This piece inspired by my face, currently a disaster of stress rash. Apparently, holding back, in an attempt to be monstrously strong, isn’t good for you. I can now use my face like a 70’s mood ring. Never believed I was vain, but lately I’m hiding in the shadows along with my creatures.
a truth at ten
I’m burning inside the confessional. I already know I’m lying. Always do. I hope God forgives me someday. Bread in the toaster has a better chance of not getting burned between heaven and hell. Can’t tell my truth to the wrinkled priest who is so old I hear his eyelids scratching against his pupils. He’ll never understand what I don’t. I’m hoping God gets me. God reminds me of Santa, except he’s much more fit and his eyes don’t twinkle. The priests’ eyes don’t shine either. There is nothing endearing about their silk garments or the weird mellifluous odors permeating my church. Why does it smell hot like hell. How can I tell the truth when I’m locked in a dark smelly box-like a demon trap. In blackness, where the best of me is at my worst. All the horrid things that tell me I’m going to hell. Don’t like myself in the daytime. Hate myself at night.
Jesus is stuck to the roof of my dry mouth. I don’t know what to do so I giggle. A nun slaps the back of my head. Can’t stick my finger in my mouth while wearing a Communion dress that makes me feel like a roll of toilet paper. I don’t feel very pretty in this white flouncy dress. I pictured feeling like a princess. I don’t look at all like what I imagined. I’m fat. I’m ugly. I look like squeezable Charmin. I wonder if Jesus uses toilet paper. Mary is so pretty and slender and doesn’t kiss anyone. No one slapped her on the back of the head. And now Jesus is stuck to the roof of my mouth. I’m parched. I fainted last week while my class stood outside in the blazing sun reciting the rosary. I remember my sweaty thick fingers trying to count the beads.
I won’t tell the priest anything. He has no right to know what’s in my head. I don’t care if I’m supposed to tell him the truth. Closing my eyes, I practice being in the dark on my knees pretending I’m going to divulge my darkest thoughts. The old smelly priest will tell me to say thirty Hail Marys so my sins will be forgiven. I know I won’t do this either. I wonder if devils can turn their horns into wings. I’m a slice of Wonder bread in the toaster burning on both sides. There is no holy peanut butter to hide my black thoughts. I prefer Santa Clause over God. I want to kiss boys even though they don’t like me. I look like toilet paper.
this writing is a combination of my childhood years – Communion is received in second grade – if memory serves I’d have been 7 at the time – the confessional reoccurred throughout my Catholic school years
well, this is just freakin’ amazing
apparently my little book
has gone “temp out of stock”
on both Amazon and B&N
why I’d love to believe it’s selling out like Harry Potter😉
the reality probably is
because it’s a self-pub title
they don’t take it very seriously
and don’t order that many copies initially
it is still available on my book’s site
but most folks
are going to Amazon or B&N to buy
darn this selling stuff
I’m going to start peddling door to door
so if you hear someone crying
in your hedgerow
late in the afternoon
it will most likely be me
thin and monochromatic
beast and verse
love and madness
what we do to ourselves
what I’ve held
to store in my own heart
through personal trials
and gentle outward observations
for my children
something to hold in their hands
when they need my heart nearby
I might be here
when they seek my heart
but if I’m not
I’m of the old school belief if something is worthwhile eventually it will find its way, not a wonderful sales person for my own work, I must make an effort especially for my talented and generous friends and family who helped me realize this first publishing dream, so my friends, my very first illustrated book of free verse (some call them poems, my father believes poetry should rhyme – these verses do not) is available on my booksite – loveofthemonster.com
I thank you – how very exciting it is this morning to write this as the first white of winter presses against my studio door:)
it wasn’t you
it was the giant girl with the giant hair down to her backside
it was the girl who primped for an hour
trying to redeem something she couldn’t find in a mirror
for some reason that girl wore heels too, six feet plus
but later in the dark
