chaoticomics

[chaoticomics]

- 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚣𝚊𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚑 𝚜.

[chaoticomics]

The legacies people leave behind in you.

My handwriting is the same style as the teacher’s who I had when I was nine. I’m now twenty one and he’s been dead eight years but my i’s still curve the same way as his.

I watched the last season of a TV show recently but I started it with my friend in high school. We haven’t spoken in four years.

I make lentil soup through the recipe my gran gave me.

I curl my hair the way my best friend showed me.

I learned to love books because my father loved them first.

How terrifying, how excruciatingly painful to acknowledge this. That I am a jigsaw puzzle of everyone I have briefly known and loved. I carry them on with me even if I don’t know it. How beautiful.

~Edit~

Yikes guys I didn’t expect this post to blow up.

I’m grateful it did though. Looking at all the comments and tags really takes a stab at my heart because it just shows how wired we are for connection. If life has any meaning, then it’s that.

This concept really sunk its teeth into me as it reassures the notion that no one is ever truly gone. Parts of them just change into you.

That teacher I talked about inspired me to become a teacher myself. This was my first year teaching. Here’s to a new generation of curved i’s.

[chaoticomics]

Karin Jurick / Margaux Paul / Ocean Vuong / Art by Neil Axthelm / sarakleijn / Ryan O'Connell / Dinner Party by Luke Martineau / Clarice Lispector / The Rain Is Left Behind by Andrii Frolov / John Banville

[chaoticomics]

“More love is found in grief than in love itself.”

—Lang Leav, September Love

[chaoticomics]

I live my life in a constant state of grief of what I did, what I didn’t do, and what I can never do.

[chaoticomics]

Sanna Wani, “Who is the Sun, Asking for Sleep?”, My Grief, the Sun // Brenna Twohy, A Coworker Asks Me If I Am Sad, Still

[chaoticomics]

And no I don’t think love ever leaves because it’s been eight years since my dad died and he is in every thought and hope and dream. and when I think I can’t fix the computer he is here. and when I eat chocolate cake he is here. and when the sun glows at 3pm he is here. and he will always be here because his life made mine, and my life will be his epilogue

[chaoticomics]

When I was in middle school, I tried to learn how to crochet. I knew how to knit already, so I figured ‘how hard could it be’ and used my Christmas money on a brand new set of aluminum hooks and a how-to book.

To say it was difficult was an understatement. I spent hours pouring over my book, begging to gain some inkling of understanding from what felt like incomprehensible runes. My reward? One lopsided trapezoid of lumpy fabric and a resolve to never pick up a crochet hook again.

And so life went on, I finished middle school and high school without giving crochet so much as a second glance. In college, I read about how crochet couldn’t be replicated by a machine, it was unique in a way that knitting and many other fiber arts weren’t.

For Christmas last year, my girlfriend gave me what I now consider to be my most prized possession: a crocheted plush of my favorite pokemon. I raved over her skills and, since she never learned how to knit, we decided to have a yarn date at some point and teach each other our respective skills.

We never did get around to that yarn date. She passed a few months after our declaration, leaving me to inherit what was left of her yarn.

Nearly a decade after my initial attempt, I got ready for the toughest battle of my life. My weapons? One skein of yarn, a YouTube video, and a crochet hook that I had somehow never gotten rid of.

I slowly made my way through the video, redoing my work a couple times until I was satisfied with my product: a small, slightly misshapen rectangle.

I looked at my pristinely-made pokemon plush with hope for the first time in months and thought to myself, ‘maybe crocheting isn’t the hardest thing in the world, maybe you were just 12.’

Maybe this isn’t the hardest thing in the world. Maybe I’m just 21.

[chaoticomics]

Gillian Flynn / Unknown / @ traumacure / Sylvia Plath / Joë Bousquet / David Foster Wallace / Lyric Hunter "A Garden" / Carmen Maria Machado / Frank O'Hara / Carmen Maria Machado

Art: Cycles by Sean Mundy

[chaoticomics]

In the dark, the deer mistook my headlights for stars

[chaoticomics]

- 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚣𝚊𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚑 𝚜.

[chaoticomics]

i. The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath, Sylvia Plath / ii. As Consciousness Is Harnessed to Flesh: Journals and Notebooks 1964-1980, Susan Sontag / iii. Suddenly, It's December, Margaux Paul / iv. Waiting for This Story to End Before I Begin Another, Jan Heller Levi / v. The Picture of Dorian Gray, Oscar Wilde / vi. The Letters of Gustave Flaubert: 1830-1857, Gustave Flaubert / vii. unknown / viii. @inanotherunivrse / ix. @violentcherries / x. Heaven, Mieko Kawakami (thank u @aworsening for attaching the sources)

[chaoticomics]

Are you becoming what you've always hated?

Isle of Dogs / Game of Thrones / Painting by Jenn Mazza / Unknown / Ancestral Memory by Hari Alluri / Unknown / Venetta Octavia / Emma Tranter / Unknown / Ninth House by Leigh Bardugo / @ machineryangel

[chaoticomics]

– Noor Unnahar, Instagram account "noor_unnahar"

[TEXT ID: / [Lemons] / My father's mother loved lemons. Years after her passing, / we run out of everything, but never / lemons. / Nothing else shelters grief / better than memory. / It's my father way of saying, / even in your absence, you will be / cared by me. / END ID]

[chaoticomics]

being alive is like,, being so full of love and so full of loss at the same time. a lot to carry around either way.

[chaoticomics]

grief is so crazy like what if i forget what her laugh sounds like. does she know i loved her. i miss her so much. i catch myself doing things she used to do. i wish i could call her. i miss her so much. i do a crossword puzzle. i cry while washing the dishes. does she know i loved her? my heart feels like a hummingbird. i miss her so much. what if i forget what her laugh sounds like. what if i forget.

[chaoticomics]

Lyra, my beloved cat of 13 years, passed away this year on Father's Day. She's been by my side through very difficult times and was my little rock of steady and unrelenting love. I struggled a lot drawing this, and struggled a lot posting it, but I know I would've wanted to read a comic like this that validated my grief for her when I lost her.

Wherever you are, Lyra my little summer star, I love you always! Thank you for being the best thing in my life.