Harmonious Expressions

Dancing

2011-01-14T15:20:00.001-07:00

Hey You

2011-01-01T10:35:00.000-07:00

They don't love you like I love you.

Night Poetry

2010-11-13T05:51:00.000-07:00

I had a rough night, here are the poems to prove it

I used to count you in kisses,
inch by inch I memorized you, imprinting you on my skin
until I could recognize your face with just fingers as if I were blind
but now you lay beside me, arm around me, holding me close
imprisoning me and pointing out the gulf that is between us
making each kiss as insignificant as a firefly against the night sky
one light amongst the cold innumerable gaze of the stars
some already dead before their light reaches us
just as all the gestures and words attempted to bridge the chasm
die before they can be created
----end-----

I peel back my skin in layers, she says
but I am an onion
once you reach the middle
you will find only emptiness
----end-----

Fill me up with unleaded fuel,
I'm no high performance vehicle, after all,
then slide inside me and turn on the radio,
sing along and your words can be my soul,
your body can be my heart
and we will drive into the night
pretending I'm not so empty as to need another
and that we are not strangers in the night
to every car we pass, all of us insignificant
under the achingly cold expanse
of a universe made up of more emptiness than matter
----end----

I used to try to make chains of men
carefully folding paper and cutting
creating tiny heads, arms, bodies, and legs
but when I pulled them apart
they fell into a pile, one man atop another
not holding hands as I had intended
more alone, though created with the best intentions
then they had been when left undisturbed

Protective Couple

2010-11-09T19:41:00.003-07:00

Here is another couple, bit surprise. The guy is the protective type, and even though I don't think she needs it... every girl likes to feel safe.

Couples

2010-11-07T21:28:00.002-07:00

I've been obsessed with drawing couples for the last two months (Before LIVE, just so you all know) and here is one of those drawings.

A Poem Not by Me

2010-10-07T15:14:00.001-07:00

Here's a love poem sent to me by my man when we were dating.

Resting quietly, in a still meadow,
blue hawk eyes track your ascent
into the blue
But the predator tires
And dies the death of loneliness, yearning
the scavenger worm takes from the carcass
only the best, leaving other for the buzzards
satisfied, he spins up into his refuge
thoughts of gentle heart fluttering
and butterfly kisses his sustenance
Finally, he emerges
sodden black wings dotted with red and white
flap in vain, aimed at flight
and his only aspiration
is to fly at the side of the fairest
of the monarchs, praying to
see her hidden joy

More Lonliness

2010-09-30T20:36:00.002-07:00

I don't feel this is really a finished poem, but it is a poem so enjoy.

I'm never so alone as I am with you
your features I love form masterworks of expressions
and words fall from your lips like tear drops
in the middle of the night I lay awake
breathing in slowly the air you breath out
hoping that part of you will fill the emptiness in me

Lonely Poetry

2010-09-15T13:35:00.000-07:00

I've been a dark place and here is a poem to reflect that.

I want to set the world on fire
I wish I could be so lassiez-faire
as to say I'd do it just to watch it burn
but instead I'd want to burn in the passion of it all
and catch everyone else up in the pain
a moment, one true moment, to be shared
because words aren't enough
and sounds and poems and art
to bridge that dark chasm between all of us
skin on skin is never really being touched
there's always those minute empty spaces
between our molecules
that keep us from truly connecting
I want you inside me, all of you
I want to tear open my chest
setting free all the emotions that litter my insides
clogging and choking and suffocating me
so let's do it, let's burn together
and as our skin melts away
each raw nerve will become exposed
each touch will be a new sensation of pain
and we will share in it
bask in it
burn in it
together.

Old Poetry 1

2010-08-29T14:23:00.000-07:00

So Rob inspired me to put up some old poetry that I wrote in high school and my first year in college. Go ahead and tell me how emo I was. :D

"Whenever I see you
I feel so sad
I want to cry
but how can I weep
Weep for things that never were?
I miss the kisses
that could have been
I miss the times
we never spent

I feel lost inside
when I look at you
I dream of what could have been
do you dream too?
are you lost too?
Are you happy you pushed me aside?

I wonder if you dream of me
like I dream of you
Do you wonder
what we could have had
laughter shared at twilight
jokes no one else would get
arguments that end in kiss
memories for all time

So I see you pass
and I close my eyes
I hide the lonliness
I put my walls up high
and I miss what never was
and I let you pass by"
END

"I died today I remember it quite clearly
Ebony roses grew before my eyes as hard diamond tears struggled to escape
The air was clear and sharp like glass cutting into my throat
the painful beat of music throbbed where my heart should have been
I stared at you with a broken Picasso smile and you smiled Monet back
People crushed around us, grinning clowns in teenage clothing leering at my plight
A thousand worlds of what might have been settled uponme in a smothering blanket of broken hearts
You turned and walked away the back that never breaks facing my broken mind
And I died a slowly agonizing deat of the chorus of ebony roses.
But I'll be okay."
END

