i don’t have any love left in me
like watching a cyclone
of bath water
circling the drain
is how it feels inside
when i look to see
if i have any love
fuck. i just got another short story rejection. fuck. why does everything have to feel raw & calloused all at the same time?
i need to figure out, as always, how to make money. i am thinking…erotic comics? too bad i am so easily embarrassed by anything sexual. i’m going to go practice drawing penises now…circumcised or no?
it would definitely help if a certain someone actually paid child support so i could buy my minions socks & underwear…. but, you know, some people are too special to work & have responsibilities. why grow up when you have me to take up your slack?
my flavor of the day: extra bitter.
i will gladly
spend my days
chaste as a monk
letting my passion
onto a page
if it means
you will come to me
if you will fill my dreams
remember that movie? truly madly deeply…with alan rickman? if you haven’t seen it, do. it’s a totally amazing, funny & sweet movie.
that’s me. living my love affair with a ghost and avoiding real life.
except my ghost isn’t dead…he lives in philadelphia and resists all my efforts to woo the fuck right out of him.
between him…i am going to go ahead & call him “seymour” because that is his name in my confusion perfume comic…go ahead & go read that if you haven’t already…between seymour & dusty…i feel like i am ruined for relationships. seymour because no one can live up to what he is to me, & dusty because i am afraid everyone will live up to what he is to me.
being that i have always been better at fictional relationships anyway (i used to date the young paul newman as well as the living james dean when i was in my twenties,) i am just going to go ahead and have a fictional relationship with the man who left me 22 years ago.
before last weekend & dusty’s visit, i did my tarot cards. my card (the card representing me) was skill & it was crossed with/conflicted by physical pleasure. in short, i need to focus on creative efforts, my art & writings as well as my family & homestead…but i am distracted by my own loneliness.
so i made this deal with my subconscious, if it lets seymour visit me in my dreams at night, i will focus & hone my creativity by day.
so far so good.
i mean, in my dreams, i am trying to absorb every bit of what i feel being with him so i can keep it with me always…& when i wake, the dreams bring a certain amount of comfort…but they also fill me with a sad longing….
but that’s good for art, right?
he’s built the groundwork
for my psychotic break
just one word
& the grasp
i so desperately hold
on my reality
so many careful years
just building on
to damage done
by my parents
by other men
i even handed him
that he would not hurt me
though my ever-faithful tarot cards (as well as every other experience i have ever had with dusty) warned me there would be conflict and that it was best if i did not engage…just let it blow over…holy fuck, he knows how to get me to engage. i try so hard to walk away. i say over & over, “i don’t want to talk about it.” but dusty is relentless until there is nothing left of me. just a glimpse of who i used to be as i morph into something i never want to be.
one of my parents.
this was our last dance.
i asked for a sign, and i got it.
there is nothing left here.
i need to move forward.
like, nine years ago…but better late than never.
this journal page is dedicated to my friend nexus who has been very supportive & encouraging of my art…and who knows how it feels to burn at the stake ❤
are all torn
a bloody battlefield
that used to be
or is that too
the mess of me
because my voice cannot be heard by the one i have tried & tried to talk to, i have started a work of fiction writing–no pictures. it is still forming in my head, but i have written the first paragraph. loosely based on the abusive relationship i am recovering from. i want to share it with people who might understand. also, i need to get it out of my head…and like i said, the person who needs to hear it the most, just won’t listen to it.
also, friendly reminder, there is a link up over yonder (with my pretty face on it) to other fiction pieces i have written & posted on medium.
come at night
whether you believe in them
at night is when
you should leave
so that those
they are welcome
if not wanted
that yours is a protected space
give them a little
but not too much
& send them
something is living in my compost. or, at least, visiting every night.
i bury things, he digs them up.
and i wonder if i should dig a deeper hole, or just leave the scraps on top and hope for the best.
he dug up the remains of the lambs (the remains of the lambs soon to be a blockbuster movie)…and digs them up again every time i try to put them to rest anew.
so the other night, i butchered a duck. i went ahead and did it on top of my compost and just left any unused parts laying out for my compost dweller.
my thinking is that if i keep the critter fed, it won’t set its sights on any living creatures in my yard.
is this faulty thinking?
i don’t think so.
there is enough for all of us…i can live & let live as long as my compost companion does the same.
in other scavenger news…
dusty will not stop texting me. fuck a fuck a fuck. seriously? he is trying to evoke a response from me, and i am seeing what he says for what it is–bait. manipulation. espousing his own reality as if it were fact.
it is nice to be able to spot the bullshit…but i wish i did not have to.
he is due to visit saturday morning through sunday for iggy’s birthday.
i am trying to mentally prepare myself…but mostly i just feel pissed off & stressed out & filled with dread.
then i remembered another fucking thing. april 22nd, the day after iggy’s birthday, is the 8 year antiversary of our divorce. i divorced him 8 years ago.
why haven’t i managed to move further away from him in those 8 years????
but at least i’m moving now.
i’m moving now.
watch me go.
yes, i might still have some angst towards my ex-husband; why do you ask?
i like this one. i used a photo of a statue of conan the barbarian to model it after–which explains why my boobs are bigger than usual.
dusty is a sagittarius born in year of the dragon
i am a cancer born in year of the dog
whether you are into astrology or not, you can probably imagine that and know it is just a bad fucking mix.
dusty is way into being a dragon. i once drew a dragon for him…it was beautiful…but i forgot the wings & he was all pissy about it. i just realized i forgot the wings on this one as well. i don’t think it is an accident. i don’t think dusty has wings. he is decidedly stuck on the rocks.
by what goes on inside me
trying to decipher
what is good
what to hold
what is bad
what to let
i have let go of dusty. again.
i have no desire to have the same argument with him…explaining my feelings until i am blue in the face & he responds by saying, “yes, but…” and asking me to explain them again in a different way.
i am so done.
i have no desire to talk to him, to see him.
of course…this weekend iggy turns ten…and i have already invited him down/agreed to his coming down. with his sister & his sister’s girlfriend and their child.
how am i going to do this?
how am i going to not ruin iggy’s birthday?
when he turned aggressive in a text exchange today, i simply turned off my phone. i do not want to engage with him anymore. he is too good at drawing me into a fight. he exhausted all efforts to appeal to my empathy…so then he just turned accusatory. it’s my fault…it’s all my fault.
oh, i remember this game.
so, again, how do i not ruin iggy’s birthday?