a blank page

so much hope
so much possibility
but how smudged
it gets
as it sits & waits
for its purpose

ugg. i forgot how annoying it is to have to put panels on a page. i need to re-think this. sure, there is probably a program or something for doing this digitally that takes like two seconds, but i am a chisel & hammer type of gal, y’all. i am a luddite. i like my pen in hand and the possibility (probability) of human error.

but!

i have it paneled. the first page of emperor ming:  one chicken’s dance with destiny

ha! i just came up with that. but it’s catchy, yes?

so the goats have figured out how to just walk right out & over the fence that is supposed to be electrified but is not yet electrified and i am left in annoyed awe of their intelligence.
agatha & quixote met me at the back door to say “hi!” before i escorted them back to their pasture–again.
agatha has also started jumping the fence to go in the pasture with luke (the ram) and buttercup (a pregnant ewe.) then luke starts chasing her (to fight or fuck??) and agatha gets pissed off & rears up into that intimidating goat attack pose before lowering her head to very lightly butt heads with him.
ruminants are weird.
but so lovable.

and whoever had money on my not being able to keep from stalking over to okcupid to look at profiles & answer questions–you won!
i found my first trumpette match. scary scary. i know there are trump supporters in theory…but in reality it is so so so disconcerting. this guy was spooky too. and of course, physically attractive. dammit. couldn’t white supremacist fucktards all be just as unattractive on the outside as they are on the inside?  that would simplify things.
most guys i am matched with have a notation that they will not date trump supporters. that is the world we live in now. politics have merged with dating.
also, i put some of my art on my profile…good idea or bad idea? they’re going to find out i am crazy sooner or later. may as well do it with art, i figure.

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out of sorts

holy moly i am so out of sorts.
it’s a january thunderstorm. i quit drinking & facebook all in the same week. i’m already feeling all rejected by the men of “okcupid”–though the men there do seem way cooler than the men of “plenty of fish.” my kids are on overdrive and i keep thinking, “if i can barely deal with my life, how can i ever expect to find someone to jump in & be all–yes! this is what i want.”
other than dusty, who would jump back in in a heartbeat. which is a tempting thought sometimes when i am lonely & frazzled and then i have to remind myself of all the crap he has done to me. all the crap he says to me. and the crap i feel like when he is around.
crap.
and my berkey water filter has quit working.
all while i’m reading future home of the living god. reading books, as an empath, is risky. i get waaaaaay way too into the plot & characters and actually lose myself.
so i am currently lost in a dystopian nightmare.
and my end-of-the-world water filter has gone kaput.

i am so out of sorts.

i’m trying to draw this comic, but my kids are so super needy. plus there is laundry & dishes & food to make.
and i am crawling out of skin.

did i mention the winter thunderstorms of doom?

okay. here is an okcupid story to cheer us all up.
someone from the small town i live in messaged me via okcupid to tell me i should check out his profile and told me how he had read mine twice before he messaged me.
so, hey, he’s not physically my type, but i go check out his profile. first off, i see he is looking for a woman who owns a pair of heels and actually wears them–who dresses up every now & then.
the highest heels i own are on my motorcycle boots.
then he goes on to say in the “message me if…” that a woman should message him if she agrees that she should wear stockings & heels in the bedroom.
he says he read my profile twice?
i go on & on about sustainability in my profile & refer to myself as punk rock.
i don’t have on any make-up in my photos…i don’t even know how to put on make-up. my hair is short & messy–like it always is. (i’m assuming here that if he wants a woman to dress up every now & then he probably expects make-up and hair done.)
and in the “6 things i can’t live without” section, i have listed as my number one thing:  barefeet….
what woman who values barefeet would put on heels ever–especially in the bedroom??
why would dude think i was his type at all?

why not just have “message me if you are a warm body”?

internet dating is so weird.

re-cap:  end of the world, y’all, and my water filter is not working & i am still alone & lonely.
plus i have no beer.

moses jones q&a

here i am
i have never left
can you hear me?
can you see me?
i am here
i have never left
see me.
hear me.

