Joho

Logan Cale

*sigh* why do I watch Dark Angel? Oh right... heh <3

Inductance!

What difference 1.59 years make! In September of 2008, I painted this. Anyway, I have a new tablet now and a new ambition for art sooo... naturally I'd redo something that was crap, haha.

Faulkner and skin tones

Revamped my twitter layout. My rebellious love for Faulkner has inspired me to draw honey suckle flowers and color them in experimental, gradient ways.


Also, tried to do one of those really nicely realistic looking speed paintings people with significantly more skill than I sometimes do. It wasn't very speedy, but it wasn't a failure either!

I might fix up this blog soon, too. It needs it.

Mine

I kind of just want to unapologetically post this and let the three people that actually follow this blog figure it out for themselves. I meant it to be deeper than just "hey, his penis is bleeding," but I may have failed so whatever. I'm satisfied with it, though I feel like the world as a whole isn't. *shrug*

URRGGGGHHHH. :(

There's no guarantees

Won't you please forgive me, but you know cold blooded women make me sneeze.

This is what I see when I hear A Heady Tale. And Look Out Sunshine.

Basically, Taphrin (the girl) receives a letter from a boy she's stupidly in love with saying he's going on an adventure, essentially leaving her behind. She won't have it that way, so she runs away from her gypsy village home and finds her way to the nearest town. There, in the town pub, Maxlin (the creep) has just been left by his wife for drinking too much--but it's okay because he knows his wife has been cheating on him anyway--and decides to get drunk and start anew. When Taph inquires about the fastest way to the big city, he offers her a full ride, as he wants to get out himself.

Also, I am in love with Max's arm and shirt.

Pin-up Robin

The young detective

My (accidental) take on the thought-fiddler, Mr. Derren Brown. <3

(I have a lot of gripes about this one. His eyes aren't quite right. The contrast is all wrong. He doesn't look adorable enough. You can't tell he's really reading your mind... etc.)

Nikki and Mel

színes nyár

Took me all day. I'm rather proud of it, to be honest.

Yakkers West at night

YES! She's finished. Now if only the background and midground were a bit more realistic. One step at a time.

Yakkers West at night - WIP

My hand's gonna fall off. Will finish in the morning.

---
Edit:


Still working...

Robin - Finished

Robin - WIP

I NEED SLEEP.

Sketches [4]

Oops, eyes are lopsided.

Aona [2]

Yay! I did paint it! You know, I had to install an older version of my tablet's driver because it was acting strange? And then I spent fifteen minutes trying to have it only map monitor 1 not both. *sigh* it was worth it though.

Aona

I love drawing her. I used a picture of Hyde from L'Arc~en~Ciel as reference. This realism business isn't all that difficult at all. Color to come, hopefully.

Nothing is important

i am;

a surrealist swimming
in the sea of illusions
my words are so honest.
my heart.
my only living organ; still intact.
i babble, lucid. i make sense,
i understand—
but i'm so confused.
lost in a world of perception.
it felt so good, so good to talk
like only that moment mattered
only it existed.
"but it's okay now"
"it's okay... now"
it's alright
everything
every single thing...
it's alright.
like i'm tripping; delusional but realistic
clarity weaving in and out of focus.
taunting.
but i understand—or do i?
every single thing!
...it'll be alright
cow heart and banana;
it'll be alright.
today i stand, born again
i fly like the crow


i fly so, so high.

Laments of a Span

Another frozen sun ascends through the dense air. It casts long reflections of blocked out buildings onto the catatonic river beneath me. No sharp wind disturbs me on this winter morning. Snow laces the river banks as well as my railing, like confectioners' sugar on dark chocolate cake. Mornings like these make me see the beauty of life—of the nature only I witness. I would sigh if I could.

Yet amid this natural beauty, I see no one. Such a pristine landscape should not be marred with people. Only I stand strong, straddling this river bed, providing passage to anyone who wishes it. I am functional, I am sturdy, I am repaired when needed. My black metallic railing rusts at the seams. My cobblestone back erodes with each passing season. My infrastructure predates the roads I connect. But I am useful when people come across me.

I have seen many people come and go, but none on this morning. Perhaps the biting cold keeps them inside. Perhaps the morbid branches of withering trees which obscure the landscape with veils of scattered black deter them; I do not blame the warm blooded for their reluctance. I would stay inside too, if I could.

Nothing awaits them out here anyway, only the outer walls of old, crumbling buildings painted in browns and grays, and a river—though possessing the grandeur of a stream—with calm, yet polluted waters, that meanders through the city. People do not have to stand atop me to see it. Any spot will do. The reflected elegance is not exclusive to my back. Yet no one takes advantage of this opportunity. No one bothers to see the view.

And though the chill dives into the very core of my being and I may lament over my loneliness, I love this winter solitude. In utter selfishness, so no one else can, this moment and this pastel scenery I will steal.

Major Arcana: Card 0

I stare at the ominous desk in front of me. Seventy-eight cards stare back. Amidst the blinding glare of the cold winter sun, one captures my mortified attention. Zero, the Fool. Thrown down like the rest, the Fool still floats to the surface to haunt me.

I am zero. I am the Fool, the beginning, the faith, and the folly. These cards decide my life, with their embellished borders and smooth surfaces; like my fate, slippery and meretricious. The Fool-the only word my eyes can read in the sea of possibility-shows the only qualities I see in myself. Yet nothing about me embodies the Fool. I lack spontaneity; I can't accept my choices; I don't let go of worries and fears.

I let the cards govern my life. The unconditional trust of the Fool I see in myself. "This card mocks the questioner," the spread guide should say. Below him I see, slightly buried, the card of despair; the IX of Swords. This card, shrouded by shadows, stabs at the questioner's deepest fears. I find myself fearing my future.

The rest of the cards—the Star, the Empress, the VII of Cups—become obscured by the sun. They possess too much goodness and light for me to even consider them. No, I am the Fool, the nothing, the zero. Naive and trusting, I walk myself off the cliff of indecision; push myself into the abyss of relinquished control. I pass on my responsibility to inanimate objects printed in China. They decide my life choices, not I. I submit to their will. I no longer possess any control of my life.

Yet, save for these occasional lapses in certainty, I feel no guilt for my inaction or diversion. These cards are my veil to the world; I see in them what I want to see. The frenzied delirium of blind devotion fades, and the sounds of the outside world trickle into my consciousness. But fear still lingers, fear that one day I will be responsible for my decaying future.