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“paid subscription with ads” is fucking crazy. if you pay for a service and then get served an ad on said service you should be allowed to pipe bomb its executive at no legal risk

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a complete collection of my downloadable works

these are all completely free to download. as always, if you can, i SO appreciate any sort of pay what you can support on any level.

my paypal is jabolduc125@gmail.com, or @JonathanBolduc921

my cashapp is $jonnybolduc125

my venmo is @Jonny-Bolduc

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[forgetting I am mentally ill] why do I feel so Bad

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This man got me sketching through an artblock

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Out of Touch

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becoming an adult cheat sheet!

learn to coupon

what to do when you can’t afford therapy

cleaning your bathroom

what to do when you can’t pay your bills

stress management

quick fix meals

find out if you’re paying too much for your cell phone bill

resume workshop

organize your closet

how to take care of yourself when you’re sick

what you should bring to a doctor’s appointment

what’s a mortgage?

how to pick a health insurance plan

hotlines list

your first gynecology appointment

what to do if the cops pull you over

things to have in your car in case of emergency

my moving out masterpost

how to make friends as an adult (video)

how to do taxes (video)

recommended reads for surviving adulthood (video)

change a flat tire (video)

how to do laundry (video)

opening a bank account (video)

laundry cheat sheet

recipes masterpost

tricks to help you sleep more

what the fuck should you make for dinner?

where should you go for drinks?

alcohol: know your limits

easy makeup tips

find seat maps for your flight

self-defense tips

prevent hangovers

workout masterpost

how to write a check

career builder

browse careers

birth control information

financial management software & app (free)

my mental health masterpost

my college applications masterpost

how to jumpstart a car

sex ed masterpost

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dreaming of a gothic Christmas

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poetic suffering

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If the myths are true, I would wait for you in infinity. I imagine death as if swept by a great river, souls polished clean of memory like cool, smooth onyx. I will thrash against the numbing waters of Lethe, hop on some ephemeral bank, jumping from surface to surface as rock and stone and the body of our world slides into nothingness.

I would stand, wavering, holding on against the great river and I would watch for you from the bank and I would run to you as your body crossed the boundary into death and we would fold into each other and we would wade together, hand in hand, bathed in the fog of forgetting.

Last night, a copper moon lit up the sky as I drove a winding backroad home. Last night, I chugged a seltzer water, And I bleached before I went to bed. A dreamless sleep. I woke up with a headache, a single thought Ringing in my head like a mantra. The question that returns to the doorstep like a once lost cat covered in fleas.

What is left?

There was not much left of your body. Just ash where flesh had been. Closed casket for the entire family. No faces. No peace.

What is left? Can I find your atoms somewhere, floating through the universe? Can I speak with you in a dream, tell you how much I miss you, how sorry I am it ended with terror and a struggle and a brother killing a brother?

If you exist, somewhere,

I will find a path, rambling through the cosmic lanes, over the eternal brooks gurgling with light and flame, across the trestles and the alabaster, shining underbrush. I will wander through the deep forest of stars, I will climb the dusted cliffs of galaxies, I will gaze upon horizon – the far off flickering gates of heaven will dance in the sky. From here, heaven is only a flight away, and I have built these paper wings to burn. There is no going back, once I land, smoldering –

I will feel the pain of Prometheus, the pain of a man searching among the gods. I have spent years searching for you, friend. I have spent my life foraging for the trace of your steps,

tracking the small shadows of your footprints through the silent trails of eternity,

years spent stumbling through the forests of everything, lost in the dense thickets of reality, drowning in the expanding circles of comprehension, clouded by the tears of your departure and stung by the twisting pain of permanence. I will find that path, or blaze it myself. I am a mortal doing my best, meandering under the the dome of gods, looking for the smile in your soul searching for the solace in your embrace. Seeking the last whisper you sang into the folds of wind.

You are not a memory, you are not a fistful of dust. And if you are, I will find you, I will scoop you up, put you in a jar, and take you home.

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