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7:58pm April 17, 2014

shoomlah:

tophatandgoggles:

A while back I asked my talented friend Claire Hummel to provide reference regarding period specific clothing to help my art for my second book more authentic. As we head into con season perhaps this might help those of you planning your Victoria cosplay :)
Check out her da page here http://shoomlah.deviantart.com

omigosh I forgot I did this for Brian!  A special little behind the scenes treat for those of you who’re fans of Otto & Victoria. :)

7:26pm April 17, 2014

cressus:

     No one before Bernini had managed to make marble so carnal. In his nimble hands it would flatter and stream, quiver and sweat. His figures weep and shout, their torses twist and run, and arch themselves in spasms of intense sensation. He could, like an alchemist, change one material into another - marble into trees, leaves, hair, and, of course, flesh.  
     -   Simon Schama’s Power of Art. Bernini

7:19pm April 17, 2014

huffelpoof:

colourfulpantsandarainbowhat:

WHY DO PEOPLE CALL IT FUCK, MARRY, KILL WHEN THEY COULD CALL IT BED, WED, BEHEAD

Or, as King Henry VIII likes to call it, a productive evening. 

1:28am April 12, 2014

comeneth's liveblogging of Firefly is a gift to humanity

8:34pm April 8, 2014

*screaming*

My computer’s cooling fan crapped out on me, so all blogging for the next few days will be brought to you from whenever the hell I can be bothered to go use the school’s computer labs.

2:53am April 7, 2014
Character designs for class.  A modern interpretation of Hades and Persephone.  Hades is a swanky, rich mortician, from a long line of the same, and Persephone is his tiny punk landscaper slash gravedigger.  Even though she’s tiny, she’s really strong, and could probably snap Hades’ bony self right in half, so she puts up with a grand total of none of his shit.

Character designs for class.  A modern interpretation of Hades and Persephone.  Hades is a swanky, rich mortician, from a long line of the same, and Persephone is his tiny punk landscaper slash gravedigger.  Even though she’s tiny, she’s really strong, and could probably snap Hades’ bony self right in half, so she puts up with a grand total of none of his shit.

12:50am April 6, 2014
ehmeegee:

Why do anything?
No, really. Why do anything at all? What is the biological imperative shoving us forward, motivating us to keep breathing and building and making and growing and expanding?
It’s almost as if we’re running from some intangible force, busying ourselves in the desperate denial of inevitability. We’re propelled forward with an insatiable hunger for what’s next, inconsolable, perpetually unsatisfied. We make up metrics of success as if we’re in a race against ourselves to win absolutely nothing at all. We try so hard. Every day is a learning experience, every 24 hours I’m reborn into the person I long to be, the individual I aspire to emulate. And every night she retreats to her chrysalis and turns into a mess of soup and biomass, confused.

I’ve spent some time thinking about this sort of thing, and I’ve come to the conclusion that there may indeed be no point.  Life, the universe, existence itself may be nothing more than a random accident without intention.  All the drive, the desire to leave something behind for the ages, to persist past physical existence, may in the end be nothing more than an elaborate series of chemical reactions without any greater meaning.
That being said, who cares?  If my existence is truly meaningless and without any objective purpose, why should I care about that?  The fact of the matter is that I exist, here and now, for better or worse.  I don’t care that my existence is just a blip on the radar of the universe.  My existence is the biggest thing I will ever know, and I can create my own meaning out of it.  Even if I pass from this earth without leaving any permanent trace on reality, if I can add meaning and joy to another person’s existence, that’s good enough for me.

ehmeegee:

Why do anything?

No, really. Why do anything at all? What is the biological imperative shoving us forward, motivating us to keep breathing and building and making and growing and expanding?

It’s almost as if we’re running from some intangible force, busying ourselves in the desperate denial of inevitability. We’re propelled forward with an insatiable hunger for what’s next, inconsolable, perpetually unsatisfied. We make up metrics of success as if we’re in a race against ourselves to win absolutely nothing at all. We try so hard. Every day is a learning experience, every 24 hours I’m reborn into the person I long to be, the individual I aspire to emulate. And every night she retreats to her chrysalis and turns into a mess of soup and biomass, confused.

I’ve spent some time thinking about this sort of thing, and I’ve come to the conclusion that there may indeed be no point.  Life, the universe, existence itself may be nothing more than a random accident without intention.  All the drive, the desire to leave something behind for the ages, to persist past physical existence, may in the end be nothing more than an elaborate series of chemical reactions without any greater meaning.

That being said, who cares?  If my existence is truly meaningless and without any objective purpose, why should I care about that?  The fact of the matter is that I exist, here and now, for better or worse.  I don’t care that my existence is just a blip on the radar of the universe.  My existence is the biggest thing I will ever know, and I can create my own meaning out of it.  Even if I pass from this earth without leaving any permanent trace on reality, if I can add meaning and joy to another person’s existence, that’s good enough for me.

6:49pm April 4, 2014

crowtoed:

  1. teroknortailor answered: do those pants have a stuffed dick attached because that is clearly BEYOND a codpiece

A little old lady once asked me what the purpose of my codpiece was, I told her that it was “the ye olde lookie here”. 

Also both of my street partners have bigger codpieces than me- I NEED TO GET OUT OF THE SHADOW OF THEIR STUFFED TOY COCKS.

  1. steamchef answered: YES SHOW ME YOUR SLASH FICTION I MEAN METHODS.

STEP ONE: PUT YOUR SLASH PAIRING IN POOFY PANTS-

Newton hungrily clawed at the points that lashed Hermann’s plain grey trunkhose together. Grey. What sort of a self-respecting scholar couldn’t afford the black of his trade? No matter, they would be a woolen puddle on the floor soon enough.

STEP TWO: MAKE ALLUSIONS TO SHAKESPEARE/MARLOWE/SPENSER

"Is this the face.." Newt smirked

"Dare not, you…" the other man seethed.

"Sweet Hermann, make me immortal with a kiss. His lips suck forth my soul: see where it flies!"

Hermann let out a deep, world-weary sigh and sulkily placed his mouth around the offered cock.

STEP THREE: SOMEONE GETS HAULED OFF FOR BEING A CATHOLIC OR A PURITAN OR A HERETIC OR SOMETHING.

"God’s teeth is everything heresy?!" Newt howled, straining against the inquisitorial lackies.

THEN THEY DIE OF PLAGUE OR BEHEADING. THE END.

5:54pm April 4, 2014

someone just rolled through the parking lot outside blaring ‘Don’t Stop Believing’ really loudly and a bunch of people outside started singing along oh my GOD