street therapy

10

Hey, it’s the first ten pages of my mini-thesis from the Center for Cartoon Studies! It’s called Get Over It, and it’s about a food delivery cyclist who winds up battling monsters born out of emotional trauma. I like to think of it as Street Fighter: Cognitive Behavioral Therapy. 

I’ll update this post with a link later to the physical copy, which has an additional 2 pages.

“I kind of got inspired by my dad. He likes to volunteer, especially helping with children. I’m planning to get my master’s degree in occupational therapy so I can work with children with autism. To be able to help a child adapt to society and become one with everybody else, so they’re not feeling like they’re left out or seen as different, that’s definitely where my passion is. And it all stems from my dad. Also, my sister’s a nurse, so I guess we’re all just people who like to help others.”

Trump will not deport all illegal immigrants

He’s looking at the ones with criminal records, drug dealers, gang members, and they will be incarcerated.

Trump is not changing the gay marriage act

He said it is set in stone, and while he does not agree, it’s still there for good

Gays will not be hauled off the street for conversion therapy

The therapy will be available for those seeking to change their sexual preference

Trump does not support hollering racial slurs at anybody

He told his supporters in an interview that it saddens him, and it needs to stop

YES, he was extravagant in his campaign, he needed to be in order to win, but stop FUCKING fear mongering.

The self-portrait: Swallowing glass chips to stay interesting. Keeping my insides cut so at least something comes out when I open my mouth. Spitting up blood. Calling it poetry. Calling it a performance. Calling it everything but what it is. Self-deprecation for the sake of humility. Self-dissolution to keep them guessing. Playing the same game until it stops becoming one. Turning tricks until they become habit. Here are some jokes I’ve made so many times they’ve lost their punchline: Texting late at night, check. Bleeding dirty thoughts and regret. Throwing up and forgetting the mess. Getting thin out of pure neglect. Check. Check. Check. This isn’t a way to grow up, but what else is there? Nice house? Nice car? Nice mouth? Nice girl? Wait. Didn’t you used to be such a nice girl? (I stole that line right out of the mouth of the concerned aunt who gave me a once-over last Christmas.) Let’s try this again. Nice girl. Nice girls don’t stay out late. They don’t forget their friends. They don’t drop everything and move for the sake of adventure. Nice girls don’t lie in the middle of the street and call it therapy. They don’t know how to become ghosts in two seconds flat. Nice girl. What happened to her? Killed her. Cursed her. Kept her hungry in the basement for so long that she gave up and went home. Pushed her aside and cared for poetry, coffee, and burnt curtains instead. Nice girl. Why don’t you call her up again? Ask her where she’s been? Ah, but where’s the fun in that?
—  The Self-Portrait | Lora Mathis 
It’s good fun writing like you’re insane