Author Archives: Rexicorn

Today I’m being bad at pinstriping

Posted on by

Most of what I do as an artist is just materials science. I play with different materials and see how they respond and interact. I don’t make art to exalt a finished product. I make art as a calculated and regular offering to the muse and the end result is a new thing.

Because of this generalist approach, I don’t have solid fundamentals and a real mastery of anything but I’m finding that expanding one skill or another offers advances to other skills and new opportunities to add something unexpected.

I picked up a pinstriping brush for the first time and made some lines. I used EZ Flow Striping and Lettering enamel, and when the brush is loaded it’s a buttery material and glide that’s almost an addictive sensory experience.

<br>

Did you know you’re supposed to be able to feel your face?

Posted on by

I shared with my partner today that I’m starting to be able to feel my face- the way it behaves on its own accord, all the little twitches and emotions that play across it that I don’t plan on.

It’s wild. This is new to me.

I’ve always felt like some gray blob of consciousness with a dim glow, trapped in the skin of me which is hollow and full of darkness.

I can know the factual truth about muscles and bones and organs. I can even have seen them, I once got a peek inside my chest when my surgeon showed me a process picture of my top surgery.

Doesn’t matter, I’m a stupid sad little gray blob trapped in a hollow body filled with expansive darkness.

Doesn’t make sense but it’s my self concept. Trust me, I’m in therapy, and it’s ON THE LIST.

I asked my partner if it’s normal to be able to feel your face. She (surely) lied back to me that it was.

I woke up today and did things that I needed to do outside the house of my own volition, and alone. I returned pop cans. I picked up meds. I bought toilet bowl cleaner. I made phone calls. I did chores to get ahead for when my partner got home. I took care of an unpleasant post office form. I did an email I’ve been dreading.

I need you to understand that this represents a nearly unimaginable level of energy for me. I MADE PHONE CALLS.

I have wanted to kill myself since I was in the second grade. I’ve gotten better and I’ve gotten worse and I’ve gotten lists of different diagnoses and I’ve gotten tons of medical trauma and I’ve been in institutions and I’ve been to rehabs and I’ve gotten CBT and IOP and ECT and REBT and DBT and trauma informed therapy and gestalt therapy and the one thing I never did was manage to get a real remission.

There’s little tingles, little pulls of strings, an occasional stab.

I didn’t realize how dissociative I was until systems started coming back online.

I’ve been on Auvelity for only 3 days and I’m starting to feel less hollow…

A terrible time to improve

Posted on by

Hope is scrappy

and

hope is nebulous.

You can think

you’ve got

your fingers

around it

and then

get the

wind knocked out

of you,

and then

ultimately

later find

that others

were holding

hope

for you.

There is,

however,

a limited

certain number

of times

that someone

can be kicked

before they

make a decision

about it.

Continuing to

get kicked

is the result

of inaction.

Maybe you

never asked

to be

in this ring.

Still gotta

make

that

decision.

in case anyone else was indoctrinated via Veggietales VHS

Posted on by

 

   VegetableRumors™️ text emojis. Just, you know, in case you needed that. Anyways I have to distract myself with something else before I do my homework now. 

                €B þ   )      Ambiguous Gourdfriend

           (  8 P       )       Larold the cucumber

                 {( 8 o )      Type A the tomato

                £( 3 0 )      suave peach

 <%%_8_[)____)      uptight asparagus 

          <%8_\)__)      anxious tiny asparagus

                   ( : •  )      peas of sarcasm

          ==8_•____)    a leek of some repute

                 =)}B{þ )    Elder Grape the Unraisined

        

I forgot.

Posted on by

I don’t get to engage in life honestly, 

like that somewhere out there 

normal person who gets up 

and stretches, yawns 

and starts their day. 

I’m so jet lagged. 

I am paying penance 

at the cellular level. 

My bones ache, 

my nerves

tingle

twitch 

or

scream. 

The body I 

carry, the one that

 I’m schlepping around

was there for every last injury 

that I inflicted on myself in distress.

Although some on purpose cuts were made

most of my sins were chemical, only some

ever verging on the side of surgical

a little handful of pills, as a treat

a little dance with alcohol

a half pound vial

of ancient 

vintage

dental murcury 

solid thick glass

sturdy heavy liquid 

it moves like it had its own 

intent and willingness to slide

eagerly straight down the gullet

I feel like I am a reanimated corpse.

and I’m also not sure if that’s not indeed factual

Perhaps it is because the meat bears the heavy load

of the whole history of the ways I’m trying to

destroy myself and all the ways that

I continue to destroy myself.   

I know my sins and I 

pay the price 

in taut 

sinew. 

My muscles 

hold the memory 

of impacts, physics

colliding me in those crashes

my hips hold the tension memory of rapes. 

I know for sure that the body keeps the score, 

I even went on to read his textbook. 

I show up every morning 

in recovery and it 

doesn’t feel 

like

it’s

work 

but it’s hard

and heavy on the soul

and boring to slog through

and growing, but ultimately slow.

You have to be so consistent with it,

The only work ethic I even have

is for art that I don’t even sell. 

I have a few rules down pat. 

Things happen in silence. 

But I know one thing. 

invitation to semantics

Posted on by

I cannot grasp 

the depth of you 

but I so 

delight 

in tasting 

the physics 

of its viscosity, 

a child 

eagerly 

pulling 

their chilled hand 

in from 

where it had been 

dancing 

on air currents 

through expressways, 

I cannot understand you 

the same way 

that a bug 

does not understand 

the 

enormous 

human 

endeavor 

of automobiles 

and highway construction 

or the change 

in the eddies 

that presents them 

face first 

with mirrored glass, 

I am temporal, 

weak, 

fallible, 

splat, 

and incapable most of all, 

incapable of 

perceiving your reality, 

try as I may 

to veil my gnostic turpitude, 

I am seen 

as I am 

and 

yet 

somehow 

unimprisoned, 

I did not 

before this 

know 

that love letters 

could be written 

by the craving 

to share 

Russian fiction, 

please keep

bringing me morsels

my darling,

 pull them up 

from the nets, 

the worthy nuggets 

most honest, 

that you sail 

the tumultuous seascape 

of your skull cage 

to collect, 

while I titter 

and bask 

and slap 

at the tide pool 

that I have access to 

and play 

at being 

a toddler philosopher 

just beginning 

to understand 

the meaning 

of wet.