this page's song: revisited by WillyRodriguezWasTaken <3 12:56 - 14:04 and 17:03 - 18:19 <3

art show statment

“Let's have some tea.”

I hate speaking… I despise everything to do with speaking, that’s why I try to communicate through everything else. One of those things being art.

From what music I listen to everyday, to the designs and artworks I create. I am communicating how I feel and what I want to say. Presenting to you my fear and shame in the human body, feelings that have no grounds and stay too long, my deep jealousy that overwhelms my sight, and my tendency to hide behind animals and insects instead of myself.

My stuff is never uniform and I love that. I hate being stuck in the same state of mind over and over. Though going back never hurts.

I wish I could explain my work to a tea, making you taste every flavour and every leaf, but I can’t. I try my best to give an idea, hoping you see something of my work in your life or in others, but one day we should have tea together.

my personal quotes, feelings, and statements about me and my life.

-most of this is heavily censored or cut off-

[it is also stupidly out of context or embedded with ideas and references only I understand so don't take any of this badly, or do, it's really up to you]

I cry and cry, ugly and sweaty, like a lost bird that didn’t learn to fly, and won’t try and learn.

I don’t understand my complex emotions, I crash and burn more than I can remember, I relive that disgusting pain almost every night. Drowning in the fake blood I gave myself. A gift I thought I would enjoy.
I feel warm, too warm.
I ask. I didn’t do such a thing, stop saying nonsense in my ears? I am ungrateful, disgusting, sorrowing in my own pain.
A pile of hot boiling blood is what I am.
The same dark red that’s supposed to symbolize my love, why does it infect my blood?
I’m tired, I always am. When will it be enough.

All you blame is yourself, but who else could you blame.

writing won’t fix your past.
saving that bug won’t wipe your sins.
complaining won’t improve your relationships.
you can’t save the self you think you are.

I’ve been drifting beyond my own reach since I was 8.

Are you pushing ideals on others to satisfy your desires?

...someone beautiful enough to take pleasure in my body before it rots.

I wish he choked me that night in that stupid bathroom of his.

sleep paralysis: I always get hallucinations of someone in my room, this time it was some guy with a red top who walked over and starting staring over me, as soon as he got to me a bunch of whispering started, like a group of adults all in a room whispering so much that it’s loud.
I hate when this happens, I hate not being able to move.

ideas for art: like paintings, animations, and films

Red riding hood but she has a shotgun
“What big teeth you have!” *loads 2 shells into the barrel*

A snake wrapping around a fish trying to flop away, squeezing it till its eye pops out

Animation: fish flops into scenes, snakes slithering around, focus on tail or tongue, it slithers in circles getting closer and close until it wraps around and squeezes, focus on fish, then pop, the eye flies out - either ends before the pop with only noise, or a cut to the eye bouncing and rolling on the floor/or I guess it should still be attached to the fish, so a focus on the eye dangling - like someone hanging

I smoke a cigarette, I spit blood on the bathroom sink, I floss my teeth, more blood spat on the same sink, I take a pill, more blood spat, I kiss someone more blood, I hit my head repeatedly with my fist, blood is flowing, the sink is full, my eyes hurt, I collapse.

sitting in at a jazz band/bar, father comes in and sits across from you, first person, he starts talking “jazz, huh?…” you shift your attention to the table, and fiddle with the rim of your whisky glass. “where’s the rest of you? How much have you drank? Do you have a home? I wish I could have been like you when I was young.” You look up for that statement. He looks more at you than before “idiot…” his head gets blown to bits following to the left, just out of nowhere his head is gone. His body keeps talking, you look around, drr

Organs, the slimy disgusting pieces that keep us alive. The cells that make me gag using the same cells. Why do we need such things, the bloody things that need so much attention, like a lonely child. They need so much healing, continuously patched and replaced. At what point do they become useless.
The way they are placed, the way they spill when we are cut open. The animals that die and the heads that explode, all organs are doomed to fail. Ain’t that unfair of a life for such things.
But organs are what we are, we are bags of soup, the bloody broth and the meaty and slimy chunks. Muscles as spoons, that keep it all together.
But they continue to be abused, tortured, souls left to wonder for better. Girls, trying to be more mature than they should be, screaming at the thought of them. Imagine a voice outside your room, a powerful figure, spitting on your name, and laughing at your miserable life. You’re too young to know anything better than this, maybe the shop down the street, who accepted your change.
Why must we have organs that feel for themselves, are they trying to escape? Why such a matter be real? They have control, but want out. Organs? Is that what I said? *I gag at the thought.* I wouldn’t do such things. But I did, so did those organs.

I’m beating myself to death, blood spitting to the sides, dirtying the floor. My mouth quivers,
“I need help.”
“Don’t worry, I can help.”
“You can talk to me anytime.”
says a silhouette of a young woman. I shift my eyes to the right; she has no hands. I look down at my now kneeling body, a saw dripping with blood, and a pair of severed hands. I scream in fear and cough blood.