cloud mirrors my mindscape
shape, reshape, cirrus to stormcloud
flows like my feelings

See you soon.

Magic Hour

Nope, not what I planned on putting up here, but when Nature presents such a scene, who am I to refuse?

This was taken last Friday, when the family and I went out to celebrate my niece Emily's 16th birthday- woohoo! A good time was had by all, even though her silly uncle destroyed her musical birthday candle contraption. Seriously, the thing was all clever, playing music and sparkling and burning, but the damn thing would not shut up... at first...

Today was my Mom's 72nd birthday, and though there was no big party, I left work a little early and took her and the ubiquitous Emily to dinner at 'The Park', a 50's-style Eat 'n' Park. Good stuff, and nice to see them, as I won't be able to for the next two weeks or so (nothing bad, just lots of stuff going on). For 72, Mom's doing really well- though, as she tells me, "it's hell getting old". (That's also the first time I ever heard my mom swear!) Of course, she's also the one who tells me she's a "tough old bird", so I think she's doing just fine.

No promises as to when the art-type thing will get posted, but hopefully soon. There's some technical issues I need to work out, and some general tinkering. But we'll see.

Music: "Happy Birthday" - The Beatles (though neither Emily nor my Mom like them)

2k1cen digital boy

Sunset

Nope, no drawing today. The long weekend made for a short week... so to speak. It was a fun and eventful weekend, with plenty of twists and turns. Mainly, I was able to spend plenty of time with my family AND my other family, the Weavers. Best of all, on Monday both families got together for some good food, fun games, and great company, courtesy of Clan Weaver. My nephew Kevin dropped by Saturday night (from 6 hours away) to spend a little time with the family and to pick up some equipment: He's studying to become a diesel mechanic, just like his grandfather. Needless to say, we're all very pleased and proud of him. No doubt Dad is smiling down on him... Also, I was able to help out my niece Emily with some drawing tips. Drawing runs in the family! It's only a matter of time before she's set up on DeviantArt!

Oh yeah- I got myself an HDTV.

And a PS3.

It's good to be gainfully employed ;)

One of the things I'm really looking forward to is hooking up the computer to the TV, so I can finally work in a scale large enough so I don't have to keep zooming in and out to look at the picture in Photoshop. Well, that's the plan, at least.

Anyway, that's my weekend. And, that's why there's no drawings to post here today. That doesn't mean there are no drawings coming, though. Thanks to some drawing time during the weekend, I hope to have something posted mmmaybe this Friday. We'll see.
Here's a hint:

"In Blackest Night".

I know- what a rubbish hint ;)

Music: "Analog Kid" - Rush

True Companion

I blame Dave.

Well, that's not entirely fair. I had seen about 10 minutes of "Doctor Who" (the current series, starting in 2005) at some distant point in the past, but couldn't make heads or tails of it. Weird British Sci-Fi, it just didn't seem for me. Not to mention how convoluted the backstory must've been. So, I changed the channel.

Cut to the then-present, when Then-Roommate Dave was describing to me the wonders and joys of watching "Doctor Who". He told me how much fun the show was, going back to his watching the original series on one of the local (or nearly-local) PBS channels when he was just a kid. He described for me some of the backstory- The Doctor (real name unknown) was a member of an alien race called the Time Lords, from the planet Gallifrey. You knew they were alien because they had two hearts (easy on the special effects budget), and if they were near death, they could 'regenerate' into a new body (easy on the acting budget). The Doctor traveled through time and space, righting wrongs and getting into mischief, often with a traveling companion (most often a young human woman, I think). Dave described some of the aliens they encountered, such as the Daleks (rolling tanks who wanted to destroy everything) and the Cybermen (walking tanks who wanted to destroy everything). Sounded kinda fun, certainly appealing to a geek like me, who thrives on complex (some say convoluted) backstory. Of course, Dave also described the "special" effects and the scenery... how many times could they use the same corridor? And was this filmed in an airport? I thought about it a bit more and decided, mmmmnot so much. Glad he liked it, but I had no interest in watching something THAT convoluted based on something that old.

A little bit in the future from that point, I found myself home in front of the telly (how very British, no?) and happened to see that the Doctor was on. Being magnificently bored, I flipped to the channel, Dave's enthusiastic praise in the back of my mind. I'd see just how bad it was to get into. The episode was called "School Reunion", and the first thing I noticed was the production values. As in, they had them. It looked as good as any show I'd ever seen, and better than most. The effects were about as good as you'd hope for on TV. One point the Doctor. Next I saw it guest-starred Anthony Stewart Head, an actor from "Buffy the Vampire Slayer", an old favorite of mine. Point Two. Almost reluctantly, the remote slipped from my fingers.

But wait, what's this? The big guest star is some woman who was on the ORIGINAL show, 20 some odd years ago. Jeez, how the hell will I follow that? That's going to annoy me... But you know, it's kinda fun to watch. The Doctor is friggin' insane, but crazy cool. I quickly realized one of the most unique things about him: there's tons of action, but he almost never resorts to violence. His "weapon" is a sonic screwdriver- a fancy ex machina to get him into and out of all kinds of trouble (unless it's deadlock sealed!). There's still action and violence in the series, but I always felt like, if you did see violence, you and the Doctor both knew it was because he'd failed otherwise. His "companion", Rose, is something- she's pretty, but in a 'real' way, not so much made up to look unrealistically beautiful like American TV stars, but just 'there' on screen (in the future, I'll revise my opinion upwards). And the banter between the Doctor and Rose is pretty funny. The verbal jousts between Rose and Sarah Jane, the guest star/previous companion, are just plain funny. The show's a touch predictable, but everyone is just having so much fun with it, I can't help but get wrapped up in it. Ideas come fast and furious, but I realize as I'm watching it, it gives out enough information to let you know what's gone before, without beating you over the head. And the actors give such turns to their characters, it's so easy to grasp the emotions of the backstory I don't know. So much so that by the end of the episode, when the Doctor says Goodbye to Sarah Jane, I'm finding myself incredibly moved by the whole story, and I want to know more.

