It’s just me, 3 ibuprofen pills, and my bloody coochie against the world
The Lazy Italian Girl (1757) by Jean Baptiste Greuze
can you tell i missed out on smth fundamental in my formative years 😏
it’s okay i focused on schmovement instead
Too much movement makes your joints hurt and too little movement also makes your joints hurt. This would imply that there’s an optimal amount of movement that allows your joints to not hurt. This is a lie.
fun new thing i like to do with kris
hold lancer like energy drink
My bad. I was looking for a stupid job that didn’t mean anything where I didn’t have to do stuff. Sorry, I guess.
some important advice i always give to new artists just starting out:
“it has to be perfect
if it’s not perfect, i, shen comix, will personally kick your ass”
I can clearly remember the moment I first realised my mother and I were living on completely different planes of existence. I was 7 years old and I came home from my school’s first track and field day having placed second or third in every event. the teachers had been making jokes all afternoon about how many times they had to call my name. my friends thought I was cool as shit. my enemies thought I was cool as shit too, come to think of it. I was proud as hell. so I get home with the entire front of my shirt covered in ribbons like I was a military dictator who’d awarded himself every medal, I walk into the kitchen and tell my mum all about my day, and she goes “oh, that must be disappointing not getting any firsts.” and I’m like no?? first of all the first place ribbons are red and I don’t like red. second of all look at me. there’s literally nowhere left on my body for accolades. I am fucking Jacked of All Trades. how could this possibly be a disappointment.
felt like drawing somefin joyful
every ad: hey, im a candid, friendly, conventionally attractive young adult. money is hard right now! have you heard of gambling?