Through lines 

Look at how the chaos comes together 

only stepping back from the drawing 

made of lines of sketches 

can you see the monster 

guiding the hand of the drawer,

The one who draws to avoid

having to use words.
Words have failed me. They are not the truth. I was not allowed to speak the truth. When I finally did, I was punished harshly. 
This is the way it is.

And this is who surrounds you.

Republican opposition derives from a philosophical resistance to being compelled to do anything that benefits others.

And yet they call themselves Christians

Followers of the man who said love one another

Who was homeless
I now know what a cultural species-wide blindspot is.

The existence of hypocrisy came before it was named which means the consciousness came first, the awareness of the ability of the human sentient being system that we describe, stupidly, as “heart and mind” (sorry, your heart pumps blood, it’s not making decisions, that would be your loins), not to mention the debate about the “soul,” which Descartes believes existed in the spleen, to lie to itself.
I am 50 years old, a woman who has been living in a repeated cycle of emotional trauma for the past 46 years. I cannot find work, after devoting my life to my career. I am adopted and have no knowledge of any birth relatives. I am alone in this world in a way few of you can imagine as the most heart-breaking event of my life is that I did not have children. No one will care when I die. That is what you realize when you were adopted and people lie to you saying it’s the same as blood, but it’s not. 

Helping others 

Wouldn’t that be nice 

Meet Mr. Sand-bagger

 He always gets the gold.

sandbagger is known as somebody who fights down his/her normal skill level in order to get easy wins.


Robert Montgomery

The Church of Love

Don’t fake it baby, lay the real thing on me

The church of man, love, is such a holy place to be

Make me baby, make me know you really care

Make me jump into the air

There is a want, there is a need 


for that is what it is to be alive, here, in this absolute 

secondary moment 

Why ask yourself what makes my heart sing?

  • intensely meaningful 
  • core to your being 
  • essence of your identity
  • what I think about – is telling this story, whatever story I am engrossed in – and what I think about at the end of the day is how tomorrow is going to be so much better and I will miraculously right all my wrongs and balance all my spreadsheets, PowerPoint presentations with not one typo kind of day it will be…
  • or not. But it will be a day when we say to our only god, death: not today. That’s my favorite simple mantra to tell whoever’s listening – again I say there is no clear definition of who’s in charge, so I’m going with Game of Thrones mythology – the warrior’s god is death and you say NOT TODAY. Little girl with her wooden sword escaping certain death – repeating, as little girls do, over and over as she runs-not today.
  • the best feeling in the world is when you can’t wait to get up in the morning 
  • the ‘right path’ is a dead end for people like me. But that’s not a bad thing. It’s just no one’s cut a road so you just go, and it’s not always noteworthy but it’s defining your process which is one piece of the puzzle when committing to some form of creative ‘career,’ as in ain’t gonna happen better keep that day job your IT background sure is gonna come in handy when no one buys your paintings…




Sunday Morning 

I only became an artist because politics was too stupid a career and science too constricting. Many think that artists and logical mindsets are lesser somehow. I have discovered the opposite to be true and the grand design is nothing more than a cosmic Pollack wrapped around the Guggegeimheim with the Tree of Knowledge handing out apples all day long to doctors and Adam and Eve. The world turns in chaos and turmoil created by man. But not all man. Think of that. The song you love most, and sing.

The Word

You write as if there were a proverbial gun to your head. You “drain” the reservoir as the sage of Big Sur puts it, but that is only because time will change the experience which you describe and you will no longer be able to access the truth of it, once you have lived more. The act of living changes the raw truth of discovery, the purity of perception. You have to get it down on the page, I disagree with Mr. Miller when he says it’s “not necessary” or good to create for those inevitably long hours when the manic muse strikes you. The doors of perception burst wide open flooding your mind with that deluge of what is insufficiently accredited as creative inspiration. 

I’ve got everything to do under the sun other than writing.

Other than writing