Not too long after that, I've started reading up on the show, questioning Dave as much as I can (he patiently explains (and re-explains) some of the finer points), and hitting the internet for Who-related goodies. Of course this is where I discover that Doctor Who is about the biggest thing in the UK. EVERYONE knows the Doctor. So, Dave and I watch each episode zealously, talking about the show afterwards, picking out highlights, wondering what's coming up next. All the while, we talk about one of the best things about the series: the relationship between the Doctor and Rose. It's certainly not the typical romantic tension: think of 'Moonlighting', turn it sideways, dial it to shake and bake, and enjoy. What was so different about this dynamic, I would learn, is that in the past, they never really had any kind of romantic tension between the Doctor and a companion. It was usually buddies, or teacher/student, or something tame like that. Rose and the Doctor were different. But, they play it so close to the vest, and so subtly, if you were to only watch one episode, you'd never realize the whole show is a love story. I couldn't wait to see what would happen- would Rose tell the Doctor how she felt? Would the Doctor ever say those three words? For God's sake, would they ever kiss?

And then Rose left.

That sucked. The next two years were spent with new companions, one of whom pined for the doctor, the other behaved by turns as the doctor's big sister or little sister. The shows were still very good (some of my favorite episodes were from these seasons), but they just weren't the same. There was no Rose.

And then Rose came back.

I won't spoil what happens, in case you missed the show in the past, or hope to catch it again in the future. All I'll say is "And Lo, There Shall Be an Ending!".

"Doctor Who" went from a "yuck get away" to a "must watch" series for me, entirely on the strength of the stories and the actors. It's a great show that I really can't get enough of. I think it has so many good things going for it, and it could appeal to so many people, it's one of those shows that everyone could enjoy, if given the chance. I'm really glad I turned on Sci Fi that day, and I can't wait to see what the future holds for "Doctor Who".

But mostly, I blame Dave.

---

The art originally started out as a head sketch of Rose. Then, at a drawing session, I ended up drawing the above picture of the Doctor. I was going to just post that, when the idea hit me to make a picture not unlike what's above. So, I set about drawing another picture of Rose... only to flub the face badly. I was going to just go with what I'd drawn (I was not feeling particularly artsy at the time), when I realized I had already drawn a decent picture of Rose. So, via the miracle of Photoshop, I did a head transplant. Thanks to some cutting, pasting, and resizing, I put them both together. The Tardis (the Doctor's means of transportation, also known as a police box) was rendered completely in PS, probably in the most roundabout fashion as possible. Then the whole thing was colored and tweaked. It was a lot of fun to put this together, though a fair bit of work. This is one of the few postings I've done that I've spent more than one night working on ('AND IT SHOWS!' I heard you in the back, very funny). I'm pretty pleased with it, though as always I wish I could do a better job with likenesses. And poses. And everything else ;)

Whew.

Okay, that's it for now. I'll hopefully have something again next Wednesday.

Brilliant!

Music: "Time After Time" - Eva Cassidy

Pay No Attention to the Ghost Behind the Curtain

The above is my blog... after a fashion. It's courtesy of a website called Wordle. Wordle trolls through your website (or any site, or any collection of words)and randomly generates a work of 'art' like the above. But not really random, as it consistently focused on certain words each time. But it has a number of settings to customize, so it makes for a fun few minutes of diversion.

And no, this wasn't my supposed post. See, I was working on my post when... my dog ate it, yeah that's the ticket... Actually, life once again intervened, and though I love my art, I love my friends more. (awww... yeah, shut up.) So, it'll get delayed until Friday (I HOPE). But, to tide you over, here's a small preview of what's coming up:

I know, try to contain your excitement. I figure this'll be recognizable to exactly two of you, one of whom was there at the drawing's creation...

In the meantime, take a few minutes to peruse some of the other sites/blogs shown to the right, particularly Joe's and Mark's. Who knows, if you're careful, you just might learn something...

And lastly-

It just looks so much better in black; you'd think these things would occur to me sooner... sigh...

Music: "I Love You Period" - Dan Baird

This has been a Syrinx Design/Works Diversionary Tactic

From the Mouth of Madness

The Joker never scared me. To be honest, my first exposure to the character, as with most kids my age, was Caesar Romero's in the reruns of the old '60's TV show. Unless you're already scared of clowns, he's really not very scary. Except for the fact that they just painted over his mustache. That was scary.

Then 1989 rolls around, and we get to watch Jack Nicholson take on the role. Great idea, right? Well, at the time it seemed great- the guy's already nutty as a bag of nuts... except he acts like, well, Jack Nicholson. Scary in his own right, sure, but not as the Joker.

2008. Heath Ledger scares the life out of me. THIS is what the Joker was meant to be. As I'd read in a review for The Dark Knight, they compared his take on the character to both Jaws, in that he's a force of nature, with no rhyme nor reason to his actions (that we can see, at least), and to Loki, the Norse God of Chaos (or evil, or Deception, but let's go with Chaos for now). I thought the character was brilliant, and Ledger's delivery was truly inspired. Not explaining the Joker's origin and motivation was one of the best ideas ever. It's not always what you put into the story that makes it. Anyway, great stuff.

The picture was done as a palate cleanser, after I'd spent a couple of hours busting my pencils on another drawing. As usual, I'm more pleased with this drawing than the one that preceded it. I'd originally been told to go at it and just color it crazy, and such had been my intention, but time makes a fool of us all, and so you get just the color... and the monochrome one below. Enough time to tinker, at least...

Speaking of jokes, and being made the fool, this wasn't meant to be the post I entered for today. It would've been Friday's post, but thanks to my leaving ALL of my drawing tools at my Mom's house, I was unable to finish the drawing I'd originally planned on putting up today. So, if you read the hint and this wasn't what you expected to see, sorry. But, it still kinda worked. As it was a 'joke' I posted last week... get it?

Okay, I'm rambling...

Um, maybe post Friday? No promises, though.

Go.

Music: "I Think I'm Going Slightly Mad" - Queen

The Mislaid Plans of Mice and Men

I was going to post something today, really.

Honestly, the plan was to come home and get to work in Photoshop, putting together a couple pictures and then coloring them, then posting the whole mess.

But, I opted instead to head up north a ways to search for furniture and visit with Joe. I had a few things on my mind (very few- it can't hold much) and felt like talking, so it was time well spent. Then, once home, I decided to instead do the social, human thing, and talk with some other folks via the phone. And I needed to eat, of course.

So, here I am, with nothing to show for the post. I was going to post another picture from one of the concerts, but that didn't work out (too blurry).

Well, then.

Any ideas what you'd like to see on here? I'm hurting a bit for direction and motivation (nothing new there) so any ideas you'd like to see, they'd be appreciated. No promises, mind, but if nothing else you might give me a good chuckle. And the world needs more good chuckles.

