Fragile First Attempt 11/13/2011

A sketch I did a little editing to. Simpler than what I thought it would have turned into, but right to stop drawing when I did. This weekend I’m beginning work on a new painting which I’ve held off from long enough. My personal life, for what it has become, leaves me feeling shocked I’ve actually gotten this far with no change. I really can’t believe it. Having tried far beyond what I thought I was capable of and still see no change. They tell me “Just wait, someone will call you, something will come along”, but I’m about through with waiting on others. It’s time I take back control, forget about being accepted or given a chance anymore and truly finish this. I will find a place to put myself and that will be the end of it.

The New

Their gardens emit unbearable greetings
I can’t acclimate…
The newness kills me

This limited happiness ever to seek the
Pleasure of painless simplicity
The safe shallow water of a see through stream

Compared to what I know…

The unrelenting waves of its surface
Then stillness…
A punishing cold

Hundreds of feet far below

——————

This is a drawing done in oil pastel (the eye) and semi-hard pastel (background) completed recently after weeks away from dealing with colors/paints. I was hesitant to even try because I just wasn’t feeling enough to believe it wouldn’t be a waste of time. But I worked on it a few hours and think I expressed my state of mind through this drawing at the time just right. It’s about fear in a way and seeing the end of everything that mattered, it being cruelly ripped away to nothing. Similar to my thoughts behind the poem below. Sometimes it really sticks in mind that my place here could easily be erased and what I think is true and meaningful really isn’t, never was and never will be. A lot of time feeling great emptiness I guess, more time than I’ve realized.

Diminished View

We go
Away on our way –

Wings lit with the fury of flame
Your eyes spiral their hypnotized scream
We get you from here,

You weren’t meant to be

And when you finally look up
Far past the mountain peaks we set on high
Free of guarding angels
And their small and smaller gods

Far back…
Where the creators of creators will
The tiniest inch of

All existence…

Souls are shed thin – skins of life bitten through
Time and its diminished view…
The slow down we are forced into
Where nothing is.

Nothing true will be
Or has ever been

—————–

I didn’t want to wait to share this sketch. I’ve been listening to a song called End of the Dream and the idea came from what I imagined in mind from the lyrics of it. The poem is newer also. I’m working on another drawing to pair with something else I wrote but I’ve been slow about things lately. Trying to find some confidence and just finish up already…

The Courage

Guaranteed.
You have to be what
Others can safely step upon and over

Always at the mercy of what shifts and spins above

But what if you were not you any longer?
What if every unsharpened edge melted, then
Boiled, then spat in its great defense of your little life?

You gaze as the higher beings are lifted by their wings
Collecting here and there every fallen feather
To supply and form, layer by layer, wings of your own
With grandiose intention to shadow the sun
Or burst to ash in the attempt

The courage of a tiny blip…

Justice as you see fit,
For the window and door that would never open
You become what they are to cut them down
Strip them of their noise
Rip through to rob their core

Knowing they’ve taken from you so much more
As you have always been without a choice

———————-

The painting above was going to be a throw away before I wrote the poem below and had some of those lines in mind to give me a little direction. The paper it’s painted on was previously folded in half, long before I thought of painting anything on it and unfortunately it’s still noticeable (sorry). The lines I wrote came from another morning walk I took many months ago. The scene of flowers and morning chill left a mark and I had to write something.

The Morning Hush

Early I walk
The whispery fog shies away from me.
Moving further in – trying hard to listen,
To belong to the secret lingering within the mist
Owned of meaning.

Into the meadow, I witness its gathered blends
Of flowing bends and awe.
I’ve caught them un-woken and chill,
Late season wild bloom stunned by
The glittery spell dream of night.
Hypnotized with bliss – grace filled as if
They’ve been granted their one and only wish.

The flavored tints of wind hover motionless above
A welcome belief,
A moment’s mystery freely sipped of reason.
The shared presence between innocent souls
Spared of being told what we’ve become.

For now, be the morning hush
Before all is made a fuss by the warmth of risen sun,
Sorely bothered by the living
Still left to be done…

———————–

I’m working on another song now. It has a more hopeful sound I guess, but I like that. For once I’m not so gloomy on the subject I’ve written for.

