just got home and i genuinely cannot believe THAT was my show… i need at least 14 business days to process, thank you very much
i feel like camping was ages ago and it was just last night lollll this whole experience was insane but i would do it again idgaf
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Old Paul McCartney being haunted by his younger twink self and the ghost of George stripping is such a mood
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ONCE UPON A TIME, THERE WAS A KNIGHT...
the visual inspiration for this was a combination of Frederic William Burton's Meeting on the Turret Stairs and also Bernardo Cavallino's The vision of St. Dominic receiving the Rosary from the Virgin
this was supposed to be just a one off illustration to get the thoughts out of my system, but then I started thinking about medieval politics and warfare and plagues and a castle and home as both a place of refuge, a prison, and a tomb, so perhaps they will end up as ex voto characters as well.
you may say, hey! that rosary looks like it has too many beads! it's a fifteen decade rosary, probably. dominicans are really into marian devotions. it works out.
also. spiral style stair cases. oh boy. it was that unexpectedly more difficult than I originally thought it would be to draw. the more I think about it, the less I understand them, even though I had a million photos of the stairs in front of me while I was drawing it.
⭐ I have a tip jar (ko-fi)!
⭐ and other places I’m at! bsky / pixiv / pillowfort /cohost / cara.app
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Like I know it's self indulgence but it'd be so funny to see a full kardashian style Brucie Wayne, spoilt playboy prince of Gotham, local sunshine idiot on the front page every other week for darwinian levels of idiocy or billionaire levels of donations.
But he gets kidnapped or something and there's illusions or mind magics that make him think he's in the bat suit and then he gets dumped in the middle of a live world broadcast arena to fight some goons.
Like he doesn't think anything of it, batman's been kidnapped and forced into gladitorial arenas for sport many times before, maybe he always carries concealed weapons so he's still got like grapples and batarangs and stuff, but he's just going full doomslayer on these guys. No cowl. No suit. Just an open silk shirt and a pair of slacks. In full view of the world.
Tell you what, what about the whole justice league. Just a group of the motleyest people you've ever met. There's about as many famous people as there are absolute nobodies.
Several billionaires defer to the guy who writes articles on outdated lead in buildings and socio economic corruption. There's a renowned museum curator flying and uppercutting aliens so hard they get tossed across the room. There's a guy who spoke in science conferences about meta containment procedures running up the wall and delivering a roundhouse kick to three enemies at once. Bruce Wayne and Oliver Queen. Of all people. Two world famous idiot ceo celebrities. And they're back to back whaling on armoured alien henchmen like a well oiled team. A ten year old podcaster shooting lightning from his fingers and no one in the group bats an eye.
Just.... Insanity.
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Mushishi's second episode genuinely is so wild. It goes:
Do you know what happens when you close your eyes?
No, not your physical eyelids. When your very being shuts in and you travel too deep within yourself, stray too far away from the wordly light, kind and familiar, when you close your inner eyes, you may find a path to a place where the true darkness dwells. It's the darkest shade of night you've ever known, and ever darker than that, and terribly deep. Any absence of light in the outside world will pale in comparison to this great nothingness, and any unlit space will seem welcoming with illumination, and the tiniest speck of light will scorch and scar your retinas. And inside that void you will feel something beckoning, something almost eager to greet you back and make you stay. And inside of you, in response to its greeting, you might feel something willing to listen.
But if you're brave enough and curious enough and the darkness won't claim you, the eternal light will. Because there, at the bottom of pitch black emptiness, lies the river of light and it's the throbbing, quivering, shimmering heart of life itself, its beginning and its cradle. And it smells sweet like euphoria and wine and rancid like rotting flesh and humus, and it's the brightest shade of dawn you've ever known. Its ever-changing, undying beauty is entrancing and it will devour you whole if you don't find in you the strength to avert your eyes -- and you won't want to.
And swarming near that luminescent vein, the wondrous and bizarre creatures play. If you look hard enough, you might be able to discern them in the brightness flowing past you. They're simply life at its most basic, its most pure, and they're not like anything you've ever seen. And their shapeless, foreign otherness will take your breath away, but this otherwordly delight will be so profound you may mistake it for fear. Don't be afraid. Even when they feast on your flesh and enter your dreams and sap your eyes of the ability to see, they do not seek to harm you. Beauty tries to colonize you, as does decay, and so nature pulls itself back into balance, perpetuating life indefinitely. And there, at the spring of all things that lies in the thick of the world's putrescence, you cannot look away from it.
Oh, and there's also him. Some random dude wearing a polo shirt. Who apparently only has one eye and, wait— Is he smoking a blunt? Hello, Ginko.
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