Showing posts with label Art. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Art. Show all posts

Thursday, August 31, 2017


Expansion is a curious subject for a wide variety of people.  Expansion calls for a variety of interpretation. Expansion is the sole vision of the one who has it. So what is the cause call and reckoning for this action verb? Expansion has business implications, personal implications, and societal implications.  But what is expansion actually. 

Like most things in this life under the human gaze and perception it functions like a story. As pattern recognizing creatures the pattern we are most familiar with is story. Often human beings adapt to visual and sensory stimulus with explanation. Indeed all of the structures of society, language, social norms, sense of wrong doing is from an established pattern pulled from stories created by human minds.  So they have limitations. They must make logical sense and sometimes logical sense has a very limited perception and almost none of the facts. 

As fallible creatures we have no choice but to function in a limited perception based ideology. The hardest thing for a human mind to give up is a pattern once it is accepted as fact and universal law.  This is why religion still factors so highly as well as perceptions on gender, race and socialization. No matter how advanced the society its failure bursts forth from the same spring. Misunderstanding and false patterns.

These patterns revolve around the relationship with assumed power and brilliance based on wealth. As beings that have a list of actual needs to enable life the principle of wealth has always held sway in human hearts and minds.  Wealth in its purest intent is there to remove chains and provide freedom.  Often the wealthy find that their wealth just becomes an even harder set of chains to break than their previous condition. Freedom in its purest form is usually anonymity.  True wealth from having nothing at all. Yet our patterns tell us that there must be merit in wealth. Merit in achieving and attaining. The wealthy themselves take on the role as superior human as they use assets to back ideologies mankind has wanted to believe in forever. In an attempt to validity their claims and ideas they attempt to shape the world as a safe.  In both phrase and actuality.

The nature of nature is balance and flow. When imbalances occur we call them natural disasters. Volcanoes from too much pressure, hurricanes from imbalances of air and heat. Stories tell me a story. Stories have a beginning, a middle and an end.  A decent story makes you feel something. A great story inspires you to build your own stories.

Saturday, October 15, 2016

Gallery of Past Art: Herself Myself

Today's piece is Herself Myself

I've always experienced a sense of duality within myself. Its a study of masks and how we portray ourselves in the world and what is true within ourselves. Needless to say I believe identity is and should be an ongoing pursuit for all people. In many ways my writing confronts this on another level. However before my pen became mature enough to relate this, my art always seemed to encapsulate what I needed to express.

Herself Myself was started as a rough pencil sketch that I then fleshed out with chalk pastels. 

In this self portrait both women are me. This is the face I show the world, brash foreword facing exposed and unapologetic in the stance.

The other is the hidden me who is afraid vulnerable hiding behind the other and sorry for even existing, always striving for perfection knowing its utter impossible and unattainable nature.

Saturday, October 8, 2016

Gallery of Past Art: Enchantress

I've been called a bit of a Renaissance woman. I've dabbled in as much art as humanly possible.  The art I feel most compelled to create however is writing. But I'm not immune to my first art which was drawing and painting. Over the course of the next few weeks I'm going to share some of my favorite pieces:


Enchantress was drawn with ebony pencil and colored pencil. I only wanted brief bits of color to highlight the mostly black and white space.

The hardest thing to capture was this look on her face. I needed it to be focused and drawing low lidded eyes was my biggest challenge.

I took extra time and effort to try and get the shadowing just right. The play of light on her face, neck to try and reveal the tendons and plans created by human anatomy.

Although it can't be seen in the photograph when this work was hung at my Senior show it was placed under an angled light so the sparkle of glitter I placed at  the lit points was visible.

Tuesday, September 20, 2016

Endless Night

In my next book after 'So a Psychic and Rocket Scientist Walk into a Bar' called 'Shuttered Vision' one of the large installation paintings that my female lead Fiona paints is called Endless Night and it is a painting of my male lead Colan's personal nightmare hellscape. I wrote this about someone I'll always love after I wrote the first few pages regarding his hell.

I think of you when the lights go down
In the shadows I feel you smile
Dark and burning with lavacious delight
You beckon me close, my endless night

The walls they peel with falling light
Tearing through their normal plight
The world I see is built for flight
You hold me close, my endless night

The scene is bathed in black and red
All that survived the death was the bed
Dizzy I am from the staggering sight
Here we are again, my endless night

Time is lost as the world shifts
The tug, the pull, the burn are gifts
Into this place free from all sight
Never let me go, my endless night

Thursday, July 21, 2016

Make Mine a Heel Post Mortem

Growing up in Texas there were two things that a lot of people did religiously.  Watch football and wrestling. My first wrestling event wasn’t on TV.  The first time I saw professional wrestling was live at the now defunct Sportatorium in downtown Dallas. It was World Class Championship Wrestling. I cried the whole time cause I thought people were really being hurt.  That certainly made the experience itself pretty memorable.  My mother told me right then and there it hurts some, but they aren’t as badly hurt as they make out.  So then I was fascinated by it because I wanted to understand how you could fake that stuff.  My little brother and I would watch religiously, and yes sometimes we did very unfortunate things to each other in misguided reenactments.

My love for football came later as I grew up enough to actually understand the mechanics of the game.  I think it’s a very interesting analogy.  I hated football right up until the moment I understood it.  I think a lot of life is like that.

