singed by the heat of your lines and curves

6 Feb

I hope this isn’t too graphic for the Internet. If you can’t handle it, look away. If you’re stomach is strong, you probably won’t have to do much scrolling to see a picture of–my DOODLE. I did it at my desk during work.

I don’t always have something I want to draw, but I almost always want to be moving a pen across a piece of paper. I like ink. I like to be the reason for ink. I spend a lot of time scribbling on paper and then throwing it away. It feels wasteful. And mean. But if I didn’t throw things away, I’d be trapped in a room full of crumpled pieces of paper and doodles that aren’t pretty and make me feel awful. It’s a way of coping, I guess. With things. When I’m bored, I like a doodle that can go on forever. A messy pattern. I like for it to be mindless and able to provide me with hours and hours of entertainment. When I’m feeling happy or romantic, I like my drawings to be cutesy and simple. When I’m frustrated, I like for my drawings to look angry. I draw monsters, my demons, on paper. Sometimes I need people to see that I need help, or something, without having to say anything.

This doodle is a product of boredom. It was fun, and just what I needed on a Monday.

After work, I was feeling fine. I have a huge zit in the middle of my face, and I felt ugly all day. But there were times of peace during the ugliness, and I managed to squeeze all the goodness out of those. It rained while I was walking to my car, and my hair was messy, my jeans were wet, and all of that was strangely calming. Here is a self portrait:


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