I'm Hailey. I'm 21, but I feel 35. I'm a recovering addict. My son, Ronen, is 5. My boyfriend is Chad, and our dog is Anonymous. They are my family. We are create-ists. Oh, and one last thing: we believe in God.
This is where I'll be posting our creations(and the stuff that inspires them). Everything from handprint turkeys to traditional paintings, from sculptures to jewelry, street art to photography, poetry to found word art will show up here. All of this will be tied together with a weekly video, which may include speedpaintings, claymations, featured artists/locations, and other cool stuff.
Re-post. An Artist Trading Card I did last fall, pastel pencils on black paper, 2.5 x 3.5 inches
Standing on a bus stop
Feeling your head pop
Out in the night
In the kind of night
Where you want to be out
On the street, on the street
Crawling up the walls
Like a cat in heat
And the air is thin
And it blows through your skin
And you feel like something
Is about to begin
But you don’t know what
And you don’t know when
So you tear at your hair
And you scratch at your skin
You wanna run away, run away
Just get on the fucking train and leave today
And it doesn’t matter where you spend the night
You just might end up somewhere in a fight, in a fight
Or calling your room on a concrete shelf
Fighting all alone, with yourself, with yourself
And you just wanna feel like a coin that’s been tossed
In a wishing well, a wishing well
will do
good call
I’ve got a library in my house.
Everyone should fuck me.
BAM!
my headboard is a fucking book shelf.
(via thesandandthesieve)
I had an AMAZING time at Racks at the Tracks, which is this little festival they have next to a train yard, with a ton of great local blues bands, ribs, and beer tasting from over a dozen microbreweries, all for just $20. I went with Chad and his friend, and it was just amazing fun. I was in a little earthly heaven; 7 hours of laying in the sun, listening to good music with a rack of ribs in front of me and an endless glass of beer in my hand with good friends all around.. Who could ask for more?
During that 7 hours of laying around, I worked up a couple good sketches I’ll be posting later today once I get a chance to flesh them out a little more, and also several great street art ideas. Chad got his new car over the weekend, so today and tomorrow will be full of artistic adventure. It makes me sad, though. He had a bright blue-ish green Probe, and now has a Ford Tauras. Normal is so boring.
I’m a little lion girl.
And it was not your fault but mine,
And it was your heart on the line
I really fucked it up this time, didn’t I my dear?
Didn’t I my dear?
So, I’m incredibly stoked right now. Not only did I just find half a bottle of Bacardi 151, but I also got 2 new followers in just a few minutes. And they aren’t porn blogs!
we are sons and heirs of grace,
we are children of
a light that never dims, a love that never dies,
keep your chin up child
and wipe the tears from your eyes."
While Ro’s watching a Scooby Doo movie, I’m going to try and get some work done and catch up on Supernatural 8D.. Tomorrow, Chad will have some stuff up here, and once one of us gets a car out of the shop(mine needs a new radiator, and his car’s transmission went out), we plan on doing a couple street art projects.
EEEEEK. I have 5 whole episodes to catch up on. ;O; THIS IS SO COOL.
So, I came off my no-shakey(anti-convulsant muscle relaxer something) medicine that they had me on in rehab the other day. And I’ve still got fucking tremors from hell. I can’t pour a cup of coffee without spilling it everywhere. I’m having a lot of difficulty holding things; I have to use both hands to grasp stuff securely. I’m having a hard time applying pressure to things that require mild dexterity, too, like using a lighter, flipping my alarm clock on, putting on make-up(I look like a fucking clown if I try),etc. It’s been nearly a month since I last took an opiate. Shouldn’t this shit be gone? No one else at the rehab still had the shakes when they left. I’m getting a little paranoid here. =c Like maybe I fucked myself up permanently.
Or I should say.. A beer is good. It allows you an alotted time to live in the moment. You can sit and enjoy the contrast between the warm concrete, your hot shoulders and the chill of dusk and dew of sweat on your brow. You take a sip and you’re suddenly and entirely present to feel the frost douse the burning of your belly, the hairs on your neck and arms bristling. Cigarettes are the same way. They allow a small window of peace, of thought, of being, of simply existing. You press pause, hold your breathe, let the poison sink in beneath the sweat, skin, blood, muscle, bone, to your soul.
Deep down, buried in the shadow of wrinkles of gray, you know what the stuff does, how as your body intakes the substance, and in the process of filtering, the poison degrades your liver, lungs, heart. You KNOW this, but you do it anyways, because the only way you get that string of peaceful moments is because of this fact and you may not realize this consciously, even subconsciously, but beneath all of that, your soul knows this and secretly longs for the life of this body to be over so it can be freed from the cage of this world and go on, go home, to where the wires and chains will no longer restrain it, no longer sting it, never weigh it down again. So you sit and smoke just one cigarette or drink just one more beer so that you can feel the peace of what you know but don’t know is death inching closer, and you welcome it, because deep down, below your conscious and subconscious, in your soul, you know that after death comes rebirth.
ijdrujgrxdfhgkdfxhgj. Fuck. I can’t live like this. I can’t draw a line. I can’t hold a pencil without shaking like I have frickin Parkinsons.
