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MICHAEL LENTZ, NUE 4736, 100x70cm, black ink drawing on 110g DOREE flyleaf paper, MARCH 2018

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Acrobebé

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See Right Thru Me 💘

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Snowy Sweatsuit Sundays with my boy

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Learning to love me

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Brace

I am a tree that has come to Lean on a house erected long before I was born. Many would agree That the roof (despite the warping) has always been, The walls (disregarding the buckling) will always be.

But recently the beams have bowed Underneath me and I am Realizing the wood of my sisters-- The beleaguered rafters-- Is all knot Need not be part of me. The house is But was built Ages ago.

You talk of the looking glass while My branches just begin to poke through. The wire wrapped 'round my trunk trains me away from What I thought was myself; No, Understand molded, entirely hewn. Never again will I believe I owe worry about my heaviness. Good. Fear I will crush the structure Made from my richest insides. Rue what my grain Grew.

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flower bookmarks

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Western wind

When will thou blow?

The small rain down can rain

Christ, if my love were in my arms

And I in my bed, again

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Coffee deserves an outfit 🤎

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When will my life begin?

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Tumblr, My Anonymous Audience

I am at odds with my desire to make art and my desire to be validated by it. I won't stop creating, and perhaps you can be a safe space in which to cast my little creations--posting here gives me no clout in my local community, my friend groups, my wider hobby audience, my internet space, really, for who am I to you but another mysterious ego slithering by on your feed?

Yet, it scratches an itch, to know that the void also gets to see what I have made. Gets to smile softly at my little verses and nod gently at my embroidery attempts. Likes what I've done with the lighting in that one photo.

Still, I also want to address the compulsion. As a New Year's Resolution, there are things I will create and fold gently into a drawer for another day, another future me or something for the curious who one day tug on the brass knobs and fixtures of this rental home out here. For every one thing I create, there is another I hope to enshrine and keep or burn or slip into a mailbox and carry on.

I think there is even something soothing here, about telling you, you who may not read this at all, you who may not exist, that you may also not know what does and does not exist on this side of the glass.

I hope you like what you see, but more than anything, I hope I like what you don't.

Come gently to me, 2025

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The Night Trail (Reflection at Birch Creek) by Jef Bourgeau.

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Allegheny Cemetery 121814-9

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Don't fall for people who don't have time. We must keep it, we must harvest it.

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I am not sure you ever really knew what "too close" meant