Computer. Iris By The Goo Goo Dolls. Loud Enough To Kill.

<Ir abelas,vhenan>

we need to slow down a little I'm so serious. all these quick short videos on tiktok, ig reels, and youtube, artists releasing quick little songs for the trend, tv shows releasing episodes at once, people using chat gpt and google ai overview because they get answers quickly but no validation done for the source, we need to sloww downn i really do not think our brains should be running this fast

Found my old sketches of Arthur

^_^

light in a shared wound.

[the two inquisitors, cadere & simultas]

my secret to art happiness is it's not about how many notes what you draw is likely to get. t's about how many times you're going to go back to it, to your own art, and think "this FUCKS actually and caters to me entirely, specifically, fully. i love this artist (me) (me who i drew this) (myself)"

You ever hear that old chestnut about how most people neglect the part of the story of Icarus where he also had to avoid flying too low, lest the spray of the sea soak his feathers and cause him to fall and drown? You ever think about how different the world would be if Icarus died that way instead? If the idiom was to Fly To Close To The Sea? A warning against playing it far too safe, about not stretching your wings and soaring properly? You ever think about how Icarus died because he was happy?

And that he needed something she was sure of, for his eyes were wide on her, his position that of careful restraint. She wondered if the thought occurred to him too, then, that she’d readily let him piece her apart, even if only to look at the clockwork. She wondered if the dull flicker of hope behind his pupils betrayed a real plight for truth. All the same, she gave it to him. “Its aftermath has changed me, perhaps. The breach, the rifts, meeting everyone,” meeting you, she swallowed, “but underneath it I’m the same I’ve always been. The anchor just makes it easier to read at night.” “Ah.” He smiled at her soft fumble for humour and a stupid flutter thrashed inside her canary heart. XVIII. The Moon

this started as a study of Spring by Romaine Brooks and ended up as all my studies seem to end up nowadays 💚 I just love them your honour