The above drawing was sketch #34 from the batch of 40 I worked on when I was away from home in October. Every one of them were just random ideas. I thought this one fit okay with my thoughts behind the poem below, which I’d say is probably a bit disturbing from other things I’ve written but I consider that a good thing for where it comes from. A few months ago I’d worked on a set of poems written through different voices-I guess I’d call them- of my personality having to do with how I treat myself. The one here is taken with a Ninth of Swords tarot card interpretation loosely in mind. Cruelty–a great lack of compassion and being trapped in a bad situation with the worst being repeated again and again.  I’d rather explain this than to share this poem along with the others in the set than have it assumed I just wrote down random lines and put a title to them. They all connect with something I was so relieved to give words to at the time.

The Nightmare

I gather my own offerings
Fleshy fruit of
Hearts carved into
With my breath

Deliberate swell, I am in good health
I birth scores of your selves and
Have fed upon many
Their juicy excess I rinse from my lips and hands
And leave you without the chance to separate and
Dispossess your deadened reflection

Most were just infants – I tethered their heads
Severing all arms and legs
Gnawed and savored bone…
They must never grow old
Mistakes spat from the earth at the end crossroad

And the wish lingers
Bitter cold crisp after these sunsets
Rusted crowns still bound to me
Scavenging lesser identities

Of lesser obedience, lesser discipline
They gleam most content over
Half unraveled commitments
Small, shimmery riddles
And empty fulfillments

Her nightmare vision and
Ninth sword’s imprisonment
Somewhere beyond are whispers in ritual dance
We’ve captured our prey
Creature entranced with an ache
Tinctured by its find of my domain

It does you no good here to lie
To shape shift or outwit
This web of
My design

—————————-

Working on some new lyrics at the moment. Sort of fell into another song, but do see a way to finish and record before too much time passes. Unfortunately I’m settling into believing I don’t have that kind of time anymore, though I’m really just refusing to allow myself anymore time. Nobody else is here to tell me “hurry up” so I’ve got to be the one and make a decision.

Indite

Didn’t I used to be
The hidden giggle
Pin pricking the beast?

I used to be thick shadowy claws
Scraping against your thoughts as if
I were locked in a sweltering coffin
Prematurely tossed into this hell

You weren’t supposed to be so close,
Enough that I should follow
You weren’t supposed to so easily unfold
How is it I’ve crept in and taken hold?

Yet, I am sickeningly satisfied.
I like the sharp sting. I like hearing
Your muffled growls, to be
Singed by your maddening

You sloppily try crawling from
The expectant white page
But I am quick to grab at
Your reckoned letter ends

I press down hard
And bleed the imprint
I have to write you in.

————

A new painting above which has some personal meaning, having to do with depression becoming a person’s whole identity they believe in. No longer viewing it as an illness that they have which can be overcome or managed somehow, but seeing it as who they are now -  what it’s made them can never be changed or get better. That’s just how I sometimes think of things myself in dealing with it. Not always do I remember depression is an illness; it’s not just me 100% being a cold and terrible person all the time.

The poem is also newer. A strange one I guess, but I had fun writing it.

I’m a little scared right now for saying this but I’ve posted two new pages filled with the songs I’ve written along with files to listen to my recordings of them (direct links are below each player just in case). Something my therapist mentioned a while ago about things people create/do not really existing if no one else knows or is there to share it with. We were talking about something else but the point could be made for how I’ve only talked so far about having songs I sing, never sharing them so openly. So I think this is a positive step. I’m scared but will get over it.

Every song I’ve worked on so far is posted within those pages, Music 2 being set aside for more of the older (and it’s safe to say, worse) songs/recordings. I’m planning to post more often new art/poems since there’s so much and I’ve got the time still.

Progress is happening, but it’s slow going. I’m still waiting to see.

Sketch #6 “Biding My Time”…9/24/2011

Scenes Ignoring

The cruel dream
You make it seem all is to be
Just fine
Sky blue morning
Pouring brisk
Your knives…
Be driven further in

And still you believe
Even as the scabs are peeled back
And I go from
Sick to sickest
It lands and settles in

Still, the better you’ve expected
Your honey halo – simply one more hoop
I have been forced to jump through
To say ‘Think light, think of life.’
Say ‘It won’t take me – I can’t die…’

While everything I was is savored and sucked
From between your teeth and tongue
The scene ignoring my circumstances now
Your spilling of rose to rinse me down

Alive here leaves me with
No way out

—————————————————————

Finally finished editing every sketch. Now I’m working on uploading my music and creating a new page for the ones I want to include here. Should be done with that soon enough, hopefully. The poem is also a newer one. It came about when I was looking out of my window one day and saw this perfect morning sky, sunny and fresh. But I was feeling pretty terrible that day and didn’t appreciate the brightness so much. Anyway, I plan to begin a new portrait this weekend sometime, if the music page thing I’m trying to do doesn’t take too long.

