Gouache Study - Two Lemons And A Half

“I shall never forget the occasion when I was visiting a school as a writer and the whole place suddenly fell into an uproar because the school tomboy - a most splendid Britomart of a girl - had beaten up the school bully. Everything stopped in the staffroom while the teachers debated what to do. They wanted to give the tomboy a prize, but decided reluctantly that they had better punish her and the bully too. They knew that if, as a child, you do pluck up courage to hit the bully, it is an act of true heroism - as great as that of Beowulf in his old age. I remember passing the tomboy, sitting in her special place of punishment opposite the bully. She was blazing with her deed, as if she had actually been touched by a god. And I thought that this confirmed all my theories: a child in her position is open to any heroic myth I care to use; she is inward with folktales; she would feel the force of any magical or divine intervention.”

— Diana Wynne Jones (via joeyvermeil)

I'm 19 and I stand in my room. Have you accomplished anything if you spent the year running just to end up back in the room that saw all your tears? Isn't the point of running to slow down somewhere else? But then I hear my mom chuckling at a joke I sent her through the door and remember that she didn't do that. Then

I am 18 and I am standing in my room. Sometimes I have to remind myself of how i carried so much stress in my neck then. I sat perched on my bed like a stranger too polite to mention the unusual offered seat. I had slammed a door behind me confident the next one was already open. The dread when the knob doesn't turn. I escaped through a window just to end up on this carpet again.

I am 19. I carry less stress in my neck. I devide friends into neat piles; healing and burning. Like an acid drip working unstoppably through your jeans. It doesn't actually hurt yet but god chemistry was your best subject. I see the acid on her jeans but we're adults now. Adults don't grip each others' arms until the circulation cuts off to keep from the cliff. I can make you a tea.

I make tea. I've always made tea. Perhaps that's the beauty of 19. The only novel thing in this poem, the oldest of all things. It's called an adventure at 8, a hobby at 15, a habit at 19. Hello. Would you like a tea. I was making one anyway. Really, I'm quite good at pouring it now.

sometimes you are 19 standing in the kitchen wondering how you forgot to have breakfast and lunch today, how you will exit the teenage in 47 fridays, how you used to love watermelons 4 summers ago and now you can't even stand the sight of it, how there were floors that saw you wipe them clean off your own tears once, how you changed your favourite coffee recipe last summer because your bestfriend liked it and you guys haven't talked since then, how the new book you're reading was never really your type but you love it, how you hated your hair for 9 winters, how the windows of your new house are bigger, how you feel bad for hurting them, how maybe making mistakes is okay, how maybe you don't have to not eat that cupcake when you go out today, how the wind feels too right whenever you snuggle into your bed, how you were 17 and all the winter ache wanted you to open your kitchen drawers and look for warmth. how then you didn't know someday you'll be 19 standing in the kitchen wondering if you forgot to put sugar in your coffee again.

'We said our goodbyes

And blew the stars out

Like candles'

- ellen everett

Redraw of an old drawing i did a while back :)

I... I don't know why not more people have reposted this. Because while I don't recognise the melody, the story, as my own, I recognise the beat. The rythm of finding out so many truths, so essential, in your life while elders tell you you're barely living. I beg to differ. These are my most vital years.

apparently teenagers don’t know a lot about life. I mean, its a fair argument. if I’m lucky I’ve still got a good 62 years left on this space rock. but just for shits and giggles, lets take a look at what i’ve learned so far.

when i was four, i learned that everyone does not, in fact, see blurry colors and shapes. i also learned that the level of fucked up my eyesight is can be measured in numbers. wicked.

when i was five, i went to kindergarten. in that first year of school, i learned that books are a way better way to spend my time than playdates.

when i was seven, i noticed that teachers really, really like me. and i really, really liked them too. turns out, elementary school teachers and i have a common love for whiteboard markers and “good job” stamps.

when i was eight, i learned that parents don’t always sleep in the same bed. I learned that sometimes dad’s voice gets really fucking loud and mom learned how to run when she was a kid too. i noticed that mom didn’t really get out of bed much anymore. she didn’t really do much of anything anymore. but she still let me sleep in her bed, so i didn’t really think about it anymore.

when i was nine, i learned that dogs have babies just like humans. i learned that puppies need more attention than even i did. i learned to love my puppies more than anyone else i was yet to meet. the runt of the litter died. by this, i was taught that the weak don’t make it far.

when i was nine, i learned that adults roughhouse too. but most of the time they aren’t joking. I learned that acrylic nails against a stubbly jaw ends with red and blue flashing lights and mom spending the night somewhere i couldn’t go.