Come on back Wednesday if you like, and hopefully I'll have something to present. I'll even give you a clue:

Knock Knock

Who's there?

Music: "Lost!" - Coldplay

The Sound of Music

A) One of the biggest and most instrumental bands of the late 20th century

B) A well-known and well-loved band known to the east coast for number of years

C) A little-known band from Germany only just now getting airplay in the U.S.

If I asked you, "which of these bands drew the loudest crowd?", chances are you're wrong, unless you picked 'C'. I know, I can't believe it either... Over the past two weeks, I've been to three concerts.

First up, The Police- a concert I never thought would come to happen, let alone one I'd attend. It was essentially a greatest hits show, performed with zeal and skill by three men who, as a band, contributed immensely to the landscape of pop, rock, and alternative music. They sounded fantastic, like the intervening years had just served to help refine their talents. There were about 13,000 fans there, screaming and cheering and clapping for, literally, the show of a lifetime. Good stuff.


Second, this past Saturday, I finally had the chance to watch hometown heroes The Clarks perform live, after what felt like decades of hearing their homegrown rock on local stations like DVE (I remember being amazed when I found out the rest of the country didn't know who The Clarks were- losers). They played like they still had something to prove, though the (what seemed like) several thousands of fans were more than supportive of the band. They played plenty of well-known favorites, as well as a lot of brand new music (all of which sounded great). The crowd left satisfied, a show well-done.

Third, yesterday, I took my fifteen-year-old niece Emily to see a group she'd been telling me about for a while now, Tokio Hotel. They're from Germany (which I guess explains the spelling?), and seem to be representative of the new wave (as opposed to New Wave) of alt rockers, with a heavy dose of Emo (as opposed to Elmo) and light nu-metal. I've been listening to their stuff ever since Em let me have their CD to sample. I figure hey, she could be on to something. I like the music well enough- like I said, they're alt rockers, they hit the right notes (figuratively and literally) and I can see how younger folks could really get into their music. I mean, they're not Pearl Jam, but they're not bad. So, when the opportunity presented itself for Emily to go to the concert, and her mom couldn't take her, I did the good uncle thing and offer to take her. To Cleveland. No big deal- it's funny how, after all these years of driving in Maryland, where to do anything fun, you always had to drive an hour (not to mention just go to work), a 2.5 hour drive to Cleveland from Pittsburgh didn't seem like much. I had no idea what to expect once we got there (other than hey, it's Cleveland)- I didn't know what kind of crowd it would draw- would they be a bunch of dark goth teens, standing around with their greasy black hair covering their faces? Would it be a bunch of college age kids, standing around with their too-trendy clothes and mall-bought rebellion, looking for trouble?

We got there, and it was worse than I imagined, much worse... It was 500 15-year-old girls... and their parents. Holy shit, I was one of the adults.

Then it got worse.

We went inside of the House of Blues, and I was stuck inside a (very freaking small) room full of screaming teenage girls, all of them chanting "WE WANT TOKIO HOTEL! WE WANT TOKIO HOTEL!" I wondered if this was some kind of karmic payback for earlier transgressions. I looked around at the other adults there, and they all must've seen the panicky, deer-in-headlights look on my face, because they only smiled sadly and shook their heads, as though acknowledging what was about to happen to me. The band came out. The girls screamed. My ears bled. I mean, seriously? You know those stereotypes of the spoiled little girl who squeals when she gets a freakin' pony or whatever? Take that sound, multiply it by a billion, stick it into a tiny (what's the maximum capacity in this place? 12?) room, and you about approach what it sounded like. So this, THIS is truly what it means to be responsible for a child. The pain...

But, it was a pretty good show, surprisingly. What I could hear of the band, over the girls, was pretty tight- they were obviously more than capable of playing live, and playing well. The girls all sang along, to every song, and all seemed to know what appropriate moves to make for each song (as did some of the moms). It was kinda fun to stand back (I was at the edge of the mob) and watch them. For them, this was the biggest thing in the world. So, it was fun. Emily had an excellent time, So it was all well worth it. She got to meet and talk with a bunch of like-minded girls (not always an easy thing) and I got to talk with some fellow "suffering" parental units- though when I saw the one girl throw her arms around her mom and tell her she was the greatest mom EVER for having driven 14 hours to the show, I could tell the mom thought it was a trip well worth taking. And really, it wasn't bad. I even offered to take her to the next concert. Which probably is just what she, and her mother, wanted to hear.

So, those are my recent musical adventures. Next, I think it's time to find some live music in a bar somewhere. There's nothing like hearing a small band perform for a crowd of about 50 in a smoky, smelly dive somewhere, while you're drinking and talking with friends. That, folks, is what makes music great.

(As you've noticed, these are also my first video posts. Hope they work...)

Next time around (hey, maybe even this Friday!) an actual art post. Maybe.

Music: "Message in a Bottle" - The Police; "Lock and Key" - The Clarks; and "Rescue Me" - Tokio Hotel

Prompt, One

The rider approached his mount, pale in the first rays of dawn. He slung the bag of bolts around the beast’s neck, resting it so his hand was only an instant’s reach away from his deadly cargo. He mounted the steed and drew a deep breath, tasting the morning mist, sweet with the promise of a good day’s battle. Turning the beast, he rocketed down the lane.

Rider and steed cut through the mist like a finely-honed knife through flesh. He spotted his first target, drew, and launched his missile in one fluid motion, the target destroyed before realization struck. Any sound the target made was swallowed by the fog. The rider never even looked around, his eyes not on the last victim, but the next target. He raced between his enemies, dealing death in a blur of motion, his aim unerring, his weapons devastating. They collapsed all around him, helpless to stop his onslaught. The rider laughed aloud, his blood warming to the carnage.

He turned a corner, and as the mist began to lift, he saw his targets appearing before him, lining the streets as though awaiting the kiss of his weapons. Tall guardsmen, stout clergymen, clusters of merchants, all fell before him, equals in death by his hands. He raced along, and death followed in his wake.

A rumbling growl drew the rider’s attention from his task. He turned and caught a glimpse of the source. A hellhound! One of his enemies must have let it loose for a dawn patrol. The rider drove his mount harder, hoping to evade the hellbeast. No good! The monster was closing on him, nipping at his mount’s well-shod heels. The rider sighed, not panicking, but knowing what must be done. He reached into his quiver and drew a bolt.

