Success, Heartbreak

He said "You'll know when you get there,
‘Cause they'll be loving you—like I use to."
It sounded like pure gospel,
But I can’t be too sure of it.
Beware the voice of God;
I hear it lies sometimes.
Abnormal thoughts, altered states…
I was good in the most literal sense,
A woman in the thick of it.
Now I’m just some girl.
I tried to write something beautiful,
But I don’t have the words for it.
I don’t have the heart for it at all.
I’m not sure of happy endings.
Joy is fleeting and time is long.
We’ll go from mobile homes to mansions,
Mansions to castles,
Castles back to mobile homes.
On the news, they’ll make it sound so serious. . .



2008 Nov 15th
R.S.

Atomic (Inclusive)

Silently. Silently.
I love when they lie to me.
I'm waiting for a nose bleed, for broken bones.
Photographs of the bedroom tell things.
Everything's raspy;
Try to breath.

We carry whips.
We carry chains.
(I'm so bruised, must be love).
We switch shit up.
We'll reach apotheosis next year...
Get catharsis when we can.

Body and Keys.
Regina. Rex.
Le Mat where does the crevice go?
We shout, "MORE!"
We say misery with a smile.
I spoke to you.
I promise I did.

Intelligent Beings . . .
Sensory Deprivation . . .
Somethings don't ever change.
We stay lifted and twisted.
Who else was it?
Das Deux?
Pink piggies like bacon.

We live the House of Loci.
We dip the Valley Strange.
Straight Psychonauts.


Rosalynn Stovall
November 10th 2008

Atomic (Exclusive)

This is not the story of the tragic mulatto
Or the plight of the eccentric negro
Or a harrowing tale of a token black.
This is a new generation of thought.
This is something for the books.

We are all little poets making our speeches,
But I'm something else.
I'm unattached...
A bitch of a whore.
Public opinion is never personified.
It's only talked about.
I'm on the down-and-outs,
but nobody pay me no nevermind.
Anyhow, anyways, and so forth and so on.

It's always Peggy not Margaret,
Betty not Elizabeth, Jimmy not James.
Get on the phone and call Shaneen,
Mickey, Patty, and Christy.
Those Irish boys are a rowdy bunch.
Mr. Happy and Hamburger
Hungry and High. Vice-Versa.
I have no intention of getting better.
I'm on some other shit.
Ashes, ashes, dust, and soot.

I am the anthropopathy of God.
I am vice, folly; I am death
I dream very darkly.

I live in the Valley of the Strange.
I am a rusty cage of moths.
I am a coffin of earthworms
I breathe smoke in your lungs,
cover your mouth in clay.
I'm automatic.
I'm atomic and automatic.
Automatically yours.
You have autonomous hands, self-sufficient hands.



Rosalynn Stovall
November 10th 2008

HeartBreak, Lungs Deflate

{EGO DEATH}

Rosalynn, Automatically (Automatically Yours)

See Also: The Automatic Sense {Poem}

Strange Planet

Strange Planet
22" x 30"
Conte
Rosalynn Stovall
October 5th 2008

Collage: "La Luna" (Self-Portrait)

Keeper of the Cupboard (REDUX)

"Play Things"

Girls Like Me Like To Be Touched.
I Promise We Do,
Although We May Play Coy and Shirk
. . .But Boys Like You,
Like The Plain Girls,
Not Girls Like Us.

Collage: "Girls Like That Are Often Gilded"

"Personal"

"Panorama" (Study for "Oceanscape")

(Part 1)

(Part 2)

Collage: "The Keeper of the Cupboard is a Sassy Broad"

Collage: "Our Generous Host"

Current Action: Unknown

Beast (July 28, 2008)

Haunted

I can’t remember how it happened.
Well . . . almost.
Let’s just say, I try to forget.
These past 7 years haven’t been fun.
But, all is well now.
Could be better,
But no serious complaints.
It’s funny how the past keeps coming up.

When I turned 13, I killed my inner child
(Trying to be adult).
But at 20, I’ve taken on the role of
Necromancer, Voodoo Queen,
And I conjure her up.
She only comes up in parts.
It’s funny how the past keeps coming up,
Coming up in parts.
My zombie child is 4 years of age.
Precocious and grotesque,
She speaks to me.
She asks for things.
Who am I to deny my inner voice?

Rosalynn Stovall
7/22/2008
I have not finished editing this poem; the first stanza still has kinks.

Fire! Fire!

Drought

She couldn't understand why it wouldn't rain. She longed for a thunderstorm, for windblown trees, for the pitter-patter pounding on the roof. For a week the gray sky hung heavy with clouds, but each day refused to grant its promise . . . Not a lonely shower, not even a few scattered drops.

She wasn't the only one; the ground seemed to summon the sky with dust every time a car drove past on the unpaved road. The once-lush grass in the fields had been reduced to short golden blades, stubble on the earth's dirty chin. The delicate petals of her roses wrinkled and turned from soft pink to gray-brown. Everything was dusty and old, dehydrated, limp.

Organic Shadow Play

Apis, Apis

17"x14" Bristol Board
Mixed Media (graphite, oil pastel, acrylic, marker, cardboard)
June 20th 2008
Rosalynn Stovall

Everyone Wants A Piece (graphite on styrene)

23"x29"
graphite on styrene

See Also:
(1.) "Collage: Everyone Wants A Piece of Me"
(2.) "Everyone Wants A Piece (Revised and Photocopied)"

Negative, RGB 5

Current Inspiration: these yummy colors . . .

Pills (Can I Get These in Placebo, Please?)

Inspired by the Bo Diddley song "Pills."

Twisted | (cane leaves)