Wednesday, April 25, 2012


if you're able to wake
make your way to the front

rodent teeth bore into palms
keep the sharp door shut

worry the stuck brass clasp
sink among gray soft

succumb to the
visions of brown arms

struck with a loose-claw
a swift buttery hack

what a ball the head becomes
lacy purple gargling

in a hallway they're leading a black horse

my big roundness cries
for the want

Friday, April 20, 2012


i haven't been very productive lately, here's some crazy stuff i found when i started looking at the gibberish-titled .txt documents from march. the majority of this is literally just stupid shit i don't remember writing, and some of it is more journaly.  happy day to you, enjoy:


story based on family who does intervention-type reality show

the dad is a secret coke addict runner

the mom is a religious self-martyr


at the end the dad's heart explodes

the islands that worship technology left behind by temporary military stays/operations

i should learn to ask for what i want and be tender to others; i should not ever hurt anyone on purpose but should be less overwhelmingly sensitive to my inner drive to be very careful with these things.  i don't know

why do i always feel like asking people to watch david lynch movies with me is "taking our relationship to another level... perhaps too far"

one thing that makes me smh real hard is when dudes with emotional problems announce they think they'd be a good dad

i feel like i have to ask your permission still to dye my hair red, i never could have done it with you.  i wanted to leave that line cryptic but i always worry somebody will take what i write the wrong way (or, often worse, that somebody will take it the right way).  and that sounds ambiguously as though you were controlling or something about my appearance but you were not.  you are sweet and earnest and handsome as the devil.  but i couldn't dye my hair red because it reminded you of the person who sexually abused you as a young child.  i don't know if you'll still be grossed out by me if i do it.  i would just hate that.  i can't be with you, but i only want us to feel love toward each other. 

looking out of windows
hating the group because you are an outsider
"if you came back a an animal"
they all chose wild and strong, monkey, white tiger, eagle
the animals around them are chained to man's will, horses, dogs, hamsters, fish
he caught the fish with his bare hands

girls feeling trapped, young girls with more magic and power than anyone around them who are still somehow powerless

because you're so good at p


i often feel like a blind spot in the gaze of people who fear me


just heard someone in a neighboring apartment having a great orgasm
i am so fucking bitter with jealousy
no really i feel irrationally sad
that others are being loved around me
it's weird

leaving chicago I saw two herons over a river and felt something new, i can't really pinpoint it but inside it was as though i was suddenly confident that what lies at the end of my path is going to be as amazing as i could have ever hoped; i will have such dreams and see such beauty in my life that there was nothing to be fearful or resentful of.

i should move forward with openness and as much clarity as i can grasp.

i think i might be an artist but i don't know what my game even is or how to hustle it/myself.  i'm scared of the debt and school and jumping into a risk when i'm so unsure if i even actually want it or
if it's just a path i see others taking so it feels like i should too or i'm missing out.  am i?   will i?
right now supporting myself soundly feels safe and i am very proud.

love is not what you thought it was and never will be what you think it is
but it's happening all around

Tuesday, April 10, 2012

spring journal

my poembrain is entering a new season.
it's like the winter sends all the words roosting into my head, crammed and sharp and tornadic.  they uncontain themselves from pressure.  when the planet swings back around again they warm like honeysap and drip down the inside of my shell.  they're throbbing and resting in my limbs and torso and face now like singing birds in my branches and it feels so nice, but they don't go to spitting out my type-fingers much.  i feel like everywhere i go lately people can sense this change about me.  strangers snapping at my heels.  i don't mean to have hubris. 

my haunches twitch when i am still, lurch when i'm walking, trying to run.  i have swinging skirts and can be kind without being stomped over.  i can love without being a crutch/martyr to someone.  i can listen to all kinds of music lately without it hurting too.  or it hurts but not bitterly.  i want to romp with friends like young coyotes.  i want to be on my bicycle and tear into the ground all day.  feel the muscle get hard again.  put my hard muscles to loving.  be sweet and hard and mostly true.  it's okay to be these things i think.

Wednesday, April 4, 2012

gray day comic

(click for big)

here's a second comic ever, it's about today so far.  later i'm buying a nice bike from some awkward dude on craigslist.  i wish i did not feel so anxious about that.  i kind of feel like eating french fries at some point.  MAYBE A GYRO.  

comic notes: i like making diary-type comics about nothing in particular.  i feel compelled to mention i like most coworkers & it's mostly about how i'm loathe to make others feel the wrath of me having a shitty day.  i would def erase the half-assed box i put around the last panel as an afterthought. i need to invest in some non-lined paper.  scanner.  more than one mechanical pencil.  fonts.  fonts!  i need to learn MORE FONTS.

i listened to fruit bats while making this.  here's a good song by them:

Sunday, April 1, 2012

goose comic

i did a comic.  it's the first comic i ever did and it will not be the last.  it's obv very rough/ugly still but i am posting it here because when i post things here it's a weird incentive for me to do more.. doing things.  and posting them.  
i honestly just wanted to see if i could do it.  something i've been thinking of a lot lately is the main requirement of illustrated stories/animation is consistency in style; it doesn't even matter what the style is or if it's particularly refined.  second is the pacing/story; you can be an amazing artist but if the story/joke (however brief) falls flat then the whole thing deflates.  in critiquing my first attempt here the worst things are prob the barely legible font, the scratchy inconsistent lines (tho if they were inconsistent in a consistent way it'd be different), and etc. it's pretty bad but hey. here's a dumb dream i had i drew a comic about and then talked about too much in my blog.  i also need to find the power cord for my scanner instead of taking photos of drawings.

i've also been drawing a lot of weird cartoons of myself.  woop.