He could feel the beast’s breath at his feet…

The rider swung down with flat of the bolt, striking across the hellhound’s snout and in one smooth movement threw the bolt directly into the heart of the hellhound’s domain. The beast immediately lost interest in the rider and tore off after the bolt, in a futile attempt to stop the inevitable. The rider heard the bolt strike home as he forced his steed faster. A wicked grin grossed his face, as he knew the death would be blamed on the hellhound.

Looking down into the quiver, the rider saw only a few bolts remaining. With this realization, he suddenly felt tired. It was almost time to end his day’s run. It was a good run, with many foes struck down, and a hellbeast easily thwarted. He threw his remaining bolts, striking their targets with the casual arrogance only a true master could display. Finally he was down to one last bolt. And just in time. He approached his enemy’s stronghold warily, eyes roaming the defenses, ready to move instantly if he felt their weapons being brought to bear against him. Nothing. He sneered, slowing his mount, taking the time to savor this final throw. They would never see it strike. He hefted the bolt, drew back, and let fly.

And missed.

Astonished, the rider nearly fell off his mount. The bolt brushed by the intended target and shattered against the main gate, fragments blasting everywhere. And suddenly, the gate was thrown open and the lord of the fortress stormed out, still in his bedclothes. His clawed hand swept down and gathered the fragments of the missile, as though to throw them back at the rider. The rider tensed, knowing his very survival would depend on what happened in the next instant.

“Hey kid! Watch where you throw the damn newspaper! You almost smashed my flowerpot!”

“Sorry mister!” the rider shouted as he pedaled away. Not sorry at all. Tomorrow, he wouldn’t miss…

---

So yeah, I decided to try something a little different this time around. I had a picture or two almost worth posting, but I'd been kicking around the idea of putting up some writing, rather than just more pictures. My niece told me about this great concept for assisting in writing: Prompts. Essentially, they're nothing more than a word, or set of words, or sentences meant to spark your mind into a creative writing exercise. A prompt, if you will. I was doing a little bit of research, trying to find something that would give me a good start towards a fun story (Emily set the bar very high with the story she'd made from the prompts she was given). I'd been through about 10 or 15 sites, covering a range of words/sentences/topics, and I'd found a great line of poetry that was to be used to generate the story. I was working on that (it'll come along shortly, I hope) when my subconscious stepped forward with another item I'd seen early on: "Rider". While I was thinking on the poem, I ended up coming up with a completely different idea for the word "Rider". And as usual with my ideas, whichever one gets further along wins. This one was pretty much done by the time I started typing. If I wanted, I could tell you about the recurring ideas I've had in my writing, going back to grade school, of "the fantastic in the mundane", something along the lines of making the everyday extraordinary, or the juxtaposition of the two, but I won't. You probably already get the idea.

Anyway, hope you liked the story. With luck, this will be a semi-recurring feature of the blog.

Speaking of blogs, please check out, OddVoodoo,my friend Joe's blog. We've talked about putting up blogs for ages now, and he's FINALLY done it. Joe's work with Photoshop makes my scribblings look like the work of a monkey with a crayon, but without thumbs. Try it, you'll like it!

Also, Ivy was jealous of Scout, and so demanded equal time:

That's it. No more cat posts for a while. Honest.

Music: "Cemeteries of London" - Coldplay

Bat from the Black Lagoon

For whatever reason, the only two things I could seem to even attempt to sketch last weekend were Batman and the Creature from the Black Lagoon. No idea why... well, that's not true. I'd seen The Dark Knight the week prior, and I was reading a book that involved amphibious bipeds in the Amazon (even less good a book than it sounds (and yes, that's indeed saying something)). So I sat and sketched a bit, but little came of it. Only one of the pictures made it beyond non-photo blue, and this ain't it. (aside- my spell checker does not recognize "ain't" as a misspelling... sigh...) This pic really didn't go where I envisioned it, So I set it aside until I came back with a better idea of what I wanted to do. However, I did kind of like it, and so it got scanned in.

Cut to Thursday. I let my mind wander sometimes when I'm at work (less than you'd think, really) while I'm doing tasks that don't require a ton of focus on my part. Kind of like running a program minimized in the background. I like to take pictures I've scanned in and run through them with various ideas of how to do something interesting, or at least different, with them in Photoshop. I ran through this one, and came up with something marginally like what you see before you (I have an idea for one of the Batman pictures as well from this method). It was a fun and short exercise, basically duplicating the pencils, changing the colors, then "painting" underneath the pencils. With a quick and crappy background thrown in. The original picture is somewhat larger than this; I realized by cropping it, I could make it a little more interesting looking. You'd think for all the movies I've watched in my day, I'd've realized the effect of framing a visual...

Anyway, there you go. I still have to finish the other Creature picture (pencils before PS) as well as the Batmans (Batmen?). Two posts in one week! Crazy!

Have a good weekend, suckers!

Music: "I've Got to Break Free" - Queen

Possession

"She's got the most beautiful eyes... and her smile, it really lights up the room.
"She's just amazing- I've never known another woman like her.
"She understands me like no one else- she knows the real me, and I know the real her.
"We'll be perfect together...
"She'll see."

At some point in their lives, most folks have been smitten with someone who they are convinced doesn't even know they exist. Whether it's a coworker, classmate, or casual acquaintance, they come the focus for a harmless infatuation- usually lasting as long as it takes for the smitten to realize hey, they're just people, like everyone else.

But what if they really didn't know you existed? What if they'd never met you before, never seen you before, never heard of you before? And what if it wasn't a harmless infatuation- what if the object of your affection becomes the focus of your existence, the objective of your existence, to the exclusion of all else, often including morality, rationality, and reality? What have you become?

Welcome to the world of the stalker.