stripped of the night’s magic
and several gin & tonics
come daylight, she was still an amazon
but a plain one
This ‘lovely’ image has made its way around a post or two. Geez, good thing we grow up. Now, I think if I saw this girl coming at me, I’d run in the opposite direction. Luckily, the hair and the girl eventually learned how to relax and both managed a boundful leap into adultness. Today, she tells her kiddies the very same…
her spirit smashes the institutional window
the glass doesn’t shatter
what is left behind
the peace in knowing
her suffering is the only thing that has died
let it stay dead
on she goes
dancing with her petite feet
pain no more
glenn miller is in the mood
upper teeth biting her lower lip as she spins
she’ll use those teeth when she laughs
she laughs backwards, sucking in lots of air
the clouds are sailing across the sky today
nina must be on a roll
Keep those clouds moving, beautiful nina…xoxo
Here’s a little something sure to lighten your heart. I love 1940’s-50’s music and I adore the Mills Brothers. My dad would often play his Mills Brothers records when I was a kid. Their clear harmonious voices made him smile, they made me smile too. I hope you enjoy Glow Worm as much as I do. Below the boys’ video, you’ll find another friendly glow worm (well, okay – he’s really a snake – sshhh – please don’t tell him) 🙂
May your dreams be bathed in warm moon glow and happy glowworms 🙂
SSS done with Prisma a few months back – previously posted
Every year I call my youngest brother who was born on Lincoln’s birthday. I ask if he’s had his birthday cake. Each year on February 12, I think about Mr. Lincoln too. I often (more than I care to admit) pretend I’m part of the crowd in Sangamon County back in 1832 when a tall, awkward man delivered his first public speech. I wish Mr. Lincoln and I could have shared a slice of birthday cake.
“…But if the good people in their wisdom shall see fit to keep me in the background, I have been too familiar with disappointments to be very much chagrined.”
Your friend and fellow citizen – A. Lincoln.
March 9, 1832
Thank you. May you dream of tall men wearing tall hats speaking of grand possibilities.
I created the computer portrait above using Adobe Illustrator and a mouse. At the time, Prentice Hall hadn’t purchased stylus pens or tablets. And as I mentioned in my previous post, I was learning enough with Adobe to be dangerous. This was done many years ago.
During these freezing New York temps, the giant husband and I move our morning walks indoors. We enjoy extending breezy, “good mornings” to the tiny, senior parade marching through the mall at dawn’s light. Yes, the giant husband and I follow the senior circuit. We too, march along the mall’s orange footprint route.
Four times around the mall is two miles. During these little trips we’ve learned a few things: Don’t take with your wallet. Elderly folks who walk everyday do so with a smile. The giant husband and I must always walk faster than the tiny senior parade. Some elderly folks can walk really fast.
Two lovely mall walkers, Gerri and Pat, were gracious enough to pose with the giant husband. I told them I had a blog and would like to use this image. They gave a resounding, “YES,” while still smiling they added, “we don’t have computers but our children do and we’ll keep an eye out for our picture.” 🙂
Sometimes to maintain a brisk walking pace, I imagine we’re mice and there is a large snake looming behind…
Thank you. May you dream of peaceful walks with friends.
Photos taken last week. Snake and mouse rendered in marker for a project.
HAPPY SUPERBOWL SUNDAY
Though I spent my younger years attending Catholic School, I don’t consider myself religious. I’d call myself spiritual at best. This particular post includes text from Cecil Alexander’s, Hymns for Little Children. James Herriot used the first stanza from Ms. Alexander’s hymn, “All Things…” to title his fabulous series. Mr. Herriot’s three books are based on his 1930’s veterinarian practice in Yorkshire, England. These humorous, yet poignant books, are worth the time – if you have it to give.
All things bright and beautiful,
All things wise and wonderful,
(The flowers are done with watercolors. I rendered the monster illustrations in Prisma pencil and I once had an iguana named Ista who I called friend. The croc is named Barney. Barney suffered tremendous depression when he learned a purple dinosaur swiped his name. Barney cried so many crocodile tears he rusted. )