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Mixed Media & Metaphysical Comics 

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tastes like me
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Chemical Processing Machine
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Visions from the deepest lake
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ubi pax
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ubi pax & symbols
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Ubi Pax
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isolated comic panel I.
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sandia 1
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Isolated comic panel ii.
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Lady Liz
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The Portal in my Shower
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Spacegirl is a feminist, inclusive, DIY poetry & illustration collection created by Alyssa, compiled in three booklets throughout 2018-2020


Mountain Poem 


to be in a mountain

submerged in a cloud 

a quiet feeling


pushing past branches 

liquid in the air 

sky lavender and indigo 


(when she lets herself be seen

through the palms and fingers

of reaching greenery spliced overhead) 


a quilt stitched of plant matter

by wise grandmother hands 

you are cradled in the bosom of earth


a crane stalks in a stream then takes flight 

the unhurried black waterbirds roam


“GOD” is spray painted on an oil can

that sits confused in the organic 


layers of rock retreat into fog 

wind combs over the water 

and pushes the forlorn beer can 

and carries the odours of waste 


the mountains suck you in

the mist dissolves attachments 

to past realities and selves 

there is no other way 

but in 


poems / words

Little Sister


oh Little Sister

you will live through 

each hello and goodbye 

each ecstasy and dark night 


everything that seems impassable 

will come to pass 

and you will sustain 

each rebirth of self

all fleeting scenery 


(standing in the present,

sensing the magnitude 

of what you shall come to feel 

know you will sustain) 


change is your nature / nature is change 


Little Sister befriend yourself 

Little Sister soften your grasp 

try and believe / that inside 

you have all you need 

I could be a Shepherd 


I could follow trails 

drawn by wooly lambs 

nothing but pastures 

and coarse, earthy sheep cries 


I could walk dirt paths in my sandals

cloth draped over my body, cloaked

perhaps a staff, to give me purpose 


I could pause on a grassy knoll

to eat my lunch and drink tea 

and watch the sheep


their distant, wandering cloud bodies

lower their jaws to the earth

chew the bitter green 


I could walk home 

the walk home is slower than the departure

but sweeter and softer

under a sky of violet and orange 

the arrhythmic clicking of hoof on stone


I could be a shepherd, I think

my ankles sore, and my mind clear 

A Transformer of Energy


discomfort is pleasure and so is comfort 

pain doesn’t exist, only poetry

Sleepy Fawn at Dusk


Mix my particles with yours, 

where we overlap, we synthesize something new

bite and suck, dig into your being 


then when you’ve released and collapsed 

into a damp heap on my sheets

I will blanket you 

tend to your wounds

watch you transform into innocence 

as you sink into sleep 


you’re like a skittish fawn

curling up and lowering its guard 

to pass the night in a pool of dried leaves 

in a crevice that you feel is safe enough 

to be your home for the night

60 Seconds on Planet Earth


early air shocks my lungs 

thoughts buzz in my skull like fat and electric flies 

The rain beats down despite any circumstances

despite anyones obsession with comfort 

the bullets beat down from above 

silver pellets of synthetic ice 

despite anyones obsession with comfort 

International funds are exchanged 

through paragraphs of zeros and ones 

through hands of men with hollow eyes


She feels sorry for herself when she sees my plump visage 
overfed and oiled like a baby 
I pop the pimples on my chin whenever I notice them, even if my fingernails are dirty 
She looks at me with resent 
like I'm wasting something priceless 
with ratted hair and candy bags 
yellowing teeth that don't occupy space in my mind 

La Compostela 

The rain erupts on the highway at sunset. I sit on a polyester seat, on a bus with few others. The glass pane ajar, I feed my hand through and the rain feels like Life. The sky is soft and warm like a womb, in its pinkness it swallows me down a dreamy portal. The serpentine vines encroach the road. My hand rises and falls jewelled with water as the bus follows the twisting highway. The humidity, the release brought by the rain, the sway of my body submitting to the rattling vehicle consumes me into trance. Thoughtlessly watching the hues blur together, the sweet pink and deep emerald, the skin of my hand. Nothing arises that is unjustified, each trace of matter sings its note, and falls away at the right moment. My mind craves to preserve this softness, to return to later - when the dirt and confusion rise back to the surface, as they always do. But I know this moment is a delicate moth, and holding it will only kill it. I want to stay on this decaying bus for the rest of my life, but soon my stop is called, and I disembark into the dewey evening. 

My Sweet Kitten

She is a twitchy pussycat with glassy eyes. Her hormones churn and she rubs up against the bed. An index finger and thumb seize the base of her neck, lifting her. The man scratches her for a while, then pitches her; surprised by the swift fang sinking into his skin. She pierces his flesh, leaving a fissure oozing thick maroon blood. Landing in her feline nature, she walks off to the sill, and licks herself clean. He watches the beautiful creature in hatred; spiteful at her mercilessness, at her deliverance of pride just to reclaim it for herself.  He is envious of her nerve to erupt and strike, just seconds after she was making him feel so good. He spits in her direction. He feels the sudden rush of blood between his thighs; stiffening, growing firm. The cat approaches him, sits between his feet. He lowers to let her lick the wound; they’re used to this routine. His mind is flushed with contradictory, deafening emotion. He struggles to find logic among his thoughts. The cat runs off to the window sill, bored and slightly bothered by his company. Laying in luxury, she dreams of mice and milk. A bird flies into the window pane above the cat, falling dead on impact. The man takes this as his sign that it is time to leave. He twists the brass knob and feels the rush of autumn wind. Taking forced mechanical steps to the edge of the property; upon impulse, he looks back hungrily. The cat has followed his trail out the door, but takes a sharp left to examine the bird that dropped in the yard. He watches with a flushed face as the cat plunges two needle fangs into the neck of the bird. He does not look away— cannot. It is the epitome of his pleasure. When she looks to him with her glass marble eyes he cannot stand it; saturated with libido and disgust and longing. She carries the bird to him, dropping its pathetic carcass at his feet. He marvels at her alluring capacity for destruction… He is pierced by overwhelming hatred and burning desire. Perplexed by the nature of his labyrinthian brain and at the strange circumstances of life. He wills his feet to walk, and he turns to leave. Another day lived in self-restraint.