magnificent

i shouted my demons down
who told you
i was that?
who told you
you could call me
that?
i am not
what you say
i am
rather
i am magnificent
i am majestic
i am fabulous
not
what you say about me
but
what i say about me
i am
feral fey
witchy woo
i am
magical.

i have started doing this whenever i hear those fucking little demons whispering nastiness into my ear. i shout at them. i tell them how wonderful i am.
so far so good.

day ten

day ten at madness
manor
temperatures in the 90’s
& internal
conflict
afoot
who am i?
& why does that little
voice
whisper
“fat…ugly…old
irrelevant”
no!
i chose this
i did
i took this path
because i am not like
them
my bohemian spirit enjoys
doing dishes in a clawfoot
tub
digging through a cooler
for food
hanging laundry amid the trees
to dry…
this is who i am
i chose
this.

after a couple of days of spinning out. i came to this conclusion.
i did this. i want this. i made this my life.
there is method to my madness at the manor.

irrelevant

i am irrelevant
redundant
pointless

and cannot spell “irrelevant” apparently. thank god for autocorrect.
as spoken of yesterday…loneliness & strong beer kinda made me spin out. or maybe i was just overdue for a visit from my demons…

i drew a cat because my cats are driving me up a wall. plotting against me. hunting my fairies. new house; old cats. we are all figuring it all out all over again.

noise

there is a lot of noise
in my head
voices interrupting voices
ideas
moving
in every direction
too many directions
how do i
quiet
my thoughts
how do i encourage
them
to work with me
rather than
against
me
rather than a traffic
jam
how do i create
moving
paths
to
inspiration
&
clarity?

this touches on the same thoughts as a post a few days ago. quieting those inner thoughts so i can focus enough to do something fabulous.
each day is a little better…but it’s still a work in progress.

tea party with demons

the voices come
& the voices whisper
“you’re fucked.”
it’s my nightly meeting
with my demons
they’ve come for a tea party
butter on toast
(monsters love toast)
it’s a thing
every night
the whispers
& epic songs
telling of my ultimate
& fanatastic
failures
i love my demons
i do
i might even miss them
if they were
gone
miss their nasty
little
whispers
& predictions
of doom…
but no worries
they are always
close by
to keep me
company.

a few beers & witchery with a friend had me singing this out about my demons. what is light without dark? what is good without mischief? i do love my demons. they keep me on my toes.

what is quiet certainty like?

surely
life would be
easier
if i could
speak
without questioning my voice
think
without examining my thoughts
act
without wondering what
motivates
me…
everything i put forth
is subject to a three dimensional
inquisition
am i right
am i wrong
am i pacifying
am i blowing it all
out
of proportion…
ah.
to attack
without regret
without anxiety
without a second thought
to conquer
without
wondering
why.

in these stupid times we are in…my resorting to a very simple adjective for a complicated matter…i follow my heart, as always…listen to my instinct, as always…but cannot quiet the chatter of voices within….
as always….

goblin

it is difficult
for me
to walk past an inkstain
without seeing its
potential
its
story
its
message
to me.

wake up, it’s time to heal

the voices came
& whispered to me
you are not this person
twelve years of anger
a lifetime of anger
you are not this person
it is time to heal
it is time to heal

page4

i recently learned about clairaudience. as soon as i read the description, i was like, “well, i have that.” imaginary friends, talking to one’s self, hearing voices, channeling advice, craving sound, hearing messages in songs….  i do all that.
so now i am trying to listen better.
last night–when i was trying to fall asleep–the voices came, & i was told that it is time to heal.

today is an anti-versary for me. 1997…so what is that? 20 years. 20 years ago, all in one day, i was molested & my dog got hit by a car and died. i have felt the weight of it every year since. i was in a terrible relationship. my life was a mess. i tried to straighten out the mess, but i kept going right back to it. the abuse. the neglect. the anger & hurt.

page5

now it’s time to heal.

it’s time to rewrite what today means to me.
today is the day i choose to start healing.
today is the day i choose to let go of the anger & hurt.
to embrace the beautiful in me & let go of the ugly that keeps me company while holding me back.

