Discarded Toys

I play with my rabbit

every day, sometimes twice.

Often, I wish it velveteen,

as real as the smack

of a riding crop

as I rock my mount,

ridden wet, and hard.

Not every toy was meant to be velveteen.

The streams never crossed,

left alone and solitary

in my toy box.

For you, I was only a plaything,

Never meant to be made real.

Bunnies can break.

Your mechanical heart needs winding.

You box me up,

your discarded toy,

that bored you,

displeased you.

My answers were always wrong.

I never learned to tell

the fairy tales quite

the way you wanted.

I'm just another locked toy box,

left out for whoever might want

a broken, discarded plaything,

a rag doll waiting for a new master.

Find it here.

Take My Wings

Butterfly fragile,

my wings new grown.

I flew. I dreamed,

and I flew

right into your net.

Coaxed by a breath of words

fluttered into my susceptible ears,

Entrapped by my own desire.

to believe

that the intensity in your eyes

was more than the clinical interest

of a magnifying glass.

Pin my wings,

taking out your heart

even as I strip bare.

Mount me.

I helped you weave the net

so much thicker, so much tighter,

with my own indiscretions.

Bind me, wrapping me fast

into my cocoon.

Turn me back

from newly metamorphed butterfly

to graceless worm.

I let you experiment,

your gaze scientist cold,

forgetting I once knew

how to fly.

Find it here.

Killed It

I killed you.

Handed you the gun.

Loaded the bullets

that night when I ended

everything and anything

that might have been.

You voiced everything

I refused to give form.

You struggled to find

your way out of the cave

while I embraced the blindness,

huddled in claustrophobia.

How many bullets,

how many reasons did you need?

How many nights did you

play that game, uncertain

if you really wanted victory?

I voided your depression.

The unraveling of your mind

exposed my unfinished edges,

my own potential for madness.

Could I have counted

out your pills for twenty years,

pulled you back from sanity

every time you danced to the edge?

I was never brave enough for you.

Uncertain how to rescue a damsel,

I left you to fight your dragons alone.

I think of you every time

I bring the whip down on my own back.

I learned to wallow,

but never knighted up.

Put the gun in your mouth.

How many bullets did I give you?

Pull the trigger. Once. Twice, and

silence everything about myself

I ever saw, reflected back from

your beautiful, dead eyes.

Descent to Temptation

Lead us not into tentaclation....

Loving Edgar Allan Poe

Edgar, leading your flock 
of raven hounds,
could you smell it on me: 
despair and weakness
with a whiff of amontillado?

Do you possess a sixth sense?
Am I the low hanging body 
on your corpse tree?

Would you love me, 
then leave me, bury me,
mourning me with a proper lament?

Brick me in with your own hands,
whisper sweet nevermore in my ear.

Could we role play in a sepulcher?
Let me call you cousin.

Rise and fall for me, Edgar.
Swing your pendulum round and round.

Feel the tell tale beat of my heart,
served just the way you like it:
cold and seasoned with despair.

Find it here.

Cupid Set Match

I gleam from my neat shiny box,
rowed and arranged,
categorized and numbered.
Scroll, stop, select.

Touch my fire hot skin.
I promise the burn 
doesn't last.

Your detached heart
only beats for the unknown.
New is always better.
Love refreshed daily.

Keep your edge, 
your streak unending,
my song unplayed.
I don't know your rules.

I invite you to peel
my onion layers.
Your eyes ghost me.
You never learned 
how to cry.

Find it here.

Demon Lover

I knew you, but briefly.
Your words a flutter on my lips.
You boarded your airship to anywhere,
leaving me, altered and alone.

I peeled your skin
to make my own suit.
Curled your mustache.
Flowered your beard.
Bow tie or cravat?
Both suited you.

We waltzed in dazzling splendor,
strolled in the depths of the catacombs,
Our conversation balloons
followed in slow triumph.

Your phantom weight strained
even as your incubi fingers
found all my secrets.

Until, fleshed, you returned,
breathing in my castle.
Your weight collapsed 
all my architecture,
ephemerally perfect.

My demon lover imploded,
Xanadu, revisited.
The goo will leave a stain.

Captain, board your ship.
My port has closed.

Find it here.

One in 7 billion

A few days ago, I was at an exhibition with a friend.  

I don't remember the conversation that led up to it, but as we paused for a moment in front of a depiction of voodoo ritual, he commented, "Did you know that there are over 7 billion people on the earth today?"

I waited for him to continue, expecting some further reflection on overpopulation, dwindling global resources, maybe even something about the effects of climate destabilization.

Instead, he said, "You would think that in a world of 7 billion people that there would be even one person that would just get me."

In that moment, I thought I had never heard anything quite so heartbreaking, and so very, very true.

Yes, yes, oh yes, I realized, that is exactly what I want; all that I have ever really wanted.

Why, in a world of 7 billion people, isn't there anyone who understands me?

