Been awhile…

I started doing art again. Tonight I revisited my early 2000s style. I think I’ll continue.

The Fiction Project: Round 2 (and 3, 4, 5, etc…)

A couple weeks ago, I completed the Fiction Project for the Art House Co-op. Still haven’t mailed it in (of course), but at least it’s done and…yeah. At least it’s done.

This is the first “story” I wrote in it. It wasn’t even near any intentions I had and like most things, it just happened. Not a terrific start and a strange following to the page before it, but I left it anyway.  The writing is sloppy and rather than using the pages as pages, I used both as one large page.  Confusing, messy, and not at all what I wanted to do.  Enjoy (if you can)!


For pages 6-7 going along with the unsettling and/or depressing theme, I jotted some quick words about a fat girl that wasn’t really fat (to sum it up in the most non-colorful, downright boring way possible).


Pages 8 and 9 aren’t even a story.  At least not one with words.  But it is something that I would love to forget (since my theme is “I’m Sorry I Forgot You”).


10 and 11.  Sad blue eyes, even when he smiles his most perfect smile.  Blond hair (now dark blond/brown).  Sweet, sweet child with a lot of anger.  Jes.  I have so much hope for him.  I do.


I think the story on 12-13 is pretty self explanatory.  It’s titled “My Moment with You” and it was very difficult to write.  It’s even difficult to share by posting it here.  The man I mentioned still doesn’t know about the existence of the story or my feelings, but I’m sure they’ll eventually be uncovered.  When I wrote it the timing was perfect, in a way.  Near the end, while writing my apology, I was experiencing what is written.  The time of night, how I felt, everything.  I didn’t go back to read over it for several days, and when I did, I found a few misspellings and things I wouldn’t have said had I not been in that state of mind.  A big part of me wants to edit it, but I can’t allow myself to do that.  It’s painful and makes me feel incredibly vulnerable, but I think it would be unfair to alter it, even for those reasons.  So it stays as is.

I will be posting more of the project as I touch up the scans.

I blame insanity…

Because I’m a bit “off”, I feel that I am allowed to post more than one blog a day.  The last one was a few hours ago.  Since that time, I accomplished a few things.  Well…not really.  I went for a walk a bit after sunrise and took some photos.  Silly photos that serve no purpose, other than allowing me the opportunity to walk around the apartment complex and strategically drop my business cards here and there.  Littering with ulterior motives.

I saw a beautiful bird during my adventure.  You know what I wanted to do with it?  I wanted to catch it and bite its fucking head off.  Feel the beak crack between my teeth like popcorn kernels.  The caviar burst of its eyes.  Feathers that will later need to be flossed out.  Blood.  I love blood.  Mainly my own, but some days, I want to see it from any source.  Red.  Thick. Sticky.  Beautiful.

Rarely do I reveal my violent side.  It’s such a large and strong part of me.  One thing we humans have in common is we’re made up of different parts.  Some caused by nature, others by nurture.  I frequently question my most acute parts…wondering if they arrived in the womb or were established through experience.  The typical conclusion is the latter.

It feels good being afforded the chance to let these things out.  Let them be known.  Yes, simply to strangers who happen to fall on my blog.  Prior to this, the only way I was able to release them was through artwork.  It fascinates me, the way different people can look at the same piece and then come to their own various conclusions.  They look at it and try to see who I am or what I was thinking when I created such a disaster.  I enjoy the responses.

Back to my violence.  I’ve always been this way and have never known what it was like to not have savage ideas.  Don’t get me wrong…that’s not how I present myself nor is it how I am.  It’s just a part of me that, on occasion, pops up and takes over for a while.  But I enjoy it in a way…not the feeling itself, but knowing that I understand that about myself.  Because there is so much about myself that I don’t know…things that confuse me.  Things that I question.  Why am I like this?  Why am I like that?

Sometimes I feel as thought I have a story to tell.  However, I don’t think I’m quite ready to reveal it.  People suggest I write a book.  “It will help others” is the main line I get.  Perhaps it will and perhaps I will.  I don’t know how much time I have left on this planet, so I suppose “sooner than later” will work.

A couple of years ago something switched in my head.  I don’t know why it started, but I do remember the night that it started.  I was laying in bed, and I became very, very ill.  Past the point of being able to vomit.  Almost like I had contracted a serious flu.  I had symptoms of the flu.  Cold chills, sweating, fever.  I couldn’t move because I was so dizzy.  It just kept getting worse and worse and I thought for sure that I was going to die.  As the hours went on, I started having hallucinations.  Granted, I am prone to have hallucinations, but these were different.  While laying in bed, I thought that I had taken a large knife and slit my throat, one side to the other.  I remember feeling the warmth of the blood running out of my neck…trickles making their way to the back of my neck.  Making my pillow feel wet.  I remember it so clearly.  I felt the pain of it, the panic, and I felt the warm blood.  Eventually I realized that I didn’t actually do that.  That it was just a severe hallucination.  But after that, things changed.  The switch.

I went outside the next day.  I passed someone on the sidewalk and when I looked at them, I didn’t see them.  I saw their skeleton.  This continued.  Not only was I seeing skulls on necks instead of skin, but I started seeing people decomposing in front of me.  As if they were dead and the decomposition process was sped up.  Didn’t matter who I was looking at.  When I saw my psychiatrist, I told him about it and told him that his face was rotting off.

This lasted for a very long time.  It doesn’t happen anymore.  Sometimes I’ll catch myself studying the bone structure of someone’s face, but it doesn’t go beyond that.  I am VERY happy about that.

Someday I hope to be off medication.  When I started taking them, they sucked the creativity right out of my soul.  I was so dull and crushed – it was unbearable.  Now, sometimes, I feel like I’m starting to balance.  I still have, and treasure, my manic days where I’m electric and unstoppable.

Here we go…

6:10 a.m. Wednesday, June 3, 2009.  This day is important.  It’s the day of transformation.  I haven’t slept yet because I had such a surge of creative energy that I couldn’t control.  I drove.  I painted.  I took nude photos.  I blogged.  And I worked on my website.  For the first time in years, I felt like I wasn’t wasting any time.

I’m alive.  I’m alive.  I’m alive.