there are no happy endings

you see
i’m that person 
in a corner
because
nobody said
about me
nobody put
baby in a corner
leaving me
alone
in a corner
sad
in a corner
crying at those movies
where the misfit
finds
true love
after all
because i know
nobody
loves 
misfits
&
there’s no such thing
as
true love.

i’m just going to stick with being a faun. it speaks of my true nature…and, as a faun, there is no need for pants.
no panties!

if you are wondering, this is what a friday night watching netflix original movies while drinking wine & eating gummy worms looks like. 

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my big brother

while i typed novels
that no one
would
ever
read
on an electric
typewriter
he led the way
in that whole website fad
making a fortune
designing political
websites….
while he wore
a tie
& his million
dollar
smile
rubbing elbows
with bushes & kochs
i was
stomping about
in my doc martin
boots
head
half
shaved
& packing up my
compact car
at a moment’s notice
to go
where
the wind blew me….
we both kept pictures
of the other
to show off
with a laugh
& bipartisan pride
“can you believe we are related?”

twenty-nine days after all saint’s day (day of the dead) is my brother mike’s birthday. nineteen days after that is his death day. i spend a lot of this time of the year thinking of my brother.
so when i saw sarah’s post on her blog “fresh hell” about her amazing brother, i had to chime in in the comments.
and, of course, that wasn’t enough.
so it became a journal page of it’s own.

blackbird man

my shadow man
my thing of nightmares
my samhain visitor
i give you my heart
but you want my soul
i fight for my life
while accepting my death
my birdman lover
i am your
lonely
plaything
a half-dead
essence
a half-living
carcass
not knowing
whether to welcome you
or to fear you
if i should
hold you
or
let you go.

i keep thinking about this dream i had. it felt very strong. my subconscious loves to talk to me through my dreams. this seemed like a message.
especially as it came the night of the witch’s new year.
the time of year when the veil between the living & the dead is at its most flimsy.

i think it has everything to do with relationships. with myself. with men. with the world around me.

i do not remember an ankh in the dream, but for some reason i feel compelled to put the egyptian key of life in the inkings i have done about my dream.

i want to play with it more.
both as a message for me to heed as well as a potential story.

hmmm…my blackbird man….

also, this is the last page of my current journal. i have now done almost three hundred self-portraits since last october.
i made one page for all of my art journal self-portraits in my attempt to stream-line my art & website.
i hope my site is looking better & making sense.

tomorrow–a new day & a new journal!

 

INKtober twenty-fourth

when i have first
swept him out of my life
my heart
every first time
i vow not to be his
every time
i feel
lighter…clearer…relieved
but
he is able to stick
in my heart
in my head
in my life
due to our children
together
the life that is woven
together
&
i do love him
i do
& it isn’t easy
to keep that love buried
it crawls back
out of the grave
& he keeps ready
waiting
for another chance…
one day
i will figure out how
to have love
without
confusion
one day
but i am
over-the-top
filled-to-the-brim
with my feelings
they spill out of me
they spill out
all over
the place
causing chaos
creating confusion…
one day
one day
i will learn
how to have my feelings
without my feelings
having
me.

it’s a bit clunky as verse, this thought. but i was writing it to a friend & thought it deserved to be fleshed out a bit.

i always think i don’t get more done, art-wise, because i am not trying hard enough, but–holy crap–my days are long & hard.
between cooking for & cleaning up after four kids, training a puppy, figuring out a budget on almost no income, doing the bare minimum (sometimes more!) to look after a large crumbling  3 bedroom on five acres with livestock & gardens….
i don’t really have much time for art.
but art keeps me sane.
so i find time.

i’m working on illustrating a story for someone.
also, i just got an order for a set of ten thank you cards (my underwater collection) from my librarian.
plus i am determined to finish inktober.
and need to do new moses jones.
art keeps me busy…er.

on a different note, i would like to brag that my 11 week old puppy knows “sit” & “down” & is in the process of learning “stay” “come” “shake” & “sit pretty.”
she is a quick study.
house training is still difficult, but she is way ahead on her vocabulary skills.

IMG_1737

plus she is super cute even though it turns out that she is part velociraptor.

donovan’s critiques of this page:
“you never wear yellow.”
“you don’t have freckles.”
“you don’t have a hat like that.”
“your neck is too long.”

in fairness, my freckles may be fading with autumn, but he also denied that he had freckles…which he totally does. while all of my children have developed freckles throughout their lives, donovan was born with freckles. kisses from the sun, my mom used to tell me.
freckles are cool.

