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The Well

Aug 19 2018 Published by under Uncategorized

In a town there was a well. But it was no usual ordinary sort of well. It offered no water, but instead was filled with a sort of stuff, a strange stuff, as far as they eye could peek beyond the inner contours of the well. Within the well, a vast cavern stretched away, filled with the stuff. The cavern stretched as far as the eye could see beyond the rims of the well. But not beneath the earth surrounding the well, which was nothing but earth if you dug into it, as far as anyone could dig. The cavern was a sort of illusion perhaps, or maybe the well was an opening to a place that was not the town, an other place than the town.

No one could see how far the cavern could stretch, because no one would dare to lean futher into the well. If you fell into the well you would never come back, and that was known to be certain, because it had been said to have happened to a person or persons some time ago.

But the well would pour forth buckets of stuff, straight into the mouths of the people of the town, and any visitors of the town. The well was always fouring forth the stuff, and the stuff flowed everywhere, all over everything and through everyone, until the relationship between everything and the stuff became kind of mixed and each of the two even became somewhat indistinguishable from the other.

The effect of the stuff was to render everything to be more like the stuff and less like the thing it had been, but the stuff effected each thing differently. For example, the townspeople had built a new bridge across the river, but the stuff in the riverwater turned the bridge to something else overnight. The bridge wasn’t a bridge anymore exactly, although it still functioned as a bridge, but it was some other thing now, which was known as a thing that wasn’t a bridge. And so the people who drank the stuff from the well went away, known as themselves but known to be not themselves. They were some other selves, stranger selves than they had been. But none of them would have ever then been anything other than the thing that they were not.

One day, the well began to crack. It was a little crack at first that was patched up in the ordinary way, but the ordinary way didn’t work. The well continued to crack. The cracking caused crumbling, and the cracks began to spread through the earth, so that where the earth had been only earth, there was now beneath a thin crust of earth the louring cavern of stuff. An abyss of stuff.

As it was obvious that walking on the earth was perilous, he unstable well was barricaded from access and placed under guard. But the cracks continued to spread. Surrounding buildings were evacuated, with little resistance. The guard was unnecessary; no one would want to be near the frightening well. The world had drunk the well, and now the well would drink the world.

A sorcerer was invited from a faraway land. The sorcerer was known very well for sorcery, even as far as the well. The townspeople asked the sorcerer to repair the well.

The sorcerer was a knight in shining armour who rode into town on a mighty steed. He was big and strong, pure of heart and mind and body, and very handsome. Everyone who saw him fell in love with him, but he told them that the well could not be repaired. The stuff had seeped through the earth, it had become inseparable from the earth, and like a decomposing fabric, the earth was disintegrating into the stuff.

The people begged the sorcerer to help. The sorcerer frowned and went to the well. The next morning, though no one knew how it had happened, the well was gone, and so was the knight. There was nothing but the plain earth in the place where the well had been. The townspeople were incredulous at first, and then enraged. They stabbed at the earth trying to get to the stuff, but the stuff was not there, only earth.

The sorcerer was never seen anywhere again. He was gone. He was believed to have fallen into the well before it had closed over. Slowly, the stuff was dispersed, and mixed into things so little within them that the things were once again more themselves than anything else. After a long time, the knight was forgotten, and so was the well.

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City Limits

Feb 05 2018 Published by under Uncategorized

“It’s such a sunny blue day,” said Jane, “The perfect day for this kind of walk along the docks.” The port buzzed with the busy merchant activity surrounding the vessels and warehouses, but hummed more deeply with the life of the city.

“Can a day be a hue?” I teased, “The blue of your eyes?”

“A medievalist fantasy can be a colour, even if a day can’t be,” she replied, evading my flirtation as nimbly as she stepped out of the path of a barechested sailor with a trunk hoisted on his shoulder. “Watch it lady,” barked the sailor.

“Were there really docks in medieval times?” I asked. Jane answered with a wry glance. “And what kind of walk is this then?” I asked.

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Reflection

Jan 01 2017 Published by under Uncategorized

I made this small colour pencil illustration (11cm) for someone who provided me with an extraordinary level of support last year.

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Threshold

Dec 22 2016 Published by under Uncategorized

With his bronze skin, bronze hair, and bronze eyes, John looks like he belongs amongst the long pale grasses all around us. When people say bronze they usually mean tan, but I don’t. With his ease handling the horses earlier, and his natural strength as I rest against him now, he seems like a living sculpture of some nature deity. With our picnic things packed away and resting on our rug, this seems like the perfect day and I want it to never end. “Tell me a story John,” I say. “Alright,” he says, trailing his fingertips along my temple.

