made some new things after a while. hate most of them. i really struggle with making things look like i haven’t touched them. i’m going to try to make more things out of painted papers and cardboard and have them say much less you know

i think there’s too many rules to live by or too many instructions to live better doesn’t everyone deteriorate all day and think about eating a poisonous white flower. you gotta establish yourself as someone meaningful with deep insight but that’s unhinged and you gotta take a pic. bonus if you’re hot of course. i’m not panicking.

i been evil since last august maybe the august before that i know you hate me but i know you’re thinking about me on all fours can start walking holding hand seeing the sun rise take high dose vitamin d supplement giving blood every month running out of time to be really red inside someone told me sudden my body turns to my body turn to a you’re not afraid are you of being swallowed by a whale dripping wet bite thought to be swallowed and to sink through the earth all of my body all of a sudden all of my body all of my body someone told me you’re the type of woman who will always be a girl killing baby wasps ants and salt in the sink holding hands with someone in the sink is frosting going soggy pulling up hair down your throat so are you seeing the black dog wagging his tail welcoming you home

god’s out here with us

i thought “i could be happy” doomed doomed doomed you want to know what’s romantic picking up dog shit and seeing a family of woodlice has started to live in it.

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how come all things feel like they last infinitely, but are also over in one minute? my parents set up a bedroom in their back room and it faced the garden and at night i’d watch the blackbirds throw themselves around into the bushes and trees. they literally hurtle themselves around. Like I wanna be a dark bird that gets to crash into things. desperate in life in a different way. it gets dark really late in England in the summer, too, so at like 11 pm it’s still light out, and it reminds me of going down the road to play with my friend till midnight. Now I’ve lived in the US for almost 10 years so it’s like England for me, is this transient place, I mean i am myself a transient state.

i try to cling to the thought that everything that ever happened is always happening. i was by the field where i took my dogs one night in the snow and they ran round and round, and there were two people there with their own dogs, and i was like is that them now? or like if i just looked at it the right way i could feel the moment still happening. i read somewhere that the past is the only constant thing. because i guess, it’s the only thing that has ever really happened. i told my son this, and he understood it right away. i’m haunted by the possible deaths of everyone i know. i got this weird bite on my arm where like 5 mosquitoes bit me at once. so in the past we’re walking through the snow and in the past i have a little more blood.

i don’t feel at home here, just as i didn’t feel at home in my home. when we were driving away from my parents’ house i looked back to my sister, and she was starting to cry. she looked much nicer starting to cry than i ever look when i cry.

i know all the tricks to feel better. i wanna attack people who talk about lowering your cortisol. i probably have no hormones in my body anymore. like when you know all the things to do, and you do them, and nothing happens the way you think, what do you do? the little speck in me that’s wrong i don’t want to do well at things i want to not be human but be alive and know everything and feel everything all at once, you know like the start of a fire. a bird landing

o

k thanks

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i walked into a hospital a few months ago or a few weeks ago and i was really excited because i thought i could get a nice long evaluation but instead it was a pretty quick oh you'd like to kill yourself? well sign these forms and we'll make you realise you don't even know you're born. i honestly liked the other patients there maybe because i was acutely aware of being around people who thought similar to me. one lady told me i was beautiful and prayed for me and another gave me a hug and said i had to get better for all the babies i was going to have. i even leaned into the hug. i had to pee in front of the nurses and sleep out of a chair under the fluorescent lights the first night so they could watch me and the scrubs i wore were too big and you throw them in the trash when you're done with them and i thought this is very wasteful. i heard the nurse on the phone to my husband telling him, “she's got scars all over her arms”. you sit in one room all day and they have classes where you get to colour a picture for 30 minutes before the nurse takes the colouring pens away and an AA meeting which was the most interesting thing i listened to. i was sitting in a chair with my head on the desk in front of me watching people speak about how alcohol is different to them because they can't stop. mainly everyone there seemed to be an alcoholic. but there was also a redheaded girl who came in with a deftones shirt who i think had hurt herself i really wanted to talk to her but i was too busy crying like a little bitch and a young boy who wouldn't take his haldol that i really did try and talk to but it didn't make any sense but then later offered me his fruit cup. i feel in a weird way that i miss them because for once i was being seen as i really am. and i got hysterical and was treated as a person who is being hysterical. it's a treat to be truly seen like how animals and bugs see you.

