yesterday’s post, it all has me feeling fragile. trying to ignore the little voices as they snarl, “who the fuck would publish you?”
grumpy bumpy lumpy me.

INKtober seventh

holy crap
what if
what if
you can’t do
normal
what if dysfunctional
is the only
speed
you move at?
you say you want
stable & secure
but then
then
you secretly shop for
fucked up
you crave crazy
you love the lunatics
lists of issues
are a turn-on
is this your sickness?
is this something
you can recover from?
or is damaged
&
broken
just the way you
roll
your own
warped
happy
ish
ending.

went with my love of egon schiele again for inspiration on this self-portrait. it seemed suitable for a post on my love of damaged people.

swimming in the grey matter sloshing about in my head…makes for a interesting though entirely confusing trip.

 

do you think hallmark is hiring?

my second inking inspired by/copied off of the egon schiele’s “mother & child.”

this one looks more sinister…which suits the topic, i suppose. i titled it “hallmark moment.”

so ink brush is a bit more tricky to manipulate than ink pen. i accidentally gave myself a very waspish waistline.
i do not, nor have i ever had, a waspish waistline.
in fact, i remember very clearly when i was in high school gym class and the instructor was measuring our waists before a fitness & nutrition chapter of the class. she looked for awhile, trying to find mine. finally she declared me “high-waisted.” i think she just gave up on finding my waist.
when i was twenty, i was working as a nurse’s aide in a care facility. i had a shaved head at the time. a lot of the folks with alzheimer’s were confused about me. but one day, while helping one gentleman, i was pronounced to be, “a stout, young lad!” he said it as if i should take it as a compliment. i found it hysterical & have touted myself as such ever since.

basically, i have a very dense & solid frame. i always have & always will. even at my lightest weight while still being healthy, i was 145 pounds. it’s just genetics. you should see my dad.
on the plus side, i am pretty indestructible, physically anyway….

tinder-hearted

i am a three-legged chair
that he
kicked over
it’s not his fault
i was damaged when i met him
i told him
it’s not his fault
but holy fuck
did he have to break me
more?
so
here i am
now
a pile of tinder
good for what?
if i’m optimistic
if i’m romantic
maybe i could light someone’s way
maybe i could keep someone warm
maybe i could find
a carpenter’s heart
to build me
into something
something
beautiful?
light
warmth
structure…
sure, i could do this alone
light me, warm me, build me
up
& i have done it
alone
but i keep thinking
wouldn’t it be more fun
with two?

egon schiele’s “mother & child” is my inspiration for this self-portrait (oh! it’s a mother & child…knowing egon schiele’s work, i thought it was something more pervy.)

img080

i used the painting for two pieces i did last night. this one turned out all come-hither. you will see the other one later today in my next post. it turned out way more sinister looking. perhaps the difference of ink pen on paper vs. ink brush on canvas? or perhaps the spirit of the two different pieces i was working on?

anyhoo.

i know i am supposed to do all this work on who i am & heal my own damage rather than to lose myself in yet another relationship. and goddammit, i have been working on it…forever, it seems. so don’t judge me for fantasizing about healing with someone else rather than continuing to heal alone.

wouldn’t it be nice if i weren’t the only one trying to piece together my bits? if i could find a kind soul(mate) to soothe my tinder-heart?

maybe i should wonder why i have so much conflict about this. both longing for & judging myself for longing for a romantic relationship (hold the narcissistic asshole.) ack! more journal pages coming up….

local critiques on my artwork:
fidgit: you’re drawing your butt again?
misha: is that a spider in your butt?

splattered

i may be naked
but that doesn’t mean
you can touch me
i may be vulnerable
but that doesn’t mean
i will love you
i don’t have to be
flattered
that you noticed i
splattered
myself
all over my world
just because i want to share
my pain
doesn’t mean i am inviting you
to join the melee
i may be
desperate
but i am not
serious
i may be hungry
but i am not
starving.

i found the perfect egon schiele selfie to use for this self-portrait. i wish i had done it justice.

egon!

in my defense, where he has angles, i have curves. oh well.

also, credit to my childhood love, adam ant, for the “desperate but not serious” quote.

here’s the thing. i hate it that someone (usually a man…but i don’t want to generalize…okay, i do…but i won’t) looks at my art, reads my words, and then assumes he knows who i am and what i need.
ack!
it was worse when i was “young.”
then they all wanted to tell me who i was.
now it’s not too common, but laying myself bare through my art & writings does invite the lingering glance, so to speak…or the perv-y stare, rather.
anyhoo!
i am way more complicated than a ba-jillion self-portraits with badly versed thoughts. like any exhibitionist, there is more to me than meets the eye.

building walls & burning bridges, possible title for my memoirs? “no man is an island,” my ma liked to say to me. “i’m a peninsula, mom,” i would reply…and i like it that way.

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