Journals18
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1 min read
MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYBLOODY!
(for people who don't celebrate Christmas and must sue teachers over it: BEST WISHES! HAPPY HOLIDAYS!)
(for people who don't get holidays in December-January... take it easy.)
(for people who don't celebrate Christmas and must sue teachers over it: BEST WISHES! HAPPY HOLIDAYS!)
(for people who don't get holidays in December-January... take it easy.)
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Nothing
1 min read
Put a lot of my photos into the stock category.
If you'll use, comment or note me with the link to your edited artwork so I can see it
. And make sure you somehow make it clear that you used my photo. But you know that.
If you'll use, comment or note me with the link to your edited artwork so I can see it
. And make sure you somehow make it clear that you used my photo. But you know that.
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1234
1 min read
Everyone thinks that song is overrated, but I love it.
Ummmm, I totally saw this guy walking around with what looked like Urahara's hat on. He may not have known it. But yeah. It was amazing.
Ummmm, I totally saw this guy walking around with what looked like Urahara's hat on. He may not have known it. But yeah. It was amazing.
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Funny that...
1 min read
"Fifteen
South of the Bridge on Seventeenth
I found back of the willows one summer
day a motorcycle with engine running
as it lay on its side, ticking over
slowly in the high grass. I was fifteen.
I admired all that pulsing gleam, the
shiny flanks, the demure headlights
fringed where it lay; I led it gently
to the road and stood with that
companion, ready and friendly. I was fifteen.
We could find the end of a road, meet
the sky on out Seventeenth. I thought about
hills, and patting the handle got back a
confident opinion. On the bridge we indulged
a forward feeling, a tremble. I was fifteen.
Thinking, back farther in the grass I found
the owner, just coming to, where he had flipped
over the rail. He had blood on his hand, was pale--
I helped him walk to his machine. He ran his hand
over it, called me good man, roared away.
I stood there, fifteen."
William Stafford
That's not even how I feel.
South of the Bridge on Seventeenth
I found back of the willows one summer
day a motorcycle with engine running
as it lay on its side, ticking over
slowly in the high grass. I was fifteen.
I admired all that pulsing gleam, the
shiny flanks, the demure headlights
fringed where it lay; I led it gently
to the road and stood with that
companion, ready and friendly. I was fifteen.
We could find the end of a road, meet
the sky on out Seventeenth. I thought about
hills, and patting the handle got back a
confident opinion. On the bridge we indulged
a forward feeling, a tremble. I was fifteen.
Thinking, back farther in the grass I found
the owner, just coming to, where he had flipped
over the rail. He had blood on his hand, was pale--
I helped him walk to his machine. He ran his hand
over it, called me good man, roared away.
I stood there, fifteen."
William Stafford
That's not even how I feel.
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Try to find the exit sign
1 min read
WHOA 1111
Trying to draw more... and all the leaves fell of the trees BAM before I could take any cool fall pictures.
First devART b-day is coming up, and so is my real birthday.
Like I said, I'm practicing drawing. I figure I can only do it in my own time, cuz all we do in art class is still life junk. And I REALLY don't like still life. All right, I know all the benefits of still life, and how it helps your technique so you can draw other and stuff and all that, but I really have no patience.
Wow, my journal really is my bitching hole/pms section.
Trying to draw more... and all the leaves fell of the trees BAM before I could take any cool fall pictures.
First devART b-day is coming up, and so is my real birthday.
Like I said, I'm practicing drawing. I figure I can only do it in my own time, cuz all we do in art class is still life junk. And I REALLY don't like still life. All right, I know all the benefits of still life, and how it helps your technique so you can draw other and stuff and all that, but I really have no patience.
Wow, my journal really is my bitching hole/pms section.
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