i haven't made a lot of art. i felt very trapped whilst i was going mad never really felt my hands or my brain. I'm working on making and destroying and making things with the destroyed things.

im on my phone which is why this post might look weird i dont know what it looks like ok thanks

Ken: no running, no play. needs to go 15th and 16th April for second hw shots +give pred as needed. remember no play. give trazadone as needed 1 pill + 1/2 you need to break it in half it does not come in half

lola: no pills 1 1/2 cup food add chicken if won’t eat, crate

hattie: 1 cup, no pill, can stay out

rusty: scared of open spaces, will go in crate for meal or for chicken. only for chicken pieces make sure he can see it and he will go in. let him out often to get potty trained. walk with hattie short walk if pulls away walk toward him. must be crated when not home.

milk

rosemary

raspberries

strawberries

coconut sugar

once i had the chance to say goodbye to a dog at akennel i worked at. ive forgotten his name which is very upsetting to me but i know he was a small pomerian a black pom with a brother who was jack russel and they told me you can say goodbye to him if you want. he was in the clinic side and i said no because i said how can you say goodbye to someone. so my answer was not to say goodbye. i never said goodbye to my dogs pearl and evie i never saw them dead. i said goodbye to my grandad then 6 months later he died. he lived that whole time between our goodbye. soon i have to say goodbye to my foster dog Lola. she has to go on a transport truck to Iowa. Iowa. she’ll live with a pyrenes named Hank. that sounds right for her. but thinking of saying goodbye to her and watching her drive away is causing me to break down like whenevber i get the chance. i alsmost enjoy it. the pain. im excited to be able to say goodbye to someone and i know shes not dying but i won’t see her again.

i feel like there’s a speck in me and little dark speck. a small stone maybe. maybe under my finger tip or behind my eye. a little stone. that’s what’s wrong with me. if i could just dig it out. if i could just pierce my eye with a sharp point and dig it out. little stone.

i told someone. Hi David. That when you kill yourself, you don’t think you die, you think you die, and then you wake up. I’ve killed myself, but then I keep living. My soft marshmallow brain is incapable of comprehending death.

So I reached my low. I actually answered the “do you feel unsafe” question that my doctor asks me, and she wants me to go into an inpatient program. And I told her, I can’t do that. I have things to do.

i had some art shows and i missed them. i just let it go because i was scared to interact with people. i keep having so many opportunities to speak with people and i black out. i went to drop off some art recently and the woman there. who was incredibly beautiful by the way not that that matters but i was taken away by how beautiful she was. god how easy her life must have been made from that beauty but that’s not her fault or her burden and i could’ve talked to her about her art and another woman there was british i could’ve asked her where she was from. i’m british! i dont’ sound british i have no identity no country! i just walked out. like a freak. like a godamn fucking freak and drove an hour home after using the fanciest public restroom i’ve ever used in my life.

heres some flowers from my garden. its supposed to be natives but isnt this a Shasta daisy? bitch get out but you can see the evening primrose. and the goldenrod. please tell me the goldenrod is native.

i even started to look into getting my tarot read and crystals. my god whats next, Christianity?????????????

heres my work in rawhead for their point blank issue. these are my pieces i made about epstein

ok thanks

ko-fi

When I die, I want to be thrown into the ground. I’m going to get a will drawn up that states that. throw her in. I want someone to read it out, "we will now throw her in,” and I must be buried in England (I mean hurled into the earth in England), then I want like 10000 flowers thrown in after me. for a little waste. Can’t you imagine yourself dead? God, why can’t we know? Why can’t we see? Why can’t we be dead and know? I keep wanting to be alive but dead. That’s my goal each day that I’m alive, but I feel a ffucking amazing emptiness. An enjoyable emptiness overcomes me. fucking bliss. It’s good I’m a loser who knows no one, or I’d be on like heroin by now. I just went through some form of mania, and signed up for another psychiatrist. I just spelled that correctly. And now I have another set of medications. As long as you give me the benzos, Daddy, I’ll take whatever (the doctor is a woman), and you know I went to use the restroom at the office, and she was in the bathroom without the door locked, she was just washing her hands, but should I trust this woman? A doctor who doesn’t lock the bathroom door. So I used the men’s. Take that greg! They always want to know, “Do you want to hurt yourself?” “No :)” “In the last 48 hours, have you thought you’d be better off dead?” “No, dr, no.” Yes, of course, but how can I die if I don’t know what it’s like? I want to taste the dirt.