Math Class-
I sit in the purgatory of ticking, clicking, digital clocks
They count away my lifteimes as fire builds in my back due to hard chairs
I silently scream in echoes through the crowded room of empty heads
The white boards pull me into darkness filled with letter number pairings
I struggle to escape, to move away from the cole lines and planes of logic
Longing for the comforting warmth of weathered pages and flowing words."
END

Song of My First Concert-
"The blaring speakers sound into my head, flowing through my mind
The dark room of desperate sweaty bodies, pours filled with cigarette smoke
press into a pack of wild hungry bodies and minds screaming for life,
and I see you there lean and rangy a wildcat crouched over a guitar,
I want you with the core of my being a black panther of my heart.
And the bodies press harder, struggling and straining to absorb the music
hoping the songs will grant them hopes, dreams, and souls, the whispered promise of eternity fulfilled
I watch those deft fingers caress the guitar, as only a lover would or could
You bow over the strings your eyes shut lazily or in the euphoria of creation
and the screaming wail of music fades away bringing the realization
that it will not bring a soul and you will never belong to me."
END

Plato-
"If I could weep the blackest tears of loss
leadking ebon strains down my soft skin
splashing onto the asphalft beneath sneacker clad feet
would you notice the loss of light?

Sitting alone in the cold concrete world of false light
the yellow glow bathing the world into a cloack of florescent flicker
footsteps echo around the staircase
belonging to the phantoms of friendships I can never have

You claim love from afar, the tickle of words on the breeeze
tempting me into a world of happines I can never join
simply wathcing from the outside
promises, promises on the wind

Refusing to weep furthurs the isolation
creating a glass coffin of lonliness
but I will stay here and stay strong.
Do you notice the loss of light?"
End

Australia
Opportunities twirl around me
spinning elusively and out of reach
I stand poised with a butterfly net
ready to swing when one drops by.
And I don't want to do doubt
because worry will cause loss
but the thoughts swirling in my head
are about and fatalistic
markings of past attempts that failed.
Only the hope is stronger,
braver, wiser, the bully of emotions
threatening the lunch money of my cynicism
when my dreams flutter by
on opportunistic and fragile wings
I'll be ready."
End

I love you really

2010-08-28T15:35:00.001-07:00

go ahead and tell me you love me
taking me apart inch by inch
skin slowly removed beneath fingers
that should be bringing pleasure
but instead pick and poke and take
whisper your pleasure in my ear
lay me out on satin sheets
my breasts are mountains
and in between is the valley
in a state of constant earthquake
as my heart beats with love for you
though you're pulling out my soul
from the hole you've created
lined with the white edges of my ribs
while I smile with teeth just as white
and whisper sweet nothings in return

Broken Oracle

2010-08-21T15:53:00.002-07:00

His eyes opened suddenly, throwing him from the depths of sleep he'd been in, and he reached for the opposite side of the bed. It was empty, and he frowned, sitting up slowly and peering around the dark room. His nerves were screaming that something was wrong, and he looked back to the empty pillow as one hand wiped at the creases on his face formed form the pillow case, saliva wetting his cheek. He looked to the bathroom door. It was open, and dark. His frown deepend. He looked back to the pillow, then to the empty bathroom.

She was gone.

It took him another thirty seconds to process that thought, along with the more important follow up.

She was gone. It was night.

He got out of bed, dread filling him as he heard a few grunts from outside, footsteps on the patio on the other side of the master bedroom window. A key grinded it's way into the lock and the door twisted open. He breathed a sigh of relief, but that raw edge still was eating at him, urging him up. He clumsily moved through the room, trying to find his underwear on the dark shadow eating his feet up, the floor. He managed to find them and hook one leg in when the bedroom door rocketed open, hitting the wall with enough force to dent the wall. "FUCK!" he shouted, the word hitting before his instinct to duck at the noise and intrusion.

The hunched shadow turned on the light in the bathroom with one hand, and he realized it was her. She had a carten of water bottles. "Hurry," she said, throwing it into the shower hard enough to crack the plaster. She looked like hell, even to him, and that was saying a lot. Her har had only been combed with fingers and was tangled around her head, she wore one of her tank tops, a pair of shorts, and boots. It wasn't her usual getup, but she was out of the room before he could even ask what was happening.

He followed, trying to wrap his head around what exactly was going on. "What the fuck-" his alarm jangled on the cell phone and he headed back to grab it. "Dammit, What the hell is going on here?" he demanded. She was lit by the television.

"It's the end of the world," she said. Her voice was toneless, and he realized suddenly that she must be sleep walking again.
He moved to her side and touched her, and she wrenched away violently. "Look," she said, pointing to the TV. And as if that had set it off, the local cable station went off the air, the loud scream of the emergency broadcast station swirling around them. She started running through the stations, but nothing was coming through. She was starting to panic and for the first time he realized that she was panting for breath, a shine of sweat on her skin.

"You have to talk to me baby," he said, his voice velvet soft. If she was sleepwaling, or hallucinating again, he'd have to calm her down.

"You don't understand," she said, and there was a forlorn tone that caught his hart, pulling him into her.

"Then explain," he said.

