More Art From Erik J

The Amazing Art of Erik J

Erik J is a 21 year old Swedish Photographer...and his work is BRILLIANT

Clogs For Cows!! - The Next Phase Of The Fashion Revolution

Horses get shoes, but cows don't. Why? What is it about horses that make them worthy but not the noble moo-cow? That's right, I said NOBLE, and I meant it!!! They quietly go about their day, munching on grass, and chilling out, not doing much to anyone. They supply us with milk, making magnificent foods possible, like cheese, yogurt, and ice cream. They supply us with meat... GREAT meat. Steaks and brisket can be nothing less than a succulent gift of unfathomable proportions. And leather... belts, shoes, coats. They give themselves over to us completely and don't put up much of a fight about it. Cows love us. Yes, they do. Look at all that they give to us...their entire selves are sacrificed so that we may enjoy their beefy goodness, and they do so freely in utter obedience to their religious beliefs.

According to their holy book “The Book Of The Divine Bovine” the sacrifices they make to serve mankind assure their place in Bovinia (Moo-Cow Heaven).
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“And thou shalt surrender thyselves up, and shall be the centerpiece of the blessed people's celebrations upon the fourth day of the seventh month of each year.” - II Bovines: 12.5

“For upon mankind's celebrations of fortune, thou shalt be sources of succulent joy, and thou shalt warm their bodies and adorn their feet in beauty and wrap their mid-sections in grand style. Thou shalt encompass their necks and wrists with cool hipness, and be much praised upon the earth.” - Leatherians: 8.4

All of this ... and we don't even give them shoes? It's a travesty! A TRAVESTY I SAY!!!

I wish I could pretend to be shocked by our thoughtlessness and disregard for these self-less, sacrificial animals, but given that we have yet to give the chicken it's propers, I can't even pretend that this behavior of ours comes as a surprise. But whether we are amazed or not is moooooot at best. The time for shock is past. It is time for action. And so begins the next great movement in animal rights... Clogs For Cows!

Clogs are the ideal fashion accessory for the gentle moo-cow. Easy to put on and take off, and there are plenty of fashionable options since clogs can be carved and shaped into almost any trendy form. No need to nail them into place...which is just barbaric...but that's another issue for another time.

Just think of it... our bovinesque friends wearing a nice pair of clogs...or even the uber-thick flip flops with a nice flower on the top. Give the cows that sense of flash and flare that they so richly deserve! How can you be still as the bearers of our grandest attire, sweetest meat and dairy goodness are left out in the cold (or absurd heat, depending on the season) with bare hooves and no evidence of their fashion sense. For heaven's sake people, THEY EVEN GIVE US THEIR CHILDREN FOR VEAL! IS A PAIR OF $10 CLOGS SO MUCH TO ASK??? If you do think it is too much to ask, then you, my friend, are chock full of bovine fecal matter.

Socks for Turtles! The Fashion Uprising Begins!

 by Abanna Cheshire

A perfectly brief but reasonable dissertation on why turtles should be required to wear socks...

In a nutshell...it's because of their distinct disregard of the importance of pedicures, which is why their feet are so ugly....
There is an aesthetically unpleasing factor in regards to the feet our friends, the turtles, due to their inability to utilize nail clippers. which is why they hide in their shells. This is the primary issue at the core of the turtle population's mass inferiority complex, and why they never leave their houses...they just carry them wherever they go. They are downright agoraphobic because of it. They live in a state of fear and shame, under an umbrella of ridicule. A colleague pointed out to me that their little portable houses don't even come close to covering their feet while in transit! As a result, their shame is perpetuated.

I'm taking up their cause and campaigning for socks for turtles! I shall not rest until every turtle has his or her choice of knee socks, ankle socks, or those footies with the little pom-pom balls on the backs!!!

WHAT DO WE WANT?!? SOCKS FOR TURTLES!! WHEN DO WE WANT 'EM?!? NOW!!!!

NOTE: Fishnets and pantyhose will not be accepted as a compromise seeing as they do nothing to fix the problem since you can see through them. Plus the turtles would look tacky and/or cheap in them. I patently refuse to launch the careers of a bunch to turtle sluts.

In the immortal words of Patrick Henry (or someone like that) "GIVE THE TURTLES SOCKS, OR GIVE THEM DEATH!!"...Editor's note: this mantra was not very popular with the turtle population at large and therefore it has never really caught on. However, the sub-conscious manifestation of this is apparent in the repeated attempts at suicide by wandering around on back roads and highways trying to get run over.

The Turtle Fashion Diva has spoken! And throughout the land, with God as my witness, I swear that the turtles shall NEVER be barefoot again!!! At the very least, we should supply these poor creatures with tubes of foot cream and some nail polish.

The heartbreak continues... Here is an update on our cause!