I go around and around. I don’t have bipolar, but I act like it. You know. My joke is I have bipolar 3. I’m so funny! And it’s so tiring. Like, imagine one day waking up and being excited to see people and have ideas and act that out and be a spoiled brat who doesn’t work, so you get to do what you want all day and be a burden to everyone, and then oh wow, you’re a burden to everyone. You, fat ugly bitch you wasted your life, you have nothing to show for it. and you know, e t c

I got a lot done this week, actually. I managed to complete two interviews. and submit like 5 things. I got one acceptance for my work, which I made about the Epstein files. And one rejection for work I made for myself. A rejection doesn’t really hurt me anymore; it’s just like information. It’s amazing, really, how when I first applied to something, I had to get myself so set up to do it, and now I’m like just annoyed about having to resize the image, or write my 3rd person bio that I keep forgetting to save. Cait is an analog collage artist. Cait is a collage artist. Kate is a collage artist from England. Cate is originally from England. Now in Dallas, she focuses on analog collage. Her corpse will rot in the ground. rotting

Working on some projects for “play” for the visual art league in Lewisville, pretty steep entry fee, I feel. $40 for 2. I’ll probably do it because it’s local. The rest are for my Kolaj thing, which I think is still happening? I don’t know what they want from me!!! I do like making art. I do.

ok thanks

Here’s my day, ok. I woke up early, and my son is already awake. it’s 7am. My husband doesn’t wake up early on the weekend. So I started gardening because my garden is full of weeds. I don’t believe in adding any preemergent or any weed killer to my lawn. I actually loathe and deride the lawn, but need some grass for my dogs and my kid to play. But I don’t want the runoff from the chemicals to enter the ground or the water, so every spring I pull the weeds in an organized fashion. “It’s like cleaning a chicken shed,” and before I had asked my husband to help me, but he was still asleep, so he didn’t. It took me maybe an hour and a half. While I’m out there i had this moment of realisation that my purpose on earth is to take care of plants and animals. I am not a natural mother, whatever that is. But I love to take care of animals. I love to see the plants emerge in the spring and share my hatred of the monoculture that is The Lawn, the connection between plants, insects, and birds means everything to me. I really felt for a moment like this is who I am.

I asked my husband if I could foster another dog. There are two. I’ve seen one with a large tumor in his mouth and neck, and another golden dog in the shelter who only has until tomorrow to live. And he tells me no, we can’t foster another dog. There are too many “when does it end?” I tell him it never ends. The dogs never stop dying. There are 1 million stray dogs in Houston. But he doesn’t want dogs in His home. Don’t ask me about the lengths I had to go to for him to Let Me have another foster. he said it’s too much work. To me, it’s like, it doesn’t even matter if you can take a dog and rehabilitate it so it can be owned well. It’s that you can take an animal and let it live its life. Its one life that it has. There won’t be any more. I won’t kill wasps, you know, I hide if there’s a wasp nest above where the hose is. And do the wasps sting me? The wasps know I’m protecting them. I don’t kill ants, guess what i hide the ant hills too.

When I look back i remember my friends running away from me in primary school, walking away from me in high school, away from me when i was 21 because i told one of my best friends i wanted to kill myself. i think about how my father has never once told me he loves me, and i think, have I always been alone? I’ve always.