She shook her head, "It's too late." She pulled free, and said, "We need to hide." The wail of the cable station was suddenly overlaid with sirens from all sorts of emergency vehicles. His stomache was jumping and he had no idea why. SHe got this way sometimes. He dealt with it. Instead, she was backing up. "Oh shit," she muttered, then ran into the roommate's room. The roommate wasn't usually privy to her breakdowns, and he immediately leapt after her. She'd be embarassed in the m orning, or whenever it was that this one passed.

She slipped out of his grip again and grabbed the roommate by the shoulders. "Wake up!" she cried. He thrashed and she thrashed back, slapping him hard enough he woke up sober. "Grab your cat, and come on!" He muttered his confusion and she grabbed him, yanking him off the bed and to his feet, grabbing the cat huddled on the bed she shoved him out. "Into our bathroom. Hurry!"

He tried to speak up, to explain to Roommate just what she was doing, but there was no explanation he could give as she shoved Roommate violently into the room. Her already large eyes were positively huge in the mirro and he moved into bathroom after them as she slammed the door shut. "Shit. Don't move!" SHe shouted then she turned, running out of the room and back in, holding a small object and shoving it into his hands. She shut the door, muttering about time, locking it and putting a towel beneath the door, then grabbing duct tape and pulling it down the door frame to seal them in.

"What is -" Roommate was starting to look freaked out and she said, "Drop." Then she did so, as if every bone in her body had turned to mush, hitting the ground without defense. THere was no room to react, no time to do anything as the foundation of the entire building shook, a deep rumbling sounding. She had her hands over her ears and they mimicked her as the building shook again with a scream of broken glass, torn metal, and exploding cinderblocks as the lights went out.

It took him a few minutes to light the candle that always rested on the back of the toilet. She was afraid of water, and the dark, and had insisted on a candle in there just in case. Now he was wondering what the in case was for as he surveyed the room. The plastor was cracked and part of the cieling had fallen in over the shower stall. Instide the stall were a couple of cases of water, three backpacks, filled to bursting, the guns, enough bullets that they surely had to have all been purchased that night. He looked through the shadows, counting them, the dog, two cats, and a hamster in the ball. THe round thing she'd handed him. THat was the first event of the night that started to make sense to him.

She was sitting against the wall, eyes large and pupils blown, breath coming so shallow and faint that he thought for a few heart stopping mometns she was dead. "Baby," he said, I'm going to go call the cops."

"No." The word fell from her lips, harsh and jagged as the crack on the plaster behind her.

"Baby-"

She started to speak slowly and softly, almost to herself and he drew close to her as words spun out of her mouth. He recognized them as the lyrics to Everlong. "Baby," he said, shaking her shoulder but she didn't react. "Baby," he said in a louder tone. "Tell me what is going on." His voice has a note of panic to him, and he realized he was losing it.

Those eyes looked up to him, large enough to fall into and swim in the depths of the dark held inside. He could bathe in the hollowed out shell that was her soul, he could dive to the bottom of her despair, he could save her. "The end of the world." She started to giggle, and said, "The end of the world, but I'm feeling fine. Just fine." She started to weep then, and he and roommate lookd ato one another, strangers in this world that had to be of her creation.

They emerged from the room an eternity later. Time couldn't be measured in minutes, he realized, the clocks on the wall had stopped, and the cellphones were dead. The wall that had once been the barrier to the outside world was gone, glass in jagged edges stuck into the wall and every other surface. The bed he'd been on, only five minutes before according to the erroneous clock was shattered under the weight of the roof. He cut himself on the glass and swor, looking down to her boots. That nagging feeling was back in his gut.

She was pliable and obedient, not firing back a response when he asked her to grab shoes for him and roommate. She was back within a moment, handing them silently to the men, her eyes still looking shot. THey weren't the eyes of a human anymore. No human ever looked that soft and weak. She was a prey animal, easy to frighten, easy to kill. He pushed those thoughts out of his head as he followed her into the living room.
The patio was gone, as was half the living room. The roommate's room had caved into the floor below. They stood on the brink of insanity, dawn staining the sky as red as the blood on the landscape before them. His eyes traveled the path he normally took when walking the dog. The concrete was gone in most places, the building across the complex had broken allthe way in half as if God had given it a karate chop. "Chuck Norris," she said softly. He looked to her, but she was still staring out. "Chuck Norris karate chopped it, not God. God isn't here anymore." Had she read his thoughts? He looked back out hearing screams. A woman was emerging from teh rubble. Hell, plenty of people were emerging.

Some were staggering around, as stunned as he seemed to be. Wails rang up of fear and loss. This wasn't suppossed to happen here. Not in the heart of the States. THis was a scene from one of those commercials where you sponsored a kid, a horror film set, a nightmare. It took him a few minutes to realize what he was seeing as a little boy, held to his mother's chest, took a bite out of her neck. The tones of the screams were changing, and the hair on the back of his neck rose up as he heard terror and pain. There were other nosies mixed in, sounds he didn't want to recognize. More people were coming into the complex, running and staggering, not stunned just... not right. They jerked as they moved, head's and limbs twitching. THey tackled the first people they saw, knocking the peole down and tearing into them, teeth and fingers clawing meat from still living bodies.