time to embrace my role as a mom.
time to celebrate who i am as an artist.
time to see what a healthy relationship looks like.

time to heal.

page6

 

i listen for the little voices it is night time when their voices are loudest

longest title yet for one of my inks.

this drawing made me think of my anxiety…it made me think of all the stuff going on in my head all of the time…especially at night, laying in bed.
i don’t mind the little voices too much. not the constructive ones anyway. the destructive ones can fuck the fuck off. you know, the ones who blather on and on about how you should have said this instead of this and now everyone thinks you are a great big idiot? i am learning to tune them out…except of course when i most need to tune them out….

littlevoices3

but!
the constructive little voices…the ones obsessively trying to figure out how to save the world…how to be the best mom ever…how to finish a piece of art…how to start a short story…what project to tackle next…how to deal with this problem, or that one. those voices rock. it’s like i’m doing the prep work while i’m laying in bed. i work it all out and then i’m ready to go.

those little voices convinced me, after reading a carrie fisher memoir followed by a carrie fisher novel (the two overlapping quite a bit) i realized, i should be writing my memoir…as fiction…or creative non-fiction…or in long hand! with illustrations! and i can publish it as zines!

littlevoices2

alas, the destructive little voices were stressing about yesterday’s post and telling me it was pretty fucking dumb & unhelpful…then the constructive little voices started suggesting follow-up blog posts on sustainable living–talking about all the things i do every day. i mean, if i want to be a trend-setter, i do have to start sharing more my awesome trends in sustainable living…(okay, awesome to me, the destructive little voices are going to have a hay day with that.)

or i can turn it into a zine too–with illustrations!!

okay. i just had a cup of coffee. i haven’t had one in days because one of two appliances i own–my coffee grinder–broke.
but today i realized that my other appliance–the blender–is actually just a giant coffee grinder!! another step in sustainability–no specialized appliances!

but i do need to get a mortar & pestle for grinding spices…or make one.

littlevoices1

em is for messy.

you know how some things stick with you?
i don’t know if i read it in just one book. or if it was a re-occurring theme in books about the noble poor, but the summation in describing said poor kids:
they clothes were worn, but clean.
as if by keeping them clean, their mother somehow made up for the sin of being poor.
& for some reason this seems to echo in my mind decades after i would have first read it.
now, with four poor kids of my own.

when we go out, which isn’t too often because we are homeschooling homebodies. even my extrovert prefers being at home–he just requests that i bring people to him.
so we don’t go out too often
but when we do, as soon as we get somewhere, i notice what my kids must look like to others.
we shop second-hand (even if i did have money we would still shop second-hand) and i let my kids dress themselves. i let them choose their style. i let them choose how long or short they have their hair. i encourage them to be individuals. sometimes misha only wears princess dresses when we go out…sometimes she wears star wars pjs.
i like this about them.
but then there is the public eye. which might not even be a legitimate thing. it might just be a filter i have created to judge myself by…and now to judge my mothering skills via how my children appear in the public eye.
if you understand that at all?
i have a little voice saying to me, “your kids look pretty damn scruffy.” and i have to silence it. i have to silence it by remembering who i am and what is important to me.

don’t blame them; their mama is an artist & very distracted.
don’t blame them; their mama believes in low-impact living & does not buy extra cleaning/stain-removing product…and even before that:
don’t blame them; their mother is a terrible laundress.
don’t blame them; their mama feeds them real food that is messy–not packaged neatly & individually.
don’t blame them; their mama encourages them to play like children, to get messy.
don’t blame them; their mama has them do chores that involve the outdoors & dirt.
don’t blame them; their mama believes that there are more important things in life than making sure you put on a good appearance for the public eye.
more important things to spend your time doing than worrying if you are clean or not.

plus!
art! gardening! pets! livestock! exploration! adventure! cooking! baking! mucking about!
we do a lot of messy things around here.

okay…so i just had to get that out of my head because it was rattling around in there all morning. it has probably been percolating for weeks if not years…now it is out.
whew!
exorcism complete…now i can get some art done.

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