Everyone's familiar with the concept of the stalker; like described above, these folks become obsessed with another person, be it celebrity or next-door neighbor, and begin creating elaborate fantasies out of nothing. The idea of the stalker has been addressed by musicians for decades. Some of the most popular songs of the past few decades have been about these people:
"Every Breath You Take"- The Police
"Possession"- Sarah MacLachlan
"Creep"- Radiohead

The latest addition to this sub-genre of songs is one of my current favorite songs out there, "I Will Possess Your Heart" by Death Cab for Cutie. Like many of these songs, the sheer malevolence of the content of the song is often masked by the tone of the lyrics; it's only after repeated listenings that you discover just how dark the lyrics actually are (look at all the folks who used to dedicate "Every Breath" to their loved ones- either they're a bunch of stalkers, or they didn't catch all the dialogue). "I Will Possess", unlike some of the other songs, lets you know from the beginning, somewhat unconsciously, that it's not a light song about puppy love- it has one of the most menacing basslines I've heard in a song. It's not particularly violent or loud, but there's something about the steady way it's played that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

In addition to the fantastic bass, the lyrics themselves are sung in a stumbling counterpoint to the rhythm and melody of the music, further drawing the listener into that stalker's headspace. The singer's light voice catches you off guard, particularly after the long musical introduction. You're humming along to the tune until you realize exactly what the song's about.

The video is the final ingredient to the mix, and one of the most subtle. It's essentially a 10-minute travelogue of a young woman's trip to various places around the world. The beauty of it is that you're just watching her go about her trip, but you're always watching her from a distance, and almost always from behind her. When you make the connection between the lyrics and the video, the video goes from a nicely shot long-form video to one of the scariest music videos ever.

Oh, the picture. Well, I was watching the video/listening to the song, and the image just occurred to me. I suppose it could take place just after the video ends or something along those lines. Not the most pleasant of pictures, I know, but the song really struck me, visually, and this is what I came up with. Originally just a sketch of the woman, I brought it into photoshop and created everything else.

I'm hoping this musical exercise will recur here more often; quite some time ago I'd asked folks for songs and/or lyrics that really struck a particular chord with them, or had some really nice imagery. I've not forgotten those, and coupled with my own ideas (music is GREAT for getting visual imagery), I'm hoping to visit that area again.

I'll possibly be back Friday; definitely be back next Wednesday.

Oh, I saw The Police in concert last night. Yes, it was great.

Music: "Wrapped Around Your Finger" - The Police

Angelic?

It's only a matter of time before I'm posting to LOLCAT.com. God help me. But seriously, isn't she cute? This is shortly before she pounced on me while I was trying to sleep. Then, seeing I was awake, came up to my face to be petted. Angelic, indeed.

Yeah, I know, it's not "art". I have a few things in mind, honestly- I just need the time to get to work on them.

Really.

In other news- the new Coldplay CD is amazing. It's a very different sound from the last couple they've put out, though they're all distinctly Coldplay. Most of this one seems to be a meditation on death, but it's surprisingly cheerful. Also, my living room now looks mostly livable, and it took me a month to finish the last book I picked up. It was only 400 pages. That's depressing. And there's a fly in my office the size of a small bird, to judge the sound. It must be destroyed.

That's it.

Music: "De Do Do Do, De Da Da Da" - The Police

Fairy Stories

You know, this post was supposed to be me telling you how I just can't seem to focus on being creative, certainly not draw and post pictures to the blog, and how I'd probably need to take some time away from this to get my head back together (as together as it ever gets, really). But...

I almost forgot I was going to post for Wednesday. I remembered, then realized I didn't have anything done enough to properly post. Do I go with another cameraphone picture? I like them, but it's almost like cheating. It's not like I did anything creative other than hold up my phone (I'm not disputing the artistic and aesthetic value of photography; I'm just saying that's not where my creativity runs). But, I had a couple of in-process pictures lying around in the computer, so to speak, so I thought I'd give one a try. Well, the first one sucked hard- there's a particular technique with Photoshop I can't seem to get the hang of (sorry Joey- I'll be asking for tutoring again) and so I decided to bail and write the "I'm sorry I'm not creative anymore" post. Then, as I booted up the site, I remembered a random thought I'd had about something to try with a different picture. It wasn't much of a thought, as thoughts go, but it was something to try, and I really didn't have anything to lose.

It was tough at first, as I haven't really touched PS since before the move, and sadly, it's like many other skills- left unexercised, it withers rapidly. However, as the time rolled by, they seemed to come back- rusty, to be sure, but back. I think another five or ten pictures should get me back in the swing of things. Anyway, that's the story of the blogpost that almost wasn't.

Other than the picture itself. This was inspired by a friend of mine. She had been telling me about a series of letters she'd written her friend's little girl, on behalf of the Tooth Fairy. When she told me this, I had been having a terrible time trying to find anything to draw (which happens A LOT) and I was lamenting my situation to her. So, seeing the signs, reading the stars, thinking logically, whatever you call it, she suggested I draw a picture of the Tooth Fairy, which might pair well with her letters. So, me being me, I took it and ran with it, down some obviously different directions. I'm quite pleased with it (the wings were a bitch, just between you and me), though this is proof to me that you really never finish a picture, you just walk away. I could've nit-picked this till doomsday. Also, I haven't told her yet about it... Hope you like it!

That's it for now, methinks. It's going to be a long time before I'm back to three posts a week, though, so right now, let's just settle on Wednesdays, shall we? I'll go back and tackle that other picture soon, and hopefully post it next week.

Music: "Black Velvet Band" - Traditional Irish

Always Darkest...

Cameraphone picture of an oncoming storm at my Mom's house.

Yeah, sorry, I did mention something about posting on Wednesday, didn't I? Well, technically it still is Wednesday, so...

I do apologize for the lack of actual art and updates. If you've been following along, you know this past month has not been a good month for me and my family. One of the unexpected side effects has left me just about completely without energy for anything other than going to work and coming home. I've been here for a month now, and most of my apartment is still packed in boxes. Now, there are some legit reasons for that, but mainly it comes down to the fact that my brain just will not function the way it did before. There's really no creative connections being made in there- for the most part, the few scribbles I've done have not been worth noting.

However, I am taking some slow steps to turn that around, and hopefully correct the problem. The last thing I want to do is give up on this. But, please bear with me- the posts will be much less frequent than before, and will probably tend more towards written posts than any drawn pictures. So, hope you like reading!

Come back next week, we'll see what's cooking.

Music: "Mercy" - Duffy

The Hero

What makes a hero? Is it physical strength, the force to vanquish any foe? Is it force of will, the power to compel others to stand aside? Is it intelligence, the ability to out think the opponent? Are these characteristics of what we've come to call heroes? To look at television, movies, and most of the world today, that seems to be the case.

Or is it something else?

