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I should be better

I know that I should be blogging harder than ever, and honestly I have no excuse.
except that maybe I found a digital replacement for creativity in an ugly little pass time
called Minecraft.
any way this is a cop out of a post but here. My friends Audrey and Johnny have opened their business in a
very digital way, and I designed her logo (fo' free).   here is her facebook page.

http://www.facebook.com/KeyCandles?ref=notif&notif_t=fbpage_fan_invite

mini sketch dump

All I have to say is...

SHAQ!

yeah, didn't mention it before..

But I'm back babies! and atempting to post regularily.
again, same ol problems plus one. no scanner no camera and
now... temporarily no computer. let's just wait and see how this
shakes out. for now though:

these two are paint sketches for a mural I did today. I'll post that up soon.

more sketches, more sketches.

random

Minneapolis: Quick stop turns into a hard bender.

Passing through town I was reminded that I had the opportunity to go to the Chinook Book launch party. (You know that goofy little drawing I did that just keeps paying off.) Anyway, free booze and free food led to spending the night in town when I just meant to stop off for and hour.

Met a lot of nice people, and a couple cute girls.
Goodbye again MPLS I'll see you again someday!

two in one day; with bad news

So as I'm sure no one has noticed I've been blogging again. However my vague threats stand true, and four posts will be all there is this month. I go back to work tomorrow morning, and after that will be on the road for several months, with much to do and little to no scanner access. But after Christmas, who knows... this is getting ridiculous.

clasic dudes back to punch you

get little girl pin up

made a hot character, now I make a pin up of her. the drawing for today:

I know what I said and I know what I ment.

So the leaves on the trees are falling, and I haven't made a post yet.
I know what I said, and I know what I ment, but a man needs his
money one hundread percent.
right now I'm working beet harvest in North Dakota, and after that
I will be packaging Amazon.com purchases in small town Kansas,
but hopefully after that I won't need to work for months and months,
sitting on some decrepit lawn chair hidden in a wooded thicket in the
south, drawing and drawing, and posting and posting.
the weather will one day clear and I will return north... can I face it
this year? I feel too worn down to deal with the ugly cold.

Here are somedrawings and doodles and stuff.

Just one quick thing.

http://msp.chinookbook.net/articles/2011/8/23/introducing-the-2012-chinook-book-cover-artist.html
 Just had to post this up... like a report card on the fridge

to anyone who is still paying attention

I quit!

just for a while anyway. I figure, this will be a two to three month hiatus. Big and blustery! I'm still drawing but it's getting more and more difficult to scan... and honestly I'm not drawing that much. So! leave and come back in the fall!

I'm just afraid, I'd eat your brains. Cause I'm evil.

two important historical women.

baba yaga

mother Marry 

Fantasy Tea set

A new series? Or a clever one off. Or a regular one off? who knows. but here it is, ruff and raw. I was going to do some photoshopping to it, but it's got some irreparable flaws, and a chunk missing, so I'll skip it for now. 

Geocaching!

I've done it before, but never got quite as excited by it as a concept until this last time, when I went with an I phone wielding friend. I put this in the cache:

but now I really want to start making Geocaches. So, who's going to help me?

Beast wedding

A perfect union!
Love prevails!
and I got to wedge my way into the proceedings in a small way. constructing a ball of tinder and half conducting a beastly ceremony. here is a fuzzy photograph possibly the only documentation of that bizare event:

additionaly: the ceremonial script:

Beast pope:

I would like to welcome the beasts from all the nations here today to celebrate this union of two of our ferocious comrades

I ask all attendees to remove their human suits and mechanical human hearts to return to the purity of their beastly soul. Only in this way can we all be true witnesses and well wishers of this animalistic union.

The scents, left like presents in the woods, bring the beasts together. These chemical trails wafting among the scrub brush and saplings pave a road to love. When two roads intertwine it is a time of jubilation amongst the beasts, and today is such a day friends!

But I have heard of this union before these beasts were cubs. Rumor of it spread along the creek and on the tips of leaves for as long as I can remember. Fiends, please mark my words when I say these brutes were meant to be.

It is not our way to wait, so, would the beast lovers please clasp one another’s claws, look into another’s optic orifices and proclaim your beastly love.

Beast lover 1:

I know that our beastly way, is the right way. Though it might shock, and offend even the fearsome. Never do I want to go prowling without your paw in my paw without your horn leading the way. When we screech and growl in the night, the humans fear. Little do they know those are screeches of earnest admiration respect and love.

Beast lover 2:

I recall the blood red moon that hung above our first prowl together. I admired your shining coat and ebony claw, and will though the coat may be matted and filled with bramble, or the claws dulled by the hunt. My beast, you are the only beast for me and I will not bear another day to pass without your hide bound to mine in eternal fusion.

