Guilty Pleasures

I have created a guilty project.

Everybody has that something. It is unshakeable against all better judgement, and, no matter how hard you might fight, you find yourself with no choice but to return to it with nothing but a hope that no one will find out. For some people, it’s Bridalplasty. For others, it’s cheesy romance novels with Fabio on the front cover. To have a guilty pleasure is to lower yourself to being who you really are.

So, it seems that

deep

down

on the inside,

I am a black sparkly canvas featuring japanese children’s health magazines and little happy sushis.

Old habits die hard…

when you’ve got a sentimental heart.

It seems to me that I may not be comprised of skin cells and blood, but, quite possibly, of glue. Or gum. Or putty. Or even an already-licked lollipop- anything that stuff seems to stick so very stickily that there could very likely never be a way to get it unstuck. If I ever loved a thing, I still do. Experiences, people, places all stick to me as though I’m a contestant on the Million Dollar Sticky (remember that part right before Matilda blows the TV up?).

I’m still shaking Polaroids that were already developed.

Look on the bright side

Though you might not find what you expected.

Scissors

I thought for a brief moment that a smile was tugging on the corners of my mouth. Alas, instead, it was only but a yawn. I had been mistaken.

Finger Paints

The way of an artist is an entirely different way. It is a way of surrender. He must surrender to his own mind.

-Agnes Martin

This blows

Just hold on, I guess.
Today was a bad day. Today was a no good day. But I will suck it up, because sometimes we don’t really have a choice.

Home

is where the heart is

NaNaNaNaNaNaNaNa

ACRYLIC ON CANVAS!

Hm. Doesn’t really have the same ring to it.

 

Little does she know….

It’s the little things

If you’re thankful for someone

tell them why.