The character of Dominique ‘Dangerous’ Dutton was originally created years ago as I participated in a play by mail wrestling promotion one of my friends was running.  I loved it because once a month I could sit, and plot out the comings and goings of my wrestling stable called Bad Company. Thanks to my ability to write a ‘mile a minute mouth’ head heel and four flunkies, Bad Company had the entire roster after them, and the top dogs of a sister promotion. With this paper testing done I figured had he been real, he would’ve gotten a rise out of anyone. So when I decided to write a wrestling romance novel it just all came together.

It was a dare I gave myself to write a viable novel about 2 things I enjoy so much I never want to try and live without them. Make Mine a Heel was a project and writing of pure love. It even has a muse that I dedicated it to if you read the book. But it wasn't just the dedication or the love of something like wrestling. It is a love letter not just to athletes of the sports I feature but to the people in the background often behind the scenes that have accepted roles people would assume are less glamorous but are not by any means less important. Its about a function and process.

Love is always hard to convey. Especially when something lives and breathes in you. I often find myself defending wrestling from the 'fake' naysayers. I argue so is most entertainment does that really take away from what you are seeing, what you are feeling?  I don't think so. I wanted to write something that gave a different perspective of the sport. One that highlighted many of the things that fans and none fans alike take for granted when thinking of this type of performer and professional. As a lifelong artist I know what it is to have your life's blood not respected. So I hoped to be able to use one of my passions to highlight and honor someone else's.

I feel like I have a decent amount in common with most people in the professional wrestling business. I have those childhood memories of watching wrestling and being obsessed with it. I developed an a true love for storytelling and physical expression. I also create art and it all has a base in the divine. We all are telling a story of some kind. I wanted this story to do the business justice but I could only do so from a limited fan perspective as I have never been so bold as to wrestle myself or be very close to someone who did or does for a living. So I always hoped my love letter to the business would be received as that and not undermine or disrespect what for me has always been something I've had the utmost respect for. I could gush about professional wrestling indefinitely but I don't want to bore you. So please grab read and enjoy.

Available in ebook from the following venders: Barnes & Noble, Amazon, Smashwords, Goodreads

Thursday, April 7, 2016

Learning to Not be Ruled by Genre

It is a long road that I believe never truly ends.  That road is that of a writer when finding their voice.  The best of the best say that the most important part of this journey is the journey.  No matter what never stop writing. For many writers that is almost like saying never stop breathing.  But as an asthmatic I can tell you that breathing is not always a guarantee. And over the years my writing has come and gone like a breath in some instances. Whiffed away without any hesitation or thought. My well seemingly run very dry.

However my mind still swam with scenarios of unfulfilled passions and desires. The human spirit needs passion and desire.  Creation is as much a part of living as the breathing and the beating. Most seem to not notice that life is nothing if not a lesson in sheer natural brutality. The elements that make us up crammed together in clumps and fits.  Our very systems demand the use of words like force, beat, move. As they say the struggle is real. And it is a struggle.  Nothing worth having has ever been born politely. It comes in a haze of blood, sweat, and tears screaming its battle cry ready to be heard, listened to and engaged. Life does not ask for the fight, life demands it. So the only failure is in trying to deny the fight. Because then you are truly denying life.

When I decided I wanted to try my hand as a writer I was sure that I wanted to write romance. I had a game plan like I normally do. I wanted to start as a romance writer then move into more science fiction or fantasy. As offensive as the thought is I was young and foolish enough to believe romance writing was an easier place to start. I was very very foolish years ago. As many know the genre is not well thought of by literature critics. However I dare to say that writing romance may be even harder because of how it is thought of.

It reminds me of professional wrestling in a lot of ways.  The trick to professional wrestling is that there is no trick. Its hard work, dedication to a goal and a performance. It eats up life because the only way to get better like with any craft is to continue to hone it. And yet it is not very well thought of by many people who view it as fake.  In many ways similar to how some authors view genre writers. The analogy forces me to think about the limitations provided just by perception. Because the barriers are not one sided.  All are affected by the perception and the need to justify it. As human beings we love balance and we like to know the answer. We subconsciously lean to a lie of perception as much as we may lean to the truth. Just as there is no way to convince gravity to stop working for a wrestler, there is no way to easily construct a palpable endearing emotion laden first kiss for a romance author. It is a sport of conditioning, practice, and training.  The road is long and the culmination is to tell the perfect story.

I now know that there is no such thing as an easy writing. The quality writing, the change the world stuff is a labor of intense love, commitment and selfless devotion. It is staying up all night to finish the most crucial scene you have ever written.  But they all are aren’t they? And the answer is yes, every single one IS the most crucial scene you have ever written.

I was given the advice that my heart knew was true before it was even given.  Write what you love. I started writing because of love, I write about love.  But I was looking for the trick, I was asking gravity to stop working for a moment. Sometimes in a craft you get completely immersed in your tools instead of the art giving the tool the power. It becomes about fitting in, coloring in the lines and less about expressing your unique voice. The truth is the man behind the curtain is in fact just a man.  A man dedicated and committed enough to an idea that he was able to convince the world he was an all-powerful wizard. He went outside of genre, outside what the limitations of a man should be.  In the process he stopped allowing his tools to limit him, he instead gave them new power.

I was a visual artist in high school and became a vocalist and music composer. I noticed early in my art studies that I was better with colors than with black and white.  What I understood before I left was that this was a myth I had told myself. My mind was so enrapt with technique that art was not being made. When I went into music I noticed the same. I was concerned with vocal replication of other artists and not concerned with my own sound. The girl is hardheaded. Somewhere in my junior year of high school, somewhere in the middle of performing Deep River, somewhere in the middle of composing my 3rd work technique faded and art finally took form. The moment is indescribable. For a split second you hear clearly, you feel deeply.  The world is beautiful, lovely. You absolutely matter and what you have to say bears weight and has the meaning and affluence of a living viable human soul and spirit laced throughout it. It connects you to the now, the past the future and the fountain of infinite bliss and wisdom. Pure as you and I are meant to be.

