Posted on | February 19, 2013 | 1 Comment
How the fuck are you? I am fine. I love the chilly weather you sent me for Presidents’ Day (who’s your founding father, baby?)
As we enter the tiny slice of zodiac pie called Pisces, I give to you one last Loser in Pencil. The abominable, loathesome, seriously disturbed national treasure called Casey Anthony [aka "TOTMOM"]. Do I think she’s guilty?? Well…..I know she is a Pisces…but I don’t think she pulled off the murder of her toddler w/out help from her dad, George Anthony. Woo-wee…the dirt that surfaced on him during the trial !!!!!!! Just “WOW!”
Anyway…enjoy. And though my husband told me not to apologize for my artistic shortcomings, I feel that I should apologize for this one….I could barely finish it.
And I realize I am NOT a good artist. No one has to bring that to my attention. I love art, I admire people who can do it, I desperately WANT to be an artist, because I feel it is one of the only ways I can truly say what I need to say on this planet…but, I know I am not saying it as beautifully as I’d like to.
But I will not stop trying. I will always work on “seeing” with an artist’s vision. I will keep on trying to make that switch over to “right brain” that is required for drawing. But, I really do have art-dyslexia!!! The lines move constantly as I look at what I’m drawing. The lights & shadows also shimmer & undulate as I try to make sense of them & put them on paper.
Every person I know can sit down in front of a blank peice of paper and put something more “artistically accurate” on that paper than I can. Even my uptight, Republican brother did a single art project in High School that was better than anything I’ve ever done. And he would never, ever, ever want to be called an ‘ARTIST.’
And I have called myself an artist all my life, though I know what I “see” and create is not at all endowed with the truth & accuracy of an artist’s vision. I have always felt like Van Gogh. Frustrated. Determined. Furious. Defeated. More determined. And full of self-loathing over my inability to see a still object on the page.
And yet, as long as I am alive…I will keep trying to see. To deliver a vision that corresponds to what I see in my head. To learn the endless contours & meanderings of the human form. To be worthy of saying “yes, I am an artist.”
So…no apologies…just excuses for my inability : )
Everywhere I go I cause trouble without meaning to. Turbulence. The Pisces stirs the pot with its downward/upward spiral.
NOW, here are some poems in their most innocent, automatic Vogon phases. If they were human, they’d be adorable babies!
I feel like the child I never had.
They’d be 23 & 24 now and very badly scarred,
and most likely at a plutonic,
platonic, paranormal distance from me;
but I’ll go ahead and carry
their karma to the finish line
since I dropped my mother’s.
This is no place for children.
Or is it only for children??
I can hardly grasp this playground saloon
sewer system shark tank clown college. I can
the monkey bar sliding scale helix
we promise our children, inner or outer.
They [are] grown-ups and I am
the child who spilled
like electron soup,
a microwaved medley of gene pools.
I may pay a price
bear a bruise from God or Jesus,
or manmade ridiculous laws (what do they have to do with fun?)
But I can carry this generational burden on my own.
Baggage handler between bodies.
Mule between dimensions.
Uncool cop between this life &
the one that never happened.
Good-bye Pope Benedict.
Are you done Poping?
I respect your decision,
but I can’t help feeling—you know,
that little fly in my gut
churning butter —
that you’re not so much
as, say, making your plutonian
a big velvet rope breaks &
a mob of truth
comes kicking down
the cobblestones revealing
Revelation’s epilogue [22:22]
the final say
before we inch away from
the motorized pulpit,
before we break into a march,
before we run screaming “Mary!” against
For Lent, I gave up talking.
For Lent, I gave up the news.
For Lent, I gave up typecasting my co-workers in non-existent Rom/Com roles.
For Lent, I gave up dreaming about eating things that are not food.
For Lent, I gave up Animal Planet.
For Lent, I gave up flying on airplanes.
For Lent, I did not go to Fashion Week.
For Lent, I vowed to stop conjecturing about politicians’ personal lives.
For Lent, I gave up Facebook (but not Twitter)
For Lent, I gave up on this poem…
*******OKAYYYYYYYY, ANGELS!!!!!!!!!! I will bid you farewell. And I will close by saying,
One of the main reasons more psychics do not play & win the lottery is because the lottery is a filthy, evil, manmade, ill-intentioned, greed-inducing, curse-ed thing, and the spirits will not go there…