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i get excited a lot thinking about pulling up the dead grass growing in my flower beds or replanting this giant cactus i got at an estate sale but i don’t do it. and i’m scared to go to new places. i like to go to the store because i know the store layout. i know the cart will be squeeky and that one guy who works there will say hi to me. i don’t feel like i’m living life. but i feel this vast ocean of water is who i am like a place people would be afraid of. then i can mask things really well and no one knows who i am. then i wonder who i am. like what parts of a girl are left? why can’t i do anything but sit right before the possibility of something.

it’s just like everything is so difficult how are there people out there remembering to eat fruit or planning to have children.

i haven’t really been making things lately i want to do more poetry things and sculptural people but my mind work today that is just sitting and starting at things.

look i have this really large box from a dog crate. what would i do with it? seperate collages in the lines that have already kind of been assigned?

ok thats it thanks sorry

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i took Instagram off my phone. i still post there because i need attention, but not be able to see my notifications has really taken a hit to my ego. But honestly, it has made me feel better I can sit with boredom a little easier, i can sit with hunger even easier for some reason. it’s the wanting. right. we want. we’re emptied out because we can’t trust anyone and we’e alone. After all, god left us here alone. How do i convert my body to energy like how do i make myself see happiness? In England, when i lived there, there’d be a summer day and summer in england is different because its special. it rains everyday so when its suddenly 21 degrees (celcius you animals) you feel like something can happen. but guess what, you’re me, and you’re probably 21 too and no one likes you and you’re ugly in the non photogenic way, so you have nothing to do because you think you need people to do things with but the idea lingers that the day is there for you all those feelings you could have if you could just meet someone and both destory each other and also several miles of a town. that’s what haunts me the possibility of me. But I just sit around what to do. The hours pass soon i have to become someone else to someone else and this me stops and seeds spill out of me things pour out of me. god won’t you help me rip me apart and start me over. Maybe I should drive to the animal shelter and adopt another dog. i saw this very sad pit named olivia with her ears cropped and another soft golden dog looks so sad. can’t i make myself a noahs arc out of myself and leave with you all. oh god i wanna leave and stay.

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one of my favourite quotes is Sylvia Plath’s “I talk to god, but the sky is empty.” i tried to prove the existence of god this last week. I Can Do That. and i even spoke out loud like here i am show me something i can feel and there’s nothing. i don’t wanna hear your anecdote. you’re brainwashed because you don’t wanna die. when i die i wanna be hurled into the ground. like literally i want someone to throw me like im a cat some guy found on the side of the road into the ground, and i rot into the ground. my son told me jesus is real. he also told me god could be a car. And I told him right. god is a car he doesn’t help people. and he said no god helps people. my six year old belives in god to spite me.

my new religion in working on is that there are no different planes heaven hell and reality all exist in one and we just can’t see the other creatures. like giant angels that look like bugs or giant canaries with 100 wings and you know demons or devils really small devils that surrond you like candles. the best way to see the planes is to look into mirrors at night. lie on the grass in your backyard and see all the stars disappear. That kind of shit. then once it happens you’re exposed to the horrors and thats the religion. seeing the horror.

i let myself give up on things the other week. but i still managed to find my way back it’s like making art is the only thing i have to say anymore like the only thing my body has left to say. i wish i could drill a hole into my head and have all the brains leak out and then fill it up with i dont know a nice beverage a milkshake or sand. vanilla. just something to stop it, or i wish i could be happy.

made these today i don’t know what i’m doing.

ok thanks

don’t forget to sign up to my ko-fi to get things in the mail i promise i won’t go nuts and bail.

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you know that thing they say, “the only way out is through.” i know it more relevantly from a children’s nursery song. can’t go over it, can’t go under it, oh, we gotta go through it or something like that. apparently robert frost said it from “A Servant to Servants", 1915. serve the servants?

Len says one steady pull more ought to do it. 55 He says the best way out is always through. And I agree to that, or in so far As that I can see no way out but through— Leastways for me—and then they’ll be convinced.