I'm tired of facing the endless crowds and the lengthening days, always alone; a mask of competent resilience carefully in place.

Find me, please, I'm right here; waiting, just waiting for you.

Find this piece here.

Put away Childish Things

My malfunctioning tabula rasa, 

ready to be filled with editorial notes.

Some children are born to disappoint,

but a daily meal of criticism

filled even my thick skull 

until self hatred spilled out my blue orbs.

No more would fit.

My playmates and classmates were showered

with love for simply being.

I mirrored them, echoing,

but every action, backward, distorted

and wrong.  Or, so you told me.

Ten is too old for playthings.

My untouched dolls, eyes glassy with judgement,

lined dusty shelves.  Playtime was over.

My only escape from you, closed to me.

You locked the gate, sealing out the light.

Hoarding your miserly draconic love.

My inner drummer marched me cliff ward.

I learned to always choose the men

who loved by dismantling.

They knew all the songs

you ever sang to me.

I followed the piper. I danced, 

always getting the steps wrong.

I can never quiet your voice,

the siren in my ear,

the storm of your indifference

forever eroding the sand foundation

of my mirage of self.

The Green Silence

I was runner up to your queen.
You fulfilled all your obligations.
I languished as understudy.

I never learned to be true blue.
Green suited me better.

A black hole to your rising sun,
a whirling pit of negativity,
a weed in shadow
while your rose bloomed.

I lived on leftovers,
the queue of mediocrity,
the rejects, wannabes and never weres,
the Calibans longing for Miranda.

Wearing a leather jacket 
doesn't make you Joey Ramone.

Caliban learned to hate
what he could never possess.
Passion becomes poison
whispering in the dark.

Blue roses never bloom,
stunted in their growth.
My betrayal blossomed
in reptilian silence.
The greenery flourished.

Just Be

Everything you ever did wrong
you wanted to fix with me, 
your tweaked rerun.
The casting was all wrong.

A bean sprouted from disappointed dreams,
I went off script, losing 
the pink swirls, the tea parties,
and the porcelain dolls.

Your prototype miscarried 
into gothic horror,
tarot card spreads and spirits
calling from the darkness.

My wings didn't sprout.
The tiara never fit.
My shields failed.

Layers of masks;
the paint is peeling.
Alterations and cuts,
the skin doesn't fit.

I struggle to breathe; to cut;
I'm corseted into the wrong role,
robed as an ill favored caricature.

I'm shedding your skin
into something reptilian and sleek.
Dropping the masks,
I still won't wear pink

Do You Mind

My nemesis gyrates to her own spiteful tune, 
placing the soundtrack on replay.
The film runs on endless reels.

She pops my joy balloon,
my present to myself.

She wakes me, sweating,
to a distorted future crone,
eating fast food ketchup for sustenance.

Our reality extends to large vistas 
of past pain and future brimstone.

She dances to my pain,
relighting like a phoenix
what cannot be erased.

I need treatment.
Bring on your electrodes.
Incise into my skull.
Let the flagellation cease.
Pierce my demon heart
and grant me amnesiac peace.

New Orleans Silence

I might have been something:

a physicist, a shaman, a healer, 

a streetwalker.

Instead, I am broken,

created in your image.

A broken doll made by a twisted man,

criticism beating in your empty chest.

Your bile corkscrewed into my marrow,

from the moment I began my desperate crawl

away from you.

I could never get far enough.

Your craftsmanship was faulty.

I am left a nothing, a heap of broken parts,

never working, never feeling,

abandoned by my maker.

                                                                                        - Loveday Funck




                                                             

Dandelions of the French Quarter

I found this image of a Victorian girl about half a year ago and was enchanted by her.

She just looks so happy to be where she is and doing precisely what she is doing.

It's a fantastic attitude to take through life.

Last week, I discovered that Berke Breathed had begun drawing "Bloom County" once more.  I adored Opus and Milo and Cutter John as a child.  I felt a tinge of that Victorian girl's joie de vivre.

I adored the way that Berke Breathed and his creations mixed serious politics with the whimsy of a child's bedtime story.

Well I remember the serious temptation of the dandelion as it sways on the breeze, seeds ready to fly.

How could I help but pay homage?

I R Mutt

My son asked me what I was up to when he found me looking at images of toilets.

Naturally, I responded that I was tinkering with the idea of making a dog toilet.  I was undecided because I wasn't quite certain as to how to go about it.

My son told me that the idea was so many kinds of wrong.

Therefore, I had to follow through.

Viola.  The Dog Toilet.

Clearly not as elegant as the idea behind the original "Fountain" by Duchamp in 1917, but as you can see, I had absolutely no choice.

It had to be done.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fountain_(Duchamp)

Marmalade Skies

I think we absorb things in our youth that influence us throughout our lives whether we consciously realize it or not.  

Growing up in my house meant that you would inevitably be exposed to the Beatles.

