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Member since: Fri Nov 20, 2009, 02:17 PM
Number of posts: 9,577

Journal Archives

Thank you for your incredibly kind and caring reply

I am touched by it and it means the world to me.

I am grateful you took the time and energy to reach out to me even while you are stretched to the limit with trying to accomplish the important but Herculean work of honoring the lives of people and recording their histories.

I have often enjoyed reading histories recorded during the WPA times in the depression era and recognize the importance and long lasting impact of the work you are doing. Thank you for that, as well.

I am so sorry for the loss of your partner. 😭

Thank you for reassuring me itís normal to feel badly after enduring this much bullying.

Thank you. ❤️🙏

(((Hugs))) I am sorry for the stress you are carrying. Your work must be very important, I think.

It is always the most important work that inflicts the most stress.

There has been a year and a half of cyber bullying of me by people I once looked up to and itís taken its toll on me.

I feel marked as a leper and damaged and separate, never a chance to rejoin humanity or feel okay inside ever again. I feel profoundly alone no matter who is around. I canít feel or accept any love offered to me. I am standing behind a glass wall with no door, with everyone else on the other side.

I am going through the motions, for everything. For anything. I look in the mirror in the morning and put on my makeup but feel such a strong urge to take an exacto knife and carve instead.

Just pretending to be normal on the outside.

I put on my makeup so I look normal. I do art so I seem normal.

I respond in the ways I have to, to appear normal. Going through the motions.

People tell me, it must be such a joyful thing to make your art. I smile and say ďyes.Ē

The whole time I am creating I am telling myself how stupid and worthless I am and have always been and my existence is an affront to the universe.

The daydream that brings me happiness these days is being told by a doctor I have only a few months to live.

Some people dream of winning the lottery or going on a vacation or achieving something or buying something.

I guess I am dropping the mask here and exposing the real me. People get angry when I do that and it never ends well for me but lately I am tired of wearing the mask of normality.

Maybe I will get lucky

And death will come to me soon. Itís nice to have hope.

Yeah, this is how I feel these days.


The one thing that has remained consistent from the very start

Is that feeling, I wish none of this had ever happened.

I wish I could erase time, erase memories.

I can understand why people turn to drugs. You want to blot out memories, thoughts, feelings.

I never got it before, but now I do. Or you really understand the longing for death.

So senseless. All of it was so senseless.

I wonder sometimes if I will ever be free

Or if I will be tracked and hunted and watched all the rest of my days.
Or untilÖ

I am in a prison and no one will tell me what I did wrong to deserve all of this.

I try to paint most days.

It gives me something to do, gets me out of bed.


Decided to try an ocean painting on the smooth side of Canson paper

Pastel on Canson paper, 9x12.


Did a charcoal sketch today to honor Jim Gordon and his music. I cared about him.



The world will never see another drummer with his touch and style. Eric Clapton said he was his best drummer.

And he was a kind man. He wrote back to a silly fan who wrote him while he was at CMF.

I corresponded with him for a time. I loved him.

RIP sweet brilliant drummer boy. Hope to hear you play in heaven some day.

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