meanwhile on the ground...

so i finally cleared my head and made time and my best friend from forever, lisa and i talked for 2-1/2 hours on saturday and it was like coming home.

i have no art ideas and no inclination to do any more epic projects after the brutal financial failure of monster girl media's book publishing venture and my recent book, "the girl must die."

the postcards? they don't even rate and they're fucking amazing.

so i'm done. dried up on the "art to share with the world" front. i've been trying to come up with some idea to care about enough to learn animation or even just to do a still drawing, and i just don't CARE about pictures or art anymore. i've nothing to say, to plead, to convince.

(this clog is just a journal. a spittoon)

every non-sofa-artist who gives a damn gets to this place at some point and now i laugh at how i used to try to talk kris kovick into writing again and getting out of her garden. 

for what?

i see that i'm now living the look she had in her eyes when she'd indulge me. i wanted to change the world and was so young. 

anyhow, i've got enough scraps of ideas to leaf through for clues or inspiration, and what's weird is that back a couple of years when i was writing "the girl must die" in email form to brad wyman, 

i got this other idea that was part 2 of the script, "all witnesses eventually die," about a post apocalyptic biker girl gang in search for the other half. (this was further fleshed out and inspired by kamala lopez and me splitting)

"revenge of the starlets" was related to legends and kitten lopez and it came at me in snippets and i loved it.

but it'll always be in my head and i'm perfectly fine with that because it's best there, anyhow.

my point is that what i often write about as a faery tale comes true for me.

and right now i feel like i'm coming back together with the most intense females of my life.

laura pasik had said she worried more about the women who are 49 and don't know where to go next with this woman thing. 

and i actually agreed. 

so i'm going to be in the background again--

i'm collaborating with a group of women at the gym, and i'm making them my artistic subjects so that i can focus on their fierce and erotic superhero beauty and bring out what i see that may be latent.

i'm going to use our leo birthday time (we take july-sept now) to use at a deadline for taking superhero fierce photos and i'll also do pen art off of them. 

it's a riff off the kitten lopez holiday series i've done here where i post vaginas as full slices of pie (with the fur on 'em so you can remember and CELEBRATE what grown women look like once a year).

anyhow, it's funny that i feel young again and famished to go out and play after years and years of hustling and working. now that i see i've done all i can do with my art and i'll let it stand as it is, however secret it may be. 

as a colored woman, i know that it's only precious to me and my 17 fans. and that's fine.

but what's also precious to me before i leave this earth is to have the love affair of a lifetime.

so that's my next "project."

i don't indulge in love affairs as a working artist because they take as much work as an epic art endeavour if you do it right. 

so i'd relegated my affairs to box lunches.

but

to be a proper lover is like an olympic sport to me.

i stretch, prepare, train, to be the best, most possible open lover i can be.

i make the time. prepare the body. the mind. the pocketbook. the schedule.

because you don't eat another person over the sink like a can of beans.

so just like lisa's always magic,

she says to me:

"you'll never guess who i got back in touch with..."

and i couldn't. 

it was my first guy. 

i haven't seen or heard of him since i was 12 or 13.

he was sooo fucking hot and sweet. 

he's the one who started my love of fucking on the floor because lisa's brother's bed springs were making so much noise, the women i wrote about in "the girl must die" (too terrified to use names now that i'm back in touch with folks because i DID get in trouble--big trouble--with james for using his real name and writing about our intimate life. he didn't care as long as he didn't KNOW my friends before. uh oh. he was really, really angry. so i can't write about what i do with james anymore now)

anyhow, those two women would stand below the bed in their apt, and laugh, and kid me about it later. 

so the next time was on the floor.

and i left my first guy that morning and went off with another guy to do errands and never talked to him again i was so overwhelmed with the whole daytime affection thing. 

anyhow, he's the only man i ever left in worse condition than when i got him and i didn't know how to fix it.

even then, i was so ashamed, i decided to never ever even kiss a very nice man unless i could follow through emotionally in some way. 

i couldn't until james came along. 

and i realized that's why i'd never been with fat men.

because they're romantic and sweeter. 

i needed jumpy meat dogs i didn't have to take care of for long.

but that's lisa. she's magic. 

because he's the only other man besides The Snakefucker that i'd be interested in right now.

i want a do-over!

that's the first thing i wanted to say after lisa said, "and he looks the same to me."

black men never age. 

here's me at 12, how i looked back then... (this is someone else's house--where we used to go be ourselves as kids)

and here's my german grandma, gertrude "fritzi", with her crabby high school sweetheart from rochester that she married when she was about 80 or so. he and i didn't like each other very much. he was into crap and knowing one's place. it made his ears red when he'd hear how i talked about business with my sense of entitlement. when he was a kid, he said he was glad to get the respect of the rich guy with a driver. it was too "step n' fetchit" for me.

(i'm showing you these photos because they were on the same thing as my above shot of me and when i was with a secular jewish ceramicist into dead things floating in formaldehyde who broke up with me because his parents didn't like that i wasn't white. i sat bolt upright in bed, laughed and bitterly said "i'm as white as YOU!")

and here's my mom when she was working. she also re-fell in love with her first high school girl crush and they've recently hooked up and live in san diego, i hear.

i'm showing you how WHITE i really am. many jewish people seem blacker than me.

i didn't mean to make this a post about revisiting former loves because i've never done that before. as the last to leave the room and the way i mourn until there's not a spec of longing left, i'm usually return-proof.

but my first one? he's one of my big regrets. i'd even beg his woman for a re-do if he has a woman.

awhile back when i noticed i couldn't actually fuck anyone else, i thought i was cleansing myself and saving myself to be open and available for The Snakefucker, but who knows?

this is what i mean.

you never fucking know what will happen. who will step up or forward when you refuse to cave and hold out for your own good story.

i'm a total sucker for a good story. the kind of story that'd make me smile in my old age in my rocking chair.

so i wrote him the most apologetic letter i could. because i'm very sorry. i regret nothing i've done or been, but i always will regret truly hurting people needlessly, senselessly. those shames never go away.

whatever happens, it's still unbelievable to me that i even GET to write him an apology letter because i do think of him often as his revenge is that he's my TYPE now. tall, brown, athletic, and able to pin my hands over my head and fuck hard.

i love all bodies and differences, but as writer guy matt bright said, "your first one imprints a type on you like you're a baby chick seeing your mom for the first time."

i paraphrase because he's a real writer and would say it way better than me.

but life is getting adventurous again. superhero biker girls riding through san francisco during the apocalypse and sodomizing techie waif guys with their own magic phones.

charlie sheen, baby, i'm COUNTING on you. you started your tantrums on purpose to see what you could shake up and wring out of them. you're not dead, not done. if you do this right, you're only at the beginning. don't let them cheese you out.

you're huge. not just in that movie star way. fuck that. that's candy. i mean big like protein, feasts of MEAT--big in that artist, mystic way. you're brad wyman's friend. one barely has to even look at your provenance with him at your side.

you're stepping up to how you want to be a father to many. lead. play. love. you're huge. push. keep pushing... you're stepping up to your real destiny as a courageous artist, man, father. something's going on and you all smelled it early. you're just the kind of canaries that tell people to go fuck themselves instead of singing sweetly before you die.

and for that i thank you.

i know the pain and insanity. make it your friend. the answers are there.
if you've got wyman, just tie a rope to him like i did once.

and godspeed. whatever that means. it seems like that's what you say to people before they go onto epic journeys and battles.

e