Piece of Cake

For years, there was that scar. And then there was not. Simple.

For years, I was afraid to let anyone see my skin. Dresses and beaches were out of the question. I wore pants and boots and a posture of hiding. For years, there was that scar.

And then there was not. I bought dresses. No matter what you told me, I never believed I was beautiful until I could buy dresses.

For years, there was that scar. But something wonderful happened.... My heart kept beating. I kept breathing and the world kept turning. And I thought, "Thank God, thank you, oh thank God, it's not there anymore."

And there was not. Simple.

 

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Postcards

These are the first from a set of homemade postcards. I rather like these. These first two are collage, made entirely of pieces used without permission ;) But I'll end up using a variety of media. And in case you couldn't tell, these are very much in the style of PostSecret.

All the Time in the World

 

Your Brain on Roommates

 

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When You're Standing at the Edge

As you may have read, local artists and local poets have been working together on an exhibition at the West Edge gallery on Milam Street. Tonight their efforts are ready for the public in "Standing at the Edge."

Members of the Trapped Truth Society, West Edge Books and News, and others will be presenting poetry in response to selected works of art in the West Edge Artists Co-Op gallery. The readings will be held in conjunction with the Shreveport Regional Arts Council Trolley Tour. More information is available at anchorpoet.

And from what I've heard, Donecia Pea will be there for the Shreveport Times, and Red River Writes and North of New Orleans may be getting some exposure, too. You might even get to see our ugly mugs in the paper.

So be there tonight! I will. And I want your company, because you're wonderful.

STANDING AT THE EDGE
Thursday, June 21
6:00 PM - 8:30 PM
WEAC Gallery on Milam, downtown Shreveport
Free to the public.
The collection of poetry, representing work by nine poets (Laura Flett, W. Macaulay Johnson, Kitty Lutke, Nan Dozier, Patrica Cochran Murrell, Mawiyah Bomani, & Nadine Charity) and eighteen artists (including Jane Heggen), will be available at a nominal fee.

 

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Scraps (Grayscale Paranoia Edition)

Gray. Literally. The walls were gray. An environment seemingly designed to crush its inhabitants. And of course there were no windows, not that you could see from your ergonomically designed chair. The darkness of broken bulbs would have been a blessing, but the fluorescents reliably flickered flickered flickered unflattering gray light onto unhappy gray walls.

Gray, gray, gray. It was enough to drive anyone crazy. So why only me? Maybe it was just enough to drive me crazy. I should quit projecting. But it just makes me feel so much better to believe you're all a bunch of fuckin' nutjobs.

---

The balloons are back. They're falling to the concrete instead of escaping to the sky. The balloons are jumping from the ledges. Suicidal. Or maybe just looking for their lost children.

---

Why so much running in my sleep? Sometimes I'm the predator. Sometimes the prey. But there's always to be a hunt.

This night I do the stalking.

They were my companions. I thought. Friends. But they're hiding something. Hiding their plans and hiding from me.

Most nights I follow ghosts of voices but stray to different worlds. My past, sometimes. Others... Theirs? The future? Why do you show me this? Doesn't matter. This night I do the stalking.

---

She thinks I can't see. But I do, I do. I've planted some sadness to gratify you. This is what you want? The tears, on cue. Here. Believe you've found what validates you. Does it hit that secret void and fit? This is the bitch that stays locked in your ribs.

You think you know me but you haven't got a clue. You think you know me but I see right through you. I think you think you're safe uncloaked. But I see your face. I hope you choke.

 

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Now He'll Rest

I just learned that Larry DeFratis died on June 1st, from complications of diabetes. (Obituary available here.)

I feel like an ass for not knowing sooner. I skipped a lot of emails, didn't read the news. I would have liked to go to the funeral, at least to say what I'm about to tell you here.

I don't know that I could call him a good friend. We'd only communicated by email in the last few years, and infrequently at that. But I can say that he was someone that made a difference to this community. And he made a difference to me.

Larry was a leader for Democrats, progressive, and liberal citizens in Shreveport-Bossier. I worked with him before and during the Kerry campaign, and contacted him first anytime I wanted to know what was going on over the years since.

We tried to generate hope together as the war machine threatened to tear our faith in the United States to shreds. And we were heartbroken together as Bush slid into his undeserved victory.

And I did lose faith. But Larry, Hugh McKinney, and many others like them helped bring some of it back. And they taught me that even if you lose, you will still be proud that you fought for what you believed in. Losing doesn't mean there was no point in trying.

And I know Larry was involved in the community on a number of different levels, too. He was president of the Breakfast Optimist Club (and I think I'll be making a donation to their leukemia foundation in his honor). I'm sure he touched countless lives in ways both small and large.

I know he'll be missed greatly, and that his role in our city will be a hard one to fill.

I also know that when my time comes, if I can say I have touched as many lives as he did, I will be able to die with some satisfaction. I hope he is resting in peace.

Thanks, Larry.

 

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Excuses, Excuses

I know, I know, I'm in a lull. Plus I've been busy, and out of town, and at the edge of insanity.

I've been scolded. I've been scolded on one end (okay, more than one) for not posting any more recent additions to our comic world. And I've been scolded on the other for posting anything.

See, I want to keep letting this universe evolve, and keep sharing it here. But P doesn't want to do it that way. And he has a point.

So, no more comic book stuff here until we actually have something completed, published, and ready to brag about. We may build a separate website where we post some preliminary artwork, more related short stories, etc. And trust me, you'll get a link when we do. And spam emails and MySpace bulletins.

In the meantime, I guess I need to go chase down Nica, work on a story that's been brewing for too long, "Coffin Parade," and maybe scan some of my ridiculous postcards for y'all.

I'll be catching up at y'alls own blogs as soon as things slow down over here.

Also, I've decided that the possessive of y'all doesn't require a second apostrophe, the same way his, hers and its don't need one. Aren't you glad you have me to make these important decisions?

 

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