pbwells3

[pbwells3]

"I Am Free" From the eclectic art of P.B. Wells.

I can't imagine what it felt like to be able to say, "I am free," for the first time and have it be true. It is also impossible for me to know what it feels like to face hate and prejudice daily simply because of skin pigmentation. Sadly, we have not come as far as we like to believe.

https://www.deviantart.com/pbwells/art/1208127799

[pbwells3]

"Fianna" From the eclectic art of P.B. Wells.

Fianna, Warrior Princess.

DeviantArt Premium downloads include files for personal prints. Thank you. Take care and be well.

https://www.deviantart.com/pbwells/art/Fianna-1207824400

[pbwells3]

"To Be Or Not To Be" From the eclectic art of P.B. Wells.

"… that is the question." To be or not to be? Who am I? What am I?

DeviantArt Premium downloads include files for personal prints. Thank you. Take care and be well.

https://www.deviantart.com/pbwells/art/To-Be-Or-Not-To-Be-1205390114

[pbwells3]

"Escort to Hell" From the eclectic art of P.B. Wells.

Each arrival has an escort.

DeviantArt Premium downloads include files for personal prints. Thank you. Take care and be well.

https://www.deviantart.com/pbwells/art/1204638773

[pbwells3]

Here’s to the Mess by P.B. Wells

they said it’s all gonna be fine, but how, when the sun cracks the sky open like a sick joke and your bones ache with things that haven’t happened yet?

i’ve got a heart full of fists and a mouth full of broken glass, but the world keeps spinning like it’s got somewhere to go.

and you, you walk in with that smile, like a question i never asked, but you’re just another lie, simmering in skin, all warm, soft, like you never did your part to destroy this thing we call love.

sex? it’s a dirty word now, all sweat and teeth and nothing left but the smell of regret. i’ve fucked my way through too many dead ends to pretend there’s meaning left.

but don’t tell me about the gods, those pretty-faced liars who hand out promises like candy and watch us choke on them with a grin.

rage? it’s a fire, sure, but one that burns your insides to dust before you even get a chance to scream. it’s the only thing left when you’ve bled every other thing dry, when you’ve learned that every god you’ve begged to is just another thief stealing your breath while you wait for a sign that never comes.

and i’m tired, man, tired like a dog who’s been kicked and is too damn tired to bite back. tired like this whole damn world that keeps spinning, faster and faster until we all fall off and vanish into the absurdity of it all.

so here’s to the mess, to the hate and the hurt, the things we can’t unsee, the things we can’t unfeel. maybe that’s all we get before the gods drag us under with their empty hands, and we vanish, never knowing what hit us.

https://www.deviantart.com/pbwells/art/1202876514

[pbwells3]

"Pookie II - Attitude" From the eclectic art of P.B. Wells.

My favorite model is back with Attitude!

DeviantArt Premium downloads include files for personal prints. Take care and be well.

https://www.deviantart.com/pbwells/art/Pookie-II-Attitude-1202265138

[pbwells3]

"For Mike"

By P.B. Wells

I am sure we’ve all done it.

lost someone not in the crashing car or the ICU with too many wires but in the dull, slow chisel of time.

I lost Mike like that.

not on purpose, not like I threw him out like garbage or broke something between us, no, he just slipped between the pages of the calendar.

we met at a second-rate cinema in a city now drowned in high-rise lies and barbed wire smiles. I was the manager, if you can call being barked at by regional execs a title. but I had the key, and the hiring pad, and Mike needed the work.

desperate. said he loved movies. said it quietly, like it might cost him something. I liked that. he didn’t try to be liked. just wanted the job.

he was short, rumpled, awkward before awkward meant HBO pilots and ironic t-shirts.

those glasses were thick as the bottom of a whiskey bottle. he looked through them like the world was a smear he had to squint through.

the rest of the staff didn’t know what to do with him. they were all teens and twenty-somethings, full of loud laughter and silent cruelty. Mike wasn’t invited to drinks. he wasn’t invited to anything except work.

but I liked him. we talked about movies, books, old TV shows, when television still felt like somebody gave a damn. Mike gave a damn. that was rare.

he was alone. not lonely, maybe, alone. not by grand design, but because the world just kind of left him behind. he lived in a room with a hotplate and a closet that dared to call itself a bathroom.

you know the kind of place, a house someone gutted into bite-size rent checks. owned by a slumlord with golf club memberships and no working conscience.

so I had him over for Thanksgiving. for Christmas. even though he was Jewish. didn’t matter. I just didn’t want him spending holidays watching TV dinners spin in a microwave.

