Feed Me Some Lovin' !

 

ok so this is copied, mostly, from this artwork from this book of club flyer art, but text and little things changed. done mostly for painting practice because i cannot even paint solid colours into basic shapes, yes im that sloppy with the brush.plus i wanted yellowposterlikething for my room. but i LIKETHIS.

But i think i'll give it away.

what is that

 

Are you happy with your frigid zone.

Today i saw Osama's picture and i tell you i hate clean shaven men.

Are you happy with seventy two horses.

are they happy in their bunny suits.

Are these really apples. 

tomorrow, lets visit a clinic and buy that shit man.

Some of the days I dont get any dreams and then I try to fill up my sleep with commercials where there's men waking up with grey hair and no pension plans

I resolve to never tell you when I'm not ok

I want to get an ocean around my eyes, lets drink.

We forget to punctuate sometimes.

-


so whatsup. so my boils are deflating.i want to write flash fiction but i cant.

 

Last time I saw people resting their heads on others' shoulders and elsewhere, saying oh my god its been ages, its been true.The shape your shoulder makes to this other person's head.And you know there's only one other person, holding this horrible spot that hits your boil but you know exactly what you're doing holding them in there, though you don't know what you're doing. Ok bye,you say then.It is love.

It is Sneha.

I'm Still Holding Up The Sky For You

 By Mary Meriam

I’m still here holding up the sky for you
Bawling this heart-to-heart goodbye for you

I’m still the child who cooks the stony stew
The chickadee who learned to fly for you

She looks so rich, her face so fresh and new
You’re more than friends, I catch her sigh for you

Do I sound bitter? Am I green or blue?
Don’t leave again! Don’t make me cry for you!

I send some poems to the Screw Review
I sit around and wait and die for you

The marvel of my muse is constant, true
With dedicated lust, I try for you

_

Because it had been a while since I'd found a piece of simple, direct, formal verse that I like.
.

This, I found on this literary journal.

So what's up. I have many boils on my body. The mammoth one inside my nostril bled itself out like a lover, and that is the only time it acted like one anyway. I am an angry volcano that Just Cannot Erupt. Incapable of  what should be my natural course of action, I fume and boil over and what simmers inside of me possibly finds vents on my slope and then there's little amounts of poison oozing out intermittently but then it just Keeps Happening, Goddammit. 

SO WILL YOU
Start wearing Purple, wearing Purple.
Start wearing Purple for me now?

Yellow, and other facts about Ether's Backpack.

Yellow is the most important, the most pervading, almost like the Blue when you look at Planet Earth from Jupiter, only more thorough at it.Sometimes I wonder what if the Blue were Yellow, and the Earth looked icteric? It would then be easier to imagine the planet as a smiley.There's a purple smiley fixed to the outermost pocket of the backpack,sitting there like a pink bow on a Poodle.They say the hair can twist into cords and continue to grow if the Poodle coat isn't brushed constantly.In order to brush it constantly, the bow ought to be removed from time to time, but Ether never removes the smiley, and that brings to mind an image of an unseemly, tangled, coarsely coated Poodle you don't want to be toting around with your books and make up and food and drumsticks in.Ether doesn't have drumsticks, nor chopsticks, nor dandiya sticks, and the last time she ate cheese sticks, they reminded her of dogfood, even though she's never even smelt any variety of those, ever.Pictures of all her favourite foods give Ether's backpack a much stronger base than yours.Sometimes during her meals when she cant remember how the food looked before she swallowed 3/4th of it in a go, she likes to want to reach into her bag for a reference picture, and then complain about fatigue,following which she'd segue into a little rant about Thinspiration, but all she actually does is finish the food, take the damn backpack and carelessly thud past any other backpacks in sight.The backpack has seen more cities than Ether has, but it tells no stories and cracks no jokes, and you can bet it's never taken any pictures either, so you can never tell how.Ether doesn't know this, but if she did, she wouldn't be sad. Ether's backpack is misunderstood by most people, but i must tell you that it's only trying to spread yellow cheer, much like an epidemic.Ether doesn't know this, but if she did, she wouldn't care.

hello! to high and dry

MYYYYYYYYYYY HEAVY HEART
SINKS DEEEEEEP
                            DOWN
                                          UN-
                                                  DER

you.

She makes me feel like i could be a tower

a big strong tower yeah

(words from the lyrics to Suddenly I See- K.T.Tunstall. mixedmedia collage.product of summerrestlessness and extremeboredom.doesnt like daddy.bites mommy sometimes.)

Want of the day.

I want

To be a streetlight.

Or a kiss under a streetlight.

I am crazy.

But what I should be, is a Suicide Expert. Should start a Suicide Hotline, give Suicide advise and publish books on The Gruelling Way to Suicide, name myself the SUICIDE GURU and help all you little suicidal bunnies find your smashing ending.

WHY.

My life is a pathetic little circus again, and this time there's just dying elephants and accident prone gymnasts. I have in effect turned into a completely obsessive eccentric, and its not all comic anymore.

In other news, I just realised a few things about myself.Like I don't really have preferences for this particular TYPE of ...things. Like, Irish men or dark chocolate (God, I LOVE dark chocolate but will gobble with the same amount of delectation when there's milk chocolates in question).But I am extremely choosy about particular cases all the same.

Also, I dig the idea of killing people so much that I seem to have recurring dreams about it, complete with all the chasing and screaming and murderous facial expressions etc. All that's missing is the concluding spurt of blood, my brain, well what do I say. It's a smart little bugger that knows its limits. But the following mornings have always been wrought with insane urges to really really stuff some knives into some chests and tummies and faces (try stabbing faces with multiple cutting instruments in your dreams, kiddos. epic gore, that) and pull out intestines and wrap them around some bleeding, mutilated faces. This is a morning for such lighthearted foolery, care to join me?


Blog hopping may be fun, but getting carried away and blog HUNTING and reading those which really, really should be made off limits for you (like say your Maths teacher's fantasy blog, which is just an example VERY distant from the cause of my woes at the moment) can make you want to do the things described in the earlier paragraph to yourself. I wish I had something to take my mind off these things but well, I'm at home. I do these things to get away from the oppressive home environment in the first place, and I just happened to be seeking comfort in the wrong places of late.

Plus, there's ulcers in my MOUTH that take the cake. : X

On a slightly cheerier note, I am rediscovering my love for Roald Dahl and Black n White movies and ruining artwork (well at least I do START with something now, and instead of the abandoning, I'm doing the ruining which has got to be a learning experience in some distant world I do not seem to be in myself). I'm growing a little too tired of bitterness flowing to my fingertips so I think I should stop typing immediately, so, so long and thanks for all the intestines.

SO

i just love that face. :)

cold paper, pale eyes

this art is my demise.