don’t worry i didn’t get that from ai i copied it from a reddit post. i feel like that all the time. gotta go through it. but it’s like you’re going through it, and it’s like a sewage tunnel filled with shit, and you’re just crawling through the shit you’re covered in, and if you were hot, maybe you could make it work somehow, but you’re not hot. you’re ugly, and you’re covered in shit. oh and you’re addicted to prescription medications too. and the tunnel ain’t end, you live there, and every day when you look at the news (yeah, you got wifi in your shit tunnel) you hear something so fucking awful, and then you read people saying well they shouldn’t have done that because these people have an evil in them that goes through them, everything they are and down into the ground. Don’t want your children locked up in a cage? shouldn’t have come to America for a better life, shouldn’t have run from a country that you feared for your life in, shouldn’t have thought people might have empathy for another living, breathing human being. i mean, they only want the babies not to be aborted because they enjoy eating them so much? what the fuck? what the fuck, what the fuck. how are we as stupid little sentient piles of goo supposed to go on with our normal day when these things run parallel with us?

i wish i could give a list of all the helpful things I do to feel better, but honestly i just start crying while I’m driving, and then i start thinking I wish that truck that just turned veered into my lane and hit me head on. I told my husband I wish i could be committed somewhere, but then who would do the meal plan for the week? I’ve tried to lean in hard to art to convey feelings it really does help for a moment. i also, aside from when things cause me emotional distress, like when I’m just dealing with my regular emotional distress, tell myself no, you’re good at things. YOURE GOOD AT THINGS YOURE GOOD YOU DESERVE TO LIVE, and honestly, it does work.

i made a lot of the following collages after I read the diary entries in the 3pst**n files. sorry i don’t know what the link to them would be. It was a girl’s diary where she detailed how many forced pregnancies she went through, and I was really touched by how she used cut up magazines to talk about what happened to her, as I could just see her there finding the right thing, and it made me feel so sad; it made my stomach hurt.

i’m planning to work more on making sculptures out of boxes in my garage. those are my 2026 plans. turn 36 and cut up boxes. ok thanks

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My grandad died in his sleep on Christmas night, or it could have been the morning of the 26th. I don’t know much about it because my family doesn’t talk about these things. But he went from cleaning the gutters and hand rearing injured birds he found to not noticing if he had shit himself. Apparently, the change happened very fast; in a conversation I overheard my father having with my husband. I think about the bird he took care of, how he kept him in a box and fed him worms, then one day he opened up the box and the little bird was dead. Something that troubles me is that I don’t remember the year. I think it was 2023. I don’t even want to ask. I don’t even want to bring it up. That’s what we’re like.

Here he is, sitting in his chair, reading the paper. I found this image on Google Maps because I have another one saved of his dog, Sam, at the gate to their house. And I scrolled around the back of the house and saw him sitting there. forever.

I think of all the time I’ve wasted with people because I have such an unaffected way about me. I can’t lean into love or show it. Have you ever thought about someone who’s died and almost have this feeling like there’s something you could do with them again? Then there’s the deafening guilt. It’s over. And they burnt his body. They set fire to it.

Anyway, dear god, anyway. I keep forgetting it’s Christmas. Every year, it seems I push it out of my mind more and more and get angrier at the obligations that I’ve put on myself. No, I don’t want to make that thing I decided to make. No, wait, I want to make them and then throw them out in the driveway for the birds. I’ve gotten really tired of thinking of this all now. Yes, I’ve been taking showers, I got my hair dyed, I wondered if my hairdresser would attend my funeral, I wash my face, I take my asthma medicine, my magnesium, my SNRI before bed, I put my overnight lip balm on, and my overnight hand cream. I can take care of myself. I am real.

I finished my residency, although we still all have work to keep making. I’ve been painting boxes in my garage. Here are a couple of finished pieces that will go together into the shrine.

ok that’s it. thanks

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Every time I go to the doctor, I’ve gained weight. It’s like a fun thing to be ashamed of gaining an amount of yourself. There was a time in the spring when I got myself together and managed to lose some weight, but I was so hungry, I remember like being half dressed, standing in the pantry in the middle of the night, feverishly eating dates. Like dates as a snack. Not good dates either, that bad batch I got from costco that were all dried up. It’s so awful to me because everything I experience I always find is so awful to me. Because I like eating, and cooking and baking, because it’s so comforting, and I love comfort.

