https://www.themanifeststation.net/2021/07/28/the-house-of-two-years/
Tag Archives: emotions
unwarm
This piece is based on the night my father passed away. I can’t believe it will be a year this November since he left us. On the night of my dad’s death, all emergency responders were nothing short of amazing🌹
Unwarm
was it your choice
choosing sleep to die in
I watched them
watched them dad
in your mint bedroom
trying to make your chest say something
while your mouth was bound with elastic
and a pump shoved down your throat
screaming in my head
PLEASE stop
he’s gone
leave him be
it goes on like this for an hour
or nearly so
not pronounced dead
until the white sheet
in the emergency room
was that for us
was that for you
maybe for them
still unsure
I kissed your cheek
not entirely unwarm
you look good dad
not dead
not cold
just quiet
a long time in the making
After experiencing several monster-sized issues, my eBook is now available. Truth be told, post-problems it was ready in late January, but at the time, I had not the heart to promote it. So without further ado – some new illustrations and a new poem too – love of the monster – is yours for the downloading (oh and a tiny $2.99)
❤thank you
Apathetic Wrinkling – poem published
Apathetic Wrinkling
There are parts that work well rolling on the floor. Leave me be. I will find my footing. Unlike her. Don’t you hear the screaming. The window, open like the door but less welcoming. Endless sobs hitting the birds outside. What is she crying about this time?
Wrinkles.
How she just can’t do it anymore.
Hell, who can?
There are no places to hide when you know all the rooms in your home. I wonder if she’s dying while standing on her feet. My ears are chained to this self-inflicted malaise. Perhaps the plasma screen will extend its curving armature and whisper encouragement as she continues moaning. Wrinkles. Too many.
Forgotten in the dryer, shirts crinkled like a baby’s ass.
Cotton shits wrinkles.
I should be the one crying.
this creative world
here’s to entering 2018 with eyes open
putting our pieces back together
spotlit silence
I am stone
The lady you see in the background was a sculpture I created way, way back, my junior year of high school. I was ever the wilful child turned into obstinate teen and did not take direction well. My art teacher warned me of clay thicknesses. I didn’t listen. The sculpt, 3 feet in length, did not live long. All that remains of her – a few photos that I treasure as a reminder- there is always more to learn from others – listen well and learn – always learn
‘baring’ her soul
this figure was created from leftover palette paint I didn’t want to waste – she sort of just materialized – sometimes it’s liberating to paint a nude form when it arises naturally from the earth – not contrived for a whole host of other reasons
lovers and deaf dogs
excerpt and art from, love of the monster, eBook coming soon
I’ve been swapping some drawings in print version with paintings for eBook-
because glorious color costs the same as black and white in computer land😘
anntogether 