 Collapsed

Bubbling, crackling peel and flow
Spilling to the floor

Lazy and ruinous expressions show
Lit by their ugliness,
Sockets hollowed out

Within seconds a beautiful collapse is caught
Its thin blood streams never fully make the fall away
From the ache in the black wick’s curl

Twitching slits made harmless and
Startled from this world

———–

An older painting I updated. The poem is something small I just thought went with it which I wrote years ago after I watched a candle spill apart once in my room. Anyway though, there are new written things as well I’m just holding off on. Haven’t sorted out the right images to pair with them or figured out what to do with my sketches quite yet.

Also I’ve made updates to both the Art and Black and White Photos pages above.

Though little I care to survive
However it matters, it happens, I get by
What more do you want from me?
What more do I have to be?

The drawing above is sketch #10 from 9/28/11, finished a few days before I left town. Those lines beneath it are lyrics to a song I finished the day after. Below is a newer bit of writing I’ve let sit for awhile. I know it’s long but every part is necessary and I’ve gotten better about stripping down these things now. Sometimes too many words can make it just as confusing as not having enough.

Crux of an Exchange

Never knowing
As simply as you do
Never previously placing yourself in these shoes
In my clothes – snug in my skin
And weighed well with my lack of importance

Look down, look about and notice the lines
Feel the mess of map each rough blade has left behind
The worn claws of tearing at firmly fixed discontents
And my feverish pleading squeaks from within…
All to kill this hatred…

I waste in the ruins of my self-respect

One artful look between, compiling our differences
I settle and a dim, weathered glass lends to coat my eyes
It will not be spoken – no further explanation
If you just wear my wounds you will know what I meant

And already you may know what’s been going on
But one word wrong and I’ll swear you off
One fresh mention and I’ll not again allow one glimpse
There will be no trust

But it’s been obvious the warnings I give beam refracted
Full potentials you don’t see when
The lights are on and razors edge rests far from the wrist
The feel of it is cheap; I dare not bleed before day
Too reminded of shame…that crispy sizzle in my veins

Your life, the make and matter I was imagined to be

Now – spilling steady, tick by click the beat
Of rich, red and concentrated soul-filled breath
Softly and lovingly lulling me from self
The mercifully flung awareness of great upset

Its strict obediences, norms, needs and rush
Into place, for the perfect fit
To exist here ever satisfied

So passionlessly lit

————–

I do have my license now, finally. Got back home last weekend and have been having a difficult time adjusting to life at home again. It’s the same ‘nothing’ as before. No job, no car, no point, and now I’m not even going to therapy since I said I’d be out of town for weeks, as I was. He sort of sent me off, saying I may not even need his help anymore. That alone made me feel a bit thrown away even though that’s not how it was meant. I just didn’t have that much faith in myself as he seemed to have had that I would be okay from now on. I feel awful about this enough though. I should be alright, but I’ve failed at this again.

Well, a decision has been made. The deadline has been moved and that’s the end of it.

This drawing was done in semi-hard pastels, on a day a couple of months ago when I’d come back from a really long morning walk. I was right in the middle of my therapy sessions, frustrated and trying to get away from this problem I didn’t believe had a fix–not one that ever left me healthy and alive. So, I got home from that walk with those thoughts in mind and spent hours trying to get my feelings drawn onto a page, ending up with the drawing above (post title is also drawing’s title). The poem below is part of a really big writing subject that I had to break up into different pieces.

Theatrics

Ready with another scheme
The voices and I play with
Your crushed skulls we’ve painted
And pieced into mosaic masks with which
We act out
Your inner most disgrace

I rip and hammer down yet another face
Ashen gray, leveling the flame
While other parts beyond the haze
Blithely tinker with your fate

Those lusty glints are my secret.
Every heaven presented
Is rigged

——————-

I’ll just say everything is done and good and well even if it’s not and no one will notice when I don’t show up. I think that’s nice at least and it’s the best I can do.