& how does that make you feel?

so i had a dream this morning about my teenage heartthrob of choice, adam ant.
he was at my house…the kids were away…it was the perfect recipe for mischief.
why was he at my house? i don’t remember that part of the dream.
i do remember him coming on strong.
but i wasn’t in the mood
& he was being annoying
so annoying that
i took him by the shoulders & said to him, “i would be the best you have ever had, but you would just remind me of my ex-husband.”
because he already reminding me of my ex-husband
clingy & annoying
but i consented to a kiss…i knew i was a good kisser, but i was having my doubts about him
i went in all gentle & sexy only to get viciously probed by a pointy little tongue
so i stopped, pushed his tongue back in his mouth & told him
“knock it off.”
but he didn’t…so the kissing stopped
then the kids came home so i figured that was that
i offered to show him the posters i had of him from when i was a kid.
he was game
i found the posters, but only one was of him, the rest had changed to me
posters of me
i said, “the posters have changed–like they would if i were dreaming.”
then he came at me with a back rub…the foreplay technique that has, historically, relaxed me into many a tight spot….
so i said, “fine.” & started figuring out where we could sneak off to.
he asked if my bed was clean & i said,
“i gave birth in that bed!”
i asked him if he had protection, & he just shrugged
i was a bit worried about where he has been
i knew i had condoms but i didn’t tell him that
i did start working out a cover story to tell the kids
& readying a room for us….

if you made it this far, that’s where i was woken up by feisty morning minions. i have heard said that no one is interested in your dreams…but this one was so empowering & entertaining for me, that i just had to share.
seemingly laden with messages.
i haven’t quite worked it all out yet, but the dream seems to be
all
about
me.

ps. the image is from an old journal page showing 20-something me & my therapist.
lately i am really missing making comics.
i might be headed back to comics…..

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church of the lawnscape

i know now
why we’re so fucked up
as a society…
it’s that we don’t get the therapeutic
meditative
cardio
workout
of mowing our lawns with a reel mower
& scythe
dude…
i’m serious here
as a hand dish washing
line hanging out laundry
reel mowing
she-ra
i am here to tell you
listen as i preach it
an easy life
is no life at all
work it, people
work it….

as the main representative of the church of the reel mower & sole member/candidate of the thunderdome political party….
i do need to start recruiting.

seriously, y’all. i just want someone to praise me…worship me…speak my name with such devotion….

i don’t know if y’all can see it, but i am mowing a little every day around the house to create some yard so the minions don’t have to go in the weeds if they don’t want to.
i am completely ocd about it. i get out there with that fucking mower & i cannot stop. then, when i finally do, every muscle in my body says, “goodnight.”
it’s clearing my head as i clear some lawn.
i really do think we as a society have lost our priorities. someday i will get that church going–get that political party started….
in the meantime, i am feeling fine.

also! i finished the seascapes i was commissioned to do.

in other news, i have been thinking a lot about direction. i feel that my self-portrait series is wrapping itself up. even though i was told to pay no attention to the critique that questioned my writing abilities
(thank you for your support, xxoo), i have been thinking about it. i want a strong narrative to go with my self-portrait series. so i think i am going to go back through all those journals and try to create that narrative. i don’t know if it will end up being more verse than prose or more prose than verse…or a mix of the two.
but it is time to embrace an ending to it…& also a beginning.

shark guard

this is not poetry
i am not a poet
i cannot stress that enough
i never imagined myself poetic
never
ever
ever
it’s just that free verse
is such an easy way
to say
what i need
to say
nevermind the rhyme
i am not a poet
not
ever
ever
i just have a lot to say
a lot rattling around
in this brain of mine
& the easiest way
to get it out
is to
just
blurt
in free
verse.

so i got rejected for the second time by the sustainable arts awards for mother artists & writers.
poop
i really really could have used the money.
also, i can only find rentals that say “proof of employment!” telling me i need to be earning three times what the rent is.
the real world just fucking sucks sometimes.
but!
am i down?
am i out?
no. for some fucking rainbow shooting out of unicorn ass’s reason, all i feel is hope.
so fucking weird.