"Shit," roommate said.

It about summed it up. She looked down on the scene and he watched her profile, watching her as she said, "I feel fine," repeating it over and over to herself softly.

They didn't go down to help the people being attacked. THere would be plenty of time to justify the actions later. Too much danger, not a smart idea, had to stick together, had to stay safe. Plenty of reasons when the reality was that shock and the selfish desire to live had them sit on the edge of their building's floor, watching the action below with silence. They were the judges, and in their hearts was the only place this tragedy could be held and wept over.

She was the first to move again. She picked up one of the pieces of rubble and he noticed for the first time she was bleeding from her plam. She must have scraped it as she'd sat down. Somehow he wanted to mourn for that more than the poeple they'd watch consume other people... who got up to move on in that twitching stride, calling out their rage and their hunger in voices that held no real words. She'd sat down on the floor of their living room, and cut her hands on glass from teh apartments across the complex.

She flicked her wrist and he slowly traced teh fall of the rock with his eyes. It hit the opposite building, and one of teh creatuers screamed, running headfirst into the wall. He wanted to laugh, but he knew if he started now he'd never stop. He'd never be able to push the insanity down inside where it could be handled later.

He looked back to her, and his eyes traced her lips as she formed the word, "Listen." She threw another rock onto the grass and there wasn't any noise. Then another one hit the concrete, rattling it's pathway aloud and the creature followed it again, scraping fingers against the ground to try and find what it was looking for. Listen. They were listening for the people to kill. As soon as he formed the thought she nodded.

"What do we do now?" Roommate asked, his tone quiet.
She looked over to him, "They think that your early ending was all wrong. For the most part their right, but look at how they all got strung."
"That's why I say hey man nice shot?" He asked. SHe turned her gaze way from Roommate and nodded. Now he understood the guns, the backpacks with ammo. "Do you know where we need to go?"

She nodded again, "Now that the smoke's gone and the air is all clear those who were right there got a new kind of fear you'd fight and you were right but they were just to strong."

"So we hole up?" he asked. She nodded again. "You know where?" She nodded and he got to his feet, "Come on then. We'll get going." She took his hand, and he realized suddenly that his hands were bleeding too. Their blood mingled together where she softly kissed their hands and she pulled back to look up at him. Her eyes were still dark but in the now noon day sun, he could see the lines of her face. He knew her like he knew himself, and he traced her cheek.

"You knew this would happen," he said. She nodded, and he said, "You saw it?" She nodded again. She'd been persistant in her belief that when she saw things they weren't hallucinations, they were truth. Chronic insomnia meant she often slept only a handful of hours for every 7 days, pushing in her exhaustion she couldn't see the world for what it was. Now he wondered about that, and he wondered how long she'd been dealing with this grisly overlay to the world they knew. "Do you see more things?" She nodded and he was quiet. "Baby, tell me what you see."

She broke her gaze away from him, then moved close, her lips brushing his ear. "Ouch I have lost myself again Lost myself and I am nowhere to be found, Yeah I think that I might break I've lost myself again and I feel unsafe Be my friend Hold me, wrap me up Unfold me I am small I'm needy Warm me up And breathe me ."

He watched her, the sirens and screams speaking volumes she couldn't, her pale tear-stricken face in front of the smoke streaked sky. There was a connection, he ran through the things she'd said. The light turned on as he smoothed the hair out of her face. "So only song lyrics?" he asked. "That's all you can say?" She nodded, and he pulled her close to him. His heart, his lover, his broken oracle in a broken world.

Love is not enough

2010-08-04T15:10:00.002-07:00

I am really hesitant to post this up, but a few people like it so I decided to. It's something I vaugely remember writing, but I get hit with inspiration around 2-3am so I just end up getting up, pouring out an entire poem, and going back to bed.

Obviously I was raised to believe that love is never enough, it's the other things that are important. Anyone can claim to be in love and many people associate sex with love. I don't. But I've seen the aftermath of those that do, and this if for them, I think.

----Begin----

Love is never enough
so build me a bed out of all those romance novels
where happily ever after is the result
no matter how it's written or hidden behind other words.
Spread the blood that has pumped from every broken heart
that never was mended by love,
saturate the pages
and take the tears that fell from eyes
(eyes like the ocean, eyes like the night sky, eyes like whatever)
that no one stopped with gentle fingers
or kissed away with soft loving lips
and use those tears as lube while you degrade me.
Don't make love to me
fuck me atop it all
record it to put online or show to your friends
that pathetic woman that did whatever you ask,
and when it's over don't give kind words
don't cuddle or touch me and certainly don't utter
false promises of love and caring.
No, take that strike anywhere match
and tear it across my alabaster breast
(the one that had heaved with desire or sobs before,
I can never tell which anymore)
and light that cigarette you'll smoke.
Don't offer me a puff, or false promises of a later call,
just sit and watch me critically in the glow of the ember
and I'll lay there and watch you
compare you to prince charming who never comes
(guess he wasn't so charming after all
punctuality is one of the cornerstones of trust they say)
and you can compare me to those broken dolls of porn stars
perfect bodies belonging to imperfect souls.
We'll part part ways from that blood soaked bed
knowing that if we see each other again
you'll look at me with the disdain of knowing a creature too weak to escape
the memory of all the humiliation I willingly suffered
just for the chance to touch and be touched
writ across your bland and unrecognizing gaze
while I will look at you as that fallen angel
not even pretty enough to be considered 'the son of dawn'.
Like strangers we'll pass by
each pretending not to notice the other
yet judging, ever judging
because that's what passes as happily ever after anymore.
----End----

Contest!

