That lady on the train. She was trippin balls.
Posts tagged thestuff.
Okay, wat. How does this doodle get notes but none of my proper ones does?
*le sigh. I guess people like tea.
Also, reblogging because I have officially ran out of stuff to post. Been awhile since I properly drew and painted.
(via myrabbitandi)
awww yissss! Finally got my scanner fixed.
My take on Where’s Wally/Waldo
‘Where’s Wally’ WIP
I usually never finish WIPs but I really want to get this one done, pleaseee.
I’m a bit scared to draw the signature Wally glasses as I am not great with circles (as demonstrated by the horrid stretcher) lol, fml.
6th Avenue and an Outcast day
Seasons bring nothing to this gulch
Save a harshly intimate anecdote
Scrawled, here and there, on paint and stone.
The houses shoulder each other
In a forced and passionless communion.
Their harassed angles rise
Like a violent picture-puzzle
Hiding a story that only ruins could reveal;
Their straight lines, robbed of power,
Meet in dwarfed rebellion.
Sometimes they stand like vastly flattened faces
Suffering ants to crawl
In and out of their gaping mouths.
Sometimes, in menial attitudes
They stand like Gothic platitudes
Slipshodly carved in dark brown stone.
Tarnished solemnities of death
Cast their transfigured hue on this avenue.
The cool and indiscriminate glare
Of sunlight seems to desecrate a tomb,
And the racing people seem
A stream of accidental shadows.
Hi, I'm Kath.
Save a harshly intimate anecdote
Scrawled, here and there, on paint and stone.
The houses shoulder each other
In a forced and passionless communion.
Their harassed angles rise
Like a violent picture-puzzle
Hiding a story that only ruins could reveal;
Their straight lines, robbed of power,
Meet in dwarfed rebellion.
Sometimes they stand like vastly flattened faces
Suffering ants to crawl
In and out of their gaping mouths.
Sometimes, in menial attitudes
They stand like Gothic platitudes
Slipshodly carved in dark brown stone.
Tarnished solemnities of death
Cast their transfigured hue on this avenue.
The cool and indiscriminate glare
Of sunlight seems to desecrate a tomb,
And the racing people seem
A stream of accidental shadows.
Hi, I'm Kath.