The point is have influences, mimic them as you need, read the art books, understand the style, refine your craft; use your tools. Before its over though make sure the voice is your own.  A lesson I have to teach myself over and over again. This is my ultimate love letter to remind myself why I should never give the tools power but instead use the art to empower them. I'm writing this so that when I start to forget and I'm worried about book sales, or another press or agent saying no that I stick to my declaration and follow the advice of knowledgeable others.  I embrace these tools and make them an extension of myself and what I need this world to see and understand. That I listen to the beating, pounding pace of my heart and stay with the fight. That I fill what I do with my will, my spirit; my spark. With my love, always with my love.

Thursday, March 19, 2015


Origin tale


The first principle is in fact the most important principle.  In our world today there is nothing that is taken for granted as much as art.  The irony of this being that art is the basis of all things that humanity has ever contributed to this earth.  Using the logic that it is claimed we all possess, try and rationalize now.  Would there be language were there no cave drawings?  Were there no language would the sciences exist, no science would there be medicine? This tree can go on forever and ever.  Why?  The root is art, the root is creation, more so the desire to create and the need to understand the creations of others.
Sometime a very long time ago, mankind decided that it wasn’t content living and dying without leaving something for others to learn from.  Somehow connecting himself to the future through more than just procreation.  And thus the first cave drawing is made.   This is a level of human development and growth.  The desire to exist beyond the confines of your current shell.  This is the realm of Gives Stink Through Rhythm, through her this need is affirmed.  Not many people know this, but she used to be a pretty drab girl.  Downright dour. 
Day in and day out she would remake the same landscapes, the sun would come up and it would go down.  There were no seasons then, no concept of temperature or even feeling.  The place moved like an automaton not being driven by anything, not being halted and not truly living at all. Disheartened she would float through the Universe without a form, without the very will to actually sustain one.  Just a lifeless lump of stink that could’ve been more. 
The Great One of the Most Stink saw this and knew then and there that this creature must be given a renewed lease on being.  She was stifled, chained by the bounds of her own lack of limitations. Somehow, yes, somehow, she must be set free. This became the greatest puzzle and ultimately the only one that ever really mattered when all was said and done. How, oh how? How do you free a creature that has no bounds except for the ones of their own making? 
The rationale was surprisingly simple. Since the Great One of the Most Stink sees and knows all past, present and future the answer was discovered while observing the odd earthbound creature known as a cat. It was in essence the problem of herding cats. Cats don’t herd well because they have no similar tendencies other than the state of being a cat.  And being a cat means that the utmost concerns are self reliance and comfort.  Cats are most self reliant and comfortable when they are being true to their natures’.  Which relates directly to appeasing all matter of ‘in the moment’ discoveries. Cats pay attention to anything they please which means they pay attention to everything making a day an exhausting endeavor. But cats are free from the machinations of their limitless perspectives.  Why? Because at no point and time do they let everything they can do get in the way of actually doing it.
She was drab and dour, never knowing when, where or even how to start. The problem with being without limitations is that there is no form to assume.  There is no criteria for right or wrong, there is no justification for up or down.  There is just the is, just the void. There is no comfortable spot.  But couldn’t you make it?  With a wide array of everything available on your plate the plate can have nothing at all or everything you want.  Choices must be made.
So the Great One gave her a task, a simple, simple task.  Build me place, a place where all color lives, build me a place where all thought is alive, build me a place where fanciful creatures strive, build me a place where anything can survive. 
With the chant ringing in her being, giving life to her form she gave herself hands so she could shape these creatures, she built herself eyes so she could see the colors.  She gave herself legs to move through the terrain, she gave herself a back to support her legs, she gave herself arms to move her hands, gave herself a head to hold her eyes, put the head on a neck so she look away as she worked, gave herself a nose to smell the life.  And finally she gave herself a voice to make it all sing.
With this voice she declared the first principle. 

To exist is to create, I create my own existence.

First there was rain, water fell from the sky, then came the winds to move it as she saw fit, on to warmth, cold, brisk and dusk.  Then the stars the heavens, moons and mass.  Leave it open for more things to inhabit as I comprise.
This loosed the beast of creation into the Universe, the void rapidly filling with wonders untold.  She carried on and on creation after creation.  Her worlds multiplied and compounded straining into and out of each other without rhyme or reason. What was dark became light and quiet had sound, motion stopped and the still covered ground.