2010-08-02T15:31:00.002-07:00

Something done as fan art for a friend of mine! He's a great artist and does a webcomic located http://forsakenstars.com there. So go see it. Anyone that may be listening... sometimes I feel like if I shout all I'll get is an echo...

Alive Inside

2010-07-13T08:20:00.001-07:00

When I was growing up, I was never a Sesame Street girl, I was a Barney girl. I even had the ill-fated hamster named Zippy like the one on the show, who unfortunately made a bid for freedom in his plastic little ball and got stuck in a divet on the lawn in the Arizona sun, and, I suppose, eventually was free though not in the greatest of ways. It wasn't until I was much older that I saw Sesame Street, or one of those shows for children. All I remember of it was seeing a girl running down a series of hallways, all white, each one the same except for the plain white doors to either side. She eventually chose one and was dropped into the world of the letter N or some other inane place. The image has always stuck with me, an image that represents what is inside my head. I picture my brain as that white plain hallway with twists and turns and branches, doors hiding the thoughts, feelings, and memories I've accumulated inside. Some door aren't meant to be open. Even the therapists I pay way too much to talk to have agreed that some door should remained shut and locked, though I don't know which ones they are. Others are meant to be opened, not by the light of day, but rather in that magical time of night where the hours have stopped climbing their way to midnight and have begun again. A day is born in those quiet hours as I lay in bed wishing and aching for sleep as the man that I love breaths heavily and slowly in my ear, caught up in the world of dreams that somehow skips over me. In those moments, I sometimes find a door, a door that looks for all the world like the rest of them but inside are the moments where I have felt my most alive. The first time a boy touched my hand and not by accident but on purpose as I waited for my dad after school. This door doesn't allow for the heartbreak that came later, or the uncertainty of how far I was willing to go to keep the boy. No, this door only holds those moments of hope. The promise of a gift not yet opened, that magical moment of meeting the eyes of a stranger, that stolen spot in time where somewhere in the hallways I'm screaming that I'm alive, and that being so is a wonderful wonderful thing.

Dominoes

2010-07-12T22:25:00.003-07:00


I never meant for this to happen
  But one touch
           one mistake
   has sent my life spiraling
   in a chain reaction
dominoes  falling
      one 
        by
          one 
in  a spiraling design
only seen from the outside
while I am trapped within
only able to see the destruction
caused by choices 
that seemed like a good idea
  at the time

Suit Up

2010-07-04T22:03:00.006-07:00

Done for someone on my game site. Her character wears a Marti Gras style mask with feathers on the edge, and a jean jacket with the cropped body that was so big in the Iron Age comics.

Deceptive One

2010-06-18T20:42:00.001-07:00

Here you go, something a little more sexual. Inspired by a character I've written for forever, but all grown up. Enjoy!

Sickly Girl!

2010-06-11T13:23:00.002-07:00

So, I've been very ill, throwing up four or five times a day at least for the last four days. I know I should be in the hospital, but I hate those places so I told my love he could take me when I was too weak to fight back. Hasn't happened yet. So here's a rough sketch I've done just to try a new style.

Goddess

2010-05-29T22:56:00.002-07:00

Once again, an image from a game I run in. Here is a picture of a girl who worships and has superhuman powers from the goddess Sekhmet. She is a Goddess of War, fire, and was known to be worshiped through orgies.

A Poem on my need to write

2010-05-12T22:08:00.004-07:00



Dotted i
   crossed t
   hiding in the black and white world

   No tears to blur pages
   isolation and solitude
   in the
               letter
           by
   letter

   protection of verbs
       nouns
           commas
                personification

   my companionable silence
   with a word processor

   protection against the burst
     the explosion
        agony ripping through my  heart
            threatening to release

   onomatopoeia sighs
      desolate adjectives
         Saviors of foreshadowing
         in the ominous silence of the afternoon.

   Comfort me in precision
   shelter me in the victory
   of another word
   another space
   another block
   of the
           tick
           tock
   force of time

   Loneliness.
   Seclusion.

   One more word
   I beg.

Tree Hugger

2010-05-03T16:37:00.003-07:00

So, here's another picture of a girl with a tree. I drew it when I was feeling very depressed, and wished I had one to get strength from. I really like how this turned out. I think she has a unique and pretty face that one could easily find anywhere.

Trees

2010-04-14T07:03:00.002-07:00

I have a fascination of relaxing in trees. Something about nature always calls for me. When I'm really stressed I want to hug a tree. Something about just holding tight to an object that has seen so much, been through so much and is still standing strong... hearing the whisper of wind in the leaves... smelling nature... it's comforting like no person can be.