I went to the minute clinic on Tuesday because I have this sore throat and I’ve lost my voice, and the nurse started randomly reading like part of the depression questionnaire. i mean we all know it so well right its something like, how many times a week have you feel down, depressed or hopeless how many times a week have you felt little interest in doing things and I’m like that’s so funny like in a perverse way that she just started asking me this like right after can you tell me your date of birth. And, I was like, uh, what? Oh, none, none. Like babygirl, this isn’t the time for that; my throat is sore. What I keep seeing all the time, and it’s my fault for looking at it, is people on Instagram talking about how Sertaline saved their life. At this point, it’s bragging. Especially because zoloft triggered me to have manic episodes, it couldn’t have worked worse! Everything is so funny! I have resolved myself to when I start feeling down, depressed, or hopeless, I tell myself no. You don’t feel any way. denial. Which I think is a healthy coping mechanism that doesn’t get talked about enough. And it works slightly just like how I cured myself of anxiety (I did NOT cure myself of anxiety), but telling myself no, don’t think about it, don’t think about stop thinking about it. It all works, and it’s all fine.

I am part of my online trash residency thing for Kolaj Magazine now. I still have my One idea thinking about it sort of gives me a stomach ache, I don’t know why. not because I don’t feel like I’m good enough. having to share things with people. I don’t know. Being real existing, I’m sort of screaming right now, if you can picture a very beautiful woman in your mind, screaming. I realized why I like trash. It’s all from when I started going to estate sales, and the pieces of someone’s life were left alone without the someone in their life, and I saw them. The pieces, and it made me think about how beautiful but also how normal and boring life is. And I think in a way people might consider second hand things trash, because well, they do become it. They’re in a state of untrash. They belong to no one. They have no one to turn to. No one can become more sentimental about an old woman’s cookbook than I. books, especially because people will leave notes in books. write down dates. leave newspaper clippings in them. they hold us. oh my god! It’s so beautiful and so normal and boring. But it’s like those things are too close, it’s too real. But like things left in the street from bin day. Still a remnant of life. It’s still something that says I was here. They were there. Without me having to think too much about something that someone I loved might have owned, worn, written in. Think about your dead dog’s collar and leash. Like absolutely devastating. Probably hanging up in the mudroom (the closet under the stairs), is it trash? It’s trash, and it’s so godamn precious. There’s also the way in which I notice colour and shape more now. I like to see the shape of an old apple cider container. Red lid. Beautiful.

I’ve gone on too much. I know you’ve just skimmed over it all. It’s ok. I had this idea to stay up all night on like Saturday or something and make art all night, but instead I stayed up till about 10. which IS all night when you’re me. So I made these things.

I used the same card in all of these, if you can tell. It was a card congratulating someone for graduating. ok thanks

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Apparently, I experience anxiety no matter what. I could be anxious if I had the weight of water or the physical form of a woodland no one ever set foot in. I’d be like the trees’ limbs are moving in the wind too slowly, and it would give me the creeps. I like to ask people, “What’s wrong with me?” and most of them are like nothing or everything. I read someone write about having too much self awareness a few days ago on here. Sorry, I can’t link it because I don’t know how to find things on here, and honestly, I can define it better.

Self awareness for women is always different. I think it comes from body awareness. Girls know their bodies like a butcher looking at a diagram of a pig’s carcass. Which bit should I hack off, and then we hack it all off. And guilt, women are taught to keep things alive, and we add those things to ourselves. A dog, a man, a woman, a child, mother, father, a stray cat, an unwell looking bird sitting on the sidewalk that i still think about now years later about how he died and where he died and what happened his body looked like when he died, a house, a child you see being chastised, a child that was murdered by their parents that you never knew who lived in a different country. I could have saved them. I should save them all. This is what I think of when I think of self awareness. Not just the body, but the extensions of the body. The moments alone where you almost feel like you can see yourself. Women are proof that god does not exist.

Now, I don’t want to think about that anymore, so let me tell you about my day. My parents are staying with us from England. And it’s absurd to see them here. And of course, they’ve worn me down. Today I tried to take them out to eat, and I forgot about the constant criticism. Called my husband outside the appliance pawn shop, crying that I’m never going back to England because I can’t take it anymore, and he just tells me Well, we won’t see them every day there. god. It feels like my body isn’t inside me anymore. I have stepped out. What’s wrong with me? The drugs don’t work!