But why the creation of others?  Such a question that it confounds why would the creations of others hold any weight when one can create all.  She who Gives Stink Through Rhythm found this a conundrum that she could not get around.  She was greedy with creation taking it on as her realm and hers alone.  Her creations had actions repercussions and sequences that she ignored for the sake of always creating more. The nature of creation is forward never backward.  Creation is not a stability, it is a wave, motion moving forward an undulating reaction.  Her creations had creations, their own changes to document.  Soon the place was much too crowded.  Things interacted in unintelligible ways.  They bumped and bruised they clashed and strained.
The Great One observed what was unwittingly wrought. She was free, too free and now had boundaries in another way.  She needed a level, a place a function to see to.  The idea was to free her of all inhibitions and here she was now prisoner to one.  Fear of stopping, of creation ending. She had no concept of temperance, no thought for progression. An end in being a reason to start over and a reason to stop.
The Great One pulled from the gnashing the clashing and grating.  Pulled from the bumping, the grinding the bruising. Given form from conflict a mate to see to these ends. Thus He Who Reeks of Intent is born. The job was simple and they were bound as one.  For every mess is made let your will make it undone. No one knew more of the need for balance and temperance than he, the creation from the void of imbalance. Filled with purpose and scope, scale and desire, He Who Reeks of Intent created Plan.  He was swift and sharp as he held her in check, so well balanced they were, his force she couldn’t reject. Where she was creation changing and streaming, he was solidarity, the foundation for beginning.
He told her truthfully what the issue was with her endless creation.  No rhyme or reason, no path no course, such a foolish design. There must be a plan.  To make a plan there must be intent and intent is the consequence of purpose.  What end does your creation see to?
She was confused and torn not understanding the line of questioning. Purpose was a word that held no sway over her mind, no consequence to her creation.  But he insisted, what is the purpose to your creation?  He pointed to a cloud buzzing with lightening and rain. This creation of yours knows what to do, it sees to its end and gives reason to. He pointed to the grass that grew on the land, then to the animal that grazed on it there.

There must be purpose no matter how big or how small it is the responsibility of each creation to make it, its own.

Saddled behind her they moved through the Universe.  He shifted her spaces and closed her holes, he connected her dots and even fastened her clothes. There was a small hole that he didn’t close he left to be open.  She argued why would he leave it so.  He closed all her others, connected dots and shifted her worlds. Why this hole, why is it so special not to be closed.  So tiny it is it couldn’t really matter.  So tiny it is why would it not just go.  He had been waiting for this knowing she would demand that he explain.
This hole is open because it is too small to allow passage, it’s open because it has no connection to anything.  This hole is too tiny to do anything but be.  It is a reminder that sometimes creation is its own purpose and reason.  Creation has to be respected whether done by you or me.  This hole is the whole, the signature on the piece.
She didn’t understand the course the feeling behind his words.  They seemed foreign and tense.  He told her the way that the Great One created him.  We are bound one and the same, I am of you and you are of me. To deny any of you is to cut away from all of me. 


The Great One watched the couple that strife had created.  The woman confused by the nature of the bounds they shared.  So there would be a being that would show her the way.  One much like her living to create but in a different way.  From the symphony created by the swirling planets and stars she was formed seated on a comet, hair blazing with the tail, One To Stink for All blazed across the stars in front of the couple.  Without thought or consequences she came up to the hole and placed a strand of her hair there making it a star.
They only watched the spectacle as she flew on by.  By then He Who Reeks of Intent thought it odd enough to ask.  This had not been part of the plan.  And he couldn’t reverse the actions done by this new beast. It served no purpose, it left nothing in its place. Why would you leave a part of yourself there?  Doesn’t it belong to you with you?
With a smile and a laugh that echoed thorough the abyss she chastised him as silly.  We are all one, one and all I am you and you are me, where you are big I am tall.  I span this plane in every breath, I span this space in every spot.  I see you there and see me there all holding firm.  Where I to go you go with me whether you want to or not. I exist because you do and the opposite is true.

To destroy you I destroy myself so I must give to you.

She Who Gives Stink Through Rhythm finally understood.  Creation needs purpose but purpose needs giving without both there is no creation.  The song of creation hummed through her as the words from this new entity vibrated in the corners of the universe. He Who Reeks with Intent contemplated her oddly.  So is this part of the plan?  He wondered. Creation then plan so that it is prepared to be gifted.  As I give unto her I give onto me, as I am the same as she before me, I am the same as she is far away from me. 


Gives Stink Through Rhythm called for He Who Reeks of Intent to be silent letting the song of One To Stink for All ring clearly in the distance. Without a thought they both moved to find the source of the song.  She was somewhere near yet far echoing along.  There was something more they needed to know from her.  Something else her song was trying to say. The message was clear yet unspoken, almost like a wisp of air.  They followed far and long and eventually caught up to her.  As she sang she built, pulling locks from her hair, parts of her arms, patches of her legs, bits from her comet and finally the largest piece from deep within her chest. She stacked and shaped, clumped and dumped as she sang to herself.

If you want to learn a song you must listen to it play
If you want to hum the words you must know what they say
If you want to stay in pitch you must find the proper key
If you want to sing it well you must know the melody
If you want to do it right you must think in symphony
If you want to make your own song you must embrace harmony
Because the only way to make a song is in synergized unity
Let creation and purpose meld with giving for the sacred trinity

You understand, she asked. 

You can’t know until you learn and you can’t learn something that you aren’t listening to.

They watched as he was born, Stink That Stands Alone.  One To Stink for All sang a song to grant him life:

So that someone always knows the song of unity
I build you now with my parts of dubious impunity
As I always sing I need someone who always hears
As we are one, I’ll be your voice if you will be my ears
As I move through this plane shall you stand still
Learning is a thing of balance not a trial of will
Listen to the lessons being sung in this open space
Let the song of harmony state and declare your grace

They watched as he shook off the stardust and debris.  Standing tall and firm he nodded to the three.   The couple that strife produced regarded him loosely as One Who Stinks for All continued on her way.
Leave him be, she said as she left, he’ll always be as he is listening to every breath.  When you forget the song because you’re lost in your own creations, he’ll be the one to make sure it’s sung no matter the occasion.