They were my mother's favorite band.  My younger brother was even named after her favorite (John Lennon). In turn, I named one of my sons after my brother, and by default, also after one of the Beatles.

Since I started taking my work to art markets last year, one of the most frequent comments I've received is that my work looks like something that would be on the cover of a Beatles album.  

I was a little perplexed by this, but ultimately, delighted.

There is just something about the Beatles.

Paul, John, George, John, Ringo, John.

What's not to love?

From the clean cut youthful charm of the early Beatles to the evolving sound as they followed their own roads of spiritual seeking, it's hard not to see why they were the number one band in the world for so many years.

My favorite songs are the ones that appealed to me as a child: "Octopus's Garden", "Yellow Submarine", "Maxwell's Silver Hammer,", and clearly, "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds."

I love the surrealistic nature of the lyrics that contains such a strong visual as well as auditory appeal.

I have an annoying tendency to listen to my favorite song of the moment on repeat for an extended period (something I indulge in only when alone).  I did that with "Lucy" and this picture was a direct result.

It may not reflect the lyrics perfectly, but how captivating is the thought of marmalade skies?

Keep Your Heart Safe

The older I get, the more guarded I become.  

I think it's inevitable that, over time, we become more wary of sharing our heart and allowing ourselves to be vulnerable.

The caged heart has sustained some damage.  My grimly determined Victorian avatar has opted to place her heart carefully under guard.

She can't risk letting herself be harmed again.

Her heart just couldn't take it.  Another injury and her heart might break beyond repair.

But, just because you are determined to protect yourself, doesn't mean that someone might not try to breach your defenses...

Pardon the overly phallic symbolism, but our guarded Victorian lady just might have to weigh her options....

Is he worth the risk?

Think carefully!

Much Ado In Baton Rouge

I've been having a lot of fun the past few weeks creating some gorgeous ladies a la Dias de la Muerte (Day of the Dead).  Instead of using the more traditional roses, I thought it would be fun to work in some antique Haeckel shapes from under the sea.

My time in my art studio has been very limited in the past few weeks.  I volunteered at my art association's summer art camp last week and then spent the weekend at the NOLA Time Fest in New Orleans.  What I have been really been longing for is a day off.

However, last Friday night, I heard about an exciting new development in the Baton Rouge art scene and it drove all thoughts of doing nothing right out of my head.

Talented artist, Michelle Elder, has been extremely busy at 524 North Foster Street helping to renovate the former Southside Motors building into an exciting new art cooperative in the heart of Baton Rouge's arts district!

The venue will feature ongoing events with local musicians and performers as well as art exhibitions AND the building features studio bays which can be rented out by local artists and craftspeople.

I am absolutely thrilled to be included n the preview party tonight!

I really just started a serious foray into the arts world about a year ago.  I took the Artist as Entrepreneur course through the Arts Council of Baton Rouge.   It really opened my eyes to how the art world works.

I learned about juried art markets and art exhibitions.   I applied to two immediately and was ecstatic to be accepted into Art Melt and then receive an Honorable Mention at the September Competition at the Alexandria Museum of Art.

Exciting, absolutely, but what happens next?

Apparently, group shows are the next stage if you're interested in pursuing a serious art career.

Beautiful synchronicity at work, I met Cindy Wunderbar who was creating an urban art house, Chez Fab, to host art exhibitions as well as a venue for performers and musicians.

I was thrilled to participate in Chez Fab's first group show as well as in their "BRothers We Love" show.

And, then, last week, I heard about Studio 524 and the upcoming preview show and party.

Another group show.  Another amazing venue.  Halfway through 2015 and I am absolutely delighted to watch as life continues to beautifully unfold before me!

Grape Jellyfish

I suppose I should just come right out and admit it:  I enjoy anime.

Certainly, I don't watch as much of it as my children but I watch.

The illustration style is refreshingly different from typical Western animation.  

Some of it is so amazing that it quite takes my breath away.  

Over the weekend, I binge watched a short 11 episode series, "Princess Jellyfish".

There is something so elegant and yet almost alien about sea creatures like jellyfish.  

I just couldn't resist playing.

Lord Jaune Dapper and his Magickal Space Unicorn

Some days when I am feeling down and it seems like nothing will go my way ever again, I like to think about Lord Jaune Dapper and remember that he didn't always have such a fantastic sense of style; he didn't always journey with the magnificent beast that currently stands at his side.

Sometimes people cannot see the awesomeness inside themselves.  Lord Jaune Dapper didn't always realize how special he was.

He dressed in dark, somber colors.  He lingered despondently in the shadows, but then, he met the Magickal Space Unicorn.  

The Magickal Space Unicorn helped Lord Jaune to realize his own inner awesomeness.  

Lord Jaune no longer wanted to hide.  He wanted to flaunt his spectacular style and shine.

Huzzah, Lord Jaune Dapper.  Huzzah!

That is how I feel about my art.  

I refuse to slink about the internet, only posting my artwork to a few.  

I want to share it with the world!