He’d sit at my table like he didn’t believe he belonged there. he ate quiet, talked when he had something to say, which was more than I can say for the many assholes I’ve had at my table.

and then, I got promoted. moved cities. climbed up that crooked ladder of fluorescent lights and fake smiles. you know the one.

called him once. maybe twice. a letter, a card.

then nothing.

life got loud. career louder. and Mike just fell into the soft static of memory.

until one day I came across his obituary.

It was twelve years old, even.

no funeral. no call. no grief. just the cold ink of a forgotten friend who slipped out before I could say you mattered.

and damn me, I didn’t even feel it.

not grief. not sorrow. just guilt. thick, suffocating guilt.

we shared hours talking about how superhero comics used to be good, how Scorsese made you feel something, how the Rocky Horror Picture Show was fucking great, how the world wasn’t so lonely when you shared a pizza and rewound an old VHS tape.

he was my friend. and I let him vanish because I had meetings to get to. because I had a boss who noticed who laughed at his jokes. because I wanted something bigger.

and now all I’ve got is a too-late ache and a name I can’t say aloud without my throat drying out and eyes tearing up.

no saints here. just men fooling themselves as the good ones go quiet and unnoticed.

Mike, I’m sorry. Truly.

https://www.deviantart.com/pbwells

[pbwells3]

"Alien Worlds: World 16-2032 - Ruins" From the eclectic art of P.B. Wells.

Recon Brief: It has been two years since we visited 55-5732 and briefly explored the thick forest there, leading to the discovery of a stone pathway that led us to a magnificent building, which we simply named "The Temple." I reference that mission due to the same feeling of astonishment and awe I felt when we broke through heavy jungle foliage along a small river on 16-2032 and gazed upon the most extensive and magnificent ruins I have ever seen. An entire city built along and into the mountainous rock beside the river. Buildings rising hundreds of feet into the sky. Bridges and remains of bridges connecting parts of the city on both sides of the river. This was not a small village. This was a small city. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of individual residences. No power system is evident, but we have found the remains of an elaborate water system that allowed water to be delivered to the highest parts of the city. All evidence suggests this was the home of a humanoid people. And, I have the same questions as on 55-5732. Who were they? How long ago did they build this city? Where did they go? What happened? And when? We must be given more time for further exploration and study.

https://www.deviantart.com/pbwells/art/1200378238

[pbwells3]

"Tortured Soul" From the eclectic art of P.B. Wells.

A somewhat strange, even weird, way of recognizing those of us or among us who are different, cast out, abandoned, rejected… well, you get the idea.

DeviantArt Premium downloads include files for personal prints. Take care and be well.

https://www.deviantart.com/pbwells/art/1199934125

[pbwells3]

"Skully" From the eclectic art of P.B. Wells.

Skully,… no, not Scully. Skully!

DeviantArt Premium downloads include files for personal prints. Take care and be well.

https://www.deviantart.com/pbwells/art/Skully-1198086472

[pbwells3]

The Fuckups

by P.B. Wells

Another bright idea. Felt good, for a stretch. Weeks, maybe, if the booze held. Months, if the gods were drunk and smiling.

Then the slap. The cold water. You see it for what it is: a genuine, blue-ribbon fuck-up.

So now the crawl. Do you wallow in the shit you stirred? Let it cling to your shoes? Let the stink settle in the furniture? Or try to claw back, untangle the goddamn knot your own two hands tied?

