long-time friend

I’ve joined the multitudes who brag about their pooch’s superpowers – I’m turning into a full-on nerd😘

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diner cowboy

inspiration strikes all over the place, I adore when it accompanies a hot cup of coffee😁
(found photo online under Ford Monster trucks, cropped & flipped & blurred) Wish I would’ve had the good sense to take a picture of the actual truck while observing this scene…

do you (think you) know me

do you (think you) know me
inside my words
on top of my art
are your elbows leaning at your side(s) as you read along
do they comfort you
your elbows, not my word(s)
not my art
maybe you’re only getting to know me
if you don’t know me, (I dislike math)
these thing(s) xx2f (art+writing) are no source of comfort
rather(!) representational of all I don’t know

I do know–if we lived closer
we might be (great) friends

I am told I smile most of the time

when I write dark(ly)
or when I write in darkness
(lights are sleeping. I’m not)
I grin
unintentionally
like mad grimacing
once long long ago in a generous glass grocery store window of epic proportions I spied my reflection she was smiling. I wasn’t happy

I want you to be comfortable
inside my words
on top of my art
with your elbows at your side(s)
and tell me something
about yourself
I might even get to know what it is I don’t know
about myself

PS (person singing)
when we meet on that special day
in that secret place (where I wait for you)
we will smile at one another
I stop looking in a generous glass grocery store window of epic proportions to see another smiling face
my personal shopper

wooden horse

See how the wooden horse enters the scene–
on a silent dolly from stage right it gallops
Do you fancy Montague or Capulet
The show goes on, ending when the star-crossed lovers die
Isn’t that beautiful, how the royal velvet curtains cradle the set
All hand-stitched by Venetian cobblers, who were bored out of their minds–
stringing mandolins with leather shoestrings
The stiff horse has seen better days
Its low-budget cedar ass is splintering
Someone hiding in the pit had to be mindful of costs
The wooden equine doesn’t even belong on this set
The driver missed his cue for Cinderella this morning
In her pink world, no one commits suicide–
except maybe the mice, upon learning they are no longer stallions–
and that their playhouse curtains are a machine-stitched polyblend

animated refuse

this character sketch reminds me of an ornery Shakespearean spirit, I couldn’t tell you why

 

the shit beneath the fridge

This is the question. I won’t beat it under the fridge, the place you’ve been meaning to clean but never do. Why should you? It is disgusting, but who the hell sees it. My question to you, WHY? Why do you build a wall into a home, brick by brick, then let underneath the fridge go lousy. Why do I sit in this damn basement and pretend I know what I’m doing. Someday, I say it will matter. My name, is it something now, to me. It’s the birth name I was given. I play it like Cher and tweak it like Madonna, but I keep Vito and Carmella in my thoughts. Single names do not slow the world down. It is nice pretending for awhile, until the day arrives when you pound your head on the kitchen table trying to scare up the next big creative idea. Your throbbing skull is parallel with the floor–you see disgusting, grey fluffy shit under the fridge.

This is the question. You decide you’re going to clean beneath the fridge. WHO? Who will move the icebox from the spot where its metal weight has rooted down the corners. How much crap is actually under there. Is any of it alive. Does it matter. You will get a burly friend to help you. Or a thin-armed neighbor with a hand truck. Perhaps, emboldened by the decision to clean, you decide to pull its immensity away from the wall all by yourself. Crap. The wall behind the fridge will also have to be cleaned. That’s right. There is always something you didn’t plan for. But while the frigid monstrosity is vulnerable, it makes the utmost sense to scrape the wall scum off too. The fridge won’t miss its 5 o’clock shadow.

This is the question. You’ve gone and done it. Beneath the fridge is as fresh as a baby’s bathed bottom and you have accomplished a grand feat. There is power in your muscle and clean pride in your dirty soul. You can take on the world or any number of small creative endeavors. These little bursts of artful energy might just have walls of scum behind them. Imagine how you might feel, reaching those walls. WHY? Why didn’t you just clean beneath the damn fridge all those years ago when you first noticed the shit beneath it.
black-vampalienAnd this person (who has admittedly not cleaned beneath her fridge) has created vamp/alien no 4 – dark as a fridge’s underbelly, where no sun can shine

 

Friday-fornicate or post

they say Fridays are good for fornicating but not for posting on Social Media
SM aside
I cannot care
the words pressing against my brain are going to burst my fucking capillaries
if I don’t shoot them out my itchy trigger fingers I’m doomed
torment is attempting to snake up my spine though I adore sidling reptiles
ever since I held that gorgeous velvet albino anaconda in fourth grade
now snakes are endangered too

if it blindsides me in a gallant rush of crimson blood, I’m ready for doomed
no overwhelming fear here
when you have kids you imagine leaping in front of the gun
they live
you don’t
I’m okay with this outcome, this is life
calm collective of a natural or unnatural end
the problem
too many yanking the ripcord at both ends
I’ve know for quite some time about dying
when you live with an elderly person, it makes the idea of un-being easier
my heart has taken on a personality all its own
a tragic character in some romantic play
maybe a comedy
she fades to black, scene four
I’m not depressed
not at all
rather realistic and ready
are we climate warming, are we going Armageddon-style
shit, I guess it’s going to be hot either way
why can’t it be water
I so love swimming
there is nothing like claiming peace underwater

I vote for clean water if still available
don’t want to drown in dirty icecap overflow

Crowns:pastel