i did this picture by spilling ink
and looking for images
in the shadows & shades of the ink
i spilled this ink
to send another love note
to a person who doesn’t want me
but at least i’m making art
while i mope
and try to find my way.
meanwhile, i really need to do another page of moses jones. it’s time for that once-a-month page.
but my garden is weeded. my minions are fed. my ducks are laying. my bees are buzzing. life goes on.
*this is a work in progress
for anyone who wasn’t with me for my whimsical ink stain adventure (all of them are on one of the pages up there) that started with inktober 2016 when i discovered my love for making inkstains and finding pictures in them,
this is what the process looks like.
i make an ink stain, dripping ink randomly on wet watercolor paper.
i let it dry.
then i just stare at it.
for as long as necessary.
and it helps me to expand on my drawing style and discover new creatures.
i haven’t done it in awhile…not since last inktober when i started the month of ink…but then pooped out.
however, i was thinking
of writing another letter to seymour
and i started this inkstain as a page on which to write crazy broken poetry about love
i keep asking the universe for a sign that i should either keep up my pilgrimage…or give up on it.
i mean, i guess you could say that seymour’s ignoring of my ongoing expressions of devotion is a sign in itself.
but i would really like something more definite…if that’s not too much to ask.
*i like to post the process of these pictures because it is interesting to me how they develop.
this is an ink stain creation from…when? is there a date on it? there should be a date on it, but i think i cut it off in the scanning of it and the original was used as a piece of stationary to write a letter to seymour.
of course, seymour never responds to my love notes…
maybe if i put a “do you like me back” with a box to check yes and a box to check no.
seymour does not respond to my–i don’t even know what it qualifies as–dedication? obsession? true love? stalking?
who the fuck knows? not this socially backwards chickadee.
i’m sure one of the many mental health professionals that likes to follow my blog could weigh in…but would i listen…probably not.
in other mental health news…
i thought i had popped back out of my depression. i mean, while the minions were with dusty, i was functional and not too mopey. i got things done. i did not spend all day in bed…or drinking…or drinking in bed….
but then i had to see dusty in order to fetch the minions, and that seems to have triggered a fresh depression.
i just feel so much anger towards him. so much betrayal. so much frustration & helplessness. and i can’t talk to him about it, because he finds a way to turn everything i say to him into a weapon against me.
that is some fucking talent.
so he has been paying for my internet, and we have been using his netflix account. many months, this is the only child support i see from him.
but now his contract with the internet is up, & he is cancelling that as well as his netflex (or so i hear from the minions.)
for some reason, this leaves me feeling so fucking pissed off. so fucking pissed off.
i am already super isolated in the country with four kids. i mean, i assumed his canceling the internet was a financial decision, but a friend suggested it might be for the purposes of further isolating me…and i could not find an argument to the contrary.
abusive men do like to isolate.
however, dusty has not has a job since he lost his job last january by coming down here (and staying past his welcome) when i asked him down to help with my parents. he never even told me there were issues with his job. i only found out much later that he was fired for blowing his job off to come down here.
so, yeah, it’s my fault he was fired.
but then he found another job, recently, but quit it when he thought i might let him move in here. even though i told him it was a maybe and we could talk about it. then of course i was given that big neon sign from the universe that he is still a prick & will always be a prick & what the fuck am i thinking?
but, in the couple of days where i considered it–before sobering up–he went ahead & quit his job.
did he talk to me about it first seeing as his moving to illinois was dependent on my letting him move here?
or seeing as me & the minions are directly affected by his income or lack thereof?
no…mr. “let’s talk” did not talk to me before quitting his job.
and now he likes to mention it as if it is my fault.
it’s my fault he quit his job…of course it is.
okay. rant done.
so now i am depressed again. a garden sits waiting for rain and for me to get off my sad ass to turn the soil & plant more veg. one of my bee hives died and i need to address that. the new chicken coop waits for me to build it. and, of course, sheep…goats…ducks….geese…and minions.
in conclusion, if there is a wealthy benefactor and/or someone handy on a homestead out there waiting to pop into my life, now might be the time.
i have no interest
in ever making cards
though if someone wanted to buy some
i wouldn’t say no….
what i mean is…
there seems to be a capitalism bone
missing from my body
i love to do what i love to do
but i don’t want to do it
money is dumb
here is the first card for my february calendar of birthdays. one of my nephews. he has never liked me. i used to take care of him as a baby, & he would so give me the stinkeye. but! always time to build better bridges…until it’s too late, that is….
i missed at least three birthdays in january. i have managed to make a grand total of two birthday cards this year.
but, hopefully, i will continue this little exercise
in being a better aunt, cousin, sister, friend, & person.
in complete opposition to my short poem about capitalism sucking…i would like to let you know that if you forgot to get me a valentine, it’s not too late. you can buy yourself a copy of the book i illustrated–mistress of mud–to show how much you love me!
i’m so tired
of these feelings of desperation
what is real?
what is longing?
& what is just a big chasm
something intrinsically wrong
a hole in me
a black succubus of love
any warm body
it is difficult
to walk past an inkstain
without seeing its
i posted this on the inktober group i am in on facebook, i referenced how conflicted i felt about so much color–as if i were channeling the teletubbies…and…nothing.
not one like.
not one comment.
is it me? i put on deodorant…
(actually, not technically deodorant, i use baking soda, coconut oil, and essential oils….)
but you know what i mean.
i would like, at some point before i am dead, to not feel like a complete pariah.
and dusty is coming here to stay for a week. part of me is relieved that there will be another grown up here.
part of me just wants to die because the only relief i get is when the man who helped put me in this fucking situation comes to visit.
mostly, i just feel like crying.
i’m going to go take a shower and cry.