i wrote the above not-a-poem because one of the critiques of the portfolio i submitted to the sustainable arts foundation commented on my sub-par writing while complimenting my artwork.
so!
just trying to keep my spirits high…though, again, weirdly they are staying up all on their own.

the above image is what happened when i tried to do a commissioned seascape that included a mermaid. here is the same seascape yesterday before i changed it:

do you see what i did? i put in another shark. it occurred to me as i was trying to fall asleep, another shark would create a “guard” effect rather than suggesting the mermaid was in trouble. or, at least that is my take-away.

mothra’s day massacre

here’s a funny story
some years back
i noticed my ex
burying something
in the dumpster
knowing he never took out the trash
my curiosity was piqued
so i went
dumpster diving
for mother’s day…
turned out
his stalker girlfriend
had left a mother’s day bouquet
of tulips
on our doorstep for me
unlike all the weird little notes
& gifts she left for him,
he saw fit to throw the tulips
in the trash…
that might be
the only time
i got flowers for mother’s day….

okay…not funny “haha”…more like funny in a really really painful way.
mother’s day & i have a terrible track record.
with a husband who said on the first mother’s day after my giving birth to his son, “why would i get her anything; she’s not my mother?”
with a mother who didn’t seem to know the first thing about mothering…but who was always happy to complain, criticize, & be cruel….
with my own conflicted feelings on being a mom….
it’s a fucked up day for me.
yet…i caught myself buying a necklace for myself…i think it was supposed to be a surprise, for mother’s day. so maybe i am starting to heal?
maybe.
a celtic trinity knot necklace. a protection symbol. with green amber ( my favorite.)
it’s nice to know that i remembered to get me something nice for mother’s day.

the image is a card i sent to my little sister last year for mother’s day…it was the closest i could get to saying “happy mother’s day.”

woe is me

living inside
your own head
you forget
about
the world outside
a world that works against
single low-income moms
a world
that won’t take a risk
on you
no matter
how good your heart
might be
a world that is set up
to grandstand your options
telling you to
follow your dreams
but in the end
leaves you
very few choices
the more kids
you have
the fewer
choices
they say it takes a village
they don’t tell you
that the village
will quickly tack up
a “no vacancy” sign
when they see
you
coming.

how’s the house hunt going?
well, pretty fucking hard since i can’t even get out to look for a place…& then when i look at the average application for a rental & they want a job & income & job history…
all i feel is despair.
i have savings. i have enough to pay a year’s rent. i have sparkly clean credit. i have child support payments. i have government aid. i spend less money–with four kids–than the average u.s. citizen without dependents does. i am frugal as fuck. but i have to get face to face with a real person–the right person–to convince them that this is enough…& being seemingly physically trapped here at hotel california…how the fuck do i make that happen?
i was going to try to run out to iowa today to look for rentals & someone to convince that i am a good tenant. the minions come home tomorrow….
despair says, “why even bother?”
but i can’t just run over to iowa with four kids in tow. iggy hates road trips (he got that from his dad–not me,) & i don’t want to budget in a stay at a motel (though they do love motel tv.)
so three weeks until the next time i am able to run to iowa sans minions…meanwhile, the lawn grows free now as the lawn mower died on me. so i should get that fixed. i don’t even know how to go about that. i so so so hate being all alone out here.
yes, i’m a feminist, but fuck me if i want to do everything myself. i want someone here who knows how to do all the stuff i suck at. i want someone in my life who appreciates what i can do & who i worship for their ability to fix a mower…or clean a toilet…or just hold me & tell me it’s all going to work out when it feels like the world is spinning out of control.
sigh.

if you want to contribute to my “income”…. here are sneak peaks of some of the posts you would be able to see as a patron of mine….

the main image is of a character of mine that hopefully will one day have a story….

