i feel lost
never to be found
& dark
i feel angry
…or is it this world?
not me at all
just this world of forgotten


when i was a girl

when i was a girl
i started writing books
books about girls on adventures
girls escaping from their evil mothers
(my father–a violent alcoholic
never appeared
in my stories…
i simply erased him.)
when i was a girl
i started taking long walks
walks through fields
& woods
just thinking
& feeling
the world around me
trying to make sense of it
when i was a girl
i would sit & stare
stare at the horizon
imagine breaching
the walls of the valley
surrounding me
the warm sun on my face
the massive clouds
eluding me
& i would wish i were

this is the second version of this i did. i don’t usually re-do these; they are quick sketches done in ink with no revisions. that’s me. that’s my technique.

yuck. i did a representative picture of myself as a girl. bleah. it just was awful. i’m not even going to show it to you. in fact i burned it in my kitchen sink, saying a spell for my art to listen to the whispers in my head rather than depending on what my eyes see….

recently someone was nice enough to compare some of my journal pages to the pages of william blake. so i checked out some books from the library so i could see what he manifested. when my first drawing failed, i cracked open one of the books and looked at a few of his drawings. this second one was inspired by what i saw there–and the feelings of my heart rather than the what may or may not have been more true.

this is not what i looked like as a girl. i actually had bangs.
but, you know what? fuck bangs.
so this is what i looked like in my heart.
as i rise up over the mackinaw river valley
escaping into the clouds.


good chaos
bad chaos
& all the chaos
my muse
& my unamused

what keeps me busy, inspires me. what inspires me, keeps me busy.

on the bullfrog song homestead with me:
7 sheep
8 hens
8 pullets
2 chicks
7 muscovy ducksings
7 turklings
1 gosling
2 toads
1 tarantula
1 cat
1 dog
2 beehives
4 minions
and one ex-husband.

i welcome most of these things. okay, all but the ex-husband. i have realized beyond a shadow of a doubt that i do not want to live with him.

whether he’s good or bad, i do not want to live with him.
i want to get on with my life.
and he is not my future.
i do not love him.

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
to.  the drink i should
feel strong enough to

…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
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?


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


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?


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.


dusty doesnt like it when i compare him to a hookworm

he’s not a bad guy
just the wrong guy
he’s here again
at my invitation
it seems
though i cannot tell you
exactly how that came to be.
how is it that i invited him back
into my life
when i knew for sure
that i had finally
gotten rid of him.
i knew i had seen the last of him.
but somehow
i invited him back?

my hookworm.
my favorite parasite.
the father of my four

i’m not getting any work done
on my art at least
i did put up beehives today…
and i am keeping house…
and reading a really good novel…
but my art is suffering

is it because of dusty?
is it because of the endless display of
rainy days?
cloudy days?
sunless days?
is it because i have used up the quota
allowed me
of creative genius?
is it because the minions are nuts?
is it because of dusty?

so this is like, what?
all of april’s artistic efforts…
this is all i have to show for my ink
in april.


i was inking this one when i realized it is inspired by kurt vonnegut’s novel, galapagos. my brain is just chock full of stuff that erupts onto my paper. sadly, the information stuffed in there isn’t good for much more than that. trivial pursuit, jeopardy, and strange eclectic inkings.

i have been feeling desperately lost & lonely lately. very depressed. my kids have started labeling me as “sad.” like today they said it was “opposite day” and fidgit said, “so you aren’t sad today.”

talk about depressing.

so i’m a mess.

strangely enough…at one point today…i could not get the internet to work. i wanted to title my ink, but i could not remember the name of the novel and was unable to google it. so i texted like four different people, three exes & a sister, to see who knew their kurt vonnegut.
when i didn’t hear back from anyone, i started wondering if the world had ended and we were left alone to sort things out. i suggested this to fidgit–and he was good with it.

and i started to feel less depressed.

is that fucked up?

i’m less lonely if there is no one left to reject me or mess with my head or ignore me?
less lonely with facebook wiped off the face of the earth?

so…maybe i need to seriously curtail my attempts to find salvation through social networking…
i know,
you’ve heard it from me before.

but this time i am serious.

it is the end of the world as we know it…and i need a break from humanity.

and with that, i give you, galapagos.


swan princess

to say i loved fairy tales as a little girl would be a gross understatement.
i lived in my own private fairy tale.
a changeling waiting to be discovered and rescued from the trolls who were trying to raise me as one of their own.
rescue me from the evil stepmother who murdered my real & devoted mother…
fairy tales were my escape from a frightening real life.

of course, i blame my fairy tale escape route for my love of kissing frogs and marrying beasts in hopes that i can release the prince that is surely trapped inside.
oh what a horrible thing to do to our daughters, right? teaching them that that awful asshole is probably just under a curse but will one day realize what a treasure she is and love her like no one ever has.

still, i loved my fairy tale escape. and maybe it helped part of me to flower despite its setting me up for disastrous relationships….


ah fuck.

i am a fairy changeling in a troll’s world.
i am an abandoned witchling among misunderstanding mortals.
i am a princess trapped inside a snarky, nippy swan.



so i sit alone in my castle as my children have been taken to the mortal world of wisconsin to live for 10 days with a family of trolls.
but they will return to me, my magic children. and we will continue our real fairy tale of homesteading in rural illinois free from tormented princes.

10 days.
i hold my breath and wish on every star in the sky for their safe return.