i did this picture by spilling ink
and looking for images
in the shadows & shades of the ink
i spilled this ink
to send another love note
to a person who doesn’t want me
but at least i’m making art
while i mope
and try to find my way.
meanwhile, i really need to do another page of moses jones. it’s time for that once-a-month page.
but my garden is weeded. my minions are fed. my ducks are laying. my bees are buzzing. life goes on.
have i properly processed
have i managed to grow
that shackled me
years & years ago?
am i ready to move
my brain festers that much
i listened to
did it work?
ack! i have not finished the page of moses jones yet. okay…fine…i have barely even started the page.
fear of fucking up. i have to wander past my fear of fucking up.
but if i don’t draw
at all…i go a bit mad. just ask the minions.
so it’s another art journal self-portrait to keep insanity at bay.
the one who i professed my love to…he ignores me. so my little head spins. is he ignoring me because he does not love me back? is he ignoring me because he loves me too much? so i find myself trying to shake off my obsession–
& just live.
trying to grow.
trying to grow
we met too soon
we were children
both of us
full of mistakes to make
& we made them with
…but not together
we met too soon
it’s a simple
but profound fact
i wasn’t ready
for that kind of
i’ve made my apologies
i’ve done my penance
for wrongs i commited
but it’s not my fault
we met too soon.
youth is wasted on the young. if only i knew then what i know now. we all know how it goes. they say those things because it is true. you learn life’s lessons.
and then you live with it.
some people are lucky and get a chance to put into action what they learn.
i don’t know if i will be that lucky.
but i did learn. and i should be thankful for that.
i feel a certain amount of peace in knowing that he was it. it was always him. i don’t know how to explain it. such a long story. but it was always him. always.
i feel peaceful with that realization. and knowing that i am a better person today for having known him & for having learned from our time together.
knowing that if i met him again, i wouldn’t fuck it up.
you are the only person
i want to be
not someone like you
(as unlikely as that is)
not someone who treats me
like you treated me
when i think of dating
i feel repulsed
when i imagine
dancing in my kitchen
waking every morning
my whole body tingles
& i swear
i must glow
with sweet longing.
writing this was easy…sharing it–not so much. so i started wondering as i tend to do. why is it easier for me to share my dark & disturbing parts?
my sad & barely surviving parts?
my anxious & depressed parts?
my struggles & shortcomings?
my feelings of worthlessness & isolation?
my oh so crazy bits?
but sharing something i wrote about love…my feelings of love…for another person…i feel like i have gone too far.
i feel like i have crossed some sort of line.
this shouldn’t be allowed!
and, to boot, it is unrequited love i am celebrating.
yuck. so gross.
why do i react to love as if it is something unspeakable? unthinkable? illogical? is this cultural/generational or is it reflective of my damage? or…is my damage also reflective of my culture/generation?
there are entire movies. entire tv series. books, poetry, and songs. all of these. dedicated to love. all kinds of love.
so why do i feel so stupid admitting that i love someone?
so in art journal psychotherapy today we have learned that i am more comfortable with & even celebratory of my darkness & my damage and will happily shove it right in your face….
but when it comes time to share my thoughts of love & devotion & romantic longing…for a man of all things…to admit that i have these feelings…then i ready myself to fall on my sword.
i find being morose a more natural & acceptable state than being dreamy.
yet i call myself quixotic and think of myself as whimsical? a puzzle inside an enigma wrapped in a conundrum.
do you see the exhausting challenge of being me? of living in my head?
in the interest of balance
here it is
a little of my yang for all of the yin
a silly love song.
to cook for you
a bowl of beef stew
to make you coffee
just the way you like it
to pour you a glass of whiskey
& listen to you rant
to grow tomatoes in my garden
slice & salt them
to draw your portrait
over & over
until i know your features
better than i know
as a mostly wild & untamed thing, it surprises me when i feel this way towards another person.
when i was nineteen & in my very first relationship, that boyfriend curled up on the floor one evening and asked me, “would you take care of me if i had polio?”
having no sense of normal polite responses i could have made, i blurted out an honest one, “no!”
is it irony or not that he ended up dumping me after i developed a cyst that required his help in the daily draining of? ha! my first experience with being let down easy.
as a child, i watched my largely unnurturing mother give all of her attention to her giant toddler of a husband. i came to believe that it was weakness to care for & to care about a man. sure, i fell in love all the time…but to care about them? to care for them? to need them?
as you can guess, i was very popular with the boys. i once made a goth industrial dude cry when i told him i didn’t need him.
he was not the first or the last man i made cry.
love ’em & leave ’em crying.