Beast pope:

Beast lovers forever bound. The entire beast nation wishes you the best in your feral days and thunderous nights together. Never let the hunters and trappers deter you from prowling the land bound together forever as a pair and a pack.

frog

Bicycle hiatus

(song of the day: Some Loud Thunder by Clap Your Hands and Say Yeah)

      I gave myself of reflective adventure, and voyaged to to the town in which I want to be buried. Duluth Minnesota, my elephant graveyard. Now if you know me at all, you know that I wholesale deny the possibility of death in the personal realm (I just ain't doin' it!) but I can't deny that there might be a small period where my body will lose all vitality, and I will have to go to lay in the ground like ancient egyptian gods. When and if that period of extreme ennui begins I want to be laid down by the rocks and the shore and the cold cold waves.
      Well now that the will is written; I reflectively adventured to Duluth, where I drank and smoked like I had a death wish, but was far from lacking in vitality. I climbed, I carried, I wrestled, I defended, I shook, I laffed, I tumbled. It was good to see how the world was living now, and how it bloomed and grew, and I have to say that, if I was scraping old earth, then I may have collected some young seeds in my palm.  I might for example go and bike across the nation to spend time amongst and political illustrators, and agitators.
     I stayed a few days carousing, visiting, and reflecting. Soon two vitally important people are going to join together in a new union, and I will journey back again to see them, but I had to return south to deal with money. I had many routes open to me, but the one that appealed most taxed me physically and mentally, and as a mighty surprise to myself I was up to the task physically, but not mentally. I guess it shouldn't be especially shocking, considering my total lack of street smarts, even the most basic pedestrian knowledge like: Bring a sleeping bag, or Bring sunscreen, or Bring a tarp with out mighty big holes in it. The task, if you were wondering, was peddling my bicycle southward from Distant Duluth to Savory St. Paul.
     I wrote a little on the way, but most of it was done in the early morning just after an ugly nights sleep, and it is hardly legible and uncomfortably negative. It can be hard to remember to make a record of the moments of ecstasy, like lying exhausted on the abandoned bike path, after pushing yourself too hard just to break the monotony. Or the odd scene you saw between two wild turkeys and a bloodied skunk. Or the early morning sights you saw when you couldn't sleep; five deer with in one mile, a rabbit that let you get so close you could have leapt from your bike and captured him. Or how you bedded down near the swamp and the frogs sung you to sleep. Or the mid day naps you took in hidden thickets just outside of small towns when the sun got too much to handle, and how you either dreamed the voices of children who found you in your slumber, or actually herd them talk about you as you dosed. (a vaguely remembered speculative conversation, about weather I was homeless or not, and a decision that it would be best to leave me to my nap.
     those moments slip through when you forget that the world isn't aching knees, blustering wind, and glaring sun.

Afterward: I did not make it all the way back. I ached and I burned, and the sky threatened rain, and I begrudgingly requested help from a friend who came and rescued me. I had met another bike traveler on the road that day, he had taken things a little easier than I had, and caught up to me late in the day looking in good health, his bike was breaking down on him, and his packs were disheveled and dirty. I wanted badly to offer him a ride, but I knew there wouldn't be room in the car for both bikes, so I sat stretching my muscles on a bench as he biked out of town under the dark clouds and the howling wind.

I have my history to the free translator. ( I told a story to the free translator)

Inspired by a song, and myself, and a couple, I spent an inordinate amount of time this morning in poetic collaboration with freetranslatior.com. I actually would, and maybe even at some point will continue the project, but as you might be able to tell, I am a free association jumble at the moment. I'm afraid for my brain!

this poem started as me telling the free translator a story about an awful looking spider on my steering-wheel last night, and then it remained sane and clinical, and in response I became crazy (lather, rinse, repeat). it pretty quickly lead me into a tragic love story in a distopian hellscape. I actually kinda want to write a short story about it.

title: The Mine and Leaves, Victorious

(Where in I am the inexact lover) 

this one, of you 

'attentive' never was my 'strong process'

and my will was done in.  

  

(Where the hopes in which my roads)

if I form a change, to change the way 

that I think on the steering wheel

If I form a shift!

(Not my personal exit, and there is a conflict with, the Mine and Leaves: victorious), 

the eternal luck to obtain to my fingers

was the white yellow color to be rotten 

to do me and him, 

a question of territory, 

"never of or near, the lake," 

and walked for to obtain my hands that took.  

"Was"

"I owe"

(Where in: I step where I) am

I asleep, on a wall of sick yellow colors.

I awoke, asleep, on a wall of sick yellow colors.    