The Ashtray Girl

2010-04-13T18:36:00.002-07:00

I was trying for some sketches of a girl named Skadi on the game I run in. I like her for being an angry rule-breaker. She was created based on the song "This Picture" by Placebo.
They lyrics are below and bolded with some of the keywords that helped create the character.

"This Picture"

I hold an image of the ashtray girl
Of cigarette burns on my chest
I wrote a poem that described her world
And put our friendship to the test
And late at night
Whilst on all fours
She used to watch me kiss the floor
What's wrong with this picture?
What's wrong with this picture?

Farewell the ashtray girl
Forbidden snowflake
Beware this troubled world
Watch out for earthquakes
Goodbye to open sores
To broken semaphore
You know we miss her
We miss her picture

Sometimes it's fated
(We) Disintegrated it
For fear of growing old
Sometimes it's fated
(We) Assassinated it
For fear of growing old

Farewell the ashtray girl
Angelic fruitcake
Beware this troubled world
Control your intake
Goodbye to open sores
Goodbye and furthermore
You know we miss her
We miss her picture

Sometimes it's fated
(We) Disintegrated it
For fear of growing old
Sometimes it's fated
(We) Assassinated it
For fear of growing old

Hang on
Though we try
It's gone
Hang on
Though we try
It's gone

Sometimes it's fated
(We) Disintegrated it
For fear of growing old
Sometimes it's fated
(We) Assassinated it

Sketchbook1

2010-04-06T16:26:00.002-07:00

Here is a page from my sketchbook. I quickly blocked out the image from the next page. She'll be up some other time

Burning Airships

2010-04-02T15:48:00.004-07:00

I have always been fascinated with Airships, and have vowed to write a novel about one. Here is an excerpt inspired by watching a special on the burning of the Zeppelin. In my world airships are aplenty, and this one is not taken down by a lack of scientific knowledge, but instead by foul play.
***
The ship burned and Fiona diesperately held onto the edge, a scream tearing from her throat. She had to jump. She would perish in the flames if she didn’t.
“No!” Matt shouted, he wrapped an arm around her waist. “Wait!”
She held onto hiim as if her life depended on it. Indeed, it might. The flames roared closer and she shook in his arms, shaking the embers from her skirt before simply tearing it away to reveal her petticoats. “Now?” she cried.
Matt was watching the ground tear closer, intensity writ across his features. “No!”
Fiona looked over the edge, her eyes widening as she cowered backwards. The ground was coming too quickly. They would be eaten away by the fire, or crushed to death on the earth she’d craved during this journey.
“Now!” He grabbed her and jumped without waiting for her consent. They plummeted, her skirts whipping around them before tumbling to the ground and rolling. She was on her feet in a moment, tuggint Matt to his feet. He clutched her hand and for a moment she simply focused on the pretty white lace on her pale skin, and the rough contrast against his tanned and calloused hand. “Come on!” He shouted, yanking her out of her thoughts and almost off her feet.
She ran beside him. Not the lady like trot she’d been taught, but the ground eating gallop she’d enjoyed as a child. They raced beneath the burning bohemeath. She could feel pieces of it landing on her skin, burning as she cried out. Matt looked at her in terror as the petticoats caught on fire. He yanked her to the river and they both dove under. She reached for the bottom, her fingers tracing the soft silt before her lungs were screaming for air. Pushing off the mud with heeled button up boots, she clawed back to the surface, breaking the surface with gasping shaking lungs. She turned as the crash of the ship hitting the ground shook the surface of the water. There were screams of terror and she stroked her way to the muddy bank.
“We have to go,” Matt said. He appeared out of nowhere, helping her to her feet. They were both covered in the murky water. “They’ll be looking for you.”
“Right,” Fiona said. “We have to run.” She cut loose more of her petticoats, and stepped out of them. He nodded and took her hand. She’d lost the lace glove. Now in the flickering light of the burning ship, her hand and his were the same silty color. Golden eyes met Green as he began to run. She once more took stride beside him as they left their lives behind.
**End**

Blah de blah de blah

2010-03-29T22:11:00.001-07:00

Two images I drew without any references. I've been feeling so blah and depressed, and this is what came of it.

The Hush Sound

2010-03-26T13:41:00.003-07:00

One of my all time favorite bands is the Hush Sound. They have one song that I would love to know the subject of. Who is it that inspired the lyrics?

First my picture

And now the full lyrics

"That's Okay"

You were a child who was made of glass
You carried a black heart passed down from your dad
If somebody loved you, they'd tell you by now
We all turn away when you're down

You want to go back to where you felt safe
To hear your brother's laughter,
See your mother's face
Your childhood home is just down to white bones
And you'll never find your way back

And when you're gone, will they say your name?
And when you're gone, will they love you the same?
If not, that's okay.
If not, that's okay.

You are broken and callow
Cautious and safe
You are a boundless and beauty
With fright in your face
Until someone loves you,
I'll keep you safe
But like them, I will give you away

And when you're gone, will they say your name?
And when you're gone, will they love you the same?
If not, that's okay.