The Great One of the Most Stink was pleased with the helpful addition made by One Who Stinks for All.  The mistress of unity was correct and yet short sighted on one simple avenue.  With the rate of which she gave herself away for the cause what would happen when she was all used up?  This was an instance The Great One knew could not happen.  Knowing they were ready to create a being that would help, The Great One turned to the couple strife created to see what they had learned.
She will burn out in time, she is too sparse with her parts, she doesn’t create more she just shifts what’s there. Was what Gives Stink Through Rhythm told her purposeful mate.  What we need is a plan to balance her out, a place that repairs all that she’s forgotten about was his reply. Is it necessary to rhyme, asked Gives Stink Through Rhythm.  No got caught up in her ambiance, He Who Reeks of Intent admitted.
So the couple pondered on just what to create.  They thought long and hard about what would make things right.  They thought of what they learned.  Creation, with purpose became a gift to bestow on others. There must be balance and unity, they must know all parts of the song and appreciate all that put forth the effort to make it possible. The being that they created would have to be respectful, understanding, compassionate and more than anything else appreciative.
What do you appreciate about me, Gives Stink Through Rhythm asked her mate. He answered without hesitation, Your creations. And you me?  Your purpose.  With this in mind they took parts of her creation instincts, combined with a section of his focus, foundation and creation with the lessons learned about harmony.  She sang the song and he joined in as they took the parts from all around them and as they watched One That Stinks For All had done before they fashioned creature from nothing.  The creature was still and didn’t move, and they stared wondering what to do. The song that always sang became higher pitched Stink That Stands Alone looked pointedly at the couple and with a slight gesture pointed to his own chest.
What is the song about, Gives Stink Through Rhythm asked.  Love was his answer. They pulled the new being closer and as one they pulled from their selves and thrust it into the other. Newly born this creature cried in out in her first breath.

Only through love is appreciation gained and only through love can it live.

The new creature built was a salve to the place in ways that creation and purpose couldn’t be.  She rearranged matter, developed time and gave the space leniency. Sharps were blunted and straights would bend, the healing spray of diplomacy. Creation had longevity and would sustain.  Plans had a pace that they followed and would maintain. The song was clearly timed and paced, the melody so very clear now.  She swopped and dipped dancing lively to the new found sound. Strings flew from her fingertips connecting here and now.  They even flew behind her to capture what had passed.


Pleased with themselves the couple enjoyed their creation.  They watched in humble acceptance of the things that changed.  But soon it wasn’t enough for Gives Stink Through Rhythm to watch.  She grew restless and bored watching her creation have all of the fun.  So she stared creating again as she had before foolishly done.  Because he was enrapt with their newest gift, He Who Reeks of Intent didn’t even notice. It wasn’t till the new creation began to cry in earnest did he pause to see what has so distressed this lovely creation of theirs.
Then he saw what had happened to break their creations heart.  The careless disregard for what she had created as Gives Stink Through Rhythm systematically destroyed it.  Her lines were breaking and her balance was ending.  Time was morphing and disarray was happening.  He Who Reeks of Intent became solemn, not sure how to combat this problem.  It seemed inevitable that as soon as this stopped it would just begin again. Then he noticed that silently from his post, One Who Stinks Alone was offering him a hand.
He looked into the hand of the one who would never speak and took the offering that he presented to lay at their feet.  I see now, he thought as the cries grew deafening behind him. There has to be another creation that tells us of the past.  One that lets us know what we can’t repeat what has come and gone.  The true path and plan should go forward never back.
He looked at the offering that came from One Who Stinks Alone himself and added in his memories of what had come before.  He sealed it up with his will so that it didn’t leave.  In this creature would be the pain he had been breed in.  In this being is the pain creation can wreck. It would know the song and know the words because of the one who always listens.  He added the will to harm those who refused to hear.  Force upon them the very pain that they stand to inflict.  In this way and only this way will there be balance.
He rose like a wraith such a frightful creature, his feature dark and countence untenable. He went to Gives Stink Through Rhythm and she immediately stopped.  She jerked once and fell into a stupor.  He turned to the other who was crying still and gave her much the same.  He then went through methodically and rendered everything new.  As they woke each one they knew what had passed, time was in place again and they were repentant of their crimes.
The couple regarded their creation feeling shameful for their acts.  So selfish was their thoughts they hadn’t even bothered to give her a name, thus she was dubbed for all time Stink Which Carries On.
As for the other they couldn’t explain. The Great One knew only he would be able to name him.  This creature they fostered was necessary.  A creation in response to a creation. Only the Great One had the concept of the past, created when Stink Which Carried On made time.  So he dubbed this new beast What Once Stunk Stinks Again.  He knew his name and answered instantly.

Don’t forget your past just leave it where it lies

The past belongs in the place it was breed, a mistake now gone that generates wisdom instead. None of the others knew what this past was, they merely understood that the activities they participated in made terrible options.  They knew that they didn’t want these things to happen again.  No regret just knowledge of what not to do. They carried it with them so that they would never forget this pain from what they did.


The Great One of the Most Stink admired what had been created.  Everything was accounted for save the one thing that they all had so they didn’t miss.  Grace.  With this in mind, the others were beseeched and each made an offering from the depths of their beings.  The thing that they believed in most, Creation, Purpose, Giving, Listening, Appreciating, Rectifying and they put it together to bestow to the far reaches of the Universe.  The Great One merely blew over it and out she sprang fully formed, the things they believed in most, the Stink That Will Not Die, their sweet pungent Stink of Ages.  Like newly formed light she infused the others with all that she was, the peak of all of their wills combined.  Through this they were fortified, joined and made whole.  Each realm connected joined from the couple that strife created to the unsavory valleys of deeds gone past.  From the tendrils binding all together to the singing and listening to the song of creation.
She observed all around her and declared for all to hear.

