Drawing: Emotive Self Portrait

again, details lost in scanning and resizing. theres all this stuff ive wanted to tell him, but its too late. im supposed to be happy for him. but i cant be happy if i cant feel a fucking thing. im drowning and im so numb, but i suppose im getting better. first day i couldnt even pick up my pencil. took me three days to finish this, shouldve taken an hour. tops. im stuck.

Drawing: Mother Nature

eh, lost some of the details in scanning. nothing special.

Drawing: Two Ships

[UPDATE: just to clarify, the reason this looks different from my other scans is because it isnt a scan. i photographed it so i wouldnt get graphite all over my scanner plate. its alot grainier than it should be, but at least it didnt smudge.]

Two ships throwing anchors
for an inditermined time.
the time that is shared
will always be treasured
at the bottom of their ocean.



it does not matter how long a relationship lasts. it matters what you do with that time, and how you remember and use the experience of time that was shared. i didnt use my time wisely and now he has someone else to share the experience of life and love with. that is how i always thought about it and it is a message i want to give. too bad i cant believe it myself just yet. its hard watching the one you love sail away with someone else, while i sink to the bottom of the ocean alone.

Poem: Your Poem

On the twentieth day of July 69,
For the first time in history,
The moon landed on a man.

The first time such move had been attempted by a celestial body,
A great feat of precision,
Didn't crush the man at all.

You see, we see things from our eyes,
And everyone knows our eyes see upside down.
Or is that the right way up?

I could tell you about walking through deserts,
The beauty of running water, of rain,
You'd be thinking of TV shows.

When was the last time you were challenged,
Walked away from a conversation stunned.
Who are you listening to, me or yourself?

If beauty is in the eye of the beholder,
Is meaning in the eye of the reader?
More importantly, are you reading this upside down?

Every word you read is yours,
Make your own sentences,
Take your own morals.

And even though I wouldn't dream of telling you what to do,
Look within other people,
You'll see yourself.
Find out what you are,
Where you are headed.
Find your own moon and land on it.

Story: The Great American Novel

Prologue

When I was a child I thought growing up was something amazing and glamourous that would never happen to me; at least not soon enough. I thought everyone just breezed through life and everything was perfect and beautiful, all sparkles and sunshine. If I could go back in time and meet myself as a child I'd hit myself right in the face for ever being so stupid. As it is, I don't have a time machine so I can only berate myself for ever having been a child.

My childhood self of course would have probably died of shock if they could have seen me. There I was sitting around in the finest, best-looking, most expensive, flattering dress I own; my hair, make-up, and nails all absolutely perfect with a bottle of sleeping pills in one hand and a bottle of vodka in the other, picture perfect. You see I had decided I was going to kill myself and I spent all day preparing.I had decided that if I had the luxury of knowing exactly when I was going to die then I wanted everything to be perfect.

I had once heard that when a person dies their bowels loosen and they, for lack of a better choice of words, shit themselves. To me, that simply would not do. If I'm going to die I want everything to be perfect and that's just disgusting. So I starved myself and took a bunch of laxatives for a few days in advance, Karen Carpenter style. I didn't drink anything for twenty-four hours before either. I wasn't sure if that would help, but I figured I should at least try for the sake of a perfect death.

There I was sitting on my perfectly made bed, in my spic and span apartment which I had cleaned especially for the occasion. I wouldn't be around to defend any mess so I had to make everything perfect.

Now where was I? Oh yes...There I was sitting on my bed writing out my farewell letter to the universe and preparing myself for that final step. I finished my letter, sprayed a little perfume on it for good measure, and then sealed it in an envelope from my lovely little stationary collection; marking it with a simple "To my nearest and dearest, much love, Alice." Then I laid the envelope neatly on a pillow positioning it just so; downed my pills and vodka and lay down waiting for my death to come. My last thoughts before I blacked out were " I hope my lipstick didn't smudge while I was drinking"

****
That was over a year ago around Christmastime. "The most wonderful time of the year," I swear the reason the death toll is so high around Christmas is because of those damn Christmas carols telling everyone how great things are and how happy everyone should be. How if you're unhappy around the holidays you must be crazy because even Jews know how to be happy around the time of Christ's birth. So many happy people running around it's enough to make a depressed person kill themselves, hence the high suicide rate.

I, of course, did not die that lovely evening. In my quest for the perfect death I forgot to lock my door. My neighbour's dog ran into my apartment trying to escape from his angry owner, and my neighbour followed him in discovering me; operation perfect death: failed. Now I know some psychology major out there is probably thinking that my forgetting to lock the door was my subconscious way of showing my unconscious will to live. In all reality that's total bullshit, I always forgot to lock my door. It was just a bad habit that ruined my shot at that perfect death I had been hoping to achieve. Just between me and you though I'm kind of glad I survived, so much had happened afterwards that it would have been a shame if my death, as perfect as it may have been, would have gotten in the way of things.

So this is essentially where my real story begins, it takes place during the year and a half between my perfect death and the present. This ladies and gentlemen is my attempt at pursuing my one true goal in life (other than perfection...okay make thay my one true achieveable goal in life.), writing the great American novel. I, your humble narrator may take the back burner for some of this tale, but fear not I won't leave you; I can't this is a story only I can tell. So without further ado here you have it the great American novel.

Black Sketchbook: Mais pieds study

lovely, arent they?

Black Sketchbook:

Black Sketchbook: The First Clock of All story

Old Red Sketchbook: The First Story

Little Yellow Sketchbook: