Me and Martin collaboration

bow ties

triangls

this could be upside down

finger race

textile design study II

textile design study

foursquare

notice: this is THE best paper in the galaxy

OG

mmmmmmm

paper house with appendage insulation

jam escher

I am unsure how this happened onto paper.

new collaboration

Me and Miles Dean



Running Black Seas

Rising from black waters, a demon from the deep,

Blade in hand, upon the neck of Immortality.

That which is not, is to be.

Whose throat has been cut is Sanity's.

The anchor drawn, to darkened dawn the witch's wind doth carries me.

A prisoner of gust and tide, awaiting damning sleep.

The black witch wields his sortilege, thus halting my retreat.

His rusted stave the aperture through which the Evil cast.

Uproots itself from demon's grip, and the seas mutate to glass.

Upon this glass I skate nowhere, Oblivion all what lasts.

But as I run, the witch he wails, and with his torturous tune;

Alas! He quells the glacial mass to shatter, now nothing is left to lose.

Evil Magick, I your muse and your ally if so you choose.

Into my hand your instinct calls you; fly forth vicious device, I shall install you.

Now Darkness prevails.  Pray you come quickly; lest this be my greatest weakness!

For the moon it departs, and your demon imparts none but blindness and Death's empty kiss.

embroidery I

for martin, followed by the rain cloud

hunted death

An open eye with which to gauge its end.
Another, closed, to tend the finer blows of reason;
then to taste demise or otherwise the sweet fruit of suspension
wherein lies a darkness prize.
Oh hunted death!
Say, what is thine intention?

rugged and fleeting my words must be
for nothing is feeding their utility

in the right place

matty and babs

the one

michael e.t. well

whats ur blood type

http://www.phlebotomist.net/japanese-bloodtyping

watercolors

beach

witch

falling falling down she goes
amongst the nettles appear her foes
the edge of the world, a cimmerian fold
eliciting evils of gorgonians bold
foetus to aged her epigraph sold
in exchange for the universe
blasphemous, old.
she retreats to the underworld
daggers in hold
to escape what truths
of beauty and gold.

moonlight

moonlight bring to me reflection
so that i might see,
that the alternate universe
has not yet emptied.
scores of stars would falter
if only a melody
sank deep within their im-perfections,
and from inside changed key.

bad bird

MALLEABLE LIKE COOKING INTESTINES

SHARP LIKE ARROWS POINT

UPON SAID SHOT OF SUGGESTION

BAD GREASE FOR MY JOINTS

SWALLOW HEAVY THE BIRDS OF WINTER

SO YOU MAY FLY AWAY