And when you're gone, will they say your name?
And when you're gone, will they love you the same?
Oh, when you're gone, we won't say your word
But you know that's okay.
Don't you know that's okay?

Steampunk Dreams

2010-03-24T11:25:00.009-07:00

Sorry I've been gone so long. I've been fighting the blah-ness. Finally though, I have scanned some work in. I also have some of my sketchbook pages to show you in the upcoming days. Thank God my beau bought me a new scanner. This one is much much better than the old one!

I have always loved the steampunk visuals. Here is a new picture and some older ones that I've done.

This is one of my favorite sketches. She seems so badass and devious at the same time. She'll take your money to show you around, and will convinently lift your wallet and leave you in the bad side of town.

This is one of my favorites as well. I had this image, and shut off the world to draw it in under 20 minutes. It's one of the first times I really had an image come out exactly how I pictured it.

This is Mallory. She's a badass, protector of the savior, and leader of the resistance. She's the main character of a webcomic I thought up, but haven't followed through on.

And finally, this is a gift to my good friend. He has a great comic going on called Forsaken Stars . She isn't a character from the story, but I was inspired by his concept to draw her, and of course give her to him. (That sounds like I run a whore house or something, doesn't it. Ha!)

Tick Tock

2010-03-14T00:17:00.003-07:00

I can't use my sketchbook right now. Sometimes I get suddenly very picky and have to get a new one. This one has perfect paper, but it's all coming out. It's annoying! Anyway, I always have a lot of interest in the whole zombie thing. I am always working on stories about it. One of these days, I'll write a noel, I swear. For now here's a scene I often thought of at 11pm when I was walking across campus. My theory is that zombies will hunt using sound. A clock tower would be the perfect place to hide, and to use to synchronize your movements. Consider this a quick sketch of a much larger story.

***
10. 9. 8. She stood perched on the edge of the rooftop. Brown hair cut into a choppy, curly bob ruffled in the wind. 7.6. 5. She was poised for action in knee high boots, knee pads, jeans, a tank top with a jean jacket over the top, gloves, and a hockey mask. Her heart raced as she pulled on the mask. 4.5.2. The clock in the middle of campus began to chime. 1.
She dropped off the edge of the roof, her gloved hands losely holding onto the railing of the fire escape. She landed hard on her toes and ran. She had to make it. She had to. The song chimed loudly and people began to run toward the clock. Snarling, bloody, drooling. These people were dressed in torn and bloodly clothing. Chunks of skin and sometimes even limbs were missing. It was a nightmarish stampede. They didn’t look from side to side, they didn’t notice her running with them. Their attention was on the chiming clock alone. She only had a few seconds left before she’d be in trouble. She lunged upward, her hands landing on the trunk of a car as she vaulted her body upwards. She scrambled nto the roof and jumped just as the chiming stopped. She wasn’t going to make it.
A hand grasped her by the risk and she looked into the grinning face of Max. “Took you long enough,” he grunted. The rage filled screams of the infected sounded as Max lifted her up to the second floor terrace. She leaned against him and shook. Another surivor was on his way, but the infected swarmed him. There were screams, the putrid scent of decaying flesh, but all she could concentrate was on the heartbeat in her ears and the feel of Max’s arms around her.
“You made it,” he said with a grin.
She took off the hockey mask, “I haven’t done anything yet.” She hugged Max, “But we made it together. Now all we have to do is get out of the city.”An explosion vibrated through the air from a few blocks away, a common enough thing that it was easy to ignore. They hugged one another against the backdrop of smoke, car alarms, and the intermittent screams of a city being destroyed.
**End**

Friendliness

2010-03-11T07:37:00.005-07:00

I've always found the relationship between women to be interesting. To me, it seems like flirting with a guy means treating him like you do your best girl friend. These two pictures are of a pair of characters in a game I play in. They're the type of girls that like to touch and be close to one another. The kind that guys think are probably lesbians, or at least bi. The kind of girls that inspire a lot of fantasies. Of course, it doesn't take much to inspire a fantasy!

This is the newest one I have done of them.

This is an older version. I tried to do the new one with a little more realism, as this one seems a bit to anime-ish for my tastes.

Poems

2010-03-09T19:26:00.004-07:00

Here are some poems I've written lately. I used to write a lot of poetry, but for some reason I stopped. I suppose I felt like I wasn't communicating my point. I started out as a poet, and then went to prose, so I'm kind of glad I'm heading back to my roots.

****
Susie says she's never been in love
but every night she sits by her window
staring at stars he's staring at too
(laying back while a nymph rides him)
thinking of the love she's searching for
in all the wrong places
with all the wrong people,
hoping skin to skin contact
will bring love like osmosis.
All the while he thinks of porn
naked pictures of hopeless girls
staring into the lens with empty eyes
touching themselves with numb hands
remembering the twisted affection
that smelled like hope
wishing for a chance
to return to a bedroom
staring at stars
dreaming of falling in love
**End**

She was born with a hole inside her
Invisibile but there, it's true.
She felt like a ghost of a person
and vowed to fix her wound.