All you believe in with all of your being makes me the best of you

All The Parts

There are so many parts of us that should be seen to and kept
From the top of our heads to the tips of our toes with each aching breathe
The broad side of us against the narrow core of us
The breadth of us to the very shallow of us

All another piece that comes together to make the whole
From the memories we keep now and lose as we grow old

To the muscle that powers our moves
To the tissue that DNA provides and proves

So I must choose a keeper for my many parts
Is it possible to find just one to update so many charts

So one I choose to care for my body
With you thirst will be seen to whether pure or bawdy

Another I'll entrust with my mind to keep it young and fresh
Each day should be full of knowledge clean with wash and dress

So that leaves my heart for you to insure that it always beat
Fill my life with love that can be felt from head to feet

So that leaves just my soul that I can't seem to fit to a tutor
Perhaps that one is just for me to look after and succor

If there was just one keeper how idea would that be
Just one person to see to all the ends that make up me
It's a dream I can't fulfill, one that has no true match
So I'll try to see to the whole with one by one patch

But the thought always lingers that if there is but only one of me
And with all my parts gathered close to cause me to be
There must exist the other end that looks out with such disheart
Knowing that there must be one who can see to all the parts

Wednesday, August 27, 2014

Like and Unending Circle. . Linking Like a Chain


Somewhere near the end of time
Someplace lost, perfect and divine
I called it's name and waited for an answer
It moved slowly closer like an erotic dancer
It taunted me from afar and held me enrapt
Promised to hold my heart, my soul entrapped
Just as it arrived, I turned to run
Just as it reached for me, I wanted none
It's power frightens me, It's glory blinding to see
More than me, yet not nearly as offensive
Infinite madness, yet slow and pensive
A moment's hesitation, a moment's pause
I feel myself being clamped firmly in it's jaws
Escape is impossible, regret useless
It's true intentions I can only guess
Yet, I want it's heaven, I crave it's hell
I hunger for the lives it's lived, the stories it can tell
Let me go, set me free
If I swallow you whole, I will cease to be
My destruction in your hands, my salvation in your trust
And whatever the outcome, I know the decision will be just
Should I cry for mercy, or obnoxiously demand more
Ask to be tossed like a rag doll or expect to be taken to it's core

My decision made, I close my eyes
Releasing all self-doubts, all others' lies
I trust you, Whole and true
I love you, I love you

Tuesday, August 26, 2014


What I See

Before the end of my day, my thoughts slid to you
Before time has dragged down the sun and the moon is pulled onto centerstage
Before the stars start to shine in a dance of dark and light as they battle for the sky
Before the haze of the city’s nightlife and lights bring the illusion of day

My thoughts slid to you

They rest on your face where your light eyes see me as if they have never
They curl into your hair, dark as dusk, sifting through the strands of raven-colored
They pause at your lips, like a broken sigh recalling the feel of your breath in a
They drape across your throat and shoulders testing the strength and conviction
of such a strong throat of such a breadth of shoulders defying gravity in a way

My thoughts slid down the chest housing the heart that adores me, holding the
force that drives you, moving the tide that powers you, do you have any idea
They kneed the arms of solid integrity, the proof of determination and hard work
feasted so silk that flow along your face whisper that sounded of love but was indeed my name
that only Atlas himself is familiar with
what a treasure is buried here?
because you would have it no other way.

And then you enter

Bringing fact and fantasy together in a rush of surreal ecstasy, reminding me of
what you see when your eyes eat me alive, when your arms hold me as I writhe,
as your heart pushes closer to me in a vain attempt to meet it’s twin.
As you breathe love that is a whisper of my name, as your midnight silk kisses
my face and neck as your shoulders and throat beckon coyly then demand hotly
for my lips, my hands, my arms, my eyes, my nails, my teeth, my passion, my
And in a flash as gradual as sunrise, the moon is pulled to rest, the stars bow
joy, my pain, my pleasure, my will, my heart, my soul, my life.
before the next ruler abiding their time to glow and shine.

Dawn is pulled from the darkest pits of night and

My thoughts once again slid to you

Monday, August 25, 2014

When Did This Start?

Did you always look at me like that or have I not noticed
Yesterday you looked at my lips as if you felt they needed to be kissed
Did you always smile at me like I was the very reason for it
The other day you flashed it at me like the most entertaining thing in the world was my wit

Did my heart always speed up when I see you or did that just start happening
When it did it last night it felt just so natural like that’s the way it’s always been
Did my mind always drift to you at the most unexpected times or is that new
It struck me a second ago that I don’t seem to think of much else that doesn’t relate to you

Was it before or after we met my ideas on life became drastically different
Now I think the world is beautiful, life is rather nice, and all things are heaven sent
Was it before or after our first conversation that I noticed how underrated talking is
The more I hear your voice, the more of you I discover, the more I wonder when we’ll have our first kiss

Was it before or after I noticed how adorable you are that other men have seemed lacking
I know that it makes me not need their backing
Was it before or after I started to fantasize about us together that I forgot the promises I’d already made before
Just when I thought that every part of my life was determined and set I feel like now you’ve shown me another door
I’m starting to believe that all those changes in me are recent
And I think what I see in you isn’t imagination but a persuasive hint

