Assumptions

Welcome to the weblog of A. A. Sekhon, author of Assumptions, a Victorian-style, character-driven, mystery/thriller novella.

[gabrielied]

Traditional art from last year (that my scanner hates)

[Support The Search for Henry Jekyll on Patreon]

ComicFury | Tapas | Webtoons

[societyismyoc]

this was supposed to be "quick thumbnail practice" btw

[penpeaches]

I figured out how to draw cats

[capriceviv]

“I mistook you for a dear friend….”

done done weeee

[seekingstars]

THE LAKE ISLE OF INNISFREE - W.B. Yeats

[elucubrare]

Lukannon

This is the great deep-sea song that all the St. Paul seals sing when they are heading back to their beaches in the summer. It is a sort of very sad seal National Anthem.

    I met my mates in the morning (and, oh, but I am old!)     Where roaring on the ledges the summer ground-swell rolled;     I heard them lift the chorus that drowned the breakers’ song—     The Beaches of Lukannon—two million voices strong.

    The song of pleasant stations beside the salt lagoons,     The song of blowing squadrons that shuffled down the dunes,     The song of midnight dances that churned the sea to flame—     The Beaches of Lukannon—before the sealers came!

    I met my mates in the morning (I’ll never meet them more!);     They came and went in legions that darkened all the shore.     And o’er the foam-flecked offing as far as voice could reach     We hailed the landing-parties and we sang them up the beach.

    The Beaches of Lukannon—the winter wheat so tall—     The dripping, crinkled lichens, and the sea-fog drenching all!     The platforms of our playground, all shining smooth and worn!     The Beaches of Lukannon—the home where we were born!

    I met my mates in the morning, a broken, scattered band.     Men shoot us in the water and club us on the land;     Men drive us to the Salt House like silly sheep and tame,     And still we sing Lukannon—before the sealers came.

    Wheel down, wheel down to southward; oh, Gooverooska, go!     And tell the Deep-Sea Viceroys the story of our woe;     Ere, empty as the shark’s egg the tempest flings ashore,     The Beaches of Lukannon shall know their sons no more.

Rudyard Kipling, from The Jungle Book

[mcversipellis]

“The soul is a terrible reality. It can be bought and sold and bartered away.”

― Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray

[heaveninawildflower]

Decorative front cover of 'The Window' by Arthur Sullivan and Alfred Tennyson.

Published 1871 by Strahan & Co.

George Mason University.

Wikimedia.

[thebeautifulbook]

Part of the Classic Poetry Library published by T.Y. Crowell (New York. 1882)

[ladylowrely]

One of the book covers for The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll & Me Hyde

Still not the final, nor the one I'll choose but one that I like for the mood while keeping some of the vibe of the uncanny and turbulent mind of Mr.Hyde and the doctor.

It was one of the first gothic horrors I've ever read as a kid and to this day is still my favorite.

Bonus little full body doodle of them.

[offwegointothewildblueyonder]

when a child goes to Build-A-Bear and constructs a teddy from the parts available no one bats an eye, but when I, Victor Frankenstein,

[dreamspelunker]

Might be time to re-read Sinclair

[ramyeonpng]

“For the first time, he heard something that he knew to be music. He heard people singing. Behind him, across vast distances of space and time, from the place he had left, he thought he heard music too. But perhaps, it was only an echo.”

— #quotes

[heartmindtuning]

#notredame #notredamedeparis #victorhugo #brunopelletier #garou #hunchbackofnotredame

Notre dame de Paris

Many mourn their memories of you, today.Their memories of lighting a candle inside you, a wedding, a funeral, a celebration. You are the home of many memories for parisians and tourists alike.

You are more than an architectural vow. Hugo made you eternal by creating Cosimodo to chase Esmerlada. Dance mon Esmeralda..

And this song has lived with me since 1997 keeping the memory of our visit live in me:

Il est venu le temps des cathédrales Le monde est entré Dans un nouveau millénaire L'homme a voulu monter vers les étoiles Écrire son histoire Dans le verre ou dans la pierre

Il est foutu le temps des cathédrales La foule des barbares Est aux portes de la ville Laissez entrer ces païens, ces vandales La fin de ce monde Est prévue pour l'an deux mille Est prévue pour l'an deux mille

(at Hilton Grand Vacations Club On Paradise) https://www.instagram.com/p/BwUCIWAA2h9/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=13fcx92cwnl0u

[dabiconcordia]

The Shepherd

How sweet is the shepherd’s sweet lot! From the morn to the evening he strays; He shall follow his sheep all the day, And his tongue shall be filled with praise.

For he hears the lambs’ innocent call, And he hears the ewes’ tender reply; He is watchful while they are in peace, For they know when their shepherd is nigh. by William Blake

[muzetrigger]

Have a plot hole? Just ignore it. If it worked for Victor Hugo, it'll work for you (maybe :v)

[lunamonchtuna]

just me, Edgar Allan Poe and our unhealthy coping mechanisms (romanticizing melancholy) against the world.

[aasekhonauthor]

I feel called out...