I am doing an online trash residency with Kolaj magazine. I would say I am excited about it. I have my plan of the shrine to trash made out of trash, and also some more ideas now about putting out a communal bin and asking people to give me their trash. Bring me your huddled masses. Nice trash, of course. Attractive trash only, please. And also maybe a collection of the cardboard boxes I get mail in. I had a great name for it that I forgot in the shower.

Also, here are a few poor quality phone pics from november, because I haven’t made any new collages lately, as I struggle to shut my brain off with so many people around.

I liked these bathrooms because of the pink.

ok thanks

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Can I be a nun that doesn’t believe in god and still gets to have sex with you? Like I’m a deist, I just looked this bullshit up. That’s the term. Which makes me mad; I want to be unlabelable because (I’m an embarrassment). I’m thinking about being alone, which reminds me of god. I think being a woman is something you do all alone. I feel alone all the time, like I’m a soft sweater left out on the lawn. I feel my greyness all the time. I feel like I have a mouth of blood. I just want to, you know, I just want to.

I like to think about god sitting alone in a room, and he’s got like a little bouncy ball, and he’s throwing it at the wall and catching it and throwing it at the wall and catching it. And that’s it, that’s god.

I want you guys to share with me something kind of normal or boring that you did. Just like an anecdote from your life, so mine is that I’ve been trying to do more charitable acts. I’m not sure why. I keep joking that I’m trying to get into heaven. I’ll be like, I’m definitely getting into heaven now. I went and made lunches for people who are food insecure (that’s how they describe them). A lady cried because she loves veterans so much. My sister and I donated food to a food bank. When I was driving there, I saw a white dog with a black face, and you could see his ribs, and he walked through the railing to go beneath the bridge, so I called animal control. I probably didn’t help at all. And when I had to drive home in the dark for a while, I was on the wrong side of the road, and I’m like why are these arrows facing the wrong way? Where was I? And then I had to slam on the brakes to avoid a black cat, and you could hear the brake pads scraping. My car smelled like hay. I love it when people share the things they do. Like a diary entry. I think it’s because no one wants to speak to me.

Here are my other entries I had submitted for the mini collage collective contest they had.

I was pretty disappointed to not get through to the fourth round with the “they” collage, but Andrea Burgay did buy it, so well that goes crazy! I guess I felt too confident in my own abilities. My own hubris, etc.

Here are my latest collages. Thinking a lot about how I don’t exist and I’m not there and

ok thanks

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One thing I remember about my grandmother (she is still alive, her name is Shirley) is that she would always pick up trash if she saw it around town. Now I pick up trash when I see it. The last time I saw her, I showed her my new shoes. For some reason, I decided white would be a good colour for walking shoes, and I needed to clean them. And she said the dirt just shows they’ve been used. I wish I could remember exactly what she said. It would’ve made for a good quote.

So I keep going insane. I go up and down. I do NOT have bipolar disorder. I am JUST a woman. And I’ve been doing this secret eating. Like, I go and buy like a dozen doughnuts and sit in my car and eat them all. Not sure what it’s about. And you know, like how people give things away before they commit suicide? I find I’ve been buying more things for more people. Wanting to give people things, but the things aren’t mine. I don’t know if that’s concerning or not, babe. This is how I’d do it. Take a lot of pills, various pills. No notes for anyone, I don’t have anything to say. But note on the door, “do not let (child) come in”.

I saw this post on Instagram of this like 100 year old woman, and she says to herself, “Why am I still here? Everyone’s dead.” What a question to ask yourself. To me, she missed the point. She was still here even though everyone else was dead. And of course she can live and suffer however she wants, right? But to me, it’s like I struggle all the time, but I think even though I’m sitting in my car binge eating doughnuts, at least I’m here sitting in my car binge eating doughnuts. What else is there? The cold, cold ground, baby girl.

I applied to a virtual residency with Kolaj Magazine, which is about trash. And I have two main ideas about collecting mail and other paper trash and doing that thing where you turn paper into other, new paper (turn water into wine), and maybe use it to collage on, or just maybe that’s the whole thing. And my other idea is to collect trash and collect wood and make a shrine, build a shrine? to the trash. Even if I don’t get the residency, I think I’ll still do the shrine because I’ve been dying to make a shrine.

