Awesome sketches by AuAu, one of them including Tom and Lauren of my collaborative novel project, Identify. They look great, so be sure to give her a follow if you want to stay updated on upcoming work. Ahhh, the classic editor wont ever come back. This time with a bunch of sketches of the new [...]
Such stunning work from AuAu, including the completed Lauren drawing for my Identify novel collaborative project. Be sure to check each drawing out and give her a follow!
Its gonna be a loooong while for me to finish the Alice story, in that one she, emh, you could say, sold her own heart.
On the story I was talking about the last post, its something different. For a start, it is someone elses heart.
“Aurora is such and idiot” well, thats a given. Mmm, I could improve the eyes.
But it is more complex than that, I wont even be able to cover it here… in the interaction between Auroras personalities, you can see things flowing naturally one way, then the leadership deciding to go another.
Aint that, fun? life is so dull and boring, maybe in that undiscovered path… Going back to their relation, earlier times were different, in common terms, Aurora was “way out of her league”, social status, resources, strength, this and that, Aurora kept fighting everyone there as she didnt like it, Auroras Mother…
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Some more awesome work from the brilliant mastermind, AuAu. Do check it out!
The other day I was about to write a “poem” called ~Hoarder lite~, once upon a time I was a full one, now I notice Im lite, which gets in the middle of the so necessary cleaning that has draaaaaged for years.
Then I want to do it all in one day, impossible, then I just do enough and forget about it, then I want to do something and get a flu, or work, or busy with whatever crap, aaaahhhhh.
Lots of work this past week, I know its a fat-thin cows thing, so I dont complain much. Pigeon matters, the baby squad remains here, baby 2 and 3 are still small, baby number 6, I have released him like five times and still comes back at the end of the day.
Plenty of other stuff… with the so many deaths of friendly birds, and that time of the year…
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.. A white stripe daubed across, broken up from left eye to right there is the cottage The subject, a lemon cheesecake with a loganberry three-corner hat Like a coulé sauce running all over its gable roof square, bright the brush Broccoli green, squeezing the saps stream gamboge, quinacridone, [...]
Amazing artwork by AuAu. The latter two images are depictions of Tom and Lauren from “Identify” an ongoing collaborative novel I am running. You can view the character profiles here if you would like to be more familiar with the main characters (and the story) and catch up on the rest of the chapters here.
Please do check out AuAu’s website and further work. They have such great talent!
Work, work, work… ahg, it kills my good mood and eats my time.
I should be glad I even have it though, I dont know how it has lasted for so long, maybe its my looks. Yesterday I wrote a big analysis of my teaching work, it was a good read, but too negative so I erased it today.
They all have their projects they want to do, they struggle with the technical part, so they call me. They start well, they get excited, its finally gonna happen… until they realize that they have to study, and they have to work, and that they have to invest to some degree. Then they slowly clinch to the hope that it will be done somehow, yet it wont.
Bottom line, they dont believe in themselves, time to go back being a sheep of media.
“Yesterday I released baby #4, he was capable…
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“And in short, I was afraid.” T.S. Eliot reveals it all here. We can go home now.
Buckle up, kiddos. We’re going to learn how to be happy. Or at least try to.
Turn away from the resuscitations there the dream warrants the saplings, she in the lithology of life, the posies leach in mother’s touch, stands retracted in the tears from the ocean, weeping in the enchant as I feel the shame of the eventide; the last breath to the inhabited throes of the shore if swallowed [...]
Art by Catrin Welz-Stein. Desert, her eyes are morsels to the jasmine and roses once grown from her wrists, between the flowers in each white finger, whilst the moon falls, leaves barefoot in winter, deserved for posturing an abyss this dance, like an atramentous sea; woman to the ebb and flow of flower [...]
"Flower Clouds" painting by Odilon Redon. Written and recorded by me. An epilogue of a vista in father’s ocean eyes; the echo of the dream fallen in conniption a chrysalis of fuckery at the mind-felt waves in ice welts; torturing in a quasi-silencing of shame as the wind blows the sail, riffs on the skin, [...]
A/N: Inspired by this sketch prompt. Eyes lissom, lost twinned in amnesia of darkness wrapped around the orphaned dream interwoven alone leave me alone; in transient smoke effused light and light then darkness crowned with arms around the stillness & blood-flow in droplets under the tides to the rocks at sea. © 2020 lucysworks.com All [...]
"Anger" by David Sutton. Stare at the ceiling, I am an afterthought, dreams cast forgotten memories in twilight’s tongue rivaling alone the silence of the world that pretends to be still, when it’s fucking not; I wake in the room alone, I intend to sleep; in weakness, the oeuvre is loneliness as it slips bloodily [...]
Cecilia paused. She could never remember their names. Perhaps she is never told; perhaps she is made to forget. Briefly wondering how many have come and gone, she then decides that names are ultimately inconsequential, before lamenting sotto voce, “What’s in a name…” They are only labels. She’d been given many labels by the therapists, [...]
In the early dark, Intermingled stirs shake and shake Between the round uncertainty in the uprooted flesh, It is mid-winter where there are blue peacocks, And ringing dunes that carry onto the bearers of ice In our face like waves, receded with flickers That are evasive in our bones with ferity Void of discovering dreaming, [...]
When the hand lays on sights, dead,
That collapsed dust from earlier time,
That acceded some time beyond the winds, lead
With the lining, cried at first breath.
Doth the rooms that kiss the gold of night
As when the mutters of veiled chance
Bested the light that silence commended, strife,
As the rivers bound to death as the unquiet light.
When thy heart withers at unborn tears,
Beyond the dressing of the sea, condemned
By the forthright waves that wallow sails
And willow them too, no more from a valley dale,
The rivers that reflected the moon
That dream for light to chill the dell
And when among the intone, it broods and dwells,
The everlasting song, thy unrest that shines the wells,
That laid the dirge of the last sight,
With unrest from the earlier time (which is change),
With the lining, alive, above a river of dead…
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It is in the beige evening by the willows and a café restaurant with the golden leaves and their shards on the grounds, covered in a cleansed rain. It is in the illumination of shatters that broke beyond the pale sky that not only writhes among itself, but will be only among a frail sight [...]
As I touch the river that trembles upon my weak sunlit torrents upon a gentle lick of lilac, And I shiver upon the pale wisteria of the eventide like a wounded deer, For I wonder upon the dark lavender skies, and their cracked gentle weeping rivers That glint upon the surface below the Acrylic golden [...]