>: Why is it owowow makes me think of cute things like owls when I think my stomach is about to blaze a new trail through my side?

I don’t think I have a home anymore.

I am homeless. I am without a home. Home suffix less because god suffix damn doesn’t begin to explain how I feel.

Unremarkable he’s told me I was ‘homeless’ many times before, but every time it feels definite. I still don’t understand why I’m crying because he TOLD me that I was alone. Because I’m apparently not, but…

Why the fuck can I hear ‘the sun is gonna come out tomorrow’ playing off another person’s computer?

cwphoto:

How would your life feel then?  Think about that.

I don’t know you - I know I don’t. We’re complete strangers with little common between up, but I’d like to think that I’d miss you, to some degree. I like reading your stuff and looking at your photographs…

You have a public, a daughter, and I would guess friends too. You have people to miss you.

Think about that.

Long long ago (Two years?) in a place far away (A few miles down Woodland I think) I happened to meet some of the very best people I could ever imagine. Unfortunately they all graduated that year and left me quite alone and not quite pleased by the turn of events.

I have to say I still love the wordsmith best - his skills astound me.

And we have ceramic sculptures lining the hall going to the cafeteria.

And some chick knocked one over on accident and broke it into billions of tiny pieces.

I’ll say it again - I go to an art school.

So what is one of the first things I hear in regards of said sculpture’s demise?

“Haha.”

-stabstabstab-

It could not be saved.

I was told I was pretty today by someone who I don’t mind telling me that. Funny _ I haven’t looked in a mirror since I put my eyeliner on, but I want to now…. Just to see what he saw.

Crow knows the perfect term for it - I feel like a whore signing up with Facebook again.

I still hate you, Facebook. With a firey passion. PASSION I SAY.

How doth the little crocodile
    Improve his shining tail,
And pour the waters of the Nile
    On every golden scale!
How cheerfully he seems to grin,
    How neatly spreads his claws,
And welcomes little fishes in,
    With gently smiling jaws!
- Lewis Carroll

“Strange beauty, eight-limbed and eight-handed,
Whence camest to dazzle our eyes?
With thy bosom bespangled and banded
With the hues of the seas and the skies;
Is thy home European or Asian,
O mystical monster marine?
Part molluscous and partly crustacean,
Betwixt and between.”

- Algernon Charles Sin-Burn

Algernon is a cool name :]

Charly is a terribly, obscenely sad movie.

This is what I’ve been drawing mostly in my free time, sketches. Unless it’s a gift or for work, I rarely make anything people’d like to look at.

I like her, I think that she’s pretty ^^ Her eyes made me happy a great deal simply for the fact that she looks decently feral.

My first piece I could be actually proud of for my job.

I hate myself so much right now because I feel so disposable in this position and so very unfulfilled.

Looking at it now I hate this piece one hell of a lot ><;;

madamcrowbar:

“The Face of Nothing”

This is a rather old piece. It’s small scale and only took me a little less than an hour. Primarily, I wanted to experiment with Conte Crayon (before this piece I’d never used it), and it turns out to be a pretty bitchin’ medium.

While this is merely an experiment, I gave it the title “The Face of Nothing”. This is kind of how I perceive the majority of people around me. Perhaps they have facial features, even pretty ones, but behind their eyes, all I can see is blackness. That blackness represents both the unknown, and the dreaded possibility of ‘nothing’ lurking within.

I’m rather willing to give this up to whoever wants it for free or cheap.

 Funny how we think alike, m’dear, and yet I’ve never seen or heard your voice, your thoughts, your frame of mind outside of the computer.

And how terrifying it is to realize that some pelly have nothing deep inside of them - it scares the living fuck out of me because for some people, they’re content, that’s okay…

…and it makes me rethink my wants…

…and I no longer want to be content.

Tell me it’s going to be a good day, and I’ll sort of smile (can you call it a smile?) and shrug - it’s my trademark to be completely unconnvincing. You don’t want to lie and say ‘Sure thing, darlin’, great day. Fantastic day.’ because it’s a statistical average that somebody’s mother’ll be dying that day, someone’s lover will die in a dark and dirty way, or that baby a couple has been wishing on will suffer SIDS or be shaken to death by a mother suffering Post Partum Depression because th damn thing wouldn’t shut the hell up. Is it still a good day? A god blessed morning when I walk through the doors surrounded by those oblivious to these thoughts?

What does content kill and soiltude breed?

Insight.

Pity, I think I’d rather be content, because the sad sad fact is that I really don’t think there’s a reason for someone to be born, or for an event to happen. I don’t even think death happens on a karmic scale. People live with no initiative, no plan, no passion anymore. They say nothing in the world is original, and that might be so. One day there might be nothing else we can invent, nothing new to build, art will be old news because there’s simply no other ends and leads to pursue. But this lack of originality, this lack of purpose, is our human reason. We live because we need to know that there’s something in store for us later on. The cosmic hand of fate and society’s pull has rewarded us with treats when we do something right, and smacked us across the face with a rolled up newspaper when we’re wrong, so right now, a lot of people are sitting there, rolling over, playing dead, begging, or shaking hands while the universe keeps it’s hand closed - is there a treat in that hand?

My fever broke today - I can go to school again.