gender bending

my first boyfriend
wore face powder
& lip gloss
(i still remember
the smell of kissing him)
his hair
was longer than mine
but once i shaved
off all
my hair
every one of my boys
had hair
longer than mine
because i so loved
the girly boys
with their long
slender
fingers
& their long
batting
eyelashes
every once in awhile
i dated
a chiseled-chin
dimpled cheeks covered
in manly stubble
all the more fun
to dress
them in
lacy lingerie.

this poem was inspired by a completely harmless innocent tiny little crush on my gender fluid editor-to-be…because i wouldn’t be me if i didn’t develop inappropriately intimate feelings for someone i am to be working with….

meanwhile, the ryan renolds movie marathon continues. (i watched the nines last night & loved it. i am pretty sure i am also a nine & that i have created y’all)
i bet ryan renolds would look hot as fuck dressed in “women’s” clothes….

in other news, i am having dizzy spells & my head feels weird…so i’m pretty sure i have a tumor. here is a conundrum…how does a hypochondriac know when they are actually sick? my anxiety manifests as physical symptoms…but what if i really am sick & just dismissing it as stress-induced?…(see how that can spin out fast?)

also, my lawn really really is supposed to be mowed by conventional standards, but i have a hard time thinking about mowing down all those innocent flowers.
if it weren’t for ticks & mosquitoes, i would totally have a wild as fuck lawn.

may the fourth be with you.

mother grim

open a beer
or open a vein
whiskey shot to the head
or gunshot
you don’t know
you don’t know me
& how it feels
sometimes
to try
every day
to be a mother
to these ones
every day
every day
every
day
i make this decision
bag of wine
or bag over the head?
relish these years
when they are little
they say
kids grow up so fast
you don’t want to miss it
they say
miss it?
i am deep as fuck in it
living it
despite myself
every day

have you ever heard of “highly spirited children?” yeah. i have four of those.
they are wonderful, beautiful, brilliant, funny, explosive, screamy, dramatic little things. i love them dearly, but sometimes i find my thoughts wandering over to the dark side.
right now they are with their dad–who again–challenged our placement agreement.
whenever he does, i examine my determination to keep being their primary caretaker–to make sure i am not doing it for selfish or controlling reasons.
i discovered that even though i sometimes think i am a crap-ass mom…i completely believe it is best for our children to have me as a primary caretaker. even though i sometimes feel i am going insane with the stress of being a single mom & of raising four strong-willed children, i think i owe them that little bit of stability that being with me gives them.
i have been there for them since day one. i have a commitment to them. so, sure, sometimes i think dark thoughts, but hopefully–expressing those dark thoughts will help me work out those demons so i can be a better mom.
that’s important to me, being a good mom.
not a traditional or conventional mom, but the mom they need me to be. a crazy-ass mom who (most the time) can roll with the punches.

ps. i don’t drink box wine or else i would have known to call it box wine not bag of wine. oh well….

running with wolves

i just know you guys
are all
holy fuck will she ever shut up about her patreon page
but
no
here i am again
pimping myself
taunting you with a little taste
to lure you
to spend a some money
on me

the picture above is one of the pages of my latest series, “running with wolves,” where i examine my feral nature.
also, i have done pages on my latest epiphany–the one where i realize i have deluded myself into believing i had “true love”–twice–fucking it up both times.
turns out
i’m not a fuck up…i’m just delusional.
yay!

i am trying, in addition to supporting my own creative nature, to learn to support other artists & writers as well.
if you are interested in some kind of swap, let me know.
you all are totally worth it. reading your stuff & looking at your art brightens my every day & often inspires me.

change is not death

“If you don’t release something voluntarily, it will cause you pain when it is snatched from you against your will.”

this card was driving me crazy because sometimes it feels like all i do is let things go.
what else can i let go of?
then i caught myself going to a dark
dark
place when i saw a friend’s loving post about his wife.
right? why should that cause me pain??
and that is when i realized what i needed to let go of
my fantasy that i had once had
true love
& had lost it through carelessness…
to stop being angry & depressed about losing something
that was never mine
to begin with.

i journaled about it over on my patreon page (more pages to come) & am trying to process it out.

i also have added a couple of more pages in my new series about being feral.

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