We can know the familiar journey, the story, the way—
and see the ending, so predictable, so familiar, so comforting,
yet still enjoy the winding way we get there.
a meeting of minds
6” X 10”, watercolour and pen and ink on paper
Backing the MR. BAD EXAMPLE campaign is sexxxy!This campaign is designed to bring my new book, Mr. Bad Example, to the readers. Money raised will go into book signing/reading events, travel cost & promotion!
Check out my friend Travis’ event!
What vulnerability, what flaw
do I possess
that lets you
drag me to your depth,
that makes me
unable
to resist
the touch
of your
come-hither finger?
ah, she said, that is the trumpet.
shall I play for you?
she picked it up and suddenly was no longer
the old woman in the chair with the doilies;
she was a young girl
entranced by jazz
and possibility.
At the beginning of this year, my schedule got fucked up and I got shoved into an interior design class. At first, I was like, “Ok, it’ll be a new experience for me.” Later on in the year I wanted to just kill everyone in the class.
First off, I’m the only guy in a class of about 10-15 girls….
Great points. However, there are women (women not girls) who don’t gossip. But I feel your pain. I work in a facility where the employees act like they are in junior high.
AMY SCHISSEL. CYBERFIELDS, 2 OF 9 PANELS, 2012, ACRYLIC, INK, CHARCOAL, MIXED MEDIA ON PAPER (with detail views)
This is gorgeous.
Lotus-Eater
I could never be a lotus-eater, lying indolent on the rocks,
listening to the siren’s call.
I have, however, been indulgent and languishing,
but not dangerously comatose, forswearing all movement
in a sweet inertia; submerged in the sun, swishing my tail
With the beat of the wave against the stones.
Rolling, undulating, sighing with the doldrum nothingness
Of mermaid scales flashing in the sun,
(No siren calls louder than my own hungers)
I have none of the genes of addiction to time’s vacuum, the drowsy slide
into moments which become an eternity of doing nothing,
of rolling endlessly and forever in the arms of Morpheus.
Epiphany—
I suppose what I have been
is my own siren, calling out,
drowning
submerging
any ambition
to move forward…
jeanmichelle finished 5-1-13
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