it felt good to do a doodle of my other self…my moses jones. my apocalyptic mama. it felt good to think about her.
she is a sort of self-portrait.
the me in a parallel universe
where dytopia has already sunk his teeth into us all.

i want to bring her back.
bigger.
better.

read my comics, if you will.
give me your thoughts.

no poetry

i am not a poet
these are not poems
it is just
that i have spilled
my angst
all over the page
vomited my emotions
with pen & brush.

this was my yesterday epiphany–expanded upon.
also!
i took a photo before i used my brush on it, because i wasn’t sure if i liked it better without shading & color.

nopoetry

but i think the color worked okay.

good news! i have been very angst-y & especially reflective with all the trauma i keep vomiting on myself. so that means i have 4 pages written in my journal that just need illustrating.
so we all have that to look forward to.

out with the old; in with the new

i’m trying not to be sad
today
i’m trying not to lose my mind
today
i feel music in my soul
today
not quite drowned out
by the screaming
crying
sometimes playing
sometimes fighting
children
my artist’s soul
& my mother’s heart
trying to live together
in my troubled
self.

october 26, 2016 is the date inside my old journal. the day i started it. today is the day i end it. there is one page left…but i have already spilled some angst onto it and now just have to illustrate my own pain.

the first page of the new journal, also, is already decorated with thoughts fallen from my head.

i love being productive. i love looking forward to a blank page. i love writing down my silly, sad, sentimental, and sordid epiphanies to ponder with pen & ink brush.

ha.
i am not a poet though.
i thought that today when i could not think of the word for what some of you might call my “poems.”
i am not a poet.
i just vomit emotion, often & as colorfully as possible.

when i was a girl

when i was a girl
i started writing books
books about girls on adventures
girls escaping from their evil mothers
(my father–a violent alcoholic
never appeared
in my stories…
i simply erased him.)
when i was a girl
i started taking long walks
walks through fields
& woods
just thinking
& feeling
the world around me
trying to make sense of it
when i was a girl
i would sit & stare
stare at the horizon
imagine breaching
the walls of the valley
surrounding me
escaping
the warm sun on my face
the massive clouds
eluding me
& i would wish i were
braver….

this is the second version of this i did. i don’t usually re-do these; they are quick sketches done in ink with no revisions. that’s me. that’s my technique.

however!
yuck. i did a representative picture of myself as a girl. bleah. it just was awful. i’m not even going to show it to you. in fact i burned it in my kitchen sink, saying a spell for my art to listen to the whispers in my head rather than depending on what my eyes see….

recently someone was nice enough to compare some of my journal pages to the pages of william blake. so i checked out some books from the library so i could see what he manifested. when my first drawing failed, i cracked open one of the books and looked at a few of his drawings. this second one was inspired by what i saw there–and the feelings of my heart rather than the what may or may not have been more true.

this is not what i looked like as a girl. i actually had bangs.
but, you know what? fuck bangs.
so this is what i looked like in my heart.
as i rise up over the mackinaw river valley
escaping into the clouds.

disappearing boyfriends

when i was twenty-two, my therapist told me to stop dating.
she feared i had a sexual addiction.
in fact, i was (am?) addicted to relationships (which is one reason it took me ten thousands attempts to break up with dusty)
& being also afflicted with contrary personality disorder (i just made that up)
i shook off my therapist’s instructions & found some troubled
& troubling
boy to date
whom i wasn’t even really attracted to
(a re-occurring personality in my grab-bag of relationships)
anyhoo
long story short
when i realized i was being stupid
i called the boy up & told him i needed “to talk” to him
…& i never saw him again.
i mean
he disappeared before i could break up with him
strangely
or not
that is not the last time i had a boyfriend vanish before i could break up with him….

okay–so while i was doing the illustration/self-portrait/comic for this, i messed up my drawing & had to cover it up and then when i was doing background color–my ink smeared??? but…i think i salvaged it.
my ink is not supposed to smear. bad ink.

so it looks like this might be the direction this whole experiment turns to. a comic. an illustrated journal/memoir.
that would be kinda cool.
let’s see what other noteworthy memories i can dredge up.