Finally, I read about how people are trying to be disgustingly educated. And honestly, the idea of that annoys me because it reminds me of the meme where the guy is like I just need to work on myself, but he doesn’t get anywhere because it’s just for show. You know what I mean. It’s just masturbation. It’s wanting to be your own voyeur, but I found well there is truth to it if you’re learning what you want. So I took out a bunch of library books. Obligatory stack pic.

Anyway, no art to share, I probably made some this week or not. ok thanks

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I had some work in a show recently, and I went to the opening, but I was too scared to talk to anyone, and i was afraid they might want to take my picture, and i’d look weirdly shaped and ugly, so i left after like 11 minutes. my family told me they’d come to my next show too, and they didn’t, so that really amped up my victim complex that i love to let fester. no one cares about me :(

I really want to get a desktop computer and be able to LOG OFF, you know. Remember when we could do that, and yes I’m on a laptop, but It’s Not The Same, every millennial knows. and my other plan is to start sending out physical copies of art like physical media. I might have to start a paid subscription for that. Honestly, I don’t think you should have to pay for art (but i do want artists to be paid??), maybe i just don’t want myself to be paid because i don’t want to be noticed (remember ugly, weirdly shaped) but but uhh i think physical media is more important than ever now. fuck this virtual world where everything is easy and answerable.

here’s some of the most recent things I made. sorry if they are low brightness. it might just be my screen, and i can’t remember to change it because i’m an idiot.

I guess let me know if you’d be interested in getting prints from me. I would charge the lowest I possibly could after i research the costs and stuff. love you. thanks

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Sometimes I’ll read Peppa Pig to my son, and they’ll have a story with the grandparents, and I’ll tell my son, you know, when you’re young your grandparents will come over and you can see them all the time, and it’s so normal, but then you grow up and suddenly they’re gone. Grandparents are such a childhood thing. Can we just keep that, please? As you can tell, I am a very fun parent. Crying while reading about Grandpa Pig.

I dreamed I saw my grandad through a crowd, as if we were at a wedding, maybe. And he was wearing this luminous pink suit, and we waved at each other through the crowd until we both got very small.

I’ve been working on these sorts of blasphemous word arts; I’m a heretic, lol. I find them really fun because I use the thoughts I’ve put into my notes app (the girls' Bible) to create them, and I find that quite satisfying. I’m also planning to do a collab with my sister. She’s really good at illustrations so I’m going to send her a few starter collages and she’s going to draw on them and then send them back to me and I’ll scribble on them or something.,

ok that’s it. thanks

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I guess it’s just the “why” that I struggle with. I love art and making art because I have things I want to say, but it’s like my body is empty. I’m ready to give my body up to the sea. How do you keep going when it’s just up and down over and over? I’ve been big and small, big and small. It’s just like the survival mechanism we have, or whatever; it’s not the love of the game, lol. Like the things I do are mechanical and crawling. I’m crawling around the ground, dreaming about the past.

So, my goals I’m trying to set myself so I can stop, like, sitting with my head in my hands, are to apply to more open calls and work on I’m thinking a little book with found poetry, and maybe I can make a little collage for the front cover. Cute! I’m also planning to make something for the new cut me up magazine, it’s based around rituals, and honestly, I find applying for specific things so hard because I work in such a specific way that changing it to fit around someone else’s ideas is hard for me. I’m like creative in a rigid way. Which is funny because I feel like that’s describing a ritual. My idea, which I’ve been talking extensively to myself about, is inspired by how my son organizes his toys in lines, which made me think about how people organize items for a ceremony. So I’m thinking about setting out like 3 small collages within one page, with the idea being they are the pieces needed to complete a ritual, but it only becomes one when it’s viewed. Because to me, I think art changes completely once someone else views it.

I’ve also been planning to do more things with text. I think to try and examine how I think and make it more outside of me. I made a few collages last week with these letters I got from Michaels, shout out to Michaels, but I don’t know how to feel about their look. (they’re the two images at the end here)

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