What makes a hero? Is it strength of character, the power to inspire others to stand by your side? Is it bravery, the force to stand against any foe? Is it compassion, the ability to think beyond simply destroying, but to also create, turning enemies to friends? Is there more? Justice- the ability to stop evil and terror, without giving in to vengeance? Mercy- the power of forgiveness? Humility- the gift of understanding and equality? These traits don't often get much mention nowadays, but this feels right, doesn't it?

What makes a hero? The label seems easily applied, but often to the least-deserving, or without real thought given to understanding why we use that word. Growing up, my "heroes" were guys like Stallone and Schwarzenegger,characters like Batman and Wolverine (characters all, really). Overly-muscled, comic-book-style forces of destruction, force-feeding a simplistic world-view (Us-Good; Them-Bad) to the rest of the globe, and I reveled in it. It was fun to beat up the bad guys, right? I never gave any thought whatsoever to why they were called 'heroes'; I just assumed they had the qualities that made one a hero, and left it at that. Nowadays, in the land of world-weary, jaded and otherwise disenchanted Americans, heroes have become thugs and addicts disguised as musicians, athletes who behave no better than gang members, and people who have done nothing to deserve attention other than to be born rich. Hey, at least my heroes fought the bad guys.

Luckily for us, if we have the clarity of vision to see it, heroes are all around us. So much has changed in my life in the past years and decades; so much has changed in your lives, too. Heroes are everywhere. There are people with the strength of character to stand up and disagree with everyone around them, to argue their ideas with grace and understanding, and who stand by their convictions. There are people with the compassion to walk amidst the worst of humanity in the hopes of bringing out in others the best of humanity, people who do these things with no expectations of reward, but who do these things because they cannot imagine doing otherwise. There are the folks who quietly go through their lives making better the lives of those around them, with a gentle touch, a well-chosen word, or just a smile. There are the men and women who stand in the line of danger, whether it be from fire, disaster, or their fellow man, they stand firm for what they know to be right. There are those who go and fight and die and heal and rebuild and save for no better nor worse reason than their country asks it of them. How easy it is to imagine dying for a person you know; how impossible to imagine dying for an entire country of strangers. Imagine, if you can, putting yourself in harm's way for an ideal. Can you? I don't know that I can- but luckily for all of us, there are men and women throughout the country who can and do. Heroes are everywhere.

My heroes have changed somewhat in the past 20-plus years; gone are my friends Sly and Arnold, so long Bats and Wolvie. Nowadays, my heroes are the people who inspire me, the ones who make me want to be a better person. My heroes are the folks who speak their minds, but listen to a different point of view. My heroes are the ones who give of themselves without asking in return. My heroes are the ones who sacrifice so we don't have to. My heroes are the ones who keep it together when everything else is falling apart. I have a long list of heroes, but the top of the list is reserved for two people, of course: my Mom and Dad. They're the ones who gave me something to aspire to, and they're the ones whose examples I hope to live up to. A guy could do worse for heroes, no?

So, this Fourth of July, when you're chowing down on burgers and hot dogs, watching the fireworks go kaboom, and hanging out with your friends, take a look around- like I said, heroes are everywhere.

A hero is one who runs forward when everyone else runs away.

See you next week- let's say Wednesday, okay?

Roadside Assistance

I always like to see what the editorial cartoonists do whenever a famous person has died; they usually seem to a little bit funny, a little bit touching, and are often a more effective tribute than any obituary. So, here's mine for Dad.

He fixed so many things down here; why should Heaven be any different?

See you Friday.

Remembrance

That's my Mom and Dad sharing one of many, many laughs, last year at their Fiftieth wedding anniversary. The smiles, laughter, and love of them both are the remembrances I'll carry with me always. The pain will fade, but the love will remain.

This'll be a much shorter post than last time; just a few poems I found that were particularly meaningful or helpful to me recently.

First, the poem I read at our family's gathering- I found this poem years ago, and was always struck by the power and passion of the words. Later, I would come to associate this with my father, because the words so accurately described his stand against his weakening health. It was, originally written for a father, and the words really embody a son's love and admiration and awe of his father.

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
-Dylan Thomas

I really love this next one- I love how it takes the sting out of the loss... not through humor, or distraction, or anything like that, but by drawing on a lifetime of experiences and using words to truly console the grieving. I think my dad would have loved this poem- I can practically hear him saying these things to us...

Death is nothing at all
I have only slipped away into the next room
I am I and you are you
Whatever we were to each other
That we are still
Call me by my old familiar name
Speak to me in the easy way you always used
Put no difference into your tone
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow
Laugh as we always laughed
At the little jokes we always enjoyed together
Play, smile, think of me, pray for me
Let my name be ever the household word that it always was
Let it be spoken without effort
Without the ghost of a shadow in it
Life means all that it ever meant
It is the same as it ever was
There is absolute unbroken continuity
What is death but a negligible accident?
Why should I be out of mind
Because I am out of sight?
I am waiting for you for an interval
Somewhere very near
Just around the corner

All is well.

-Henry Scott-Holland

I was going to post more, but I think these two are perfect as is.

I'll be back next Wednesday.

Have a good weekend.

Music: "You Are Loved (Don't Give Up)" - Josh Groban

Dedication

Robert Lloyd Darrall died last Wednesday, June 11. He was Husband to Bernice, Father to Mark, Roberta, and Steven, Father-in-Law to Linda, Grandfather to Jonathon, Kevin, and Emily. He was Son to Lloyd and Collette, Brother to Dolores and William. He was the Mechanic to hundreds of truckers, train engineers, boaters, generator operators and more. He was Staff Sergeant Darrall to the Army. He was Bob to the dozens of co-workers he mentored and partnered with at Cummins Diesel. He was Mr. Darrall, then Dad, to the many friends of his children and grandchildren.

He was so much more than that.

He was the strongest man I ever knew. His strength had nothing to do with how much he could lift, though at 78, he was still stronger than most. His strength came from three places: his mind, his will, and his family. As I think about it, though, I really believe that those three sources were actually all connected in him.

My father graduated from a Technical High School- something akin to a Vo-Tech school today. He never went to college, never took any higher level classes. And yet, he was one of the smartest men I've ever known. And yes, that is saying something. He loved learning. It didn't matter what the subject seemed to be, he knew something about it, and he was almost always right. If colleges had degrees for "Jacks of All Trades", my father would have taught the class. If something needed done and he didn't already know how to do it, he would teach himself. He just loved to know things.