I am proud to say that our cause is gaining ground (so to speak). black socks with a red ruffle...do you see how proudly and boldly our beloved turtle friend steps out into the world with his newfound confidence!?!
SCORE ONE FOR THE FASHION UPRISING!!!! That's one small pair of socks for turtles, one giant footie for the animal kingdom!!!!

COMING SOON...The Dust Bunny Liberation Front: A Call To Arms!

OCARTA DAYS - The first of my baby-steps into the World of Recovery

 When I was growing up in St. Lucia, in the little town of Vieux Fort, my parents came up with a way to be of service for the community by doing something more than just starting a church. They opened a community center. It was called Hewanorra Baptist Center and we offered everything from after school programs and literacy, to arts and crafts. I spent my afternoons there during the week and got to know the kids quickly. I felt “at home” there and knew there was something special about being a part of it. I knew that when I grew up, I’d want to work in a similar environment, but as I got older, I basically forgot that notion. When I finally started college, I had no clue what I wanted to do. I changed my major many times and still didn’t know what I wanted to do... or what I would even be good at. Going into social work was something I thought about, but everyone kept telling me how hard it was because the system was broken, people would get angry when they didn’t get their way, and even in the movies, social work was painted in a grim light. So, I threw the notion away.  

Years later, after more than two decades of mental hell, I started my road to recovery. I was living in transitional housing, learning basic life skills and how to function and thrive, even with my disorders. One of the people that lived in the housing unit was Lyndon. He and I were coffee buddies and talked every morning about what we would be doing that day. I usually had nothing going on, and with my agoraphobia, I wasn’t going anywhere that I didn’t absolutely have to. He started encouraging me to visit the place where he spent his afternoons volunteering. I was not interested in the least. He talked about the support groups and about the importance of being around people who really understand what we are going through, because they have been there themselves. Day after day I would tell him that it sounded great, but I wasn’t comfortable doing it. He persisted.  

One morning I was griping to Lyndon about the fact that I hadn’t been able to get online in weeks, and he said the most magical thing to me...” At the place where I volunteer, they have free wi-fi". He assured me that if I went with him to this place, I could get online, and no one would bother me. I wondered what the catch was, but he insisted there wasn’t one. So, I agreed to go with him that afternoon. An hour or two later, I was off to a little place called OCARTA.  

When we got there, I was surprised by what I saw. There were lots of people milling around and socializing, but there were also people who were sitting off by themselves reading or using the internet. I found an empty table in a corner and sat down. I got my laptop out and booted it up. While I was doing that, a young lady came over to me and introduced herself and asked if I needed anything. I told her I just wanted to use the Wi-Fi. She gave me a friendly smile, told me to feel free and if I needed anything, to just ask. Then she walked away. This confused me. I thought she was supposed to try to fix me. She was supposed to pry into my life and make me talk about my feelings. Who the hell did she think she was, just letting me sit and get acclimated? It was then that I really took a look around at what was happening. The people were just hanging out, being social, and they all looked so.... NORMAL. No one was trying to cure anyone. No one seemed to be lecturing anyone. There were people playing pool. Two guys were playing a Wii game that was displayed on a large screen that took up most of a wall. Others were just standing or sitting around having coffee and talking. I realized that the vibe was very much like the community center my parents opened. I didn’t feel pressured and to my surprise, my agoraphobia was in remission for the duration of my visit there. I thought to myself, “I could work in a place like this.”  

I left there and didn’t go back. I had no problem with the idea of going there. It was a safe place for me and all of my crazy, but I soon moved out of transitional housing and moved in with my husband as his roommate. I didn’t have the opportunity to return to OCARTA then. It didn’t even cross my mind to go back. I mostly forgot about it.  

As I had progressed in my recovery, Delilah said that I would be a good PRSS. I asked her what that was, and she said it’s a Peer Recovery Support Specialist. And that to be one, you had to have either mental health or substance use issues and shown progress in recovering from those disorders. PRSS’s helped other people in their recovery journey through shared experiences. I’d be helping people. Those years of hell could be turned into something beneficial, not only to others, but to myself as well. Becoming a PRSS became a long-term goal for me. I filed that goal away until I felt like I had made real progress and had gained an understanding of what my life had been as well as what it could be.  

Fast forward 8 years... I was in therapy and had made great progress in my recovery. My meds were good, my husband and I were a couple again, and negative behaviors had been squashed. I wasn’t perfect, but I was thriving. I was meeting the goals I had set for myself and faced each day with renewed confidence. I hadn’t had any psychotic episodes in years and I was ready to fully re-enter the world as a productive member of society. It was scary, but I felt good about it. 

One day my therapist declared that he thought I was ready to tackle the goal of becoming a PRSS. He told me that he knew of a place where I could get really good training for it, and they would help me get certified with the state. Where did he tell me to go? DING DING DING DING!! You guessed it! OCARTA! I told him about the one time I had been there and how I felt that I fit in when I was there. He encouraged me to call them and see about getting into the training class. It turned out that everyone who worked there was certified as a PRSS, and that by reputation, they had the best training class in the state.  

