I call them sketched feelings. Sometimes there are no feelings attached to it, but always an inspiration behind it. Go to my older blog to see my earlier ‘Story Of A Terrible Drawing’ illustrations here: SOATD
Por favor, nunca se avergüencen de sus tradiciones. “Never be ashamed of your traditions/roots.” That was one of Pope Francis’ messages [on immigration] today — one of the many about-time-affirmations he’s made on behalf of the Catholic church. The main roads and bridges are shut down in Philadelphia due to the Papal visit; I can’t…
I don’t understand weddings, but I understand love. Congratulations to all of you celebrating an engagement, wedding, or anniversary! May the spark never die. 🙂 Inspired by a moment of bliss: my brother’s happiness. (Made with Adobe Shape — what do you think? )
I only hated school twice in my life: the last year of high school and my last year(s) of college — both being absolute chronic cases of senioritis (self-diagnosed). Other than that, I was the nerd who couldn’t wait to put her new pencil to use. That might explain why I wasn’t appointed the cool…
Mystery creates wonder, and wonder is the basis of humankind’s desire to understand. I could take a picture of what I’m seeing on this beautiful evening, but I don’t have a NatGeo-type camera (aww). So, as always, I try my best to sketch it 😎 — the mystery that is the sky up above us….
“Are you grieving?” “No,” I quizzically said. “You only talk about sad things.” How to tell her that I’m a requiem; an airless breath, a heartless ribcage, a misunderstood sonnet. I want to tell her about the times I’ve stared blank at the silver clouds up in the sky, never hearing a reply. So unable…
Walls. Sometimes, by locking everyone out, you get locked in. Walls so high it’s hard to breathe. Can’t be brought down that easily. It will require an army — or maybe simply the undoing of the wrong-doing by those who made them go up.
“Maybe it’s all part of a plan” … a plan that is also a mystery to all. Peace and…love, y’all!
When bedtime comes and you’re dead tired, but you still wish the night was young, and you sit in bed, like, WTF? Where did the day go?
Her nights are blue, but not just any blue; it is the darkest of all hues. By her bedside she keeps her booze, drowning her sorrows, awaking the muse. Don’t judge so soon ’cause you would, too, if you walked a mile in her shoes.
If I had more alone time, I’d have more time to create more terrible doodles, to write more stories, more poetry, such as this short story; the story of how I’m unable to tell more stories. So, you see, solitude isn’t all that bad — and learning how to prioritize doesn’t hurt either.
You’re like a catchy, old tune; I think I need another hook.
When you’ve got everyone’s back and your own remains in the open, remember that you’re like a weathered rock; broken, but still solid.