I caught this snowman after a night out of partying 🥴
This is a study of Winslow Homer’s Child Seated in a Wicker Chair I did a long time ago. It’s one of my favorite drawings because it’s one of the few things I’ve actually finished!
Not the best picture but one that shows one of my favorite memories. A few years ago I was going through Framed Perspective I, learning all I could about perspective, and I got stuck on this one problem. It took me forever to crack the code, but when I did, I felt great!
I know, right?!
Sorry, Cherry! I had… life stuff to do. Yeah, life stuff.
Let me guess…
Why do you guys keep track of this stuff?
Hey! It’s you, with the beak!
Wait… when did you move in?
I didn’t mean…
I miss my party buddy, too!
It hasn’t been the same without you either!
Breakfast of champions! I really don’t know why I have this picture let alone why I took it. 🤦🏻♂️
Cold Smoke is the best beer, though.
I feel sad. I haven’t visited my island since Halloween! I want to get back into it. I miss the mundane tasks! I always felt so comforted doing them.
Philip Roth, in his introduction to Saul Bellow’s Herzog:
The character of Moses Herzog, that labyrinth of contradiction and self-division—the wild man and the earnest person with a “Biblical sense of personal experience” and an innocence as phenomenal as his sophistication, intense yet passive, reflective yet impulsive, sane yet insane, emotional, complicated, an expert on pain vibrant with feeling and yet disarmingly simple, a clown in his vengeance and rage, a fool in whom hatred breeds comedy, a sage and knowing scholar in a treacherous world, yet still adrift in the great pool of childhood love, trust, and excitement in things (and hopelessly attached to this condition), an aging lover of enormous vanity and narcissism with a lovingly harsh attitude toward himself, whirling in the wash cycle of a rather generous self-awareness while at the same time aesthetically attracted to anyone vivid, overpoweringly drawn to bullies and bosses, to theatrical know-it-alls, lured by their seeming certainty and by the raw authority of their unambiguity, feeding on their intensity until he’s all but crushed by it—this Herzog is Bellow’s grandest creation, American literature’s Leopold Bloom, except with a difference: in Ulysses, the encyclopedic mind of the author is transmuted into the linguistic flesh of the novel, and Joyce never cedes to Bloom his own great erudition, intellect, and breadth of rhetoric, whereas in Herzog Bellow endows his hero with all of that, not only with a state of mind and a cast of mind but with a mind that is a mind.
Try saying all 244 words five times fast.
ASMR fire sounds. This is the fire I wrote about here.