My Rage, My Rage 2009

Let's get this out of the way right upfront. I name my journals and sketchbooks (at least, the vast majority of them). Titles are all over the map, inside jokes, sarcasm, reoccurring themes, bad memoir titles, disembodied song lyrics... I have been doing this for at least a decade and it just so happens in May of 2009 I was listening to a lot of Stabbing Westward and this masterpiece of a song inspired me to title my sketch book "my rage, my rage..." If you think this could not get any more adorable in its angstiness, I'd like to elaborate that I was listening to Stabbing Westward on a giant blue brick of a portable cassette player. In 2009...

Anyhow, I am working on cleaning out my office and came across some old sketchbooks and sketchbook pages. I thought we'd take a little trip down memory lane. Starting here in 2009. 

Self portrait. This is a page I remember doing because I remember sitting on the love seat holding that mirror in one hand and drawing with the other. If the angstiness of the title did not give it away, my pudgy little baby face gives away my youth here.

It's a ding dang recipe for almond fritters. I was doing living history (historical reenactment of day to day life) for the year 1376 at the time and food is a very important part of my life.

Oh, shit. My hat. I had this hat, it was orange and pink and white and with this braided tail on it and I wore it everywhere and every day. I also was really inspired by Egyptian Mythology at the time. I remember I was reading through the Egyptian Book of the Dead at the time, although I do not remember any of it.

"Like an airplane over the Bermuda triangle, he disappeared inside me." I still have not written a better worse line for an erotica. I peaked too soon in my ironically bad smut writing. You will also notice at this point I was already using "Oblivion Spin" for things, that itself may be a story for another post...

Half finished sketches are my favorite. 

Oh gee. I remember doing this page because I was visiting my bio mom and she was PISSED to walk into the kitchen to find me sitting at the table with a dead bird on a paper plate. It's ok though, I am pretty sure I manipulated it with disposable chopsticks. 

A sketch I did in Eastern Washington sitting on the roof of an old broken down car. I actually started writing a memoir about some of my trips over there, including the trip where I drew this, but ended up scrapping it (would anyone be interested in reading some creative writing posts on here?). I like that in the upper right there is a blank spot where a binder clip was holding my sketchbook open.

I seriously love this page. So much going on. 

 "I'm more beautiful without you, any of you..."