Dad was not a fighter. He wasn't interested in guns or violence or anything like that. But when the Korean conflict escalated into war, Dad joined the Army. He served three years and one day (they had to hold him an extra day to process his paperwork, I believe), and in that time, he served his country without question, and without fail. Korea is where he really took to working on giant machines- making things work came naturally to him, and he enjoyed it immensely. He told me how often, after working his time in the motor pool or out in the field repairing the vehicles, he would go back to his tent and read up on the technical manuals. Like I said, he loved to know things. During his time in Korea, he was promoted from private up to Corporal, and ultimately to Staff Sergeant, a difficult feat to accomplish in any era. For the longest time, Dad didn't want to talk much about his time in Korea. I often thought it was because of bad memories of his time there. However, as the years have passed, and I've talked with him more about it, I've come to believe that it wasn't bad experiences that kept him quiet; I believe he just didn't think it was that big of a deal, and there were more important things to think of. That was Dad.

Coming back from Korea, he soon found himself working for Cummins Diesel, traveling all over working as a mechanic, repairing all manner of engines in all weather, sweating, freezing, and loving every minute of it. He worked for Cummins for 50 years, longer than anyone else in the company. Though he started as a mechanic, he eventually was forced to come off the road in 1974 or '75 (my memory's a little fuzzy there) after his first heart attack. He went to work as a manager in the Monroeville shop, and later worked in their Murrysville and Harmarville branches. He became an "Applications Engineer"- by this time, Cummins realized they had a resource at hand who had built, fixed, or improved the vast majority of engines they'd made in the past 70 years, and so formally had Dad step in to help solve problems. Whether it was designing an all new system from the ground up, or repairing one of a handful of working 70-year-old Cummins train engines, they would ask him how to do it. That was Dad.

Somehow, in all that time working, he managed to meet and fall in love with my Mom. They married in 1957, and a little over a year later, had my brother, Mark. Not long after, my sister Bobbi came along. I arrived somewhat unexpectedly fifteen years later. Mom and Dad did the best they could raising us- and they did a pretty amazing job, considering how we all turned out. One of the greatest things they did for us was in fact what they didn't do- they never told us what to do with our lives. Our parents never said "you must go to college" or "you must work at the shop" or whatever. Our parents said "do you want to do this?" or "do you want to try that?" Our parents never gave us ultimatums; they gave us opportunities. When we succeeded, they were there to share our joy. When we failed, they were there to help us back on our feet. It was never "what did you do wrong?" it was always "what can we do to help make it right?". Those are my parents.

If you've been reading the blog for a while, you might recall my post a while back about the pictures I made for my dad back in the hospital. I talked about how strong he was... well, this is all relevant to the topic at hand, so I'll repeat myself here. My dad had the strongest will of anyone I've ever known. He had at least five heart attacks. The first one he had? He drove himself to the doctor's office. My father drank pretty heavily- not as much as his father and brother did, but he drank plenty. One day, he put down the drink, got up from the bar, and walked away. Dad smoked for nearly 40 years. When the doctors finally told him the smoking was really going to kill him, he stopped cold. No patch, no gum, no "just one after meals", he just stopped. Mom kids about it being the "Stubborn German" in him that let him do such things, but I think he used something else to give him that kind of strength of will- his family. He loved us all so much, and he had seen what those things had done to other people, that he would not let the same thing happen to us. No, he would stop it, whatever it took. That was my Dad.

He'd been living with emphysema for at least 25 years. Many people tend to give up and become more and more insular as the disease progresses. Not Dad. When he learned he had this fatal disease, he did the only thing he knew how to do. He fought. He fought like hell, and he did not give up. He went to the doctor's all the time- not to complain about his condition, or to whine about how unfair it was, but to plan his attack. He worked with the doctors to figure out the best way to combat this unbeatable disease. He went to physical therapy three times a week for many, many years- to build up his muscles and his lungs to fight against the onslaught. When new drugs would become available to possibly treat the disease, he would be taking them. He did everything in his power to fight as hard as he could against this. He put his mind into action, as I saw for myself. When he was in the hospital back in April, he kept meticulous records of his medications, breathing treatments, and exercise. Then, when the doctors came around, he would pull them out and go over his findings with them, so they could come up with another tactic. When I talked to him, he told me he and his doctors were working on "plans" for how to deal with what the disease was throwing at him. He would not give up. That was my father.

He died.

However, let me be perfectly clear on this, and read my words very carefully. He was not "beaten by this disease". He did not "lose a long battle against a terrible illness". I believe with my entire heart and soul, with every fiber of my being, that he knew exactly what was going to happen, and he chose to die in the exact way he chose to live: on his terms. From talking to my mom, and looking through all of his belongings, I truly do believe he was preparing for this, and decided that last Wednesday was time to finally let go.

First, some time ago, most of the family got together to have "the talk". What would happen when Dad finally died. We went over all the things we could think of, and left with two main items in place: one, Mom and Dad would go to an attorney to update their arrangements; and two, I would be the executor, due to an insignificant amount of legal experience I had from dealing with Pennsylvania Real Estate and estates. At the time of this conversation, I was living in Maryland, and expected to do so for years to come.

And yet, on May 9th, I moved back to Pennsylvania. I went from being almost four hours away from my folks to being forty minutes away.

Second, Dad had been in the hospital recently, for a very scary few days. He had made it out, but was left weaker than ever. He needed to be helped throughout the house, often relying on my mom and niece to get around. Except for those last few days. He was getting around pretty well on his own.

Wednesday morning, when my mom went to help dad get out of bed, she found him already up and on his way to the dinner table. His appetite had been a shell of its former self. That morning, he asked for one of his favorites, a Belgian waffle. He and Mom sat at the table and he ate the whole thing. After that, he walked over to his favorite chair, sat down, and reminded my mom of his cup of tea, one of his morning rituals. She brought it to him, he drank some of it, and set it down. He asked my Mom to go turn down his oxygen (part of his regimen, he regulated his oxygen throughout the day). When she came back, he was gone. Nothing traumatic, he just went. He had one of the best mornings he had in a long time, after feeling as good as he had in months, and he went as peacefully as anyone could imagine.

My sister called me. Half an hour later, I was at the hospital. It was too late, of course. Too late to say goodbye, too late to say all those things I thought I needed to say, too late for so much. But I wasn't too late for everyone else. I cried- I cried so hard- and then my mom was there, or my sister, or my niece. And I was there when they cried. I was there when we said our "see you later"s to him- he wasn't leaving us yet. I was there when we got to the house, there when we had to make the funeral arrangements, there when I had to make calls. I was there when Mom told me she was going to rely on me because Dad knew I could help, because Dad had faith in me. I was there because, five days before my father died, I moved back home.

