festering pot of rot

my words aren’t
making
sense
not even
to me
i feel like i am
shifting
moving
glitching
my thoughts are
disjointed
reluctant
maybe my brain is rotten
a festering
demented
pot of rot
but…my own special
demented
pot of rot….
strangely
i kinda like it
that way…
stumbling over my
words
keeps me honest
makes me look
deeper
discover
more.

i wrote this when i was struggling to find the right words for a few days. i think i have stumbled through and am blundering on with my art journal adventure. though the self-portrait for this page turned out not as i was expecting, & i am posting it even though i feel it speaks badly of me. but who am i if i don’t post my ugly for everyone to see?

i sent my short story collection, tangled together, to a potential publisher today. a crazy little punk rock press hellbent on challenging the system. it reminded me of me. so hopefully they don’t reject me
because
what would that say
about me?
(nothing new–it would say nothing new)

it felt good to send it off. i had to make a new to-do list to hang over my desk.
1. work on art for journal book
2. work on chasing ghosts
3. work on captain blonde beard
4. don’t forget moses jones

also! i am trying to get started on a series of maps. we will see how that goes. the idea is still evolving–percolating–in my festering demented pot of rot.

ps. it appears as if tumblr is not happy about my drawing my boobs so much–or maybe it’s my profanity. you think they could tell the difference between kiddie porn and self-expression. i suspect my account over there will soon be frozen. so, you know, #fucktumblr

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anomaly

i fell off
the bell curve
i was barely
hanging
on
commercials play
to an empty room
i can’t find a coupon
because
no one seems to be selling
what i am buying
somewhere
over the bell curve
i live
as people stare
bohemian
rhapsody
is the rhythm
of my
life
because i fell off
the bell curve
i will mess up your
survey
muck up
any audit
i am an anomaly
i am me
searching for my perfect
oddball.

i’ve told this story before. i was waiting tables in dallas when a customer, illustrating with hand gestures, said, “this is the bell curve. you are over here.” he pointed to somewhere far left of the bell curve.
that was around the turn of the century.

and i have only gotten stranger with age.

anytime i take my circus troupe to the grocery store. or think about dating. anytime i entertain thoughts of intermingling with society at-large.
i realize how fucking different i am.
which is totally okay
(even thought the kids went on & on about our being stared at in kroger yesterday–but that might have been because misha would not stop sniffing the gum display)
i like being different, as challenging as it can be sometimes.

i don’t know why i am unconventional. i would argue nature over nurture, but, then again, my birth family was pretty weird too.

anyhoo.
it’s me.
anomaly.

when i was just a girl

when i was just a girl
not yet a woman
i hung a sign on my wall
declaring
“i am destined
for greatness”
one day
a male friend
scoffed
“what? you’re going to marry
adam ant?”
i was
beyond
offended
(still am) as if! as if
a woman could only be great
through marriage
when i was still a girl
not quite a woman
i spent eight hours a day
writing
& writing
novels
first in longhand
then typed
it took about nine months
to birth one
when i was just a girl
not quite a woman
i was broken
already
broken by an
abused
childhood
an abandoned
childhood
i was broken
but
i was
still
whole
until one day
i discovered
the “greatness”
of men.

to say i was an awkward child would be an understatement. to say i was a strange child, also, understated.
needless to say, boys were not knocking my door down.
i was shy & dressed funny.
which was probably the best thing for me. i was safe from myself. however, once i figured out the whole boy-catching thing, things went downhill for me pretty fucking fast.
i let them tear me apart.
i gave them the best parts of me.
and i have been recovering ever since.

on the bright side–i am recovering.

devoured

twice
in my life
i’ve thought i found
“the one”
& both
were amazing
before everything turned
awful
twice
in my life
i’ve thought i found
my lost part
my split apart
only to want to
lose it
again
i guess i am luckier
than some
not so lucky
as others
twice
in my life
i’ve thought i found
true love…
will the third time
be the charm?

dreams of dusty and yawning loneliness leave me feeling empty & sad.
i wandered over to “okcupid” as i think i am no longer allowed on “plenty of fish”…and i am not willing to pay to look at pages & pages of men who i am not at all attracted to.

