Dear Depression

wait
wait
don't leave
i'll dance for you again tonight
wait
love
i'll hold your hand a little longer tonight
please
love
i'll leave my bed for you tonight
it's only been two days
the memory foam has memorized
my curves, even the new ones
reaching deeper than ever before
i haven't eaten
my hair is sticking to my forehead
and there are water bottles
piled behind my pillow
but I'll get up to perform for you tonight
you can take my heart
and leave the rest of me here
in the dark, it's where my head
works best anyway
it's where I get to feel new sensations
like the tugging
from when you pushed my hand too hard
i mean i slipped
i'm sorry
wait
wait
i didn't mean it
come back
i'll sing for you tonight
we can spend tomorrow in bed
let me back in
it's dark out here
it's quiet
it's safe
it's unfamiliar
take me back
 

 

the previous was about an unhealthy codependent relationship with depression! i am in no way encouraging or glamorizing this relationship! there are exclamation points for clarity! continue on with your day! i can't believe people can't just write stuff anymore!

freewrite: artists are liars

now that I've gotten over the proverbial hump and opened up enough to make me feel better, but not enough to give any of my readers any substantial information about myself. it works for me, I guess words do not ever truly capture what's going on inside the human brain. It's like we're smarter than ourselves, language has not quite caught up with emotion. but art has, it has captured beauty, pain, ignorance, and joy more than any short entry. words are of course part of that, but as a visual artist I can never seem to balance the truth and lie so perfectly that the the written word requires. I can however make a photograph that is both total truth and completely fiction, that tells my autobiography and also one of a life I wish I'm living. I speak a lot about honesty, in this blog, in my work, in my life, but the truth is a lie and a truth are always two sides of the same coin for me. the line is blurred and I think it is for everyone. if in art we are trying to capture all of human emotion, pain, joy, and sacrifice, the lie has to be a part of that as well. if we are trying to make something that someone feels pierce through their body we have to put all of ourselves into it, including the darkness. that is the responsibility, so forgive us for sprinkling some protection, some insurance of distance if need be, on our work.

seasons change

there is romanticism in the air
between the burning plastic
and the pause between
cut and blood
the one that you are both
relieved and disappointed at the
same time
but there's romanticism in the air
the leaves are changing, the
clothes are being layered on
over the secrets built up
in the summer months
there's something magical in the air
where the heat fades away and
the fairies come to play
it's coming soon a season
of secrets and love

the challenge

i realized too young
that my fate had already
been carved out for me
in my bones, the ache
for escape
but every nerve ending
in my body tells me to forget
forget, free yourself. 
Sanctuary is only there
until it's not
the safest I've ever felt is
drowning
deeper
deeper
but at peace
sputtering into those lights you see
when you're like me
sometimes my body tells me it's okay
lay down with the devil
he'll keep you warm
when the storm rages inside and out
she'll stop me though
saying it wasn't all a dream
your bones may be stuck in one place
but you have skin and blood and soul and nerves
that help you feel the universe
use it and you will be whole again
 

inheritance

between slurred words
and broken sentences
the child in me
always wanted more
more
more
more
more time, more guidance
less permission just to be
that good kid
that reliable kid
that adventurous kid
that broken kid
i was brought into this world
slowed down by the monster
that would eventually overtake
my body
my mind
my soul
our first encounter
you showed me that scars
tell stories
like the one on your hands
and the roadmaps I've drawn on my skin
you said true love could only beat
what the curse on us
but I never found love appealing
i'm selfish like that I suppose
it was brought to us
something we could go through together
something we could go through when we parted
a generation separated by self hatred
and miscommunication
now I drown that curse
with slurred words and manic dreams
dreams of finding love like what you showed me
you drown your monsters with more innocent things
distractions and sleeping
maybe someday we'll find each other floating
on a lifeboat bringing us to peace

october

find me again in october
let the cold winter winds
start to howl
face me again
now that it's over
and free me from
the same days below
trace my roadmap
i've drawn on my skin
and remember that
i used to show you
the long way around
balance your three lives
on your finger
and pick the one you
want to live
but find me again in october
i'll tell you a new tale to give

Inspiration

I was just speaking to two really amazing artists on inspiration and how it comes to us as creative people, and we all established that it was really too broad of a topic to try to boil down to the short amount of time that we had (more on that in a future date). 