It began with objects and bobbles
first toys and dolls and clothes
They did nothing to make it better
instead the hole seemed to grow

Then she discovered the boys
with words so nice and sweet
finally, she thought, a solution
they must have what she needs

She let them touch and own her
she gave them whatever they want
her body, her time, her worth
living the life of bon vivant

Time passed by slowly
and the hole, it still grew
Instead of loved and cherished
she knew instead she was used

She was born with a hole in side her
invisible but there, it's true
She lived as the ghost of a person
never to fix her wound
**End**

"Nothing ever changes" she says aloud
for no real reason, except to watch
the words rise high into the sky like hopes.
she's suppossed to have them, she knows
She's 21 and has a whole life ahead of her,
a taut young body and a bright young mind,
and memories, those damn memories
that rot her out from the inside.

Drawings

2010-03-06T02:04:00.007-07:00

Here are some of my drawings. I'll put more up as time goes by.

This was a sketch completed in class. Due to a chronic illness, my hips always hurt. It's like someone has a knife burning hot and has stuck it in my hip, turning it without mercy.

This was a gift to a friend who was dealing with the aftermath of rape. I know how it feels to know you've been violated, and what it is like to wonder if you will ever really have your entire body back. Some part goes with them. Some part of you dies.

I have always been fascinated by the handfasting ceremony. In my wedding we did a braiding ceremony, and I loved it. But the image of two hands tied together is very symbolic of what marriage should be, I think. That way you never lose the one you love, and you always can give a comforting squeeze or recieve one yourself.

Beginnings

2010-03-06T01:39:00.009-07:00

This is the beginning of the blog a few people have asked for *coughcoughRobcoughcough* I hope to be able to put of my artwork and writing for people to view and enjoy. To start you off and take all the fun out of things, here's a short story I wrote today.
***
PRETTY AS A PICTURE

“Can I take your picture?” he asked, a cigarette sticking to his lip through the words. The girl seated on the step didn’t respond. She was skinny, he noted with the clinical eye of a professional photographer. He wasn’t trained to see beauty, but instead flaws. He notded the broken doll look of long legs clad in torn nylons and too long to be really good looken. She held herself awkwardly, the slender stretch of one arm around her knee and the other resting beside her seemed to dissapear into the infinity of exposed flesh. Bruises were nestled into the crook of both arms. She must be new to this, he mused, to not be hiding the track marks on her feet or anywhere else that wasn’t at first sight. “Miss,” he said, almost choking on the word. As if this specimin of the sludge of humanity qualified as a miss. “You’re pretty, can I take your picture?”
She looked up, startled at his words. Now he had the chance to see the bruise that marked her face, obviously from a fist. Makeup was caked over the top, but she didn’t have the delicate hand or eye to apply it in any workable fashion. Her hair was clean, though a very bad dye job had the bottom an unnatural platinum with black roots grown out to 4 inches at least and her body was narrow for lack of meals, collar bones sticking out above the flimsy tank top like handles. She had no bra on, but not enough breasts to make that matter really. She was alreay miles of bad road, and he was certain she wasn’t even old enough to buy a smoke yet.
“Miss,” he said in a more demanding tone, “Can I take your picture? I’ll give you as much as you charge for a handjob.”
She blinked, the street light obscuring eyes the color of emeralds. She smiled, the Garish red lipstick parting to show front teeth stained with the same color. She needed braces. She needed a bath. She probably needed the money for whatever asshole beat the shit out of her or for more drugs to shove into her veins.
“You really think I’m pretty?” she asked. Her voice surprised him. It was low and melodic, bringing to mind images of those old black and white movies with the woman in the tight dress that spelled trouble. He wondered for a moment if she’d ever had a chance to see those movies. Not now, surely.
“Sure, whatever. Can I take your picture?” he flicked ten bucks down to glass littered ground by the too-large sneakers she wore. She picked it up and looked at him. “You really think I’m pretty?”
He sighed. Obviously she was as smart as she was pretty. Her IQ matched her shoe size. She wasn’t playing with a full deck. More phrases danced through his mind as he forced a smile. “Yeah.”
She returned the smile and he flashed the picture of her sitting there, the money still in one hand. “No one calls me pretty… not anymore. Jack used to but he died… we came here together to start over like and he got sick… I don’t know if its right keepin him alive but… he was the only one who ever thought I was pretty… I just hope he’ll wake up. I just want to her him say it one more time… ” her voice faded and he snapped a picture. This time she had the look he was going for. Desperation, sadness, the sort of things a hooker should look like.
“Whatever. You got your money.” He started to walk away, already searching for the next picture that would scream anguish enough to propel him into fame.
“Do you really think I’m pretty?” she called out, tears were dragging the mascara down her cheeks. She rubbed at it with the back of her hand, smearing it across her skin. He didn’t answer. He walked away, leaving her with the rest of the trash in the alleyway, already forgotten.
**End**
Sometimes when people take my picture, or sketch me, I leave feeling empty and used. It's as if they take some part of me with them and I spend the next few minutes wondering what part is gone. Is it important? Will I miss it? And always in my head is the question of just why they took it.

Thanks to Rob for showing me the format I'm posting in wasn't very user friendly.