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!

 

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uncharted waters

it’s not just that
i’ve written these words
before
drawn this face
before
but i have lived
this lie…
li[f]e
often
spinning
in circles
following my own tracks
as if
i am afraid
to move forward
on
&
into
uncharted
waters.

sometimes…sometimes i just start drawing & see what happens. it’s been more common for me to do this than to plan out an illustration for my words. my thinking about what i’m going to draw before drawing it is a more recent development.
used to be, i would just start drawing.
which is what i did with this one.
but i kept thinking…why does this look so familiar (i mean, other than being a self-portrait)…then it hit me. i unintentionally/ subconsciously? drew me in the style of tank girl.
i love tank girl. she was a comic i was turned on to back in the late 80’s–early 90’s when i used to shave all of my head except my bangs wore trousers & doc martin boots & someone handed me a tank girl comic…because….
and i fell in love.
the same thing happened with love & rockets.
and both of these comics were ones i studied when i was trying to take my illustration skills from my confusion perfume days to my moses jones days.

but i did not set out to–or mean to at all–draw me in the style of tank girl. so now i’m wondering about that and about the bubbles that started out as a ball pit but morphed into a bubble bath which i didn’t realize until i read the last part of my journal entry.

uncharted waters.

so…why am i tank girl in a bath?
what am i trying to tell myself?
because, as master oogway says, “there are no accidents.”

only human

you will never know how much
i mourn that we are not
a happily ever after. i mean
how sweet would that be?
forever love with the man
who’s four children i have birthed?
a team? the same team?
all of us–together? instead of this
terminal, yawning loneliness.
instead of struggling alone
alone alone alone
to raise four kids?
you will never know how my heart
breaks & how i believe i will
spend the rest of my life
alone & lonely.
that that part of me that craves
a connection will just dry up
& blow away in the wind.
i wish things were different.
with all my heart i wish everything
were different. i do.
but no matter how hard i wish…
nothing changes.

i have had this illustration idea in my head for the past few journal pages i have done. but when i went to draw it, other images appeared instead. so it finally found its home with this journal entry. while typing out the journal entry, i was happily surprised to see i drew dandelions in a post about wishes & blowing away in the wind. see…part of me is paying attention.

(note to self:  ask fidgit to teach me to draw a snail.)

dusty asked me if i ever cried watching other people play with their kids. he wanted to let me know how much he missed the kids when they are with me.
i could only respond by telling him how i cry every time i see a happy couple. every time someone clearly loves their wife. every time i see a normal functioning pair of humans.

humans.
that’s what poppy calls people. he asked me if i was reaching for a tree in this picture. i asked him where the tree is. he responded by asking if i was reaching for a human (he pronounces it “who-man.”) i told him, yes, i am reaching for a human.

too many men

too many men
haunt my heart
they would say
i didn’t love them
enough
i would say
i loved them
too much
a bright light
i burned out
to nothing

i had another dream/nightmare about dusty last night. why? why? i keep asking myself that question. why is he haunting my fucking dreams? why do i spend my nights chasing something i do not want? begging him to take me back?

he would love to know that i have reoccurring dreams about loving him.

i would love to know why i am having these dreams. what does he represent? what does our fucked up relationship represent to me?

why am i being haunted?

i replay the dreams in my head. i look for clues–for meanings. maybe i am over-thinking it. maybe i should just let it go…instead of being pissed off all day long because of it.

healing

i don’t believe in physical ailments
i always suspect
nausea
headaches
pulled muscles
the flu
warts, even
of being disgruntled messages
from my self-conscious

i once had a horrible, terrible, no-good, very bad boyfriend whom i had trouble leaving. i got sick with a cold that lasted over a month.
i once was in a relationship that was not a relationship although i had not been told by the one i thought was my boyfriend, and i started sleepwalking.
with dusty, dear dear dusty, i got plantar warts that live far longer than a plantar wart should live and are actually colonizing my right foot. i have tried every remedy, and every remedy has failed. i will know i have learned my lesson, when those warts go away.

i pulled a muscle in my back almost two weeks ago. i was way too vigorously digging yams. so many yams! like almost a hundred pounds? no joke. if nothing else, we will have enough yams to last us all winter.
however!
i yernked a muscle.
and being me, i ignored it and went on with my life. building a small hoop house, pushing a dead tractor, wrestling goats, lifting small children, balancing my whole world in one hand while doing everything else with the other hand.
several days later, i was in excruciating pain.
my back was all, “i am outta here.”

so who do i call for help? three guesses…fuck. i call dusty. and as soon as he gets here i know what a mistake i have made.
so now i am irritated. frustrated. bitter.

and my back still hurts like fuck.

what is the lesson here?
(please, seriously, besides actually doing yoga and taking better care of myself…what? does that include my self-self? not just my physical self? i’m supposed to take care of my whole for real-real self? that’s it, isn’t it? well, crap….)

i look for messages everywhere…because they are there.

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