I'm going to try to tackle at least a little bit of how my process works.

The first thing I want to point out is the power of the word, the word inspire means (according to dictionary.com) means to fill with animating, quickening, or exalting influence or to communicate or suggest by a divine or supernatural influence. Those are powerful definitions. Inspire is a powerful word. I think a lot of times in todays world we flippantly use words that mean something a lot more powerful than they actually do. My two favorite examples of this is the word awesome, your sandwich was not awesome (maybe it was, who am I to judge) the grand canyon is awesome, to be filled with awe is something really powerful, the second being "I miss you". I miss you is something that we are programmed to say to someone we haven't seen in a while, like we have to say it, but to actually truly miss someone is a really intense painful emotion. 

So back to inspiration, as an artist I can be inspired by many different things, the town I live in, a comedy show, something someone says passing me on the street, pretty much anything. To get from the inspiration to the work though, is very complicated. Art takes work. Something or someone may have lit the match, but you have to build the fire up and keep it going. So to boil down inspiration to who is your most influential artist, or what inspired you to start the current project your doing? 

I think Josh Jordan today said it best, that by making that one thing the topic of discussion about your art negates the hours and hours of work that you did to refine your series or your craft or even just one image. 

It erases the work that you did leading up to the great unveiling, it ignores the fact that your blood sweat and tears went into a piece that may have been spurred on by one moment or a small piece of your life, but that doesn't mean that the muse fairy creature came down upon you and told you what to do. The closest that I've had that comes to that is when I write poetry, which is why I don't write it that often because the poems come out of me, I don't write them, they write me. As far as visual art goes, there are hours, weeks, months, even years that come out of that small speck of inspiration.

So I guess the punch line to this is, pay your artists as if you knew how much time and effort goes into fanning that match flame into a bonfire. The end product is not what the process is.  

forever and a day

my heart beats with the thunder
I fall away this afternoon
my betrayal permeates my mind
I think of leaving soon
A year has passed
I've gone my way
with strange freedom
I feel forever and a day
my words are much more telling now
but I speak none but few
I'm trying to miss the constriction
but I'm seeing things anew
with great calm I find my place
writing my words
without my old grace.

the friend

Hold tightly! you used to
yell over the summer breeze force winds
we were flying on a ship
we were at war, standing
on the precipice of freedom for
our army of stuffed animals.
we would come in, covered with dirt
only wanting a cool drink
before going back to war.

Hey don't let go I timidly grabbed
the hanging strap from your backpack
we used to be inseparable
the lunchroom was a jungle
the playground even more so

Hey can you believe it? 
We're going away.

blackout
blackout
blackout

Hey, hold this for me. I need my ID
four shots in and nothing
but hey hows it going
how are the kids
how's the wife?

Finished

I turned to leave, cutting my losses
and you tapped me on the shoulder
and pulled me into a long hug.
Please hold tightly . 

 

the color

today I am posting a poem instead of a blog. Posts like this will have all lowercase titles. 

You made me strip the color out
denial, anger, depression, depression
depression. Acceptance.
I got used to the
safety being off but no
bullets in the gun.
they're in the drawer.
you know, just in case.
But then he told me
as his eyes lingered just a little too long
and his hands shift from his keyboard
that was the one thing about you.
The one thing?
the one thing what?
that made me, me?
was I not me anymore?
you know, the one cool thing
the one thing people, remembered
In that moment I knew
I needed it back. The one thing stopping
me from fading into oblivion
So I wove color back into my life
feeling free once more
But always with one eye open
Never with friends.
And never without feeling something
But hey, I heard they stripped the color out of you too.
That was the one thing about you.