i really should shower more often

so i got up this morning
as usual
way earlier than i would want to
to feed & water the critters
and also the livestock
as i drank a cup of coffee
i read the works of
other
writers
and one story i read
started an itch
in my brain
i was both envious
& inspired
but the idea did not leap from my skull
fully formed
until i was in the shower
where it sprung
along side ideas for a journal page
& plans to finally finish my patreon page
it sprung
the first chapter of my
novel form of
fallen.
(duhn duhn duhhhhhhhhhhnn)

so, yeah. i really need to shower more often.
also, i will update you on the patreon page.

image is a throwback thursday done in ink & pastels

my dead brother

having someone in your life die changes you as much as, say, having a baby.
i would not be the artist i am today if i had not become a mother. i would be a different artist.
and i would not be the person i am today if my brother had not been killed eight years ago today. i would be a different person.

my big brother…sigh.
he introduced me to movies. that is one way i remember him. he took me to see raiders of the lost ark when it was in the theaters and i was all like, “this movie sounds stupid.”
and then i was all like, “that was the best movie ever!”
he took me to see the empire strikes back when it came out
and i remember as we walked back to the car after the movie, he said, “it’s leia. they are talking about leia.”
and i had no idea what he was talking about until return of the jedi.
he brought a copy of terminator home from college and as i watched it, he would say, “surely he’s dead now” every time they thought they had destroyed arnold schwarzenegger.
he introduced me to one of my most favorite movies ever blade runner.
and to another dytopian influence a boy and his dog.

self2

these two pictures were done for a drawing class where i was supposed to do two self-portraits that were meant to be hung together. the top one is from a photo of me as a baby with my brother mike.
the second one is a self-portrait of me in tribute to the polaroid taken of sarah connor  at the end of terminator.

his life and his death are both heavy influences in who i am today.
sometimes i don’t know how to feel about that.

here is a poem i wrote in a writer’s workshop about it:

heavy

when someone close to you
dies
it becomes part of your description
she has brown hair
a nice smile
and her brother is dead

birthdays are the hardest
his last one
i didn’t know
it was the last
his voice sad on the telephone
my pledge to keep in touch
this time

we live in a world
where I can obsessively search for
intimate details of his death
available in short video
burning plane
gray matter splattered on a playground
his last words, “oh, fuck.”

notorious IT guy for the other side
the forrest gump of stolen elections
everything reminds me
of him
the sound of a single engine  plane
sad songs on the radio
politics, christmastime, and charismatic men

i drink irish whiskey this time of year
but it was scotch at his wake
four years now
four years since the last election
four years since the plane crash
a conspiracy theorist’s wet dream
murder republican style

when someone close to you
dies
do you let it redefine you?
hello, I’m connell
a mama, a student, an artist
let me tell you
about my dead brother

deer me

i didn’t draw a picture yesterday
yes
i posted a picture
but i did not draw a picture
the crying lady
was drawn
egads
six years ago?
a historian of me
and my art
would have you notice the lack of ink brush painting
the use of pastels
the relatively light–
but still inaccurate–
shadowing….
so i didn’t draw yesterday. i was rabid most of the day. evil nasty pissy me was in charge of my brain yesterday. i did do some ink splattering, however. i probably should have posted that, at least, but–you know–rabies.
so i started a drawing today after the weirdness of thanksgiving was done
(why did my elderly aunt ask me if i had gotten my concealed carry license???)
i started a drawing but did not get too far before the minions were begging me to watch more doctor who. (more, doctor who, mummy–more!…i love my minions)

a deer.
there is a deer, clear as the day if the day were inside my head amidst the sparks & sinkholes.
a deer.
a reminder to be gentle.
be gentle, deer me.
be gentle.
my bones ache and teem with anger. repressed anger. oozing anger. anger that is easily directed at undeserving targets and leaves me knowing i am going to have a lot to make up in my next life….
be gentle.
i see deer a lot since a friend read me a medicine card with a deer in it. of course i live in the middle of the prairie lands…but still. one day four walked across the road in front of my car in the middle of a town. one night driving home, a buck darted right in front of my car. a doe stood, making me come to a stop, several yards past him. one day while gardening, a deer made her way across the field next to my yard, stopping to stare at me whenever my movements rustled the leaves around me.

be gentle.

meanwhile, i have banished an ex-husband and another ex-husband starts sending flirty emails. but the thing about my exes, they all have such thin skin. i have found that honesty sends them skittering away. i’m not trying to be mean…honest…i just tell them how i feel when they use me as a distraction…and they skitter away.

honesty is brutal. but it is also gentle. lies may hurt less, but they will kill you in the end.

ranting wailing mourning

why am i so pissed off again?
already?
okay, so i’m not going to be magically
okay
so i’m not going to be magically
together
i’m going to be bitter & angry
shouting
screaming
crying
wishing things had been different
careful i am not wishing my children away
as i wish i had never met their father.

and
it’s fucking thanksgiving
i don’t know about you
but this was the most dysfunctional
of fucked up dysfunctional holidays
for me
i spent years avoiding
this
fucking
“holiday.”
for years, i couldn’t even eat turkey
without feeling angry
fucking thanksgiving
the holiday of family fights
based on a false
gathering
as white invaders who
murdered & stole from indigenous peoples
after being welcomed into their land
it’s a fucking
cursed
holiday.

fuck thanksgiving.
fuck my ex-husband.
fuck my parents.
fuck black friday
and the mentality of buying buying buying
hoarding goods
made by abused workers
in other countries
as a cloud of pollution forms
over their heads
fuck this fucking country and its killing ways
its stealing ways
its hurtful
hateful
ways.
this whole land
is cursed.

 

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