The big question, ain't it? The one that keeps the barstool warm and the bottle empty.

And the joke, the real gut-buster? Whatever the hell you do, you'll just make it worse. More faces twisted in disgust. More of that familiar ache behind the ribs.

The truth is, some of us we're just wired wrong. It's not the plan, the goddamn intention. It's a talent, a dark gift.

Just the touch. The feel for disaster. The wrong turn, perfectly timed. The right idea, ten years too late. Masters of the grand botch. If fucking up was a sport, we'd be the undefeated champions.

So what's the play in this rigged game? Accept the coming disaster. Pick a path, any path. You're doomed anyway. Get it over with.

Yeah. Take care. Be well. Like that's a goddamn option.

https://www.deviantart.com/pbwells/art/The-Fuckups-1197324327

[pbwells3]

"Chaos" From the eclectic art of P.B. Wells.

Yes, I experienced an abstract expressionism moment… also known as a Jackson Pollock freak-out. It came as an experiment to graphically express and let go of an extremely dangerous level of anger, disappointment and frustration. Anger, disappointment and frustration expressed… but still there.

DeviantArt Premium downloads include files for personal prints. Thank you. Take care and be well.

https://www.deviantart.com/pbwells/art/1197297932

[pbwells3]

"I Love It When A Man Grovels" From the eclectic art of P.B. Wells.

My interpretation of "Beauty and the Beast." A little fun… and a bit more than weird.

Thank you. Your support is very much appreciated! Take care and be well.

https://www.deviantart.com/pbwells/art/1194730455

[pbwells3]

The Clothesline Manifesto by P.B. Wells

they built their cities like prisons and told us how to live inside them, dry your clothes in a box, they said, buy another box, plug it in, pay the gods of the wire.

fuck you.

I’ll hang my wet socks on a frayed line between two defiant posts, I’ll hang my torn underwear for the rabbits and the geese to admire, I’ll pick spiders from my pants with dirt under my nails and laugh while your grid chokes on itself.

I don’t need your plastic sun. I don’t need your buttoned-up, beeping, dead-eyed life. my shirts will fly like drunks in a street brawl. my blankets will whip like fists at a dictator’s face.

the city can take its bylaws, and its HOA letters, and its cement and chrome, and shove it down its own poisoned throat.

this fucking clothesline is my flag. this backyard is my battlefield. and every towel whipping in the wind is another cannon shot fired at the goddamn armies of bloated, bureaucratic tyranny. 1776 wasn’t polite, and neither am I.

middle fingers up, motherfuckers.

I’m home.

https://www.deviantart.com/pbwells/art/1194268181

[pbwells3]

"Sleepy Village" From the eclectic art of P.B. Wells.

After a long day of adventure and magic, a small village goes to sleep under the glow of moonlight.

Thank you. Your support is very much appreciated! Take care and be well.

https://www.deviantart.com/pbwells/art/1193928132

[pbwells3]

SR 9

By P.B. Wells

Sitting on the front porch. Sipping some Admiral and Coke. Looking down at the traffic on SR 9. 18-wheelers, cycles, SUVs, farm tractors, you name it. Most driven by hard-working people. Some driven by complete assholes.

Been four months since I moved here. Four months. Four months outta the city. Four months in the country. Even with a state road running by me, it's still quieter than the goddamn city.

The only gunshots have been those of hunters or just plain target shooters. Haven't read of a local gas station being knocked over. Or a pissed-off drug dealer shooting his customer. Or a low-life bastard beating the hell outta his wife or girlfriend.

The biggest news has been the possible sighting of a wolf. A wolf. Four-legged kind. Not the two-legged human kind.

I'm bored. But that's good. It's the good boredom. The kind that lets your soul heal. The kind that lets your imagination grow. And my soul desperately needs healing. And my imagination needs growth. I guess it's a good thing I got here.

Hope I don't fuck it up.

[pbwells3]

"The Gentle Fall" From the eclectic art of P.B. Wells.

Some inner reflection… nothing more.

https://www.deviantart.com/pbwells/art/1191934153