Eldritch, fey and fell, numinous incandescent, ardor spell impale ensorcelled, prowess, fulgent, rive; mesmeric, lambent, wroth and ire; artificer, enwrought, ken, tryst, allure and umbra, vex and ravish, amaranthine fain; vehemence, anamnesis, burn and gloaming.

I like these.

It's a pale and moonless night
O'er a strangely glittering sea
And the last thing in my vision
Is nameless light
Through the water
Over me

Someone here deleted my horse for "copyright infringement."

I drew it years and years ago, without much thought, from an internet-searched reference pic. I *hope* that was why it was deleted; honestly I was just doing some practice, and I didn't even think about copyright at the time. And so I shall not fight it.

But I should hate to think anyone thought it wasn't my drawing. It most certainly was. Someone complained because I removed the section where I had inscribed something to my sister; I'll repeat again that it was nonetheless my drawing work. Which I should have thought would be obvious, stylistically.

Don't suppose anyone wants to fess up to anything? 'nyone?

Meh. C'est la vie. Will do more horses soon now, I think.

"I will not add another word."

- Horace

Aaaarrrrrgggg.

Do you ever get in one of those moods where not only can you not draw, but every time you try your increasing frustration makes everything look less and less like it should? Followed by blinding, searing rage? I think this is probably what happens to all those postal guys. Apparently Hitler was a frustrated artist. Hmmm.

Some people find sheer unfocused wrath to be an innapropriate response. Pfff. Like taking an axe to your pencil box is "innapropriate."

But do I even enjoy that level of catharsis? No, my catharsis is pretty much limited to apparently having made some kind of facial expression last week that caused a local security guard to warn the family that I live with that he thinks I am likely to snap and murder someone. Seriously. This happened.

There is nothing wierder than having an epic tantrum that goes just about completely unexpressed.

A thousand years back, fresh heads would adorn my wall.

Can't get my portrait likenesses right. I don't feel like using a grid, and somehow my free hand is all wonky. Why?! WHY IS MY FREEHAND WONKY??!!!! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU ILLIGITIMATE DOG-CHILDREN THAT DON'T EVEN *NEED* TO CHECK PROPORTIONS!? MAY THE FLEAS OF A THOUSAND CAMELS INFEST YOUR ARMPITS!!! YOUR SKILLS ARE THE DARK GIFTS OF EVIL SPIRITS THAT HAVE BEEN BENT ON TORMENTING ME SINCE BEFORE MY BIRTH, YOU SCROFULOUS, DETESTABLE CHILDREN OF THE CORN, WITH YOUR MALINGERING AND EXCREMENTITIOUS EASE OF RENDERING!!! GANDHI WOULD EXPLODE UNDER THIS INJUSTICE!!! I SHALL DISCOMBOBULATE EVERYTHING WITH MY ANGER!!!



...



...Needless to say, I still have no new art for this site. Don't even think I'm looking for pity. The number of failed pieces vastly exceeds the number of successful ones. I'm going to go and drink diet coke as if it were whisky now, and maybe cry a little.

Cheers.

Football!

It's fun to play, if you're with the right people. I realize, mentally, that there are men out there who do not love to wreak horrific and controlled competitive violence on one another's flesh and bond thereby, but there are some ugly facts from which one's emotions simply recoil.

Violence aside, it is as boring to watch as it is fun to do. How dearly I wish American culture had a more interesting late winter festival. Like, say, watching a couple hours of snowplowing.

Thank God for superbowl commercials, at least.

What a deeply pointless journal entry. I apologize to you all.

What emotion seizes the ocean under today's falling sun? It is moving altogether, one body, vast and animate. With what ineffable feeling does it heave, tremble, arch and sink? With what passion does it throb so deeply and tirelessly? Its limbs are beautiful in their exertion; its muscles ripple with the suppleness of an otherworld dancer. What eye, whose vision grasps, under the ceaseless play and ebb of atoms, wind and sun, the throes of ecstasy in which it shudders? Who may know the music it hears, mark and measure obeyed in the course of measureless motion? With what rapture does it absently and urgently grasp and loose the shore? By what longing so ceaseless is its desire, that its beauty is ever so inflamed? What longing? What yearning possesses its actions? What passion, what rapture, what song? For I would join the ocean...

Yes. And already I have, and long ago I did. The next time you look at the ocean, ask for whom it moves. I and the ocean…

For as the sun fell it was golden, and the moon rose, and it was silver and sapphire, and the sun rose again and it was pearl and turquoise, and this was its way.

I turned twenty-two today. Obviously everyone in the world should know this, so here you go.

Last year was the last year in which my birthday was given additional significance by the bestowal of socially mandated privileges heretofore unenjoyed. Not counting the future year in which I will become able to run for president…  a relatively quiet birthday, but a good day overall.

I'm not who I was at twenty-one and at twenty-three I expect to be more different still. This pleases me. I do hope it goes the same with you (unless you are perfect. Good job then.)

God bless.

Well, here I am. I hereby welcome my self to DeviantArt. Greetings, all. I'm here on the recommendation of many friends; I have at long last arrived. Fantabulous.