I’m starting to accept my need to understand you
And I think that you can cope with what you’re starting to feel too
I don’t want to keep on trying to figure out how this started in the past
I just want to concentrate and put my mind to trying to make it last

So I’ll stop sitting around and trying to pinpoint the events by the exact days
I think now I want to set aside the befores and afters and take you by the hand and shoot for always

Sunday, August 24, 2014

Blame it on The Moon

Ruins watercolor 1998

The timber of your voice should have been my first clue
The way you smiled at me and held me carefully close to you
Maybe the glint in your eyes should have told the story
Or the brush of your lips on my temple as you whispered “don’t worry”
Your scent filling my head with thoughts I can’t relate
The feel of you beneath my fingertips making it harder for me to wait
Are we victims of midnight, perhaps slaves of the full moon above
Can we cast the blame elsewhere or are we simply doing the unthinkable and falling in love

Perhaps it was in the way you touched me with your hands just like you were with your eyes
The way you took your time to show me beauty before finding your place between my thighs
Maybe it was in the seamless way your body fit mine or was it the other way around
We lay together so perfectly that if one calls I’m never sure who made the sound
Your lips finding that spot on the back of my neck that always sets me off
Your caress light yet strong making me feel like my skin is so soft
Too many love songs on the radio or weddings in June is what I though of
Could they really be our problem or are we simply doing the unimaginable and falling in love

Maybe it was the second glance you gave me as if you saw me in a new light
The look on your face should have given away the entire secret on sight
Your voice, you r touch, your lips all telling me what I refused to hear
Your eyes, your smile, your scent signaling that I have to face my worst fear
Something tells me that I’m not alone but you find that you are ensnared too
Then again maybe in the end it has absolutely nothing to d o with me or you
One minute were having fun the next wondering why we always part so soon
Whether love songs, midnight, or weddings in June, personally I prefer to blame it on the moon

Saturday, August 23, 2014


Dance (sketchbook) ebony pencil 1993

Beyond the pale of comparison
Beyond the light of hope and dark
Light of wind and break of day
Dawn of the moon, pale of the sun
Ray of light dash of hope
The eve of glory, before the light of time
Time of the moon, journey of the sun
Stars behold in jealousy, yet the sun shines on
Our small crater, our planet revolves
In this life I recall the face of joy
Joy of being, joy of light

Beyond the pale of comparison
Beyond the light of hope and dark
In the mist of the shadows at the break of day
In the essence of time your face stays plain
Light of the wind and break of day
Dawn of the moon, pale of the sun

In your eyes the joy of light
In your touch the joy of being
The eve of glory, before the light of time

Beyond the pale of comparison
In you, the light will always shine

Friday, August 22, 2014

All The Parts

Bears drawn with colored pencils and oil pastels 1993

There are so many parts of us that should be seen to and kept
From the top of our heads to the tips of our toes with each aching breathe
The broad side of us against the narrow core of us
The breadth of us to the very shallow of us

All another piece that comes together to make the whole
From the memories we keep now and lose as we grow old
To the muscle that powers our moves
To the tissue that DNA provides and proves

So I must choose a keeper for my many parts
Is it possible to find just one to update so many charts

So one I choose to care for my body
With you thirst will be seen to whether pure or bawdy

Another I'll entrust with my mind to keep it young and fresh
Each day should be full of knowledge clean with wash and dress

So that leaves my heart for you to insure that it always beat
Fill my life with love that can be felt from head to feet

So that leaves just my soul that I can't seem to fit to a tutor
Perhaps that one is just for me to look after and succor

If there was just one keeper how idea would that be
Just one person to see to all the ends that make up me
It's a dream I can't fulfill, one that has no true match
So I'll try to see to the whole with one by one patch

But the thought always lingers that if there is but only one of me
And with all my parts gathered close to cause me to be
There must exist the other end that looks out with such disheart
Knowing that there must be one who can see to all the parts

Thursday, August 21, 2014

You Know Who You Are (1992-1998) #tbt

What I See (Formerly In the Distance) chalk pastels 1993

I think the first time I saw you was in the back of my mind
I think I created an image that I know I’d never find
You lived in my thoughts and constantly dominated my dreams
Held me completely enwrapped by the lights you beam

I think the first time I met you was in a space in my head
You know where everything is smoky and bathed in red
I think there I loved you without hesitation or thought
Somehow knowing that you were what I constantly sought

Then I believe I discovered myself in the world you created
It seems as soon as you came my mind was something you generated
Then I no longer possessed the control that always defined me
And yet at the same time I can’t ever remember feeling so free

I think I first found the meaning of life in your face
You know when I covered your hand with mine I knew my place
I think I saw the foundation of the universe in your eyes
The love and sacrifice of devotion that explains birth and why we die

I’m almost positive that I’ve never in life done anything so beautiful
No matter if you stay or if we part nothing can destroy a joining so wonderful
I think the minute your lips touched mine we silently trades souls
I know I’d wake up at night dead and cold needing you to be whole

Do you know what its like to love in your mind before you love in life
Do you know what it is to live as a woman when you’re already a wife
You know, you’ve always known
You know, yours before I was even grown
From the beginning you were what I wished for on the first star
All you have to do to look at me to see yourself, you know who you are

Tuesday, August 19, 2014

Why Don't You Love Me (1992-1998)

The Door in charcoal drawn 1992

Just stop thinking about everything
Just feel the pleasure I can bring
Don’t hide yourself away from me
Stop fighting and meet your destiny