sigh.

there are all these guys who insist they want a different kind of woman. they are all liars. also, there are tons of guys who just want to bitch about how every woman is either a “crack whore” or “playing games.” what the what?

anyhoo.

so i will report back. of course i feel optimistic. until i don’t anymore.

misha wants to know why i am a bunny.
misha wants to know why i am brown.
misha wants to know why a snake is on my feet.

oh if only i knew.

ps. one of my older lambs got tangled in the new fencing i put up. she almost strangled herself, but i did get her untangled.
i guess that would solve my problem of butchering (i am hesitant to butcher) if my lambs just kill themselves….
now i have to watch & see if it was a fluke or if there will be more entanglements.
i don’t know if it would have been better or worse if i was actually electrifying the fence.

a lack of enthusiasm for inktober

so october 7th i drove the minions through the flatlands of illinois to collect this new member of our homestead:

we left in the morning and did not get home until almost five when poultry has to be fed and sheep watered all while trying to get the new baby to eat (he was pretty pissed off about being taken away from his family–no wonder–and it was a day before we could get him to accept the bottle.) plus i had to relocate the bunnies to a puppy pen so i could use their dog crate for quixote’s “stall” in our sunroom.  as well as feeding the minions, collecting eggs, putting poultry away….
so it was after seven before i got a chance to catch my breath.

and i just did not feel like doing inktober. so i phoned it in and used an inking in progress as my seventh day:

inktober7

which i then finished for the 8th of inktober.

which brings us to yesterday, the ninth. i wasn’t sure what to do. i decided to just do some journal inkings.

my first one came out like this:

inktober9

and i was all like, “what the fuck, em?” i thought about posting it…but felt really conflicted about it, for some reason.
art for me is a meditation and an exorcism.
what is going on here then?

so i tried again:

inktober9(2)

and ended up not posting this one either. i was convinced people would hate them and be, like me, wondering what the fuck is wrong with me.

i want to keep doing inktober–because it is fun for me and keeps me creating….
but i’m not sure i want to share anymore.
it feels like i am putting myself out there…to no avail.

i’m just weird.
misunderstood.
a misfit toy.

…a strange lady.

figures.

today is another experiment with white on gray tone paper. it was kind of a quick one. darker & weirder than yesterday’s super happy one that provoked thoughts of beatrix potter and disney. maybe an antidote to the sweet of yesterday’s ink.
today’s is kind of sparse…but it felt done. so i let it be instead of trying to fill up negative space.

so! now that people are asking for originals (only a couple so far, but i’m hoping it will become a trend) i am having to learn how to price my stuff. from a book about selling art online, i was given the advice today that if you are not a little bit uncomfortable with the price you are asking–you probably are under-pricing your art. that made sense to me, as i’m sure it does to many other artists. so that is going to be my major tell. i am going to imagine asking for prices and see where my comfort zone is–and then push it.

also! in learning to value myself & my art, i am going to have to invest in more good paper. yesterday’s was done on watercolor paper whereas today’s was done on lighter weight paper. when i use the pad i used for yesterday’s, my work is almost always of a better quality. the stain works better & the paper holds the ink better. the mixed media & sketch ones i like to goof off in do not translate as well. which is fine, until someone wants to buy one & i am all like, “well, the paper is crap.” so i really need to invest in more of the good stuff. though i do like how the ink messes with the weaker paper. i would probably mount/back the lighter paper with thicker paper or mat. i did that today with one that was done in my journal, “jar of hearts.” i removed it from my journal and affixed it to a heavier piece of colored paper.

img_3177

because that journal paper is so thin, there is some noticeable glue marks however. fortunately, the buyer was okay with it. i need to play around more and figure the best way to do this. make sure i can present my art in a marketable & professional-ish way.

i have a lot of stuff on mediocre paper. but i think the art is good even if the paper sucks. so i think i will just price them accordingly.

i can do this. this is not scary. i can do this. this is not scary. i can do this.

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