It was, they all, I do 

but I to try to look at a corner of my eye

(Where in I do a terrible violence and I dissociate doing the fact)

my hand as the knife, the muscula, the bone on one, 

I told him this:  "If you cause an

accident, that is not to suffer" 

my hands neglect just.  

(In it changes the defect/ Pre-Cambrian fault) 

In its poison of mouth, each minute of thought. 

this there is not that, my life of height, 

sound the old one and height one, 

it is not the damaging one, my life of height, 

its the old and high one,

(inside that is the one, that have the eye, my employer)

to Know my darling and I was between its workers  

was among its workers

and that it was mad at me

(Where I am victorious, but in the high price) 

it has been launched of the car, 

but this one does not see, 

the thought is that "I am" lateral to signify, "where".  

It to be imagined in my suit and under my hat, 

It to be imagined in my process and under my hat, this

poison injects in my skin that as of I, 

to permit is "the insolent storm".

EDIT:
I had to make sense of it before my brain would let it go, so here it is re ordered, edited, elaborated and combined with poetic pros:

The Mine and Leaves Victorious.

Not my personal exit, there is a conflict with 

'the Mine and Leaves: Victorious'

the eternal luck to obtain to my fingers

was the white yellow-color to be rotten 

to do the things we did, me and him

Deplorible; 

the spring

brought out of stone

with a staff

 

a question of territory 

"never of, nor near, the lake," 

he walked for to obtain my hands that took

like brother Crain

[for a time we went about, together as brothers, engaging the people in the street 

in wrestling compititions. we fought dirty and pulled their beards, taking their money 

when they lay gasping. treating them latter to burgers and shakes when we came 

across them by accident, and they weren't sore at us a bit. "good old boys" they'd 

say. But we had that old style falling out, and he flew off somewhere, to do miracles.]

(Where in I do a terrible violence and I dissociate doing the fact)

my hand as the knife, the muscula, the bone on one, 

I told him this:  "If you cause an

accident, that one is not to suffer" 

my hands neglect just.  

[when I came across him again I was in rags, and he on a high seat, suddenly the son 

of someone or another, dressed in splendor, with great white wings. Wings I broke!]

Where the seed is buried in the road

if I form a change, to change the way 

that I think on the steering wheel

If I form a shift!

["But how I want to repent, he was my brother, even if his father is someone or another, 

even if we have different mothers." I said it and meant it! I would have bandaged his 

wings, and brought him soups by the bucket-full, but his wife was in the court, and she 

looked so fresh. So I stole into their bedchambers while he laid up in hospice, and fed 

him poison soup.]

Where in I am the inexact lover: 

this one, of you, near me 

'attentive' never was my strongest process

and my will was done in.  

"Was"

"I owe"

[I owned her body in the way men used to. I made it mine with bullying and mind 

games. I say these things now, as if I own them, but to myself, in dark rooms, 

all alone, I just say "She wore you down, how could you be good with a woman like her?"]

In you, changes the defect (Pre-Cambrian fault)

In it's poison of mouth; each minute of thought. 

"this there is not that, my life of height" 

sound the horns, the old one and high one comes! 

it is not the damaging one: my life of height

its the old and high one

[his father suspects, but gives me a high station in his world]

inside! see him?

that is the one, that have the eye, my employer

to Know my darling and I was between its workers  

was among its workers

and that it was furious with me

[He must have given me that job just to keep watchful over my wicked ways.]

it has been launched from the car, 

but this one (me) does not see, 

the thought is that "I am" lateral to signify, "where".  

'It' to be imagined in my suit and under my hat, 

'It' to be imagined in my process and under my hat, this

poison insect injects in my skin 'that' as in 'I'

 

to permit is 

"the insolent storm".  

sexy fridge magnets (WARNING OFFENSIVE)

Just recently, I've moved in with strangers, I noticed that there was "magnetic poetry" first thing. It wasn't till this morning that I actually stopped to investigate. each and every phrase was filthy, or attempting to be.

for your enjoyment here is that list:

• betcha think we are inspecting your firm woman drill*
• it squeeze these tender growing produce near her giant jugees
• investigate the muffin
• we want chimichanga to plow my clam hole and tickle the package
• explore here at an end and put it in two nice smooth cheeks
• pet flesh
• for our tremendous happy play equipment behind the standing wood**
• give kiss to the snake thing
• I believe she tastes private from under trouser for come***
• to miss, is like touching bare cucumber ß
• Some did busy night nibbling but they trim hair
• bosom is special celestial fruit of nature
• pickle her seed ≤
• my wet warm sex whole
• sausage deep then nut the sauce on their head
• delicious flavor
• do good melons overtime ≠

*     The concept of the 'woman drill' evades me, I can only assume that this was a part of a larger text at one point, possibly the word 'hole' was intended to come directly after. (alternatively, and this just occurred to me, I may have been thinking of this from too standard a sexual filter, could this me a reference to a 'Strap-on'?)

