The Traditional Through a Cracked PrismCreating art for those who feel a real resonance with traditional anchoring fairy tales, ~cidaq also draws in those who enjoy darker tales of mystery and films noir. As a storyteller who can create narratives in both words and watercolors, she often comes up with short stories to accompany her art.More Like This
Thu Nov 24, 2011, 9:59 PM
cidaq’s paintings are unique and instantly identifiable as hers —
Even though at first glance one might think them antique illustrations preserved from century-old
products advertisements or children’s books. But one is drawn to look closer and see that a very
modern, very mischievous intelligence is obviously at play. The media of pencil, inks and watercolors
as well as the skilled technique and composition are solidly anchored in the traditional, but the
I guess I don't matter, I'm only Cis-gender.I guess I don't matter, because I'm not trans, I'm simply cis-gender.More Like This
My struggles are a trivial thing compared to yours, though I too,
suffer the abuse, and pressure from a family who'd rather not have me.
Yet,I am not allowed to say that I have life nearly, if not as bad as you.
The stress of coming out, dealing with my emotions and denial,
isn't that compared to that of you, who are transgender, who can experience pain.
I guess that as a cis-gender, I cannot complain when my mother hits me,
my father disowns me, or my family looks at me with their eyes burning in vain.
These pills for depression seem heavy on my system, and the knife slices my skin.
Blood seems to pour from the open wounds, mixing with the salty tears.
My bathroom seems to be the only solace I will ever seek, as I lock myself away.
My heart still aches, and the corner welcomes me, with fake comfort from my fears.
Trust me, I have thought of suicide, and how easy it would be to just end it all.
Like you I feel
SlowlyDays go by slowlyMore Like This
I hear the universe
yet it is mute
I am here, but I am not
I am off in some far away world
where no one can find me
and no one can hear me
Depression is slow
but it always creeps back in
no matter how cruel
it is my only friend
it is always there
The only thing I trust
and in that i seek comfort
Loogie BoogieMore Like This
She sat inside the dark and wet hollow of her cave. There was no light without the pale moon light that trickled in from the top of her cave. She stared up at it through her dark eye sockets and she pulled her fathers hood over her head, feeling tears begin to form. She gritted her teeth and she could feel her skin crawl at the sound of the laughter…that wretched and deplorable laughter.
“Look, it’s Boogie’s kid!”
“She’s just more trouble!”
That’s what they had said…that’s what they had called her. She had done nothing to them…said nothing…all she did was walk into that simple little town, and she had been hated…and she had built up hate of her own. Curse Halloween Town….curse the monsters of Halloween….Curse Hallowseve…and curse Jack Skellington.
Her name was Loogie Boogie…at least that’s what most of the towns folk had taken to calling he