I tried my best to handle all the details. Between Bobbi, Mark, and me, we all made short work of it. But I noticed, whenever I needed to find one particular bit of information, I would come across a piece of paper- written in Dad's hand- with just what I needed. When Bobbi went online to see if she needed to transfer some funds around to cover expenses, she found that Dad had already done it, a few days before.

His hand was in everything.

Even in death, even beyond death, Dad was making sure everything was okay for his family. There was never anything we had to worry about- no real worries other than what worries we made for ourselves. But he made everything okay.

That was my Dad.

Before the funeral began, some of the kids and grandkids spoke. I read a poem (I'll post it later this week), my sister read a great short work about how we should always be aware of how precious our time here on earth is, my niece and sister-in-law said a few words that cut right to the heart of what kind of man he was. But the words that stick with me the most are those spoken my my elder nephew, Jon, and by his father. Jon spoke beautifully about how to sum up my father in one word: "Dedicated". As Jon put it, "Dedicated to his Country, Dedicated to his Job, Dedicated to his Wife, Dedicated to his Children, and Dedicated to his Grandchildren" - and if that wasn't my Dad, then I never knew him. And my brother spoke about a sign he'd seen that said something akin to "Into all your work, put love". He spoke about how Dad truly put love into everything he did- as a husband, father, grandfather, mechanic- everything he did, he did with love. Mark spoke about taking Dad's example and following it, and re-dedicating himself to all he does. That struck me deeply, because for so long now, I've felt like I've let my parents down. I never lived the life I imagine they wanted for me- I've made so many mistakes, and so many bad choices- and I always thought they were somewhat disappointed in me. But talking with Dad, and especially with Mom, I realize the only things they ever felt about me, and all their children, were love and pride. And so I've tried to take my nephew's words, and my brother's words, and my parents' words and actions, to heart. My mantra, my prayer, my poem, my dedication and supplication to my father, is at the end.

My father lived on this world 78 years. He will live on in us always. We, his family, have so much to be grateful for. To have known a man as loving, as smart, as supportive. To have seen such strength and will in action, and to know that that is within each of us. To have been able to call such a man "Dad" or "Father" or "Grandpap" or "Pap Pap". And to know we have a mother just like our father.

Help me, Father, to be more than I thought I could be
Be my hands to help me hold fast
Be my feet to help me stand firm
Be my eyes to help me see clearly
Be my lips to help me speak truly
Be my heart to help me love fully
Help me, Father, to be the man you always knew me to be

The End of All Things

This life therefore
is not righteousness but growth in righteousness;
not health but healing,
not being but becoming,
not rest but exercise.
We are not what we shall be but we are growing toward it;
the process is not yet finished but it is going on;
this is not the end but it is the road.
All does not yet gleam in glory but all is being purified.
--Martin Luther

The above is probably one of my favorite quotes ever, and one that has come to mean a lot to me over the past few years. It's been a kind of touchstone for me, through all the ups and downs of my life. When I feel like I've had enough and I just want to stop, it reminds me that life is always in motion, and the unbearable burden of today will be like a gentle breeze tomorrow, or the next day, or years later. But the burden will pass. I will heal, and I will grow.

Life is always in motion.

Most of you (faithful readers and occasional passersby alike) know by now the past couple weeks have been a lightning storm of change for me. An opportunity to nearly literally restart my life has come up, and for once, finally, I am taking that chance.

I've spent the past eight years in Maryland, living through the best and worst times of my life, surrounded by some of the finest people I have ever met. I could easily have spent the next twenty-thirty-fifty years here, working at this or at that, spending more time with those wonderful people- my family of friends- watching lives play out, watching the world go by, watching myself stand still.

Or I could take a chance.

Life is always in motion.

So I'm leaving behind Maryland (but not my friends- you are always with me), leaving behind this place of so many memories, and moving to Pittsburgh. My hometown.

I'm going back to my hometown, a stranger in a familiar land. This man I've become will walk amongst twenty-five years of history of the boy I was. It will be so easy to drift back into that past- life was so much easier then, so little to think about, so much more comfortable to bury myself into those old habits. So simple to let the world wash over me and carry me away.

Or I could chart my own course.

Life is always in motion.

"...not being but becoming..."

---

So, what does this have to do with Karloff's Ghost? Well, it means an ending, of sorts. The next few weeks are going to be insane with prepping to move (not to mention finding a place to live, a rental truck, time to pack, etc.) and as a result, this will be the final post for about a month. I hope to resume posting the week of June 16 (fate willing). Expect things to look a bit different around here, as well; I've got some ideas.

See you soon.

- Steve

Music: "Live This Life" - Big & Rich and "Solisbury Hill" - Peter Gabriel

The Apocalypse Suite

Can you hear it?

Sitting there, in your comfortably expensive seats?

Shuffling about outside, resplendent in your finery?

The Apocalypse Suite is about to start.

Can you feel it?

At the edge of your awareness, the nervous shift in your seat.

At the base of your spine, the shuffling, scuffling of your feet.

Can't you hear it?

The Cellist twists the pegs slowly

The Flutist holds gleaming metal to lips

Can't you feel it?

The Violinist brushes the bow 'cross the strings;

The apocalypse suite has begun.

with apologies to Gerard Way and Gabriel Ba'

Not a whole lot to say about this really; The title comes from the first story arc of a comic book series titled The Umbrella Academy- it's quite daft, and very enjoyable. Anyway, the title of the story really stuck with me, and involves music causing the end of the world (it reads better than my description). Anyway, one day the above...paragraph-whatever popped into my head, along with the image. So there you go.

I'm not going to post again until next Wednesday. The past month or so has really taken a toll on me, mentally and emotionally, and I really just haven't been feeling very artistic or very creative. I know the spark is still there, but there's no fuel to burn. But I'll keep looking for it. I think it's going to take a few things getting down around here (like give myself the space to create) but I should be up and running again soon. In the meantime, I'll try to keep up with a tiny backlog of things already in the system, and hopefully get back to drawing.

'til Wednesday (if only I posted on Tuesdays...)

Music: "20th Century Fox Fanfare (extended version)" - Alfred Newman and John Williams