when i was ten, i had to move from the only house i could remember. had to say goodbye to the room i painted into a blue sky. had to say goodbye to the pool in the backyard, where the first friend i made, had ever had learned my name.

when i was eleven, i met my first best friend. she was darker than me, but she held so much light. i remember talking on the swings and chasing boys through the multi-colored playground. i remember planning times to go to the bathroom so we could see each other between classes.

when i was twelve, my first best friend changed. she still had that light, but she used it to manipulate her way to the top of the popularity list. she wore too-tight shirts and white american eagle jeans. she made it clear that she wasn’t bringing a plus one to the top with her. she still came to my house, and when no one from school was around i could pretend that she hadn’t changed at all. that’s when i learned how to ignore the bad parts of people, even when they hurt you over and over again.

when i was twelve, i also learned that sometimes, people hate you for no good reason. after my first best friend, i met a girl. a-line blonde bob, jeans and tees just like me. she blended in, and i didn’t know who she really was until it was too late. i lost my phone in gym. my mom pinged the location and i heard it coming from a class down the hall. i opened the door, and there she was. my phone in her hand, her trying to turn it off. me biting my lip, running out to the bathroom to hide from my mom and her. she cut 6 inches of my hair off after we caught her. my mom got her expelled, and i learned one more thing that year. revenge isn’t sweet. it’s tasteless.

when i was thirteen, i learned that new situations are worse than the one you were trying to escape in the first place. I learned that the only time i felt safe was in the bathroom stall with my legs on the toilet seat. wanted so badly to be invisible. i learned that the only way to have a few minutes without anxiety, was to bleed. I learned to call the sting and the velvety warmth home, and since then i am uncomfortable without that burn.

when i was fourteen, i learned that writing is a better way to spend the time than much of anything else. with no direction i wrote short stories, bad poems, and journaled til i had a callus on my thumb. i smeared the pages with blood and never got more than halfway through a journal before getting bored of the cover. i learned to write and write and write until everything i had inside of me boiled down to hundreds of thousands of words.

when i was fifteen, i learned that no and maybe are synonyms to the wrong type of boy. i realized that even i wasn’t immune to the desperate persuasion that comes a guy who wants to get off. i started cussing a lot more. our movie dates ended with me crying myself to sleep, wondering why i didn’t say pull away when his hand found mine, why i let him use me like that, why i didn’t just walk out of the theater, why i didn’t fucking end it right there. i found the strength to later, and the revenge i got as tears streamed down his face was the same: tasteless.

when i was sixteen i learned that you can love so many people at once, all in different ways. a boy who led the group, kind when it matters and a great listener. a boy who made everyone laugh, with beautiful curls and honest hands. a girl who went to school in the town over, a voice that gets the birds harmonizing and me head over heels. a girl who supplies the music, mostly oldies she somehow got me to listen to and love. and this is how a romantic slowly meets their biggest weakness.

when I was seventeen I learned for the third time that you should walk away from experimental girls, girls who have a history of only being halfway interested, girls who say all the right things and give up when they win your heart. walk away from those girl friends that flirt when it’s fun. just because you give them everything they want doesn’t mean they will choose you when the dust settles.

I’m eighteen now. i’m learning that growth is something you have to work on every day, confrontation isn’t positive or negative, and not everyone is the enemy. i’m learning to love all over again (for the sixth time). it’s only been two months and i’ve already gained so much. here’s to the next ten.

truly some people have no genre savviness whatsoever. A girl came back from the dead the other day and fresh out of the grave she laughed and laughed and lay down on the grass nearby to watch the sky, dirt still under her nails. I asked her if she’s sad about anything and she asked me why she should be. I asked her if she’s perhaps worried she’s a shadow of who she used to be and she said that if she is a shadow she is a joyous one, and anyway whoever she was she is her, now, and that’s enough. I inquired about revenge, about unfinished business, about what had filled her with the incessant need to claw her way out from beneath but she just said she’s here to live. I told her about ghosts, about zombies, tried to explain to her how her options lie between horror and tragedy but she just said if those are the stories meant for her then she’ll make another one. I said “isn’t it terribly lonely how in your triumph over death nobody was here to greet you?” and she just looked at me funny and said “what do you mean? The whole world was here, waiting”. Some people, I tell you.

