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Inktober Day 16 & 17 Twofer. Angel and Demon.

Let’s be real, Gambit doesn’t actually put THIS much thought into his decisions.

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Rodents of Unusual Size from The Princess Bride

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sunday

PS22 Chrous performing Joga by Björk, 2009

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Kenzo - Spring 1994 RTW

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Mad Monster Party? (1967)

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interiors in cutie magazine (2003)

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Kieran Sperring

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M.C. Escher (1898-1972, Dutch) ~ Two Birds (No. 18), 1938

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All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely Players; They have their exits and their entrances, And one man in his time plays many parts, His Acts being seven ages. At first, the infant, Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms. Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel And shining morning face, creeping like snail Unwillingly to school. And then the lover, Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier, Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard, Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel, Seeking the bubble reputation Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice, In fair round belly with good capon lined, With eyes severe and beard of formal cut, Full of wise saws and modern instances; And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts Into the lean and slippered pantaloon, With spectacles on nose and pouch on side; His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice, Turning again toward childish treble, pipes And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all, That ends this strange eventful history, Is second childishness and mere oblivion, Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

As You Like It

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Alice in Wonderland (1951) dir. Clyde Geronimi, Wilfred Jackson and Hamilton Luske

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A Song for Many Movements

Nobody wants to die on the way caught between ghosts of whiteness and the real water none of us wanted to leave our bones on the way to salvation three planets to the left a century of light years ago our spices are separate and particular but our skins sing in complimentary keys at a quarter to eight mean time we were telling the same stories over and over and over.

Broken down gods survive in the crevasses and mudpots of every beleaguered city where it is obvious there are too many bodies to cart to the ovens or gallows and our uses have become more important than our silence after the fall too many empty cases of blood to bury or burn and there will be no body left to listen and our labor has become more important than our silence

Our labor has become more important than our silence.

Audre Lorde

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Maybe I’ve never really loved I guess that is the truth I’ve spent my whole life in clouds at icy altitudes And looking down on everything I crashed into his arms Amelia, it was just a false alarm.

Joni Mitchell

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Your Catfish Friend

If I were to live my life in catfish forms in scaffolds of skin and whiskers at the bottom of a pond and you were to come by    one evening when the moon was shining down into my dark home and stand there at the edge    of my affection and think, "It's beautiful here by this pond.  I wish    somebody loved me," I'd love you and be your catfish friend and drive such lonely thoughts from your mind and suddenly you would be    at peace, and ask yourself, "I wonder if there are any catfish in this pond?  It seems like a perfect place for them."

Richard Brautigan

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I am Happy Because Everyone Loves Me - Louis Wain