Many, many hours.
I am married now. two months.
my wife is a mirror to my strangeness, to my kindness.
she is a wild pixie wanton and a genius.
The title is, as the drawing itself -
it is her. it is me. it is where we live and who we are, abridged, precis. An abstraction in summary.
Can you see her strain to lift her head against the night? can you see the weight that hurts her? the pain that she wears the shame at her self even in the flickering light of her loveliness?
that girl i drew is each of our hells abridged, a synoptic of decay, of physical lesions in our brains, the cold and the dark and
fucked up and not
madness for both of us for all our lives but a sorrow shared is a sorrow fucked off and kicked in the nuts.
i had always believed that i would be, must be alone. that everyone is. but she is my twin jester freak muso writer, artist historian (archeologist actually woah)
it is very odd. being happy all the time. it is a miracle of chance that we have both lived thus far, that we met is so utterly beyond me that i am left STATISTICALLY AGOG.
man. she giggled hard at that. she is next to me looking nerdy and exquisite while she writes further for the beginning of our novel…
I finished this piece before she was mine, and well before she took my hand in a wedding utterly scoured clean of religion. not a word. yay!
… works are still slow coming still have chronic pain.
but i am getting fucking better oh yes.
_(sh….. it’s true but…. keep it under any kind of headwear not entirely translucent. a hat, yes. could work…
in time we will eat the world.)_