I must admit that I procrastinated for a while. I knew I was on the right track; I just couldn’t quite make myself make the call. Around the third time that I made an excuse to my therapist about why I hadn’t done it yet, he got very firm and called me on my BS. He was no longer accepting excuses. I made the call.  

I talked to a lovely woman named Monica, who scheduled me for an interview for the next day. I was pleasantly surprised to find that I wasn’t nervous! I was calm, and very much at peace. I took that as I sign that I was doing the right thing and on the right track. I walked into that interview feeling confident and ready. I hadn’t felt ready for anything in years! There was a warmth to Monica that was tempered with a no-nonsense vibe. She was someone who got things done. I was immediately comfortable with her. She asked me questions about my disorders, recovery journey, and current circumstances. By the time it was over, I KNEW. I was in the right place, at the right time, doing the right thing. As for Monica... she was going to change my life.  

I started the training classes a week later.  

A few weeks later, I would be leading support group meetings once a week, and I found that my social anxiety was definitely a thing of the past. I felt relaxed and confident, which was something I did not expect. Then Monica pulled me aside one day after class and asked me if I would be interested in joining OCARTA’s mentoring program. I would be helping other women who were in recovery from mental illness, reclaim their lives. I was stunned and excited beyond words! Someone saw something in me! It meant I had potential beyond what I ever imagined. I leapt at the opportunity in front of me. I had realistic expectations. I knew I couldn’t save everyone, and it wasn’t my job to. I was to offer guidance and share what had worked for me and what didn’t. I was to give options and resources and help my “mentees” to find their own way. Just like what had been done for me. I was becoming a hope dealer.  

In the spring of 2020, on a Wednesday morning, Brandi, OCARTA’s site manager, called me into her office. Due to behavioral conditioning from past jobs, I wondered what I had done wrong. Did one of my mentees have a complaint? I was worrying for nothing. She asked me if I would like to work the front desk a couple of days a week for a monthly stipend. I accepted immediately. Monica had gone to bat for me, and drew me to management's attention. Without my realizing it, they were watching me to see how I did with my group facilitation, mentoring and how I connected with the participants. The day after she made the offer to me... we closed down because of the Covid-19 pandemic. That set me back to only mentoring, and I had to do that by phone. I was disappointed, but took it all in stride.  

I did the rest of our PRSS training online via Zoom. I finished the class, then got into the week-long class held by the state, which was also done online. I was so nervous about taking the state exam. My goal was a perfect score. No grade had ever mattered to me more than that one. And I was never more prepared for anything.  

I nailed it.  

After I aced that test, I got a job offer from OCARTA the following week. As of the writing of this, I worked there for two years. I was certain that I was right where I was supposed to be. I loved the people that I worked with and I am proud to have been a part of something special. Leaving there hurt, but I knew it was time. I had learned what I was supposed to from the job as well as the people – staff and participants both. I’d had a three year plan, and it played out in two. When I was shown the door, I was sad to leave, but I was at peace with it since I had been wondering if it was time for me to move on. I took it as a big glaring neon sign that it was. And I ended up where I belonged...where I build on what I needed learn what I needed to know for my next job that will most likely be my "forever job" because it is my dream job.  

As I close this chapter, I have to give a shout out to Brandi, the Director at OCARTA, who gave me 1001 chances to get it right. In the end, it worked because I am a different (better) member of the mental health community than I ever could have been without her guidance and support, which I am glad to say is on-going. I have a confidence and newfound commitment to what I do. OCARTA was an integral part of my training as a Mental Health Warrior.

OCARTA – it's been a damn good journey. 

Hope Dealers Wanted - And Business Is BOOMING!

 Hello! This teddy bear is an idea that I had for anyone who is struggling with their mental well-being. He's an emotional support bear and he will be there for you. Hope dealers are in demand everywhere, and we are doing our best to literally work ourselves out of a job. Our goal is to make sure everyone has hope, strength, and the peace of mind that is solid and present even when things are bad and life throws us a curve ball.

Know someone who is struggling? This is a great token of friendship and care!

This soft, seated teddy brings warmth and a little wink of personality. Its plush light-brown fur, stitched smile, and round black eyes create an approachable companion that looks ready for storytelling, bedside company, or a cheerful desk buddy. The bear wears a removable white T‑shirt and a smart black bow tie — At 7" x 10", it’s small enough to perch on a shelf but substantial enough to hug. Hand-wash the shirt when it needs freshening; the plush body keeps its cuddle-ready softness. Whether given after a rough week, tucked into a care package, or kept as a keepsake, this bear offers a gentle, tangible reminder of connection and faith. Get him here.