Wildest Dreams

Watercolor on Black Cotton Paper

2024, 44"x 30"

Lavender

25 ways to be a little more punk in 2025

Cut fast fashion - buy used, learn to mend and/or make your own clothes, buy fewer clothes less often so you can save up for ethically made quality

Cancel subscriptions - relearn how to pirate media, spend $10/month buying a digital album from a small artist instead of on Spotify, stream on free services since the paid ones make you watch ads anyway

Green your community - there's lots of ways to do this, like seedbombing or joining a community garden or organizing neighborhood trash pickups

Be kind - stop to give directions, check on stopped cars, smile at kids, let people cut you in line, offer to get stuff off the high shelf, hold the door, ask people if they're okay

Intervene - learn bystander intervention techniques and be prepared to use them, even if it feels awkward

Get closer to your food - grow it yourself, can and preserve it, buy from a farmstand, learn where it's from, go fishing, make it from scratch, learn a new ingredient

Use opensource software - try LibreOffice, try Reaper, learn Linux, use a free Photoshop clone. The next time an app tries to force you to pay, look to see if there's an opensource alternative

Make less trash - start a compost, be mindful of packaging, find another use for that plastic, make it a challenge for yourself!

Get involved in local politics - show up at meetings for city council, the zoning commission, the park district, school boards; fight the NIMBYs that always show up and force them to focus on the things impacting the most vulnerable folks in your community

DIY > fashion - shake off the obsession with pristine presentation that you've been taught! Cut your own hair, use homemade cosmetics, exchange mani/pedis with friends, make your own jewelry, duct tape those broken headphones!

Ditch Google - Chromium browsers (which is almost all of them) are now bloated spyware, and Google search sucks now, so why not finally make the jump to Firefox and another search like DuckDuckGo? Or put the Wikipedia app on your phone and look things up there?

Forage - learn about local edible plants and how to safely and sustainably harvest them or go find fruit trees and such accessible to the public.

Volunteer - every week tutoring at the library or once a month at the humane society or twice a year serving food at the soup kitchen, you can find something that matches your availability

Help your neighbors - which means you have to meet them first and find out how you can help (including your unhoused neighbors), like elderly or disabled folks that might need help with yardwork or who that escape artist dog belongs to or whether the police have been hassling people sleeping rough

Fix stuff - the next time something breaks (a small appliance, an electronic, a piece of furniture, etc.), see if you can figure out what's wrong with it, if there are tutorials on fixing it, or if you can order a replacement part from the manufacturer instead of trashing the whole thing

Mix up your transit - find out what's walkable, try biking instead of driving, try public transit and complain to the city if it sucks, take a train instead of a plane, start a carpool at work

Engage in the arts - go see a local play, check out an art gallery or a small museum, buy art from the farmer's market

Go to the library - to check out a book or a movie or a CD, to use the computers or the printer, to find out if they have other weird rentals like a seed library or luggage, to use meeting space, to file your taxes, to take a class, to ask question

Listen local - see what's happening at local music venues or other events where local musicians will be performing, stop for buskers, find a favorite artist, and support them

Buy local - it's less convenient than online shopping or going to a big box store that sells everything, but try buying what you can from small local shops in your area

Become unmarketable - there are a lot of ways you can disrupt your online marketing surveillance, including buying less, using decoy emails, deleting or removing permissions from apps that spy on you, checking your privacy settings, not clicking advertising links, and...

Use cash - go to the bank and take out cash instead of using your credit card or e-payment for everything! It's better on small businesses and it's untraceable

Give what you can - as capitalism churns on, normal shmucks have less and less, so think about what you can give (time, money, skills, space, stuff) and how it will make the most impact

Talk about wages - with your coworkers, with your friends, while unionizing! Stop thinking about wages as a measure of your worth and talk about whether or not the bosses are paying fairly for the labor they receive

Think about wealthflow - there are a thousand little mechanisms that corporations and billionaires use to capture wealth from the lower class: fees for transactions, interest, vendor platforms, subscriptions, and more. Start thinking about where your money goes, how and where it's getting captured and removed from our class, and where you have the ability to cut off the flow and pass cash directly to your fellow working class people

Hope has dirt under her fingernails

Hope has dirt under her fingernails. Her broken foot trembles beneath her as she stands up, reading herself for another punch.

Faith clutches the rim of the sink, breath fogging up the mirror. Then she takes her meds and closes the door behind her.

Perseverance hands bribes to cops and takes the first cleaning job she gets, eyes averted as she gets slapped for tardiness.

Selflessness shivers on her bedroom floor, the memory of loosing a patient on the operation table replaying behind her eyelids again.

Love sits in the visitors hall of the hospital, waiting to replace the wilted flowers beside the coma patient.

Passion only leaves the house to go to therapy, the world too painful to look at for long.

Strength looks at the others and decides to make a home in their hearts.

Andrea Gibson, Lord of the Butterflies