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- Jé Maverick
Inktober 2020 #2: Plague Doctor
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byFriday, October 2, 2020Inktober 2020 Entry #2: Plague Doctor Materials Used Faber-Castell Poly Matic Mechanical Pencil Pentel Lead Refill, 0.5mm, Fine, 2B Tenwin Electric Eraser Kit Sakura Pigma Micron Fineliner Pens Mont Marte Sketch Book Mont Marte Small Pine Table Easel
byThursday, October 1, 2020Inktober 2020 Entry #1: Chameleon Materials Used Faber-Castell Poly Matic Mechanical Pencil Pentel Lead Refill, 0.5mm, Fine, 2B Tenwin Electric Eraser Kit Sakura Pigma Micron Fineliner Pens Mont Marte Sketch Book Mont Marte Small Pine Table Easel
byWednesday, September 30, 2020You who turn from love in pain, turn gently: heed the softer counsels of the world. As a slender branch whips back from the weight of so many ravens; as the tulip wilts for moisture in the heat to stand once more within the glistening dew, rejuvenation whispers, as subtle as the snowflakes meagre shadow. You who turn from love in pain, turn kindly: seek the tender cycles of the world. The winter greets with joy-flung arms the first fog’s slow return, and so the moon shall know its lover’s face, the sun sinks without quarrel. Spring dances without clothes as Autumn looks on, waiting, and neither will depart the grand design. You who turn from love in pain, turn slowly: nothing exists but purpose, and the born to love must love although the season’s on the wane, just as the quiet swan floats upon the lake and the heron wades the shallows, though the fickle water’s edge subsides, and rises and recedes.
byTuesday, September 29, 2020No feeling is final.
byMonday, September 28, 2020Because you exist, I cannot see the world. You leap from lilacs, and tambourines, and bubble in the eddying waters. You plucked me from the stalk of a limp night, and because you exist I am suffocated by your name. I can’t see the world for the clutch you gave, or the fierce wind of your gasp. Your hands and their magic tricks; the stabbing light of your eyes. You jump from canyons, and you grow in the orchards, only to rise from the shadows of billboards and churchyards. Leaves tremble with the ever-floating note of your sung farewell. Somewhere else, you are being loved. Somewhere else. I am suffocated by your name. Because you exist I can’t see the world, or the lost coast of my homeland: the map of your body, pulsing with the beacon of a signalled misery. A mad voyager, I search for your hot imprint on the rock of each molten day.