**   As well as I can interpret this it's an invitation, or a toast, too the testicles behind the penis. (any help with interpretation here is welcome)

*** I don't have anything to say about this, really, I just think it's awesome

ß I used a coma here to signify that the first line of text was slightly above the rest, so that it was like a personal correspondence.

example:

               to miss,

                   is like touching

               bare cucumber.

                     love,

                     fridge

this theory has been disputed by other scholars but I 'stand firm' in my conviction.

≤ it's easy to dismiss this as nonsense, when honestly I think it may have much more dramatic underpinnings. What can her seed be other than her developing fetus? which has been  fertilized by the above described acts, it can only be an afterward to the story of carnal pleasures listed above. So a pickled seed could be easily interpreted as an aborted fetus, or a "jar baby". Additionally It is stated as a command 'pickle her seed'! as a man would say to his cohorts. As in "Hold the woman down, and abort that fetus!"  So that what may seem harmless is actually a masculine fantasy horror-show, Like the mythical Chronos eating his own children.

≠  I made up that last one.

cllr frm lst tme

click and look at it large, the only way it looks good.

Details:

Genie and Angel/ Before and after

before

after

worked on something else today mostly, it's all very hush hush, and sadly I did it long before I needed to, so. that. will. just. have. to. wait. 

but here is the good news, those folks at the Chinook book told me that they might be having a gallery showing as a way to promote their coupon book, that would mean me, if I'm understanding everything correctly. however this does mean that it's time for me to start producing some larger finihsed pieces, most of the things I've done in the past one to two years for this blog would print out little larger than postage stamps (oof) so I think this may be the time to go back and do a retrospective. sketches, doodles doo-dads that could do for a finishing. If anyone has any ideas, any favorites from the past that you would like to see completed or revisited, shout them out, now is your time.

Not quite fast enuff.

As I walked through the early morning some days ago, enjoying the humidity of a rainstorm drying under a blazing sun, robins picked at bloated worms laying in the street. My eyes fixed on one of the younger fellows, who was having trouble scooping an especially large looking worm off the cement.
He had it locked firmly in his beak and flew off just in time to avoid a car approaching from the south, but in his efforts was caught and dragged under the tires of a northbound sedan. I looked away then, as his body quickly stopped resembling it's self, and I felt somehow cursed by seeing it.
I walked a little faster and composed this prayer for bird:

I pray for you ol' Soul of Bird
who had the biggest, juicy worm
who went to eat it, Happy Day!
but hit by car and gone away.

Winner!

It's me, I'm the guy I'm talking about, the winner! Remember that post were I entered an illustration into a competition? l well I won it! I won it good. now I need to come up with a bio.  so I rolled up my sleeves and produced these:

[REDACTED] lives and works in a universe he is assured is largely predetermined, as such he often sleeps in and thinks "if I don't get up, it must be the way the universe intended" it turns out that it is the universal will for [REDACTED] to be a lazy sack, five days out of the week.

[REDACTED] lives and works in St. Paul MN. a city half in half out of this century. if one wanders in st. paul, one is likely to get lost and end up conscribed into a prohibition era hooch smuggling ring. this, as of yet hasn't happened to [REDACTED] as a result he often takes walks blindfolded.

[REDACTED] is wandering eccentric currently based out of St. Paul.  he invests most of his vital energies into drawing painting and the memorization of arcane poems and spells.
you can often find him pacing and mumbling outside the main branch of the St. Paul library.

[REDACTED] 25, in poor standing with his bookie and his mother. Paint's murals for money. he has no fixed address and has an unnatural disposition for out of style clothing, which he claims "never goes out of fashion"

[REDACTED], son of famed astronaut Paul Bunyan, spent his early years as an enchanted cat on the run from the law. Since then it's been nothing but catnip

[REDACTED], born to a mother and father, lives amongst others of his species and some smaller domesticated animals. He provides sustenance for himself by traveling to a building and remaining there for some hours preforming several tasks.



That's all I have for now. If someone wants to write a real one, I would like to accept that proposal. who knows stuff about me.  [REDACTED]

more pixel drawings (why?)

uhhh

why did I do this?

200th post

I wish I could say that I did this specifically to celebrate the 200th (it would be fitting) but actually this is an image based on a line or two of text about the egyptian gods Set and Osiris. you all should read up on those dudes.

big guy click him

and a detail shot

Recipe for love

A compatriot made the old Benchy favorite, following the comic recipe! By the looks of it, it was executed superbly, though I would have crumbled those crackers some more.

also:

click to zzoom. I have been trying to color it, but it's just too nice a day to be inside a second longer. ADIOS!

mom's day card

it's a teapotman