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Mercury

Nov 29 2016 Published by under Uncategorized

I forgot about my old shoes until they started whispering. Sitting in the corner where I threw them with some other shit and whispering to me while I was going to sleep. I knew I was imagining it but that didn’t make it any easier, they were still making a lot of soft noise. People think they’re being quiet when they’re whispering, but do you notice that usually they’re being louder than if they were just talking normally but quietly. Their noises are so irritating.

When I woke up I couldn’t remember what they were whispering, but I looked at them and left them there. I think part of me was curious about what they would do next. But mostly I wanted to know what they were whispering to me. I thought I would probably hear it again if I left them there, but I would hear better – more clearly, what they were saying.

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Picnic at Hanging Rock

Nov 22 2016 Published by under Uncategorized

Leaving my wife and child at the front door, because this is my day for my fishing trip, to be alone. Not that I need time alone from them, but that I don’t seem to be able to handle myself very well lately. It’s not them, it’s me. Jane calling to me (as I close the boot) to drive safely. My wife and child smiling. Waving goodbye to me. Wave to Daddy. Daddy loves you. I just need a few hours to be alone.

As I am driving into my journey, I am remembering what my mother said to me on the phone. She is a volunteer in a fabric shop run by a charity and one of the other volunteers worked on the wardrobe for Peter Weir’s “Picnic at Hanging Rock”. They say you should write what you know. Or say what you know, or something like that. It gets confusing, because it isn’t certain. Do you know anything at all? That’s something to think about, whether you know anything or not. How do you know that you know what you know? How do you avoid saying something about something you don’t know? Would you know if you didn’t know what you were talking about? You’d just think you knew.

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Selfie from Mirror

Oct 12 2016 Published by under Uncategorized

This is my first serious attempt in my life to sketch a “realist” style portrait of myself from the mirror. I had to tape on more paper, but I like the way the tape looks. After I scanned it up I coloured it with my real eye and lip colours from a photograph.

The best part is the attitude of my neck and shoulders, the worst part is the incorrect perspective on my nose.

I’d like to gain technical drawing skills and a more formal understanding of portrait drawing.

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Thunderbird

Sep 13 2016 Published by under Uncategorized

fin2

I dreamed about a Thunderbird and I tried to draw how it made me feel to dream about that. I don’t intend any offense to Indigenous American people or to wrongly appropriate an aspect of their culture, I just wanted to try drawing my dream.

Doing this (like the last one) without a lightbox means the background elements are guesswork and they turn out busy rather than properly placed. This time I used coloured outlines which is kind of nice but it might have made the bird stand out more to use black instead. I’d love to do some GIMP tutorials in future.

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Alchemy

Aug 29 2016 Published by under Uncategorized

alchemy

STERLING LURKWURST: It’s not as if I don’t spend time braindead staring at a screen full of b-grade tv drama when I could be doing needful and good things – oh why, why, why.

MURK SMERT: Life is a grim little bowl of cold gruel made with weevily oats and lumpy old stinky sour milk. But surely that doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy a little television while dribbling it into our aching bellies? I know I do.

STERLING LURKWURST: I like to think of the head as a kind of funnel that just drizzles gruel into the cold ache of a hollow vessel. But then I feel too happy most of the time.

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The Velveteen Rabbit

Apr 17 2016 Published by under Uncategorized

they call it the “Ah-ha!” moment. or else i think they call it that, or really theyre referring to something else and i just imagine that its what theyre talking about. i really have no idea. but for me what happened was a dream, only it was a dream i couldnt remember, but when i woke up i knew i had changed. Master shoved and prodded at me, but i didnt move, and Master positioned me as He wanted. He said i was behaving well. but when it was time for me to get out of Bed and do my chores, i made no movement. Master became angry and beat me, calling me lazy, a stupid lazy slut, a worthless lazy whore. but i knew i wasn’t being lazy exactly; the dream had somehow changed me, fixed me. i was passive, perfectly passive, and i submitted completely to Master’s discipline. He beat me very badly, but there was no response from my body. my eyes were placid and dewy, my lips slightly parted; this was the perfect attitude for me, and suddenly it was the simplest, the easiest, as i had always expected that it should be, and that i had always been frustrated that it had never been.

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