except for the one.
i did break up with him twice, but in the end–he destroyed me.
but this is what i am wondering.
is it the end?
i know and–if you read my blog regularly & for more than a few weeks–you know too that this seems to be a cycle for me.
i realize i still love him & am devoted to that.
then i get pissed off at myself
& at him
and vow to forget him & to find someone else.
i try that for awhile
find i can’t stomach it
and realize again how much i love him.
if you have been reading my blog the past couple of weeks…you might notice i am once again winding up to devotion.
love & caring.
for just one man.
i have my kids. i have my art. i have my homestead. he is the only addition i would make to that. he is the only one i want.
whether that is stupid, silly, sentimental, & saccharine nonsense or not….i don’t care. it’s how i feel. i have spent so much of my life going over my psyche with a fine toothed comb. i cannot deny this. whether i ever see him again or not, he is the one & the only one i want.
i’m still a mess.
thank you for asking.
i’m pretty sure no one has even noticed my facebook absence.
i like the word “pariah.”
i often feel like i am one.
maybe i shouldn’t live in isolation.
well, we did go to the park today.
so it’s not total isolation.
of course, we drove 15 miles to go to the park.
we live in isolation.
in trump-ville, illinois.
okay, not everyone is a republican here, but the votes of this part of illinois are offset by the votes of chicago. this is the red part of illinois.
and i am here.
at the park with my kids….
okay, it wasn’t that bad.
though i have lived in college towns the majority of my life for a reason. i don’t worry about sticking out–too much. college towns are liberal. pekin, illinois…not so much. (up until very recently, their highschool mascot was the “chink”)
fuck a duck.
but small towns can surprise you.
just like liberal towns can surprise you with how white they are
small towns can surprise you with how much they care about you–as a person.
as an individual.
one of the reasons i am so depressed & generally antagonistic
is that i am lovesick
which is extraordinarily dumb
because said person, my unrequited love, is just that
i love him still
after 20 years
i fucked up a good thing
and now leonard cohen is dead.
(he introduced me to leonard cohen…and yes, i broke down & bought some beer & now i am fuzzy.)
have you ever seen cat on a hot tin roof ? brick drinks to hear that “click.”
that is what it is like sometimes when i drink.
when i am depressed & drinking & just looking for the click.
fuck a duck.
god, i’m grumpy.
shortly after trump (or turnip as i drunkenly typed first) was elected, i was looking at the obituaries and found myself thinking, “ah…the lucky ones.”
so this is a comic that i thought of today when i realized i could shout, “death to tyrants!” every time i swatted a fly and maybe the universe would carry the action of my killing a small parasite to a realm of the world where that energy could go towards stopping a big parasite….
so i did a comic.
remember, i do comics.
but i really get more satisfaction out of my daily ink blot tests….
do i always sea the sea
or does the sea seak me?
today’s drawing is a doodle ink blot. i wonder. i go into the drawings not knowing what i will find. but i often find sea creatures. so am i looking for sea creatures? or is that what i am finding?
but i saw a pterosaur today.
i cannot draw pterosaurs.
i messed it up–but then i fixed it–ish.
i felt like a 3rd grader because i was thinking of just putting a big black cloud over the part i fucked up. haha! i am actually pretty proud of fixing it as much as i did. it looked terrible to begin with. the end result is at least 5th grade level (no offense to the lower levels!)
however, as i was finishing this one up, i got deja vu. which happens a lot when i am drawing. then i try to remember if i drew that picture before. i wonder if vincent van gogh ever got that feeling as he did yet another self-portrait. i love vincent van gogh & all of his self-portraits–i’m just saying, “wait…did i do this one before?”
i was thinking. that thing they say about taking 30 days to start/end a habit. so i spent 31 days drawing every day. and now it’s my habit. that is pretty damn awesome. i am usually hanging by a thin thread of sanity. drawing every day has definitely strengthened that string.
yesterday, after doing “mister chicken” i started doodling in my journal where i have some ink spills waiting for my impression (today’s is also one such doodle). my journal pages are not the good paper that i do some of my work on, so i am more comfortable just messing around. plus, i was planning on sending this one in a letter to the boy of yesteryear who still owns my heart (it’s been 20 years & i’m still not over him!) i write him random letters. who knows if i even have his right address. someone could be collecting these neurotic quixotic whimsical letters singing his praises and apologizing a million times for what went wrong….
but, anyhoo! this is a doodle & a letter started to said heartbreaker.
i just read it again.
now watch, i’ll drink a beer and actually mail it.
but the art is fun, right? i thought the art was fun.