INKtober twenty-third

another dead  end in the  labyrinth of  my life i
turned  a  corner  &  was all  like, “no y’all,  this
this  is  the  way  out—-i  know it for sure now”
only to  find yet another  gushing  wound  that
better serves to be held fast apply pressure for
godssakes i’m  going to bleed out… wait, where
was i  headed with this…. oh yes,  another  bad
decision….    another  wrong  turn….     another
immersion into false hope, losing myself in the
cult  of  my  own  personality &  not learning a
goddamned  thing from all of my  many  many
many
mistakes

i don’t always illustrate my journal pages with a literal depiction of anything pertaining to what i wrote…but sometimes…i do.
just be thankful i went with pan’s labyrinth rather than trying to portray myself as gerald the goblin king & his mighty bulge.

anyhoo.

and my flock of dodo birds.
don’t forget the dodo birds when i am making decisions based on pursuing my own extinction…playing with self-fulfilling prophesies.

but my fevered brain is settling once more into a holding pattern of isolation. embracing my lonely.

comic idea: how to properly & carefully choose netflix shows to pacify & sedate a lonely heart….

INKtober twenty-second

i’m never going to know
love
the way it is
written
i’m never going to know
love
the way it
plays
on the radio
i’m never going to know
love
the way it translates
to
screen & stage
…unless
of course
tennessee williams
is at the
wheel.

so i am having a snoot of whiskey (that’s a thing, right? oh yes, it totally is–thanks google!) and embracing my inner tennessee williams…he is in there with my inner charles bukowski & my inner tom waits. they hang out inside me but are generally incoherent if you are wondering why my writing isn’t better….
anyhoo.
i survived my most recent bout of “watch me try to recycle an ex.” why do i always want to recycle exes? i think it goes back to the idea of leftover love & what to do with it. i tend to hate waste & to want to upcycle & whatnot.
so, yeah, i do that with love & relationships as well.
or i’m just lazy.
seriously though, laying down that foundation is so much work, & i am pretty swamped as it is.
but that is also the fun part. discovery…first kiss…first fight…eventual disillusionment. wait, i think i know why i am single.
more whiskey, barkeep!

INKtober ninteenth

when you spend
so many years of your
life
with that one
person
one person
through
death & life
divorce & marriage
though all the hoops
life throws
at you
when you spend so much
of your
love
all in one place
hearts become woven
together
tight like knots
impossible
to untie
even when you use your
teeth
shout
&
curse
when you spend so much
of your
self
he somehow becomes a part
of you
too much
a part
of
you.

i started out thinking “picasso” but kind of ended up all “sideshow bob.”

how do people ever recover from long term relationships…or is it like when someone dies–you never really get over it, you just learn to live with the loss? so with relationships gone wrong–you just have to learn to live with that leftover love?

leftover love. sounds like the start of another page.

INKtober seventeeth

i just feel so sad
i cry
& i don’t
know why
but still
the tears come
will there come
a time
when my very being
is not
composed
entirely
of tears?
just because i open
my heart
does not mean
i am someone
you know
i am
quite
unknown
possibly
unknowable
i don’t want to be
alone
but maybe i
cannot
be
anything
but the loneliest person you have ever met.

i still haven’t recovered from the show the mysteries of laura being cancelled…you know, three years ago–but i just found it on netflix and i know it isn’t really that great of a show…but i was emotionally invested nonetheless. c’mon–i’ve seen every episode ever of friends (when originally aired even!) you know i have my shallow bits.

okay.
so i know it has everything to do with dusty & my lingering love for him. my hope for a thing called “us.”
though there is every chance in the world that i will never be successful in any relationship ever.
but who is? you ask. well, from where i’m sitting…everyone.
or i feel like everyone i see is successfully human & relate-able while i am some funky misshapen thing from outer space….

i don’t feel like arting & inking…but i did this anyway–because it is inktober & i’m trying not to be a drop out because how fucking hard is it for someone with my neurotic & compulsive inking habits to not ink something every day?

i am not sure my art journal page nor my blog about it makes any sense today. but, you know, i’m more worried about what the fuck i am going to disappear into on netflix now that i have watched every episode of the mysteries of laura….

INKtober thirteenth

i hope
i want you
for healthy reasons
i hope
i have
grown
& am ready
to embrace
the ups & downs of a grown up
relationship
i fear
i want you
for unhealthy reasons
like
you almost destroyed me
once
before
maybe you can
finish me off
this time
i suspect
i want you
due to a gypsy’s
curse
how else
could my heart
swing
so suddenly
with every ounce of energy
it has
in your
direction
from out of nowhere
i fall in love
with
the
desperation
of someone searching for
post-apocalyptic
doritos.

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