Something about transmuting and then unmaking if the former doesn’t work out
somethin’ somethin’ happy new horse 26
This is very important and you all need to see it right now
SHIMP
Obsessed by the Ursula Leguin's Earthsea saga at the moment.... Ged and his boat have been on my mind ⋆｡ﾟ🌊｡
a few months passed inbetween these two illustrations and I can see my painting style has evolved a bit like it's sharper I feel Idk ?
for people who saw this and went "maybe I should read the books or pick it up again" YES YES YOU SHOULD ABSOLUTELY If you love fantasy, incredible mythologies, beautiful POETIC magic system, insane lore, characters to fall for again and again, and BOATS Please read the earthsea saga, it has change my art forever, I wish for more people to experience this joy !!
In case you had not heard, Skyjacks: Courier’s Call is coming to an end. We are on our last month of scheduled content where we wrap up season 3.
It’s been our greatest honor making this show for you for the past 6 years! We hope you will come along with us for the end of this journey. Take flight!!
Here is the finale schedule:
Dec 11 - off week
Dec 18 - Ep 86
Dec 25 - holiday
Jan 1 - holiday
Jan 8 - ep 87
Jan 15 - final tale from Thornvale
Jan 22 - ep 88 finale
> read library book
> it's good
Thank you library
> read library book
> it's bad
Thank you library for saving me from buying it :)
official library post
Did you see the Midnight Channel last night? 📺
Baby's first cross stitch, now with the matt, frame, and all the details finally, finally done. The last image is to show the slight bubble of the tv screen
Every season poster I've made for Skyjacks Courier's Call
In honor of the mountain goats announcing Jenny from Thebes, here’s a poem i wrote once
Tape Head Cleaner
Wrapped in phosphor bronze,
pulled taut against white oak,
plucked and stricken,
stripping skin from fingers,
this music is a grapefruit spoon.
This music scoops bittersweet flesh,
tightens the tongue,
contracts the muscles in your face.
Sound as physical phenomenon
shakes the smallest parts of your ear,
movement made electric,
rippling out into emotion.
You press the goosebumps back
into your skin, refusing
the spreading shiver of a song
written for you, alone,
driving northwest into the Panhandle,
towards Lubbock, the Llano,
The West, by God! The road smells
like blood and beef and cotton.
Heat bends the asphalt, bends
the twenty one year old Ford
Dutch Oven baking you at
eighty miles per hour.
The song cooking in your throat
was mine. I spoon fed it to you,
once, but now it’s spooling
out of you, plastic film and iron
wrapped in phosphor bronze,
past your wire cutter teeth.
Stop it if you want,
let the music coil in your stomach,
or keep driving into that roiling
mass of memory and summer,
and someday it’ll have been gone
far longer than it ever was.
