A Feeling I Didn’t Have Today, Toxic Ink Painting Archive



Life is too hard for me. I can’t be the only one. Does no one outgrow the pain? The pressure? The fear. The loathing. Las Vegas. I seem to be turning into something else, and I have little control – too much control – but goddamn, none at all. I don’t do anything particularly well at all, except this existence thing. Of that, I am very, very…I can’t believe I am rooted in some kind of reality. To tell myself anything else is a lie. The cost of living on the edge, near the veil, so you can be closer to (or is it look from a higher-up perspective! A “better” perspective means one with more complication, more involvement, but a “truer” reality because it contains more “facts”.

I wish I were better at choosing, focusing, staying still for longer periods of time. Shit, I’m fucking down today. Still, yes, it was life I lived today. I know better to know I’m at a place, at a curve, on a cycle of a long-running perpetual-motion machine. I’m just floating along here. I really fucked a lot of things up. There were things that I could have lived differently. But am I just down on myself? After all, at the end of it all I would say it was unique, and human, and not really vague at all. Full of many a Jennifer who would both cause and solve trouble, a Jenny who sat on Santa’s lap; a Jen who did everything with very little and became a magical psychic demon/angel, just like she always thought she might be. But then, I’ve been a lot of people.

Fun question: If all of your personality traits, your ego, how others would describe you, what would your society look like?

My love of this song makes me question “Am I Lesbienne?”
When I listen to myself, I feel like I have the best friend. That’s either incredibly healthy, or psycho unhealthy.

The Bloody Shed

Having been forced to take 2 weeks off has been really good for me. Essentially, I suffer from having too much stuff. A common problem, I know. Carefully, and siding with caution, am I ridding myself of the things to be rid of. This is the theme of my fucking life. The theme won’t change until I’m done, but I will not be black and white about it. I’m being patient with “yes, this. no, that”. I have all the time I want/need to decide, to photograph mentally and physically before preceding with literal shedding. Stuffed animals, miniatures, broken instruments. Things once on high shelves, now in boxes. Things once touched daily, a long-lost, new-found emergence of emotion both shallow and deep from the lakes and oceans of history. Once loud and ringing now revisited as a silent film, colorless and off.

I think about painting every day – naturally, too. It is rising up in the lake of me, as if it has been pushed down by my own oars as I row crazily every day at work, online, in contact with people I spend my time with. More than writing, which I love to do for fun and for freedom, I wish I could be a painter. There’s this painting I started a few years ago – it’s just the background of a green wash on a collage of medical pages and ink drops on top of that, a suggestion of grasses by way of black paint strokes. That’s all, but it’s always been loved by me and then hung on a wall and mentally left behind. Now, I have visions for its further purpose. I hope I can get to it before Outside me gets hold of me again. I hope I get laid off, secretly I hope I lose my job so I can stay home for the rest of this summer or at least a little while. Just some time to stand in the abyss of me and see what arises. Yes, this is my wish. AlsosupergratefulIstillhaveajob.

Row row row my boat, gently as I scream

The size of this is about 11×17″, I guess. I’ve always envisioned a skull floating inside of this, but I am also seeing the profile of a younger woman’s face, eyes closed, mouth slightly open, facing to the right. I’m not sure. I can play around.

True Story: Premonition of My Death In January

Walking out of a Michael’s shop with Adam a bit over 2 months ago, I had an instant knowing of something about my death. I even wrote it in my journal, not really comprehending what fears and possibilities the world was about to catch up to. How much of a relief and release it would be for me to re-read and remember this amazing gift. Letting go of my own fear has freed me to care about and for other people around me and to be one who stays conscious of facts and scientific truths, etc.

It’s good.
Cumulative Cases; New Cases; Cumulative Deaths.

My sites for Stats:

Our World In Data

Best site for constantly updating stats for the U.S. (and Canada). Can see state by state and county by county. Useful links.