Okay, so. I fucking hate this painting. I hate it so much I don’t even want to give it a name.
Why then, Aries, are you showing it to the world? I hear you ask. And rightly so. The answer is this; cause I fucking hate it, that’s why.
And I think I’m owning the fact that I hate it y’know?? That probably doesn’t make sense. I can’t explain it very well, but okay.
Serious, this painting evokes a certain kind of sadness in me. Like everything, it was originally something else. I got frustrated, though, with the form the original was taking, and I got drunk.
Patience has never been a strong point of mine. Controlling my emotions is difficult for me (I’m an Aries after all).
So, when I came home from my 19th birthday party, a little worse for wear, and I saw the painting waiting for me? I lost my shit (at this point, I literally was so blind I couldn’t take off my shoes) and this monstrosity was born. I mean, do I also hate it because it reminds me of a friendship that no longer exists? Sure.
Another story for a different day though.
Let’s tell that story now.
I was 18, he was 29. A bartender. He got my WW2 jokes. He was pretty fucked up. We matched well. I told him I had a boyfriend, and he was all like, no that’s fine, I just wanna be friends with you.
Then he got a girlfriend who didn’t like me (but didn’t tell me she didn’t like me) and verbally abused me one night when he was really high, and yeah. That was the end of that I couldn’t help but feeling, used almost? I dont know. I’m probably not explaining it well. It’s just, in my mind, I gave him the opportunity to cut all ties with me before we developed a real friendship but he insisted.
Moral of the story? Stay away from older men, kids.
You think they’re more emotionally mature than the dickhead teenage boys you hang around, until they snort Coke off their phones and stop replying.
On that cheery not.
Lots of love,
(Ps, the painting is of a sunset during burn off season)