You want your life to fall together perfectly
I have a suggestion why don’t you love me

You want something that will last forever
Love me and I won’t stop loving you never
You need a world to escape to
Love me and I’ll hand it to you
You desire opened doors so you can see
Love me and I’ll give you every key
You think your world will be complete and everything you need
I’m afraid that will never happen till you love me

You want nothing to do with a life not in perfect harmony
Well here’s another clue why don’t you love me

Everything you want at your fingertips
Just let the right words pass from your lips
You can’t walk away from things meant to be
So why don’t you just love me

Monday, August 18, 2014

Sick and Tired of That Word 'Hoe' (1992-1998)

I’m sick and tired of that word hoe
Tossed out every time a woman says no
Hate the word bitch being thrown around
Another way to berate me and cut me down
All the phrases that you like to say
When you blame anybody but you for your lack of play
Walking around like you’re the man
Punk you wouldn’t know what to do with a real woman
I’d like to see your face when you realize its you
When you see no one finds it attractive those things you do
I’d like to be standing there when you get told
Let know that you have nothing anyone wants to hold
Because I was there when you needed a friend
I was the only one who cared in the end
You took that for granted and considered me a trick
Just another hoe you would let ride your dick
But I wasn’t down and I told you so
Now I get dogged cause I dared to say no
I could never feel anything real with you
I don’t respect who you are or the things you do
You’re a fool who doesn’t know gold when he sees it
So I know that a treasure like me you will never get

I am a queen of African descent, strong and proud
With my head held high, who stands out in a crowd
I am the mother of strength in the time of the slave
A presence unquestioned as you put each other in graves
I am the earth and sea in all its full power and glory
I am the beginning, the middle, and the end of the story
I am what you need when you don’t understand
I am the only thing that makes you a real man
In me is the symbol of sacrifice and the foundation of love
The very finest gift God could have sent you from above

The question is What are you?
The question is Do you even know who?

Can you return everything I can give
Will you ever be able to with the way you live
Or will you just keep putting us down
Hurting yourself as you run us through the ground
Giving yourself an ego boost while you rip away your soul
Still calling us tricks and bitches cause that’s the way you roll
Living life with nothing and no one, without anything to show
With no feeling of how two perfect halves come together and flow
Alone and looking for a piece of ass so another girl can say no
Just so I can keep saying of tired I am of that word ‘hoe’.

What is There Now? (1992-1998)

Enchantress ebony and colored pencil 1993

Picking up pieces and moving on
Separation from everything in my life wrong
I want to part with all the pain
Leave the hurt and be free and sane
What now is left for me but you
When all else was never true
They don’t know me, not like you
They’ll never understand the things I do
What is there when there is no one else
What when all I trust is you and myself
Where is the light at the end of the tunnel
I only met the pain the place where I fell
What is there now I ask you again
How do you separate from everywhere you’ve been
I’m blind to all that is beautiful now
They’ve taken my heart without a hesitation or bow
Now they strain to take my soul
The possession you protect for me and hold
What now, where is the peace
Where is my salvation, where the hurt will cease
I reach for you and you’re not there
Keeping me whole when I know I’ve had more than I can bear
Do you feel me call for you, somehow hear that I need you
Maybe I crave you because you need me
In some divine way neither of us can see
Maybe I’m just feeling sorry for myself
Or maybe its deeper perhaps something else
Do you need me, is that what there is
Do you fear that I’ll be seen with another and labeled his
I have asked what is there, what’s next
Where is the next stop for me that is best
Every question, a single answer shouted as a vow
Its you, that’s what is there now

Saturday, August 16, 2014

The Calm at the Center of the Storm (1992-1998)

Dragons watercolor painted 1998

Think about what’s between us and know what it means
Think about every thought of us and every dream
Think about this peace we share every time we are close to each other
Think about how you’ll never find that with another

The calm at the center of the storm is what we are
The serenity and beauty of what we have we can never mar

Think about me as being a part of you
Think about me and plan your decisions for two
Think about yourself and what you could miss
Think about the moment we touch and the world dissolves to bliss

The calm at the center of the storm is what we are
The peace that can’t even be wished for on a falling star

You’ve thought about our rocky beginning and contemplate an end
But you forget something can’t stop unless its weak enough to bend
Every law of love and friendship we were able to defy
Every one who said that this wasn’t real and would eventually die
But they disappear as soon as one or the other enters
Because in every storm there is calm at the center

Friday, August 15, 2014

Take Me Home (1992-1998)

Whisper colored pencil 1998

Where my heart and soul reside
Where my emotions don’t have to run and hide
That peaceful place in your arms
That haven where I feel no harm
That place where I am just me
No one to put me down or berate me
No one to tell me what I can or can’t be
You know where I’m beautiful no matter what I do
You know because its true because of you
At night where I fear no evil
In the evening when no one makes me kneel
In the afternoon where I laugh and mean it
In the morning where there’s love every where I sit
At dawn when you become my light of day
Always when you make me fell special in every way
I want to stop pretending and feel again
I want to shout my pain and know its not a sin

Just home, take me there
Where my heart doesn’t rip and tear
Hold me there to forever stay
Be my joy be my sunny day
Take me home if there’s mercy in you
Let me breathe, live, and to myself be true
No pain, no sorrow, no endless despair
Just laughter, and love with people who care
Take me away from those people who hate
Those people who insist that I can always wait
Make me your life and I make you mine
Stroke my hair and hold me close and tell me everything will be fine

Never again to wake up cold and alone
Because I opened my heart and brought me home